Datasets:

jerryjalapeno

/

jsonlsingle2

like 0

       The way she moved was flawless. Even if they were in the middle of a fight Chat couldn’t help but stare at her in amazement. They were partner for almost three years now and still – with every mission – she managed to make him fall head over heels.        The akumatized person this time was a girl from the baseball club at school. Everybody knew that she had a huge crush on Chloe. As said honeyblonde heard of this nearly everybody in a radius of 50 miles heard her scream. Rumors spoke of two people going deaf. The other girl almost cried and sometime after that the akuma must’ve settled down inside her.        “Am I wrong or is Chloe almost always the reason why people get akumatized?”, the dark cat silently asked himself as he sat down on a chimney. By the way he crouched he could feel the dampness of the blood-soaked suit at the height of his stomach. He knew he should have waited with cutting until the mission was over. “Damn.”        “You okay there, kitty cat?” The girl in the red-black suit, being thrown back, by the enormous bat landed beside him. “You’ve been spacing out.” A worried look in her light blue eyes. Ladybug didn’t see the ball that has been beaten with unhuman strength and targeted her head.        In the split of a second Chat scooped her up and held her tight against his chest, delicately trying to not get her in touch with the blood-wet spot. “Right now I really am okay, my purr-incess!”, he said looking down to her with a toothy grin. Ladybug brought her hand up to his cheeks and for a moment all of his blood rushed to his face.        But the navy haired girl just turned his face towards the akuma. “Focus, Chat!”, she taunted him with a snarl. As another ball approached fast, she pulled him behind the next chimney. “We need to get the bat. The lucky charm is a net. What the hell am I supposed to do with it?”, she said, her eyes narrowed as she thought of the solution. “Chat, could you distr–”        “Distract him?”, he ended her sentence with a smart-ass grin. “Say nothing more! I’m always happy to lend you a paw, my lady.” With that being said he started to jump from rooftop to rooftop yelling various insults at the akuma in order to get its attention.        Meanwhile the lady in red prepared the trap. She casted her net and caught the villain that up until now tried to throw several balls at Chat. As the akumatized girl realized the situation fury ran through her veins and she turned around to glare angry at Ladybug. The hero grinned while spinning her yoyo. In the act of catching the victim of the akuma she’d let go of her bat so all the Ladybug needed to do was to put her arm under the net and get the object. Thinking she had already won the red girl totally ignored that the akumatized girl lunged out to punch her.        Chat made a dull sound as the fist met his abdomen and send him flying together with his lady who held the bad in her hand. Dizzy from pain his vision blurred and he had problems seeing the wall both of them were flying to. His arms locked around her when he turned them both causing him to crash against a stone wall next. The only thing running through his head was that he would always protect Ladybug, even if it meant that he had to die.        Ladybugs head on the other hand was clear enough to react. She used the force they were thrown with to shatter the bat at the wall. This time she cleansed the akuma even faster than ever.  As soon as she was finished she spun around to her partner still leaning at the wall, breathing hard. Yes, the fight had been hard but they had worse. Usually he would be back on his feet, smiling and probably flirting but this time not. The way he held his stomach gave her a twisted feeling in her own. Worried she tilted her head and ran to him. “Chat”, she knelt down next to him. “I already told you, don’t endanger your life for me! – A-are you okay?” She mentally hit herself for that question. He obviously wasn’t. ‘Did his suit always look this wet?’        Even though Adrien felt like he was dying, he managed to give her a small smile. But seeing her grit her teeth his smile dropped. His body didn’t want him so sit up straight but he ignored the painful warnings and brought his hand that had been lying on his stomach to her cheeks; gently cupping it. “Are you okay, my lady?”, he asked worried as panic rose. “Did you get hurt?” He did not notice that with the small action everything would only get worse.        Ladybug froze when his gloved hand touched her face. Something stuck to it and the way it smelled told her that it wasn’t water. From her peripheral vision she saw red an on a part of her face that shouldn’t be red. “Blood.”, she concluded to herself. “Oh my god, you’re bleeding?” Her blue eyes widened in panic when he searched his. He had been hit but there had been no weapon that could’ve caused him to bleed. So why did he bleed?        Adrien pulled back his hand in shock and clenched his fist above his chest. “It’s nothing.”, he hastily said and tried to stand up. “I’m okay.”        “That’s pretty much blood for being okay.” Ladybug came closer and started searching for the cause of the blood loss. Usually she would have been shy – touching a guy – but this was serious. For once she was happy that Alya wasn’t present.        Panic pumped through his veins. This was bad. Like really bad. “I’m okay!”, he confirmed. This time way louder than he wanted. He had to get away from her – instantly. And then the worst of the worst happened. Chat Noir’s suit consisted of a shirt and pants. The connection between both was hidden beneath the belt – and Ladybug quickly found out. She lifted his shirt and revealed his scarred shame, including the big cut that had been bleeding all evening. All he could hear from her was a gasp before he slammed her hand away noncharlantly. Quickly rising to his feet he tried to put a distance between them. His arms insecurely crossed in front of his chest while his claws dug into his upper arm, sending calming pain through his body.        “Chat –...”, Ladybug searched for the right words to say. Who did this to him? Why did he have all those scars? She made two steps towards him but he made five back. Why was he so scared of her?        “It’s nothing!”, he declared louder than necessary, jumping on the next street lamp. His claws dug into the metal of it. “It’s just a – scratch.”, he said before jumping off into the darkness. He got to get away from her. His stick vibrated telling him that Ladybug desperately tried to call him, but he didn’t dare to pick up.        Back home he collapsed on the bed, slamming his fist in the white pillow, ripping it apart with his claws and leaving red blood stains everywhere. Adrien continued while the transformation wore off.        She’d seen it! Shit, she had seen it!        The emotional pain in his chest was even harder than the physical pain. The beat of his heart – he was sure it was loud enough to alarm everyone in a radius of 50 miles. The blonde felt like he couldn’t breathe. His arm reached out under the pillow where one of his toys was hidden.        She had seen.        He lifted up his shirt and pressed the metal against his skin.        She had seen it.        The skin broke. The red line followed the cold razor while the skin swelled around the line. Teeny tiny drops of blood formed on the skin where the razor had cut deep enough. Adrien let out a relieved sigh; finally feeling able to breathe again. He laid down on his pillow, suddenly realizing he had destroyed it. His Lady had seen his shame. She’d hate him for sure. His eyes started to water.        Meanwhile Ladybug got reminded of her situation by a beep of her miraculous. "Damn lying cat.", she whispered. "That's definitely not a scratch." Those cuts could only be self inflicted, that was a fact that she had to face. But why on earth would someone hurt their own body? How long did he do it? She stared into the dark sky before she decided to leave for home. Marinette got to sleep with the horrible pictures of a scarred Chat that caused her nightmares.  

“What in the actual fuck, Eren,” Armin says. They’re seated at the kitchen table, this time both of them immersed in their notes and textbooks, or at least they were until Eren mentioned his weird erection. Studying has worn both of them down, and with Eren’s next dentist’s appointment just around the corner, he’s starting to fray at the seams. “Dude, I know,” he utters, face planted against his book. The words blur into meaningless squiggles as he rubs his face against them in hopes of shedding himself of the strange and unwelcome thirst for his dentist. “I’m a pervert. A dentistsexual.” “Maybe it was just the gloves?” Armin suggests as he chews on his pen. “Maybe you have a medical kink or something.” Eren doesn’t even want to know why or how Armin is aware those kinds of fetishes exist, so he gives a shrug. “What do I do, Armin?” he pleads as he glances up, swatting away the page that’s glued on his face. Armin is smart, and in Eren’s eyes he knows literally everything, so he must have some solution to offer. He always does. The blond is silent for a while as he thinks. “You should fuck the dentist,” he says, and Eren’s jaw nearly drops to the floor. “Just saying. Was he attractive?” “I’m not going to fuck the dentist,” Eren sputters, hiding the faint blush on his face by burying his head in his hands. The thought conjures up all kinds of scenarios that he has to chase out for the sake of his own sanity. “And yes, but that’s not the point.” “Look, I have no idea what to tell you,” Armin admits, stretching his arms above his head as he yawns. “It’s just a natural reaction.” “There’s nothing natural about being aroused by dentists,” Eren puts in. “It’s a natural reaction,” he repeats with an admonishing look, “and unless you tape your dick to your thigh, there’s not much you can do.” Eren’s face lights up and Armin rushes to continue. “But seriously, don’t tape your dick to your thigh,” he says, cringing. “Remember what happened the last day of freshman year when you did that?” He does, and shudders at the memory. “Okay, no dick taping,” he agrees. “How do I deal with this, then?” “Well, maybe you can focus on the pain and discomfort of the procedure, that could make it go down,” Armin suggests, and though it’s not the perfect solution, it’s better than his first response. “Pain and discomfort,” Eren repeats. “How fun.” “Unless that’s what gets you going, of course,” Armin says and wiggles his eyebrows at him until Eren barks out a laugh and punches him in the arm. The next day he’s no longer laughing when he sits in the waiting room again, this time reading through a magazine article about the latest autumn trends (bell-shaped dresses are coming back, apparently.) He’s worn extra-loose pants for this appointment, but he’s not sure how much they’ll hide, and he can’t quite stop the constant bouncing of his leg as he keeps glancing at the clock on the wall. Precisely after three seconds past his appointed time, he’s called in by none other than Dr. Ackerman. Eren had been hoping that he would’ve caught whatever it was that Dr. Smith had. As he rises from his seat and begins his walk of shame into the office, he takes a moment to size up Dr. Ackerman, as creepy as that sounds. Despite his short stature, he still manages to look intimidating and he’s only standing there. Now that he can get a good look at his face, Eren can confirm his earlier impression that his dentist is quite easy on the eyes, even if he’s perpetually angry-looking. But it’s a sort of angry look that’s also attractive, if that makes any sense. “Will you sit down on your own, or do I have to tell you to again?” Dr. Ackerman asks as he closes the door behind them. Eren responds to this by sauntering across the floor with his teeth clenched together and taking a seat. Dr. Ackerman says nothing to that, circling around to lower the back of the chair. As Eren settles in, he focuses his eyes on the ceiling and tries to think of unsexy things, such as the agony he’s about to endure. After having spent all his time worrying about erections, he’d nearly forgotten to worry about the actual procedure. There’s a tray to his left that houses a variety of instruments, along with an attachment on which there’s a couple of tools Eren doesn’t recognize, and one that he unfortunately does – a drill. Dr. Ackerman apparently notices the startled way he eyes the drill, because he appears by his side with arms folded over his chest. “Okay, you’re being more than a bit nervous,” he points out, not bothering to tiptoe around the subject. “Do you have a dental phobia?” Eren raises his head up in protest. “It’s not a phobia. I just don’t like dentists,” he says, but then backpedals. “No offense, I’m sure you’re a decent person and everything-“ Dr. Ackerman cuts him off with a wave of his hand. “We get that a lot,” he says. “None taken. Would you like additional sedatives?” “No, it’s fine.” He wants to say something like ‘be gentle with me’, but stops himself at the last minute. “Let’s just get this over with.” Dr. Ackerman gives a nod, falling silent as he prepares for the procedure, taking out the needed instruments. Meanwhile Eren attempts to calm down his breathing and think of nice things. But not too nice, he reminds the downstairs department that’s been pleasantly quiet so far. He keeps his eyes open and stares at the ceiling, and when Dr. Ackerman’s face appears above him, Eren even manages to open his mouth without being prompted. There’s a tiny pinch as Dr. Ackerman injects the local anesthesia, but Eren figures that it’s nothing compared to how the drill will feel. He can hear the faint throb of his own pulse in his ears as he tries his best to relax into the chair, hands balling into fists. Pain and discomfort definitely do not get him going, at least not in this context. He closes his eyes and the sounds of Dr. Ackerman moving around blends in with the hum of the air conditioning. Now and then there’s a clinking of instruments to be heard, and when Eren suddenly feels cold steel against his cheek, he nearly jumps. Due to the anesthesia, he can’t feel what Dr. Ackerman is doing to his tooth, but if the scraping sounds are anything to go by, it’s not something he’d like to feel. When the incessant scraping stops at last he breathes out a sigh of relief. Or at least he would, if his mouth wasn’t propped open by some kind of a suctioning thing that’s producing a loud hum as it nestles against the inside of his cheek when he tries to swallow. “Please keep your mouth open,” Dr. Ackerman calls out from somewhere above him, his voice sounding bored. He must do this every day, Eren thinks, so that means he must know what he’s doing. There’s no need to be concerned. He’s concerned anyway, tensing up as he waits for what’s to come. “Still doing alright?” Dr. Ackerman questions. He’s resting his hand on Eren’s shoulder like before, this time only a light touch aiming to command his attention. “I’ve been better,” he replies, and forces his muscles to relax. “Just go on, it’ll be fine.” The small contact helps end his train of thought that’s quickly heading to bad places, and he takes another moment to remind himself that Dr. Ackerman is a licensed professional, not someone who just likes to poke at people’s teeth for fun. Eren cracks his eyes open when he feels Dr. Ackerman reaching over him. He takes the drill from its stand and examines the head, testing it by tapping it against his palm. Apparently unsatisfied, he takes out the small burr and puts in a larger one. It makes a shrill noise as Dr. Ackerman switches it on briefly, soon turning it off. He nudges aside the suction and pulls Eren’s lip down in order to get a good view of the cavity, and then brings the drill closer. In the next few seconds, there are many things that occur simultaneously. Dr. Ackerman turns the drill on, and when Eren registers the sound that is now much closer to his vulnerable mouth along with the faint vibration against his cheek, he bolts up. There’s a stinging at his lower lip, but what’s more concerning is the fact that he’s slammed his head against the halogen lamp and flung his protective glasses off, blinding himself in the process. He hears muffled cussing, but he can’t figure out which direction it’s coming from. Seeing nothing but bright light, he flails his arms out and tries to grab on to something to steady himself. This only results in him tumbling down over the lowered armrest and falling flat on his ass on the office floor with one hand clasped on his head and the other over his mouth. It feels wet, and there’s a strange taste spreading over his tongue, which he soon recognizes as blood. He’s bleeding. “Fuck me, that’s gonna be another malpractice charge,” he hears Dr. Ackerman’s voice mutter. “Are you alright? Come on, let’s get you up. Tilt your head back.” His hand is firm at the back of Eren’s neck as he urges him to tilt his head backwards. Eren raises his hand to rub at his bleeding lower lip, only to have it snatched away. “Don’t touch it, you’ll only make it worse,” Dr. Ackerman fusses. “Now up.” He helps Eren stand, but instead of directing him towards the dentist’s chair, he guides him to a small stool by the desk, for which Eren is secretly grateful. “This is the most humiliating thing that has ever happened to me,” Eren groans. He can barely any feel any pain due to the anesthesia, but the sight of his hands tarnished by his own blood makes him queasy, and it’s a good thing that Dr. Ackerman is still holding his head up with one hand while reaching for tissues with the other because Eren is sure he’d slump right back down to the floor otherwise. “Shit happens.” Dr. Ackerman says. He wipes off the blood from Eren’s lip while Eren himself is busy trying to remember which way is up and which way is down. “What happened?” he asks, head still spinning. “You freaked out and cut yourself on the drill and then sort of flopped down,” Dr. Ackerman summarizes the events for him. “Though if I’d known you’d practically assault me while doing so, I would have definitely given you more sedatives.” When he’s finally able to refocus his gaze, he sees that there’s a small red splotch on the side of Dr. Ackerman’s face and realizes that it’s beginning to bruise. Eren must have accidentally hit him in his haste to escape from the drill. “Oh crap, I’m so sorry, Dr. Ackerman,” Eren exclaims with his eyes blown wide. This is twenty times worse than getting a boner. “Don’t call me a doctor, that’s weird. Reminds me of my mom,” he says in response as he produces a small bottle of antiseptic from his chest pocket. Eren wonders if he happens to carry one around all the time. “It’s Levi.” “Uh, Levi, then,” Eren stammers. Now that he realizes what’s happened, he’s mortified. “I didn’t mean to hit you, I swear, I had no idea what I was doing.” “Clearly,” Levi retorts with a serious glance. His face doesn’t show many emotions, but Eren thinks he can see an inkling of concern in the way his brows are knit together. “Stop moving your mouth so much, you’re making the bleeding worse.” That probably translates to ‘stop talking’, but Eren still tries to form words while keeping his jaw in place, his speech slightly slurred. “The drill was just really loud and I think I panicked.” Levi dabs at his lip with a tissue soaked in antiseptic and Eren flinches at the burn. “Is it bad?” “Just a scratch. Might have punctured some minor capillary since it’s still bleeding, but it only looks bad,” Levi says. He holds a fresh tissue against Eren’s lower lip. “Press on it and keep your head tilted back.” As Eren reaches up to hold the tissue against his bleeding lip, his fingers briefly brush against Levi’s, and even though the contact only lasts for a tenth of a second at most, it still helps Eren to steady himself. He applies pressure to the cut as Levi goes to leaf through Eren’s patient file that’s open on the desk. Blowing out a long breath, Eren leans his head on the wall behind him. It’s solid and safe against his back as he confesses, “Maybe I do have a phobia after all.” “Ah, guess that’s why Dr. Smith was going to do you. Well,” he flips the page to check his details, “Eren, looks like we have a little problem in our hands.” There are a dozen different jokes – most about his boner that luckily seems to be dormant for now – that could be inserted here, but Eren opts to just give a defeated shake of his head. “Tell me about it,” he says. “My childhood dentist was horrible and smelled of fish all the time, so I guess I was a bit traumatized by him.” Levi’s mouth curves upwards in what could almost be called a smile, and Eren thinks that he looks so much nicer when he’s not frowning. “I see.” That’s all he says, but the amused glint remains in his eyes as he fills a disposable plastic cup with water and hands it to Eren. “Drink. To get the taste of blood out of your mouth.” Eren is sure it’s not intentional on Levi’s part, but his hand lingers on Eren’s again as he passes him the cup. He’s removed his gloves and mask at some point, Eren notices now, but soon turns his attention to the drink offered to him. The water is cool and calming as he swallows it down, flushing out the metallic tang that’s stuck to the back of his throat. One of Levi’s ungloved hands is cupping his chin and gently turning his head to the side as he inspects the area of his jaw Eren injured while he was flailing around. “I can’t work on you now,” he sighs, and instead of fish, Eren smells peppermint and something that faintly resembles bleach in his exhale and thinks, that’s a bit odd. “There’s too much swelling at this part, not to mention that you still look like a deer in the headlights that’s shat its pants. Chill out, kid. You’re okay now.” The reassurance is accompanied with a friendly clap on the shoulder. While Eren’s certainly curious about the mechanics of deer wearing pants, he decides not to ask. “Sorry,” he mumbles as he glances downwards. Levi yanks his head right back up. “Head up,” he reminds Eren. “And stop apologizing. I don’t really mind, it was just a light smack. You’ll have to come in for a third appointment, and more patients mean more money.” “Right. Third appointment,” Eren says, and after Levi once again reminds him to keep his head up and press at the wound in a stern tone of voice, he moves to the computer, opening up one of the documents. “Shall I book you with Dr. Smith? He has some available times next week,” he says as he clicks a few keys on the keyboard. It only takes Eren a split second to make up his mind as he swipes his tongue across the cavity. The anesthesia is slowly wearing off and the familiar ache is starting to set in. “No, that’s okay, I’d rather get this over with as soon as possible,” he answers. “You’re just fine.” In more ways than one, he mentally adds, because Levi’s once again looking at him with one corner of his lips quirked up in a lopsided smirk, and Eren gets the sudden urge to say more things that’ll make him smile. “You’d be the one of the first people to think that,” he drawls before turning back towards the screen. Eren watches as Levi’s slender fingers click away at the keyboard and as odd as it may sounds, he longs to feel those fingers on his skin again. “We will have a discussion first.” “Okay,” Eren agrees, though he’s not sure what Levi means. “And you will let me know if you need a break,” he goes on, turning halfway towards Eren. “By some other means than punching me, preferably.” “No, I mean, of course. Sorry, I won’t punch you,” Eren promises with an enthusiastic nod. “I didn’t mean to do that.” “I know. Stop apologizing,” Levi scoffs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he glances back at the screen, and Eren nearly apologizes again for apologizing so much but closes his mouth just in time. “Is Friday afternoon alright?” “Yeah,” Eren says. He thinks the bleeding has subsided by now, but he still keeps the tissue close to his face as he stands, grabbing the edge of the desk. “Friday’s good.” Once he’s hobbled out of the office with his bloody lip, getting a few curious glances from the other patients in the waiting room, and seated in his car, he at last drops the tissue and eyes his lip in the rear-view mirror. There’s a small cut there, and he wonders how such a tiny wound can cause so much trouble. Though the tissue is covered in specks of red, he tucks it in his pocket instead of throwing it out for some reason, surprised that it still holds a weak scent of peppermint.

SEVEN Sokka’s head felt heavy. His world was spinning out in front of him. He looked down at his plastic cup, Zuko had banned him from glass after he dropped two already, and sighed. Zuko was sprawled across their floor, eyes covered by his arm. Sokka felt dizzy. He wasn’t happy about it. He only agreed to this so he could keep talking to Zuko, but now Zuko was stuck in his own little world, glaring up at the ceiling, his lips pursed in a hard line. Sokka’s second, overdramatic sigh seemed to catch his attention though, as he turned his head to face him. Zuko’s hair was falling over his glassy, distant eyes, his cheeks tinged pink from the alcohol, lips red and wet. Sokka couldn’t help but think how damn pretty he looked.             “Was my dad,” Zuko blurted out, his words slurring off of his tongue. Sokka frowned at him, confused.             “What?”             “My scar,” Zuko clarified, letting his eyes flutter shut. “My dad burnt me.” Sokka suddenly felt like vomiting. His stomach dropped to his feet and his heart started aching. He couldn’t help his mouth dropping or the feeble, “oh,” that followed. Sokka didn’t feel like he always got along with his own father, but he knew Hakoda would never, ever hurt him like that. He wouldn’t hurt him full stop. Sokka’s mind was whirring. He couldn’t even think of what to say back. All he was thinking was that Zuko’s scar, no matter how angry, was old. How old would he have been? Sokka’s heart grew to his throat and he choked on his own breath.             “U—Uh, that’s…” He started, but he didn’t know what to say. He studied Zuko’s face for some type of guidance as to what was even appropriate to reply with, but he was blank. He had reopened his eyes, and was no longer looking at Sokka on the couch, but somewhere near him, ever more distant than before. He looked tired, and pained, both mentally and physically. Sokka could tell that Zuko’s banged up nose wasn’t appreciating the alcohol or his heavy breathing or his lying back on the floor. But all Sokka could really focus on was the growing blankness in Zuko’s eyes. He’d never seen Zuko drunk, but Sokka decided right then and there that he never wanted to see it again. At least when he was smoking weed, he looked happy about it. But drunk Zuko was something else. He almost scared Sokka.             “You don’ have to say anything,” Zuko slurred, pushing himself up so he was sitting, head flopping around uncontrollably. “I don’ need pity.” That alone made Sokka want to say something. Zuko had given him the impression multiple times that day alone that he didn’t want Sokka’s help, or pity, or anything. He wanted to go it alone, and Sokka almost admired him for that, but he knew it was self-destructive.             “I—Zuko, what happened?” Sokka mumbled, straining his fuzzy vision to focus on his roommate. “How?” Zuko swallowed hard, his hand coming up to pinch the skin between his eyebrows. He looked like he was having his own trouble keeping the world from spinning out from underneath him. He sighed and pushed himself to his feet, sauntering over to the couch. He squished in beside Sokka and pulled the blanket up to his chin. He looked so small, and damaged, and hurt, and Sokka just wanted to wrap him up in bubble wrap to protect him from the world.             “I was thirteen.” Sokka choked on his breath. Thirteen. Sokka could never dream of that type of pain being inflicted on him when he was just thirteen. He suddenly felt like he didn’t have a drop of alcohol left in his system. “I spoke out against my father. He was being cruel.” Zuko stopped and sighed again, closing his eyes softly. This hurt him to say, Sokka knew that; it was obvious. He was skittish over his words, shaky and quiet. He wasn’t meeting Sokka’s eye, his hands fumbling over the edge of the blanket.             “Th—That obviously was the wrong choice. He… he um, grabbed me by my shirt collar and dragged me over to the stove.” Zuko choked out the last words. Sokka felt sick again. He knew what was coming. “I—He uh, he pushed my face on the burner. Held me there until he could hear my tears sizzling on the hot top.” Sokka gagged. Okay, maybe was going to throw up. But Zuko wasn’t done.             “I could feel my skin being eaten away. My throat hurt ‘cause I was screaming so much. A—Azula came in, I thought she was going to help me. Or something. But she just smirked. She just watched.” That pushed Sokka over the edge. He felt tears start to fall past his eyes, cascading down his flushed cheeks. How dare she. “I can remember everything about that day. Even what I was wearing. When it gets really hot, I can feel my face burning up all over again.” Zuko continued rambling, staring ever blankly at the wall in front of him. Sokka wasn’t listening anymore. His head was throbbing and spinning, and he felt like his stomach was being stomped on time and time again, an acidic burn making its way up his throat. Sokka only noticed that Zuko had stopped talking when he was tapped gently on the shoulder.             “What?” He mumbled, lifting his head to meet Zuko’s gaze. His roommate offered him a weak smile, painfully weak. Like it almost wasn’t there. Like it almost hurt him.             “I said sorry,” Zuko repeated, almost in a whisper. “I—I just kept talking, and you were—are, you’re obviously uncomfortable.”             “What, Zuko, no! Don’t apologize for this, what the hell?” Sokka fumed, his hand coming down to rest on what he could see of Zuko’s thigh. His roommate tensed under his touch, so he quickly pulled his hand back. “Sorry… I jus’ keep forgetting. But seriously. Please don’t apologize for this.” Zuko nodded feebly and looked down at his hands again. Sokka noticed his fingers shaking slightly.             “A—And I’m sorry for what happened.” Zuko opened his mouth to protest, but Sokka wasn’t done. “I know. You don’t want to hear it. But you are. This is a horrible thing that’s happened to you Zuko. But you’re a strong person, you know you are. You don’t have to put up with this type of abuse. From anyone.” That pushed Zuko over the edge. He choked out a sob that Sokka didn’t even know he was holding in. Zuko’s hands flew up to cover his eyes as tears pushed past them. Sokka didn’t know what to do. But he didn’t have much time to think about it because Zuko had stood up and was stumbling his way towards the front door. Not again, Sokka thought, he was going to go to Jet. Sokka bolted up and slammed the door shut, just as Zuko had opened it. But a sharp, strong blow to his chest had him reeling back, clutching at his sides. Sokka could feel Zuko staring at him, quest to get the hell out of there long forgotten. What he could see of Zuko was his trembling hands, shaking beneath the hoodie sleeves so violently, Sokka thought they were going to fall off. He looked back up to Zuko’s face, feeling tears cascading across his own cheeks and his chest burned at the contact.             “F—Fuck I’m—Sokka… I’m so sorry,” Zuko rushed out, bending down to loop an arm around him, but Sokka flinched back, hard, his back knocking against the tv cabinet. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to do that… I—”             “Save it,” Sokka spat, pushing past him and limping to his room. He slammed the door shut behind him, trying to ignore Zuko’s frantic knocking. His chest was aching, and he was struggling to breathe, the air knocked out of him. He could hear Zuko’s muffled apologies through the door, it set his jaw on edge.             “Fuck off Zuko!” He shouted, his balled fist coming in contact with the hard door. Sharp pain electrocuted through his wrist and he scrunched his face up. Bad idea. But it seemed to work. Zuko stopped knocking, stopped apologizing, and once again their apartment returned to its eerie silence. Sokka groaned loudly as he looked down at his pink knuckles, small drops of blood pooling at the surface of the cracked skin. Great. Sokka stumbled over to his bed, trying to push past his dizziness. He flopped down and pulled out his phone, heart beating even faster as he saw Suki’s contact name sprawled across the screen. Sokka was tossing up whether he should reply when he heard the front door opening and closing, softly, like Zuko was trying to be subtle this time. Sokka honestly couldn’t find it in himself to give a shit whether Zuko was going to see Jet at this current moment. Sokka was angry at him. Angrier than Zuko had ever made him. And he was even more pissed off when he felt a pang of jealousy in his chest. He huffed and decided that yeah, he was going to see what Suki wanted.                         From / the best person in the world <<<<333333                         can I see you tomorrow? I want to talk. He bit his lip, mulling it over in his head.                         To / the best person in the world <<<<333333                         yeah. ill be over at 10. .    .    .    . When Sokka woke, his head was pounding. His phone was ringing next to him. He swallowed, in a feeble attempt to wet his dry throat as he leant over to see who it was who woke him. A flash of anger went off in his chest as he saw Zuko’s name. He immediately denied the call and sighed when his name was replaced by the time. 9:20. He should probably get up. As he rose from his bed and stretched his arms over his head, Sokka couldn’t help but wince. His hand. He brought it in front of his face and sighed softly. It was bruised. His knuckles were split. And for the love of God, it ached. Sokka considered his options and settled that he could just ask Suki when he was there, much preferring her knowledge over a doctor’s visit. Besides, she was a martial artist, she knew lots about broken appendages.   Sokka sauntered towards his shower. He felt dirty, in more ways than one. Physically, yes, he was a bit gross, that’s what he got for drinking. But Sokka also couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d done something horrifically wrong, but, for the life of him, he couldn’t think of anything. He turned on the shower. He knew the way he acted towards Zuko the night before was wrong. It was obvious, with hindsight of course, that Zuko hadn’t meant to hurt him. He was drunk, and upset, pushed past his breaking point, and Sokka had startled him. Sokka knew Zuko shouldn’t have done it, obviously, but he could also understand that he didn’t mean it. He freaked out. He probably thought he was Jet or something. When the temperature was agreeable, Sokka stripped off and climbed in. The water was hot, just the way he liked it, and he sighed upon feeling his tense muscles relaxing. The water stung the cuts on his knuckles, but he didn’t mind, he’d had worse. But even as he relaxed physically, Sokka couldn’t shake his anxiety bubbling in his stomach. Everything seemed to be going wrong. His relationship with Suki was all over the place, entirely to his doing, and he had only just gotten Zuko to open up; he was finally talking and laughing and joking with Sokka until he went and fucked that up as well. Sokka sighed, feeling his eyes start to sting with hot tears. Hit after hit after hit. He couldn’t do anything right. He wanted to go home. He missed Katara, and Aang, and his dad, even his dad’s friend Bato. His chest hurt and he could no longer hold back as a few feeble tears made their way down his cheeks, drowned out by the shower. His hands started to shake and the only things that were running through Sokka’s mind were weak… failure… He’d been at university for two weeks. Only two. And he’d managed to fuck up every relationship he’s had so far. He hadn’t even called his dad, which he’d promised repeatedly to do. Everything was spiralling out of control in his life and all he could do was watch it. The water suddenly felt boiling on his skin. Everything he touched felt sharp and made of malice. His chest had tightened, and his breathing picked up in pace, becoming sloppier by the second. He knew what was happening, and if he didn’t calm himself down, he’d fly into a full-blown panic attack. That was the absolute last thing that Sokka needed right now. So, he shut off the water and stumbled out of the shower, clutching the edge of the sink, his right hand searing with pain. And for the first time since he’d been there, Sokka looked up at himself. He almost couldn’t recognise the person staring back at him. He looked tired, exhausted. He didn’t know whether to attribute the heavy, dark circles under his eyes to his hangover, or the crushing amount of stress and anguish he’d been feeling recently. His eyes were rimmed red, a tell-tale sign of how much he’d been crying recently. His once warm, brown skin reduced to looking like ash, dry and pulled taut over his cheeks. He looked like shit, in short. He felt like shit. In a weak attempt to soothe his anxiety, he splashed icy cold water over his face, sighing at the small amount of relief it gave him. It wasn’t enough to calm him down entirely, but it definitely brought the edge off. Sokka focused on breathing, shutting his eyes so he didn’t have to look at himself anymore. He was tired, so goddamn tired. And now he could hear his phone ringing again, and he just felt like screaming. He knew it would be Zuko. Part of him knew why he was calling. But he ignored it. He just needed a fucking break. Sokka, finally feeling mellow enough to go about his day, made his way to his room. He chucked on an old t-shirt, lulling himself to ignore the cold that was an ever-creeping reminder that winter was on its way. Jeans and a hoodie followed, then Sokka grabbed his keys and phone. 9:45. Just enough time for the short walk to Suki’s. .    .    .    . When he knocked on Suki’s door, he was met by a familiar pair of beautiful green eyes. He couldn’t help but smile cautiously down at her. Much to his surprise, she returned it, but instead of caution, she looked concerned.             “You look like shit,” she mumbled, hand reaching out to push the hood off of his face. He puffed out a laugh.             “You don’t,” he replied sheepishly, confidence in himself growing a fraction as she blushed.             “Come in?” She encouraged, taking his hand gently, easing him inside her warm flat. Toph was, thankfully, nowhere to be seen. Suki led him to her couch, a much more reasonable size than his own and patted the cushion beside her. Sokka smiled graciously and sat down beside her, still gripping nervously to her hand. He couldn’t understand why, for whatever reason, he felt like he’d never seen Suki before, like they’d never hung out, like he was feeling her touch for the first time all over again. He could feel his anxiety picking up again, but this time Suki seemed to notice, dragging her thumb across his unbusted knuckles softly. That reminded him.             “U—Uhm, before we… or you talk, I just… I need your advice,” he mumbled. She nodded, smiling sweetly at him. He thrust his right hand towards her. “Is it broken?” Her eyes went wide as she surveyed his hand. Sokka didn’t know why, but he suddenly felt guilty. Her mouth hung open softly as she ran her fingers across his cracked skin, her touch like a feather. Her brows were furrowed.             “Can you open your hand?” She asked quietly, flipping it over in her own. Sokka nodded and stretched his fingers open, cringing at how tense they felt, trying his hardest not to show how badly it ached. But Suki noticed. She always did. “It looks pretty broken, Sokka. How’d you manage this?” He sighed and hung his head. “I… I punched my door?” It came out more like a question, but Suki seemed to understand.             “Right… Well, um… I guess I should explain why I invited you here,” she began. Sokka felt a pit growing in his stomach. She was definitely going to break up with him.             “I guess so.” He braced himself for the worst, closing his eyes. But her hand was suddenly on his cheek, and that threw him way off balance.             “I’m sorry.” That made him snap his eyes open, looking at her in bewilderment. “I’m sorry for what I said to you. It was harsh, and I know that you wouldn’t have meant to do anything with… what’s his name again? Whatever, besides the point. I love you Sokka, and I didn’t mean what I said. I forgive you for what you did, and what you said, and I hope that you’re not too hung up on what I said to you.” Sokka was stunned. This was absolutely not what he was expecting out of this. But he couldn’t be happier. He only nodded. Pathetic, he knew. But he couldn’t find anything to say and all he wanted to do was give Suki the biggest hug he could muster. So he did. She relaxed into his arms, wrapping her own around his neck, drawing him in tighter. He let out a shaky breath, hand coming up to stroke her smooth brown hair. She was so soft and warm in his arms and for a moment he wondered why the hell he would ever get caught up in someone like Zuko, when he had pretty much the most perfect person ever. She pulled away and caressed his cheek. Sokka leaned into her touch and let his eyes flutter shut, letting out a long, happy sigh. And then her lips were on his and god did he miss that feeling. They were soft and warm, and she tasted like mint and vanilla, and it was so sweet and comforting, Sokka was beginning to forget about everything else in this world. He loved Suki. More than anything. She was perfect. And on his way home, he was so caught up in his trance, caught up in the lingering feeling of her lips on his own. He strolled back up to his dorm, so relaxed and happy and overall just really goddamn content. And when he opened the door, all of his happiness was sucked away as he came face to face with Zuko pinned against his bedroom door, Jet’s forearm pushing against his neck.

  Finally, a new set of clothes. Having run away from home, and then having her getaway vehicle crash landed, didn't exactly leave Weiss with too many outfit options. Being an ex-heiress also did not give her any spare lien to buy new ones either. So a change of clothes right now is a justified change of pace. Her previous outfit was something she threw on straight from her dresser in Atlas. That means it wasn't something she chose but rather what was chosen for her as a Schnee. Well she isn't a Schnee heiress anymore and ever since, she's been making her own choices. It shows in her new look. Less like a Schnee and more like Winter, she's taken practicality and strutted it as elegance. Dressed to fight the chill of Atlas, a dark royal blue shrug covers her shoulders and what's left of her arms are protected by her dark blue opera gloves. She won't be singing because these gloves are meant for fighting. Team Combat Skirts is still going strong as she makes a comeback with a long white tulle skirt that splits in the front. But the skirt isn't what gives her that extra flair, rather what's over it. She wears a light blue, high-waisted article that fans out behind her like a general's coat. But there's more than just blue and white going on in her ensemble. She's particularly fond of the red accents she's added. Her father had an outspoken distaste for any color that isn't white or blue and it showed in her previous attire. Good riddance. She quite likes the color red and she wants the rest of Remnant to know. It's strange. It's only an outfit change and yet this feels like the start of something different. It's different but familiar. She looks in the mirror and sees more than just how the colors have returned to her clothes. She sees herself stand firm and sees the resolve behind her gaze. She sees just how far she's come and how far she's still willing to go. When she looks in the mirror, she finally sees herself again. The door slides open when she has just finished her preparations and is in the middle of tidying up. An unexpected but welcome guest announces their presence with cheer. "Hey, Weiss! Are you done already because we—" When Ruby's question doesn't finish, Weiss finds that odd. And curious. So she turns around to investigate. She doesn't see what has her partner standing there slack jawed but she does see something that has her distractedly mirroring the action. She has known for a fact that all of them were getting new outfits and serving new looks. She just didn't expect Ruby's to be… well, to look this good. It's similar to the essence of her past outfits and yet there are still a few noticeable changes in between. Very Ruby. There's her classic waist cincher and the long sleeves, the puffiness probably discarded perhaps for practical reasons. Another returning iconic look is her cloak. It may be new but she's always worn a signature red cloak. Always. It's her symbol just as much as her rose crest. Truly partners, she's keeping her half of the title Team Combat Skirts with a dark red skirt, much shorter than usual, but that's what the shorts are for. She is wearing gloves now too, albeit they're fingerless compared to Weiss' own. She could tell that Ruby didn't want to sacrifice her grip for that extra warmth. After everything she's been through, perhaps Ruby needed the change of clothes the most. When she had first seen Ruby after the Fall of Beacon, she was dressed just like any huntress still fighting after would have. She looked worse for wear— in more ways than one. Her clothes were worn out from battles and travels. And even her beloved cloak had been neglected and tattered. Beaten up. Beaten but not defeated. She's still surviving, still fighting. Much like her spirit, she's come out with renewed strength and determination. This new look of hers is a testament to that. And as Weiss tries to commit to memory every new detail about her partner, Ruby takes a head start and runs off at the mouth. "Woah… You look… woah." Ruby says it so softly and with so much awe that Weiss wonders if she was even supposed to hear it. It's not the most eloquent of praises but it falls on Weiss' ears as if it is the highest of compliments. Ruby has never been the most well versed to begin with but to leave her at a loss for words? Even Weiss doesn't know what to say. She has to say something. She wants to say something in return. "You clean yourself up nicely as well." She pauses. No, that's not what she wanted to say. It's not enough. She tries again. "I did not expect you to have a commendable sense of style." No, that's not it either. Another try. "That is a flattering ensemble you have on you." And again. "You are the picture of pulchritude." The last one just makes her groan inside. She doesn't know what to say so she ends up saying too much. And the succeeding embarrassment is a bit too much as well so she just shuts her mouth before she further incriminates herself. She would have run away if she had the chance but her partner is unintentionally blocking the only exit. So here she is, stuck with wallowing in her own foolishness. The gods have truly abandoned them. Ruby on the other hand seems oblivious to her partner's internal crisis. She tilts her head and gives her this confused look. Weiss being an expert on all Ruby languages, translates this as a question. A simple question that deserves a simple answer because sometimes simple is more. Weiss finally settles with a shy, if not slightly embarrassed, smile. "You look... charming." A pause. Then the pause stretches in between, long enough until something finally sinks in. "Oh." Ruby exhales softly. Red creeps along pale cheeks where red tipped hair touches. She steps closer. Within an arm's reach close. Close enough to see her still flushed face but now with a full blown grin. "I think you look pretty cool too!" Weiss may look pretty cool according to Ruby, but she feels pretty warm for reasons also related to Ruby. Possessed by such warmth, she reaches out to brush one of Ruby's bangs. Like an affectionate dog, Ruby leans slightly into the touch, beaming. And like anyone who's been attacked with a dog's affection, Weiss eagerly reciprocates. "Well this is new," She comments as she plays with one of the spikier ends of her partner's hair. "Do you like it?" Ruby practically bounces with pride. "Uncle Qrow helped me with it! Well, more like he saved me from the gel monster. Did you know that gel is just soft goop that turns hard? So you gotta be quick when you use it. But not too quick because I tried with my semblance and the gel monster is stronger than I expected. One day I'll defeat it though, semblance and all!" Weiss just shakes her head. Sometimes she wonders if Ruby's semblance also slips in whenever she gets excited. Because the more excited Ruby is, the more words she says, and the faster she says them. "He had a hand in this? That explains the sloppy work," She teases. "Hey! The gel is not sloppy, it's goopy!" Ruby protests, the jest sailing smoothly over her head. "That's not what I was referring to." Weiss pats her cheek and laughs when Ruby pouts, slightly lost. With her hand still on Ruby's cheek, she feels a smile beneath her thumb as soon as her laughter spills. Then she feels another smile tug on her own lips too. "Oh, yeah! I saw Winter on the way here." Ruby suddenly recalls. "Did you two get to talk?" "As a matter of fact, we did." Weiss nods and with a bit of reluctance, she finally pulls her hand away. "In fact, she's the one who helped me with my braid." She's just a bit surprised. After all, it wasn't planned to have Winter do her hair. But then again, this isn't the first time that her sister picked up the hairbrush for her. She remembers a childhood so long ago when this happened more often. Just like how those times slowly faded, she doesn't expect Winter to always do this for her. However, she can't help but hope for every once in a while now that they're both working together. Wishful thinking. "You let someone else do your hair?" Ruby interrupts her musings with a curious question. Before Weiss could even answer that, Ruby follows up with another. "Can I help you do yours next time?" She asks in what sounds like her usual enthusiasm. But when Weiss' gaze returns on her, she sees her cheeks are redder than usual. And with shining puppy dog eyes, she pleads, "Please?" Suddenly, Weiss finds herself flustered. "You… But why? You just… If—" She stammers. Her partner leans in closer which only scrambles her thoughts further. But she withstands it. She refuses to reveal just how flummoxed she truly is. If Ruby knew just how much power those silver eyes had over her, Weiss would know no rest. She takes a deep breath. "Only if you learn how to do it properly... I suppose," She proposes, pointedly ignoring the heat in her own face. There's some sort of power behind Ruby's smile too as Weiss feels much too satisfied seeing it blossom unabashed. Ruby tackles her into a hug and gushes, "Yay! Oh, thank you! Thank you! I won't let you down, Weiss! I'll make sure to practice lots! With you, obviously!" Sudden but not unexpected, Weiss easily returns the hug just as always. She feels her partner nuzzle in return. The spiky hair feels different, more ticklish on skin despite the layers she has on. If anyone walks in and asks why she's giggling, she'll blame it on the hair. When Ruby pulls away, she lingers close. Her gaze never leaves Weiss with such clear focus that has Weiss holding her breath. Ruby's hand reaches up, just skimming her cheeks, fingertips barely brushing her ear. "Huh, were these always red?" She asks curiously as she rolls an earring between her fingertips. "Not until recently," Weiss answers with a shaky breath. She can almost feel the tiny ministrations and how great of an effect they have on her. Ruby had called her earrings red, which the same could be said about Weiss' face. "You're a bit redder than usual, huh?" Her partner innocently points out. Caught in the act, Weiss panics and stammers, "Well that is— I-I suppose... You see!" She blushes harder with every incoherent mess she blurts out. "You've got red on your gloves too! And on your coat thingie! And look!" Ruby squeals and her hand moves to touch something atop of Weiss' head. "Even the gem on your tiara is red!" Oh... Oh. Oh, she meant red like that. Well then this isn't as embarrassing as she thought— "And your face is pretty red too!" Weiss wants nothing more than to bury all the incriminating evidence, and maybe herself too in the process. "Noooo, don't hide!" Ruby whines when Weiss covers her face with her hands. But Weiss refuses to listen to her partner's protests. She will bury her face here and hope that no one will ever see her shame. Except Ruby is persistent. She feels gentle hands hold hers and pull. It's not even that strong of a pull, letting Weiss stop her if she wanted to. But she doesn't. Instead, she allows Ruby to pull her hands away and to reveal herself once again. She doesn't know what kind of face she's wearing but she does see the one on Ruby— full of patience and adoration. "Hi." Ruby chirps, as if just seeing her face fills her with such joy. "Hello." Weiss replies, not knowing what else to say. Between the two of them, Ruby clearly knows what she wants to say. And she says it so unabashedly, "See, isn't that better? I like your pretty face! Red looks good on you!" And just like that, Weiss wants to bury herself, this time for good. But she knows her partner won't let her and so she resigns herself to this accursed fate. Since she's already dug her grave, might as well lie in it. "Ruby." "Yes?" "No, I meant rubies." She emphasizes and hopes that her partner will catch on. "Uhhh, there's only one of me, Weiss." Her partner does not catch on. Weiss shakes her head. "They're not just any red. They're rubies." She tucks her side bangs behind her ears which only emphasizes the gemstone of her earrings. Ruby stops. The facts finally slot into place in her head. Her jaw drops in understanding. There's this long pause where Weiss wonders how her partner will react. And out of all the hypothetical scenarios she's thought of, she certainly did not expect what actually follows. Ruby bursts out laughing. "Look at me, I'm Weiss! I'm really pretty! And pretty awesome at kicking butts!" She does a poor imitation of Weiss but she does so with annoying confidence. "My best partner is Ruby! I also have a bunch of other rubies!" She doesn't know which is more embarrassing; Ruby's horrible impersonation of her or the compliments peppered in between. "Don't be such a dolt." Weiss admonishes with a scowl that doesn't match her rubified face. "Dolt be such a don't." Ruby counters with more snickering. "That doesn't even make sense." "Nope! But it's cute right?" Ruby teases with a smile that's too mischievous for her own good. It's that kind of scheming smile that tells Weiss she won't enjoy what Ruby says next as much as her partner would. "Just like how cute it is that you've got this whole rubies thing going for you!" Weiss takes this as her cue to leave, literally. Since the floor didn't open up and swallow her then she has to take matters into her own hands. She decides to die an honorable death or in this case, she'd rather take her chances freezing outside rather than take on this ongoing embarrassment. She's only taken a few steps when she feels both of her partner's hands pull on one of hers. "Aww, where are you going?" Ruby tugs her partner to a stop. She only lets go when she deciphers that Weiss isn't going anywhere now. But Weiss is now also looking at anywhere but at Ruby. "Come on, Weiiiiiss." She deliberately moves her face in front of her. But Weiss just turns the other cheek with a small huff. "You gotta admit that it's pretty cute! The rubies thing!" Ruby moves again so her partner has to look at her. But Weiss keeps looking away. "If you miss me that much, you could have just said so!" Finally, Weiss makes eye contact. "Not everything's about you, dolt." That would have been more convincing if only Weiss didn't just give Ruby her full attention. "Of course it isn't. Everything isn't just about one person all the time. That's dumb." Ruby happily agrees. "Because sometimes it's about other people. Sometimes it's about me but also sometimes it's about you! Oh, and sometimes it's about us too!" It's hard to argue against something said with so much sincerity. Weiss is sure that Ruby didn't mean anything deep by it but that doesn't stop her from feeling it too deeply. And as Weiss stands still to let those words sink in, her partner starts to become restless. "Hmm..." Ruby starts inspecting herself, looking for something. She stretches her arms and looks at them. Next she raises a leg and looks at that too. Then the other. She checks the cloak on her back. She then checks the other side of her cloak. "Oh… Oh, no." She gives herself another onceover, still not finding whatever it is she's looking for. "No, no, no, no…" She starts muttering in increasing horror as she tugs on her clothes more often and more frantic. "What's wrong?" Weiss asks, concern comes to her as sudden as her partner's panic. There's this impenetrable silence that lasts unbearably long until Ruby final breaks it with such a heartbreaking declaration. "I don't have any weiss stuff." Ruby looks every bit heartbroken, but Weiss? Weiss just looks confused. "...I beg your pardon?" Meanwhile Ruby is still too wrapped up in her own dilemma as she rambles on. "Wait, is weiss even a thing?" She pauses and immediately backtracks with gestures as wild as her slip of the tongue. "Um, not to objectify you or anything! I meant weiss as in the small 'w' weiss not the capital 'W' Weiss because that's just you. Not that 'just you' is bad, it's just I need a different kind of weiss… WAIT, NO! That's not what I meant either! Ugh!" Weiss doesn't even know how to reply to that. So she doesn't. And Ruby takes this as her cue to continue. "It's just… you know. With you and the whole rubies thing, I was thinking maybe we could have a matching thing going… maybe? Yeah, so that means I should have weiss stuff too..." Her face scrunches up. "Weisss stuff? Weisses stuff? Is there a plural for that?" Weiss doesn't know how Ruby ended up with this line of thought or even where to begin. But she thinks she understands. Not everything is about one person all the time. Sometimes it could be about two. Sometimes it's about them too. And of course this is how her partner interprets this. This is how she chooses to fixate on this. This is such a ridiculously roundabout way of putting words into action. That it simply makes Weiss laugh. "Why are you laughing? This is serious!" Ruby pouts which only adds to her partner's amusement, unlike the still distressed Ruby. "I don't have any weiss, Weiss!" That's what has her partner bothered? Well she can easily offer a simple solution. The ruby in one of her long gloves glisten as light bends on its surface when her arm stretches. The gem's shine catches Ruby's attention but not before Weiss catches her hand first. Their eyes don't connect at first, perhaps they don't need to. Not when they're already connected through holding hands. Weiss clears her throat and braves herself to make eye contact when she declares, "You have me." She waits and watches as the silver in Ruby's eyes start to shine as well. They sparkle with joy and warmth that no gemstone could ever reflect. Her partner takes one look at their joined hands and then returns her brilliant gaze at Weiss. Their joined hands soon intertwine their fingers. Ruby happily beams at her partner and echoes the sentiment, "I have you!" Red on white. White on red. Red and white together. There's something reassuring in the way that they try to keep each other's colors on their person. But more than the colors that they wear, they already have something better. They already have each other.

“I don’t think you can do it.”   “Why?”   “Because she’s way out of your league.”   Penelope scoffs. “True. But that’s never stopped me before.”    Alyssa gives her a weary look before shrugging, now amused. “Alright, whatever. Have fun embarrassing yourself.”   Penelope just gives her a smile before walking across the lawn of the college campus and over to the two girls they had been, not so subtly, eyeing for a while now. Alyssa follows closely behind, seeming a bit too giddy to see what is expected to be an epic failure.   Penelope puts on her sweetest grin when she’s spotted by the girls, giving them a small wave. “Hey.”   The girls look back at her, confused. One of them rolls their eyes and crosses their arms, while the other deigns to give her a reply. “Um, hi?”   Penelope beams at the girl and her hands clasp in front of her, slightly nervous. “I just wanted to come over and say that I think you’re really pretty.”    “Oh.” The girl blushes and her head tilts down a bit. “Thank you, I guess.”   “Of course.” Penelope nods graciously, then reaches one hand to scratch the back of her own neck. “Would it be alright if I asked for your number?”   “Oh, um.” The girls brows furrow and she draws back slightly. “I’m not sure how my girlfriend would feel about that…”   The other girl, who had been standing quietly, snickers at that. Penelope also hears Alyssa failing to hold in a laugh behind her.    Penelope just shrugs and smiles, not really discouraged by the information. “I’m sure she won’t mind.”   Alyssa lets out a small yelp and suddenly steps forward in between them, moving an arm over Penelope’s chest to nudge her backwards. “I am so sorry about my friend. She seems to have no boundaries whatsoever.”   The girl just smiles politely. “That’s alright.” Her gaze moves past Alyssa’s shoulder and at Penelope. “She is kind of cute though.”   Penelope grins back and Alyssa turns her head towards her, giving a look of disapproval.    “You really think so?” Penelope lifts a brow in suggestion. “Could I perhaps just have one kiss then?”   Alyssa’s eyes are shooting machetes at her but Penelope mostly ignores it, much rather preferring to stare at the pretty girl.    The girl drops her shoulders in defeat and her eyes roll playfully, giving off a ‘why not’. “Okay, fine, but only one.”   Alyssa’s head snaps back to the girl. “What?”   Penelope nods excitedly, quickly pushes Alyssa’s arm down, and steps towards the girl. She places a hand gently on the back of her neck and pulls her in for a deep kiss, smiling when it’s almost immediately reciprocated.    Alyssa yanks her shoulder back a second later, not the slightest bit happy. “Okay, what the fuck, Park, that’s way too far. We said we wouldn’t go for anyone in a relationship.”    “Oh shit, my bad.” Penelope turns to Alyssa and uses her free hand to point at the girl she’s still holding onto. “But she’s so cute.”   The girl beams at the compliment and Alyssa looks like she’s 3 seconds away from losing it. “How does that make it okay? You basically just-”   “Relax, they’re basically married.” The other girl finally decides to speak up.    Penelope turns to her. “Lizzie.” She frowns. “Must you ruin our fun?”   Josie just laughs, reaching over to grab Penelope’s free hand, intertwining their fingers.   Alyssa looks between the three of them, bewildered. Then, she stops at Penelope. “What the fuck? You had a girlfriend this whole time?”   “Perhaps.” Penelope smiles cheekily.    “But we’ve-” Alyssa cuts herself off, looks at Josie cautiously. “We’ve been… you know…”    “But we’ve been having a contest to see who can get the most numbers on campus?” Penelope finishes for her and Alyssa’s eyes widen in alarm.   Josie pulls away from Penelope’s hold, inhaling sharply, and her hand covers her chest in shock. “What?” she whispers.   “Oh my god, I am so sorry,” Alyssa holds her hands up in some attempt to placate Josie. “If I had known, I never would have agreed to it.”   “She’s just playing you, she knows all about it.” Penelope laughs and rolls her eyes a little.    Alyssa drops her concerned face once again and groans. “You two deserve each other.” Then, she turns to Josie. “And you’re okay with this?”   Josie shrugs. “She’s gonna have to try harder if she wants to get rid of me. Plus, I heard the winner gets free drinks for a month, and I’m really looking forward to capitalising on that.”   Penelope wraps an arm around Josie and pulls her close again. “Trust me, I’ve tried making her jealous before - it does not work. She’d be more disappointed if I lost.”    “Well, when you’re texting me sappy notes every day and bugging me every chance you get, it’s kind of hard to believe you’d even have time for anyone else,” Josie reasons.    “Shh.” Penelope covers Josie’s mouth and turns to Alyssa, who seems extremely entertained by the information. “None of that is true; she is a pathological liar. I think we’re late for our next class.”   Penelope lets go of her girlfriend and starts dragging Alyssa away, hearing a dwindling yell from behind them.    “I’m Josie, by the way. You must be-”   //   “Alyssa!”    Penelope catches her as she’s leaving the building, about to tackle the thunderstorm outside.  Alyssa turns around at the sound, puts down her umbrella, and gives her a smile. “Oh hey, I was just leaving for the day, did you need something?”   She sees a figure outside in the rain, heading towards the building, and she thinks maybe she should call security, but she turns back to Alyssa instead.    “Yeah, I’m glad I caught you. I wanted to ask if you finished the updated business case study?”   “Of the company your ex-wife works for?” Alyssa chuckles, “Yeah, it’s on the server.”   A month ago, when Josie had told her that she got a job at the company that had been trying to tear her down since Day 1, Penelope may have been slightly hurt.    But with the way she looked, happy about where she was spending her time away from family and friends for once - something Penelope had missed out on when Josie was in Europe - there was no way she would ever do anything to jeopardise that.    “Right, that one.” Penelope grimaces. “Makes it that much harder to strategise against them.”   “Damn, you’ve still got it bad for her.”   “Josie?”   “Yes? Who else?”   “No, I mean, Josie… she’s outside.” Penelope gives a small wave to the figure approaching the building entrance, clumsily closing up their umbrella, clothes damp from the wind and rain.    “Penelope, you’re still here.” Josie seems relieved; her hair disheveled, breath heavy as if she was in a rush.    “Hey, is everything alright?” Penelope shifts towards her on instinct, their eyes inherently fixated on each other.   “Yeah, I just-” Josie suddenly notices who the other person is, her jaw clenches and the grip on her umbrella tightens. “Oh, Alyssa. Hi.”   “Hey Josie.” Alyssa gives her a short nod and a polite smile. “How are you?”   Josie returns a somewhat tight smile, moves closer to Penelope, and reaches for her hand, just the slightest bit possessive. “I’m great, never been better.”   Alyssa takes a quick glance at their joined hands, a hint of amusement on her face. “Looks like it.”   It only makes Josie move closer into Penelope’s side. “Were you two about to go somewhere?” Josie looks between them.    “No,” Penelope immediately confirms, “I was just asking about work.” Alyssa hums in agreement and there’s a brief moment of silence.    Penelope can practically feel the antsy energy radiating from Josie, so she squeezes her hand and gives Alyssa an unsubtle look.    Alyssa seems to receive the message loud and clear, looking more than keen to follow through.    “Would you look at the time,” she says without looking at the time, “I’ve got to be anywhere else but here - talk with you on Monday, Park, and nice seeing you again Josie.”   “Right, you too.” Josie says, her eyes following Alyssa’s retreating figure. As soon as she’s out the door, Josie turns to Penelope. “Can we talk?”   Josie’s already dragging Penelope towards the elevators before she can agree, but Penelope nods anyway. “Yeah, of course.”   The doors open as soon as Josie presses the button and she lets go of Penelope’s hand as she quietly walks in first. She presses Penelope’s floor and they stand side-by-side in the middle, the doors closing in front of them.    After a few levels of silence, Penelope turns to her, speaks softly, “I’m sorry. Alyssa and I-”    “It’s okay.” Josie says, her voice calm, still looking straight ahead.    Penelope shakes her head. “Not really.”   “It’s not real.”   “That doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to feel something about it.”    Josie finally looks at her, clear reflections of pain in her eyes. She shrugs, defenceless, and takes Penelope’s hand again as the elevator doors open, gently tugging her towards her office - the motion sensor lights following along.    Once they reach her office, Josie drops Penelope’s hand, then her umbrella to the side, and immediately goes for one of the lower cupboards behind Penelope’s desk.    Penelope takes a seat on the couch to the side and quietly watches as Josie pulls out a blanket that she hadn’t even remembered was in there, but it immediately reminds her of the last time they were in this office together.   Josie takes off her coat and makes an attempt to dry her damp hair. Then, she wraps the blanket around herself and joins Penelope on the couch.    “Where’s Less?” Penelope asks, starting the conversation light.   “She’s with Lizzie. I told her she could move back in if she helped watch her for a while.”   Penelope chuckles softly. “You know it’s her house, right?”   Josie nods, but doesn’t find the humour in it, her head seeming to be elsewhere.    “Penelope.” Josie begins, and Penelope’s heart rate spikes. Her mind immediately conjures up the million ways in which that sentence could end. And damn, she really is a half-empty kind of person. “I got fired.”   Or perhaps more so just plain empty, not having thought of that one. “What?”   “From my job.”   “I got that. But why?”   Josie shakes her head. “That doesn’t matter, but-”   “What do you mean? Of course it matters. I thought you loved it there.”   “I did, I just…” Josie trails off, there’s an unusual look in her expression - something so familiar yet she just can’t place it.    “You don’t seem like you care…” Penelope furrows her brows.    Josie suddenly pulls back a bit. “I do. But it’s just a job, Penelope.”   Penelope nods. “A job you worked so hard for. A job that made you happy.”   “It’s not a big deal, there will be other opportunities.” Josie looks at her as if she was baffled by Penelope’s reaction, and it’s just too confusing.    Penelope shakes her head. “I don’t understand. You used to dream about having something like this… but, you’re not sad? You’re not even fighting back?”   Josie scoffs. “You’re asking me why I’m not fighting for something?”   It’s hypocritical, Penelope knows it. “I just- I want you to look after yourself.”    Josie shakes her head, places her hands on her knees, and pushes herself up off the couch. “You know what, I’m not sure why I came. I should go.”   “Wait, Josie.” Penelope stands up and reaches for her hand. “Please don’t, I’m sorry, I just thought-”   “That’s the problem, Penelope.” Josie pulls her hand back. “It feels like you keep deciding how I’m supposed to feel.”   And Penelope doesn’t know how to respond to that because honestly, it’s painfully true. So she speaks quietly, “I just want what’s best for you.”   Josie nods. “I know, but you have to let me make my own choices.”   It’s obvious they’ve thoroughly moved on and are no longer talking about a job anymore.   “Josie.” Penelope whispers, willing her voice not to shake. “You were risking your life. You could’ve-”    Just the thought alone was devastating, nonetheless speaking it out loud.   “Don’t you think I feel the same way?” Josie’s pained expression mirrors her own. “That I could have lost you?”   “I- There was less of a chance.” Penelope knows it’s just excuses, knows exactly how Josie feels.   “Was there, though? You still had complications, you still could have died.” Her voice cracks at the last part.    It’s a hard pill to swallow - confronted by the fact that she hadn’t really prevented any hurt, she had simply just transferred it from herself to Josie.    Penelope nods. “You’re right. I couldn’t stand the thought of you ever being physically hurt, so I hurt you emotionally instead; I hurt myself instead. Because…” Penelope shrugs. “You’d still be alive. And that was all that mattered to me at the time.”   She quickly continues. “It’s not an excuse for what I did, I know.” Penelope nods. “I was dishonest, I was selfish. But I can’t lie, I’d do it again - in a heartbeat.” She lets out a defeated sigh when Josie doesn’t respond after a moment. “It’s okay if you don’t understand, I hardly understand it myself. But if it’s something you can’t accept… then maybe we-”   Penelope’s interrupted by a choked sob. “But that’s the worst part… I do understand. I understand exactly why you did it. But the lying, the pretence… you should have just talked to me.”    “That I regret. I never should have lied.” Penelope sighs, remorseful, and truthfully, tired. “But, Josie, you knew I was willing to do it. And you knew that the doctors would never have let me without your approval… And I promised you, for as long as I live, that I would never sit back and watch your world burn down. But, I’m so sorry that it came out like this… and you’re right, whether or not you still want me, I can’t lie anymore.”   Josie remains silent, staring back and forth between Penelope’s eyes. Her brows furrow as she unwraps herself from the blanket and holds it out to Penelope.    Penelope takes it, their hands separated merely by a fabricated cover, and Josie just gives her a single nod.    What it means, Penelope is forever unsure.    But before she has the time to ask, the door is closed and Josie’s gone.   //   Once again the rain comes down, ending off the week of much the same weather, and Penelope, drenched, finds herself at Lizzie’s doorstep.   It’s been a week of overthinking, of holding back, of rain and quiet nights at home. There’s something bubbling inside of her and she just needs to talk to someone, needs to say something even though she’s currently unsure what exactly that is.   Between finding out that Josie had lost her job and not being able to comfort her as she deals with her feelings about their relationship, she once again feels so helpless.    After a moment, the door opens and the sense déjà vu is overtly apparent on Lizzie’s face as well.    “What is the deal with everyone showing up at my house all wet…” she mumbles. “Aren’t you picking up Less tomorrow? It’s late, she’s asleep.”   Penelope nods. “Yeah, I know. I just wanted to talk to Josie.”    Lizzie sighs. “She’s not mad - I think… But she does want some space, and I am not risking having to move back in with you again by letting you in.”    Penelope nods again - fair enough, really - and turns to leave as Lizzie slowly begins closing the door. But she quickly turns back towards the closing door.    And the manic feeling releases itself against her will. “Remember that baby bird?”    "Oh no, not this again." Lizzie sighs and opens the door once again, leaning against it with her arms crossed.    “I- I'd never seen anyone care so much…” Penelope shrugs, the rain rolling off the small shelter of Lizzie’s door and hitting her back.  “My father didn't bat an eye when our dog died. And my mother didn't bat an eye when my father died…  “I didn't understand how someone could cry over something they didn't even know. She just saw a bird and wanted to help. “And I remember… I remember wishing I could care like that.”   Lizzie watches her quietly, lets Penelope release whatever it was that was going on at the moment.    “And then I understood. She taught me. To care. To love, unconditionally. "And then you were sick.”    Penelope wipes her face, though it’s pointless; the tears immediately lost to the rain.   “And I had no idea how to help you. I had no idea how to help her. "I had never experienced this kind of devotion, this unreserved love, until I met her.  “But then it made sense. I had to do it. What else could I do? “I couldn’t bear for her to lose you… And, even if it meant I had to let her go, I couldn't bear for the world to lose her.”   Lizzie nods - knows that Penelope’s not looking for a response.   “And god, I am trying so hard to stay out of it, to give her space. But it doesn’t make sense and I just want so badly to help her. I just want her to be happy, and that job was making her so happy.  “And I know it’s just a job, I know. But, it’s the one thing she ever complained about when we were together - how miserable her work life was. Everything else, she could deal with.  “So… how could someone not want that for her?”    Lizzie steps forwards and wraps her arms around her, silently takes the rain.    Penelope shakes her head. “She deserves so much better.”   Lizzie nods and a moment later they hear a door close from upstairs.   They both look towards the top of the stairs and then back to each other. “I’ll check on her. Talk with me later, alright?”   Penelope nods, turns back into the rain as the door shuts. She goes back into her car and drives away, mind equally racing. If her eyes see a faint shadow on the second floor window, she just chalks it up to the delirium of the entire night.   But she knows exactly what she’s doing when she dials a number she has on her phone strictly for business purposes - the owner of a company she so despises.    She sighs as she hears the other line pick up.    “I want to make you a deal.”

Since the day Crowley had arrived. The image of him at his doorway had slowly seared its way within Aziraphale’s mind, it was impossible not to remember when Crowley had been dressed in a fine tailored black suit which hugged his figure splendidly.  The whole suit had been sharp and angular just like the figure who wore it, adorned in a rather expensive material, embroidered with small golden… had there been snakes around the cuffs? The man's features had been partially hidden by dark impenetrable glasses that rested upon his face, sadly meaning Aziraphale hadn't been able to see his eyes. But luckily, the view that day had been certainly enough.  With shocking red hair dancing around his face, short cropped but coiffed into a handsome look and styled in a specific way that allowed stray hairs to deviate, it was a rather fetching look in Aziraphale’s opinion. Aziraphale had found his breath stuttering, watching in awe as the man loomed above him. He had waited for the figure to walk away, to state he was at the wrong place and disappear. But to his shock he had watched in a trance as the man casually struck up a chat, entering the shop and beginning to seamlessly flirt with him. From that night onward, Crowley had truly kept his word, appearing everyday at exactly six oclock. Just as Aziraphale would be closing up, the two sharp knocks on the door would signal his arrival, Aziraphale giddy with happiness every single time Crowley came in.  However, the more frequently he saw Crowley… the more worried he became.  Aziraphale couldn’t help being attracted to the man. He was his polar opposite in every way, as well as being utterly perfect. What scared him was the feelings brewing deep down. Feelings he’d buried away for countless years, those in which he’d refused to experience. Feelings that were slowly becoming stronger the more he saw Crowley… But as the weeks progressed, Aziraphale slowly began to relax, finally accepting the fact Crowley wasn't there for any profit and that he wouldn't disappear any second. He must like you. A voice would chide Aziraphale within his head. You might be rather inexperienced but he’s clearly been making moves since day one. Kissing your hand in welcoming, comforting you, caring for you and the longing glances must not be forgotten… That was the problem though. Aziraphale couldn’t discern whether Crowley had any… more than friendly thoughts regarding Aziraphale or if he was simply content with the current state of affairs. When the night settled… many weeks after their first meeting. Aziraphale sat warily on his armchair, the fire burning cozily in front of him, as he tried to calm the ever growing nerves and excitement within his chest, waiting for Crowley to arrive.  Ever since Crowley had been visiting, Aziraphale had made the decision to close the store 10 minutes earlier. It was of course a purely friendly decision, only so Aziraphale could think up conversations, and prepare the wine they would have. It was absolutely NOT for Aziraphale to indulge in some rather enjoyable thoughts. Thinking about the man’s kindness, his care regarding Aziraphale, the way he would lounge across the sofa with limbs thrown temptingly towards Aziraphale. A wine-stained mouth shining in the light of the fire…  That was the problem. The man was extremely tempting in every way. Not just with his looks, (which were exceedingly handsome) but also concerning the gentle way he regarded Aziraphale, the calm and relaxed conversation they’d engage in for hours, the way he trusted Aziraphale… truly trusted him. As well as the kindness he’d shown by continuously visiting every day. Allowing Aziraphale something to look forward too… something to work for.  With Aziraphale’s inexperienced lack of relationships (a standing count of exactly none) he found himself feeling a very unusual sensation within, something that was building slowly over time whenever he spent more time with Crowley, filling Aziraphale with surprisingly growing thoughts… not related to friendship . This was what resulted in the plan of tonight’s meeting… tonight Aziraphale wanted to see if there truly was anything going on between them.  Aziraphale’s goal was to see if Crowley cared for anything deeper than a friendship. Aziraphale was thoroughly content to live the rest of his days with Crowley by his side as his friend. He just wanted to completely close the possibility of him being anything more as soon as possible. Shut that road down so he can be rid of the unbearably growing feelings, and convince himself to push away what he couldn't have. It was torture not knowing if Crowley’s gentle advancements were in a romantic way or not. He might not even be attracted to someone like Aziraphale. There was also the trouble with the arranged marriage that Crowley had brought up a while back. He would get the night over with… he would enjoy it nonetheless, wanting to savour every moment with his new found companion… Even if he was deeply in love with him.  ______ As Crowley rushed through the streets, he couldn’t contain his excitement for the task ahead, as well as his impatience whilst he waited to arrive. Adrenaline flooded through his veins as he hurried through the twisting streets towards his destination. He was firmly holding a bundle of objects within his arms carefully,  protecting them like they were his lifeline… after all, they were gifts for Aziraphale.  He had thoroughly worked out the plan before hand. Thinking up every loophole, every possible problem. And couldn’t help but feel proud of turning such a horrific situation into a positive one.  ______ Earlier that day, Crowley had been drifting through comforting thoughts revolving round visiting a certain angel.  Whilst seated round the breakfast table, he was abruptly snapped out of his reverie when an obnoxious voice addressed him in the booming hall.   “It gets to a point where we have to take matters into our own hands Crowley.” Gabriel spoke smugly across the table. Watching as Crowley glared back skeptically at his step-brother. The dining room was intimidating on a normal day: Big imposing golden walls, servants catering on every corner, every conversation being listened to and monitored. They only part Crowley really liked was the sparse lush greenery dotted around, just a tiny comfort for him to relax. Yet the current area he was most concerned with currently... was the uncomfortably long golden table that was sat in the centre, currently home to few figures. Crowley's heart thundered as his brain tried to catch up. It was almost impossible to keep secrets within the castle walls, and he’d known that certain plans were in place… yet he hadn’t been aware these plans revolved around him.   He straightened himself as he wore a look of indifference, after all the years and the aid of his shaded sunglasses, he’d practically mastered his poker face. “Get on w’th it” he grumbled, trying to look bored as he ate. “We've decided who you are to marry next year.” Gabriel replied amused as he watched Crowly practically spit out his food. The whole table growing quiet to hear the conversation. “W-what?!” Crowley spluttered in reply, thoroughly humiliated by the audacity of it whilst trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his heart. “You think you've found a...suitable… a- acquaintance” Crowley stumbles over his words, all calm facades vanishing.  It wasn’t often that the urge to cry overcame him. But now he could feel the deep sobs attempting to escape his chest whilst all his thoughts drifted to one place.  Aziraphale. The only man he wanted… the one person he could never truly have. Gabriels grin began to fade as spoke snippily “If we had my way. Yes. But sadly due to an overalled vote” He glared pointedly at the other occupants around the table. “We have decided upon a special occasion to help hasten or at least assist the process. Crowley froze in place as he waited fretfully for the verdict. What would they make him do? Could there possibly be anyone out there for him? Out of all the questions clouding his thoughts...Crowley knew the answer to the last one for certain. There was someone for him… a man sitting in a cozy bookshop, carefully turning delicate pages with manicured hands, golden curls glowing in the firelight. “We’re hosting a ball Anthony, and from those attending you must choose who you will engage in marriage. You may only pick from those attending.”  Crowley felt his heart plummet… maybe it was time to accept his duty. To step up no matter how miserable it makes him. After all, he could remain friends with Aziraphale, perhaps he wouldn’t mind- “Can I bring a companion?” Crowley heard himself blurt out. Hoping his tone didn’t sound too hopeful, attempting to keep his face deadpan. “For… m-moral support?” The others around the table glanced at one another sceptically, before resting eyes on Gabriel and their queen, Crowley’s aunt. She leaned over and whispered something quietly into his ear, Gabriel frowning deeper at whatever words she spoke.  Please, please, please. Crowley repeated over and over in his head. Just this one thing, I’ve never asked for anything else. Just give me this chance to be with the one I love… even if it’s a small chance. “The Queen deems it acceptable for you to have an accomplice… even if it’s for moral support.” Gabriel ended snarkily, glaring daggers across Crowley… who was attempting very hard not to jump for joy at the news.  Swiftly he excused himself so he could rush to his quarters, immediately ordering the servants to gather together a couple of special items. Before dropping into his bed, head swimming with possibilities. Would he outright ask Aziraphale? Or could he express his true feelings, gently easing Aziraphale into the idea of royalty. Maybe for once in his life he could do something right… as long as he could be beside Aziraphale making him happy- He flopped onto his four poster bed, staring up at the deep black canopy as he resolutely made his mind up. Crowley was going to make this work. One way or another. He scooped up the suit and straightened his shirt as he slipped out the door… he wanted to see Aziraphale… and he wanted to see him now. ______ Three swift knocks echoed on the old wooden door. Aziraphale raised slowly from where he had been sitting in his cozy armchair with a sigh, trying and failing for the last couple of hours to read. Unable to concentrate with the swirl of thoughts involving a certain redhead.  He let out a hush of frustration towards the still closed door… it was more than three hours until Crowley was due to arrive, meaning this interruption was some sort of insufferable customer. He dashed towards the front of the bookshop, swinging the door open with a small pull. Greeted by a familiar figure with a sly grin on his face. However, what was not so ordinary was the bundle of items within his arms, and the time at which he had arrived.  “Oh Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed as he hugged him tightly, Crowley letting out a small sound of surprise in return…before his usual smug smile appeared. “Someone’s happy to see me?” Crowley laughed as Aziraphale playfully swatted him on the shoulder in joking annoyance. “And what do I owe the pleasure my dear?” “Well Angel, I was in the area and decided to stop by.” Crowley spoke nervously, his eyes gazing down behind his glasses as he hugged the bundle of items in his arms slightly tighter. To any other person, they wouldn’t be able to pick up an issue. But Aziraphale wasn’t just any other person, he knew Crowley’s every movement, and immediately knew something was wrong, raising an eyebrow in enquiry.  “If you say so my dear...I suppose I should not ask about” He gestured towards the bundle, watching as Crowley blushed deeply spluttering, puzzling Aziraphale even further. “N-no it’s nothing private…” Crowley stuttered as Aziraphale lead him into the bookshops backroom, rifling through a cupboard for a suitable wine to open. “I-It’s actually for you” Crowley virtually whispered, voice soft and nervous as Aziraphale spun around, an adorable expression on his face. “For me?!” Aziraphale spluttered, fondness flowing from his gorgeous features, a grin across his face that could light up the darkest space. “Whatever for my dear boy?”  Crowley’s heart raced at the casual term of endearment, trying to calm himself down as he proceeded. “You might want to get the wine first angel-” He tried to joke, only to get interupted by Aziraphale “Nonsense! Come along-” He grabbed Crowley’s arm, leading him gently to the sofa. Crowley gazed in wonder as Aziraphale sat next to him, ignoring the boundaries he’d slowly constructed in their daily routine, of Aziraphale sitting in the armchair, an arms length away from Crowley. Suddenly sitting next to him as if it was completely normal… Crowley wasn’t complaining. Aziraphale watched him expectantly, waiting for his explanation as he glanced towards the small bundle of objects pointedly. “Have you… heard about the infamous royal ball?” Crowley began slowly, trying to remain neutral. “Oh yes!” Aziraphale exclaimed, eyes going wide as he smiled “I don’t think a living soul hasn’t heard about it since it was announced! I think the motivation is dreadful… that poor prince being forced into marriage. However I believe it will be rather spectacular.” “ How would you… well…” Crowley took a deep breath, before the words all came tumbling out “How would you feel if I asked you to join me... in attendance at the ball?” Crowley tried to say smoothly, although it came out more of a stuttered rush. Aziraphale’s jaw swiftly dropped open, looking at Crowley in awe.  “ You're attending the ball?!” He gasped in shock, before realising what Crowley was asking. “And you want me to accompany you!?”  Crowley couldn’t help but laugh at the shock on Aziraphale’s face. He was so god damn innocent… it did so many delicious things to Crowley.  “You make it sound as if you’re shocked… who else would I invite angel?” Aziraphale looked as if he was trying to emulate a fish… mouth open silently as he attempted to form words, a scarlet blush blessing his cheeks beautifully.  “B-but, I-I didn’t know you were an accomplice of royals? That’s a rather big thing to keep hidden don’t you think” Aziraphale asked sceptically, an adorable small pout appearing on his face. “And why in the everloving earth would you want me too join you?”  Crowley laughed gently, taking Aziraphale’s hand reassuringly “You see Aziraphale… who else would I take. I’m afraid if you aren't already aware I’m rather ... fond of you.” That's ones bloody way to put it, Crowley thought to himself as he continued.   “I don’t think you understand yet Aziraphale… but your perfect in my eyes at least, and I would be honoured to have you by my side.” Crowley finished lightly, happy to see Aziraphale’s fond gaze meet his eyes. However this time ... neither of them broke eye contact.  “I want you to come with me Aziraphale” He said quietly “If you would do me the honours. Everyone at the ball would be envious I was the one standing by your side.”  Aziraphale blushed for all he was worth, an uncontrollable emotion welling up in his throat. As he struggled to rein it in. “I would absolutely love to my dear… but I-I wouldn’t have anything to wear” he stuttered out, embarrassment clear across his face, as Crowley laughed gently, putting his hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder, sending a tingle through the blondes spine, as he memorised the way the hand fit upon his limb, the reassuring, weight of it. “Aziraphale. You could turn up in a trash bag and still be the talk of the town” Crowley winked teasingly, getting a fond huff in return from Aziraphale. “But I’ll make sure we go and get you something… alright? Whatever you want.”  Aziraphale’s face lit up, delight running across his features, gazing at Crowley with a barely tamed look. “Oh Crowley I couldn’t possibly let you, I don’t want to be a burden!” Aziraphale spoke with wide, sad eyes, as if he was waiting for the rejection. “Nonsense! A little bit of indulgence can’t do any harm.” Crowley laughed, before leaning further towards the blond, whispering quietly into the shell of his ear “I want you to look amazing, so people can see you the way I do.” Aziraphale's breathing began to quicken at Crowley’s words meanwhile his blush became impossibly deeper. Gazing up at Crowley, Aziraphale’s eyes lit up as he shuffled slightly closer to Crowley on the sofa, leaning up to place a soft kiss upon Crowley’s cheek.  Aziraphale’s soft, full lips pressed gently but firmly on Crowley’s cheek, lingering for a moment, as if to savour the chaste, tantalising touch. When he pulled away, he slightly puckered his lips, causing a soft suction sound. A sound that echoed in Crowley’s mind for a few minutes. He could feel the wet sheen of where Aziraphale’s lips had been a few seconds ago, still dancing across his skin. He gazed at Aziraphale, before he realised he was staring and darted his gaze away swiftly.  “I think we deserve some alcohol… how about you?” Aziraphale spoke calmly, as if he hadn’t almost given Crowley a heart attack. Crowley tried to grin in agreement at his statement, watching as Aziraphale floated off towards the kitchen. Crowley finally allowing himself to sink into the sofa, relaxing for the first time that night.  They drank thoroughly through the rest of the night, and only spoke of the ball once more after several drinks. As Crowley nervously sat forwards asking “So is it a yes Aziraphale?”  “Well my dear, I thought it was rather obvious” Came the reply from the giggling golden haired man. As the blissful evening continued. Both men were happy together in a way they’d never been before. But neither of them knew their time was far more limited than they thought. 

The tomb is black and stifling and silent, but Wu Xie is not scared. Being scared is for babies, and he’s eight, which is practically grown up, so he’s not scared. His family are tomb robbers and adventurers and very brave; maybe he should have listened and stayed in the camp and maybe things have gone wrong but he is definitely not scared. He just doesn’t like it, is all. He doesn’t like the dark, and he doesn’t like the quiet and he doesn’t like how his fingers are bleeding and sore from trying to dig his way out. Not liking things isn’t being scared. And maybe he only has a little water left, and maybe he’s been hungry for a while now, and maybe he’s worrying a little about how the air is starting to feel wrong on his tongue, stale and faded, but that’s just worry, that isn’t being scared. When uncle finds him, he is not going to be crying. So that is why he is singing, instead, because singing breaks the silence and softens the darkness. He sings songs from the radio, and songs he learned in school, and the theme songs from his favorite cartoons. He sings a lullaby, but that is a mistake, because it reminds him of his mother sitting by his bed at night, and that reminds him of how definitely, completely not scared he is. He doesn’t sing any more lullabies after that. The dark is bad, but the thought of not being able to make the dark go away is even worse, so he’s been only letting himself have the flashlight on for a few minutes at a time – enough to check his watch, or look in his pack, or just chase the shadows away for a moment. This time, when he flicks on the beam and sweeps it around the room, there is a man there, standing near the pile of rubble, but it makes sense that he is there in the tomb with him, like he’s been there all this time. “Do you know this one?” Wu Xie asks him, and begins singing the song about the turtle that went to market. The man – he’s old enough to be one of his uncle’s men, but doesn’t look as tough, skinny and long-haired – listens to him sing the verse, and when he stops at the end he shakes his head. “I don’t know many songs,” he says, but he walks over to where Wu Xie is curled up against the coffin and sits down near him, stiff and awkward in a way adults usually aren’t. “But I can learn.” So Wu Xie teaches him. He turns off the flashlight again to save the battery, but this time when he sings into the darkness there’s another voice to join his. The man has a nice voice, but rusty, like he hasn’t used it much. He picks up the chorus quickly; Wu Xie has to carry the verses alone, all about what the turtle buys from the cat and the fox and the dove, but when it comes time for the turtle to go snap, snap, snap, the man is right there with him. He’s not sure how long they’re there in the darkness together. Long enough that he loses count of how many songs he teaches him, and the man teaches him one, too, though he doesn’t know all the words. Long enough that when he goes to drink some water, he finds that the bottle is empty. Long enough that the air gets stuffier and it’s too hard to breathe to sing anymore. He doesn’t remember dropping the flashlight. It’s getting harder, now, to keep his eyes open. He closes them for a moment, and when he opens them again the flashlight has rolled to the far end of the chamber. He should get up and get it, but his arms and legs are too heavy to move, and his lungs are getting too heavy to move, as well. He thinks he might be getting scared now. Then the man is right there, leaning over him, pressing the flashlight into his hand, and when their fingers meet, it's as though a veil has been torn away. This is a memory, Wu Xie realizes. He remembers this: the cave-in, and the long dark, and the furious fallout after his rescue. This is a memory from his childhood, but that does nothing to explain why he's in it, now, vivid and real. And that does nothing to explain the presence of someone who was never in that memory, someone who should not be here at all. "Huli?" he says in bewilderment, fingers tightening their grasp, and he hears the catch of breath in Huli's chest before the room and Huli and everything dissolves around him.     Wu Xie does not recognize the neighborhood, but that doesn't mean he's never been there; it could be any of a hundred neighborhoods he's been in in his lifetime, bland and forgettable, nice enough not to be a slum, poor enough that he can see the shabbiness that lurks in the corners. It's autumn; the air is cold on his skin despite the sun, and a little way down the street a scrawny maple glows a brilliant scarlet. The house he stands in front of is no bigger or smaller than any of the others, nothing to make it stand out except the plaster lucky cat that is tucked in a corner of the window and the child sitting on the step. Wu Xie isn't very good with ages, but he knows enough to see that he's just barely past being a toddler: a pretty child, still slightly rounded with baby fat, his hair a mop of reddish curls that catch the afternoon sun. It's his eyes that give Wu Xie pause, when he looks up at the sound of footsteps, because he knows those eyes, wide and mournful. Except they aren't mournful now, because the child breaks into a toothy smile as Wu Xie approaches. It's not an expression he has ever seen on that face: bright and open and uncomplicated. "Gege?" says the child - curious, but nothing more. Wu Xie is abruptly aware that he has no idea how to talk to children. He runs a hand through his hair ruefully, then indicates the wide flat step the child is sitting on. "May I?" The child hitches sideways, giving enough room that Wu Xie can sit, too. A stuffed animal is tucked under one arm, and he has something half-hidden in his lap that he is guarding protectively. "Are you here for baba?" he asks. "No," says Wu Xie, bemused and accepting all at once, as he settles himself next to the boy. "I think I'm here for you." The boy's eyes get wider, if that was possible, huge in his face. "For me?" Wu Xie nods. "Mmmhmm. I know... a friend of yours." He takes this in, confusion clouding his face before it is cleared by another smile. "You know Little Black!" It's Wu Xie's turn to be confused. "Little Black?" The stuffed animal is removed from its headlock and held out towards him. "Little Black!" It might have been a bear once, but years of love have rendered its species uncertain, and one eye hangs on by a thread. "I am definitely a friend of Little Black," Wu Xie agrees, which earns him another smile, and the privilege of having the bear-slash-whatever tucked to sit between them. The formalities having been concluded, the child appears to have decided he is someone capable of holding an intelligent conversation, because now he informs him, "I saw a worm yesterday." "Did you?" says Wu Xie, accepting his role as the listener. "Yes! It was this big!" He throws his arms wide, indicating something the size of a small boa constrictor. "It was in the gutter. It couldn't swim." "That's... bad?" Wu Xie hazards, not having many clues to go on. The child nods. "I put it in a boat. Do you think it's in the ocean yet?" Wu Xie, having a fair idea of the estimated lifespan of an earthworm rescued by an enthusiastic child and probably washed down the nearest storm drain, immediately says, "Definitely. It's probably a pirate by now." That earns him a delighted giggle. He's aware of another noise behind the laughter; shouting - no, fighting, raised voices muffled by the walls but coming from the house behind them. A woman's voice rises high and angry and there's a sound of something going over with a crash. A small hand tugs at his sleeve. "Gege, look." He looks down to see the boy unfolding the napkin that is nestled in his lap. Inside, only slightly flattened, is a mooncake, the embossed pastry a rich golden-brown. He holds the treasure up for Wu Xie's inspection, and Wu Xie makes an admiring noise. "That looks delicious." "It's so pretty," breathes the boy, angling it to the light, then looks up at him. "Did you get one?" "Ah... not yet, but I'm sure I'll get one later," says Wu Xie, giving him a reassuring smile. He doesn't know if this is the right answer or the wrong one, because the boy studies his face for a moment, then suddenly picks up the cake and breaks it into two uneven pieces. He holds the bigger piece out to Wu Xie in a slightly grubby hand. "Here!" Wu Xie is frozen by something too close to pain for breathing. He doesn't react quickly enough and the child reaches out as if to put the cake in his hand, but something changes when they touch. The cake tumbles from the boy's fingers to hit the ground, pastry shattering into crumbs. He catches at Wu Xie's hand, and his eyes are no longer open and innocent. "Don't let it end," says Huli desperately, holding on to him like he's drowning, and then it does.     There is blood everywhere. The air reeks of it, snake and human; it paints the wall and gathers and drips from the boards and ropes of the walkway. It is on Wu Xie's hands, on his clothes, in his hair. Monster blood. Lao Yang's blood. Lao Yang is dead. He presses himself back against the stone and can't remember how to breathe. There is a world where Lao Yang is supposed to be - the world where his mother fed them snacks after school, where they snuck cigarettes and learned to smoke them behind the community center, where they vied to date the same girl in college and Wu Xie ended up dating her brother instead - and then there is this world - where Lao Yang just died to save Wu Xie's life, where his blood is dotting Wu Xie's lips. Only one of them can be real. Not this one. Please not this one. He's still deafened by the explosion and doesn't hear the footsteps, but he doesn't jump when suddenly A Ning is standing there, looking down at him. Reacting would mean caring - about himself, about her, about what happens next, about anything and anyone in this cursed tomb - and if he lets himself care the numbness will fade and pain will fill the void. So he just stares at her, unspeaking, and watches the expressions drift across her face like cloud-shadows on grass. Her glance shifts sideways and the corners of her mouth curl down, and for a moment he thinks she is going to say something real, something that comes from the A Ning he knows is there behind her armor, that she is going to say something that could make this better, fix things somehow. But instead hear mouth tightens, and if there is any softness in her words it probably exists only in his own mind. "Come on, we have to go." He doesn't move. "Lao Yang is dead," he says, because there are no other words in him right then. She's already picking up Lao Yang's abandoned pack, swinging it over one shoulder. "Yes, and he bought us time - we need to use it." She doesn't understand. "But he's dead," he tells her again. "He's dead." She closes her eyes briefly, and he thinks it is pity he sees when she reopens them. "Look," she says, crouching down next to him; she doesn't touch him, and he wishes she would, because he is so cold and she has always burned like fire. "You need to learn this. What we do kills people. Not just some of them, but everyone, eventually. Every time you go into a tomb with someone, you have to know that might be the last time you see them." It's not deliberately cruel, but it is not kind. "So you either get the people you care about out of this, or you accept that they're going to die and you stop caring. That's your choice, and you need to go ahead and make it." He thinks he should be understanding this, that she's saying something important, but he can't focus. He's lost people before, some of them horrifically, but this is the first time he has lost a friend. Though, was he a friend there, at the end? Was he even Lao Yang by that point? But still, he had died, and Wu Xie had lived. "He saved me," he says, because it's important that she know this - that everyone know this. He licks his lips, forgetting, and tastes blood through the tear-salt, and thinks he might throw up. She sighs. "Come on," she says, reaching a hand down. Her voice is sharp and matter-of-fact, and there is no comfort in it. "You have to get up. You have to keep moving." It is then, that moment, when the second snake attacks. It happens so quickly he can barely process it, just a sudden thunderous roar, a cry from A Ning, and the impact of a body against his as he is knocked flat and something passes just overhead in a flash of scales. But it is not A Ning who pushed him down, nor A Ning whose body is lying on top of his own; as the blackness draws in the last thing he sees is Huli's shocked face.     The room is a little too cold with the chill of an industrial air conditioner: blank and featureless, a grey cement-block box lit by bars of bare fluorescent bulbs overhead. There are no furnishings, but it is full of people. Four men in working clothes stand against one wall in a line, and in front of them stands a taller man, better dressed and better fed, a folded handkerchief tucked in the pocket of his business suit. Behind him and to the side is a very old woman, and behind her stands a boy with reddish curls. He's older now, but still very much a child. "So this is the one?" says the man in the business suit, looking at the small figure in the woman's shadow. "This is him," she says, and pushes him forward, telling him, "Your master is going to ask these men a question, and you are going to tell him which man is lying." The boy looks at the four men, then at the man in the business suit, then back at the old woman. "Do what you've been taught," she says, and while there's no cruelty in her voice, there's no warmth, either. He nods, hands clenching tightly together in front of him. The men in the line along the wall are all standing with heads ducked down, and they do not look up as the man in the business suit walks in front of them. "So tell me," he says softly, "and I will know if you are lying: have you ever met with an agent of the Huang family?" The response comes as a chorus, swift and loud. "No, boss!" To Wu Xie's eyes there is nothing to tell between then, but the man turns and looks at the boy, and after a moment the boy raises one hand to point at the man on the far end. The man in the business suit looks from the one who has been indicated - an older man, old enough to be a grandparent, just now starting to shiver - to the boy, to the old woman, who closes her eyes and nods. "You've done well," he says to her, and Wu Xie watches the boy light up at the faint reflection of praise that falls to him. Then the man reaches into his jacket, pulls out a something that gleams blackly in the fluorescent lights, and shoots the shivering man point-blank in the face. The child screams, like any child would scream when he sees a man's brains painted across a wall in front of him. Worse than the scream is the way he immediately brings his arm up to hide his mouth, muffling the sound. His wide eyes track the body as it folds at the knees and falls facedown, the back of its head gone. The rest of the adults stand frozen, but Wu Xie is already moving, coming to stand between death and the child, breaking his gaze. "Don't look," he commands urgently. "Look at me instead," and he does, looks up with eyes that are already too old for his face and even as he watches something else dies in their depths. All he want is to take him away from this, take this child away from this, and he thinks he understands how this works now so he reaches out and cups his face between his hands. "Look at me," he repeats fiercely, and the eyes that look back at him now are no longer the eyes of a child. "This is not your fault. You did well. This is not your fault." Huli stares at him, gasping, shuddering and raw, and the scene breaks.     It's cold in the tent, but under the blankets it is warm, a tiny world that belongs just to the two of them. Wu Xie wakes slowly, comfortably, and for a few minutes does not think beyond the naked body that lies along his, skin to skin: the arm draped over his chest, the tangle of legs, the face tucked into the curve of his neck. He lies there and memorizes it, each heartbeat, each breath, as if doing so can make this moment stretch forever. He does not think about the gate that waits at the top of the mountain. When Xiaoge stirs and comes awake, Wu Xie does not immediately move. He feels the touch of lips on the back of his neck before the other man slides out of the sleeping bag - carefully, slowly, tucking the blankets back in around him - but pretends to still be asleep so that he can hold on to this moment just a little longer, before he has to get up and face the cold world, and the arguments that they had been through the day before, and the day before that, and every slow miserable day of their trek. He watches sleepily from under slitted lashes as Xiaoge pulls on his clothes, and his boots, and his coat, and even then he doesn't realize anything is wrong. It is only when Xiaoge reaches for his pack and begins preparing it for travel that Wu Xie finally moves to get up, and that is when he finds that he can't. He can't move, can't talk, can't even blink his eyes, as frozen as the world outside. Abruptly, jarringly, he is awake. Awake, and trapped: not scared, because he knows who must have done this, but furious, because how dare he? Xiaoge had largely stayed out of his fights with Pangzi over the past few days, but had he been conspiring with him this whole time to keep Wu Xie from entering the gates, to haul him back home? But then Xiaoge hefts the pack onto his back, settles it and straps it in place for travel, and he wouldn’t be doing that if he was going to get with Pangzi to coordinate hauling Wu Xie’s paralyzed ass back down the mountain. Suddenly Wu Xie is scared – not scared, terrified - not for himself, but for whatever Xiaoge plans. Because of all the arguments he's had over the past days, this is the one that he has managed not to have, because it was never, ever going to be an option. Don't you dare! he yells at him with lips and lungs that won't obey. Don't you dare! he screams, trying to reach for him with arms that will not move. Xiaoge crouches by his side, both of them still and silent while Wu Xie screams and throws himself at the prison of his body. “Wu Xie,” he says – and Wu Xie has never heard his voice like this; it’s possible that inside Xiaoge is screaming, too. “In ten years,” he pauses, and in that moment of silence he reaches out and cups one hand behind Wu Xie’s head. “If you still remember me in ten years, meet me at the gates.” His touch is gentle, the strength of his hands controlled and soft. Already, the mountain air has sapped the heat from his fingers and they are cold where they are threaded against Wu Xie’s skin. But his lips are warm, so warm, when he bends down and presses them to Wu Xie’s brow. Wu Xie can do nothing but lie there and watch from under his lashes as the man he loves lifts the burden that should be his and carries it away with him. Already, before the falling tent flap cuts off the snow-bright sun, Wu Xie can feel a new weight settling in to take its place, unformed as yet but so, so, heavy. Is this what it is like to be spirit - to watch helpless as life goes on around you and be unable to change anything? He cannot move, but he can feel the tears gather and spill and gather again, chill against his skin in the cold air. Then there is warmth as well as ice, a hand resting against his cheek, one thumb catching the next drop before it can fall. “Don’t cry,” says Huli roughly. His touch is as soft as the shadows that pull them down.     The room is night-dark, lit only by a faint glow coming through the curtains. Even in that dim light, it's very clear that it's a hotel room from the featureless interchangeability of the decor and the luggage piled near the door. There are two narrow beds: one occupied by the sleeping shape of a large man, one rumpled but empty. At first Wu Xie thinks there is no one in the room except the sleeper, but then he sees the silhouette in the window and walks across to look. The boy is a teenager now, but he still takes up very little room where he sits folded into the space between the half-drawn curtains and the window. He's leaning against the glass, his attention focused on the outside view that paints lines of artificial light across his face, white and red and orange. Wu Xie steps up to the parted curtains and looks outside as well. There's no balcony outside the room, although it's on the second floor; instead, it's a straight drop down onto the veranda of the restaurant next door. It's cold - Wu Xie can feel it through the glass, and see the frosty clouds of breath in the air - but that does not seem to deter the little group of people that is milling between several tables below under the light from strings of bulbs that run from pole to pole. To judge by the muffled sounds of laughter and chatter - and by the ridiculous party hats and favors that some of them are wearing - it's a celebration of some kind. Even as Wu Xie watches, one man climbs unsteadily onto a chair and begins waving the bottle in his hand, gathering the others around, and leads them in a ragged but enthusiastic rendition of a birthday song. Wu Xie turns from the outside view to look at the boy's face instead. His head is tilted to rest in the corner where wall meets window, and his breath has made a little patch of condensation on the pane, but he's watching the scene below as if the scattered scraps of light and sound can feed some hunger inside him. He watches as food is brought and shared, as people mock-fight over dishes and drop choice pieces in each other’s bowls, as bottles slowly empty and the hilarity peaks and wanes. He watches as presents are opened, and cake is served, and toasts are drunk. Some party game is played that involves much laughter and fighting over chairs, and he still watches, even as the empty plates are removed and phones come out and the guests begin to drift away one by one. At the end, as one lingering person packs up empty boxes and scraps of wrapping paper and carries them away, Wu Xie realizes that the boy has fallen asleep, cheek still pressed against the glass. When he reaches out to tuck the tangled hair away from his face, the room melts into nothingness like candyfloss.     The phone icon flashes red as the call disconnects. Wu Xie sits there with the phone in his hand as the screen fades and then goes dark. The courtyard steps are cold and hard beneath him, the springtime sun soft and warm above. The cherry tree that overhangs the wall is shedding its blossoms, and the wind blows them to drift like snow against his feet. It must have been a beautiful day to die. He used to be able to feel it, the way each failure ate away at his hope and each death ate away at his soul, but he outran hope years ago - and if anything is left of his soul it can only be found in the Changbai Mountains. The motions have the ease of familiarity now. Into his bedroom to retrieve his grandfather’s knife from the trunk by his bed. Into the bathroom to find ointment, bandages, and lay them on the counter within easy reach. Roll up his sleeves, and the hardest part is finding unmarked skin between the scars, red and recent or white with age. The right arm, he decides; there are more scars there, but they are neater, less messy than the earliest violent slashes. He can’t even remember when this became normal. He keeps the knife whetted sharp, and the flesh parts easily around it. He barely even feels the pain, but then he feels little of anything these days; it has been so long, and he is so, so tired. He cuts the seventeenth line into his skin, and in the half-second before the blood begins to flow he sees where he will make the eighteenth cut, when it comes to that. The blood is mesmerizing, the way it beads, then seeps, the way it runs down to his elbow and drips onto the floor. He watches it gather and fall. He knows he should put down the knife and do something about it, but he’s too weary to care. Instead he slides down the wall to sit, bare toes smearing the little puddle of blood, and watches how the flow changes with the angle and finds a new path along his arm. But now another hand is closing over his on the knife hilt, and someone else’s fingers wrap around his other wrist, slick and messy with blood. He looks into Huli's wide, dark eyes, and finds no judgment there. "I've failed so many people," he tells him, a confession and a warning, just before it ends.     The city glitters on the other side of the river, bright white and blue lights of skyscrapers and office towers cascading down into a pool of traffic lights and neon signs. Even at night, it's a living thing, full of movement, cars and flashing advertisements and boats on the river. A railway bridge to one side cuts a stark black line across the dazzle. Here on this side of the river it is quiet, the industrial buildings dormant until morning, and the loudest thing is the splash of the water rippling against the bank. There's a little inlet by the bridge where a beach has formed, gravel transitioning to sand and browning drifts of water weeds. He sits halfway in the water, arms wrapped around his legs and chin resting on his pulled-up knees. He's sixteen or seventeen now - that awkward age where all the growth goes into height, not breadth - and he's a gangly creature as he sits there, bare-toed, the water lapping around his hips as it ebbs and flows. He's shivering, slow wracking tremors that travel painfully along his body. Wu Xie doesn't even think, just sits beside him in the water and wraps an arm around him to pull him against his chest. He forgets that this will break the scene - but it doesn't. For a moment the landscape trembles, flashing to a mountainside covered with snow and a pair of great bronze gates, but then it shudders and settles down. When it is done the river is still there, but it is hard to tell if what is on the other side is a city or a mountain range through the veil of falling snow. Huli - and it's the Huli Wu Xie knows, now – curls into his touch, unresisting, and shifts to rest his head on Wu Xie's shoulder. Gentle flakes drift down to settle on his hair and spangle his eyelashes. When Wu Xie leans his head on his, the curls tickle against his cheek. "Why are you here?" Huli asks, quiet as the snow. His hands are like ice when Wu Xie finds them, and he cups them against his chest. "I don't know," he says. "But I think it's where I'm supposed to be." They're silent then, sitting together in the darkness, as Huli steals Wu Xie's warmth and returns it to him and has it returned again. It isn't until the sky begins to lighten that Wu Xie realizes that the sun is rising behind them. He lifts his head from Huli's, looks back, and sees Zhang Qiling. He doesn't know how long he has been standing there behind them, silent. His hood is down, and the light behind him gilds his hair and shadows his face. "Xiaoge?" Zhang Quiling smiles at him, warm and sweet, and holds out a hand. "Wu Xie." Wu Xie hesitates. Zhang Qiling is waiting, reaching out to him, and he hesitates, one arm still curled around Huli. He doesn't understand the expression that passes across Zhang Qiling's face then, but after a moment he holds out his other hand and says, "Huli." They help each other rise, stiff with cold and lack of movement, sand on their feet and snow in their hair. Then they turn and walk to where Zhang Qiling stands, and he takes their hands and pulls them into the light.

Chapter 43   Unknown number. Tora swallowed against the thought that there was only one person who’d been tryin’ to contact him from an unknown number. Sure, it wasn’t unheard of for clan members to use burners, but who the fuck else would be trying to call him from one? Not like he was friendly with the others—they fuckin’ knew better than to get too close to the Tiger of Ares Street, than to call him out of the fuckin’ blue, no notice. His brother, though…he looked away from the clouds, holding his hand out, “lemme see.” “Oh, but you’re driving. You shouldn’t…” she trailed off as he took the phone from her fingers, careful not to catch her thumb on the glass. At the sight of her expression, though—pinched as she kept her eyes on the phone, a worried frown pulling at her mouth—he immediately changed his mind about continuing to drive, quickly tugging on the wheel and braking as he pulled off to the side of the road, the tires crunching on the gravel along the edge of the field. Could see flowers growing in the cracks in the pavement ahead, same as the last time he’d been here looking for Goliath, texting Bobby then by the side of the road. He was no closer to understanding what the fuck his brother was up to now than he had been then. Shaking his head to himself, he thumbed at the recent calls—sure enough, two from an unknown number. Tora swallowed, staring down at the time stamp—a couple of seconds for each call. A couple of seconds where whoever had been on the other end of the line heard Bobby’s voice. Bobby’s voice asking for Ronzo. If it was Goliath, he’d know he’d called the right number, that it was indeed Tora’s phone. And if it was Goliath, he also knew that Tora didn’t make it a habit of letting just anyone answer his phone, didn’t make it a habit of spending time with random women, and, though his brother could be a stupid fuck, he was also sharp when it came to reading people. It wouldn’t take him long at all to piece together that whoever had picked up the phone was…was what? Was fuckin’ important to him, that’s what. Shit. Tora brought a hand up to the roof of the car, fingers grazing the soft fabric above his head, frowning when he felt the flat surface, forgetting for a moment that this wasn’t his fuckin’ car. “Are you going to call him back?” Tora inhaled sharply, his eyes refocusing from where he’d zoned out in the air above his phone. She was watching him with wide eyes, a definite question unspoken—he knew he was acting strange all of a sudden. For a moment, he considered telling her. Telling her about the unknown number, the fact that there was no way it’d been Ronzo—he knew it wasn’t fuckin’ Ronzo. The man had just been texting with his normal phone—didn’t make sense that he’d call from a different device. But that’d mean telling her even more about Goliath. She knew now that he had a brother by blood. He thought back to the bridge through the woods behind her Granny’s house when she’d told him about the blue-haired boy with the golden eyes. She hadn’t been specific about when he’d shown up at her Granny’s door—just that it was after her father had died, so sometime in the last five or six years, right? And he hadn’t told her that the fucker asking for her dead dad was Goliath. Would she have pieced that together, though? Shit, maybe he should tell her—better to be fuckin’ honest than to have a half-truth come back to bite him in the ass. But now wasn’t the goddamn time—he needed to figure out what to do about the unknown number. She was still watching him, ducking her head slightly toward him. “Tora?” she asked as he came back to himself. This moment—Bobby, asking him about calling Ronzo. “He said he was in the store now, so he’s waiting to hear back. Signal might be better outside the car…” she trailed off. He’d tell her tonight, he decided. There was the risk of bringing her further into the pile of shit that Goliath had left behind, but her dad was clearly tied up in something related to the clan. What other reason would Goliath have for contacting him? He’d need to ask her more tonight, figure shit out. Fuck. Tora nodded, unbuckling his seatbelt and pushing open the door to the car. “Just be a second,” he murmured to her, not really registering her nod as he placed his feet on the pavement, pulling himself from the driver’s seat gingerly, the stitches at his leg sensitive from getting dressed too quickly just an hour ago. As he thumbed at the screen again, pulling up his contacts, he considered calling the number. If he called back right now, there was a chance that whoever’d been on the other end of the line would pick up—or at least, there was a better chance now than if he waited until later. They’d just been at the phone, after all, and would probably still have it on them. It’d be his fuckin’ head if Vincent ever found out Goliath had made contact, that Tora had known and hadn’t immediately reported it. Tora licked his lips, looking up for a moment at the sky like it might hold the answer to his problem before quickly making another decision. He didn’t like this reactionary shit—much preferred to plan ahead, plan for all possible scenarios, prepare contingencies. But once the fuck again, his brother was leaving him no choice but to react in the moment. The phone only rang twice before Ronzo picked up sounding breathless, “Big Bro, great. Haven’t checked out yet, so if you want to change to a different phone—” Tora quickly cut him off, walking away from the car as he folded his arm against his chest, one hand gripping his elbow as he lowered his head to look at the ground, the gravel loose under his shoes. Could feel every pebble through his soles. “S’not why I called. Listen,” he waited until the man had stopped speaking before going on, murmuring, “just got another call, think it was him again.” “Who?” Tora could hear the sound of people in the background, a man over what sounded like a loudspeaker. Something about a sale on refrigerators. He rolled his eyes. “The fuck d’ya think?” There was a pause as Ronzo seemed to think it over before he heard him gasp. “No shit. Gol—” he cut himself off abruptly, seemingly realizing how fuckin’ stupid it’d be to say his name over the phone in a public place, no less. Tora glanced up at movement in the distance, a black sedan coming toward them. He took a couple steps back toward the trunk of the Lexus, resting the heel of his palm on the taillight behind him, the back of his hand pressing against the grip of the gun through his shirt. Ya paranoid fucker, he thought, but better safe than sorry. “Called twice, same number. Ya said ya couldn’t trace it last time—that still true?” Ronzo took a deep breath on the other side, his exhale crackling through the phone. “Not unless you pick up and talk to him, but…if you do that, then there’s a record that you called him, even if he doesn’t pick up…” he trailed off “Right.” Even with his limited knowledge about the techy Skynet shit, Tora knew that. And with Vincent out for blood, he couldn’t afford a stupid misstep like that. It was bad enough the two calls in the car had connected—only for a couple seconds, but still. I don’t know what your brother did, but I know it must’ve been bad for you to hate him. Tora thought back to the floor of her bedroom for a moment, her words about poison and anger. Knew whatever shit Goliath was mixed up in must be bad for him to be trying to contact him so much. And then there was the package he’d texted about last time, the shed. He needed to get to the bottom of it all—could he really let go of the past? Tora watched as the car approached them, the reflection of the clouds along the hood looked almost like the Narin River at night, turbulent. “Get me a third phone,” he said finally, making up his mind. Whether or not he forgave the fucker was a different matter entirely. Besides, he needed to protect Bobby from whatever shit he was in—if her dad was connected…“Cheap shit. Disposable.” “Big Bro…” Ronzo began. “Just do it.” Tora hung up then, didn’t need to hear how bad an idea it was to try contacting Goliath. He fuckin’ knew that. At the same time, his orders from Vincent had been clear: find the fucker and bring him in. Technically, he was finding him. Tora swallowed against the thought of his boss getting his hands on his brother—fuck, he hated the little shit, but he wouldn’t wish whatever sick fuckin’ shit Vincent would do to him on anyone. Worse than death. He’d rather kill the man himself than hand him over to the head of the Balthuman Clan. He took a steadying breath as he tucked his phone back in his pocket, walking back to the driver’s side of the car and pulling the door back open. He kept his eye on the sedan as he buckled, sparing a glance over at Bobby who had put on an upbeat song while he’d been outside—she was bopping up and down in her seat, the belt across her chest limiting her movements, one of her hands holding Bull secure to her lap so that he wouldn’t tumble to the floor. He turned his eyes back to the mirror, fingers gripping the wheel, arms tensed as his foot hovered over the gas, ready to gun it if he needed to. Not that he’d need to, he told himself. He was just being fuckin’ paranoid. She reached forward, turning the music back down, practically off. “You get ahold of him? What color did you go with?” Tora opened his mouth, unsure of what to say before settling on a half-truth, “gonna be a surprise.” She nodded as the sedan passed them, a man in the front seat who didn’t even look their way as he sped past toward the city. A small huff of relief escaped from Tora’s lips. He’d known he was being paranoid, but shit, he couldn’t help it. He pulled back out onto the road, as Bobby turned to look out the passenger window. Several minutes passed in silence, the blow of the heat warming the inside of the car despite the lack of sun, the sweet scent of her mixing with the faint new car smell that clung to the seats of all the vehicles in Quincey’s collection—most of the time, they ended up using Tora’s car to get around, so the fresh, factory smell never seemed to fade. As he glanced in the rearview mirror again, he caught sight of his own reflection—the braids around his shoulders, pulling his hair back up off his face—watched his face settle into a frown. “You don’t like them, do you?” she asked quietly. Tora looked over at her in surprise, moving his right hand to the center console, palm up in a wordless invitation that she immediately accepted, her fingers warm as her hand slipped into his. Truth was, he hadn’t been thinkin’ about the braids at all really. And he found he didn’t actually mind them. For once, the short wisps of hair around his face weren’t getting caught in his eyes, his lashes, and the front of his head didn’t hurt from the weight of a bun either. “Nah, Bobby, s’just different. Didn’t recognize myself,” he murmured. He looked over at her, his thumb stroking her skin as she considered him. “Hmm,” she hummed, thinking. “Different.” She tilted her head, “like bad?” He shook his head, turning back to face the road, the clouds swirling above them with the wind, moving quickly. “Ya know different doesn’t mean bad.” “So then,” she drew out the words slowly, could see her eyeing him from his peripheral vision, “you’d let me do it again?” “Pfft,” he looked at her for a moment before pulling his eyes back out the windshield, focusing on a pair of taillights stopped along the side of the road—the black sedan pulled up alongside a mile marker for the city. “Sure, Bobby. Anytime,” he murmured, his stomach tightening. “I’m going to hold you to that, you know,” she said before seeming to notice that his attention was elsewhere, following his gaze to the right side of the road as they drew nearer. “Huh,” she said, “didn’t they just pass us? You think they’re okay?” Tora clenched his jaw. Wasn’t sure, but something was telling him not to stop, every instinct telling him this wasn’t a fuckin’ coincidence. What were the chances they’d see a black sedan both coming and going from Moonbright? “Oh, careful,” Poppy gasped, her hand pulling in his before he quickly released her, hadn’t realized his hand had tightened around hers. “Shit, Bob. Ya alright?” When she nodded, he touched his hand to her shoulder hesitantly before pulling away, fuck, maybe he shouldn’t touch her at all right now, he thought as his fingers contracted again, his body tensing for a fight. He brought his hand back to the wheel where he gripped the leather, white-knuckled. He tried to ignore the way that her head turned back and forth between his face and the sedan, her mouth tight-lipped as they passed. Tora held his breath, not daring to turn his head, his stomach seizing as he watched the car in the rearview mirror slowly pull out onto the road behind them. “Fuck,” he muttered, his tongue thick, heart nearly stopping as red and blue lights flashed on from the interior of the sedan behind them. “Motherfuckin’ bitch stick. Son of a fuck.” As he pulled over onto the shoulder, he brought his hand to the gun at his back, leaning forward in the seat to get at it—wasn’t gonna take any chances with Bobby in the car. Keeping his eyes on the rearview mirror as the unmarked cop car pulled up behind them, Tora stashed the weapon under his seat just as he heard Poppy breath, “what the heck?” He whipped his head to look at her—fuck, why was he always fuckin’ doing that? Pulling out his fuckin’ gun in front of her like she’d be used to it. Her brows were pulled down and her body was turned to look out the back windshield between their two seats. Had she not been talkin’ about the gun? “Pop—” “You weren’t doing anything wrong—you were actually driving well,” she said, outrage tinging her voice as her cheeks turned pink with anger. He gasped a laugh, a combination of nerves and surprise at her reaction. Relief, too, before he thought back to the way she’d mouthed off to the Moonbright cops. But they weren’t in fuckin’ Moonbright anymore. An unmarked cop out here on the way back to the city—more than likely a city cop who wouldn’t take her bullshit. “Shit, Bobby,” he said, as he placed both hands on the wheel, glancing at the rearview mirror again—could see the officer, just one guy, doing something behind the wheel, probably getting ready for—shit, Tora didn’t know—whatever the fuck cops did. “D’ya trust me?” he asked, glancing at her and holding her gaze for a moment as she blinked in surprise, nodding her head. “Of course.” “Hope ya’ve noticed, but I don’t make a habit of tellin’ ya what to do,” he murmured, looking back at the sedan, the lights as they cut through the gray stillness of the morning. She thought for a moment before nodding again, “why would you?” “Wouldn’t, that’s the point,” he said, keeping his voice low, biting out the words as he breathed deep, slowing his heartrate, feeling the familiar chill wash over him as his body prepared for the unknown. “Except now. Bobby, if I ever tell ya to do somethin’, need ya to know it’s to keep ya safe, to keep us both safe.” As much as a primal part of him wanted to see her angry again, wanted to see her go off on someone who deserved it, this wasn’t the fuckin’ time. “Safe? Tora, what are you—” “Ya trust me, right?” he asked her again, watching as the cop’s door opened, a man pulling himself from the driver’s seat and slamming the door behind him. “Poppy,” he said again, glancing at her. She nodded, her eyes wide—knew he was scaring her, but he could explain later. Right now, he just needed her not to go full hamster on the officer. “Then I need ya to do what I say—follow his instructions, don’t talk back.” There was no way the car was dirty—none of Quince’s cars were, just like none of Vincent’s held any evidence of the blood on his hands. His son was the extension of the empire, but even so…Tora quickly racked his mind of what weapons could be in the car besides his own shit. “Don’t wanna give him any reason to search the car.” Poppy nodded as the officer approached the driver’s side window, knocking on the glass once with his knuckle. As he reached for the window button, Tora murmured one last thing to her—hoping he was just being paranoid, that the man wasn’t a dirty cop from the city, that word of him being with Bobby in Moonbright wouldn’t get back to Vincent—better safe than sorry, “if he asks for an ID, ya don’t have it with ya.” As the glass rolled down into the door, the officer leaned down slightly to get a look inside. He had short dark hair that peeked out from his hat, a mustache of the same color and a scar above one of his eyebrows, average height and build. Tora thought he looked familiar but couldn’t be sure. Vincent had a lot of the city’s cops in his pocket—it wouldn’t be that far a stretch that this officer was one of them, that he’d seen him at one of the gatherings Vincent hosted for his political allies. As the man bent lower, Tora could make out the name on his uniform in bold, block letters: LARSON. He placed a hand on the edge of the open window, peering over the tops of his sunglasses at Tora, then Poppy. “Morning,” he said, and Tora nodded as Poppy murmured a greeting. “Saw you were stopped by the side of the road earlier. Everything okay?” Tora kept his face neutral as he swallowed, his fingers tight on the leather of the steering wheel. Felt uneasy, his stomach knotted up, his nerves suppressed at the center of his body. “Yes, sir,” Tora said, keeping his answer short, not wanting to invite conversation. Just wanted to get back to the city, back to Bobby’s apartment, though shit, it might be better to pick up his car first—Quince had said it was ready. “You folks from around here?” the officer ventured, glancing into the backseat. Tora tried to picture what they’d put back there—his go-bag was in the trunk, thank fuck. “The city,” Tora said, his words clipped, keeping his eyes slightly averted from the cop’s stare—knew from experience they usually didn’t like it when he looked directly at them. Hell, most people didn’t like it. Only Bobby—and her Granny hadn’t seemed to mind either. “Were you coming from Moonbright?” Tora blinked, meeting the cop’s gaze. Why the fuck was he askin’ this shit? “Yes, officer,” Poppy spoke up from the passenger seat as Tora clenched his jaw. Fuck, she’d said she trusted him, would follow his lead. “Visiting family.” Tora stifled a groan, resisted the urge to let his head fall back against the seat. Why the fuck was she giving him extra information? For all they knew he was a fuckin’ dirty cop who could be tied to Vincent. “Family, huh,” the officer nodded, seeming to think about it as he eyed Poppy in the passenger seat. “Mhmm,” Poppy nodded. “And we’re meeting some friends in the city. Are we okay to get going,” she asked, keeping her voice light, innocent. He could hear the edge, though, her cheeks still pink. The cop nodded slow, looking between the two of them before his eyes fell to Tora’s neck, the place where his shirt covered the crest—was he imagining it or was the fucker looking for the ink? Tora tilted his head, further obscuring the spot from the cop’s sight. “Thank you for checking on us, though,” Poppy said, her voice almost sickly sweet as she smiled at him, “we really appreciate it.” Shit, she was layin’ it on fuckin’ thick, but the cop didn’t seem to notice. He broke into a smile back at her as he nodded. “Of course, anytime. You folks drive safe now, there’s a storm coming,” he pointed ahead toward the city, the clouds dark as they circled the buildings, flashes of lightning like brightening the sky in patches every so often. “They say it’s going to get worse before it gets better—the last summer warm front or something,” he said, raising a hand up as a gust of wind nearly knocked his hat off. As the man reached up to grab it, Tora thought he saw a flash of ink, a black curve at the base of the man’s sleeve where he’d reached up quickly. But Joe’d had tattoos, too, Tora told himself, swallowing against the sudden dryness of his mouth. A curved line didn’t mean shit, didn’t mean a crest. Besides, cops couldn’t join the clan, could they? He should ask Quincey. The officer waved once at them, nodding before he retreated back to his car. Tora rolled up the window as he heard Poppy breathe a sigh. “Why’d ya tell him all that,” Tora murmured, the red and blue lights flicking off as the man pulled out around them, driving ahead toward the city. “All what?” “Shit, Poppy. The stuff about Moonbright, ya family.” Tora shook his head, leaning forward and pulling the gun back out from under his seat. She watched him do it, unflinching as he turned to look at her, tucking it back into his waistband before leaning back against the seat and putting the car back in drive. Could hear, could feel the crunch of the gravel under the tires as he peeled back out onto the road, accelerating after the taillights—just two specks of red now, growing fuzzy with distance until the sedan dipped around a curve ahead. “If you tell the truth, then you don’t have to remember anything,” she said, her voice steady. Hadn’t taken her eyes off him as he sped up more. He shook his head again, eyes flicking up toward the clouds above the city, the storm brewing, turbulent ahead as another gust of wind buffeted against his side of the car. “Thought ya said ya trusted me,” he said, lowering his voice, his tongue darting out to swipe at his dry lips. “I do trust you,” she said, could see her nodding at him with each word though he didn’t look over at her. “But he seemed like he wasn’t going to let up with the questions. What was an unmarked cop doing out here anyway? Aren’t they usually in the city? I’ve never seen one in Moonbright before.” Tora swallowed again, sighing. She was right, he knew she was right, but shit. What if she’d read the guy wrong? “There are some things I know more about than ya do, Bobby,” he murmured. “Dealin’ with cops is one of ‘em.” “I can handle myself,” she insisted as he huffed. “Shit, Bobby, I know that,” he finally turned to glance at her, eyes widening as he emphasized the last couple words. “I know ya can handle yaself. Shit, I love that about ya, sweetheart.” Tora reached over with his right hand, fingers stiff from gripping the wheel so tight as he squeezed her thigh once. A moment later, her hand was on his, her fingers laced between his as she waited for him to go on. “But when I tell ya to do something I need ya to know I’m not fuckin’ around. Like last night on the stairs when I asked ya to stay put. For all we knew, those weren’t fuckin’ cops. And just cause someone’s in a uniform doesn’t mean ya can trust ‘em.” He shook his head. “I know what I’m doin’, Bobby. Boss level thug, ‘member?” The smile he tried to pull up his face didn’t even make it past his chin, instead, his eyebrows pulling together, a silent plea. Willing her at the same time to remember and to not remember Friday night. His admission. I kill people, Bobby. A couple seconds passed as Tora held her gaze before she nodded, lifting her chin toward the road ahead, “should keep your eyes on the road,” she whispered. Fuck, he leaned his head back against the seat, letting out a sigh as they drove in silence—she hadn’t let go of his hand, though, and he still held her thigh—she was still letting him touch her. Had to be a good sign, he thought. He hoped. Tora bit his lip, thinking—he should definitely get his car sooner than later. Didn’t like the fact that they’d had two run-ins with the cops, couldn’t be sure if it was the vehicle or what, but it’d been a long time since he’d had any trouble with the law. And now, in less than twenty-four hours, he’d spoken to officers—one of them had checked the plates of the Lexus. He didn’t like the idea of Bobby back in the car that’d been covered in blood, but what choice did he have? Buy a new fuckin’ car? As he opened his mouth to ask if she was okay with stopping by Quincey’s penthouse, she spoke, “wonder what it looks like from inside.” Tora frowned, what? He looked over at her, turning back toward the shadows of the buildings ahead, mostly obscured by fog in the distance, as he followed her gaze—she seemed to be looking at the sky. “From inside the storm. I bet it’s breathtaking.” Tora tried to imagine it as he watched the flashes of lightning illuminate the dark clouds. “Hmm.” “Guess we’ll never know, though.” She reached over then with her free hand, turning the music up slightly, a slow melody that she hummed along to. “Hey, Bobby,” he said, “ya mind if we stop by Quincey’s before headin’ to ya place?” She paused her humming, rolling her head along the back of her seat to look at him, cupping Bull to her lap. “Sure, it’ll give me a chance to set up a meeting with him. We need to start work on Mr. Lam’s book.” He nodded—right, she’d told him about that the beginning of the week. How’d it feel like a whole goddamn year had passed since then? “Should I let him know we’re coming or does he know?” she asked, pulling out her phone. “Ya got his number?” he raised his eyebrows, a smile pulling up at the corner of his mouth. Could feel the tension leaving his body, seeping out the seams of the car where the wind whistled. Found himself welcoming it, wanted to be happy again, to get back to the weekend with her. Didn’t know how much time they had, but he wanted to make every damn second count. “Of course, he’s my client. It was in the paperwork he filled out,” she turned to smirk at him, shaking her head, “but I wouldn’t expect you to remember. Someone was a little distracted.” He smiled, remembering the day Quincey’d signed the contract—seeing her in the office. Couldn’t keep his eyes off her, goddamn. The kiss in the stairwell of her building. Tora licked his lower lip, drawing it between his teeth as he smirked, “think ya mean distracting, sweetheart.” “Tch,” she clicked her teeth at him as she began typing one-handed on her cracked screen. “Dear Quincey,” she murmured slowly as he laughed. Could feel his shoulders relaxing as she joked, continuing, “this is Poppylan, your editor. Exclamation mark. I have a tiger here who is simply dying to stop by your place.” Tora laughed, shaking his head. “Shit, Bob, ya too much.” She giggled as she continued, “he says he misses you. I kept him too long.” Too long? Pfft. Tora shook his head—no such thing. But she knew that. She had to know that, right? As he looked over at her, she continued slowly, “Heart eyes emoji. Heart eyes emoji. Kissy face. Tiger emoji.” He felt his brows draw up in confusion, the fuck was she sayin’? “Oi, Bobby. Ya not sending that, are ya?” “He just loves you,” she smiled, her thumb moving slowly over the screen. “So much. Exclamation mark. Is it okay if we stop by. Question mark. Question mark.” She paused for a moment, her thumb still swiping across the crack in her screen as she finished the message. “And…send.” Tora’s tongue fell away from the roof of his mouth as his lips fell open. “Oi, Bobby,” he laughed, “the fuck—” “Oh! He’s typing back,” she cut him off, a shit-eating grin on her face. Fuck, she was just as bad as fuckin’ Quince. A moment later she turned to look at him. “It’s a go. He says he can’t wait to see you.” He narrowed his eyes at her, the trees thinning out behind her through the passenger window as they passed by a field, “the fuck did he actually say.” She grinned somehow wider, “crying face emoji, crying face emoji, crying face emoji, crying fa—” “Fuck’s sake. Okay, okay.” “Hang on, there’s only three more.” Tora sighed, rolling his eyes as she kept going, “crying face emoji, crying face emoji, crying face emoji. Tell him I miss him more.” She turned to look up at him. “He misses you more.” Tora could feel himself smiling stupidly, ear to fuckin’ ear, but he didn’t care. Felt light again, like one of the clouds—even the dark ones were suspended in the air. “But for real,” she said, the smile still in her voice as she put the phone back in her pocket, “he says it’s fine.” She squeezed his hand as she turned to look out the passenger window. They drove in a comfortable silence for most of the way back to the city, Bobby’s music filling the space of the car with what she called lazy Sunday feels. Pfft, fuckin’ cute. Each time they passed a mile marker, she announced it in a different voice and he couldn’t help but laugh every damn time, the tension from the cop dissipating like the car’s exhaust against the cool air of the storm. As they crossed the bridge back over the Narin River, she quieted, gazing over the side, the water nearly black as the sunlight had disappeared almost entirely now that they were directly under the storm. Fat drops of rain began to hit the windshield, slow, uneven pelts against the metal roof of the car as they crossed the border back into the outskirts of the city. Poppy leaned forward and turned the music down so that the sound of the rain seemed to thrum even louder. When he glanced over at her, she was smiling, her eyes closed, free hand stroking one of Bull’s leaves as she ran the fingers of her left hand between the fingers of his right, her nails whispering against the thin skin between his knuckles. He blinked a couple times—if he let himself, he knew he could fall asleep like this, only thing that’d be better would be if they were in her bed or on her couch, no space between their bodies, the weight of her pressing into him. He could get through this stop at Quincey’s, he thought. And then they’d get to make rice balls together—so long as he got to hold her in the quiet warmth of her apartment, he didn’t give a fuck what else they did. Hell, she could braid his hair again for all he cared. He shook his head slightly to keep from dozing off at the memory of her fingers in his hair. Shit, they were only a little way from Quincey’s place now—he could fuckin’ make it. Tora pressed his left knee up against the bottom of the steering wheel as he shifted his hand to crack the window, immediately coming to as the cold mist hit the side of his face, his hair in braids not providing any cover against the sudden change in temperature. “It’s a good day for a nap,” she murmured as they entered the more central part of the city, the buildings rising up on either side of them, the tops of them disappearing into the fog of the low-hanging clouds. “A nap?” he repeated. Pfft, when was the last time he’d taken a fuckin’ nap? Was that somethin’ adults did, too? He thought it was just a Quincey thing, what the man called beauty sleep. “Mmm,” she hummed, a smile on her lips. She hadn’t opened her eyes yet, Tora realized as he pulled up to a red light, taking the time to look over at her, study her face, free of lines, relaxed. How could she be so relaxed with him? She’d watched him tuck a fuckin’ gun at his back, and yet here she was, stroking his hand against her thigh, practically asleep and talkin’ about naps. “Don’t you wanna snuggle,” she murmured, finally cracking one eye and peering at him through her lashes. He smiled. Sounded real fuckin’ nice. Is that how normal people spent their Sundays? Napping and snuggling? Gettin’ the lazy feels? Pfft. “I love ya,” he breathed, watching as her smile grew, pushing up into her cheeks. “Now, imagine getting to say that while snuggling.” “Mhmm,” he nodded once. Had already made up his mind—that’s exactly what the fuck they were gonna do when they finally got back to her place. Rice balls could wait. When the light turned green, Tora moved through the intersection, swinging a right onto Quincey’s block before pulling down into the underground garage, his throat tightening at the memory of the last time he’d made this turn, the last time he’d been down here, arriving at the penthouse covered in blood. He entered the private section of the garage, passing by the rest of Quincey’s cars and making a beeline for his own car parked at the end. At the sight of the red vehicle, Poppy sat up straighter, and when he glanced at her, her eyes were wide. He’d told her about the car, about the blood. Not the kids, but…he’d left early that week in a bloodless car and came back with a car that needed to be fuckin’ cleaned of it. He’d admitted to being a murderer, had told her he’d been doing it since he himself was a kid. Did she need to know he’d massacred a warehouse full of teenagers to get the picture? She didn’t speak as he pulled up in the parking spot beside it, watching the red car from the driver’s side window. Tora could see inside, the interior bloodless, somehow. Always surprised him how fuckin’ good the cleaners were. He killed the engine, the silence nearly deafening in the sudden absence of the heater, the motor. Couldn’t even hear the rain from down here. Tora unbuckled himself as Poppy did the same, neither of them speaking. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her, his tongue halfway down his fuckin’ throat with nerves. What was she thinkin’? When he was out of the Lexus, he peered more closely at the seats inside, the beige fabric unstained, like fuckin’ new. Goddamn. He shook his head in awe, turning then to walk toward the trunk as Poppy opened the backseat of Quincey’s car, slinging the tote bag over her shoulder before placing Bull on top of the open box of her father’s possessions. He grabbed his bag, settling the strap across his chest before slamming the trunk closed. “Is this yours?” she asked, holding up the paper bag that Fred had given him that he’d pulled from his own car before leaving on Friday. Shit, he still needed to get it to Alice. “Yeah, here,” he took it from her, unzipping his bag and shoving the paper one inside. “Fred asked me to get it to Alice. Money for a bet or some shit, they share a bookie,” he rolled his eyes as she laughed through her nose. “That’s badass. I want to be like that when I’m older.” He snorted, “no ya don’t.” Tora reached his arms out then, “I can get that, Bobby,” he said, making to take the box from her, but she stepped back, shaking her head. “It’s fine, I’ve got it. You’re the injured one,” her lips twitched as she said it and Tora rolled his eyes again, locking the Lexus. “Then why the hell was I climbin’ a tree last night?” he murmured as they walked toward the elevator. Couldn’t help but notice all the blood had been cleaned from the concrete as well. Even the place where he’d dropped his phone—all the glass swept away, not even a mark where he’d shattered the thing. He reached out, pushing the button to get the penthouse, keeping his eyes away from the reflective metal doors—hadn’t been that long at all since he’d seen himself here, skin coated in blood, the white ceramic surface of the plant in her arms stained a rust red with his swiped palm prints. “Was pretty sure you liked it,” she smiled up at him, tilting her head as the doors opened. He brought a hand to her chin, directing her head back slightly as he bent down, his lips a whisper on hers as breathed, “loved it.” Felt her smile against his mouth before her lips were pressing up warm against his. He pulled up a moment later, throwing a hand out to catch the right side of the doors as they began to slide closed, holding them open for Bobby as she stepped past him onto the lift. Tora took a deep breath, following her into the small metal box, determined to focus on her scent, the feel of the floor under his feet. His eyes found Bull nestled just under her chest in the box, the broach shining just beside the dinosaur’s head, the gloss of the photos catching the overhead light, but even seeing the little plant didn’t help in the way he’d expected. “You seem tense again,” she said quietly, and Tora flicked his eyes to look at her where she’d been watching him. He clenched his jaw, nodded once, searching for the right words and coming up short. “Wasn’t happy last time I was here,” he finally murmured as the door pinged at the top floor—an understatement. Didn’t really cover the state he’d been in on Friday, in his socks, leaving bloody footprints from the car all the way to the entryway of his brother’s place.  When the doors finally opened again on the lobby outside the penthouse, Tora steeled himself, allowing Bobby to walk off first and following a step behind her as his eyes swept the floor for stains—of course, all the evidence from just the other day erased. Had anyone realized the kids were missing? Did they have families worried when they hadn’t come home? Had the site been found, the bodies littered on the ground just as Vincent had encouraged him to do? Make it look like you played with your food. It hadn’t been his intention, and yet he’d fulfilled his orders better than his boss every could have hoped, dreamed. Poppy’s knock on the door brought him back to the lobby, forcing Vincent from his mind as he listened to Quincey’s voice from inside, muffled with excitement. “Well, in that case, we won’t stay long,” she said, looking up at him again and shifting the box in her arms. “In and out, real quick. You get the keys, I set up a meeting and then we’re out.” She nodded firm as though convincing herself as Tora laughed once through his nose. Pfft, she didn’t know Quince well yet, but he did. No way were they gettin’ out as quick as she’d said. But it was nice she cared. A moment later, the blonde man had flung the door wide, practically fuckin’ beaming at them before his eyes fell to Tora’s braids, gasping and reaching out toward his head. “No.” Tora leaned back away from his fingers as the man began to plead, “just need the keys, Quince.” Quincey huffed, eyes still on the braids before he turned to look at Poppy, his smile falling a fraction, quickly reaching out toward the box in her arms. “Honey,” he said to Tora, “first of all, love the hair, but second haven’t you ever heard of chivalry,” he asked, shaking his head, “why are you making her carry all of this?” “Oh, it’s okay,” Poppy said quickly, shuffling away from the man’s outstretched hands. “He offered, really.” Tora shook his head at Quincey, rolling his eyes. “Ya actin’ like I don’t carry ya shit every goddamn place we go.” Quincey huffed as he stepped aside, allowing them to enter. Tora quickly turned his head away from the mirror, moving toward the kitchen and away from the spot where he’d shucked his clothes, trying not to remember the look on his brother’s face or the way Claude and Scharch had averted their stares as he’d stripped down to what he was at his core: a fuckin’ killer. “Just need the keys to my car, here,” he tossed the keys to the Lexus onto the counter as Quincey joined him by the sink, glancing over to look at Poppy who’d moved to the large floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room overlooking the city. “Wow, Quincey, this view must be phenomenal when it’s clear out,” she called over her shoulder, seemingly unable to tear her eyes from the windows despite not being able to see anything but the fog of the clouds, the rainwater condensing into vertical streams down the glass. All Tora could see was the room reflected back at them, the large designer lamp in the corner Quince was so fond of casting a soft orb of light along the smooth glass surface—could see her face, her wide eyes, in the reflection, like she was floating in the clouds. “It really is, honey,” Quincey said across the room before lowering his voice and leaning his head closer to Tora’s. “Everything’s been quiet here. No word from my dad or anything like that. Even Martin’s men are laying low. As far as anyone knows, you were here with me—are still here with me.” He reached out, taking Tora’s fist in one hand and pushing the key to his car into his palm. Quincey reached up after closing the key in Tora’s hand, running his fingers over one of the braids at the top of his head as Tora clicked his teeth at him, leaning back again. “Quince, I said no—”   “Take the rest of the night, too,” his brother cut him off, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the counter, his expression growing serious as his eyes ran along the top of Tora’s head before falling to meet his gaze. “And then we need to talk.” Tora frowned, turning the key over in his hand when Quincey’d released his wrist. The man sounded serious, looked serious. Sick almost, his face paler than usual. “The fuck about?” Quincey shook his head, turning to beam at Poppy as she approached the counter. “Oh,” he said, half-heartedly reaching for the key in Tora’s hand. “Maybe I should’ve given this to Poppy since she gets to drive the tiger’s car now,” he smirked. Tora rolled his eyes, pulling his hand away from his brother and moving back around the counter as Poppy laughed. “Yeah, go fuck yaself,” he shook his head. “We’re leavin’,” he nodded his head toward Poppy as the two of them nearly bent double, laughing at his expense. Fuckin’ A. Just as he turned to motion for Poppy to follow him, the bottom of the box in her arms split open. Her father’s journals tumbling to the floor as Poppy suddenly released the sides where she’d been holding onto the cardboard, her hands quickly securing around Bull as the dinosaur threatened to topple onto the ground. “Oh, shoot,” she said, all three of them looking down at the pile for a moment. Tora glanced up at the plant in her arms, his lips parting as she looked between the plant and then Tora, breathing, “whew, that was a close one, huh.” She wasn’t upset about dropping all her dead dad’s shit? Had been more worried about the dinosaur? He quickly stooped to start collecting the journals as Poppy set Bull on the floor, refolding the bottom of the box. As Quincey picked up some of the photos, he asked, “oh, honey, is this you?” He was holding the one of her riding the bike in her Granny’s driveway. He glanced at Tora, a look of barely contained excitement on his face. “In Moonbright?” She glanced up as she took a stack of the journals from Tora’s outstretched hands, unaware of the glare he was shooting at the blonde man. Always fuckin’ meddling. He’d tell him later that she was the strawberry girl. Or not. Fuck, it wasn’t any of his goddamn business and he knew the man was just gonna run his big fuckin’ mouth to Ronzo. She nodded, “yeah, used to spend a lot of time outside—biking, playing, exploring the woods. Anytime my dad had visitors, really. Which was quite a bit, so I got really good,” she smiled. “At least, really good at riding in circles.” She turned to grinned at Tora from the corner of her eye. “Sorry, honey, you’re going to have to repeat that for me. It almost sounded like you said exploring the woods?” Quincey failed to repress a shudder as he handed the photos back to her. As she turned to place Bull back on top of the open box, Tora watched his brother’s gaze follow the movement of the pot in her hands, his eyes flicking from the plant to Poppy and then to Tora, his expression frozen halfway from a smile. Wondered if he was thinking the same thing. Tora still hadn’t bleached it like he’d suggested. Poppy laughed then, drawing their attention away from each other as they both glanced over at her. “It’s a fun time, I swear,” she said. “There’s all kinds of plants and mushrooms and stuff. You can make mud pies…” Quincey shuddered again as they all stood back up. “Oh, you poor thing,” he murmured, reaching out and tucking her hair behind her ear. She laughed again, nudging her arm out to the side around the box which she now gripped from the bottom, elbowing Tora in the ribs. “No, it was fun, right?” She looked up at him and Tora couldn’t help but smile at her. “Was fun,” he murmured in agreement. “Wait,” Quincey pointed a finger out at them, waving his hand between them, “you explored the woods, too?” Quincey asked, his brows drawn up like he couldn’t believe it. Tora wasn’t sure what was so unbelievable, though. Did the man really not know how many bodies he’d fuckin’ disappeared in the cover of the dense forest on the other side of the river? “What’d you do?” Poppy turned to look up at Tora, smiling, nudging him again as Tora sighed, “dunno. Met a bird.” He smirked at her as she rolled her eyes, huffing. “Okay, we did more than that.” He nodded. They had, but it was so fuckin’ easy to tease her. “Almost got poisoned.” Quincey gasped, a hand slapping to his open mouth as he breathed, “no.” “Mhmm,” Tora nodded, smirking wider as he held Bobby’s gaze, her mouth falling open around an exaggerated sigh of annoyance. “Okay,” she turned to Quincey, “he’s making it sound like I tortured him, but I swear he had fun.” She turned back to look at Tora, emphasizing the last part as though to convince him, “it was fun.”   He huffed a laugh through his nose before he nodded, letting his smirk settle into a neutral expression. “Yeah, made wishes and shit, too.” Her expression warmed as she bit her lip before turning to look back at Quincey. Tora kept his eyes on Bobby, knew his brother was gonna give him shit for this later, for bein’ a fuckin’ sucker. But he couldn’t bring himself to give a shit. Least not now. “Before we go, we should set up a time this week to over the project more in depth,” she said to him. “We’ll need to get a timeline worked out since one of Mr. Lam’s conditions is that he wants pretty frequent updates in return for giving you full creative control.” Tora chanced a glance at Quincey, watching as his brother sobered, immediately slipping into a more reserved mode, similar to how he acted at clan gatherings—all business. “Absolutely, yes,” his blonde hair flopped a bit over his eye as he nodded emphatically. “That sounds good. How about you text me your availability for the week. I can make anything work, really,” he said, waving a hand in the air to emphasize his point as Poppy smiled. “Great,” she said as Tora put his arm around her shoulders, guiding her back toward the door. They’d been here long enough, and he’d need to be back tomorrow anyway. Just wanted to spend as much time as possible with her before then. As he opened the door for her, he turned back to Quincey who had been looking at the duffle bag where it hung at his hip. “Oi, ya call me if anything changes,” he murmured. He waited until Quincey nodded before following Bobby out the door and onto the elevator where she was waiting with her foot wedged against the bottom, holding it open for him. “You had fun, right?” she asked as they descended back to the parking lot. He glanced down at her in surprise, shit—did she not know? “Course, sweetheart,” he nodded, frowning slightly, watching as she bobbed her head up and down, side to side. “You know you can tell me if you ever don’t like something, right? Like, you won’t hurt my feelings?” her voice pitched up at the end, almost like a question. Like she was trying to convince herself even as she was reassuring him. “Shit, Bob,” he said as the doors opened, stepping out behind her into the cool air of the garage. “Was just teasin’ ya.” He scratched the back of his neck. Wondered what’d brought this on—normally she could tell when he was joking, when he was just trying to get a reaction out of her. Right? As they approached the car, Tora turned his attention to inspecting it—knew it’d be clean, but his stomach still clenched at the memory of what it’d looked like just thirty-some hours ago. He could feel her eyes on him as they got closer. Knew she was wondering about it, she might even want to know the details of what exactly he’d done to warrant a car wash from the inside out, but that wasn’t something he was ready to clue her into. Shit, maybe never. He popped the trunk then, removing the bag from over his head and placing it inside above the spare tire well where he knew the other duffle was stashed from when he’d cleaned the body with Claude at the shipping yard. And that was somehow connected to Goliath, too, he remembered. Fuck—what the in the hell had his brother gotten tangled in? He needed to call that number—as soon as he had the burner from Ronzo, he’d call. Shit, he’d keep calling until the fucker picked up “Oh, look, it’s fixed,” she nodded at the roof of the car once she’d placed the box and the tote in the back and Tora turned to look as he closed the trunk. Felt his tongue catch in the back of his mouth as he tried to swallow—they’d buffed out the dent. He walked to the driver’s side, running his hand along the smooth surface. Like it’d never happened. The mark of their night at Regina’s Peak, him and Bobby on top of the roof, removed. Erased. He blinked as he heard her open the passenger door, the sound echoing in the near empty garage. Copied her motions in a daze, climbing into the car and buckling as his eyes scanned the interior, lingering on the place where the dent had been, where he’d left bloody streaks on the light fabric. All gone. Like it’d never fuckin’ happened—any of it. A green cardboard tree hung from the rearview mirror and Tora reached up to pull it down. “Smells different,” she murmured. When he glanced over at her, his eyes fell to the plant in her lap—she’d taken him out of the box, was holding him tight to her body. He nodded. “Probably better,” he grunted—knew it’d smelled like old cigarettes before, practically a fuckin’ ashtray. She shook her head, “no. I liked how it smelled before.” As he threw his arm behind her seat to back up out of the spot, he caught her eye for a moment. “What, ya liked the smoke?” he barked a harsh laugh. Just another shit part of him, and now that he was thinking about it, he wanted a cigarette. Not a burning urge like usual, just a twinge at the edge of his mind, his fingers prickling with sweat at the thought. When he’d reversed just enough, he cut the wheel hard, peeling back up to the exit of the garage, the sound of the rain sudden against the roof of the car as they pulled back up into the dim midday light—a brownish gray tone from the storm clouds above, the artificial darkness cast over the city. “Smelled like you,” she said, raising her voice above the rain. “Smelled like—” she shook her head to herself as she cut herself off abruptly. After he swung out onto the road, he flicked the headlights on, the beams reflecting in a shimmer against the heavy downpour as he stopped behind a car at the intersection, the bright red of the brakes swimming in the streams of rain being pushed off their windshield in sheets every second. “Like…” he prompted, letting his voice trail up in question. “Liiiiike,” she smiled, reaching out to him, her palm up. He slipped the fingers of his right hand between hers as she closed around him in a fist. “This.”    

Chapter Nine  [ ν ] - εγλ - 2007 |May 14th     At the Midnight Hour    “Love me.” Tifa’s two words to him sang over and over again on repeat in Cloud’s mind, ringing louder and louder like church bells as he began to slowly divest her of her remaining clothing.  Her dress was open but still hooked onto her shoulders, her lacy black bra twisted up over her heaving breasts as she stared at him and breathed.  Her legs were still wrapped in her thigh-highs, loose and spread beneath him on either side of his knees. The more that he thought about it, the more that he realized that there was nothing else that had been on his mind the last stretch of weeks than that very thought.  All he could think about was Tifa; it had started with his anguish over opening old wounds, moved on to his irresistible attraction to her, and had culminated with the rekindling of an old romance that had quickly burst into a new, raging inferno of affection and desire. She didn’t have to repeat those words to him, not ever.  As far as he was concerned, he was going to love her until he drew his last breath, and then for eons after that. Despite this promise written across his heart, he had to admit that all of this scared him.  Everything about it did.  His life was a mess.  His job sucked, he was raising his dead friends’ kid, had a drinking problem, and probably serious depression that would benefit from at least some sort of intervention, despite the way that he refused help whenever it was sent his way.  He could barely take care of himself, and he was struggling even more so to do an adequate job with Denzel. To take care of and provide for a woman, especially one as precious and deserving as Tifa, was another matter altogether. But a chronically ill woman?  Cloud knew there was no way that he could possibly live up to her expectations or be worthy of taking care of her. Despite this, looking down at her shining red eyes, the starlight hitting her skin from beyond her open curtains, Cloud resolved that no matter how damaged and useless he might truly be, he would do his damnedest to try. “You okay?” he asked her softly after they had been staring at each other for long moments, their eyes locked together. Tifa just nodded in response, and Cloud realized that she had reached up one hand to gently grip his forearm, holding onto him in a tight and possessive grip.  Something about the affectionate and warm hold stirred his blood up again, and he could feel his heart beginning to pick up new speed. Cloud noticed that Tifa’s face and hair and her dress were still caked with the residue of her star-tears, wispy trails of glittering gold and silver dust that had begun to transfer to her bed. He realized that it was still all over his hands, too.  He sat back on his knees for a moment, thinking quickly as his eyes scanned over her thoughtfully, before he gently reached forward and lifted her to his chest, holding her close and not missing the way that she instantly curled in close to him, almost instinctively. He ran his fingers through her hair, staring at the sparkles and wondering how the stars could shine their hurt right inside of a person so that it bled out of her eyes this way.  “Teef, I think we should clean up a little before bed,” he said softly.  He wanted so badly to make love to her again, right there and right now, desperate to exchange tender touches after his passion had burst forth so exuberantly.  Nonetheless, it didn’t feel right to sully her bed with the evidence of so much pain and to not address what had happened. She looked up at him again, sliding her hand a little higher and then curling her fingers into his bicep. “Okay.  My bathroom is right next door.” She nodded toward the door, then started to climb away from him to get off of the bed.  But Cloud was instantly lifting her, sliding himself to his feet with her in his arms, his instincts to care and protect in hyperdrive. “I can walk, Cloud,” she teased lightly, and Cloud could hear that she was still out of breath. “It’s okay,” he whispered, carrying her into the master bathroom right outside of her bedroom door in the hallway. He stepped inside the darkness, and while his eyes began to adjust, the mako igniting with its faint green glow, Tifa reached over his shoulder to flip the lights above the vanity on.  They washed the room in a pleasant, yellow glow, not as bright as the overhead fluorescents would have been, and Cloud scanned the comfortably but modestly sized room, finding her tub against the wall beneath a small, curtained window. Gently, he set Tifa down on her feet, stopping only to brush her hair out of her face, their eyes connecting for another brief moment, hers still undergirded by a sedimented sadness but filmed over with hope.  He offered her a smile, then eased her toward the closed lid of the toilet and sat her down. “Hold on a second.” Tifa made an amused sound, shrugging her shoulders out of her dress and dropping it to the floor in one corner while Cloud tried to figure out the temperature settings of her tub, fooling with the knobs.  He let the water run comfortably hot, then got to his feet and carefully looked around for some things to make this a little more accommodating. “Everything is in that rack, Cloud,” Tifa told him softly, gesturing to a metallic tower in one corner of the shower that was stocked with bath products. Cloud nodded and found the bubble bath along with a few other items, and after he added it to the water, he turned back to Tifa, getting to his knees in front of her.  Slowly, he brought one hand up to the hem of her left thigh-high, fingers curling around the stretchy black fabric and brushing over the warm, fleshy expanse of her skin before he gently began to roll it down. He looked up to find her smiling at him as he went, and he couldn’t stop himself from returning it, feeling a pleasant heat bubble up inside of him and spill over at the way that she was yielding and letting him care for her.  He turned his attention back to her shapely leg, running the nylon all the way down to her ankle, moving slowly and methodically as he went.  He carefully pulled it away from her foot, dropping it to the pile with her dress and admiring her pretty, painted pink toes that matched her fingernails. With a feather’s touch, Cloud ran his hand up the inside of her calf, testing the softness of her flesh that he could feel and the firmness of her muscles beneath.  She shivered as he skirted over the back of her knee and drew nearer to her inner thigh, slowly widening her thighs apart where she sat on the seat until Cloud could see her naked, spread center in front of him again. It turned that calm warmth inside of him into a burst of flames, and he tried to push back the desire to grab her and push her down on the floor to the side, instead pulling his hands away from her flesh and his eyes away from her pink seam so that he could concentrate on pulling away her remaining thigh high. Her bra was the last to go.  Cloud reached behind her back and let his fingers fumble with the clasps until they came undone, dragging the lacy black fabric over her arms and dropping it away to the side while Tifa stared down at him and blushed. “You’re a little overdressed,” she commented lightly. Cloud smirked, getting to his feet in front of her.  He took a step back, pulling his undershirt over his head with one hand before dropping his hands to his pants to undo and kick them away along with his shoes and socks.  When he was fully undressed, Tifa’s eyes were slowly traveling his body, running lines along his chiseled arms and well-defined torso, pausing at the narrowness of his waist and hips before dropping even lower.   Feeling his cheeks redden, Cloud reached over to turn the tap off and then extended a hand to Tifa.  “Come on,” he beckoned her softly. She got to her feet, and when Cloud wrapped his arm around her, pulling her toward the tub, she fell naturally into his embrace.  The innate intimacy of their synchronous movements woke something deep and dormant inside of him, something that he had been longing for and needing for the better part of a decade. It was the feeling of being wanted, of being needed. He stepped into the tub first, backing up before he carefully helped Tifa step inside.  Steam rose around them like warm, puffy clouds, further highlighting her creamy skin with a pretty pink flush.  He turned her so that her back was to him, and then he pulled her down with him, settling into the tub with his back against the wall and his knees on either side of her, Tifa instantly submerging herself up to her shoulders as she leaned back against him and let him hold her. They stayed like that for long, silent moments, Cloud wrapping his arms around Tifa’s shoulders beneath the bubbles and holding her to his chest.  Her hair pooled into the water like black silk, its threads tickling his skin as she leaned into him and sighed.  The heat sank its way into his pores, soothing old aches in his muscles that he had grown so accustomed to that he had begun to ignore them completely.  He wrapped his hand around the front of her body, finding hers floating against her belly, and he dropped his fingers to hers, brushing them across the tops of her supple hands. “Tifa.” She hummed in response, already sounding sleepy in the circle of his arms.  Cloud knew that it was late - probably after midnight - and they’d already had a long and emotional night.  Even so, his mind was beginning to burn with the advent of the questions that were assailing him, so many pieces he wanted to fit together, a decade separating them that he now needed to somehow bridge and then eradicate. “How long have you…?” His words trailed off again, dying deep in his throat, and Cloud glanced down at the top of her head, wincing at his own cowardice.  He shook his head, fighting to get the words out, but Tifa was already shifting slightly in his lap, turning so that the side of her face lay against the inside of his chest. “I’ve had Star Scar for almost five years,” she responded, threading her fingers through his until both their hands were holding each other’s. “It’s why I had to stop playing professionally.” “I’m sorry, Tifa,” Cloud responded, feeling a hot stab through the center of his heart.  He remembered how much Tifa had wanted to play the piano, how she had rested so many of her hopes on that one simple dream to move to Midgar and attend a prestigious school and become famous.  And she had achieved it, only to have it snatched away by something she couldn’t control, by her own body attacking itself. Cloud had never strived for much of anything.  He never had any dreams.  He had been uninspired most of his life, letting the world carry himself where it would.  The most effort he had ever put into anything had been getting into SOLDIER, but as soon as he had aged out of his combat usefulness and been relegated to contract work, he’d become more disillusioned than he’d ever been. He wondered what it felt like to have so much of what you’d always wanted and had worked so hard towards disappear through your fingers like sand. “There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Tifa answered.  “After what my mother went through, I should have known this was going to happen to me one day.” Cloud thought about that for a moment, curling the tips of his fingers across the inside of her palm, relishing in how soft the skin there was, further supple by the hot water.  He remembered her mother’s illness vividly, the screaming and the crying and the destruction, and he remembered most of all her death, the blood and stars and the way that Tifa had fallen off of a mountain hours later. The hot spike of fear returning to the center of his gut, Cloud felt his throat tighten with pain that made it almost impossible to speak.  “Is it like that with you?” he asked tentatively, his arms tightening around her and holding her even closer to his body, the water sloshing quietly around them.  “Is it like how it is with your mom?” “Not yet,” Tifa replied, and Cloud hated the way that the sadness was such a heavy shroud over her voice.  “My symptoms have mostly been physical… pain, weakness, sporadic myopia.  I… have mood swings, sometimes, but nothing like the way my mom would get.  My doctor has helped me manage it really well these past few years.” She sighed again, but the gears in Cloud’s mind were turning as he considered her words.  He tried to remember what he had learned all those years ago in school about this horrifically beautiful disease. He knew that it was hereditary, but he also knew that it emerged from triggers. Thinking about that with a rising sense of panic, Cloud lifted a hand to her chin, suds and water dripping from his palm as he turned her face to look up at him. “What caused this?” His heart was beating too hard and too loud, especially as Tifa looked into his eyes, her own dark crimson orbs widening at the question before she quickly looked down and away from him, turning back to settle into her previous position.  Feeling his breath climb and then fragment, Cloud waited long, eternal moments for Tifa to speak again, wondering if he hadn’t overstepped a line or brought up something that they might both regret staring in the face later. Finally, she spoke.  “My mom got sick because of my dad,” Tifa explained, her voice very small and very soft.  “They… had a lot of problems.  I didn’t really understand it then, but my dad drank a lot, and he strayed from home sometimes, and he did things that really made my mom upset.  That’s what got her sick.” Another pause, and Cloud was sitting with his thoughts, thinking again about Tifa’s words to him on the piano just a short time ago. Did I cause this? “Tifa…” “Cloud,” she interrupted him at once, shaking her head so that her long, inky hair spun and wove through the bathwater.  “I brought this on myself.  When we separated, it broke my heart.  But it was my fault for not standing up to my father and for letting him force me to break up with you.  So when I got sick, I knew why it was happening.  I had thought all my life that I could avoid my mother’s fate… but that first night, those first tears… when they finally hit, I knew that it was all over.” Cloud closed his eyes and let the back of his head hit the tile behind him, his mind beating with the urgency of new thoughts as he tried to climb his way through what she was telling him.  He felt a new sense of guilt swell up inside of him, and he shook his head, sitting up again and pulling her even closer. “This isn’t your fault, Tifa,” he told her, ducking his face close by her ear, gently pressing a kiss against her hair.  “We were just kids.  But I’m here now, and I’m not leaving. I’ll do anything I can to help you get better, Tifa.” She nodded against him, accepting, and feeling a little of the anxiety recede, Cloud kissed her again and then squeezed her hands in his. But then she turned again to look up at him, disrupting the suds they were submerged in.  “Promise?” Cloud caught her eyes, his heart picking up its staccato timbre again, echoing in his chest.  His lips parted, remembering the last time they had shared that word between them and the way that it had ended. “More promises?” he questioned, and he could see the way that Tifa’s eyes wavered before she looked down.   “Never mind, I sh-“ “I promise,” he said quickly, holding her tight again and pressing her as close to him as she could go.  “I’m here, and I’m going to take care of you. Whatever it takes.” She nodded, a purr escaping her lips and echoing into his chest.  Cloud felt a sense of relief wash over him, though he wondered what, exactly, he had just gotten himself into and how he would ever measure up to the promise he had just made when so much of his life was already an incomparable disaster. He pushed that thought aside, though, intent on making good on his words, starting now.  He reached for the bath items he had brought to the side of the tub, first lathering a soft bath sponge with some of Tifa’s cherry-blossom soap, turning her to face him again so that he could carefully wipe away all of the star-tear shine that remained on the crests of her cheeks. With that out of the way, Cloud let her turn again and began to gently wash her body, running the soap over her front with a firm caress, pressing the sponge into the skin of her arms and breasts and torso.  He kept his movements as innocent as possible, though when he brushed between and over the tops of her thighs, working back and forth in the direction of her knees, he felt himself stiffen again, painfully so when she quietly moaned and rolled her head across his shoulder. He swallowed back his desires and pushed her forward and washed her arms and shoulders, making sure all of the painful sparkles were rinsed away.  When her skin was shining, Cloud took a moment to carefully wash the stuff away from his own skin. When he finished, he lathered thick amounts of Tifa’s jasmine scented shampoo in his hands and ran his palms through her thick, dark hair, working his fingers between her strands to clean away all of the glitter that had caught there.  Dipping her hair into the water and cupping palmfuls over the top of her head, he marveled at how much hair she actually had, how its weight was so heavy in his hands, especially when soaked through with water like this.  He had admired her hair since he had been eighteen years old, those long, silky chocolate brown tresses one of the first things he had noticed about her when he admired her from afar at his mother’s kitchen window the first day that they had moved back to Nibelheim.  Anytime they had spent together thereafter, Cloud never missed an opportunity to reach out and touch her hair, to run and tangle his fingers through it or simply brush it out of her eyes. He massaged the tips of his fingers into her scalp much the same way that he washed his own hair, feeling a new sense of serenity pass over him when Tifa cooed quietly and craned her neck to one side.  He gathered all of her locks into one hand and squeezed away the excess soap, rinsing her hair over and over again with fresh warm water from the spout until it ran clear. He combed his fingers through her hair to work out the tangles he’d created, and that effort took more time than he’d expected.  By the time her hair was clean and smooth, Cloud was eager to get out of the tub, the warmth of her body against his along with the words they’d exchanged turning up the fire in his blood. They rinsed each other clean a final time before Cloud helped Tifa step out of the tub, handing her one towel for her body and another for her endless black rivers of hair.  He dried himself, and as soon as they were both wrapped in their towels, Tifa had her hand in his and was leading him back to her bedroom. Cloud could only follow silently behind her, his eyes once again falling to her womanly hips, wrapped tightly in pale blue terrycloth, so eager to work them beneath his own.  He tried to keep his thoughts from falling too dark and too lustful, the impurity of his desires eclipsing his better senses and his promise to be caring, already beckoning him to rip her apart with all of the savageries he had been trying to keep a lid on for ten years and had already let free just an inkling. She sat on the bed, shaking her still damp hair loose from the towel she’d wrapped around it to soak up the excess water and tossing it to the side.  Now that they were both fresh and clean, her skin was pale and flushed red from the warmth of the bath, and the air between them was thick with the scents of her soap and shampoo.  Cloud could only sit beside her, heart a stampede, his eyes locked again with Tifa’s scarlet.  He wanted to reach for her, to begin to unwind her in the many ways he was already architecting in the back of his mind.  But there was something in her eyes that told him to wait as she stared up at him, and so he did, studying her face carefully until she finally leaned forward to reach for his hand and clasp it in both of hers. “Cloud?” “Yeah, Tifa?” “…Thank you.” Cloud wasn’t sure what she was thanking him for, and he definitely knew that he didn’t deserve such sentiments, least of all from her.  But she was smiling at him, a look that betrayed a happiness both of them had grown so rare to display, and for him, it was enough to unravel all of the hurts the world had left between them. “Don’t thank me yet,” he simply responded, dropping her hand and crawling toward her, his towel falling away as he pushed her down onto the bed and opened hers. Tifa closed her eyes, craning her head to one side and exposing the full length of her slender neck. Seeing that flash of pale skin, Cloud hovered over her, carefully laying his body atop hers and leveraging some of his weight on his elbow to avoid crushing her too hard.  He looped a palm around the back of her neck, holding on to her in a tight grip as he dropped his lips to her jaw and drew a line of open-mouthed kisses down the expanse of her throat. Tifa fell open under him, her knees parting and then lifting to either side around him, widening the angle of her hips with a moan.  He stopped his succession of his kisses, peering down between their bodies just long enough to glance down at the perfect shape of hers before he looked up again and lifted her head gently with his hold on her neck to kiss her lips. It began tenderly, Cloud feeling nothing but pure affection for the woman who was cradled under the protective shell of his body, wanting to keep her sheltered and safe and happy.  But the feeling of her mouth on his again, too soft and too hot and too wet at the seam was enough to set his earlier wildness loose again.  Her tongue looping around his had him kissing her even harder, sucking her lips between his violently while his free hand began to travel up and down the curve between her rib cage and her hip, squeezing as he went until her skin grew red under his eager grip. She was moaning into his mouth, rolling her hips beneath him the more that they kissed and the more that his hands maintained their possessive hold on her body as he pinned her under him.  He felt her drag the balls of her feet across the backs of his calves, bending her knees as she lifted her hips until he could feel a subtle brush of her wetness against his shaft that was already beginning to leak onto her sheets.  Groaning in response to these dual sensations, Cloud let Tifa hungrily nip at his bottom lip before he pecked her sweetly a few times and then drew back. “How are you feeling?” he asked her, looking down into her eyes again.  They were low-lidded, her vermillion irises thin crystal discs around her pupils, her lashes a dark, curved curtain over the entire wet shine.  Her lips were swollen and parted, bright pink and blood-rushed, her breath escaping in tiny puffs as she tried to catch her breath. “Good,” she whispered, holding him closer to her with both arms around his shoulders, one hand splayed across the center of his back, the other with her fingers tangled into his hair.  “But Cloud, please.  I want you… so, so bad, I -“ “Shh,” he whispered, leaning in closer to her ear.  “I’m going to take good care of you, okay?  Just relax.  Close your eyes, and breathe, Tifa.” She nodded, exhaling a little bit as he sat up, handing all of her trust over to him again just with the look in her eyes alone.  It reminded him of how she had looked up at him one warm spring night under the stars, after her eighteenth birthday, when he had thought their fates were sealed in those same celestial lights above and that nothing could ever shear through them. Cloud pushed that thought aside, finding no place for the past here.  He brushed a thumb over her bottom lip, forever enamored by its poutiness, then reached for an extra pillow at the head of her bed.  Sliding away from atop her body, he gently lifted her hips with both hands and positioned the pillow under her before he settled himself between her thighs. Realizing what he was about to do, Tifa’s eyes brightened, and she brought her hands up to her face, covering her mouth with one and tucking the other under her chin while she stared down at him. “Cloud…” But he only smiled at her, ready to spoil her. Wrapping her thighs around him with his arms under them and his hands reaching for her belly, Cloud started by placing soft, wet kisses to the insides of her thighs in languorous, up-and-down trails.  He moved slowly, letting his tongue occasionally dart out to swipe at a particularly sensitive strip of her skin, sometimes even gently sinking his teeth into her fleshiest parts. Tifa trembled beneath the tender workings of his mouth, a breathy sigh escaping her lips even though she remained mostly silent.  Not intending to keep things like that for long, Cloud nuzzled his nose against the tight crease of her inner thigh, producing a giggle and then a gasp from her throat as he darted his tongue in a line along it. He was finding himself becoming lost in the headiness of her aura, feminine and fresh and sweet, tangling him in arousal as he tried to concentrate and breathe when the air in her lungs began to escape in ragged, broken puffs.  He growled against her skin as he moved closer to her center, looking up again to find her eyes almost closed, but not fully.  He could see the barest hint of bordeaux watching him beneath those thick black lashes, shyly observing his every action and movement.  It made him smile, heat blossoming in his chest as he realized that despite her diffidence, she wanted him and the pleasure he could pull out of her. He focused his attention on the wet, pink invitation bared in front of him, bringing one hand down to spread her lips apart and drink her in.  Cloud had never really been this up close and personal with Tifa before; when they had been teenagers, their few times together had been uncoordinated and sloppy, if not passionate.  But now, he was becoming acquainted with Tifa in a new way that had his heart beating faster and faster, ready to vacate his chest. Cloud had tried to move on with other women over the years.  He’d dated a few and had gotten reasonably far with them, but there was always a bridge that he couldn’t cross. Because of her . Glancing up at her as she grew wetter under his appraisal, leaking over his gently probing fingers, he knew that it was affecting her too, because she was now covering her entire face with both hands, her body shivering as she rocked her head back and forth across her pillow. Suddenly, Cloud had to know if it was the same for her as it had been for him all this time, even if it was a wildly stupid question to ask at this moment.  He had to know if anyone else had even been as close to her as he was now. “Tifa,” he whispered up at her, his breath warm over her already hot skin, one hand rubbing the outside of her thigh affectionately while the other kept her spread open with his fingertips.  “Since we were last together, have you… have been with anyone…?” He let his words trail off, his eyes glowing in the darkness of her room as he stared up at her.  A moment passed, and she peered at him between her fingers, finally lowering her hands from her face to shake her head slowly at him. “No… Cloud.  You’ve been my… my only one.” It was probably stupid how much Cloud’s heart swelled inside of his chest at those words, so much so that he felt a pressure that made it harder to breathe.  It was also probably stupid how warm his cheeks grew or how widely he grinned up at her, causing her to blush even harder than she was already before she tittered nervously and covered her face again. But seeing her embarrassment rise, Cloud pressed another kiss against her thigh and then reached up with both hands to grab her forearms and lower her hands from her face, pulling them to either side of her hips as he laced his fingers through hers, locking both their hands together. “Good,” he finally replied, wetting his lips with his tongue and watching as her eyes widened just a little bit.  “Same for me, Teef.  You’ve always been the only girl for me.” The way that her eyes softened and her lips trembled at his words made his insides melt, and Cloud could only return that look of love with one of his own, the faintest hint of a smile pulling at his lips as he winked at her and then lowered his mouth to her dripping core. He heard Tifa gasp as soon as his lips touched her, his first kiss pressed right below her clit where her lower lips began to spread apart.  Her body tensed up above him, brows furrowing as she blew out a short breath of air, her lungs forcing her breasts to shift and wobble as they expanded in search of air.  Cloud squeezed both of her hands reassuringly, pinning them to her sides with the weight of his forearms keeping her thighs open and in place as he dipped his tongue out and began to run it up and down the length of her spread, leaking pussy in long, hot stripes. Cloud had forgotten how strong Tifa was, remembering her training with Zangan now that she was struggling against him with all of the hidden power in her muscles, trying to shut her legs around him and push off the bed as he lapped slowly and tenderly at her folds.  But despite this, her strength was not quite the match of a SOLDIER’s, and he kept her in place, though her effort did force a thin line of sweat to erupt across his forehead. Somehow, her struggle was an even bigger turn-on, especially when he dipped his tongue inside of her tight entrance and she let out a loud, raspy moan, her hands squeezing his again. She tasted so good, sweet and bright and honeyed and thick, her arousal a steady but slow stream that leaked into his mouth and coated his tongue. She was so wet and so eager, and he hadn’t even gotten to the good part yet, the part that he knew would drive her wild and split her apart right under him. The longer that he hovered there, gently probing in and out of her with his tongue firm but soothing, the more that she purred and whined, soon throwing herself headfirst into the sensations until she was begging. She gasped, leaning up to stare down at him with her eyes glassy, her pupils so wide he could barely see her cherry-red irises. “Cloud,” she huffed his name, the sound so raspy and thin that he felt himself leak onto her sheets, his own desire becoming too much to contain.  “That feels so good… but…” “Hmm?” he hummed against her skin, withdrawing his tongue from her needy, clenching heat and rolling it along her rim, pressing kisses up and down her folds again.  “But what, Tifa?  What’s wrong, sweetheart?” He was too in love with her and it was making even his words grow wilder than he’d ever heard them, now so deep in the high of his passion for her, her scent driving him to the sweetest of lunacies.  A deep, hidden part of him was growing dark and ruthless, wanting to force her to beg and plead and use every one of her filthiest words to tell him what she wanted, but he suppressed it, remembering that this was Tifa and that he would never do anything to make her uncomfortable.  Instead, he kept kissing her over and over again, inching just a little bit higher, squeezing her hands again to encourage her. “Please,” she wheedled, her voice high-pitched and thin, “Please stop teasing me, Cloud.” She looked like she was on the verge of tears, her eyes pinched shut and her brow furrowed, her mouth open as if ready to wail.  All of it was enough for him.  He kissed his way higher, stopping when he reached her clit, a tiny pink nub that had been hard and waiting for him, her entire core clenching and quivering as he laved his affections on her. She whimpered as soon as he wrapped his mouth around it, dropping the flat of his tongue just under it as he began to suck.  It didn’t take long for her sounds to quickly escalate, whines turning into bright shouts, the fiery strength in her body forcing her to writhe roughly beneath him, her hips lifting off the bed.  Her hands were bending his fingers back, and despite the pain of her grip, Cloud was careful and held his grip firm against hers without hurting her in response.  His arms kept her down, and he focused his attention on her clit, the sounds she made above him as he suckled and nipped and licked at her tender, sweet little button his guide.   “Cloud, Cloud, Cloud…. Please… oh, please, Cloud, I can’t… I.. Cloud… Cloud please...” Her chants and cries were like music to his ears, notes of a different sort struck by his longing and love for her against the keyboard of his heart. He kept up his assault until she was sitting up and sobbing his name viciously, staring down at him with tears in her eyes.  They were clear and watery, much to his relief, and Cloud sucked her harder and rolled his tongue over her nub in a long drag, wanting to see them spill. They finally did after a moment, Tifa throwing her head back with a final cry of his name, her entire torso sheened over with sweat, her breasts heaving, her legs trembling as she wept and struggled through her climax. He stilled his mouth, watching her the entire time, his heart rate dangerously high as he drank in how fully he was able to lay her to ruin with the simplest devotion from his mouth. She fell back against her pillow, still stuttering through her tears, which had fallen at last and were lining her cheeks.  His hands now painful and achy, Cloud gently let go of her and pulled his mouth away from her flesh, sitting up on his knees above her as he wiped his mouth and licked his lips clean of the last of her release.  She’d soaked half of his face and leaked all over the sheets, and Cloud now couldn’t wait to dive inside of her again, every intention in his mind to make love to her the entire night through until one or both of them couldn’t take it anymore. That thought reminded him of the painful stiffness between his thighs, and he crawled forward, pushing her thighs back as he went.  Blindsided by this advance, Tifa, who was still blubbering and trying to recover, opened her eyes to look up at him in surprise. “Shh,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss her under her eyes, before dropping his lips to hers in another tender kiss, swallowing the last of her whimpers and cries.  He pulled away to cup her cheek with one hand, brushing his thumb over her skin. “You okay, sweetheart?” he asked her, his voice so soft and so low, barely a whisper that skirted over her throat as he leaned in to press another kiss just below the dangle of her earring. “Yes,” she breathed, finally beginning to catch her breath.  Cloud began to kiss her mouth again, sharing her sweet flavors back with her, raising her left knee above his shoulder as he reached down and guided the hot, achy tip of his cock to her entrance. He broke the kiss long enough to look down into her eyes, finding them still wet and eager and stunned from the way her nerves were already raked thin by her orgasm.  Everything about her face and the way that she looked up at him was beautiful, and he smiled at her, dropping one arm above her head as he crowded her close to him, the other keeping her leg raised as he slowly slid inside of her. “I love you, Tifa,” he whispered into her ear, and she opened her mouth to respond, only to have it come out in a choked gasp as he fell deep inside of her, holding her to him as he rocked back and forth, his hips dragging a slow grind. He bit his lower lip and hid his face in the crook of her neck, not wanting to cry out at the sensation of Tifa clenching hot and tight and wet around him.  His second time inside of her that night and in the last decade, and he moved slowly this time, wanting to savor every feeling and make it last forever.  Tifa’s arms were soon wrapped around him, holding him tight to her as she began to moan, this time her melodies husky and deep and dark. He let the sounds drive him to madness as he worked himself inside of her, feeling her walls grip him, her nails soon scraping across the skin of his back and breaking it open as she mewled.  He didn’t mind; he’d be happy to let her tear him apart anyway that she wanted to as long as she was content.  He groaned into her shoulder at the sensation, relieving the pressure he felt by biting gently into her skin, and Tifa keened into his ear, tightening around his length again. He huffed when her moans grew brighter and became interspersed with wails of his name, and Cloud knew that she was close.  Pushing her leg back even further until her ankle was above her head, he propped himself up on one hand and leaned over her, staring into her eyes as he picked up speed, his thrusts dragging all the way out of her before slamming fully back in. I… Love… You . He didn’t realize that he was repeating the words over and over again in raspy breaths between chants of her names, not even sure if she could hear him over the way she wailed until her orgasm hit her.  All he knew was that he couldn’t stop, not when she clenched up around him and not until he met his own release, finally feeling himself tighten and spasm before he came deep inside of her. It was only after he’d collapsed on top of her, unable to hold himself up any longer, did Cloud realize how hard Tifa was pulling at his hair.  He winced at the pain, but she soon let go, her grip loosening as her fingers slid away and came to rest at the back of his neck instead, still holding him tight. It was quiet for long moments, nothing but the sounds of their heavy breathing echoing through the room.  They were both sheened with sweat, their bodies stuck to one another, and Cloud realized idly that neither one of them could move.   He didn’t intend to.  He was perfectly content with Tifa snuggled beneath him still holding his now soft and spent length inside of her, her legs having lowered to circle around him and keep him close.  Returning her embrace, he wrapped his arms around her, shifting slightly to his side so that he could take his weight off of her but still hold her tight. “Cloud?” she whispered after long moments had passed, her breath still rough. “Hmm?” he hummed against her shoulder, nuzzling into her skin, loving her scent that was blended with the aftermath of their lovemaking, her hair curtaining around them in a silky mist. “I love you, too,” she whispered, saying those words back to him for the first time in a decade.  “I never stopped.” It made his heart jump a little, and Cloud just smiled at her, snuggling her closer to him, resting his chin atop her head, his fingers tangled in her hair again as he closed his eyes. And he vowed to himself that this time, their promise would not ever be broken, not by them and not by anybody else.     [ ν ] - εγλ - 2007 |May 15th     Replenished    For the second time, Tifa Lockhart found herself waking up beside Cloud Strife, wrapped tight in his arms.  Only this time, they were both completely naked, and they were in her bed, Cloud’s quiet breathing ghosting over her hair as he snoozed. Tifa shifted slightly, turning her body so that she could get a better look at him while he slept.  With his eyes closed and his yellow hair haloing his face, his normal frown lines evaporated from his forehead, he not only looked so peaceful and content but so, so young.  He reminded her of the boy who had moved in next door to her all those long, faraway summers ago, the boy she had fallen in love with, the boy whose heart she had broken and whose now she had a second chance to embrace. Feeling a distinct soreness between her thighs, Tifa smiled, remembering the night before, her breakdown on the piano and the way that Cloud took her without mercy against it before they washed away all over those old hurts that were hidden in starry sparkles in her tub.  She remembered the soothing affection of his mouth and the way that he had laid on top of her, and feeling a burst of adoration, she curled in closer to him, craving the warmth of his body as she lifted a hand to gently trace her fingers over his cheek, still admiring him in his sleep. A moment passed before Cloud’s eyes slowly opened, pupils dilating against the sunlight that streamed in from her window across the room.  Tifa was so close to him that she could see the myriad of colors that made up his eyes and the shimmering, deep cerulean blue that cascaded through highlights of aqua and cobalt.  But it was the jade green rim that entranced her, had her eyes locked with his as awareness slowly came back to him, stirring him as he woke. Tifa remembered the first day that she had met Cloud Strife, standing under the awning of a jewelry shop in a pouring summer rainstorm in Nibelheim.  The first thing she had noticed had been his eyes, bright and shining blue.  Back then, there was no emerald glow infecting them; they had been the same color as the desert bluebells that grew along the orchids in the valleys that bordered Mt. Nibel. Now, though, they had changed, shaded by the evidence of his years living a life she hadn’t been a part of for so long.  Staring into those deep ultramarine eyes, Tifa knew that she would not let the years and space change anything else, that she would love him no matter what the color of his eyes was. “Morning,” he said groggily when his eyes focused, lips spreading into a smile to match hers.   “Morning,” she whispered back, now combing her fingers through his hair.  “Did you sleep okay?” He was grinning now, throwing his arm back around her so that he could draw her in close, pressing a kiss to her forehead.  “Look who I had to sleep next to all night.  What do you think?” Tifa felt her cheeks warm, and she bit her lip and pulled away, shaking her head in response.  But Cloud was already on the move, lifting up to an elbow and grabbing her to pull her in close to him. “Hey, come here,” he said softly, pulling her body over his. Tifa let him guide her, her hair spilling around them in ebony waves, thick and soft and clean.  She remembered the way that he had washed her hair so tenderly the night before, and the memory warmed her, spurring her to center herself with her legs straddled around his hips as she laid down over him to embrace him. “You’re so soft,” Cloud whispered by her ear, his fingers getting caught in the tangles of her hair again.  “Your hair is too.  I love the feel of it.” “Thanks for washing it,” Tifa responded, laying her head on his chest, hearing his heartbeat echo up at her, steady and rhythmic.  It was soothing, and she found herself closing her eyes as she listened, curling her fingers into the soft flesh of his shoulder.  She was so content curled up on top of him like this, she could fall right back asleep in his loving embrace. But Cloud seemed to have other ideas.  His hands were beginning to travel her body in a way that had a little too much need and pressure behind his touch, abandoning her hair in favor of the soft skin of her hips and the dip in her waist and round curve of her bottom.  She felt his erection stir back to life under her thigh, and she blushed, hiding her face against his chest as his hand reached behind her and found her warm center between her thighs. “Cloud,” she whispered, shaking her head, but he lifted her chin with one hand so that she could look up at him.  He stared at her, wearing a sloppy, sleepy grin, and she couldn’t help return it with a smile of her own. “What?” he asked, feigning ignorance to the mild chastisement of her tone.  “You can’t expect me to not want to make up for lost time, Teef.” She laughed, but the sound broke away into a moan when she felt his finger run lines over her slit, dancing over her clit a few times before he slid it inside of her.  Unable to stop herself from chasing those same delightful sensations again, she pressed back against him, slowly weaving her hips in circles. “Oh, oh, Cloud,” she whimpered, and he leaned forward and kissed her, capturing her lips for a moment before he let his kisses spill over onto her jaw.  “You like this?” he asked her, and the smooth, low tenor of his voice unwound her.  Something about his bedroom voice and his carefully chosen words, however brief, always seemed to get her hotter and wetter every time he spoke.  She whimpered in response, her hips now riding his finger, the gentle penetration leaving her feeling so sensitive and worked up but wanting so badly to be filled to the brim, to overflow.  Wanting more, she dug her fingernails deep into his shoulders, cooing his name. “Cloud…” “What’s wrong?” he breathed, looking up at her, his eyes low-lidded and his lips still carrying that lazy smile.  The sun passed behind a few clouds, and for long moments, he was shadowed, his eyes glowing up at her again.  “Everything okay, baby?” Tifa felt something inside of her melt at the sound of his voice and his choice of words, and she clenched down on him tight, feeling herself drip just a little more.  He was becoming more and more like his younger self, too charming and daring and bold, sweet but dangerously sexy, enough to get a girl into a world of trouble, and Tifa wanted all of it forever. “Mhm,” she hummed. “I love it when you talk to me like this, Cloud.” “Yeah?” his voice was still low and throaty and deep, but her backtalk had piqued his interest, and he was looking at her even more closely.  “Does it turn you on?” Tifa widened her knees over him in response, feeling his hardness ride up against her inner thigh.  “I like it when you’re so sweet,” she found herself gushing, unable to stop herself despite the way that her face brightened and her heart raced, her entire body warm and flushed.  “It makes me so wet, the sound of your voice, the sweet things that you say to me.” He leaned forward to kiss her again, and as he did so, he dipped another finger inside of her, gently fucking her with both, slowly pressing in and out of her, Tifa soaking him.  She mewled into his mouth, and he pulled away, his own cheeks now stained pink as their eyes met again. “I’ve got a lifetime of sweet talk for you, Teef,” he whispered, one hand in its possessive hold around the back of her neck again.  “You want to ride me?” “Be careful,” she warned him playfully.  “I’m a little sore.” Cloud’s eyebrows shot up, but he retained his grin.  “Really?” When she nodded shyly in response, he sat up, carrying her with him until he was able to fold her in his lap with her legs around him, crowding her close to his body until their chests were flush against one another’s.  She curled into his warmth, already missing the feeling of his fingers pressed inside of her, longing for more of the soothing relief that only he could offer her. “Don’t worry,” he whispered, dotting her neck with kisses again and pushing her heavy dark hair out of the way.  “I’ll be gentle, beautiful.” She melted again, arms folded around him as his hands began to travel her body, stroking under her chin and trailing her arms and ribs before resting at her waist.  He slid them forward to cup her bottom, lifting her slightly so that her chest was level with his face and he could drop his mouth to one of her nipples. She whined as soon as his mouth closed around her stiffened flesh, new sparks of heat traveling along the lines of her tight abdomen until they centered themselves right over her clit with a pulse.  His length was a steel rod between her legs, resting on her thigh and promising so much of the fullness from the night before that was leaving her with such a delicious ache.  She rocked her hips toward him as he licked at her flesh, rolling her nipple under his tongue before squeezing her bottom firmly, the tips of his fingers dangerously close to her needy heat again. “Cloud,” she whined above him. He smirked around her nipple, then released it so that he could get a better look at her.  “Shh,” he shushed her, and Tifa realized that he was rather fond of doing that.  “Let me finish what I’m doing, Tifa.  You know I’m gonna take care of you, right?  Don’t rush it.  Just relax.  Let me take care of you.” She was melting again, trembling above him, her legs growing weaker and weaker as he held her up against him and moved his mouth to her opposite breast, adorning it with the same level of careful, listless affection.  The heat in her core was spreading, and she knew that she was making a mess all over him, leaking and dripping as her body exploded with wanton desire.  She concentrated on the sensation of his tongue circling her nipple and his teeth scraping across it as he sucked her, but it was not enough for her to reach the peak she was climbing for, the height of her need between her thighs. He went on for a moment longer until her breathing was labored and she was huffing out his name again.  He lowered her carefully until she was seated in his lap again, and then he pulled her in close to him, kissing her sweetly one more time, his tongue wrapping around hers before he retreated. “You’re so pretty,” he praised her, kissing her cheeks and jaw now.  “So beautiful.  The first time I saw you, Teef, I knew you were the only girl I’d ever want.” “Cloud…” “I,” he paused to kiss her eyelids, “Mean,” and then her nose, “It.  I was already picky when it came to girls.  And then I met you, and my expectations could never be met again.” Normally his flirtations would have made her laugh, but in the heat of the moment, with the state she was already in, his words were throwing gasoline on open flames.  She circled her hips over his, seeking any sort of friction she could find, her lower belly growing into a tight coil as her body continued to search for some sort of relief from the build that his low voice and soft touches were inspiring in her.  He knew exactly what she wanted, because he shifted slightly until his shaft was between her folds, pulling her by her thighs and working her hips over his in a slow grind, her clit soon rubbing gently against his skin. “Oh, oh,” she keened, surging her fingers into his hair, and Cloud looked up from where he had been staring between their bodies to catch her eyes again. “That better?” “Yes, yes,” she whined greedily, trying to speed up their grind.  But he held her firm, dictating their movements, guiding every twist of her hips over his with his precise control. She started to whine again, realizing that she was not above begging, not when it came to him and not when it came to chasing the edge of the cliff that she wanted to leap and fly away from.  He bit his bottom lip at her sound, raising his hips higher to deepen the tension between the tender spot where they were connected, and as Tifa felt the pleasure run wires from her clit deep inside of her tummy, she pulled on his hair. “You’re getting close,” Cloud stated, not a question, and she only nodded, pressing down harder on him. She heard his breath escape in what sounded like a chuckle, and then, he was reaching between them for his cock, pulling it away from the angle that had been finally driving her to the edge.  Instead, he guided the tip of it to her entrance, and she didn’t know whether to cry at the fact that he was about to fill her the way that she wanted to so badly or at the realization that he was leaving her hot, quivering little nub so wound up and unfulfilled. Still, she gasped when he buried himself inside of her, instantly feeling him plunge against a spot buried deep inside of her, the same spot that he had discovered last night that had left her crying out late into the night.  He brought her in close, then slowly began to work his hips up against hers, moving in and out of her in a way that drove her wild with lust and desperation, no matter how sore she still was from the night before.  Still, the soreness was still there, and all it did was make his deep thrusts feel like they were only deepening the ache rather than relieve it.  The realization that he was building her toward a high she may never be able to fully stagger beyond, she started to whine again, crying his name out quietly. “Oh, oh, Cloud… Cloud please.  It’s so, ah… oh, Cloud, Cloud, I need you…” Still holding her hip with one hand, Cloud lined her clavicles with kisses, slowly dragging his free hand between their bodies.  “I know, Tifa,” he breathed hotly against the hollowed space between her collarbone and the base of her throat.  “Just relax.  Remember what I told you.” She cried out when he thrust up harder into her, dropping her head to his shoulder as she continued to rake her fingers through his hair.  But then he was dropping the pads of his fingers to her clit, rubbing her up and down and over and in circles, instantly reigniting the painful spark he had left to idle. It hit her nerves with a flare, and he began to move inside of her a little faster, his hand on her hip guiding her into compliance, her body winding up and coiling like the mechanisms of a music box.  The dual sensations of euphoria, so different and yet somehow still so much alike, crescendoed together into a pool in the center of her belly.  It was taut and tight ready to burst, and when Cloud leaned forward and whispered in her ear, she fell apart. “You’re beautiful,” he told her again, “But you’re a fucking goddess when you’re like this.” The tenor of his voice and the heat of his breath was enough to break her completely, and Tifa cried out as her orgasm hit, two separate collisions that erupted into multiple waves.  She felt suddenly submerged in the kaleidoscope that collapsed her nerves, a rainbow of colors washing over her with the sensation of liquified velvet.  Her cry quickly turned to sobs when she realized the ride was much longer and much deeper than she had anticipated, and all she could do was hold on to him and let the tears flow and the elation bubble, feeling like stars had burst apart low in the pit of her abdomen. An entire eternity had passed when Tifa finally regained control of her body and realized that it was over, that it had finally washed through her completely, leaving her disoriented but delirious.  At some point, Cloud had lost control as well and had spilled inside of her, his spend leaking out of her as he groaned into her shoulder, his hands now slowly rubbing her back. When it seemed their breathing had regulated, Cloud laid back, pulling Tifa with him.  They were stuck to one another by a thin layer of sweat again, just as they had been the night before.  Tifa’s hair had flown in every direction, and she already knew that it was knotted and wild and would take a fair amount of detangling to correct.  But Cloud just held onto her, keeping her on top of him but holding her close in his arms. “You okay?” he asked her after long moments had passed, and Tifa shivered, nodding slowly as their eyes met.  His were hazy and dreamy, flooded by the remnants of bliss that coated his brain, much as it had hers.  His lips were parted, wet and pink from all of their kissing and ravishment. She didn’t know what it was about those two words, but whenever he said them to her, she always shattered to pieces. “Yeah,” she responded softly. He nodded, smiling smugly before closing his eyes and letting his head drop to the pillow. He quickly fell into a light snooze, and Tifa let him sleep for a while, resting her head on his chest and holding his biceps, her thoughts drifting off to how she couldn’t believe that her luck was finally changing.  She realized, closing her eyes to the sunlight for a few moments, that despite all the weeping she had done since he first pressed himself inside of her the night before on the piano, that she hadn’t cried a single star-tear. And she didn’t miss how every pain she had felt in that same amount of time had only been born from their passions. She laid there for a moment with hopes and possibilities reawakening behind her eyes when she glanced over at her bedside clock, realizing belatedly that it was after ten.  She finally blinked away her thoughts, stumbling through the joyful afterglow she had settled into as she turned to Cloud. “Cloud?” she called quietly to him.  “Cloud, wake up.” He stirred right away, opening his eyes to her with a few slow blinks.  “Hm?” “Cloud, it’s getting late,” she said regretfully.  “After ten.  Don’t you have to get Denzel soon?” Hearing that, Cloud finally waded himself back to full awareness and began to sit up, carefully helping Tifa slide off of him with his hands on her forearms.  “I’ve got a little bit of time,” he replied, shaking out his head before looking at her, his face more relaxed than she could ever remember seeing it.  “His club should be back from Sector 4 around noon.  They’re dropping him right off at home.” She nodded, and catching him admiring her at her side, she blushed and looked down at her sheets, unable to hide the way her face broke out into a radiant smile. “Okay,” she conceded, finally looking back up at him.  “I can make us some coffee before you leave. But first I really need to do something about my hair before it gets any worse.” Cloud’s eyebrow went up in interest at this, but Tifa knew that she was not exaggerating.  She kept her hair long, so long that it reached her hips, and it was so thick and heavy that not even its straightness could keep it from becoming a mess to deal with. She started to get up, but realizing her complete nakedness under the sheets, she blushed at the sudden rise of embarrassment. “Can you get my brush?” she asked him shyly. “It’s right there on the dresser, the bright blue one.” She waited, watching as he smirked at her and then nodded, getting up without even thinking about it, still fully naked.  He crossed her room and picked up the brush. “Okay.” He returned and sat back down, then held it out to her, and when she went for it, he quickly snatched it out of her reach. She narrowed her eyes at him, leaning forward to grab it, but he held it away, evading her with quick movements of his swift and well-cut arms every time she pursued him. “Cloud!” she finally huffed, trying not to laugh but unable to hold it back, and she spilled into his lap, quickly righting herself. “Let me do it, Teef.” “What?”  “Let me brush your hair.” Already he was reaching for a thick lock of her tresses, pulling them away from where they brushed against her upper arm. He brought the brush up to the dead center of her locks, ready to run the brush right through it.  She shrugged his hand away, taking the brush from him quickly even though he pouted.  “Hold on, Cloud,” Tifa admonished.  “Watch”.   She showed him how to carefully work the brush through her hair from tips to roots, guiding his fingers through some of the tangles he’d created.  Eventually, he learned how to brush out the knots without pulling out too much hair or tearing at her scalp, and soon, he was unknotting her hair in his hands. “I like when you brush my hair,” she whispered to him over her shoulder, Cloud unable to see the beaming smile on her face.  He laughed, his voice joyous as his hands passed over her hair and worked open her tangles. Tifa sighed, as he worked his way through her strands, leaning into him and unable to keep herself from falling face-first into the plunge, ready to change everything and risk it all once again. Just for him.     [ μ ] - εγλ - 1997 | 7th   January   Blockaded    Cloud sat for hours against the warmth of his mother’s soft arms, the heat of their hearth doing nothing but reminding him over and over again of how he’d let Tifa slip away just long enough for her to fall nearly to her death. Despite Claudia’s reassurance, despite her well-cooked meals and her soft words, nothing could assuage the guilt that Cloud felt after Tifa had fallen and he’d failed to keep them both from pitching forward into the black. It ruined him inside how badly it made him feel, and he knew then that he was useless, that he was failing her, unless he got his act together and made himself into someone that she could truly rely upon. So as the days and nights passed after they’d fallen from the cliff and Tifa had spent those nights in a coma, Cloud could not erase the hate and suspicion that had descended upon him. Why would you bring Tifa to a place like this? What were you thinking? What have you done? Those last two questions never stopped burning through his mind, even as the days passed, even as he had watched Tifa’s father and Jody Hartley’s father finally pick Tifa up from the crags and carry her away.  It had taken hours, Cloud laying there with Tifa in his arms trying to figure out how to even proceed when his own body felt so broken and useless. Her father- somewhat sober- had been the one to appear, followed by a concerned and stern-faced Jonathan Hartley, Jody’s father.  At the discovery of Tifa’s broken form among the crags, Brian Lockhart had disintegrated again into new anguish, only this time unleashing his pain in the form of a few angry shouts in Cloud’s direction before he lifted his lifeless daughter away from the rocks and carried her back downhill. “What were you thinking?” Hartley repeated the question as they quietly hiked back to the village together.  “Tifa is such a nice girl.  Why are you trying to ruin her?  Leave her alone.” Remembering the vicious lies this man’s son had told about Tifa, Cloud tried to avoid spitting in Hartley’s face the entire way back, but somehow, he managed. Days had passed since then.  Tifa had ended up in a coma, unresponsive when she was lifted from the ruins.  Cloud had been fine with the exception of his scrapes and cuts, and had walked home, following the same trails that had led them to such disaster. A week later, Cloud stewed in his own thoughts, trying to reconcile Tifa’s rash behavior in the aftermath of her mother’s death.  But his thoughts and his shame at failing her and letting her fall could not outpace his love for her, even though all of it left him weeping on his bed, his door locked so his mother wouldn’t ever find out. The Sunday after he and Tifa had fallen, Cloud woke from a drowsy nap, earphones still haphazard over his ears, to Claudia knocking at his door.  He sat up, grunting an assent until she pushed open the door and entered. “Hi, sweetheart.” It wasn’t long before she was sitting beside him on his bed, bringing with her the scent of fresh cookie dough, and Cloud’s mouth was already watering.   “Mom.” His mother was quiet for a long moment, though her hand had dropped to find his.  “Tifa is awake, Cloud,” she said softly.  “ I was going to go over there to bring her and her father some food.  Would you like to come?” His heart collapsing, Cloud was immediately at his feet.  “Y, yeah, sure.”  And so he followed his mother across the street, carrying the tray of slow-roasted beef and potatoes that she had prepared while Claudia carried the bread and her homemade lemonade in a basket. They were on Tifa’s front steps, Cloud’s heart living in his throat.  All he had thought about in the last stretch of days was Tifa, his guilt and his worry silencing and crushing him to the floorboards as he paced through his room and laid back on his bed, staring at the ceiling, struggling to swallow back even a little bit of his mother’s best home-cooked meals. Cloud was two paces behind Claudia, one hand in his pocket and the other carrying the beef when the door slid open.  Brian Lockhart appeared, peering between the slats of wood, his eyes narrowing as soon as he took stock of Cloud’s mother. Tifa’s father was a big man.  He was tall and imposing, easily a foot and a half taller than Claudia and more than a foot taller than Cloud.  And he was broad-shouldered and wide, his entire body eclipsing the shadows of the sunlight behind the mountains when he appeared in the doorway. He said nothing as he stood in the threshold, his eyes turning to daggers when they focused on Cloud’s mother’s face. “Good Afternoon, Brian,” Claudia greeted in a pleasant but measured tone.  She held up the basket she was carrying.  “I heard Tifa is awake. We’ve got some food for you guys.” She said nothing else, but already, Brian was stepping out of the threshold, revealing himself in his heavy dark linens and wools, his face darkened by a deep shadow that hadn’t been shaved in days. Cloud was feet away from him, almost near the sidewalk, but even from where he stood he could smell the stench of bourbon that clung deeply to Lockhart’s pores like a deeply rooted infection. He wrinkled his nose, inching further back until he was able to lean against the fence, watching his mother square her shoulders. “Strife,” Brian snarled in his mother’s direction, though his eyes were locked onto Cloud.  He stared at him for a long, angry moment, before he turned to Claudia.  “You have a lot of nerve showing up here, after all the trouble your son has caused me.” Cloud straightened, his mother inhaling deeply.  He could hear her breath puff out before she responded. “Brian, my son tried to help Tifa.  She was very upset after Lorelai -“ “I don’t want to hear any of it, Claudia!” Brian shouted, advancing toward her, his hand reaching out to slap the basket of rolls and juice from her grip, sending them in a spill across the stone pathway of his home. “He nearly killed my daughter. I almost lost them both on the same day!”   Cloud was instantly at her side, but Claudia was shoving him behind her, her dark blue eyes ablaze as she stared back at Brian. “We all miss Lorelai,” Claudia suddenly pleaded, and Cloud realized with horror that she was weeping.  “She was my best friend, Brian.  Since we were girls.  But Cloud did not hurt Tifa.  He never would.  He loves Tifa, and so do I.” Brian stared at her silently, and for a moment, Cloud thought that his dark brown eyes might spill over into tears.  But they did not; instead, they narrowed, Brian soon taking another threatening step toward his mother until he was towering directly above her. “I’m only going to say this once, Claudia,” he growled,  “Keep your bastard away from my daughter.  If I see him near her again, I will kill him.  And you can forget about your application for the shop.” “Brian - “ But Brian was grabbing his mother by her arms, throttling her in her grip before shoving her away from his front step.  Cloud felt the fury of a thousand suns burn through his mind,  instantly catching his mother before she could fall, ready to step forward and attack Brian Lockhart with all of the rage in his fists. “Don’t even think about it,” Tifa’s father threatened when Cloud stepped up to him.  “I run this village.  I will make you and your mother’s lives hell if you take another step or come close to my daughter again.” Cloud opened his mouth to respond, his brain ablaze, but his mother was bending down, picking up her basket before she tugged on the sleeve of his leather jacket.   “Come on, sweetheart,” she urged, turning away and nearly stumbling over the steps as she made her way back to the street.  She quickly corrected herself, though, plucking at her skirts, Cloud finding it impossible to tear his eyes away from the rage of Brian’s. Tifa’s father turned and disappeared, though, slamming his front door behind him. “Mom,” Cloud complained, holding her arm as she shook her head over and over again, holding her empty basket and holding back her tears. “It’s okay, honey,” she told him.  “Let’s just go home.” But he could only sigh in response, following her back to their meager outfitting next door, not aware that Tifa had been watching it all from her bedroom window.   [ μ ] - εγλ - 1997 | 19th  January   Through a Glass Darkly   Weeks began to pass, the New Year bringing with it the dark chills that ran deep among Mount Nibel’s loneliest peaks.  The sky was almost perpetually dim that winter, the sun always hidden behind the sad puffiness of heavy storm clouds. It had been three weeks since Tifa had awoken from her coma following her and Cloud’s fall from the mountain, and she had only seen him in passing once in that time.  Her father had kept her cooped up in their home, extending her bed rest an additional week and even keeping her out of school for weeks.  She had asked once if Cloud could come over, and her father’s resulting explosion had been so ugly and volatile that she did not dare suggest the idea again. She did sneak a few phone calls with him late at night, brief exchanges she was too terrified to let carry on for longer than a few short minutes for fear of her father picking up the phone on the other end, but finding herself happily soothed by the smooth, boyishly baritone note of Cloud’s voice. It wasn’t until she returned to school in late January that she was finally able to see Cloud again, meeting him by the water tower on a wintery day where the snow was falling in slow but persistent flakes.  The hills and valleys beyond Nibelheim’s central park were blanketed in white, and Tifa stood there admiring the unblemished perfection of it all as she felt the cold sting her fingertips through her mittens.  She wondered what it might look like if someone just ran their hands violently through all of it, disrupting it and tossing the snow askew, leaving the whiteness and the purity stained with blood and golden sparkles. “Tifa?” She turned, finding him standing only a few feet behind her, the snow already caking to his wispy golden spikes.  She had been so mired in her thoughts that she hadn’t even heard him pull up his mother’s dusty old blue sedan outside of the park, and his footsteps had tread so lightly in the snow that he caught her completely off guard. “Cloud.” He ran up to her as soon as she acknowledged his presence, his arms around her faster than she could breathe.  She returned his embrace eagerly, pulling him in as close to her as she could get him, feeling the cool wetness of the snow against her cheek when she pressed it to his leather jacket. “Are you okay?” were the first words out of his mouth.  “I’m so sorry, Tifa.  I thought I had you, but then the dragon and the bridge -“ “Cloud,” Tifa cried, feeling her heart begin to balloon, her chest suddenly painfully tight.  She knew that her father had wrongfully blamed him for all of this - they had argued about it for hours before she had given up - but it tore her up inside to know that Cloud blamed himself.  As the corners of her eyes began to sting, she held him tighter and shook her head. “It wasn’t your fault, Cloud,” she finally wept into his chest, the feeling of his arms around her the only thing keeping her tethered to reality.  “I was stupid for what I did.  I could have gotten us both killed.  I wasn’t thinking, I was - “ “Shhh,” he crushed her to him as he urged her to silence, and all Tifa could smell was the silly boyish spray-on aftershave that she knew he bought from the local drugstore but that she also knew made him smell so cute and made the center of her thighs feel warm and achy.  She clung to him, forgetting the frost in the wind, obeying him as he shushed her. “That’s not true,” he reassured her.  “You’re not stupid.  You’re upset, and you have every right to be.  I never got to say this to you, Tifa, but I’m sorry about your mom.” The memory of her mother’s bedroom passed over her again, and Tifa shuddered, clinging to him, ignoring the way the snow was catching in her hair and blistering her knuckles with its wet coolness.  “Thank you, Cloud.  I missed you.” “I missed you too, Tifa.  But why are you standing out here in the snow?  Why didn’t you just meet me at Willie’s or someplace warm?” “My father thinks I’m with Rebecca,” Tifa responded.  “I can’t stay out long, or he’ll find out.  I just had to see you.  I’ve missed you so much, Cloud.” He squeezed her, then pulled away, taking her hand.   “Come on, let’s go sit in my car,” he beckoned. And so Tifa followed him, crowding with him into the backseat of his mother’s sedan after he pushed spools of fabrics and books of sewing patterns out of the way.  She was in his lap as soon as the door shut, whispering her miseries and her hopes to him, Cloud’s touch dragging away her sadness as they kissed and Tifa wept, his hands on her body freeing her soul from a lifetime of aches she knew, at that very moment on this very night, that she might never be able to alleviate. Even if she loved a boy who loved her more than anything in the world.

Sapnap doesn’t know why he’s back here. Maybe it just got… chaotic, back home. Even he can’t thrive on it all the time. Maybe he just needs to see it again. He was sixteen when they left it, and he’s nineteen now. Most people visit home around then, right? That sounds about right. It’s just as quiet in the ruins as it always was. The four of them were the noise and laughter and sound, and without them, it’s… hollow. Something was once here, and no longer is. It’s easy, here, to remember what they were. Unwanted, unneeded. It’s harder back home (and it’s still weird to think of their new stretch of land as home, but that’s definitely what it is) because back there, they’re… they’re something. They have meaning to that place. People look up to them. Ask them for help and advice, like the three of them, barely adults, are going to know any better. Some are even a little bit scared. (They have reason to be, Sapnap thinks, fiddling with the flint and steel in his pocket.) There’s a bitterness to them, one that Sapnap learned and that he’s never known Dream without, one that presses down on George’s shoulders like a physical weight. It’s even in Bad, in the way that he’s quietly resigned himself to living in and loving a world that will never love him back the same way. It’s always there, in the way that Sapnap burns—whether it’s for revenge or safety or just to see some mindless destruction. It’s in the way that Dream fights like a cornered animal and sets up TNT just to watch something explode, in the way that he used to say promises aren’t real with the kind of conviction you can’t argue with. It’s in the way that George sets up glass to shoot for target practice, even though every shattered bottle leaves him shakier than the last until he just can’t take the sound. They left a lot behind, here. More than Sapanp thought they did. His drawings are still taped to the walls in some places (they’re all awful, but hey, he was like eight), alongside a few of George’s old wanted posters. There’s a chest full of Bad’s old threadbare blankets—all of the scratchy ones, because they took the favorites with them when they left. Their old, rickety crafting tables still stand in the corners, alongside furnaces smeared with coal dust. Old wooden tools sit next to rusted iron ones, simple and messily homemade. He walks by the crumbled towers, hopping up and balancing on the old walls like they used to. He finds what he’s looking for without much trouble—a great stretch of stone wall, only partially overgrown. He runs his hands along the grooves in the stone, still as clear as they day they were carved. SAPNAP dream!!! George??? Bad! Four different handwritings, four different names. WE WERE HERE is large and scrawling underneath, and Sapnap can still feel the scrap iron in his hands, fingertips rubbed raw as he brushed away stray bits of rock and dust to make sure the message was as clear as possible. They were four kids that were wanted, even if it was only by each other. No one wants us, Dream had said—years and years ago, up in a tall tree, monsters all around them, when they were nine and seven and free and scared out of their minds. No one ever will. And Dream’s right about a lot of things—experience says he’s usually right. But... not about this. And Sapnap’s never been happier to know that Dream was wrong. (He doesn’t bring it up, though. Dream already knows. Knew it when he carved his name right below Sapnap’s, knew it when they brought George home with them and he stayed and kept staying. Knew it when Bad went out and got him that old white mask he still has, the one Sapnap painted, even though it’s way too small and he has a new one now, identical to the first. Knew it when they left home and it felt like leaving a little bit of their souls behind. Dream knows he was wrong.) There are other carvings, too, more faded over time. A huge GEORGE SUCKS decorates one wall. GEORGE is scratched out to say SAPNAP underneath it, scratched out to say GEORGE, scratched out to say SAPNAP, over and over again until there’s no more room and the names become indecipherably small. The same smiley face is drawn over and over again on another wall. SKEPPY WAS HERE TOO is along the side of a tower. None of them are quite as important as the names. Proof that I exist, he’d said, years ago, eleven years old and feeling like a wavering candle flame. Like if he didn’t burn and burn and burn he’d just wink out of existence, along with everyone he tried to hold close. They did it, though. They’re a lot more solid than they used to be, furious and cheerful and bitter and laughing and powerful. The world didn’t want them so they wanted each other, and that was enough. It’s still enough. He moves on from the wall, to one of the crumbling towers, one of their rain-shelters. There’s a chest of papers. Mostly more old drawings, abandoned to-do lists and grocery lists and notes. There’s a few old photographs buried at the bottom—he can’t believe they forgot these, they hardly ever had access to a camera. One of them was taken by Bad, just before their first tournament. They’re posing for the camera, holding up various deadly weapons in the air. It... looked a lot cooler when he was twelve. Another is a huge group photo, all four of them plus Techno, Tommy, and Wilbur, taken by Phil at another tournament. It took forever to get a picture where one of them wasn’t blinking. Another, older photo was sneakily taken—probably by Dream—because it’s of a much younger Sapnap and Bad, laughing, sitting on one of the high walls. He takes all three and puts them in his bag, careful not to crease them. And there, in the next chest, is an old stuffed panda bear. Sapnap gasps, quietly and without really meaning to, and gingerly takes it out. The fur hasn’t been soft in years, and one of the button eyes is nearly falling out, but it’s—it’s okay. (He thought he’d lost it forever ago, years ago, thought it was trampled in the forest somewhere or drowned in a lake, had mourned it like a lost friend.) He clutches it, just for a second, because he’s the only person around for at least half a mile, before he gently places it in his bag next to the photographs. He sits there in their old rain-shelter for a long moment. The grass is cool under the shade of the collapsed tower, only barren in a small, blackened patch where they used to set up their fire. He has to go back home soon. Dream and George are waiting for him, probably have another adventure up their sleeves. It’ll be wild, and it’ll be dangerous, and it’ll be fun, just like it always is. For now though, he watches the dappled sunlight slowly fade from their childhood home, and breathes.

The weather in Suffolk had been blissfully merciful all weekend, and John delights in the sensation of fresh air in his lungs and unfiltered evening sunshine on his face as he makes his way along the path through the pasture towards their cottage. The smell of damp grass and warm dirt seemed to rejuvenate him; even the curmudgeonly Londoner he was at heart couldn’t deny the spring he gained in his step when he and Sherlock took mini-breaks like these. This was only the fourth such intentional mini-break they’d ever taken (at the rate of one per month), but John was determined to make a habit of it based on a rather awkward conversation they’d had with their counsellor that past autumn. They’d been discussing varying forms of intimacy (physical, social, emotional) when their counsellor Anthony had off-handedly posed the question, “What do you require to feel physically intimate with your partner?” John had furrowed his brow, feeling a bit self-conscious about the rather personal nature of the question. “Um… touch?” He’d responded diplomatically. At the exact same time and without qualm or hesitation, Sherlock had answered, “Penetrative intercourse.” John did a double-take. “I… wait, you what?” Sherlock was staring back at John as though he’d never seen him before. “Well, yes, I’d’ve thought that was quite obvious. Penetrative intercourse is my preferred form of physical intimacy. Is it not yours?” John issued a wary glance at Anthony, who was observing the exchange with an admirably professional air of feigned disinterest. “I… I mean, sex is great, yeah, of course, but I also like… snuggling on the sofa, or spooning in bed? And… penetrative intercourse seems really specific, Sherlock, since we, you know, do lots of other… um, sexual things, too…” Sherlock shrugged. “Right, and that’s all fine. But I like penetrative intercourse.” John was feeling vaguely incensed. “That’s all fine? As in, just okay?” “I didn’t say it was just okay, I said it was fine, because it is fine, but Anthony specifically asked us about what’s required for me to feel intimate with you, and my answer is penetrative intercourse.” John opened his mouth to protest. “Yes, but--” “Alright, let’s hold up right here,” Anthony interjected, waving his hand in the air. “Seems like this is the start of an important conversation, but honestly, it’s not one that you need me here for. So your homework for this week is to continue this discussion on your own time, and next week we’ll circle back to the discoveries you’ve made about each other.” John had wanted to have the talk properly: seated in front of their fireplace with hot cups of tea in hand for a gentle, honest negotiation of what was apparently a rather sensitive topic for them both. But the moment they stepped out onto the street after the appointment had concluded, Sherlock pulled his collar up around his neck, crossed his arms belligerently to wrap his Belstaff around him, and took off towards the Tube at a pace that John could only match if he took it at a brisk trot. Sherlock knows damn well John hates it when he walks too fast, so he was clearly goading him on; John swore under his breath and tried to formulate a game plan on the run. He knew Sherlock could be sensitive about his sex drive. John’s not entirely sure why-- perhaps it was because so many people assumed he was asexual as a result of his rote, analytic brain and slightly off-putting personality, or perhaps it was because Sherlock had still been a virgin when he’d taken up with John, and the knowledge of John’s considerably broader breadth of experience made him self-conscious. But whatever it was, it always struck a nerve, and that day was no exception. John steeled himself for the fallout. “Oy. Sherlock. Slow down, please.” He grabbed his upper arm and thankfully, Sherlock acquiesced. “Are we going to talk about this like adults, or are you going to storm off like a moody teenager?” Sherlock pursed his lips. “I thought we wereacting like teenagers. What with your preference for cuddling and spooning and light petting and the like.” John resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I said I liked those things, Sherlock, not that I preferred them. They’re part of a whole package, a package that makes me feel close to you. Do you… do you not like them?” John felt a distinct out-of-body sensation at the thought, as though somehow his entire relationship with Sherlock would have been built on a lie. Did Sherlock not like touch? “I like them.” (John internally breathed a sigh of relief.) “But I’ve done those things with other people. Those things and more. But the intercourse I’ve only done with you.” Oh. So that’s what this was all about. “In the past, I’ve engaged in those behaviours with people I didn’t care about. People I didn’t even know. And then there was the time… well, the time when I was really sick, and I did those things for the wrong reasons, and I learned to disassociate them from intimacy. They were transactional.” John swallowed hard. He’s familiar enough with Sherlock’s checkered sexual history to understand what he’s saying, but it’s always jarring to hear him talk about it aloud. Even so, he managed a curt nod before posing the only question his brain could seem to form. “But does it feel… transactional when it’s between us?” Sherlock wrinkled his nose. “Of course not. It’s different when we do those things with each other. It does feel intimate, I’m not saying it doesn’t. But sex… intercourse… that’s special.” John cocked his head. “Special how?” Sherlock bit his lip. “Because it’s something we only do with each other. I’d never had sex with a man before I met you. And you’d never had sex with a man before you met me. It’s something we only share between the two of us. Something… something I’ve never given anyone else. And something you haven’t given anyone else, either, which, let’s be honest, is saying something.” John tries not to take offense. He knows deep down that his three-continents reputation hasn’t always been easy for Sherlock. Not just the endless parade of flings he’d brought through their flat before the two of them became intimate, but even John’s loving relationship with Mary had made Sherlock feel othered. They’d discussed that much in depth before. It was only in light of their current conversation, however, that John realised just how much value Sherlock placed upon that. He’d been aware in a vague, nebulous way that Sherlock became irritable if they went more than their average of 11 days without intercourse, and he’d done his best to prevent dry spells despite their hectic schedules and demanding lifestyle-- not to mention the pressures of raising a child together. He’d like to believe that he prioritised their physical intimacy, but it was suddenly becoming acutely aware to him that perhaps they needed to be proactive about it. When he made love to Sherlock that night, it was with a newfound sense of reverence. He reflected on the way that their physical union was special to them both, and he found himself blisteringly attuned to the way Sherlock responded so openly and trustingly to his touch. Sherlock was right. This was special. So the next day, John made plans for them to take a proper mini-break together. Or, as Sherlock delighted in calling it (publically and without a single iota of shame), a “sex holiday.” And that, for the most part, was exactly what it was. They’d fallen into a sort of beautiful, unspoken rhythm during these getaways, one that reflected their mutual needs and desires. They’d arrive at their destination early Friday afternoon, after handing Rosie off to Sherlock’s parents for the weekend. They’d barely make it through the doorway of their temporary abode before tumbling into bed, and they’d spend the rest of the day-- the entire rest of the day-- having frankly obscene amounts of sex. John had considered himself a fairly sexual being for virtually his entire adult life, yet it still never failed to astound him exactly what having sex with Sherlock could do to him. He could make love to him for hours and never tire, and his desire never waned. Even after four orgasms, something in his brain always demanded moremoremore! and he’d find himself pushing Sherlock’s legs apart and sinking into his perfect heat again and again as beneath him, Sherlock let himself fall completely, utterly, perfectly apart. He could lick Sherlock’s pale skin and pluck his hard nipples and fondle his soft sac and stroke his hard shaft for as long as Sherlock would allow, and God, Sherlock allowed all of it, all of it and more, and the world around them would melt and dissolve and time grew sticky and slow until there was nothing-- nothing-- but salt and sweat and heat and come, feral and beautiful and wanton and pure as they drowned themselves in toe-curling, sheet-gripping pleasure. The next morning they’d wake, crusty and musky and stinking of sex, slightly bashful as they shuffled off to the shower to wash. And then they’d go their separate ways. John liked to explore. He’d wander a nearby village, sample a pint at the local pub, take long walks in the rolling countryside, or go for a jog around the grounds. Sherlock preferred seclusion. He’d stay in their cottage and read or write or take a hot bath or sometimes just think. John would wander back around dusk and sometimes find Sherlock sitting in near-total darkness, fingers steepled beneath his chin, lost inside his Palace. Then John would turn on a light. Sherlock would blink. Their eyes would meet. And they’d both smile. Sex on Saturday nights was different. Sometimes they’d have a session if they hadn’t unwound in a while; John would strip Sherlock and tie him up, or make him kneel, or handcuff him to the headboard. Other times, if they weren’t in the mood for a power exchange, they’d cook a meal together and then retire to bed for a single round of vanilla sex, full of whispered endearments and tender promises. John’s found he honestly doesn’t prefer one over the other. Sunday they’d return to the city, return to their lives, return to Rosie and the family they’d made. But mini-breaks, John’s decided, are highly important. For self-care. He sometimes forgets just how lucky he and Sherlock are. One night he’d been out at the pub with Greg, and several pints in he made an (uncharacteristically) semi-lewd reference to his upcoming holiday with Sherlock, and Greg just groaned and buried his face in his hands. “Must you rub it in?” John gave him a shrug. “Rub what in?” “The fact that you’ve been with the same person for bloody ages, yet somehow I still catch you staring at his arse at my crime scenes like an adolescent pervert, and the two of you are forced to leave the city on a monthly basis so you can go screw like rabbits in the countryside while the rest of us drink alone in our flats.” “You don’t have to be alone in your flat, you know. You’re a perfectly eligible bachelor! You just need to put in the effort.” Greg rolled his eyes. “Please. I put in plenty of effort with the missus, and all that got me was the inevitable bed death followed by five figures in legal fees.” John swilled the last of his pint. “You really believe bed death is inevitable?” Greg raised an eyebrow. “‘S far as I can tell, you and your insatiable consulting detective are the only exception to that rule. Are you telling me all your previous relationships stayed lively the whole way through?” John paused to consider it. But now that Greg mentioned it… well, no. No, they hadn’t. Even with Mary, things had started out hot and heavy but had fizzled quickly. But that had just been a result of the pregnancy. … Hadn’t it? “I… well, no, I suppose not.” Greg tipped his glass in John’s direction. “Well there you go, then. It’s always grim after a while. Near the end, the only time me and my wife had sex was after she’d been unfaithful and I’d decided to forgive her. We’d shag like crazy for weeks afterwards, but then the attraction would fade, until she went out and did it again.” John paused to consider this, and then (because apparently the filter between his brain and his mouth had summarily decided to take the night off) asked, “So why didn’t you two just… go with it?” Greg gave him a quizzical glance. “Go with… what?” “The whole… infidelity thing? I mean, if that’s what got you both off, is that really so bad?” Greg’s eyebrows had all but disappeared into his hairline. “Well, it’s not exactly the conventional way to maintain a marriage, is it?” John shrugged. “I dunno, it’s just a kink. Far worse things in the world than a shared kink between consenting adults.” Greg paused for a beat. “Is that… Is that what you and Sherlock do?” John nearly choked on his beer; apparently Greg’s filters had gone completely offline as well. Through his sputtering, he managed a garbled, “Um, no. No, not that exact thing, no.” He took a deep breath and tried to collect his (alcohol-saturated) thoughts, at least enough to clarify his point so that Greg didn’t think he was kink-shaming him. “I just… think being with Sherlock has made me realise that you shouldn’t… well, you shouldn’t take things off the table just because society doesn’t consider them normal. Sherlock may operate outside polite society’s norms most of the time, but the upside is that means he’s got basically zero inhibitions and as it turns out, that’s rather an asset when it comes to maintaining attraction in a relationship. He’s not afraid to ask for what he wants, even if it’s a bit unconventional by society’s standards. And that’s made me more confident to do the same.” Greg paused to consider this. Finally, he chugged the last half of his pint and slapped it down on the counter with an air of finality. “So all I need to do is find myself a woman with absolutely zero social skills, no verbal filter, and a knack for pissing off everyone in her general proximity, and she’ll be dynamite in the sack?” John couldn’t help but snort. “Yup. Exactly. Couldn’t have put it better myself.” They’d both laughed it off at the time, but the conversation had served as a much-needed reminder to John that despite the overwhelming amount of emotional work both he and Sherlock had to put into it, their relationship was, at its core, something his heart knew was well worth fighting for (and John’s cock wholeheartedly agreed). He catches himself smiling smugly at the memory, and inwardly chuckles at how mad he must look-- traipsing down a muddy path lugging a heavy satchel of fresh firewood from the gatehouse of the estate where the cottage was located, grinning like a loon at absolutely nothing. But waiting for him back at the cottage was Sherlock, and a fresh batch of his infamous ratatouille which, to John’s surprise, he’d offered to rustle up for them while John went out to spend the day taking in the grounds. All he’d asked in return is that John pick up some firewood on his way back so they could have a romantic meal in front of the fire before they turned in for the night (well, he hadn’t exactly used the word romantic, instead muttering something under his breath about allergies and air quality and keeping the windows shut), but John had gotten his drift. And after spending the previous day engaged in much more strenuous activities, John was all too happy to oblige; a quiet evening with hot soup and a warm fire sounded perfect. So he’s more than a bit surprised when he pushes open the door to the cottage to find Sherlock standing over the stove, stark naked save for his black Louboutin heels and crimson silk panties. John drops the bundle of firewood with a clatter. Sherlock’s head snaps in his direction, and their eyes meet. John opens and closes his mouth, but nothing comes out. Slowly, Sherlock pulls himself up to his full height, and places the spoon on the counter before turning to face him fully. “Hi, John.” John blinks. “Hello.” The air between them feels suddenly thick, and John’s brain struggles to catch up with this most recent turn of events. Sherlock is wearing his heels and panties. And he’s cooking. Why? Sherlock rarely cross-dressed, and when he did, it was usually reserved for times they were having overt power exchanges and John asked him to. The idea of him packing his fancy heels and skivvies for a weekend in the countryside seemed-- uncharacteristic, to say the least. John licks his lips and tries to read Sherlock’s expression. There’s something there that isn't there normally. It looks almost like… trepidation? Concern? Fear? But what the hell did he have to be afraid of? John takes a slow step forward into the sitting room, eyes adjusting to the dim light inside the cottage (per usual, Sherlock had neglected to turn on any lamps in John’s absence, and single room had grown dim in the waning light). He draws a deep, steadying breath. “Sherlock? Is everything alright?” Sherlock swallows hard. John can see his Adam’s apple bobbing against the pale column of his throat, and he can feel his own throat tighten in response. Sherlock holds his gaze, but when he speaks, his voice is soft. “Is this… is this okay?” John gives him a little smile. “Of course it’s okay, love. It’s always okay. You just… took me a little by surprise, is all. Is this… a special occasion?” He suddenly finds himself having a hard time focusing as his gaze wanders down past Sherlock’s delicate clavicles and along his toned torso, then further still to the point where his hipbones protrude above the line of elegantly scalloped lace. Sherlock’s combs his fingers through his shorn locks nervously, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “I just… the hair. John, it’s the damn hair.” John has to bite back a laugh. “The hair? Again?” He’s honestly a little relieved; he was wondering if perhaps this was the expression of a larger issue he’d somehow been completely ignorant of. Sherlock glowers back at him. “I know, I know, it’s vain and it’s petty and it’s narcissistic, but I just… it doesn’t feel like me. I feel like someone else with my hair this short. And I just… I wanted to… I wanted to wear these things, because I thought they’d balance it all out, but now I feel like I just look ridiculous, like some damn corporate wanker in a cheap drag show, doing it for laughs, and-- for God’s sake, stop looking at me like that! I feel like a bloody joke.” All traces of amusement have evaporated from John’s face. He’s suddenly blindingly, painfully reminded of just how vulnerable Sherlock is making himself when he wears feminine clothing. It’s his expression of a side of himself he never displays outside the privacy of their flat, and John always treats him with worshipful, respectful reverence when he chooses to reveal it to him. After all, Sherlock told him early on that he’d never worn such garments for sexual gratification before he met John. This was a display of absolute trust. In three strides John has crossed the room, and he brings his hands up to cup Sherlock’s face tenderly but firmly, forcing Sherlock to meet his eye. “Sherlock. Do you see me laughing?” He keeps his voice low and even, his face serious and stern. Sherlock blinks. “No.” John’s lip quirks ever so slightly as he wraps his fingers around Sherlock’s wrist and pulls his palm to the burgeoning bulge at the front of his denims. “And does this feel like a joke to you?” Sherlock’s pupils visibly dilate, and he licks his lips on instinct. “No, John.” John gives him a satisfied nod. “Good. So I think we can conclude that there’s nothing absurd or ridiculous about what you do to me when you wear such pretty things.” He guides Sherlock’s hand over his erection in slow, deliberate strokes, letting Sherlock feel it as he quickly attains full hardness. Sherlock’s eyes flutter shut and he growls low in his throat, dropping his forehead to rest in the crook of John’s neck. “Mmm, there we go, that’s lovely.” Sherlock continues to fondle John through his jeans as John releases his wrist and brings his fingers up to run them reassuringly through Sherlock’s hair. “So perfect. So amazing. Sherlock Holmes, you are the singular most gorgeous creature that I have ever laid eyes on. You could shave your head bald or get a mohawk or bleach it blond and grow it past your shoulders for all I care, I will always want you. Unconditionally. Do you understand that?” “Mmmmm…” Sherlock moans low and presses his lips against John’s neck, the touch warm and moist. He pumps John’s member faster, the stiffness of the fabric aggravating his aching cock. “Sherlock, I said, ‘Do you understand that?” John’s using his Captain Voice now, the tone he knows Sherlock can’t resist. “Yes, John.” The words are barely a whisper in the damp heat between them, but John hears them loud and clear. “Good.” He reaches back down to grab Sherlock’s wrist, stilling his ministrations; Sherlock whimpers in apparent disappointment. “Now that we have that sorted, why don’t you go finish cooking our dinner, hmm? I’ll get a nice fire started.” Sherlock pulls himself back to his full height and rests his forehead against John’s. “Alright.” With that, he disentangles himself from John’s embrace to make his way back to the pot on the stove, reaching for the spoon and giving it a hearty stir. Sherlock didn’t call him Captain, John notes as he turns his attention to the fireplace. Which means he probably wasn’t angling for an all-out power exchange; he appeared instead to be in the mood for something a bit more tender, a bit more loving. Which, in all honesty, was probably a good thing-- not only had they gone four rounds the previous day, but they’d had penetrative intercourse the two days preceding it as well, and John had been a bit apprehensive that he’d need to turn down Sherlock’s overtures if he asked for more again tonight. While Sherlock didn’t always respect the boundaries of his own transport, John made damn sure to respect those boundaries for him when Sherlock got too greedy or submissive to do so on his own behalf. He tends the flames until the fire has grown to a warming blaze, a welcome contrast to the chill seeping slowly in through the ancient windowpanes. It fills the room with a cheery glow, and John pulls up a chair to sit beside it and bask in the heat. Across the cottage, Sherlock seems content enough hovering over the warmth of the stove, stirring the simmering pot with his hip cocked jauntily out to the side, his body all sharp, pale angles in the dim light. John fondles himself absently through his trousers as he watches him, admiring the way Sherlock’s delicate ankles look balanced atop his provocative black heels, the way the pert globes of his arsecheeks peek out ever so slightly beneath the crimson swirls of lace perched upon them. His waist seems impossibly narrow above his slimp hips, the delicate V of his coccyx just visible above his panty line. Yet his back is visibly muscular, coiled strength shrouded in the mass of scars traversing it, the shadows dancing over the peaks and valleys of his flesh as Sherlock stirs and shifts. And his neck, his beautiful neck, impossibly long and elegant, even more pronounced with his raven locks shorn short. He’s breathtaking. Eventually Sherlock reaches up to rummage through the cupboards to produce two bowls, into which he ladles steaming heaps of stew. Displaying a shocking amount of grace for a man of his height not normally accustomed to wearing heels, he pivots and makes his way across the room to the rugged wooden table situated beneath the window overlooking the darkening grounds. He turns and gives John a pointed look. “Care to join me?” His voice is low and imbibed with heat, and it’s with a great degree of reluctance that John ceases stimulating his own cock through his trousers and rises (somewhat stiffly) to make his way over to one of the dining chairs. Sherlock retreats momentarily to fetch two spoons, then folds himself into the chair opposite him and blinks back at John in rapt anticipation. “Eat up, then.” He seems suddenly mildly exasperated, and John can’t bite back his grin at such a familiar tone passing through Sherlock’s lips, despite his current state of dress. He leans over and takes a bite of the ratatouille. As always, it’s absolute perfection. “This is amazing, Sherlock.” “Thank you. Did you enjoy your day?” This part is a bit of a practiced ritual, John’s come to realise, at times when Sherlock cross-dresses. He seems to glean some sort of satisfaction in the innate discrepancy in their state of dress; John fully clothed, with Sherlock clad only in lingerie, while they both pretend that it’s the most natural thing in the world. As John predicted, they muddle amicably through some small talk between mouthfuls of food. As much as he’d like to skip dinner and get straight down to business, he knows that this is part of the process, too: the mutual imbibing in sustenance as a tantalising, mesmerising sort of dance, their actions casual and carefree while the undertone is anything but. Besides, Sherlock had cooked. He knows better than to let it go to waste. That said, he’s still more than willing to take Sherlock’s cue when he sets his spoon aside and wipes his lips with a contented sigh. They fall instantly into a heady silence, and their eyes meet over the table. Suddenly, John finds it very hard to breathe. But breathe he does. He collects a smooth, measured breath, then rises resolutely to his feet. Sherlock’s eyes track his every move, and John can all but see his beautiful mind analysing John’s every twitch and tell. For one glorious moment, he can’t tell if he’s the hunter or the prey. It doesn’t matter. It never does. In four deliberate strides he comes to stand behind Sherlock’s chair, before bringing his hands up to rest them gently on the bare skin of Sherlock’s exposed shoulders. Sherlock releases a breath John didn’t know he’d been holding. “Thank you for cooking tonight, Sherlock.” He runs his thumbs soothingly along the ridge of Sherlock’s trapezius, feeling the muscle give way in a scintillating release of tension. “Thank you for bringing back wood.” There’s a beat, then they both collapse into giggles. “God dammit, Sherlock, I’m trying to seduce you here! Could you not?” Sherlock is tittering helplessly, burying his face in his hands to muffle the sound, shoulders shaking with the effort of it. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but you brought back wood--” “Yes, yes, I’m well aware of the punchline, love, but what I need right now is for you to pay attention.” And on that last word, he reaches up to the crown of Sherlock’s head, grabs a fistful of Sherlock’s hair, and pulls. The effect is instantaneous. As quickly as he’d gone to pieces, Sherlock is suddenly sitting stark straight in rapt attention, every muscle in his body quivering like an arrow on a taut bowstring. “Mmm. That’s more like it.” John combs his fingers through to the side of his head and tangles them once more to give a firm yank. “Oh, fuck.” Sherlock’s voice is utterly transformed; throughout dinner he’d kept it even, conversational. Now it’s low and sultry and all but dripping with desire. Yes. John wants more of that. He moves his hand back to Sherlock’s crown and pulls again. “Nnnngh!” Sherlock’s hands fly down to grip the sides of the chair, and his legs apart as if by instinct. John can see his erection beginning to swell to full hardness within the confines of the silken panties. “Oh, that’s beautiful. You like that, hmmm?” He drags his nails firmly along Sherlock’s scalp, and Sherlock whimpers. “Sorry, love, can’t hear you. I asked if you liked this.” He manages to pinch some of the finer hairs at the base of Sherlock’s neck. It’s not as easy as it had been before his haircut, of course, but he still manages to get a reasonably firm grip-- at least, enough to stimulate him. “Oh God, oh God, John…” Sherlock arches in his chair, thrusting his gorgeous chest forward as his spine bends in supplication. “So lovely. You’re so lovely.” With that, John brings his free hand up to Sherlock’s right nipple and takes it between his thumb and forefinger, and begins to pluck it. At the same time, he takes another fistful of hair and gives it a firm tug. “John.” The word is low and reverent and just the tone of it makes John’s cock throb and ache, but he knows that patience is the only path forward for them now. He gives Sherlock’s nipple a firm twist, and smiles to himself as he watches his left nipple pebble in sympathetic stimulation. He fondly recalls that time on the sofa when he’d made Sherlock come from nipple stimulation alone. Maybe tonight they could-- No. Tonight was about celebrating Sherlock, this side of him, this pretty, perfect, precious side that he’s only ever let John see. Tonight is about worshipping that. John brings his fingertips to his lips to wet them before bringing them to Sherlock’s other nipple. He traces his areola in feather-light circles, and watches in contented fascination as the gooseflesh erupts across the porcelain planes of Sherlock’s pecs. Sherlock moans and arches into the touch. His eyes have rolled back in his head, and his cock is leaking a small damp patch into the front of his knickers already, transforming the crimson into deep maroon. “Love? I want you to touch yourself now. Keep your cock in your panties, but I want you to show me how pretty it looks in all this gorgeous silk and lace. Will you do that for me?” Sherlock’s eyes flutter open as he tips his head back to meet John’s eye. “Will you… will you keep playing with my tits?” And Christ, that word coming out of Sherlock’s mouth sends shock waves straight to John’s groin, but he pushes the erotic thrill of it aside. “Of course, love. Of course I’ll keep playing with your gorgeous, perfect tits--” “God, yes…” For a moment John’s worried Sherlock’s about to come, but instead he just slumps further into his chair, his head lolling back as he pushes his chest eagerly up against John’s nimble fingers. John pulls his hair again, then leans down to lock their lips together in a deep, filthy kiss. He plunders Sherlock’s mouth eagerly, swallowing his moans and sighs as his fingers skitter from nipple to nipple, carressing and pinching the pebbled buds while his other hand twists and tugs at Sherlock’s shorn locks. Beneath him, Sherlock is vibrating with overstimulation, his lips open and receptive as he surrenders his body to John’s overtures. John finally breaks the kiss, his lips spit-slick and his tongue swollen with lust. Sherlock’s eyes blink open, and he gapes up at John, lost in arousal. John tears his eyes away to look down at Sherlock’s groin. “Touch your cock, Sherlock. Show me your pretty cock…” He doesn’t have to ask twice. As if in a trance, Sherlock’s hand flies to his member, and he takes it in his palm and begins to stroke it firmly through the lace, the heat and moisture causing the silk to stick tantalisingly to the outline of its form. “Oh, God, yeah, that’s it, love, that’s it. Show me… Show me…” Sherlock moans and his head drops back again as he begins to stroke himself with renewed vigor. His cock looks… delicious. It’s still endlessly confusing to John how much his body responds to Sherlock’s cock, considering that he’d never so much as issued a passing glance at any other man’s body until he’d met Sherlock. But something about seeing this part of Sherlock Holmes, this vulnerable, tender, beautiful part of him does things to John that he’s never felt about anyone sexually before. And the fact that tonight it’s wrapped in pretty red silk, straining against the confines of the elegantly designed pouch, causing the scalloped borders that trace Sherlock’s inguinal crease to ride up and around his visibly swollen sac, oh, that’s something else entirely. All too soon, Sherlock’s gasps and cries rise to a crescendo, and John knows he needs to move things along or risk them coming to a somewhat undignified end. “That’s enough.” Sherlock’s hand falls automatically away from his member as John ceases his own ministrations, backing away and leaving Sherlock a quivering, shuddering mess of electrified nerves. His legs are splayed so wide that the heels of his Leboutins are digging into the floor at a rather precarious angle, and his cock is tenting the panties so obscenely that John fears the seams may split. But even so, his hair-- Christ, his goddamn hair, this new, mature crop, so masculine and dignified and completely at odds with everything Sherlock was displaying from the waist down, it was a cognitive dissonance so jarring that John feels he almost should be weirded out or turned off, but instead finds himself dizzyingly, maddeningly aroused, faint with the fever of his own desire. “Come here.” He extends his hand firmly, and Sherlock turns his head slowly in John’s direction, his movements slow and languid, almost as if he were sleepwalking under a spell. “I said, come here.” Firmer this time. He can tell Sherlock is punch-drunk with desire too, but he’s fairly certain he doesn’t have the capacity to carry Sherlock all the way across the cottage and to the bed, so he’ll simply have to use his authority in this situation instead. Sure enough, Sherlock rises, his expression dazed and disorientated. John gives him a smile, which Sherlock blearily returns. “Lie down here.” John gestures towards the sofa in front of the fire. It will be warmer there, he reasons (plus the fire will provide more light, and he doesn’t want to miss a single second of this spectacle). Sherlock folds himself down to lie the sofa with his usual trademark grace. He props a pillow beneath his head then settles back, stretching out his infuriatingly long legs and arching his back. “Like this?” John’s throat feels tight. “Yes. Touch your cock.” Sherlock bites his lip coquettishly as he brings his hand back up to his cock. He doesn’t grip it immediately this time, instead working up to it slowly, thumbing the wet patch at the tip before dragging his elegant violinist’s fingers gently up and down the length of it, the corners of his lips turning up ever so slightly as his member twitches and pulses from the gentle stimulation. After a few moments he lowers his hand to palm his balls, giving them a light tug while John watches in rapt fascination. It’s a gorgeous tableau, the sight of which John can no longer resist. He pulls open his flies to free his own member, which he takes in hand and begins to stroke in earnest. He remains standing a good five feet away, not moving, just watching. Watching what Sherlock will do for him. Eventually their strokes fall into sync, breaths coming faster as their chests rise and fall in tandem. Sherlock’s legs bend and spread, a sure sign he’s drawing close to orgasm, and John knows it’s time to make his move. In three quick strides he’s on top of him, aligning their cocks and thrusting against that gorgeous silken heat for all he’s worth. Sherlock screams at the sudden onslaught of stimulation, his arms wrapping around John’s back to claw helplessly at the wool of his jumper. John, undeterred, simply moves faster, delighting in the sensation of silk against his own cock, and beneath that, the relentless hardness of Sherlock’s own arousal. “Oh fuck! Oh fuck! John! John!” Sherlock’s eyes fly open wide as John rides him, reaching forward to brace against the armrest of the sofa to give himself better purchase to grind against Sherlock’s prone form. “That’s it, love, fuck, you feel how hard you’ve made me? You see what you do to me when you wear such pretty things for me? Oh, God, love, look what you’ve done to me…” He thrusts faster, harder, as Sherlock tips his pelvis up so that John’s member is stimulating his balls as well as his shaft with each brutal stroke. The shift splays Sherlock’s legs open further, and John turns his head to see the glorious vision of one toned calf topped with a flexing foot and a stunning black heel, the masculine and feminine blending so gloriously he can’t tear his gaze away. He leans over and begins to lick and kiss and suck his way up Sherlock’s calf as beneath him, Sherlock’s body bucks and rolls. “John! John! OH! OH! Oh--nnnnnngh!” Something about the unmistakable sound of Sherlock reaching climax ignites a primitive node in John’s brain, and the next thing he knows he’s sinking his teeth ferociously into the tender flesh of Sherlock’s leg. “Fuck! Oh fuck! Oh, God, John, I’m-- oh-- oh--- ohhhhhh!” Sherlock flails and trembles through another wave of pleasure, and it’s not until his body has gone lax and pliant that John releases his grip. The man beneath him is beyond ruined, glistening with sweat, eyes glassy and unfocused, body limp and unresisting. John manages to raise himself up to sit on his heels and fully drink in the sight-- including the impressively-sized wet spot blossoming on the front of the precious panties. He doesn’t think twice. He grabs the waistband and pulls the panties down, exposing Sherlock’s still-twitching, oversensitive cock. He scoops up as much of Sherlock’s come as he can, then brings it back to his own throbbing member and begins to stroke himself frantically. It’s over quickly from there. The easy glide of his palm against his own blood-hot skin, the sight of Sherlock’s prick lying exposed and spent, cradled in the border of all that silk and lace, it’s all so perfect and he can’t, fuck, he can’t-- The first few pulses of come hit Sherlock’s cock as John issues a guttural moan, then he aims the remainder at the soiled panties, rubbing the tip of his erupting prick against the smoothness of the silk as he spends himself in long, hard pulses. Sherlock watches with an awestruck expression as John empties himself over him, mouth open and lips glistening as John Watson falls utterly to pieces. John’s admittedly not entirely sure what happens for a while after that. He knows he must have collapsed forward onto Sherlock, because when he finally gets his bearings, it’s to the distinctly unpleasant sensation of their groins connected by congealing come. “Fuck.” John struggles to raise himself to his forearms and knees, his head light in the aftermath of such a powerful orgasm. “Indeed.” It never ceases to amaze John how Sherlock can still turn on the snark when he hasn’t even yet opened his eyes or begun to recover. “Mmmph. You alright?” “Never better.” “Mmm. Good.” He moves to sit back and turns his head to kiss Sherlock’s calf, which is still resting on the top of the sofa cushion. “Jesus Christ!” “What?!” In an instant Sherlock’s propped upright on his forearms, the alertness in his eyes completely contrary to the debauched state of his body. “Fuck, Sherlock, you’re bleeding! I bit you so hard you’re bleeding!” John stares at where his teeth have punctured the flesh of Sherlock’s calf. Sherlock cocks his head to the side, completely unconcerned. “Well, that explains it.” “Explains what?” “The fact I just came so hard I think I blacked out. We already knew the pain and pleasure centres in my brain have a few wires crossed. Probably not surprising that a little blood sends my nerves into tsunami mode.” “Christ. Well, at least I’m glad you’re alright. Does it hurt now?” Sherlock flexes and points his foot a few times, watching in fascination as a bit more blood pools in the indentations of John’s teeth marks. “A little. Is it wrong that I think it’s kind of hot as hell?” John rolls his eyes and rises to his feet, then offers Sherlock a hand to do the same. “As relieved as I am that you’re pleased with this turn of events, we will NOT be making a habit of it. The human mouth is absolutely filthy, you know.” Sherlock takes John’s hand and lets himself be hauled to his full height. “Why, yes. I know.” The way he says it with such a goddamn sexual undertone makes John roll his eyes, but it’s with a smile on his face that he leads Sherlock to the bed so that he can lie down while John procures his first aid kit and gets him patched up. And it certainly doesn’t escape John’s notice that Sherlock preens and complies happily as John cleans the wound and gets it bandaged, as opposed to when they were back on Baker Street and Sherlock often treated John’s medical intervention with acerbic ridicule. And later, as he holds Sherlock against his chest in the soothing waters of the claw-foot tub (with Sherlock’s leg propped carefully on the side to avoid contamination), he takes extra care to stroke Sherlock’s hair, carefully combing through it as they chat about the coming week, their endless responsibilities and obligations, all that awaited them back home. But amidst all that, there is also this. And this will always be good. Be right. Be perfect.

Lexa was at the kitchen preparing coffee for them and some toast. It was magical how could she came back to their old domestic routine. It was funny and endearing how the old habits return; as well as the hunger for each other and for actual food. She was smiling, humming a new rhythm that was in her head since she saw Clarke again. She used to hate those kinds of activities: cooking, cleaning, being home. She couldn’t do it. When she was with Costia, the DJ haired a cleaning team, including a chef. They never stood at home for more than 5 hours, just to sleep. But at that moment she was happy, she could cook a whole banquet if that means Clarke could stay forever. She chuckled one more time and put the toasts on two plates, pour the coffee in two mugs, turned around she was greeting with a wide smile and a pair of the bluest eyes. “Nice ass”. The blonde chuckled taking a seat at the kitchen Island, Lexa giggled and handed her the food. “I know I’m just a nice piece off ass to you”. She had a seat in front of the blonde. “A talented piece of ass. Since you were a teen. And an excellent cook. After you, all food had been just plain and insipid”. Clarke took a sip of her coffee. “Sorry to ruin you for everything?” The DJ teased. “Nah, it’s cool. I knew we’ll find each other again. I mean, you were the unstoppable Heda, the biggest rising star in her early twenties”. Clarke smiled at a confused Lexa. “What? Do you really thought I wasn’t going to keep an eye on you? Just because you unceremoniously broke up with me in an airport bathroom didn’t mean I wasn't... thinking of you the whole time”. Lexa smile sadly, took gently the blonde’s face and kissed her deeply. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you... I... we have so much things to talk about, baby. But I’m overjoyed that we are here now. And I knew that if I gave you sings that I was alive... maybe we wouldn’t be where we are now". Lexa smiled. “We are full of fucked ups, but I love you and I hope that’s enough for now”. Clarke said. “And now, thanks to you and your culinary skills I’m going to be all fat and unsexy, but it worth it". Lexa shook her head, took her seat, reached for the blonde’s hand and squeezed it. “Please you have the metabolism of a seventeen years old frat boy. You can eat a cow and it would disappear in seconds”. The brunette joked. “Baby, that was years ago, now I eat an apple and I have to train for three hours. It sucks!” The blonde laughed as well as the brunette. “I still cannot believe that you actually work out. We need to train together from now on”. Lexa joked; it was funny thinking about her girl... Clarke doing any physical activity other than make love. “You are not he only one who is full of surprises”. The blonde winked. “It's everything that I ever want... We can even run together in the mornings” Lexa teased; she knew how Clarke hated mornings. “Ow! You are so funny. I love to see you in a good mood and carefree”. It was true, those moments were magical for the artist. “My best pieces are based on you lovely smile”. Clarke confessed. Lexa smiled dermally; she knew the feeling too well. “I’m happy, but there is one thing that it’s bothering me since we met, five hours ago”. The brunette said seriously. “You are kind of scaring me". The blonde said curious.  “Would you be my girlfriend? I know that we just...” Lexa couldn’t finish her sentences; Clarke locked their lips so aggressively that she almost knocked Lexa out of the tool; it was odd because the kitchen island was between them and the blonde was almost laying her tummy on the island. After a couple of minutes of heated snogging... “I’m still waiting for an answer”. Lexa joked. “I need time to think abo...” Now was the turn for the blonde to shut up. “Look blondie, I won’t take no for an answer". Lexa was out of her seat in a second, she jumped the island showing her athletic power, took the blonde’s face in her hands and looked at Clarke intensely.   “Well, if you insist, I guess... I’m in...”. The artist chuckled; Lexa smirked.  “The offer expired in...” The blonde kissed her again. “Never... expired never. And yes, I do want to be your girlfriend, again and forever”. They kissed once again, this time sweetly. Maybe not forever, maybe we can have it all, maybe we can be a family. Lexa thought. “Now, let me drink a good cup of coffee for once in ten years”. The blonde smiled. “Please, with your resources I’m sure you did have more than one good cup of coffee”. Lexa winked. “I mean, yeah, but it’s not the same, you know? I mean, it tastes good, of course, but it didn’t mean anything. This is one of the ways you show me how much you love me. I know it’s corny, but I haven’t taste love in a sip of coffee in ten years. That is what I mean”. The blonde smirked. “Clarke Elizabeth Griffin, you always have been the absolute artist in this relationship. I couldn’t put those sentiments in a better way that you just did”. Lexa took a sip of her mug. “I know, I’m awesome. And talking about cheesy things, I know that you are the romantic maniac, that first album was so magnificent hurtful but with a touch of love and hope that made me cry, smile and wander all the time; it was all you Lexa, all us. I’m still amazed that you didn’t go to the BRITs”. Clarke took a bite form her toast. “Why? I mean, why would I go if you were not there with me? That was our dream, remember? After all the shit that we have to go through, the first awards ceremony that I’ll go, whatever that would be, it’s going to be with you as my plus one”. Lexa reached for her plait, took a toast and chewed her food. “I really going to show you how much that means to me, but we need to eat something and rest for a couple of minutes, I’m not that young anymore, but after… I’m gonna fucking rock your world”. The blonde winked to the brunette. “Do you wanna go to see the Grammy’s that I’ve got?” Lexa asked exited. “Of fucking course! I wanna brag to my friends that my girlfriend is the big shit in the music industry. Show away, baby”. They ate the rest of the food and went for a little tour. “This flat is really huge”. The blonde said. “Why didn’t you show me around earlier?”. The blonde asked curious. “Maybe because you were just paying attention to my fit body?” The brunette teased. “Oh, yeah, I remember that you were the one whom stripped me and went right for my nipple a second after we came in". The blonde shook her head and smiled. “Anyway, this is nice. I love the white walls, nice blue ceiling. How many bedrooms?”   “Three... four... no... here: three. I own the flat above this one, but it’s my studio, so... it’s empty... I mean, it’s got a bedroom... just for me". Suddenly Lexa was ashamed, she didn’t understand why. “Why did you buy your flat here, in Newcastle?” They were passing through all the place. Lexa had a trophy room, a huge playing room and her bedroom, which Clarke didn’t pay any attention. But now that she was out of her horny stupor, she saw everything. “It’s not why you think. At least it’s not totally because of it. The nightlife is vivid here. I’ve got some gigs, minor work to test the new sounds, it’s near everything, is posh, it remains me how far I have become. And when I got the money, I wanted to have something near my work, so that’s the first reason, or the logical one. One day it hit me, this was our dream home in London, the one I said that I would buy for our family. For our weekends’ trips... I... Well... yeah”. She sighted looking to the floor. “So, did you remember?” Clarke asked lifting the brunette’s face to look at her eyes. “Of course, I did. I mean... I haven’t forgot anything about you. I never will. I mean, you are it for me, I knew it since that day we fucked at the ally”. Lexa joked, Clarke laughed and slapped her arm. “I... hmmmm... I still have the house in Frome, the beach bed and your guitar are still there". The blonde told her. “Did you keep it? I thought... after the airport thing... you had gotten rid of it...” Lexa said shyly. “We made a promise, we did vows, I took them very seriously. Didn’t you?” The blonde asked. “I meant every word. I brought us the flat, Clarke. Which remembers me when you are moving in?” The DJ asked seriously. “I’ve just land. I went directly to the party, which remained me: lovely set! You were ready to fuck the world. All dubstep made me horny”. The artist joked. “When and where are we going to collect your things?” The brunette said as serious as she could. Clarke took her hand and walked them to the room. “Lex, you don’t know what you are going to face up once this dream is over. I’m carrying a lot of shit. What if you would not want to be with me when you know what’s next? Let’s us have these 24 hours at least”. The blonde pleaded. “I’ll fight an army for you. When I let you go, I broke my own heart for you, I have done everything imagined and unthinkable for us. I’m in this until the end. I refuse to think that the end is near. We are going to grow old together. You made a vow, we made several vows, I’m paling to honour them”. Lexa’s words were so pure that Clarke had no doubt about them. “Together then, forever”. The blonde smiled, took Lexa into her arms hugging each other.     *** It was the last month of school, their last summer before the unstoppable departure. Lexa was aggressive, irritable, lost. Clarke wasn’t any better, she was fighting at school, getting her ass kicked by some bullies, looking for trouble every time she had the opportunity. Her mother was furious, she had been at home since she returned to her long, stupidly, expensive trip. The reason was the rumours about the blonde coming and going as she pleased without supervision, Clarke’s behaviour wasn’t making her any good, Abby really thought that she needed to be around her daughter, to keep an eye on the blonde, they need to keep appearances. A good, proper doll that’s what Abby needed. Luckily, being a train wreck, got her close to Octavia Blake. “So, the princess of destruction is out of her dungeon. Stupid moves you got, I mean, Green’s gonna need a new nose, but your punches need some work”. The shorter brunette told her. She was a loner like Clarke, but she was luckier than the blonde, she wasn’t promised since the day she was born. “Fuck you, Blake!” Clarke said firmly, took a seat next to the petit brunette. “I like your attitude Griffin. Life change when you lost your V card, right?” Octavia said nonchalantly. “What the fuck are you talking about?” The blonde said, she was looking around the students’ lounge, hopping people hadn’t heard. “What? It’s not a big deal. Better to give it to someone you want than my idiot brother. I love him but he is a wanker, you’ll see. We are going to be at the same uni anyway”. Octavia was being friendly; it was a shock for the blonde. The first time they interact the petit brunette ignored her. Octavia past all her time at the field, she loved sports, she joyed any club she could: football, rugby, field hooky; all aggressive, all needed. The player didn’t hang out with her teammates, after school she simply disappear. The mysterious asshole, Clarke used to call her.   “Why are you talking to me?” Clarke was not playing around; she was really pissed off with everything and everyone. “I saw the beat up you gave Costia Green when she said some fucked up thing about your dad. It was impressive. I hate her as well. I don’t care about royalty; she is an asshole. I actually clapped after you were sent to detention. But I also know what you do, Griffin. I know that you leave the school with someone in a motorcycle, very fit, I may add. She looks like fun”. Clarke eyes went wide, she couldn't stand hearing people talking about Lexa, she was hers and only hers. “Don’t worry, I’m totally straight. I know that you lost your innocence about… nine months ago, more less. I know that you are mental because you are going to part ways with your lover. I know that, because it’s what happened to me too”. The petite brunette said melancholic. “What do you want? Money?” The blonde said with venom. “Please, Griffin, I do have money. I want to talk to someone who is in the same pain that I am. I do have someone here; I don’t want to go. Do you know that my grandfather was thinking to marry me with Wells Jaha? I mean… he’s gay, isn’t he?” The brunette said making Clarke chuckled. “He is bi. We talk about it one time in a gala. He is fine. I didn’t know that you were promised”. The blonde said curious. “Yeah, me and Bell. Well, you know about that, you are the lucky champ”. Octavia giggle. “He is not that bad, you’ll know”. The petite girl said.    “That doesn’t mean that I’m going to love him, you know?” Clarke said sadly. “We know. Bell and me. We know how it was for our parents. Luckily, they developed a system, every once in while we get to play the obnoxious family the media likes, the rest of the time we are enjoying the fruits of our representation. So… maybe it would be the same for Bell and you”. Octavia said, her words were spoken carefully. “No offence, but I don’t want to think about that right now. Are you trying to sell your own brother to me?” The blonde asked. Octavia shook her head. “Not like that, but if you are going to explode to him the way you do when Costia pissed you off, I’m worry about my brother”. The petite brunette said. “I won’t. Maybe you are right, we need to get along, we are going to spend the next years together. Did your mother tell you they already planned our dorm accommodations?” Clarke said looking at her mobile. “Yup. A nice dorm because we need to spend the first year there. Then we are going to live at the building Bellamy is in. We are going to be roommates. So, if you want to enjoy your last four months here, I suggest we joy forces”. Octavia looked around the lounge, it was empty but still. “I am listening”. They faced one another. “We need to act like friends, have sleepovers, hang outs, whatever the fuck we need to do to get rid of our bodyguards. Maybe say to our dear mothers that we thought to be better together, looking out for each other, like friends. Look, I have an amazing boyfriend, I have four more months and I’m not going to spend my time in my dorm trying to regain my virginity. Are you with me?” The petite girl asked. “Yeah, of course. My girlfriend worth it!” Clarke said sure and proud of Lexa. “It’s settled, then. We need to star right now. I give you ten minutes to talk to your girl, I’ll do the same with my boy. Make all the arrangement that we need to have our first sleep over, friend”. The shook their hands and their plan star running. Clarke called Lexa, the brunette was mad, really pissed, she wanted to have the whole time with the blonde, but she understands why her girlfriend was doing that. “Clarke, I can… fool them. We have been doing that all the time, what will change if you spend time with that girl?” The petit blonde didn’t tell her whom her new friend was, she needed to calm Lexa not made her explode. “Baby, think about it for a minute, if I convince my mom that I’m being friends with another girl from my circle we can go to Frome again, we can have more than stolen, anxious weekends. Wouldn’t you like to spend a month there, just the two of us… think about all the fucking we could get?” Clarke whispered. “It’s not the fucking part, Clarke. It’s that you are asking me a week, a week without seeing you or touching you. It’s too much time, fuck!” Lexa sighted; she was griping her mobile so hard that her knuckles were white. “Lexa, please. For me. We can Snapchat, video sex, phone sex. Lexa I really need to do this. Please, understand”. It was the first time that Clarke asked for something like that to the brunette. The tan girl just sighted. “Do you promise me that it only would be a week?” Lexa knew that she was being needy, but she didn’t care. She just got four months against a who knew how long without her girlfriend. “Yeah! I won’t be able to hold on for much time. Just a week. I need to put up with it, I promise it’ll work”. She was watching the petit brunette having, what she assumed was the same conversation with her boyfriend, if her sad smile was an indicator. “I’ll text you later, okay? Remember that I love you and I’m doing this for us”. The blonde whispered. “I know, I love you more than music”. The brunette said. “I love you more than art. I’ll miss you”. Clarke said sadly. “Me too. See you in a week”. Lexa whispered. The blonde couldn’t say another word, she hung up and sighted frustrated. “This is going to be a long week, princess”. Octavia joked. “Tell me about it”. The blonde said. The two girls spent the whole ride to Clarke’s home trying to catch up as fast as they could. It was really easy; Octavia wasn’t shy and was very direct. On the other hand, Clarke was having trouble to get her head around the fact that she could have a friend. The petite brunette came up with a plan, they were going to say that it was fate that they were pair to do a project that required them to spend the next week together. As soon as they put a foot on the mansion Abby Griffin was there to greet the Blake girl. It always amazed Clarke how her mother could be such a fucking asshole. She was absolutely another person in front of the younger Blake, the one her mother prayed to all the money’s Gods her daughter could befriend with, now she was living her ultimate fantasy, her daughter were doing what she must to secured their future, most likely, Abby’s future and luxurious taste. “Well, thanks for lunch Missis Griffin, but we need to start the project. Shall we, Griff?” Octavia said as they were the greatest friends ever. “Sure, sure. Later mom”. The blonde said. “Oh sure, sure. It’s good to know that you have such a wonderful friend, I’m so much more relaxed now. I guess. You are going to be save from now on, right Octavia?” Abby said. “Of course, I mean, what are friends for, right?” The petite brunette said sweetly. It seems like telling lies were a second nature for them. “Marvellous, I’m so much relaxed. Maybe I can go to see how things are going in Germany sooner that I thought”. That information was the one that Clarke was waiting for, she should have befriended Octavia way sooner. “Really, Missis Griffin, we are going to be okay. Now that I remember, can Clarke come to my villa in Italy, obviously we are going in my jet, everything secured just the two of us”. The blonde eyes went wide, what the actual fuck was Octavia doing?   “Oh, how kind of you, of course she can, you are going to spend a lot of time together at college, don’t you? Please, be my guest. When exactly are you planning to leave?” Abby was sitting at the kitchen island, trying to make herself busy putting some water in a pot to not look so delighted to know her daughter was going to be away and watched. “The day after our graduation, if that is okay with you”. Clarke was leaning on the door frame; Octavia was in front of her mother doing the stupidest faces of a good doll that she had ever seen. “Totally, have a nice rest of the afternoon, I may go out tonight, a business meeting”. The petite brunette nodded, went to Clarke, took her hand and almost run to the blonde’s room. The entered laughing out loud. “Shit, mate, she is too easy! Thank God my mom thinks she is bright”. Octavia sat down on the big sofa. “You haven’t had sex in this place, right?” The blonde blushed. “Not in that exact part of this room where you are sitting, no”. The giggle again. “So, that work wonderful”. The petit brunette said. “I brought you a month with your special lady, so you own me at least two days in Italy, my mom is gonna be there, but after that, I expect you to be out and never look back because I’m gonna spend the whole month fucking my man’s brains out”. The blonde chuckles. “Sure, I was just going to be at Frome for the whole month, my girlfriend likes it there”. Clarke chuckled. “Oh, so boring. Look, I like you Griff, and I kind of need you right now. Think about it, we can tell our parents that we are going to see the world for our last months as teens and, the truth would be that we can take our lovers with us. We don’t even need to be in the same country, just tell them we are together, saying that we are going to pay because is what wealthy assholes do, the charges are going to sell the lie beautify, we are two people traveling, what do you say?” The brunette smirk. “Octavia Blake, you are a mastermind and it’s a pleasure to do business with you”. They shook their hands. After that day the two girls built a loyal friendship. *** Lexa was literally fucking her frustration away. A week, she had been without her girlfriend a whole week, she was like a fucking wolf in a cage, she had never written so much aggressive dubstep before; if that was only a week, what would her life become when they part ways forever. She didn’t want to think about that. She threw another punch sending Gustus to the canvas. She was in a trance, nothing matters just her breathing, her moves and the delicious soreness on her knuckles. “Wow, Heda, you are ready to kill some punks, it seems”. Indra said with a smirk in her face. Gustus and her were the oldest people on the gang. Actually, Gustus, apart to be her music teacher was also the ex-leader of the gang, but after a heated argument that left him with a bullet in his chest near his heart, he was dismissed of his obligation, Indra took his place until Lexa was older and stronger enough to take the place. They trained her and feed her; they became something close to her parents. When Dante Wallace retired them, they owned a gym, that place was Lexa’s safe heaven. “What? No… I’m okay…” Lexa said cleaning her sweat form her forehead.  “Are you sure the posh life is for you? You are a little fluff”. The short woman joked puking her abs. “What? I’m pure muscle… okay?” Lexa flexed her abs. “You look stressed and furious, almost frustrated”. Gustus stood up and cleaned his face. “Nah… I’m okay… Everything is fucking great”. The brunette mumbled. “Sure, you are. Girl problems? That would be a first”. Indra joked. She was leaning on the ropes looking straight to Lexa’s eyes. The tan girl hated that; she felt the brown eyes burning her soul. “I’m not going to talk about it. Not with you of all people… please”. Lexa whined and Gustus looked at Indra and smiled. “Our Heda is in love! Our baby is growing up, Indra! It’s a happy day!” The taller man hugged the two women. “What… fuck you both… I’m okay”. She escaped the bear hug and clean her face with the towel, it was convenient that she was all sweaty and her face was red because of the training because she thought she can hid the fact that she was embarrassed. “You know that it’s fine to feel loved, right, Lex. You can’t keep running. We are happy for you; we are your family. If you want to protect her from all this shit that we called life, it’s okay too. We know you are happy, those heart eyes that you have every time your mobile rings it’s the only prove we need”. Indra said and smiled. “I… I just… I wanna… you know? I wanna give her the world, but I don’t think I can right now… My life it’s not completely mine, at the moment. Maybe in a few years I can. But that means let her go”. The brunette sat on the bleach near the ring. “You are young, right now everything feels like the end of the world, that you need to live your life fast or everything is going to disappear. But sometimes waiting it’s what make things better. Look at us, we met at fifteen, sworn nothing would keep us apart, shit happened, and we reconnect fifteen years later, and here we are now, together”. Gustus sat next to Lexa and put a hand around the brunette shoulders. “I... well… she is special. She didn’t run away when she found about my... true self. She stood. She is staying. She is with me. It’s scary as fuck". Lexa said shyly. “Believe me, I know”. Indra sat at her left side. “This big guy right here was so romantic. I used to make fun of him all the time, but he grew on me, so much that I accepted had children, even if them were horrible teenagers”. She joked. “Hey! I always have been a very cute girl”. Lexa said offended. “Yeah, well, you were a horrible fourteen years old girl. Always mocking people, laughed at problems, making problems, punch everyone in the face. At the end you were the perfect, imperfect commander that we needed. Don’t get me wrong, I was proud of you then and I am now but thank God all of you are out”. Gustus sighted. “Yeah, yeah!” The brunette took a big gulp of her energy drink. “So, do you think I deserve her? She is great. She is… everything I have never imagine I want, but now that I have her, I can’t think about living without her… she was… she has been doing something these past week and I haven’t seen her, and I feel like I’m going mental”. The brunette put her face on her hands, sighted and stared to laughed. “Why do I feel so euphoric? I can’t even stand still. I’m jumpy, grumpy, sad. I mean, we FaceTimed but it’s simply not enough! What...” Her voice broke. “What would happen to me the day she’ll go away, and I can’t be with her? I think I’m gonna die”. Lexa put her towel on her face, lean on the cold wall and sobbed her heart out. Both of her friends put each other hands over her shoulder. “I know how it feels. I do know, Heda. I became a fucking punk because I lost Indra. I’ve got nothing, just her memory. I was as older as you are now, but she kept me going, fighting, resisting, living. Sometimes young love it’s fucked up, but I know that it helps you to keep your humanity and that is a gift”. Gustus said calmly. “And I know that you are your father’s daughter. If Gustus had taught you something, it’s never given up. You are a fighter, Heda. You are the commander, you always going to be that. A better version of yourself, for you, and for the girl who has your heart”. Indra patted her back and stood up. “I need to clean the ring; you did a number on your old man". The shorter woman kissed her head over the towel and took off. “Ha! You didn’t, you know. You are tough but not so much. I’ve got your cheek, put some ice. I’ll give you some space”. The giant man followed her wife. The brunette felt better, talking really helped. She went to get her things when she noticed her mobile, it had three messages from Clarke. Blondie: Hey, do you fancy a short trip to Frome? Blondie: We can take the car, my mom is aboard, she things I’m going with my friend. But my friend it’s going to be with her boyfriend somewhere. Blondie: Lexa? The brunette laughed and called her girlfriend. She knew what to expect, some yelling because she didn't respond immediately. But that was Clarke and she was okay with it. After two rings the blonde answered.   “Hey, babe!” Lexa said. “Hey!” the blonde’s voice was flat but not angry. “What’s up? I’ve got you massages just know. I’m sorry, I was training”. Lexa smiled. She missed her girlfriend. “I was... talking to my friend... I... would you want to come, here, to my house, took the car and go?” Clarke sound hesitating to ask. “I’ll love to. But, are you okay? I expected yelling and desperation, it took me half an hour to answer you. You got mental when that happens”. Lexa’s voice was a little concerned. “I was, but my friend told me that maybe you were busy with school or work or something else. She was right, you were training. Sorry for being such a bitch all the time”. Clarke sighed. “You are not a bitch; you are concerned and it’s okay. Give me a half an hour and I’m gonna be on my way to you. I need to take a shower, I'm all sweaty. Also, I need some clean clothes for the weekend. We are going to go the whole weekend, right?” The brunette took her things and power walk to the exit waving at her forester parents, they smiled and waved back. “Don't... I mean... You don't need to do any of that. I’ve got a Jacuzzi and some of your sweatpants... I brought you some underwear the other day. I was shopping... I... brought you some clothes... just please come here". The blonde was getting desperate. “I’m on my way, love. Ten minutes”. Lexa said. “Ten minutes". Clarke replayed and hung up. The brunette put her leather jacket and her helmet on. Ten minutes. ### If Lexa was eager to see Clarke, the blonde was ten times worst, the moment Lexa put a foot on the garage floor and parked her bike the blonde was kissing her with abandon. She threw herself to the taller girl’s arms and locked their lips. It was a battle, lips, tongue, teeth, the desperation was palpable.    “God! I fucking missed you so much! Never again, Lexa. We can’t be apart for that long”. The blonde kissed her neck and bit it. “No, never again. Never”. The brunette was enjoying the welcome too much until she remembered something. “Babe, I need to take a shower”. She pushed Clarke lightly, but the blonde was having none of it. “Fuck the shower, I’ll clean you with my tongue… more than just once”. The blonde joked. “I’m sure you can, but I don’t want the mystery goes away. I like you too damn much”. The brunette smiled, put her arm over Clarke’s shoulder and they walk together to the mansion. The shower was quickly. Lexa told her girlfriend she was famished; the blonde went to the kitchen to heat some leftovers. The brunette smiled at her reflexion on the bathroom mirror. She was happy, truly happy. It was a funny feeling because that never happened to her before. She read about love, feelings, happiness, but she never thought it felt like that, a little bit of calm, a little bit of edgy, a lot of lust. She was living it for the first time in her life. She came out and spotted a pair of sweatpants, a large top with the Ravenclaw logo, a pair of black Calvin Klein’s briefs and a pair of white fluffy socks. She smiled; her girlfriend was really thoughtful. She got dressed and went to the enormous kitchen. Clarke was humming some stupid top 40’s song, she was moving her hips at the rhythm it seems the blonde was happy too. “I see you like rubbish music”. The brunette joked. “American girl groups, none the less”. The taller girl added. “Yup. There is nothing better than some sexy song”. The blonde threw herself to the brunette’s arms and pecked her lips. “Ooooookaaaaay, I believe you. But… really? The Pussycat Dolls?”. She kissed her girlfriend one more time just because she could. “Yup! I like the beat. Don’t judge. Have a seat, the dinner is ready”. Clarke put a big plate full of salad, another with a big stake and French fries at side. “Dig in, baby”. The blonde said. “Well, thank you miss Griffin! What do I own the honour?” The brunette asked. “I love you, I missed you, I’m happy that you are here. Just that”. The blonde smiled. Lexa took her hand and kissed it. “I do feel the same”. Lexa smiled. “Aren’t you gonna have dinner with me?” The brunette took a big bit form her salad.  “Yeah, I am”. Clarke took another plate and sat next to her girlfriend. While chewing Lexa remembered something, she looked at Clarke with questioning eyes. “My friend likes steaks, my mom wanted to make a good impression. Don’t look so shocked”. The blonde laughed. But Lexa kept looking at her. “I brought the clothes because I like to see you in sport clothes. Your ass always looks great, and your junk look bigger and splendid”. The blonde kissed the brunette cheek. They were happy, young and in love.

After two days, Ann felt like she had a whole new level of intimacy with her phone. Once kept casually in her bag or in a pocket and looked at maybe a few times a day, she now found it was her constant companion. Could you wear a screen out by the number of times you checked it for text messages? She hoped not. As it had been a Friday evening when they had gone to the club, Ann had the weekend at home to fill in. Usually she was content to read or watch a movie or even go out to take a walk in the park across the street from her apartment, but this weekend had taken on a whole new feel. She had spent a restless night after getting home from the club and it had taken a glass of warm milk, several chapters of the latest novel she was reading and a few prayers to the gods of sleep for her to finally settle enough from her wildly rampant thoughts about the enigmatic Miss Lister to get her eyes to close. Her first thought when she awoke late the next morning, feeling groggy and headachy, was to check her phone to see if Anne had in fact followed through with her invite for coffee. Or tea. Or, whatever. But to her utter dismay, and really inappropriate panic, the rotten device had gone completely flat and she hooked it up to the charger and resisted the urge to sit there and watch the screen finally come back to life, spending the time getting up and showering, dressing and getting breakfast instead. A text alert chime had her dropping her slice of half eaten toast and running for the bedroom where she’d left it, heart a flutter. But she felt her stomach sink when she saw that the message was from her sister instead. She messaged her a quick ‘talk to you later’ and then went back to her now cold breakfast. By midday, Ann had come to the conclusion that perhaps the night before had all been just a figment of her imagination. The night, pre Anne Lister, had been rather boring and had her wishing she had just said no, so maybe what had transpired at the bar had just been her mind’s way of making it much more enjoyable than it had been. Yeah right, she really wasn't that imaginative and in a thousand years she would never believe that someone so obviously outgoing and confident as Anne Lister would be in any way interested in someone whose pet name had been mouse as a child. It was something her father had always called her and seemed to have followed her into adulthood. And it didn't bear thinking about that up until this point in her life, she had never openly acknowledged that she was attracted to other women. Ann had always been so painfully shy and then to realise that she was attracted to the same sex just added another level of awkwardness to things. She had never talked to her parents or her sister of her true feelings and had kept her thoughts on the matter well and truly to herself, only allowing her mind to wander in that direction when she was alone in her bed. Saying anything had always felt way too hard and such a subject was way too complicated when she could barely grasp the concept herself. But there was a huge downside to staying silent, and that was the ever constant feeling of feeling like she had an empty space inside her that she couldn't see ever being filled. This slightly electrofied panicky feeling that seemed to have taken up residence in her insides ever since he had met Anne, was very new and rather scary for her. She likened it to a memory of being on a roller coaster as a child; exhilarating yet terrifying at the same time. She had vowed she’d never get back on such a ride ever again, but here she was, lining up for something equally scary. If Ann thought that she would get a decent amount sleep on Saturday night to combat the night befores lackluster effort, then she was sadly mistaken. Not hearing from Anne by the time she decided to call it a night and go to bed, robbed her of a restful night yet again. This time sleep eluded her as her mind raced from scenario to scenario and all possible reasons why she still hadn't messaged her about a coffee date. She even went so far as to tell herself that if she heard from her within the next half hour, she’d even have a double shot skinny mocha with two sugars, but the 30 minutes came and went and she was off the hook on that one. Her brain was taking her in all directions; what would Anne look like in the light of day, were her eyes really that deep brown or had it been the lighting in the club? Somewhere between 3 and 4 in the a.m, she must've fallen into an exhausted sleep and woke at around 10 still clutching her phone. She was checking the screen even before she could focus her eyes properly. Still nothing. That was it, she had to stop hoping, clearly she let her imagination run away with things and had read way too much into their little accidental meeting and the offhanded invite. She was acting irrationally and she had to get on with what was left of her weekend. It had been a lovely dream, but that’s all it was ever going to be. Ann tried to get through the rest of the day by taking a walk through the park and leaving her phone at home. Out of sight, out of mind, right? She had to admit, it felt good to get out and into the fresh air, walking around the tree lined pathways, watching people riding bikes, families playing together, kids laughing and chatting on the playground equipment, went a long way to clear her mind and she visited the local small market on the way back to pick up something healthy for dinner, before she went back to her apartment, hands full of grocery bags. She had given herself a thoroughly good talking to while she had been out and had decided that she would stop overreacting and behaving like some silly school girl. If she didn't get a call back so be it. Life would go on. People said things like that all the time and didn't really mean it, like when a check out operator asks you how you are, they are just being polite and Anne’s offer was probably just the same. She needed to start acting like an adult and forget about it. Ann headed back to the apartment with a determined smile on her face, feeling confident with her decision. Finally, she was thinking like an adult. She could hear the phone ringing before she opened the door. All the good that her stroll had done her was immediately out the window as the groceries hit the floor and she fumbled with the keys in her pocket. She kicked the half toppled bags inside before almost tripping face first into her hardwood floors as she rushed to the bedroom where she had left the phone. She didn't even look at the screen to see if she knew the number as she picked it up on what she figured would of been the very last ring. “Hello?” She said, a little too loud and way too out of breath. “Good lord, Ann? are you alright?” The all too familiar voice came over the line, making Ann feel like she had just been filled with sunshine. She called her! She had actually called her, not texted. Well, this was special then. What had she been thinking? She was such an idiot. “Hello? Ann?” The somewhat worried sounding mention of her name brought her back to reality with a thud. “Oh yes, yes, I’m fine, I was just coming in the door and nearly missed the call, that’s all.” She tried to sound as casual as she could while trying to ease her breathing and ignore her galloping heartbeat. “I’m so sorry I didn't call sooner, those clients of mine were hard to get rid of all weekend and even harder to talk into the estate pieces I found for them. I’m sure they were using my valuable time for an excuse for a weekend getaway.” Ann had never heard someone talk so quickly, yet with such conviction to their tone. Even though what she had said had been in no way suggestive or flirtatious, Ann felt her skin tingling with goosebumps. Good god, what sort of power did this woman have on her? She must have been completely lost in her own thoughts on the matter because once again, Anne’s voice broke through to her. “Ann, sweetheart, are you sure you’re alright? I mean, I haven't interrupted anything, have I?” The giggle of laughter bubbled out of her before she could stop it. Oh good gravy, if she only knew the truth. Ann was shaking her head, even though she knew Anne couldn't see her. “No, no, not at all. I’m sorry, I guess I’m a little flustered from rushing inside when I heard the phone ringing.” A quick deep chuckle on the other end of the call sent Ann’s heart a flutter. Breathe, she needed to breathe. “I wouldn’t have given up so easily, you know.” Up until that moment, Ann had been standing beside her unmade bed, but as those words and their meaning filled her head, she suppressed a small whimper and felt her knees giving way and she plonked down onto the crumpled covers, feeling giddy as a schoolgirl and smiling so broadly, her lips were beginning to hurt. “Anyway, the whole point of this call was to see if you were free for that coffee, or tea, this week. My time is pretty flexible now I have cleared my schedule a bit so I can fit into yours, if you want to go, that is.” The very small hint of insecurity in her voice, made Ann almost sigh. How could she ever think that she wouldn't want to? “I actually have a day off tomorrow, if that’s not too soon.” “That’s perfect, shall we meet somewhere, then? How about that little place on the boardwalk, The Crow Nest?” “Yes, that sounds great. Is 9 too early?” Ann wasn’t sure if she sounded too over eager. She really needed to reign herself back with all this. She didn’t want to ruin the chances of getting to know Anne more because she was acting like a gushy teenager. “No, that would be perfect. Well, that’s settled then, I look forward to seeing you again. Have a good evening.” They both exchanged good byes and ended the call. Ann lay back on her bed, the wide happy smile still on her face, finding she had to resist the urge to roll over and hug her pillow to her chest and squeal excitedly. Finally, her first real date with a woman, she could hardly believe it. She couldn't wait. It would be so perfect, down on the boardwalk with the sounds of the ocean only metres away, the morning sun warming their skin as they sat at their table making small talk and enjoying each other’s company. It would be so wonderful. That night, Ann went to sleep with ease, dreaming of lapping waves, cool sea breezes, and a pair of deep brown eyes and perfect lips that were pulling her in like a moth to a flame.

Olenna I S he observed the young boy as he greeted Margaery. The news of lord Stark imprisonment and of Robert's rage had played in their favor.   For quite some time Olenna had actually considered betraying the dragons although House Tyrell had a debt with House Targaryen since it had been them that had chosen to rise the rose above all others in the Reach. If her Margaery could not be queen she'd have to settle for another choice. And her Margaery should be queen.   Up until they knew of the Targaryen princess in the East Olenna had believed it possible for her to snatch the young king for her Margaery in exchange for the Reach fealty. So, when Dorne had called to all those loyal to House Targaryen and the true king Olenna had answered the call taking Margaery with her and hoping she could entice the boy-king.   But once there she was forced to re-arrange her calculation. If Margaery could have been one of the king's wife taking in consideration even the princess in the East… princess who had risen from the fire with three dragons at her breast they said after the banquet Olenna knew her Margaery had no chances with the King.    There was another in Sunspear, one who wore the colors of House Targaryen and was adorned with the jewels of the late Queen Rhaella Targaryen. The jewels of the crown a girl with long ebony ryonish curls, pale ivory skin and almost purple eyes. A girl with great grace and a kind smile.   So, she had thought, the King had already a lover but the girl was insipid if compared to her Margaery and her enchanting femme fatal kind of charm. Yet when they had introduced the girl as the princess Visenya Targaryen the daughter of prince Rhaegar and his second wife the lady Lyanna Stark Olenna was forced to a brutal stop in her machinations.    All the more because the boy was clearly besotted with the young girl who may be less charmant than Margaery but had a kind of charm difficult to resist. She was kind, but shrewd too when she suggested that the North had no choice but back her brother since the precious daughter of lord Eddard a northern daughter was ward under King Aegon.    And well guarded with that white beast of hers. Olenna hadn't played the game so long underestimating her enemies and especially not her allies.    The girl had a odd sort of charm. She inspired loyalty in others and she shone like a beacon in the middle of that darkness with her ostented kindness that had a sort of unsurety in it that made her adorable.   So, Olenna had thought since she didn't believe the claim of the three flesh dragons without the Reach King Aegon couldn't win the throne, but House Baratheon could and they had a boy who could fall for Margaery charms and make her queen.   Yet when they had departed from Sunspear the princess had sent them off and had whispered in her ear embracing her as a lone girl an old woman " Do not betray my brother, my lady, because if you will Winter will come for House Tyrell and it will come with Fire and Blood ."    She had then smiled and her white furred beast had snarled at them making her giggle.   Then they had caught whiff of the Baratheon (or was he a Lannister really?)  boy cruelty and Olenna had decided that if Margaery could not be queen she could be family to a queen.   Robb Stark was handsome they said, quite closer with princess Visenya and would be one day Warden of the North. And if Aegon conquest went south Margaery could keep word with the obnoxious boy and be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.   They could play both parts well enough. But she couldn't shake the feeling that that boy would destroy her Margaery. He was the ephitome of gallant on the outside and his father had broken easily the betrothal between lady Sansa and the prince declaring the boy would marry Margaery when she would have finished her foil to the Gods and her flower was ready to be pluckered.    They had indeed told the fat king that Margaery had swore a foil to the Gods on her ten and six nameday to be pure and pray for a year and half before betrothing herself to any. This way when Margaery would marry Robb Stark she would have to break no betrothal to the Baratheon boy and in the other case no one would believe the Stark claim as the right people would attest that she had swore a foil to not betroth herself to any during the year and half from her ten and sixth nameday.    It had been a stroke of genius she had to admit that had come from Margaery herself. Olenna was quite proud of that girl as she was of all her grandchildren. She may have gone a bit wrong with Mace, who was more of an adorable fool than anything else…   Willas, that boy was such a great heir for Mace, already more politically apt than his father. Strong and beautiful he had lost any hope of being a gallant knight to his future wife, whoever she may be, during a tourney when he had been wounded by prince Oberyn Martell and the boy, such a smart boy even at that age, had used that accident to their advantage stricking quite the friendship with prince Oberyn.   Garlan.. He wasn't greatly apt as Willas but he was his legs and his hands where he physically couldn't reach.   Her last grandson, Loras, was the sword swallower to the end. He was the lover of lord Renly Baratheon of Storm's End and such a gallant knight that Olenna often wondered if her daughter-in-law hadn't laid with someone else and not her Mace when she had given him his sons.   No wonder about Margaery who was sweet, kind and beautiful and yet she could see much of herself in her granddaughter.   In them House Tyrell had a great future. She opened the letter that her Willas had sent her from Highgarden.    Dear grandmother, I hope this missive finds you well and happy basking in the Crownlands' sun .   He was such a charmant and funny young boy.    I write to you to report - letter attached - the words of prince Oberyn of Sunspear coming directly from Astapor where he now resides in the court of Queen Daenerys Targaryen.   This made her blink before she watched up as prince Joffrey smiled and laughed cruelly as a servant scrambled to his feet soaked in wine to the bone. She caught Margaery's green gaze as she feinted interest and amusement at the poor servant situation.   He swear her Grace was caught in a fire in the tent of her husband, khal of a Great Khaleesar, during a row and subsequential duel between prince Viserys and her husband. She has survived the fire unscathed with - to which Oberyn swears on Elia's grave - three flesh, firebreathing dragons with the might of which she has freed Astapor.   Both Meereen and Yunkai have rebelled against the slavers and have declared for her naming her Queen of the Bay of Dragons.    Olenna clenched her fist around the paper smiling noticing Margaery attention back on her and not on the problem at hand, her false betrothed.   Queen Daenerys is also reigning khaleesi of a dothraki khaleesar and has acquired an army of Unsullied soldiers she has pledged to her nephew conquest of the Iron Throne.   Grandmother I suggest caution , if Oberyn is true, and he is , it means king Aegon has an Essosi army, the North, a Khaleesar and three firebreathing dragons to his beck and call. Not to forget his loyal bannermen to the likes of which I suggest we number without plays from now on.   Margaery may not become queen but if we play it right we shall have her as lady of Winterfell and wife of the future Warden of the North.    With love, Your grandson Willas    Olenna squared her shoulders and steeled her features, rolling the scroll and hiding it in her sleeve, before getting on her feet feigning difficulty giving Margaery an excuse to dismiss herself from the fraud prince's presence.   They had no choice then. Rebellion it was

“You don’t have to keep sneaking looks at me, Nia. I’m fine.” She finally turned to face the woman standing beside her, her mouth compressing into a small, unconvincing smile. “I’m fine,” she repeated and squeezed Nia’s shoulder. “It just takes a little more time to get hyped for this place right now, you know?” Nia nodded with a frown, her gaze dropping to the coffee cup in her grip. She knew every reporter now trapped in the CatCo bullpen by non-compete clauses felt just the same as Kara—especially after James Olsen so unceremoniously walked away, leaving them all at the mercy of Andrea Rojas. With James gone, the reporter pools had no managerial line of defense between them and their new acting CEO and “editor-in-chief”—a title Andrea proved repeatedly every day she was unworthy of holding. In the vacuum of competence in the leadership hierarchy, everyone had begun subtly to look to Kara as their unofficial guide. Word had traveled quickly—as it always does with reporters—about how Kara had stood up to Andrea with her refusal to willingly compromise her journalistic ethics or allow Andrea to silence her from reporting the whole truth. Now, each day was a battle of wills between the women, with Kara never giving ground but Andrea always wielding her final authority with spiteful exuberance. In the secrecy of quiet corners and the communal misery of after-work drinks now sought miles away from what they all dubbed the fallout zone, Kara’s coworkers both praised and pitied her for her unrepentant devotion to the correct way of reporting the news. The more senior reporters always sported wistful smiles during these conversations. They knew precisely who had instilled in Kara such a deep vein of respect for journalistic integrity. They also knew —and admired —how, in surprisingly short time, Kara had become her greatest pupil, upholding her always demanding standards in a way that kept them inspired, even in light of their current situation. The elevator doors slid open and Nia caught the moment Kara’s expression slid into an unconscious grimace as she shouldered her bag higher and stepped out onto their floor. Skittering quickly closer to Kara’s side, she asked, “Do you want to get lunch today? We could try that new Laotian place that just opened over in SoMa.” “I don’t know. I think I’ve finally found someone at the Transit Authority willing—” Words stuttered to a stop, startling Nia into looking over at the suddenly silent hero. Her brow quickly crinkled at the gape-jawed expression adorning her friend’s face. “Kara?” Ignoring the questioning beckon, Kara continued the rest of the way to her desk, eyes scanning the rainbow-colored sea of flowers covering the tabletop and overflowing down onto the floor. As she dropped her bag, she noticed peripherally others within the bullpen moving closer, their curiosity crackling with the intensity she suspected had been growing in anticipation of her arrival. She reached for the largest of the vases setting on her desk, filled with a gorgeous bouquet of multi-petaled flowers in white, pink, and red. Nestled in the front was a card, which Kara plucked out carefully and unfolded with her free hand. Her mouth dropped open again at the sight of one line of text, written with painfully familiar cursive flourish: I will always see the hero within you. “Kara?” Nia repeated her entreaty, more softly and with a clear note of worry in her tone. At the sight of Kara’s confusion when she finally looked up, Nia carefully wiped away a tear from the hero’s cheek. “Are you okay? Who are all these from?” Before Kara could respond, she caught the distinct mood shift throughout the bullpen. Noticing how everyone shuffled back slightly, she turned toward the new arrival, wiping at the wetness beneath her glasses as she did. Nia caught the tension to seize Kara’s posture once more and didn’t even have to look to know who had arrived. Andrea Rojas moved closer, running a finger along the petal of one of the flowers in the vase Kara still held. Her gaze lingered noticeably on the card Kara angled in such a way, she couldn’t see the text inside. “Ms. Danvers, it would seem you have quite the admirer. Might I ask who?” With a shrug, she replied, “No signature. Guess they wanted to remain anonymous.” Disappointment darkened Andrea’s expression before she offered a condescending smile. “No worries, you can apply that investigative persistence of yours to finding out who sent these.” “I’ll be sure to tweet whatever I find.” Soft snickers around them drove Andrea’s expression even darker. “You know how I like brevity. I also like my offices free of clutter. You need to have all these flowers out of here by COB today.” Nia could hear the creak of the glass vase within Kara’s grip and couldn’t help but wonder how much more pressure it could withstand before it—and Kara—broke. She caught the slightest pull of muscle at the corner of Kara’s eye as she struggled to suppress whatever expression Andrea’s words were summoning to her face. However, just as quickly, she froze, her eyes going noticeably wide as she turned toward the elevator that opened right into the bullpen. At the ding of an elevator car arriving on their floor, Andrea twisted toward the sound, her irritated scowl made even more prevalent by the massive smile she caught growing on Kara’s face before she turned away. Four people emerged from the car, a petite blonde at the front leading the way with measured, confident strides toward the office Andrea had claimed for herself. When the group of new arrivals passed through the office door without so much as a glance toward anyone else, Andrea hurried after them, her fists clenched against her thighs. Kara and Nia exchanged knowing glances before quickly following, the rest of the bullpen pulled into their passing wake. Storming over to where the group had gathered, she snapped at the blonde with her back to the door, “Who are you and why are you in my office?” Ignoring the unimpressive demands, the blonde continued to glance around, her hands slowly slipping up to rest against the small of her back. Kara heard the melodramatic sigh the moment it began. “Please tell me who turned my office into a ski lodge lobby so I can fire them immediately.” Someone from her entourage answered, “I believe that would be James Olsen.” Shifting her weight to one side with a pop of her hip, she waved one hand airily. “Well, he at least saved me some trouble by removing himself from the equation. Still, this all needs to go. Make an appointment with Kelly Hoppen. She recently redid my home office and it’s exquisite. Tell her it’s an urgent design catastrophe. There’s no way I can sit in this office eight hours or more a day, feeling like I’m trapped in this lumberjack limbo.” “Of course, Ms. Grant.” “Excuse me.” The several beats of purposeful silence were breathtaking to Kara, ratcheting her excitement to a point where Nia heard the vase actually crack within her hold that time. Finally, the blonde pivoted on her precariously high Louboutins and replied, “I doubt there’s any acceptable excuse for you.” “Who the hell do you think you are?” With an expression of precision ennui, the blonde sighed, “Apparently, the only person inside this office right now with any interest or experience in actually running a news company.” “The only thing you’re in charge of right now is figuring out how to get off this floor before I call security.” “Please do,” she countered. “They will be happy to escort you to a floor where you’ll no longer get in the way of real journalists reporting real news. At that point, I would advise you to fire your legal team and rethink whatever future business deals you might be considering with Lena Luthor. Both have left you seriously uninformed and shit out of luck, as the saying goes.” Andrea could feel the shifting vibe throughout the office—knew she was already on the losing end of whatever this encounter was. Still, she refused to give in to the other woman’s orders. “I’m fairly certain the one-point-three billion I just shelled out for this sinking ship means I don’t have to do a damned thing you say.” Settling in against the edge of James’s desk, Cat crossed her arms and responded in a tone tempered in a way that overjoyed Kara with its patronizing cadence. “It’s true, you attempted to purchase ownership of CatCo. However, with the obeisance we must pay to our boards as publicly traded commodities, owning stock in a company doesn’t ensure you run the company.” She paused long enough to see the moment of understanding when it finally caught fire in Andrea’s now furious glare. “Whatever fairy tales you’ve told to trick my board into listening to you—” “Free lesson in reporting: You don’t need to spin tales when the truth is so much more interesting. Also, you should be aware, as a significant shareholder of this company, I am part of that board to which CatCo’s CEO is beholden—not the other way around.” She took a deep breath, steadying herself in preparation for the delicious truth she was about to drop. Kara could see the corners of her lips twitch in a way only her former assistant would catch. “You see, when I had to place all forty-five percent of my shares into a blind trust, I had my legal team research a way to safeguard my vested interest. After all, I wasn’t running CatCo anymore, but it was still funding my sons’ futures. Also, I suspected at some point, CatCo would end up on the auction block while I was working for Olivia.” She caught the petulant flash in Andrea’s glare at her casual mention of Marsdin. Kara caught it as well and barely stopped her own smile at the pleased hum Cat offered in return. “There was, unfortunately, no way I could control who would take over my company. However, I wanted to have the option of coming back and salvaging it if it ended up in the hands of utter incompetence. What they came up with was actually brilliant. In exchange for remaining passive when Morgan Edge attempted to take over CatCo with a tender offer to the majority shareholders, my legal team won a petition to add a second sale clause to the sales documents. It stipulated that my blind trust or I would have first option to purchase up to fifteen percent of the company’s shares if any block of shares ten percent or greater came on the market at a later date. It wouldn’t have done anything to stop whoever initially bought CatCo from doing serious damage, but it would go into effect with whoever purchased CatCo in a second sale, giving me majority shares and the option of coming in and saving my company.” She leaned back with a noticeably disapproving scowl. “To be honest, I was surprised when I learned Lena Luthor was the one who bought CatCo, but I was even more surprised when my lawyers informed me she was selling my company again so soon.” Andrea sneered at the woman before her. “Yes, to me. CatCo is my company.” Kara couldn’t restrain her snicker at the annoyance in Cat’s expression. “I’m sorry, are you having trouble keeping up? Should I have one of our designers make you an infographic? Would that be easier? Or should we just wait until I’m finished and have someone reduce it all down to a tweet for you?” Without waiting for whatever pedantic response Andrea struggled to find, Cat continued, “What I’m trying to explain to you, Ms. Rojas, is that while you may have attempted to buy CatCo, it is not your company anymore. As of an emergency board meeting at seven o’clock last night, it once more became mine. When Lena sold CatCo to you, she triggered the second sale clause, unlocking the option of allowing me to purchase the previously mentioned fifteen percent of CatCo stock from the control block she had put up for sale. I, of course, exercised the option as soon as possible, which means you now own fifteen percent fewer CatCo shares and the check I gave the Corporate Secretary last night to cover my purchase should arrive in your bank account later today. When you combine that fifteen percent of stock previously held by Lena Luthor to the forty-five percent I recovered from my blind trust when I left the White House, you will see that I am now the majority owner of CatCo.” She rolled her eyes and sighed. “It was a depressingly cheap investment, considering what CatCo stock used to be worth under my leadership, but I am now the majority shareholder of CatCo Worldwide Media, with sixty percent of its shares. As CatCo is a publicly traded business,” she once more reminded, “the CEO is still beholden to its board—and you own zero percent of their confidence after I showed them video of your little staff ‘pep talk’ in which you detailed plans to turn CatCo’s once respected brand into the new National City Enquirer.” The glare Andrea directed toward the reporters standing just outside the office fell flat beneath her clear impotence in the situation. “No one should have recorded that.” Kara couldn’t believe the incredulous snort she heard could have come from Cat. “Then you probably don’t want to know they did it using your Silver prototype. All they had to do was blink a certain way and I was soon in possession of all the proof I needed to convince me it was time to come out of my far too early retirement.” She pushed up from the desk, slowly making her way across the office until she was standing in front of Andrea. “When the board heard your intentions, they were not pleased. So I agreed, with their request and blessing, to return as acting CEO until we could all come to agreement on a permanent replacement. I assure you, you needn’t bother applying for the position.” With a slight lift of her shoulders, she moved around Andrea, calling out as she passed, “Oh, and be sure to take the renowned Mr. Dey with you. Perhaps he can go back to slinging his pointless, emotional dreck at the Daily Mail. Here, however, we have higher standards for our reporting staff.” Kara visibly shivered at the words Cat spoke while looking directly into her eyes. With a slow blink, the CEO shifted her attention back to Andrea, but not without the slightest uptick of a smile for her protégé. “Since you’re the second person to acquire CatCo regardless of having zero journalism experience, let me give you a quick lesson: Pulitzers are not liabilities. I should know: I built a global media empire on the foundation of two of them. I have always staffed my reporter pools with a coterie of Pulitzer winners and I celebrate each and every win as it rightfully deserves to be celebrated. In fact, as soon as I finish cleaning house here, I plan on celebrating our latest winner in the way she deserves.” She directed her next words to the crowd around her, once more looking directly in Kara’s eyes. “One of the first things I will be doing once we clear away this portion of my morning is sending a company-wide invitation to a soiree this Saturday, held at the Starscape. I’ve reserved the entire rooftop lounge so we can all properly celebrate Ms. Danvers’s first Pulitzer.” Kara couldn’t resist the happy laughter she felt filling her lungs at Cat’s playful emphasis. The moment passed quickly as Andrea moved after Cat, finally countering, “As soon as my lawyers learn of all this, they’ll have your ass right out of this office.” This time, Kara saw the entire width of Cat’s grin, which seemed revealed just for her. “Whatever you say, Ms. Rojas. Although, I assure you, everything I’ve just told you is the legal and binding truth. It was also all in the contract the whole time. At the very least, your legal team should have caught it and brought it to your attention. Perhaps you should hire lawyers capable of a reading retention beyond 280 characters. It might have saved you a great deal of trouble. Then again, hooray for me.” When she caught Andrea’s hissed insult as she stormed into the still-awaiting elevator car, Cat shrugged with all the indifference of a woman utterly unfazed. As soon as the elevator doors closed, however, she allowed her features to finally relax into the full smile she’d been aching to show. Her arms spread into a wide-open invitation, which Kara had no intention of ignoring. Quickly stepping forward once Nia took the vase from her hands, she wrapped Cat in the full embrace of her arms, laughing through the tears that now fell freely from her eyes. Huffing in surprise, Cat noted with no lack of amusement how only the tips of her shoes remained in touch with the floor throughout Kara’s hug. She let the hero continue to hold onto her as long as she needed, though, her hands rubbing a soothing pattern against Kara’s back. When she did finally shift back, but not out of Kara’s impressively tight hold, she pressed her hands against Kara’s cheeks. “I am so very proud of you, Kara Danvers.” The sound to escape Kara—part sob, part laughter—sparked impromptu cheers and clapping from the reporters still gathered around them. Eyes still firmly locked on Kara’s, she continued, “I’m going to need help to get back up to speed here.” Before she could even ask for a recommendation for someone to assist her, Kara instantly replied, “I’d be happy to help you, Ms. Grant.” She saw the rising dismissal and quickly added, “James never hired a new assistant when Eve moved to L-Corp.” She grimaced at the thought, an expression mirrored eerily by the woman in her hold. “So I’m the only one left who knows the most about what you’ll need and who can provide it. And, really, it’s no problem. I’m happy to help.” “For a day or so,” Cat finally conceded, feeling Kara’s resplendent smile all the way to her toes. “In that time, I’ll ask HR to find me a new assistant—hopefully one without secret murder-y intentions.” Kara caught sight of a surprisingly regretful frown before Cat finally stepped all the way out of her hold. “As for the rest of you, get the hell back to work. We have a lot to do to get this company back up to my standards. I expect to see some of the most brilliant, in-depth, and scintillating copy ever written to start coming across my desk ASAP.” Affirmative murmurs filtered through the crowd as they dispersed toward their desks at Cat’s dismissal. Catching the hesitation of the person standing closest to Kara, Cat shifted her attention. Her expression quickly slipped into a pleased grin. “Nia.” The Naltorian stepped forward into Cat’s arms, hugging her with similar exuberance but nowhere near the strength of Kara’s embrace. “Ms. Grant, I am so happy to see you here.” The CEO hugged her tightly before shifting away with a fond pat to her cheek. “How has it been, being mentored by Kara?” “Everything you promised it would be and more,” she replied, laughing at Kara’s wide-eyed shock. “I told you, Ms. Nal,” she teased, “I would only send you to the best of the best.” Backing away, she waggled a finger toward Kara. “And now I need the best of the best to help me navigate the land mines of incompetence I’m bound to stumble across. If you would be so kind, Ms. Danvers?” The reporters situated in the main bullpen couldn’t help but smile in conjunction with the joyous sounds coming from Kara as she fell obediently in step beside Cat. As the two women once more entered Cat’s reclaimed office, the CEO issued several orders to those who had accompanied her before dismissing them with an airy flick of her fingers. “I hope you don’t mind,” she finally directed toward Kara, “but I think I’d like to work outside on the balcony.” She glanced around the office she once knew with a comforting intimacy. “Whatever James thought he was doing with this, it’s honestly one of the most depressing office designs I’ve ever witnessed.” Kara couldn’t help but nod, it not being the first time she’d mourned James’s decision to gut all traces of Cat’s interior design. “However, it seems he saw fit to spare my balcony,” she finished, the curiosity sharp in her tone. Blushing only slightly, the hero softly offered, “I asked James to leave the balcony alone—at least for a while.” “And why is that?” Kara perked at the playful purr in Cat’s voice. “It’s always been my favorite part of this office.” Other than you. “I wasn’t quite ready to lose it.” Cat gave a pained flinch at the unspoken portion of Kara’s statement. “Yes, well, you won’t be losing it any time soon—or me, for that matter.” Grabbing her bag before Kara could react to her statement and sauntering out onto the balcony, she smirked at the almost betraying haste Kara used to catch up to her. After dropping the bag onto the coffee table, she continued over to the balcony’s edge. Kara watched her lean her forearms against the ledge, a passing breeze shifting a blonde lock across her forehead. Cat seemed unbothered, happy to recapture the enjoyment she always felt at standing in just this spot, gazing out over her city. She breathed deeply, a contented noise filling the space between them as Kara moved to stand beside her. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed this view.” Kara started to nod, but stopped with the startled realization that Cat was looking directly at her. Unable to control the blush she felt burning through her cheeks, she instead faced the woman beside her with a bright smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. “I have missed you so much, Ms. Grant.” “Nunh-unh,” Cat chided playfully, “Pulitzer winners get to call me Cat.” Kara ducked her head to try to hide the goofy grin she knew she now wore. She froze in place, however, at the feel of Cat’s fingers wrapping around her forearm. Breath catching in her chest, she stared at the hand on her arm—felt the warmth of the flesh, the ridges of each finger’s unique print, the flow of blood circulating beneath the skin, the tension of muscle controlling her grip. “Cat, I—” The words hung in her throat as she zeroed in on the sound of someone entering Cat’s office. Gaze shifting toward the imminent intrusion, she pressed her lips together to keep in check whatever confession she was about to speak. Cat sighed in disappointed understanding when she caught on that someone was getting ready to interrupt them. Giving Kara’s arm a soft squeeze, she said, “Save that sentiment for later, because I will be coming back to claim it.” At the arrival of the head of HR, Cat pivoted away. Kara drew a shaky breath before settling back into the comfortable memory of her time as Cat’s assistant and slipping easily once more into the role. And so the morning progressed, with Kara bringing Cat up to speed so swiftly and easily that it was as though the returning CEO hadn’t missed any beat in CatCo’s rhythm since her departure. Nia watched it all with growing enchantment regarding the strange, solid dynamic of the two women. She knew from her brief time as one of Cat’s interns at the White House how demanding she could be. She also knew from the rare occasions of seeing a more relaxed version of the woman how much she enjoyed talking about Kara. Other than Carter, there was no one from Cat’s personal life about whom she spoke more frequently or freely—or respected and admired more obviously. Conversely, it had taken no time at all to learn how Kara shared those feelings in abundance for Cat, wrapped neatly in a layer of adoration Nia was certain not even the hero herself was aware she revealed so easily. Seeing them together now, however, Nia quickly understood that while Cat might not be nearly as transparent in her emotions as Kara, the smaller blonde most assuredly shared Kara’s more private affections. The buzz of an incoming call roused her from her contemplation. She frowned at the name on her screen as she answered. “Hey, Alex. What’s up?” She lowered her voice slightly. “Do you need any help?” “Stand down, Dreamer,” she chuckled, pleased at the responding laugh she caught from the Naltorian. “Nothing official. I’ve been trying to reach Kara for like an hour now. Maggie and I were going to try that new Laotian place, and we thought getting away from CatCo for some food might cheer her up a little. But is she busy on a story? She’s not picking up my calls or answering my texts.” Nia’s gaze drifted toward the door to Cat’s office, the image she’d seen the last time she’d gone to the balcony instantly springing to mind: Cat and Kara seated closely side by side, their bodies turned toward each other, knees touching as they bent over a layout practically bleeding from grease pencil marks. Cat’s expression crinkled with concentration as she drew another X and Kara laughed at whatever the smaller blonde muttered with the action, her eyes shining with a level of happiness Nia only then realized she’d never seen Kara reach before. “She’s with Ms. Grant right now.” “What? Cat Grant is there?” “Yeah, long story, but she’s apparently back as CatCo’s CEO—at least for a while.” She caught the sound of Maggie laughing and mumbling something in the background, which made Alex chuckle in agreement. “Yeah, no wonder she’s not responding. I’ll let the DEO know she’ll be out of commission the rest of the day—and maybe even the evening, if Kara finally pulls her head out of her ass.” Alex snickered at the soft sound of Nia’s confusion through the line. “That’s right, you’ve never witnessed the Cat Effect before.” She laughed again, a low, exuberant growl. “Cat Grant is like the sun to Kara—and Kara has been without her sun for far too long. Do them both a huge favor and keep as many people from bothering them as you can. I think this time together will do them both a world of good. And if you’d like to meet us for lunch, we promise we won’t drill you for information the whole time.” With an amused huff, Nia shook her head. “Maybe next time. Everyone’s in total lockdown mode right now, churning out copy for Ms. Grant. It’s like—it’s like a whole new place here right now.” “Of course, it is. The Queen has returned. Don’t worry about lunch. We’ll catch you the next time. Good luck with your articles and, if you get to see Kara at some point today, tell her we’re definitely talking later.” Nia caught the sound of Maggie calling out in the background, “Fuck that! Tell Kara if she doesn’t finally ask that woman out, I’m going to ask her out for her—using my cruiser’s loud speaker from the middle of CatCo Plaza!” At the shocked gasp Nia issued, Alex huffed, “And that’s my wife, the ever-subtle Maggie Sawyer.” To Nia, she finished, “We’ll see you on game night. Just—take care of them both, okay?” “Ah, of course,” she stammered, only slightly bemused by the turn the conversation had taken. “Give Gerty some ear skritches for me.” Alex gave a happy affirmative before disconnecting the call. When Nia set down her phone, she caught herself on the brink of actually giggling at the revelation behind Maggie’s playful threat. When finally the end of the day arrived, she watched her coworkers pack up their things and head out, this time almost unwillingly rather than with the desperate haste she’d been witnessing with alarming frequency. She noted, too, the uptick in mood and the actual smiles and laughter she caught from a couple groups as they convened before heading off to the elevators. She waved off a few offers of getting drinks from Noonan’s, deciding, instead, to keep watch over the entrance to Cat’s office, which hadn’t seen another person pass through it in nearly an hour. She spent the next half hour finishing up her third article of the day and the outline to a story she hoped to start researching in the morning, emailing her files to Kara for review and shutting down her system. Settling her suddenly jittery nerves with a breath, she quietly moved through the CEO’s office toward the balcony. She was fairly positive the sound she made at what she saw was audible only to canines—and Kryptonians. However, Kara was clearly far too distracted by the weight of Cat’s body pressing her against the couch cushions and her hands tangling in Cat’s hair to notice. The smaller blonde finished what Nia suspected had been a languid and thorough exploration of Kara’s mouth, her lips tipping into the softest smile aimed at the hero, before stating, “Ms. Nal, perhaps you would like to stop hovering with open-mouthed surprise before you draw attention to all of us?” With a suddenly hyper-aware glance over her shoulder, Nia slipped out onto the balcony. She smiled sheepishly while noting Kara’s utterly disheveled appearance. The hero pushed herself back upright, careful to match Cat’s movements as she shifted back to sitting on the couch, and straightened her dress and glasses. Cat brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, smirking at the way Kara bit her lip to try to hide her grin. The besotted blush in her cheeks, however, was Cat’s damnation and delight. Fluttering her hands in a way Cat recognized as a definite pick-up from Kara, Nia stammered, “I, uh, just wanted to let you know most everyone’s left for the evening and-and to see if you needed anything else before I left.” “Other than your discretion, if you are so inclined to offer it, no. I believe we’re okay.” Both Nia and Kara caught the faint uptick of tone in Cat’s statement. Kara immediately nodded, her shy grin finally breaking its bonds into the full sunny smile Nia had missed seeing. “Yeah,” she replied, “I believe we’re very okay.” Nia’s eyes reflected her joy as she watched the two slip closer against each other, an almost unconscious submission to the connection between them. Cat reached over and entwined her fingers with Kara’s, pursing her lips coyly at the strong return grip. When Kara shifted her attention back to Nia, the happiness she radiated was practically palpable. “Thank you, Nia.” “Of course.” She backed once more toward the balcony door, tugging at one of her earlobes as she did. “You, uh, might want to be a little careful, though, since I’m heading out now.” With a waggle of her eyebrows that instantly deepened Kara’s blush and earned a rightful tsk from Cat, she spun and practically danced out of Cat’s office. The ensuing silence somehow escaped any sense of timidity from Kara, which signaled to Cat how much the hero’s certainty and faith in herself continued to grow. Unable to resist testing the clearly fluid lines of their shifting relationship, Cat leaned closer and teased, “You’ll forgive me if I gloat for a minute for being able to distract even your—impressive hearing, won’t you, darling?” Kara wrinkled her nose at the playful and completely unsurprising jab before relaxing into a full laugh. Without a second of hesitation, she reached up and removed her glasses, tossing them onto the stack of layouts and copy drafts long ago abandoned. “I’m pretty sure having a kiss that can throw off a Kryptonian’s focus warrants way more than just a minute of gloating.” Attuned as she was to the moment, Cat noticed, even beneath the teasing, the flutter of darker emotions in Kara’s gaze before she could blink it away. Fighting her own instinct to lock down behind her protective walls, she instead tightened her hold on Kara’s hand, calmly asking, “Talk to me?” Tears reflected the soft pastels of the sunset surrounding them as Kara met her concerned gaze. “It’s just—I should have told you the truth a long time ago. I should have trusted you.” “I didn’t exactly make a case for trusting me, darling.” She hitched a shoulder at Kara’s frown. “I was so used to getting the scoop and being right, I failed to stop long enough to realize I was expecting you to give me something you don’t owe anyone. Your truth is just that, Kara: yours, to share or keep at your discretion. No one is entitled to that. I’m sorry for disrespecting that and you.” Surprisingly, her words seemed to upset the hero even more. She gasped at the feeling of Kara’s grip constricting around her fingers before quickly relaxing with awareness. “I—I kind of wish you’d been here a week ago, to give me that speech.” The sound of her laugh was thick with emotion and totally devoid of humor. “Lena?” Kara tensed at Cat’s unnerving foresight. “I thought finally telling her would help her understand how much I trust her and how much her friendship means to me—and how sorry I was I made her feel deceived because I didn’t tell her sooner.” Cat lifted Kara’s hand and kissed each knuckle. “Your kindness will always be your greatest power, Kara, but it’s one not everyone deserves.” “Because she’s a Luthor?” “Because, if my sources are correct, she has committed certain acts that, at the very least, warrant further legal scrutiny.” Realizing the conversation they were about to broach required their utmost clarity, Cat released her hold on Kara’s hand and rose, stepping once more to the balcony’s edge. She turned toward where Kara remained on the couch, leaning back against the ledge with a soft sigh. “There are things that were—ignored during James’s time as CatCo’s CEO. Things pertaining to L-Corp and Lena in particular that should have been investigated and reported, but failed to make it beyond first pitch.” Kara stood, noting the betraying shake in her legs as she did. “What kinds of things?” Cat crossed her arms, her expression growing surprisingly regretful. “Things you cannot have any involvement covering. Things that could spell very hard times ahead for Ms. Luthor.” Kara felt the painful twist of Cat’s words in her gut. “Your friendship with Lena means I will need you to recuse yourself from working on any articles pertaining to investigations that focus on her or L-Corp. I also must insist that you refrain from discussing anything with her during your personal time with her.” Kara frowned at the waver in Cat’s voice at the end of her statement. However, she felt more sharply the emptiness within her at the words. “There’s not really any personal time anymore.” She shrugged, a sad, deflated gesture. “All she has time for anymore is coming up with reasons why she can’t see me.” Cat paused for a beat, her lips pursing into a pensive dip. She pivoted to look out once more over the city, waiting as Kara made her way to her side. “Were this a more original story, I’d say a solid therapist could do wonders in helping Lena work through her myriad traumas the way mine helps me. However, in this story, if what I’ve heard about her proves to be even remotely true, her chance at redemption without consequence has passed. She has made her choices and it is our duty to finally bring them to light.” Kara’s silence unsettled her in ways she hated, but she struggled to maintain her composure as she waited for the hero to process all she’d just said. When Kara finally spoke, her voice was soft but certain. “I wish so much had gone differently for Lena—but you’re right. Even I can’t fix everything.” She hung her head, watching with a melancholy smile as Cat linked their arms and leaned against her bicep. “I won’t interfere with any CatCo investigations into Lena or L-Corp, either as Kara Danvers or Supergirl.” Cat pressed closer, rising up on the tips of her toes to kiss Kara’s cheek. “I am sorry. I know, Luthor proclivities aside, Lena has been there for you when others have failed you.” She felt the tug of Kara pulling her closer, pulling her attention in as well. “I hope that doesn’t include you.” At sight of Cat pointedly avoiding eye contact, Kara crooked a finger beneath her chin and persistently coaxed her into turning her way. “You have never failed me, Cat.” “I left you.” “You left CatCo and National City,” she corrected. “Not me. I was too terrified to ask you not to do that.” “You wanted to? To ask me not to leave?” An undignified laugh echoed within Kara’s throat. “I wanted to beg you not to go that night I came to say goodbye on the balcony.” “The first time I left?” Hearing the hero’s affirmative hum, she pointed out, “But you didn’t come to say goodbye the night before I left for D.C., either as Kara Danvers or Supergirl. Why?” Though she tried not to, she could hear the disappointment thrumming through every word of her question. Kara took it in stride, however, staring far into the distance while collecting her thoughts. “I couldn’t,” she confessed. “I knew I couldn’t stop you from such an amazing experience. But I also couldn’t—” The weight of her sadness, even after so much time had passed, cracked her voice and broke her words. Surrendering to the hurt, she sighed, “Even the Girl of Steel has limits to how much she can bear.” When she finally looked back at Cat, her eyes were clear and bright as she confessed, “I asked James to keep your balcony the same because being here in this space, with you, will always hold special memories for me. When things got so hard this past year and I caught myself wondering if I would make it through, I’d stop here during my evening patrols. I’d stand right here and I would listen for your heart beat.” Brow crinkling with concern, she hurried to add, “I never honed in on the sound, so I never knew exactly where you were, I promise. But, just hearing you and knowing you were out there if I really needed you—it’s what got me through.” Cat’s fingers carded though Kara’s hair before resting against her cheek. “You got yourself through, darling. You are so much stronger than you think you are—even beyond these stunningly sexy muscles of yours.” Encouraging Kara Danvers to blush was quickly moving up the ranks of Cat’s favorite pastimes. With an eye roll the hero somehow managed to make adorable, she teasingly flexed the bicep closest to Cat, giggling when she smacked her shoulder lightly. “Show-off.” “I’d love to show you more.” She instantly recognized the expression of surprise and pleasure to brighten Cat’s face and used its familiarity to summon her courage. “You left me stronger than I ever thought Kara Danvers could be. But I think we both could be so much stronger together.” “,ehl, magharrah?” Cat narrowed her eyes in mock consternation at Kara’s gasp. “I was once personally responsible for writing all articles on you, Supergirl. Of course, I know your House motto.” Once more, Kara gathered all her internal strength to steady her nerves. “I want you to know everything—I want to share with you everything about me. Will you let me?” “Did you recognize the flowers that held my card?” The unexpected question stymied her for several beats before she finally regrouped enough to shake her head. “They’re camellias. They have quite varied cultural significance depending on where you come from here. However, I chose them in the specific three colors I did for what they mean in modern Western culture.” Leaning into the inviting warmth of Kara’s body, she ticked off the colors with kisses along the line of her jaw. “White for admiration, pink for longing and devotion, and red for love, passion, and deep desire.” The dawning understanding within Kara’s eyes was bright as a supernova as she absorbed the promise of Cat’s words. “You—you—I mean, we—” With a playful click of her tongue, Cat hooked her finger into the collar of Kara’s dress and pulled her closer. “Good thing your Pulitzer was for the written word, darling.” Kara laughed at the jab Cat whispered against her lips, right before closing the space between them for a series of kisses that quickly matched their extended makeout session from earlier. When they parted, Kara whispered, “This is a much better use for my mouth anyway, don’t you think?” Humming softly as she stepped away and took hold of Kara’s hand, Cat began to back toward the balcony entrance. Kara fell easily into the obsidian depths of desire-blown pupils and shook at Cat’s suddenly sultry cadence. “Why don’t we head to my place and explore some other uses?” Her body reacted automatically, zipping forward so she could scoop Cat into her arms with zero effort. She lifted them both off the ground, twirling into the air and hovering slightly above the balcony’s entrance, hiding them from view. As Cat got her bearing, she curled her hands around Kara’s shoulders with a contented hum, knowing in that moment she was the safest she would ever be. Pulling herself close enough to press a kiss to Kara’s earlobe, she said, “I’m here, darling, for everything you want to share with me.” Kara’s responding smile at the promise in Cat’s words and the hope in her tone outshone every city light below and every star above them. As she spun them high into evening sky, the sound of Cat’s laughter surrounding her, she knew no other moment would ever feel righter than this.

[1 week]   from georgenotfound to dream and sapnap   g- okay i finished editing our group video it's rendering rn should be up tonight   s- cool, link it when it uploads   g- ok   from georgenotfound to dream   g- i cant stand this g- after our fight last week everything is so… formal g- i hate it   d- mhm   g- i thought we moved past our fight when we all apologized g- and then there was still an awkward air g- so i just hoped it would go away eventually g- but literally the only time we all act normal is during videos   d- i get what you mean…   from sapnap to georgenotfound and dream   s- hey s- heather says shes free to meet you guys today s- i can add her to a voicecall   g- woo   d- YO WHAT d- thats awesome!!   [5 minutes]   sapnap has added user heather   sapnap has joined a voice call dream has joined a voice call georgenotfound has joined a voice call heather has joined a voice call   [15 minutes]   georgenotfound has left the voice call   [20 minutes]   georgenotfound has joined the voice call   [10 minutes]   user heather has been removed from group by user georgenotfound   [2 hours]   d- sorry muted my friend walked in d- sapnap you dummy, im with george d- just someone i went to school with d- mhm d- lol d- lol d- IM SORRY IM KINDA PREOCCUPIED TALKING TO MY FRIEND   s- :(   g- :[   s- :(   d- stop   g- :[   d- you guys know you're my best friends d- i just havent seen this friend in a bit and i talk to you guys everyday d- he thinks youre both annoying now stop asking d- no   [20 minutes]   sapnap has left the voice call   s- im eating dinner as fast as i can without geting a tummy ache    g- im going live rnnnnnn   s- NOOOOOO s- WAIT s- GEORGE s- DO NOT s- IF I SEE THAT LIVE NOTIF s- I SWEAR TO GOD s- SOMEBODYS CHEEKS ARE GETTING CLAPPED   g- eat faster dumbass   s- IM LITERALLY CHOKING ON MY BREAD FUCKYOU s- GREAT NOW MY MOM IS MAD AT ME d- oh my fucking god d- slow down holy sshit sjkdf d- dont die   s- I WILL s- PASS s- FUCK YOU s- DONT TELL ME WHAT TO DO   g- he angy   d- mhm   s- stfu i bet u two are just giving slopping in vc without me s- DONT THINK I CANT TELL s- i might not be in there s- but i can feel the Vibes   d- im eating dinner you fucking moron   s- in vc?   d- i live alone?   s- yeah… s- but like s- dont u have to leave to get the food at least?   d- yeah i went to get it from the delivery guy and then went back to my pc   s- hmmm s- sloppy   d- were not   s- can we when i get back? :pleading:   g- no   s- u guys fucking hate me s- screw you   g- hurry up   s- YOU ARE GIVING SLOPPY WITH OUT ME   d- what is your obsession with that??   g- yeah kind of weirdchamp…   s- I LOVE MY HOMIES   d- gay   s- yea   g- ew   s- omg georgenothomophobic?   g- yes…?   s- omgomgomgomgogmgomgomgom posting to twitter rn   d- eat your fucking dinner, get off of twitter   s- eat my ass   d- ?   s- :P   d- ??   s- ;P   d- ??? d- haha george just called you a mean name   g- i did not   sapnap has joined the voice call   s- what   d- you idiot, leave the vc we can hear your family eating   s- good s- now what did he call me s- also you dont have to type i can hear you too   g- you’re not even muted   d- mute   s- I CAN HEAR YOU STOP TYPING AND JUST TALK   d- no d- youre not muted d- mute   g- their neighbor's painted their house WHAT colour? 🤮   s- stfu u cant even see color   g- :o   d- :o   s- jk gogy ily now giv eme slopy   d- EAT YOUR FUCKING DINNER HOLY SHIT d- you arent even eating your food, you’re just typing on your phone, no wonder it’s taking so long   georgenotfound has kicked sapnap from the voice call   s- rude ass   g- wait no come back actually g- im invested in how tall the grass in your neighbor's yard is   s- shut up s- im not even listening to my parents talk s- wtf are u talking abt   d- their mortgage is HOW MUCH?   s- im not in the vc anymore nimrod   d- ik im fucking with you   s- langurage   d- ill fucking kill you   s- :/ s-   i was having fun s- and now im sad s- bc of u draem   d- loser   g- baby   d- bitch   g- dummy   s- STOPPPPPPPPP s- okay im done eating ill be back in vc soon, u can start the stream now   [15 minutes]   sapnap has joined the voice call   [1 hour]   d- the dono said “sapnap should spread his cheeks”   s- i should s- i agree   [1 hour]   g- the players but we each can only use 1 tool   d- no dont announce that one yet d- i dont want it leaked   g- ok   [30 minutes]   d- going afk, let me know when the stream is over   [5 minutes]   g- ended   s- now get back here sweetcheeks   d- lol shut up d- hey george when i get back lets go to a priv vc   s- wtf?   d- sap ily but i do need SOME time alone with my bf d- i can priv vc u tomorrow   s- but s- nvm s- whatever   sapnap has left the voice call   g- you ok?   s- yeah s- im just gonna call heather   d- ok   georgenotfound has left the voice call dream has left the voice call   from georgenotfound to dream   g- are we really calling or was that just part of the pretending thing? g- its been a week and already i forget its fake sometimes   d- huh?   g- nvm g- its nothing g- it seems to be working though   d- mhm d- listen d- i wanted to talk   g- i will shit out my heart   d- heather and sapnap seemed kind of… d- wait what?   g- nothing, continue   d- uh d- ok d- they seemed like… weird? d- idk how to describe it   g- very awkward? g- like they barely knew each other and probably shouldn't be dating?   d- yes. d- i dont want to be mean to him about his relationship, esp after last week d- but its so hard not to when our conversation…  went like……… that   g- yeah g- my favorite part was when she said i was stupid because im colour blind so i left for 20 minutes to calm down and lied about getting food   d- ah d- yeah. d- i definitely dont think she meant it as a bad thing d- i think she just didnt know you dont like those jokes   g- idk g- it was weird and uncomfortable g- he also hadnt told her we were dating yet g- very sus   d- to be fair d- were not dating d- it is just a lie   g- no but to him its real   d- yeah d- oh my favorite part was when sap kept making jokes and she didnt laugh at any and then told him he was annoying   g- ugh g- i DO NOT like her   d- yup d- what could we even do about it? hes still mad from our last fight   g- idk g- can i sleep on it? g- im like passing out   d- yeah of course   g- thank you g- i love you dream ♡   d- i d- uh sorry i sent that too soon d- i love you too george ♡

You hadn’t seen Javier in over a week. The first few days after that conversation had been a whirlwind of emotions- worry over whether you’d said the right things, hope that he might feel the same (plus fear that he wouldn’t), and eventually anger at his total lack of response. Until Connie told you that he and Steve had been sent on some mission. “Nothing dangerous, but they’ll be gone for a few days. Javi must not have gotten the chance to say goodbye.” Uttered without a second’s hesitation, like it was unthinkable that Javier wouldn’t have explained himself to you if he could. Maybe Connie knew something you didn’t. So another several days had passed, with worry becoming the dominant theme; all your other initial feelings faded into the background as you wondered how ‘not dangerous’ DEA work could really be. You’re settling in for another restless evening when there’s a rap on the door. Your nerves leap and jangle- you aren’t supposed to being seeing Connie again until tomorrow, so who…? You peer through the cracked door before wrenching it open the rest of the way, your heart roaring in your ears. Javier Peña stands before you. He holds a bottle in one hand and a paper bag in the other, and looks uncharacteristically nervous. You forget you’re theoretically supposed to be upset with him as you stare at each other, wide-eyed. He clears his throat. “Hey. Uh, sorry I disappeared on you. Boss sent me and Steve on a mission, I had to leave from work.” So Connie had been right on both accounts. He hadn’t had time to call you, and he would have if he could. When you wait, he continues. “I thought, since I interrupted your evening the last time I was here, I could make it up to you.” He holds up the bottle, which you’re surprised to recall is indeed the same wine that you had opened the night he came to your place after reopening his wound.  You look at him in wonder, but he’s not finished. “Also, well...I can’t bake for shit, but I know somewhere that can. You ever had a pastel de gloria ?”  He lifts the paper bag, cracks a small, still-nervous grin. “I haven’t,” you confirm, an answering smile growing on your face, touched by the sweetness of his gesture and the implications it holds. “Well, you can try them tonight, because-” his confidence apparently bolstered by your response, he holds the bottle out to you, brow quirking in request. You take it, bemused at the prospect of there still being more to his plan, and he digs something out of his back pocket with an air of presentation. “-I found the sequel to a certain movie while at a market recently. I was going to bring it to Steve and Connie’s but...now seemed like a better time to watch it.”  You almost laugh out loud as you take in the cover of the tape in his hand. It’s the sequel to that movie night travesty, all right. That Javier would do all of this...you hardly know what to say. You hope whatever expression is on your face is saying it for you, though, as you look up at him. “ Thank you, Javier. This is...amazing.” And it is, much more so than would have been necessary to thank you for helping with his leg, or to make up for his unplanned disappearance after you turned down his proposition.  He chuckles, looking down in embarrassment. “You don’t actually have to watch this shit movie if you don’t want to. That part was just a joke.” You could swear he’s blushing, the faintest tinge of color in his cheeks beneath the white hallway lights. “But you should try these pastries, because they are something else.” He offers you the bag, his body shifting sideways slightly, as if he intends to hand off his gifts and then disappear. As if his wide, guileless, puppy dog eyes and the unconscious pout to his lips weren’t begging otherwise. Well. “Of course I want to watch this shit movie, Javi. As long as you watch it with me.” You give him a teasing grin. “It was much more fun with a spoilsport.” Relief spills over his features, washing the tension from his shoulders and the breath from his lungs. Turning away toward the kitchen, you miss the true extent of it, leaving the door open for him as you head back inside. “Bring those to the couch, I’ll get us some plates,” you call over your shoulder. Javier follows more slowly, collecting himself. By the time you join him in the living room, carrying, plates, wine glasses, and napkins, he’s fiddling with your VCR. You pour the wine while he sets it up, although you find yourself distracted by the shifting valleys of muscle in his back beneath his tight-fitting shirt, t he bottle in your hands suspended uselessly above a glass. You curse as you almost spill. “Everything okay?” Javi joins you on the couch, a careful, hesitant distance away. “Of course!” You’re quick to assure him. “Now, tell me about these pastries,” you urge, eyes sparkling. He unloads them onto a plate, stacking rounded pastries into a rough pyramid, each one golden brown, sprinkled with sugar, and the size of a small fist. His voice softens as he tells you about the bakery and the older woman who runs it, who insists everyone call her ‘abuela’, even grown men and gringos like him. How he discovered it entirely by accident one day, following his nose. “The filling is usually guava paste, but they can also have arequipe, or cheese, or all three. She gave me a some extras, so I’m not sure which ones are which here,” he says, suddenly brusque. He gestures for you to take one first, a look on his face you can’t quite identify. You’re definitely at risk of drooling as you pick up a pastel, Javier watching you intently. Puff pastry flakes over your plate as you take a bite.  And close your eyes in relish. A trio of flavors oozes over your tongue, each complementing the other, all of them ensconced in a sheath of sugary, flakey pastry. The creamy, neutral tang of the cheese mellowing the tart-sweet burst of fruity guava, both flavors coated in the thick, sticky-sweet burnt sugar taste of dulce de leche. Swallowing, your eyes pop wide to look at Javier again. It’s a near-physical reaction he has to your sudden attention, an almost-flinch away from it as he awaits your verdict. “Javier.” Your voice is serious. With slow deliberance, you lean toward him intently, reaching out to rest your hand on his forearm. You let the anticipation s t r e t c h.  “You have got to tell me how to make these.” The breath leaves him in a rush, a huff of relief and and laughter at your dramatics. He’s hyper-aware of your hand on his skin- the casual touch reverberates through him in a way he should probably be more concerned about. It’s the first time you’ve touched him for non-medical reasons, but it heals him all the same; he feels warm, something inside him yielding in your presence. He clears his throat. “Like I said, I can’t bake for shit. But...I can ask the abuela.” His free hand rubs at his neck, slipping beneath the collar of his shirt. The movement draws your attention, and your gaze continues lower, to the two buttons he seems to perpetually leave undone. The smooth, flushed skin beneath.  Was it warm in here? You stand abruptly. “Is it warm in here? I’ll flip the fan on. You want to press play?” You throw him a quick smile as you cross the room to the wall switch. You flip off the overhead light while you’re there, leaving just the tall floor lamp casting a bright but cozy glow. Javi obliges, the space dimming briefly as the opening sequence begins. You plop back down on the sofa, deliberately settling slightly closer to him- friends distance away. Handing him a wine glass, you raise yours expectantly. “¡Salud!” you beam. Despite your cheer, you feel a trickle of nervous anticipation. What shape would your relationship take with only the two of you to guide it? You’d never been alone alone together for the express purpose of just hanging out. Javier clinks his glass with yours. “Salud,” he murmurs, his eyes crinkling upward slightly. You order yourself to stop getting in your head. Humming around a mouthful of plum-purple wine, you set down the glass in favor of your plate, loading it with several more pastels. Blissful satisfaction fills you as a second bite confirms their perfection, and you lick sugar off your lips with a happy sigh. Beside you, Javi’s empty fingers twitch. He takes a large gulp of wine. The movie rapidly proves to be of the same ‘quality’ as its parent. Just as quickly, you realize you didn’t need to worry about getting on with Javier. You end up having great fun at the film’s expense, frequently pausing it so Javi can explain in more detail why this or that would never happen in real life. It’s fascinating hearing him speak with such confidence, observing the minute ripples of his face as it contorts in thought. Despite his superior knowledge, he’s never condescending toward you, listening patiently to your questions and trying to answer in ways you can relate to. He sneers freely at the characters onscreen though, and you can completely picture him sitting at a one of those government conference tables, telling some poor bastard how bad his ideas are with his trademark dismissive, deadpan attitude. There are other fascinating things about him, too. Like the way his short shirtsleeves to stretch over his arm muscles, subtle but visible, highlighted by the room’s long shadows. Like the tempting cords of his neck when he tips his head back to drink. Like more of his self-conscious glances, when he bites into a pastel and crumbs and sugar cling to his mustache. He hurriedly swipes his palm down the hairs, but you've caught him from the corner of your eye. You press your lips together to smother a giggle, but when he glides his tongue over his lip to catch any stray bits, your smile fades as your stomach swoops. You can sense him regarding you again as you fix your gaze on the tv. You wish you knew what was going on in his head Too soon the movie ends. The credits roll, but Javier shows no signs of leaving, leisurely taking out a pack of cigarettes and tapping it against his hand. “Do you mind?” he checks. You wrinkle your nose but allow it. “As long as you do it at the window.” You stand, leaving Javi still seated, and spread your arms in a stretch, attempting to blink away some of the sleepy wine haze. “Be right back,” you tell him, taking the opportunity for a bathroom break. After, however, before crossing the kitchen to rejoin him, you pause on the threshold of the hall. Your head tilts as you run your gaze over his unguarded stature. Javier leans against the window’s edge, his head and torso turned to exhale smoke out into the night. It doesn’t all escape immediately, gray twisting in the air around his profile, and you lose yourself in the brooding picture he paints. He believes he’s alone, but doesn’t look like he’s enjoying a peaceful smoke break- more like he’s weighed down by his thoughts, his eyes sweeping over the street without taking it in. Doesn't he have anyone to share his burdens with? You shuffle your feet loudly before you turn the corner, revealing your presence so he can react accordingly. As you approach, he stubs out his cigarette on the narrow sill and turns to face you, his shoulders relaxing. “I thought of something else about that last scene,” he greets, and you’re happy to let him go on about the film, savoring the rich timbre of his voice. You talk for a little while longer, lounging by the window. He asks you more about yourself now, and you haltingly tell him about your background, how you came to arrive in Columbia. He drinks in every word, and you get the feeling he’s storing this all away, ready to reference later. As if he intends for there to be a later. Finally it comes up. Your last interaction. “Look, I’m sorry about last time,” Javier begins. “When I, you know-” he nods jerkily in lieu of saying “tried to seduce you” out loud. “I, uh. I don’t know what I was thinking.” His gaze drops the same way it did when he was withholding how he got the cut on his leg. You thought you had understood some of his thought process, but maybe there was more to it. “I think you do,” you disagree wryly. One shoulder lifts in a shrug. “But it’s okay, Javier. I just...didn’t want you to sleep with me just because you felt like you owed me.” It’s a struggle to hold his gaze, yours ranging over his face and chest, searching for a reaction to what you’ve left unspoken. That you may well want him to sleep with you, but only because he actually wants to, wants you, specifically. Javier is smart, and clearly experienced with women- there’s no way he’ll miss the implication. The longer you hold his gaze, the more clearly you see his thoughts churning, turning over everything that’s occurred between you and what it might mean, with all the analytical precision his career requires. That’s who you’ve been seeing, you realize, every time his provocative persona misses its mark with you- Agent Peña, the man who puts up a shield of derisive disdain so no one gets too close, so no one wants to. Until someone comes along who says fuck that, for whatever reasons of their own- like Steve, who demanded that Javi let him in as much as he could stand to because they’re partners, damn it, for better or for worse. Like Connie, who informed him that your well-being is important to my husband’s, so by god, you’re going to let me care about you. Like you- his neighbor and wallmate who, despite being faced with Agent Peña's rakish side, could see that there was more under the surface than just blood oozing from a knife wound. As if realizing the window this moment is giving you, Javier shakes himself free of it, pushing off the wall. “Well, I won’t keep you up any longer,” he says gruffly. “Thanks for...this.” He gestures to the coffee table behind the couch you’re leaning on, the silent tv static jittering on the wine and pastries. You stand too, unhurried. “Thank you , Javier. For the company, as well,” you say with sincerity. He nods, seeming torn, perpetually caught in some internal struggle around you. Finally, he says a single word in farewell, his voice a low caress: “Vecinita.” He starts for the door without waiting for a reply. Blinking in surprise, you spin in place. “Buenas noches, Javi,” you call, hoping your understanding reaches him. You think it does, because he pauses for a second with his hand on the doorknob; before, with a last glance, exiting, leaving the hope kindling in your chest as the only proof it really happened. -- Javier has a hard time focusing at work the next day. He and Steve have a lot of paperwork to get through, mostly material from their recent mission, but every time he shifts in his shitty desk chair he remembers how comfortable your couch was. How at ease you seemed sitting next to him on it. How badly he wanted to reach out to you, see if you felt as soft as you looked in that setting. “Fuck,” he swears. The paper in his hand is the same one he’s been staring at for the past ten minutes. Huffing, he shoves his work aside, snatches up his jacket, and heads home early. But his apartment offers even fewer distractions, so with a growl of frustration, he downs a whiskey and stalks back to the door. Only to be stopped in his tracks by Connie, standing on his stoop with a coffee pot in hand. She looks startled by his sudden appearance, her fist still raised to knock. “Hi, Javi. I heard you get back a little while ago, and I haven’t seen you since you and Steve returned. I thought we could catch up.” She speaks tentatively, clearly wary of his black scowl and riled energy. “Did she send you?” he asks, eyes narrowing, jutting his chin to indicate your door. Connie frowns in confusion. “No, I won’t be seeing her for a a day or three. She’s got an intensive-care patient at the hospital who needs around-the-clock attention.” Her own eyes narrow. “ Should she have sent me? Did you do something?” “No,” Javier retorts curtly. “Just- didn’t know if this was brought on by some of your gossip, is all.” Resigned to his interrogation, he steps back, opening the door for her. Connie continues to glare suspiciously as she passes, but heads into his kitchen nonetheless, getting out sugar and mugs in a familiar ritual. She knew better than to bother checking the fridge for milk. Once seated in the dining room, however, she doesn’t pry any further about you, or what he may have done, only continuing a previous line of conversation from their last chat. It helps, but as she gets caught up telling some work story, Javier’s attention drifts again.  He inhales from the cigarette between his fingers, remembering the taste of the one last night, filtering through the flavors of cherry-dark wine and sugar-encrusted pastry. He had tried to keep some figurative distance between the two of you, but you didn’t seem to want it, closing the gaps with questions, always looking so damn interested when the answers pertained to him or his life. Were you that fascinated by all your ‘friends’? Javi doesn’t notice that Connie is scrutinizing him again, just like he hadn’t noticed that she’s been silent for the past minute. “What’s she doing up there?” Connie asks loudly. Javier chokes mid-drag, and a wicked smirk overtakes her face. “What,” he croaks, trying desperately not to look guilty. “Your neighbor,” Connie clarifies. “That’s what you’re thinking about, right?” She looks far too smug with herself. “Hah,” Javier scoffs, trying to ignore the shivery goosebumps at someone calling you ‘his’. Buying time, he takes another long drag, letting it numb the sting from his cough.  Sometimes he wondered why he let himself get sucked into these coffee chats. They so rarely seemed to go well for him.  “Come on, Javier,” Connie coaxes. “I know there’s something between you two. Do you wanna talk about it?” A genuine offer, not just merciless teasing. She’s managed to wipe most of the mirth from her face, leaving a sympathetic expression behind. He rubs his thumb along his mustache as he sighs a long stream of smoke from the corner of his mouth. “I don’t know what’s between us,” he finally says. “I’m not- I don’t do relationships .” He isn’t sure he remembers how to. Nothing about his life here is suited to them- it’s intense, harsh, dangerous . Not to mention his network of CIs, who he pays for sex as well as information.  “Why not?” Connie asks simply. A glance at her face tells Javier that it’s a serious question. He snorts. Lounging back in his chair, he raises a contemptuous eyebrow at her. “You can’t honestly tell me the DEA lifestyle is helping your marriage.” Her face tightens, and he feels a pang of guilt. But he resolutely pushes it away- Connie knows who he is, she asked for this conversation- “My marriage isn’t up for discussion here,” she says evenly. “And besides, don’t you think that’s something for her to decide? She knows what you do, she sees you almost every day. She told me she was helping you with something- do you think she’d let herself get close to you if she was scared of your ‘lifestyle’?” He doesn’t let it show how deeply her word affects him; but like ink dropping into water, he feels a ripple of shock. The change of color as his thoughts cloud, churn with sudden optimism. Because Connie was right, you had helped him- with a fucking secret stab wound, for christ’s sake. You’d already seen the blood and the secrets, understood that his life came with risks- and helped him without further explanation. Javier brings the cigarette to his lips again without tasting it, unseeing gaze fixed ahead. Possible though it is that you’re not put off by the danger which hounds him, it still doesn’t mean you want to be more than friends. That was what you’d said, right? ‘Friends are a thing people have.’  But there was also what you hadn’t said last night. That-  as long as it was for reasons  other  than feeling like he owed you-  he was allowed to want to sleep with you . Suddenly he slumps forward onto his elbows, sighing. The wrinkles on his forehead ache as he smooths his thumb over them. “I don’t know how close she wants to get,” Javi mumbles. He might be experienced at sex with women, but forming conections based on what was beneath the skin...well, not only was he rusty, but it required a frankly terrifying amount of vulnerability that he wasn’t sure he was up for. Connie softens. “Listen, Javi, I saw the way she was looking at you during movie night. She’s interested in you, no matter how much you think she does or doesn’t know. Just- see what happens, or…ask her.” With her last words she shrugs matter-of-factly, content to drop the subject now that she’s delivered her thoughts. His lips twist, the only begrudging acknowledgement he gives as he reflects on this. He picks up his mug and swirls the dregs of the coffee his friend had poured for him- black, like he usually takes it. He takes a sip.  For the first time, he thinks it could use a little sugar.

“I wasn’t certain you’d come,” Reid admitted. With a delayed shrug of a shoulder McCullum took another drag off his cigarette before answering. This was the time and place Reid’s note had specified, and when he’d arrived the doctor had already been waiting. “Still might get up an’ leave,” he grumbled. “You could’ve put a bit more detail in yer letter.” “I assumed you’d either respond or you wouldn’t. The contents didn’t seem terribly important at the time.” The two sat on a Whitechapel bench just outside the cemetery gates, Jonathan with his hands folded in his lap and an ankle resting on his knee while McCullum lounged back, legs spread and arm thrown over the backrest as he smoked. “Thought it might’ve been an emergency, imminent leech attack planned or somethin’. You don’t usually send letters.” He blew another stream of white smoke into the frigid night air and watched it wisp and thin until it grew too diluted to track. “You nearly gave that poor kid a heart attack.” Jonathan was watching the alleyway across the street, his keen inhuman eyes picking out shapes in the darkness McCullum couldn’t see, but he could still hear the scuttling of mice. The corner of the doctor’s mouth turned up but McCullum’s eyes were pointedly still on the sky, starless and hazy this deep into the city. “He was certainly startled, but put on a very brave face,” Reid explained and twisted a grin from McCullum’s lips, and the hunter chuckled to himself. But the easy smile slipped just a bit too quickly and his snickers died out on the open air, and soon enough they were sitting in the quiet again. It was odd, the feeling hanging in the space between them. They were different now, but that easy camaraderie still lie just below this newly developed tension. Or, conversely, maybe the comfortable fellowship they’d spent so long inadvertently cultivating was the only thing holding back the terrifying lovecraftian something that loomed beneath and threatened to breach the surface and drown them both. It felt cold, and McCullum bristled. “Why’m I here, Reid?” he asked as he flicked the ash from his cigarette. Both men kept their eyes ahead, and though McCullum was sure he’d been heard Reid took his time in answering. He’d almost given up expecting one of him when he noticed the rhythmic drumming of the man’s fingers on the side of his polished shoe, a telltale sign he was sorting his thoughts. “I believe,” Reid began slowly, but when the right words didn’t fall quickly enough into place he gave up all together with a weary sigh. He uncrossed his legs and stroked his beard as he tried again. “I owe you my thanks for your help with Miss Billow,” he finally muttered, and McCullum scowled, already irritated. “That’s not why you called me out here,” he growled. He hated the way the leech was beating around the bush, dancing around him like he was walking on eggshells instead of getting to the point like he usually would. It was another mark that Reid was regarding him differently since their last meeting, and it didn't sit well. Reid took another deep breath that came across just as annoyed, as if he had any reason to be indignant - McCullum was the one who should feel put out. “All the same,” Reid argued. “Thank you.” McCullum grunted and left it at that. When Reid failed to seize the opportunity to continue McCullum prompted him again before the silence could seize them first. “Why am I here?” he asked a second time as he turned his head. There was no bite to the question, but if the leech wasn’t going to spit it out then he might as well take his leave. “I didn’t want to accost you in your own territory,” Reid supplied with his eyes still lost in the alley across the way, and McCullum could feel his patience stretch thinner. “I meant what’s so damned important you needed to ‘accost me’ at all?” Another heavy sigh. “Geoffrey, I’ve come to the conclusion… that I may have understated the nature of our- or rather, of my, my thoughts regarding… your significance. To me, that is,” he ground out ineloquently. “What’re you goin’ on about, Reid?” “Please, don’t get upset, and hear me out,” the doctor said in a rush, “I don’t wish for my- I don’t want to tarnish the connection that I feel we’ve established. But I respect you a great deal and feel you have the right to know my feelings on the matter.” McCullum was entirely out of his element as he sat up straighter to better take in his companion. He looked pained, like every word was an effort that went against his better judgement, but still he persevered even if he looked away again. “I’ve come to terms with the fact that I may harbor a certain… certain feelings for you,” he finished lamely. And if either of them had considered any of the previous silences that had fallen between them oppressive, this one was absolutely, inordinately, devastatingly suffocating. McCullum’s blood ran cold and his lungs felt weak and heavy, unable to breathe deeply enough to support the massive amount of brain power he would need to sort through this mess in which he’d found himself. What had happened? How could he have allowed things to fly so off the rails? How was this fair? And it was only then that the chill in his veins spiked suddenly into a white-hot, boiling fever that fueled a rage the likes of which he’d never felt before. “What the fuck,” he gritted out coldly under his breath. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?” “Geoffrey please-” Reid looked up at him through his eyelashes from where he had his chin tucked low to his chest, but Geoffrey stood and cut him off. “No, what the fuck, Reid?” he said louder, not quite yelling. “What- Where do you think we go from here? What do you think happens now? Fuckin’ leech, you’re not s’posed to have feelings at all!” He stood over Reid who looked back at him with those sad pale eyes, but Reid made no move to deter him from his rant. McCullum searched those eyes for a hint of deceit but was presented with nothing but open blue; deep, haunting, and strikingly beautiful. “Yer attracted to me,” McCullum confirmed, and Reid nodded. It had been a statement rather than a question. “How long?” Jonathan dropped his gaze to the ground, thinking, and McCullum granted him the time to straighten his thoughts, the vampire's eyes returning to him as he found his answer. “I think it was when you gave me the blood of King Arthur," he began. "I was fascinated with you before, that night at the Pembroke, but when you handed over your flask, in this very graveyard,” he recalled with a backwards glance over his shoulder to the cemetery gates, “I believe it was the beginning of the end for me.” McCullum cursed under his breath and flung his cigarette to the ground, crushing it under the heel of his boot with a vicious twist. He grit his teeth but the fire in his chest didn’t settle even as he clenched his fists so tight his nails dug painfully into the meat of his palms, so he spun on the spot and walked away. “McCullum-” Reid called out to him standing suddenly “-wait, please.” McCullum spun again but did not backtrack. “Stay away from me, Reid,” he warned jabbing an accusatory finger in his direction, “This, I, I dunno what this is, but it can’t happen. Priwen does not associate with leeches.” “Just listen to me, Geoffrey, let me explain-” “-If I see you again, Bloodsucker, I’ll kill you,” McCullum cut him off definitively with no room for misinterpretation. No misunderstandings. “Like I should’ve the first time we met.” McCullum had turned too soon to see Reid flinch and his expression crumple, but he let the hunter go.   The absolute fucking nerve the leech had telling him something like that, McCullum fumed as he stormed through the streets of London and ignored the curious glances the residents cast his way. He had no direction in mind other than away, so he headed South and didn’t stop until he hit the docks. Who the hell did he think he was dropping a bomb like that on him? Their tentative alliance was delicate enough without throwing feelings into the mix. The hunter felt sick to his stomach the more he thought it over and an uneasy guilt pricked his gut. Reid may not be exactly innocent, but Geoffrey couldn't help but feel the blame here lie with him. While Reid may have been the one to sack up first and give voice to their dilemma, the wheels had been set in motion and their destination already decided the moment Geoffrey had fallen asleep with the leech on his mind and woken up still draped in thoughts of him. This departure had always been inevitable - they were natural enemies after all - and the fact that they’d maintained their unspoken truce for as long as they had was nothing short of a miracle in and of itself. Their time had just run out. Mountains of paperwork awaited his return to base, but if he had to so much as look at another inventory form right now he feared he’d set his whole office aflame. A good leader needed to know when to knuckle down and push through and when to back off and take a walk, and though McCullum rarely chose the latter, this was an occasion when the choice was hardly his to make. His legs carried him aimlessly, and eventually his fury boiled over until the rage had reduced itself to a smoldering, bitter resentment. He resented himself for allowing this to happen, he resented Reid for pushing this all out into the open where they had no choice but to acknowledge that it was real, and he resented himself again for caring enough to feel resentment at all, a self-deprecating downward spiral that had caught him in its current. As the night blurred on around him and he lost himself in his own thoughts, the sun began to creep along behind him on the far away horizon, the only telltale sign that time had passed other than the ache in his tired legs. When he stopped along the edge of the dock overlooking the Thames he gazed out at the rising sun and allowed the last of the raging fire inside of him to burn out into the ash of exhaustion, and the deep sigh that escaped him helped settle his bones. Beneath the fatigue, he understood that deep down there was a sadness lurking, and he accepted with a great reluctance that he was mourning. He mourned the loss of companionship, and he ached over the pleasant memories he would never be able to see the same way again, but perhaps most of all he grieved for those they would never have the chance to make. God, he was pissed at himself, he thought as the fire tried to catch again, but he was too spent to fuel it. Why did he care? Why was it eating at him like this? It shouldn’t matter a bit what he thought of a leech, and it definitely shouldn’t matter what a leech thought of him. He had no answers for it, and as the sun made its final push to slip past the grasp of the water’s edge he made an uncharacteristic decision. He gave up and went home.     Jonathan had always prided himself on his ability to maintain rationality in the face of stressful situations. It was one of the many qualities that had enabled him to bloom as a brilliant surgeon, and so in the face of this harrowing ordeal he steadied himself by throwing everything into his work. While some staff took notice, they were uncertain whether the sudden change was for the better. Dr. Reid was more active in surgery, sought out his colleagues for second opinions, and was altogether an even more prominent figure in the hospital than usual, but his face was hollow, his gaze seemingly so far away, his tone of voice oddly listless. Most thought nothing of it, a hardworking doctor working nightshifts on the tail end of a pandemic was bound to look gaunt, but a few did wonder if something was bothering the man. Perhaps the person most curious about Dr. Reid and all that he did was also the one person who feared no man. “Speak, mortal, and release to me your inner turmoil,” Thelma commanded with hands on thin hips. Her hair was crazed and her hospital gown tattered around the edges, but still she ordered the doctor as if she was used to commanding legions. “Good evening, Miss Howcroft,” Reid greeted her as if she hadn’t spoken. “How are you tonight?” “You have anguish inside of you, Doctor. I can sense it in your blood.” Dr. Reid allowed his eyes to droop shut a moment as he took a reviving breath. “I’m a bit tired,” he conceded, “as we all are.” “You have the face of a man despondent, your blood would taste of swill.” “Am I to assume I should take offense to that?” “Your blood used to sing to me, vibrant and rich, but now I suspect it’s rancid in your veins.” Dr. Reid frowned curiously. It was unusual behavior for Thelma -if there was such a thing as usual behavior for Thelma- to consider blood anything other than akin to the most delectable of wines. “Are you feeling alright, Miss Howcroft? Do you require medical attention?” “It’s you who needs help, Doctor,” she said as she pointed a thin, sharply nailed finger at his chest. “I will hear of your petty troubles. As an immortal, I have all the time in the world to spend as I choose.” Dr. Reid gave her a tired but all the same amused smile and humored her, “And you would spend yours listening to the trivialities of a lowly human?” “Eternity is a long time, Dr. Reid.” The doctor chuckled a small laugh to himself more than anyone and agreed, “Indeed it is. But my problems are of no consequence, I’m perfectly fine.” Thelma jutted her chin up and looked down her nose at the doctor as she huffed. “Fine,” she granted, “I’ll leave you and your tainted blood to your stewing,” and with that brushed past him to continue down the hall, and left the doctor wondering what on earth had gotten into her.   By all accounts McCullum wasn’t fairing much better, but if he wanted to stay out late, drink one more round, or put just two extra bullets between an unsuspecting leech's eyes then that was nobody’s business but his own. It wasn’t that he was lacking in self-control - his forbearance was as strong as the whiskey that burned his throat - it was only that he couldn’t find a reason not to anymore. He could leave the Turquoise Turtle where he sat at the bar swirling his drink around his glass and go to bed, but he wouldn’t sleep anyway. So instead of torturing his overworked brain, he tortured his body with all the drink an Irish man of his stock could handle, which is to say a lot. He motioned to Tom for another when two men approached the bar and leaned against the countertop just to McCullum’s right, and he surveyed the newcomers out of a soldier’s habit. The shorter of the two had short cropped brown hair and an anxious shifting that put McCullum on edge, but the taller blond man seemed perfectly at ease. McCullum stopped the glass Tom slid him from sailing onto the floor and took a swig with practiced motions. He met eyes with the blond over the shorter man’s head and recognized the familiar face. “Mr. Blight,” he tilted his glass to Newton and nodded at Oswald when the brunet turned. “Mr. Thatcher.” “Evening, Mr. McCullum, nice night innit?” Newton greeted politely. “Aye,” he agreed. He could only recall meeting the pair a handful of times and all of them had been on medical excursions with Reid, the memory of which flared a pang of irritation in the back of his throat that he washed down quickly with burning liquor. “Goin’ a bit hard tonight then?” Oswald commented on his quickly disappearing drink. “Just another Thursday,” McCullum replied gruffly.     The two men ordered their ales and let McCullum be, but rubbing elbows in a pub the size of a West Ender's living room meant one was bound to overhear, and when the pair quietly resumed their own conversation McCullum wouldn’t’ve been able to stop himself from hearing if he’d wanted to, and in that moment when all he’d come to do was drink alone, he definitely wanted to. “I still think we should head North,” Oswald said. “Get away for a tad. Big open skies up in Rothbury, it would be… nice.” Newton’s smile was smooshed to the side of his face by his palm as he leaned against the counter. “And how would you know what the skies of Rothbury look like?” Oswald only dropped the side of his head into his hand in an imitation of the other man and smiled back. “C’mon,” he insisted instead, “think of it. Just you and me. We could build a little cabin on the river… be cozy…” Newton swatted at his arm just a bit too firmly to be this side of playful. “Oswald…” he chided in a hushed tone and flicked his eyes over the other man’s shoulder to surreptitiously indicate McCullum, who was in turn ignoring them forcefully. Oblivious to the furtive nature of his friend’s glances, the shorter man followed the look behind him only to immediately meet McCullum’s eye and catch them both like deer in headlights. McCullum looked away with a huff and set his glass down. “Don’ gimme that look, Thatcher. I couldn’ care less who yer shaggin’ in yer cozy little cottage.” He almost felt a twang of guilt when Newton recoiled slightly out of the corner of his eye, but when McCullum looked over the man only seemed a bit embarrassed with his downcast gaze and his cheeks the faintest bit ruddy. “Well, there’s people about that aren’t quite so understandin’s you, Mr. McCullum. People have to watch who they say thin’s round,” Newton drawled under his breath. “Fair enough,” he gruffed, and they returned to their respective drinks.     The night wore on slowly enough that even Tom floated about the pub, the bar not needing much attention, and eventually Oswald excused himself to the restroom and left the two men alone. McCullum could see in his periphery the dopey smile that Newton wore as he watched his lover go, and it grated on the last of his nerves. It was such a simple thing, an innocent smile born of contentment, but McCullum was too far gone for the night to think rationally about much of anything. “Wipe that fuckin’ grin off your face, Blight, people’ll think yer a madman” he jibed. The innocence of Newton’s smile curled into a laugh as he bit his lip down gently. “Oswald tells me I should let them think what they like, so long’s I’m happy,” he responded. “Mm," the hunter mumbled begrudgingly, "good man then. Brave.” “He is. The best man I’ve ever known.” They lapsed into silence again, but there was a question on McCullum’s tongue that lingered in the space between them that he didn’t want to voice, but felt he needed the answer. He took his time to work the phrasing over in his head, careful to withhold all he could. “Blight,” he said while he kept his sights on the shelves behind the bar and his shoulders hunched over the glass he had cupped with both hands. “How’d you know your feelings for Thatcher weren’t just friendly?” Newton didn’t answer and when McCullum inclined his head he saw the man’s eyebrows had shot to his hairline. McCullum wanted to scream, but instead he followed up with, “When did you… make the jump?” The words felt heavy in his mouth and he wasn’t sure if he’d spoken them in the right order, but Newton gave a sweeping glance around the pub before he lowered his voice and his gaze to his beer. “I… I can’t rightly say, but I think there was a moment… when I realized… that I couldn’t imagine my life without him anymore. He’d changed me, and I-” the blond licked his lips as he sorted himself, and he took a long drink. “Nothing made sense when I wasn’t with him,” he carried on when his glass hit the bar top. “Thinking about having to go on without him by my side was torture. I don’t think I even could if I tried.” The gears in McCullum’s head cranked slowly, but he thought he understood. “Yer that close, eh?” Newton nodded and continued. “When I realized he liked me too, I was so happy I wanted to cry. I didn’t think there’d ever be anything more for us, but I can say openly now that I love him. I’m happy.” McCullum swallowed tightly but still hummed his approval in a gesture he hoped was encouraging. “Good for ya, mate. Best hold on to him.” The blond’s shy smile returned as he told him, “I will. Why do you ask, Mr. McCullum? Something on your mind?” but the hunter had already pushed himself back from the counter and swallowed down the rest of his whiskey. “Not a damn thing,” he lied and clapped the young man on the shoulder, and before Tom could even whisk away his empty glass McCullum was out the door and out of sight.

Liu Qingge returned to his peak for his monthly session of beating the shit out of his disciples--or testing their training as Liu Qingge liked to call it. It had been awhile since Liu Qingge set foot on Bai Zhan Peak, in fact, for the past year or so, he hardly ever returned to his sect, only to check on how his disciples were doing. His disciples just thought he was out slaying monsters that they could only ever dream of fighting. When in reality, Liu Qingge was secretly indulging in the married life with Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu, squirreled away in their hut and getting to taste Luo Binghe’s delicious cooking every meal. However, duty called and Liu Qingge left to go back to his peak. Liu Qingge’s head and only disciple, Yang Yixuan, greeted him with a short respectful bow as he entered Bai Zhan Peak’s training grounds. “Good morning, Shizun! I trust you had a good time off the peak?” Liu Qingge hummed in acknowledgment, crossing his arms as he sized his disciple up. Yang Yixuan seemed to have had another growth spurt somehow, even more taller then Liu Qingge now. Liu Qingge didn’t let his height get to him though, in the end Liu Qingge was far more skilled in fighting and could easily defeat Yang Yixuan. Shen Qingqiu’s recommended disciple would make a good Peak Lord of Bai Zhan one day, Liu Qingge was sure. Liu Qingge wordlessly shrugged out of his outer robe, his other disciples following suit as training was starting. Sometimes Liu Qingge sparred with his disciples using swords. Today, however, he felt like hand to hand combat should be the focus, which typically meant less clothes since the outer robe got in the way and restricted movement. Liu Qingge found that he should have just stuck with the swords today because his overly talkative disciple decided to point out something he had forgotten. “Wow, Shizun, that must have been some monster you fought,” Yang Yixuan said awed, eyes trained on the skin now revealed around his neck without his outer robe to cover up. Monster? What monster--ah, that monster. Luo Binghe and his sharp teeth. What other threat could it be? Liu Qingge cleared his throat, wishing he could put his robe back on and hide the marks that Luo Binghe so enthusiastically covered him with last night. “...Yes. But nevermind that, I dealt with him--it.” Liu Qingge scoffed, brushing it off like it was nothing. He was going to kill Luo Binghe when he was done here. Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu could kill him together since Shen Qingqiu suffered the same fate as he did--he just managed better by adjusting to high collared robes. Liu Qingge used that spike of anger as fuel and began his fighting with the Bai Zhan Peak disciples. Naturally, Liu Qingge was far stronger than them and could even take them all down with one arm tied behind his back. However, to say Liu Qingge was in peak fighting condition would be a lie. Truth was, Liu Qingge was sore all over! Luo Binghe was ruthless, truly. Also, it didn’t help that every night he insisted on holding onto both husbands which often left Liu Qingge with weird cricks in his neck and pains all over from Luo Binghe latching onto both him and Shen Qingqiu, putting them in awkward positions. Even worse, while Luo Binghe was drooling into both Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu’s hair in his sleep, Shen Qingqiu rolled over at one point, shifting Liu Qingge a bit and laying heavily on his arm. Liu Qingge woke up with a numb arm full of Shen Qingqiu and it took several minutes before he could actually get feeling in that limb. With each punch and block, he could feel a sting of pain from his aching muscles. Liu Qingge felt old. He didn’t like it. As Liu Qingge was getting to the end of the fight with all his disciples, a voice suddenly cut through his concentration. “Woo, go Shidi! But maybe not too hard, be nice to your disciples!” Liu Qingge delivered a sharp kick to the disciple he was fighting with, sending them sprawling and giving Liu Qingge enough time to turn around and see his audience. Shen Qingqiu--the one who had called out to him--stood on the sidelines of the training grounds, Luo Binghe firmly attached to his arm. “What are you doing?” Liu Qingge demanded, knowing his still standing disciples were shooting curious looks at the new arrivals rather than focusing on the fight. “We came to cheer you on,” Shen Qingqiu said and did a small fist pump to show his enthusiasm before seeming to remember himself and his collected scholarly self took over as he tucked his hands behind his back. Liu Qingge doubted that the uptight refined Peak Lord persona Shen Qingqiu hid behind would last long in this kind of setting--he always got a little too into sparring and sword fights. Not to mention, the past year of marriage seemed to have unwound him and it wasn't that unusual to see a relaxed smile gracing Shen Qingqiu's face nowadays. Liu Qingge’s gaze shifted over to Luo Binghe who just looked amused, giving Liu Qingge a sharp toothed grin to look at. Liu Qingge narrowed his eyes at Luo Binghe, not enjoying how he just did whatever he wanted and thought he could get away with it. His disciples had gone silent behind him, even the ragged breathing from them seemed to stop as they all held their breaths. Liu Qingge knew what was supposed to happen here. He was supposed to go and try to kill Luo Binghe for even daring to step one demon foot on his peak. However, Liu Qingge only wanted to kill Luo Binghe for other reasons--reasons that his disciples would not see coming. Shen Qingqiu flipped his fan open under Liu Qingge’s prying gaze at the both of them. “Don’t mind us, we’re just here to watch,” Shen Qingqiu said with a dismissive wave of that fan. Luo Binghe nodded innocently beside Shen Qingqiu, giving Liu Qingge a wide eyed look like he was doing nothing wrong by visiting a peak that was known to hate his kind. Liu Qingge huffed, turning back around to face his disciples who weren’t quick enough to cover up the gobsmacked looks on their faces. “Continue! I won’t tolerate anymore interruptions,” Liu Qingge ordered and his disciples snapped back to attention, shooting wary glances at Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu before advancing towards Liu Qingge. Liu Qingge resumed fighting, deftly ignoring the ache all over his body and especially the sting of his arm. The disciple he was fighting with was a sneaky one that didn’t bother to hide the fact they fought dirty. Liu Qingge didn’t reprimand any of his disciples for using tricks and traps when fighting, if the enemy fell for it that was their fault for being that stupid. “Go, Shidi! Knock him out!” Shen Qingqiu cheered as Liu Qingge dodged a swift kick directed to his legs. Shen Qingqiu seemed really into that because he then shamelessly commented, “Shidi is so amazing~” Liu Qingge felt his face flush and not just from the exertion from the fight. Liu Qingge couldn’t resist and tilted his head to get a glance at the husband singing his praises. As expected, Shen Qingqiu looked very into the fight, making enthusiastic arm motions as he cheered. Luo Binghe was still holding onto one of his arms and occasionally got jostled or just straight up moved along with the arm with each wave, but Liu Qingge did not doubt that Luo Binghe was overjoyed to be able to cling onto Shen Qingqiu's arm. Luo Binghe really did seem to be having a good time enjoying the company of Shen Qingqiu and watching Liu Qingge, a small self satisfied smirk curling up at the corners of his lips. When Liu Qingge glanced over, Luo Binghe caught his eye and pressed closer to Shen Qingqiu’s side, maintaining eye contact. “Mm, indeed, Shizun. Shishu is very impressive,” Luo Binghe purred, voice just loud enough to carry to Liu Qingge across the training ground. Liu Qingge’s face turned a brighter shade of red and he tensed up--something no one should ever do in a fight. The disciple saw their chance and took it, swinging a punch at the distracted Liu Qingge. Liu Qingge’s reflexes were quicker though and he quickly raised his arm to block the hit. The disciple’s fist connected to the tenderest part of Liu Qingge’s arm, the area that the worst of the soreness was and where he had been deliberately not putting any pressure on. Liu Qingge winced at the pain that shot through him, it was so bad he felt like curling in on himself--not that he’d ever do so in front of his disciples. Maybe he should have curled up, at least that way he’d have protected his stomach from the next hit. While Liu Qingge was reeling from the pain, the disciple struck out and kicked Liu Qingge square in the lower abdomen. Liu Qingge let out a grunt but didn’t go down, he didn’t even move, just absorbed the hit with a furrow to his brows. The disciple stopped attacking after Liu Qingge took the hit directly, stunned over the fact they actually managed to hit Liu Qingge. Their face filled with joy at having succeeded in landing an attack on Liu Qingge. Then the realization of they landed an attack on Liu Qingge fully settled and their face instead turned to one of horror. Liu Qingge lashed out in retaliation, decking his disciple with an uppercut to the chin, successfully knocking them down. Liu Qingge released a shaky breath, pushing down the needles of pain as he sent a fierce glare at all of his terrified disciples who trembled under the fire of his gaze. No more of his disciples were moving to go attack him and Liu Qingge felt a spike of anger, did they seriously think one attack was enough to make him too weak to fight? Just as he was about to shout at his disciples to hurry up, a familiar hand was gently placed on his shoulder. Liu Qingge turned around to find Shen Qingqiu had moved across the training field surprisingly fast and was now looking at him with concern. “Qingge, are you alright?” Shen Qingqiu asked softly for only Liu Qingge and Luo Binghe--who was hovering on the other side of Liu Qingge--to hear. Unbeknownst to Liu Qingge, who was dealing with Shen Qingqiu’s fussing, Luo Binghe quickly shot the disciple laying on the ground a glare that made the disciple shrivel up and start making pathetic sobbing sounds. Liu Qingge made an almost growl in the back of his throat and he did a violent shrug of his shoulders, curtly brushing Shen Qingqiu’s hand off of his shoulder. “Of course I am. You think a single kick from a disciple is going to do anything to me?” Liu Qingge accused. Shen Qingqiu bit his bottom lip in worry, Liu Qingge getting distracted momentarily at the action. “I know you’re strong, Liu-shidi, which is why I’m worried...can we go bandage you up?” Shen Qingqiu raised the arm that had been brushed aside earlier and ran it soothingly up and down his arm. Liu Qingge tensed up as Shen Qingqiu’s hand brushed against the tender spot on his arm. Shen Qingqiu hummed at his reaction. “I figured you were hiding a weakness in your arm.” Liu Qingge resisted the urge to roll his eyes. With how attentive Shen Qingqiu was to details, it'd only make sense that he’d notice Liu Qingge obviously protecting his arm more. “Okay, lets go,” Shen Qingqiu finalized, gently tugging on Liu Qingge’s arm to guide him. Liu Qingge dug his heels in. “No. I’m not done yet.” “Yes, you are.” “No.” A look of irritation crossed Shen Qingqiu’s face and he flipped his fan open. “Liu-shidi, this isn’t up for debate,” Shen Qingqiu said, annoyed. Liu Qingge pointedly looked away from Shen Qingqiu, he was trying to save his pride here! “Binghe…” Shen Qingqiu suddenly said, voice sweet like honey. Oh no. Shen Qingqiu only used that tone if he had something hidden up his sleeve and wanted something bad. Luo Binghe stopped giving the disciples murderous looks to whip his head over and give Shen Qingqiu an eager look, absolutely whipped for that voice. “Your Shishu isn’t accepting my help…” Shen Qingqiu complained, the obvious order of ‘fix it’ evident in his tone. Luo Binghe nodded and looked down at Liu Qingge who was moments away from drawing his sword on Luo Binghe if he tried anything. “Since Liu-shishu isn’t willing, this disciple will just have to carry him,” Luo Binghe said and moved to sweep Liu Qingge off his feet and into a princess carry. Liu Qingge leaped away from Luo Binghe, bumping into Shen Qingqiu. If his disciples saw him getting carried by Luo Binghe that would be even worse for his face then him retiring from a battle early! Liu Qingge balanced out his choices and relented. “Fine, fine. I’ll go with you for a bit since you insist on it,” Liu Qingge grumbled, already walking out of the training grounds. Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe quickly flanked him on either side, as if they were trying to protect him from any attackers. For the purpose of being out of prying eyes, Liu Qingge took Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe to his room, where he knew that absolutely no one was authorized to be in other than him. Of course, to the disciples witnessing Liu Qingge letting his fellow Peak Lord and a Demon Lord into the room that he allowed no one to enter, they all thought they were collectively hallucinating. Liu Qingge closed the door, relaxing a little now that all his disciples weren’t staring at him. Liu Qingge’s quarters were rather plain. Swords and trophies from monsters he had slain were basically all he had for decoration. Not to mention, most of Liu Qingge’s belongings had been moved over to the hut that he shared with his husbands long ago since he spent way more time there. Despite there being nothing to see, Shen Qingqiu and even Luo Binghe were curious about the new place and took a moment to look around while Liu Qingge debated whether to knock them both out while their backs were turned. Shen Qingqiu idly ran a finger across the surface of a table, lifting it up and inspecting the thick layer of dust now on his finger. Luo Binghe drew closer to Shen Qingqiu and sniffed his finger. Luo Binghe sneezed, a surprisingly cute sound that had Liu Qingge lowering his guard more, his anger at the day's events settling. Shen Qingqiu huffed a quiet laugh, seeming to find Luo Binghe’s sneeze just as cute as he brushed the dust off his finger on his robes to raise his hand and ruffle Luo Binghe’s hair. “Been a while since Liu-shidi has been here, huh?” Shen Qingqiu said with a look over to Liu Qingge. Liu Qingge crossed his arms. “When would I have had the time?” Shen Qingqiu hummed pleasantly and neutrally as he walked over to Liu Qingge. “That’s fair. Now, remove your robes.” Shen Qingqiu pointed at the robes Liu Qingge was still wearing like he was commanding an army to attack. Liu Qingge blinked, swallowing roughly. “W-what?” Even Luo Binghe glanced over in interest, a fire glinting in his eyes. “I know you’re bruised, let me apply some medicine,” Shen Qingqiu said, moving closer like he was just going to rip off his robes if Liu Qingge wasn’t going to. Not that Liu Qingge would mind all that much if Shen Qingqiu did that… “Oh. Right.” Liu Qingge somehow forgot that was the whole reason Shen Qingqiu dragged him over here. Luo Binghe seemed to forget as well, blinking like he just realized where he was. Liu Qingge reluctantly shrugged out of his remaining robes, untying the sash around his waist and letting it fall. “It’s just the one bruise, I don’t see why you’re making such a big deal out of it,” Liu Qingge grumbled as he looked down at the red splotch on his stomach that maybe could be the outline of a footprint if he squinted enough. It’d be a while before the red mark went away and became a purpley colour, then it’d heal and this whole situation would be over. Shen Qingqiu wasn’t even looking at his newest bruise on his stomach, instead his gaze was where Yang Yixuan’s had been earlier in the day and at other places. “...” Shen Qingqiu glanced over at Luo Binghe with an accusatory stare. Luo Binghe at least had the decency to look somewhat cowed under Shen Qingqiu’s gaze. Shen Qingqiu focused back on Liu Qingge, coming closer to inspect his arms and back. “You really went fighting all of your disciples when you were this damaged?” Shen Qingqiu asked disbelievingly as he lifted the tender arm of Liu Qingge’s. Liu Qingge jerked his arm out of Shen Qingqiu’s hold. “What damage? It’s nothing.” Shen Qingqiu rolled his eyes. “You couldn’t have waited a few more days?” Liu Qingge let out a harumph. “Well, now you have to. Qingge, you’re going to be bedridden for the next few days until you’re fully healed,” Shen Qingqiu declared and Liu Qingge gaped at him. “What? No.” To be honest, being bedridden for a few days wasn't all that different from what Liu Qingge had been for the past few months, but there was a difference between choosing to spend all day in bed with his husbands and being forced to do so to heal. “I’ll make Liu-shishu soup. It’ll be fun,” Luo Binghe suddenly said with a charming smile as he came over to stand next to Shen Qingqiu. Liu Qingge narrowed his eyes at the both of them. Shen Qingqiu suddenly reached into his own sleeves and pulled out a bottle of external application medicine. “In the meantime, allow this shixiong to help you out with those bruises,” Shen Qingqiu said as he popped open the bottle. Shen Qingqiu’s hands were cold and wet with the medicine as he slathered some across the red mark on Liu Qingge’s stomach. Liu Qingge flinched and this time did curl inward and away from Shen Qingqiu’s touch. Shen Qingqiu frowned, hand hanging uselessly in the air. “Liu-shidi, did I do something wrong? Was I too hard? I’ll be more gentle this time.” Liu Qingge felt his cheeks stain pink. It wasn’t that it hurt, no Liu Qingge barely felt his touch since it was so featherlight. He withdrew because it seemed that he had discovered a problem with this whole situation. Luo Binghe tilted his head curiously at Liu Qingge, finding his reaction odd. Shen Qingqiu stuck his hand back out and his fingers lightly scraped the surface of Liu Qingge’s stomach. Liu Qingge made an embarrassing high pitched noise as he jerked away from Shen Qingqiu, back hitting the wall gracelessly with a loud thunk. “Liu-shidi?!” Shen Qingqiu exclaimed, looking genuinely confused and somewhat hurt that Liu Qingge didn’t want to be touched. Luo Binghe, on the other hand, seemed to have caught on to what was happening and was looking at Liu Qingge with a look he would most closely compare to a predator looking at prey. “Shizun, it seems Liu-shishu is uncomfortable. Perhaps if he was laying down he’d be more comfortable,” Luo Binghe spoke up, sounding like he was hiding something. Shen Qingqiu glanced suspiciously at Luo Binghe, sensing something was up. Luo Binghe blinked innocently at him. “Well, if that would make him more at ease…” Shen Qingqiu said quietly, giving Liu Qingge a concerned glance. Luo Binghe’s lips curled upward and he easily picked up a now yelling and ignored Liu Qingge who had nowhere to run with his back pressed against the wall. Luo Binghe maneuvered around the room until he found the slightly dusty bed of Liu Qingge’s, placing him down on it. Liu Qingge glared at Luo Binghe, knowing full well what he was doing. Luo Binghe crawled onto the bed after Liu Qingge, situating himself on the bed to be sitting on his knees behind Liu Qingge’s head. There were literal pillows on the bed but Luo Binghe seemed to think he was better because he lifted Liu Qingge’s head and placed it on his lap. Shen Qingqiu smiled and nodded to Luo Binghe for considering his shishu’s comfort. Luo Binghe just smiled brightly back, though Liu Qingge saw the evil behind it. Shen Qingqiu crawled on the bed after them, careful not to spill the medicine and took a spot at Liu Qingge’s side. “Shen Qingqiu, don’t,” Liu Qingge warned as Shen Qingqiu’s hand approached again. He started wiggling but Luo Binghe casually moved his hands to hold him down by the shoulders. “I know you don’t like being fussed over Liu-shidi, but this is good for you! This husband promises his words are sincere,” Shen Qingqiu said as he placed his hand gently on Liu Qingge’s stomach. Liu Qingge immediately stopped moving, tensing up instead. Shen Qingqiu frowned in concern at Liu Qingge suddenly going taut. Shen Qingqiu very carefully applied more force and Liu Qingge grit his teeth, toes curling as he restrained himself. Luo Binghe had a shit eating grin on his face as he watched Liu Qingge try to hold himself back. Liu Qingge’s breaths were becoming heavy through his nose, and then Shen Qingqiu’s nails scraped lightly against his stomach and Liu Qingge lost his grip momentarily. The few high pitched laughs that escaped his lips were enough for Shen Qingqiu to go stock still and for Luo Binghe to look like he just ascended. Shen Qingqiu whipped his gaze to Liu Qingge’s bright red face where he was forcing the quiet following laughs to remain hidden behind his lips. “You…” Shen Qingqiu began, stunned. Luo Binghe cleared his throat at the silence that followed. He raised an eyebrow at Shen Qingqiu, an indication to continue. “Shizun, this disciple couldn’t help but notice that you missed a spot.” That was a lie! Luo Binghe didn’t even point out where he had missed, Liu Qingge was mad! Shen Qingqiu regained his composure and a sneaky grin slipped its way onto his face. “Oh, how careless of this teacher. Many thanks to Binghe for pointing it out,” Shen Qingqiu said and this time both hands were placed on Liu Qingge’s stomach. Liu Qingge tensed up all over again, dread settling. He had thought that at least Shen Qingqiu would take pity on him. But what do you know, Shen Qingqiu was often not unlike a gremlin, how could Liu Qingge forget that side of his husband? Shen Qingqiu experimentally dug his fingers in a little to his sides and Liu Qingge jerked in surprise, a yelp escaping his lips. “Qingqiu! Binghe! Stop or else!” Liu Qingge snapped but was ignored by the matching fire burning in Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe’s eyes. Shen Qingqiu ran his fingers across Liu Qingge’s tummy like he was playing the guqin, Liu Qingge squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to curl in on himself, breath becoming ragged once more. Shen Qingqiu’s slender fingers followed Liu Qingge and kept playing him. The laughter bubbled up in Liu Qingge’s chest once again and his chest heaved as he lost it. Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe both perked right up at Liu Qingge’s loud laughter. Liu Qingge writhed around on the bed, Luo Binghe holding him down and not letting him get too far as Shen Qingqiu’s fingers danced across the bare skin of Liu Qingge’s tummy. “S...St-ahahah, stop, Qing--haha--qiu,” Liu Qingge cried out between his laughs, thrashing back and forth, but Shen Qingqiu’s fingers were relentless as they followed him with each twist. “Ah, Qingge, why hadn’t you told us earlier? This husband would have been very happy to know this fact,” Shen Qingqiu said with a grin, sharing a pleased look with Luo Binghe. “I...I didn’t even know!” Liu Qingge managed out before breaking down into peals of laughter. Shen Qingqiu started laughing as well at the sight of Liu Qingge laughing, it was a contagious thing. Luo Binghe watched with a grin on his face as his husbands both laughed loudly in front of him, feeling like all the struggles he had faced in life up until now were well worth it to be able to experience this moment. Tears sprung up to the corners of Liu Qingge’s eyes as his laughter became more breathy, limbs going limp and pliant in Luo Binghe’s hold. “Hmm, this is fun, we should do this more often,” Shen Qingqiu chirped as he lightly ran his fingers down Liu Qingge’s sides, drawing more laughter out of him. “This husband agrees. Shizun is very wise,” Luo Binghe said with a calming stroke to Liu Qingge’s hair. Liu Qingge would very much like to disagree, however the only noise he could make was another wheezing laugh. Shen Qingqiu continued tickling Liu Qingge until he felt even his fingers were getting sore and he relented. In the absence of Shen Qingqiu’s attack, Liu Qingge weakly lifted his head, laughter settling down into heavy gasps for air. Shen Qingqiu was no longer laughing but he still had a happy smile on his face. “This husband loves that Liu-shidi is ticklish,” Shen Qingqiu stated and his eyes were oh so fond on Liu Qingge. Luo Binghe hummed and Liu Qingge sighed, his head thumping against Luo Binghe’s lap again in a state of exhaustion. What was this? He couldn’t even find it in himself to be mad. All he wanted was a nap, a very long nap. Maybe being bedridden didn’t sound so bad. Luo Binghe seemed to read his mind because he started playing with a strand of Liu Qingge’s hair as he spoke. “Would Liu-shishu like to return home?” Liu Qingge nodded slightly, too loose limbed to do much else. Shen Qingqiu leaned over him and helped Liu Qingge slip back into his robes. He didn’t do a very good job though, what with how Liu Qingge was not cooperating whatsoever. They waited for a bit before Liu Qingge felt like he could stand and not immediately fall over. Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe both supported a side of Liu Qingge, his arms slung over their shoulders. Liu Qingge desperately hoped his disciples had dismissed themselves for once and weren't still going to be waiting for him at the training grounds. Luo Binghe opened the door to outside and Liu Qingge realized that maybe he had wished too much. Liu Qingge’s disciples, every single one of them, stood just outside the door, all red in the face. At the sight of their Peak Lord, they all froze up, unable to deny they were eavesdropping. No one made a move, apart from Shen Qingqiu quietly slipping a hand into his robes and pulling out a fan. The snap of him opening the fan and silently fanning himself seemed to echo around Bai Zhan Peak. Luo Binghe glanced over at Liu Qingge in curiosity, interested in what was about to happen. Was Liu Qingge red in the face? Probably. Did Liu Qingge just lose all face that he ever had? Probably. Was he about to murder? Yes. Liu Qingge drew in a breath, steeled his gaze, and fixed the mass of horror-stricken disciples with a glare. “I’m going to give you to the count of 5 before I come after and kill each one of you,” Liu Qingge said slowly and deliberately, watching as several disciples gulped nervously. No one made a move, too terrified. Shen Qingqiu lazily fanned himself before lowering it slightly. “One,” Shen Qingqiu started, adopting his teacher voice. The disciples needed no more encouragement, they scattered like mice in every direction, some even letting out screams of terror like little kids. Then again most were kids, but still. Liu Qingge was going to have to correct his disciples on more things then he thought. “Hm, that's a good way to clear the area, very clever of Liu-shidi,” Shen Qingqiu said with a gentle press of his fan to his lips in thought. Liu Qingge flushed a little and looked forward at the cleared path. Or what was supposed to be a cleared path. Yang Yixuan was the only disciple to not flee and he honestly didn’t seem to have any intention of doing so. “Yang Yixuan,” Liu Qingge warned and the disciple grinned sheepishly. Yang Yixuan did a short bow in respect, before shooting back up with an enthused look on his face. “This disciple just wanted to congratulate Shizun! Love is a wonderful thing, this disciple thinks Shizun is very fortunate to be in such loving relationships!” Yang Yixuan said honestly, with a wide smile. Does this kid even have a filter? Shen Qingqiu lifted his fan and gave Yang Yixuan an amused look from over the fan. Luo Binghe just looked at the kid like he was a new species, a good one though. Liu Qingge was blushing, he knew he was. His husbands weren’t going to let him live this down, were they? But still, Yang Yixuan’s honesty might actually be getting to Liu Qingge a little. He forced down the warm feeling in his chest and gave Yang Yixuan a stern look. “You know the countdown still applies to you, Yang Yixuan?” Yang Yixuan laughed nervously and bowed once more. “This disciple knows. I’ll be running for my life now!” Yang Yixuan took off and Liu Qingge sighed. “Sweet kid,” Shen Qingqiu commented with a smile. Luo Binghe visibly pouted and Shen Qingqiu snapped his fan shut so he could lean over Liu Qingge to whap Luo Binghe on the head with the fan. “You’re not a kid anymore, Binghe.” Luo Binghe brightened up a little at the attention and just laughed with a shrug. “Shall we go?” Luo Binghe asked and Liu Qingge nodded deftly. He really wanted to go home and sleep, maybe he’d just never return to his peak so he didn’t have to deal with his disciples swarming questions. Or he could just fight anyone who asked. That worked too.

The Doctor’s skin was always far cooler than Yaz’s own, a fact that she was always shocked to remember. For example, when cool fingers made contact with the warmth of her forearm as the Doctor tried to get her attention. Or how her palms always felt so chilled when they pressed against her own, like she’d been outside in cold weather for too long. Or like the previous night, when they had finally drifted under the soft material of Yaz’s t-shirt as they kissed on the sofa. Yaz had tried not to flinch at the contrast in temperatures but the fact that the Doctor had her hand up her shirt also made her squirm.  The Doctor had noticed instantly, jerking her hand away.  “Sorry, Yaz. Didn’t realise what I was doing, there.” Yaz didn’t buy her excuse at all but she appreciated the opportunity to catch the breath the Doctor had been intent on depriving her of.  “You don’t need to apologise,” she breathed, letting her head fall back to the cushion conveniently placed underneath her head, courtesy of the Doctor. The Doctor, on the other hand, had propped herself up more fully, putting some space between their bodies as they lay entwined together.  In reality, Yaz wanted to know how cool the Doctor’s skin felt everywhere else. She’d had only the briefest of touches until now and she knew it was soft, but she wanted to warm it with her hands in ways that she’d been denied thus far.  The Doctor also seemed to sense her need to take things slow, clearly limiting herself to the most innocent touches possible. It had, however, made the tension between them borderline unbearable, and Yaz had to subtly squeeze her thighs together to relieve some of the pressure between them.  “I should be the one apologising,” Yaz blurted, slightly embarrassed. They were both clearly turned on and Yaz had essentially shoved them under a metaphorical cold tap.  “There’s no rush,” the Doctor had replied. “We have all the time in the world.” The Doctor’s hair framed her face as she looked down at Yaz and they shared a grin, like giddy teenagers. Their next kiss was far less frenzied but no less heated and Yaz felt herself squirming again, for entirely different reasons.  “Soon,” she’d murmured, tucking some blonde hair behind an ear to try and keep her hands busy before she did something rash. “I promise.” She didn’t realise the next time they’d be in such close quarters would be less than 24 hours later. Or that she’d wish she’d bitten the bullet right then and there because the future was never guaranteed, especially with the Doctor. This time, the Doctor had taken them to London to see Old St Paul’s Cathedral, because Graham had refused to believe that the St Paul’s he knew and loved wasn’t actually the original construction.  “Take a deep breath of medieval London, fam!” the Doctor had enthused, spreading her arms wide as she strode out of the TARDIS and into the muck lining the streets. Even that didn’t dampen her enthusiasm, but the pong took Yaz a moment to get used to.  “Wait,” the Doctor frowned, and Yaz wondered if the overwhelming odours had finally registered. The Doctor scrunched up her nose experimentally, even as Yaz resisted the urge to pinch hers and try to block out the smells assaulting her senses. “Not even Tudor. We’ve got a bit ahead of ourselves, I think, but with any luck the cathedral is still as it was. Come on,” she said, turning with a grin that was infectious and beckoning her companions onward.  Her smile encouraged Yaz to adapt to their new environment and she followed quickly, taking care to sidestep the mud the Doctor had managed to step straight into. The others followed suit, muttering something about the need for wellies, but Yaz barely heard what she said. She was too eager to catch up to the Doctor, who was acting like a very enthusiastic tour guide and currently marching them towards their destination.  They were lucky: the cathedral was there and it was very different to the one Yaz knew, so they’d managed to come at the right time. People were milling about in the shadows of the building, talking and laughing. Someone was preaching, loudly, droning on about something or other that Yaz didn’t care to listen to. The Doctor finally ground to a halt at some large doors at the far end of the building, waiting for the others to catch up before she could tell them all about what they were looking at.  “I’ve got to say...it’s not quite what I was expecting,” Graham commented. He seemed disappointed.  “Well, bear in mind that this was first built in 1087, it’s not doing too badly. Of course, it didn’t take much for the Great Fire to finish it off. It’s already starting to fall to pieces.” “You can say that again,” Graham replied. “I’m pretty sure the roof has a hole in it.” “Shall we go in and see?” the Doctor grinned, seemingly unperturbed by the unglamorous building they’d come to visit. Ryan shrugged. Graham hesitated. Yaz made up for the lack of enthusiasm by nodding avidly. “Knew you’d like a nosey, Yaz.” If the atmosphere outside was chaotic, the one inside was even more so.  “What on earth...I thought churches were meant to be quiet? Places of worship and all that?” Graham was becoming even less impressed, Yaz could tell.  “More like place of gossip,” the Doctor said, tapping the side of her nose with her finger. “Best place to catch up on the latest news.” “Blimey. Well, all this gossip is giving me a bit of a headache. Didn’t they have pubs to go and gossip in?” Graham groused. “You just want to go to the pub, don’t you?” Ryan pointed out and Yaz had to laugh at the look of delight that flitted across Graham’s face at the suggestion.  “Well, I wouldn’t say no to a pint. What do you say, Doc? Can we live like locals for a bit?” The Doctor barely heard him. Yaz realised she was still sniffing the air curiously.  “What’s up?” she asked, sensing something was amiss.  “I can’t figure out when we are,” the Doctor frowned. “There are too many smells to pin it down.” “Do we need to know? You managed to get us here in time to see it, not that Graham seems to have enjoyed himself.” “I’ll enjoy myself if we find a pub,” Graham chipped in, and Ryan nodded.  “I suppose we could stay for a bit. Maybe we could see some theatre. Ooh! If we made it in time to catch some Shakespeare, I could pay him a visit. He still owes me money.” Unfortunately for the Doctor, they didn’t find Shakespeare. Apparently they were a bit too late for that. But after a couple of drinks, Graham was appeased, at least, and chatting happily to a regular. Ryan had underestimated his tolerance for alcohol because three pints in and he was half-asleep beside Yaz. Yaz wondered how they’d get him back to the TARDIS, but the Doctor surprised her.  “Want to stay the night?”  She was so direct that Yaz paused, wondering if the others had heard. But Ryan lolled beside her and Graham continued chattering away, so she exhaled shakily, feeling butterflies come to life. Normally, they slept on the TARDIS when they were on an adventure. Yaz also usually slept alone, since the Doctor didn’t need much sleep at all, but it wasn’t like she could roam the streets of London alone at night. No, chances were that she was going to spend the night with Yaz. In the same bed. The last few times they’d shared a bed, the Doctor had been recovering from some kind of mortal injury. This time, she would be fully capable of anything she put her mind to. Yaz gulped. “Here?” “I don’t know about you but I think these two might have over-indulged,” the Doctor said, gesturing at the others.  Yaz had to admit she had a point. “Shall I ask if they have any spare rooms?” “Let me,” the Doctor smiled, heading off to the bar before Yaz could move a muscle. Yaz could see her flashing her psychic paper while she chatted animatedly with the barmaid, who apparently had a bit of a thing for Graham because moments later she looked over and winked at him.  Yaz sighed as she felt Ryan fall more fully into her side. Although she was secretly rather thrilled by the idea of spending the night, she wondered if she’d embarrass herself or do something foolish the moment she and the Doctor were in bed together.  “Time to divide and conquer,” the Doctor said as she returned. “Graham?” She waited for him to stop his discussion about the finer points of cricket, fingertips drumming on her hip.  “What’s that, Doc?” “We’ll stay the night. Your friend behind the bar has a room for you and Ryan upstairs. Me and Yaz are going to stay just over the road.” She jerked a thumb backwards and Yaz couldn’t help but look, realising it was futile when all she could see was a crowd of people. The pub felt very hot and claustrophobic all of a sudden and she lurched to her feet, more than ready to get some fresh air. Ryan almost fell to his side and Yaz turned guiltily, helping to prop him up.  “Do you want a hand getting him upstairs?” Graham shook his head, giving Ryan a nudge. “Come on, son. Bedtime for you.” Yaz bade them goodnight as Graham’s new friend helped get Ryan to his feet. She almost jumped when a cool hand slid into her own.  “Shall we?” the Doctor asked, her expression hard to gauge. For once, Yaz was sure she could feel her hand start to grow warm where the skin was pressed against Yaz’s own. Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded, following the Doctor across the road - she hadn’t been lying - and into a much quieter building. She was glad for the quiet but she could hear her heart pounding in her ears that much better because of it. Mutely, she followed the Doctor up some narrow stairs and into a calm and quiet room, which looked surprisingly comfortable. It had one bed. The door to the bedroom creaked shut behind her, leaving them alone.  “Alright, Yaz?” the Doctor asked, taking the opportunity to shed her coat. She always looked so much younger without it on, Yaz mused.  “Yeah. I was getting a bit of a headache.” “Not as bad as what Ryan will be feeling tomorrow morning,” the Doctor laughed, kicking off her boots. Yaz followed suit, removing her own outer layers. She did so slowly, following the Doctor’s lead. It wasn’t like they had pyjamas to sleep in and she didn’t want to strip completely if the Doctor wasn’t going to do the same. She breathed a sigh of relief as the Doctor kept her clothes on, perching on the end of the bed.  “So…” “So,” Yaz echoed. She was terribly nervous and the Doctor was clearly waiting for her to set the mood. “I-” Before Yaz could say another word, there was a commotion from outside.  “Probably someone getting kicked out of the pub,” the Doctor said, jumping to her feet regardless and heading to the window. She was always curious. “I bet I can guess who, those two fellas by the door looked like they were about to get into a fight when we left.” Yaz ran her hands over her jeans, trying to stop her palms from being quite so clammy. “Hm. Not the pub,” the Doctor muttered, sniffing the air again. She opened the window and as she did, Yaz caught a flash of orange in the reflection.  “Doctor…” “Do you smell burning?” It took Yaz a second longer for the smell to carry through but with a sinking feeling she realised the Doctor was right.  “Yes.” “I’m sure it’s nothing,” the Doctor turned, trying a reassuring smile out for size. “I might just go and check. Wait here for me?” Yaz hesitated. Normally she’d run after the Doctor but she was trying to calm her nerves and needed a moment. It probably was nothing, she reasoned. It was already late.  “Okay. But if you’re not back in five minutes, I’m coming to find you.” “I’ll be back by then,” the Doctor replied, shoving her boots back on. “Promise!” With a flurry of her coat-tails she was gone. Yaz breathed out a sigh of relief and then the door opened again and the Doctor blustered back in, collecting Yaz’s face in her hands and leaving a gentle kiss on her lips.  “Sorry. Forgot something very important.” Yaz gawped and the Doctor was gone again before she could utter a word. In hindsight, Yaz knew she shouldn’t have let the Doctor out of her sight. Only a few minutes passed before that orange glow became even brighter and Yaz paced over to the window, chewing on her thumbnail as she saw what was clearly a fire lighting the adjacent rooftops. It had spread so quickly that she gasped aloud and fumbled for her shoes, leaving her jacket behind.  She emerged into chaos, crossing the street to stand outside the pub. It had just caught, if the smoke coming from the roof and upper windows was anything to go by.  Ryan and Graham were inside. She took a step forward and the moment she did, Graham emerged from the door and into the crowd gathering outside. He was covered in soot and coughing. “Graham! What happened?” He looked at her in surprise, before a coughing fit wracked him and he braced himself on his knees, gasping for breath.  “Ryan’s still in there,” he gasped. “The Doc came to get us, sent me out ahead of them. They were trying to get people out.”  Graham winced, coughing. “That fire...it came from nowhere. I couldn’t get Ryan out without help. But they were just behind me, just-” He coughed again, tears coming to his eyes. Yaz laid a tentative hand on his back.  “Just behind me.” Yaz could sense the fear, guilt, and terror rolling off him in waves. She squared her shoulders, feeling her nerves finally dissipate. She needed to act on her instincts as a matter of urgency. “I’m going in.” His protests fell on deaf ears as Yaz headed for the door, brushing past people who were gathering outside the burning building. There was panic but also shock, and a sense of helplessness. As she stepped inside she could hear the structure groaning, and she felt a wave of heat embrace her like an old friend. The smoke hadn’t reached the ground floor but neither had the Doctor, apparently. Yaz headed for the door that Ryan and Graham had used earlier, assuming it led upstairs. But just as she was about to open it, Ryan barrelled through in a panic.  “Yaz!” “Oh god, Ryan,” Yaz exclaimed, relieved to see him. But there was no sign of the Doctor. “Graham’s outside, he’s safe. Where’s the Doctor?” “She hit her head. Help me,” he pleaded, still wobbling on his feet. Life-threatening situations had a way of sobering people up. The smoke had started to curl in the air as Yaz made her way up the stairs behind Ryan, quickly lifting her top up so it covered her mouth and nose. It made little difference and she felt her eyes water from the smoke, doing her best not to cough and inhale even more. Ryan, on the other hand, was blindly walking through the smoke in a panic.  “Here, Yaz!” he called, coughing as he breathed in too deeply. Yaz squinted, then crouched on the floor as she reached the crumpled form of the Doctor. She was out for the count, bleeding from the head.  “We have to get her out, now,” Yaz pulled down the material over her mouth and shouted, feeling smoke invade her lungs. She could taste it and the acrid heat made her feel sick. She nodded to Ryan as they bent over to grab hold of the Doctor’s arms. Yaz sent a mental apology as they dragged her to the stairs as quickly as they could.  The heat of the flames chased them and Yaz hesitated only momentarily.  With a grimace, she reached for the Doctor’s feet and started to drag her down the stairs.  “Ryan, grab her arms. Mind her head,” she coughed. Oxygen was becoming a necessity and they needed to hurry. She didn’t even know if the Doctor was breathing. They’d have to cross that bridge when they came to it.  Their journey out of the building, although it took no longer than one or two minutes, felt like an eternity, and by the time they’d carried the Doctor outside she was practically on the ground, sagging between them like a dead weight. As soon as they were out into the night air, Yaz took a moment to catch her breath, feeling entirely nauseous.  “Ryan!” Graham shouted, and Yaz was glad to see he’d recovered slightly. “Are you alright? How’s the Doc?” he asked Yaz, giving her a solid pat on the back. “You got her out, love.” Yaz nodded, still breathing hard. She dropped to her knees beside the Doctor’s prone form, knowing that Ryan was in safe hands with his granddad. The Doctor, on the other hand, was her responsibility.  She lifted trembling fingers to the Doctor’s neck, relieved to find her pulses still there, and racing. Her skin was warm to the touch.  “Doctor?” Yaz asked, her voice hoarse from the smoke. She coughed, again, and tried once more to rouse her.  “Doctor, you need to wake up.” In the gloom, Yaz could make out the damage the Doctor had managed to incur. Not only was her head bleeding freely but her hands were blistered, pink and raw. The white sleeves of her shirt had blackened and torn in places, exposing burned skin underneath. She hadn’t been in the building long but she’d managed to burn herself terribly. “She tried to get everyone out,” Graham explained when he realised what Yaz had seen. “The doorhandles were metal. They burned her, but she kept going.” Graham explained, and Yaz realised that Ryan was also hovering over her shoulder.  “Did she get them out?” Yaz asked, looking around as she realised a small crowd had started to gather around them.  “Yeah. Yeah, she helped nearly all of them, Yaz.” Graham was beaming, but it also looked like he'd been crying. “Will she be alright?” one woman asked, clearly one of the people the Doctor had rescued if her soot-covered face was anything to go by. Yaz nodded.  “She’ll be alright," Yaz said, as much for herself as for anyone else. "She just needs to wake up. And then we need to get her out of here.” As if on cue, the Doctor started to stir. The crowd started to mutter as her eyes fluttered open in confusion, and she squinted up at Yaz.  “Yaz? What are you doing here?” she asked, almost instantly reaching for her head and tutting when Yaz gently brushed her hand away. “Saving your bacon,” Yaz replied, overjoyed that the Doctor was at least awake. The crowd were, too, going by the murmurs of relief she could hear from the people behind her. “Although you’re a little crispier than usual.” “Huh,” the Doctor frowned, wincing as she flexed her fingers. “Is everyone out?” she asked, pushing herself upright so quickly that Yaz couldn’t even attempt to stop her. To her credit, she wavered only slightly as she glanced around the crowd. Apparently she’d managed to avoid breathing in any of the smoke because the only damage seemed to be external.  “Yes, Doc. All these people. You got them out,” Graham supplied.  “You did. The least we can do is get you to a doctor,” a man in the crowd interjected. “You saved our lives.” “Oh, I don’t need a doctor,” the Doctor replied. “Just a nap.”  “At the very least, let me take you to safety,” the man continued. “He has a horse, Doc,” Graham chipped in. “Would be a lot easier than walking in your state.” “My state?” the Doctor frowned, then looked down at herself. “Oh, no. I liked this shirt.” Ryan and Graham looked at each other with concern. It was a bit strange, Yaz had to agree, for the Doctor to fixate on the damage to her clothing. “You’ve got plenty more where those came from, Doc. I think a burned shirt is the least of your worries.” Yaz had to agree.  “Come on. We’re going back to the TARDIS, and getting you cleaned up.” “Are you going to let me help?” Yaz asked, hands on her hips as she watched the Doctor hobble into the bathroom adjoining her bedroom. It secretly pleased her that the Doctor had essentially made Yaz’s bedroom on the TARDIS her own, despite never using it.  “Nah, I’ll be fine, Yaz.” The Doctor hissed as she flexed her burned fingers. One brief look of pain and Yaz had had enough.  “That might be the case but I think this would be a lot easier and more efficient if you’d let me. Your hands are going to be out of commission for a little while.” “Shame” the Doctor smiled softly, and Yaz scoffed.  “Your mind. Sit down,” she said, guiding the Doctor to the edge of the bath and starting to run it. She made sure the water was cool to the touch. “I’m going to cut these shirts off, alright?” The Doctor nodded, watching quietly as Yaz rummaged in the cupboard under the sink for her first aid kit. She’d insisted on keeping one after the recent scrapes the Doctor had got herself into. Without hesitating, Yaz made quick work of the Doctor’s shirts, trying to hold her nerve as she carefully peeled away the material. The Doctor shivered as the skin of her torso was exposed to the air and Yaz bit her lip when she saw just how much of it had started to blister. She could feel the heat emanating from the Doctor’s body. “You feel warm,” she muttered. “You’re probably not going to like this next step very much.” The Doctor grimaced knowingly. “It’s alright, Yaz. I could do with cooling down. Suddenly feeling a bit hot.” Yaz raised an eyebrow.  “That doesn’t have anything to do with the fact I just cut your shirts off?” she joked, trying to keep the mood light. In reality, the Doctor didn’t look at all well. Yaz hurried to remove her boots and trousers. One of her legs had also been injured by something, apparently, because it was bruised and bloody.  “You look like you’ve been through the wars,” Yaz murmured. “I can’t believe we ended up in the Great Fire of London, of all things.” The Doctor shivered as Yaz helped her into the cool water, biting back a moan of pain as it soothed her raw skin.  “I need to work on my sense of smell,” the Doctor sighed, teeth chattering as the water sloshed around her calves “Take it easy,” Yaz urged, keeping a firm grip on the Doctor’s upper arm to stop her sliding in too fast. “I’m going to clean your head while you cool down. Keep talking to me.” The Doctor started a running commentary about the architectural achievements of Sir Christopher Wren while Yaz gathered some bandages and antiseptic. It was hard to believe what had just happened from the way the Doctor was chattering away; only when Yaz turned back to see the state of her face did it hit her that the Doctor had nearly died in a burning building.  “Five minutes is clearly too long to leave you to your own devices,” Yaz mused as she started to wipe away the worst of the muck and blood from the Doctor’s face. “I’m only letting you out of my sight for 30 seconds, tops, from now on.” “I can live with that,” the Doctor smiled, eyes drooping despite the coolness of the water.  “Come on, Doctor. Keep telling me things. How many churches did Wren design, again?” “54. Phenomenal number, really,” the Doctor mused, fixing her eyes on Yaz as she worked. Yaz made a conscious effort not to glance at anything but the wound she was cleaning. To her surprise it was already far less bloody than it had been, and she wondered if the blood made it look worse than it actually was.  “Already healing,” the Doctor said, and then Yaz wondered if she could read her mind.  “You don’t say,” Yaz breathed. “Humour me, though. Just a couple more minutes to cool you down.” “Alright,” the Doctor agreed, surprisingly compliant. Out of the corner of her eye, Yaz could see the Doctor struggle to keep her hands under the water. As well as a whole lot of skin she wasn’t quite prepared for. She almost dropped the cotton wool she was using into the water. “You know earlier? Before all this,” Yaz said, alluding to the scenario they’d found themselves in.  “Mm,” the Doctor murmured, and Yaz was pleased to see the tension draining from her face as she finished cleaning it. “Staying in that place. Was that your equivalent of a dirty weekend? With me?” Yaz could feel her heart pounding again and she was surprised when the Doctor started to laugh, a rich sound that echoed around the room.  “A what?” “You know. When people go away just to…” “Have sex?” the Doctor supplied, unfazed. “I don’t think I’d ever take you away on a dirty weekend, Yaz. I’d want it to sound a lot more romantic than that, for a start.” Yaz felt herself blushing as the Doctor finally turned to face her and was glad her breasts were hidden by the side of the bath. The Doctor’s arms were braced against the porcelain and Yaz was surprised to see that the skin there was far less pink than it had been. “Unless that’s what you’d like?” Yaz shook her head. “I mean...well, I do want that with you. The..sex.” Why could she not get through this sentence? Yaz was starting to wish she’d never opened her mouth.  “I just want it to be special,” she concluded, busying herself with some plasters. She placed one carefully over the wound on the Doctor’s forehead, wondering if it was even necessary anymore. Her fingers trembled slightly and she brought them back to her sides, willing herself to stay calm in the proximity of a very wet and very naked Doctor. A very naked Doctor who was currently looking at her like she was the centre of her universe. “Yasmin Khan. Anything and everything with you has been, and will be, special. I’ll make sure of it.”

He stood in the doorway blocking it with his body. He leaned, relaxed as if he owned the not just hallway but, the entire school. I stood just outside the classroom waiting, praying for him to move, but he didn't. He just stood there staring at nothing, taking in everything. He smiled at some giggly girl who asked him to move. "You're in my way Mikey", she said. Her face flushed, her eyes avoiding his glance. "My bad", he said, flashing that heart stopping smile again. She hurried past him as if the building were on fire. I knew the panic that she felt very well. He was an easy 6 feet with a medium build that was easy to see even through his baggy shirt and loose fitting jeans. His skin was a creamy color that was neither pale nor tan, but with a slight pinkness made him look more innocent than he was rumored to be. Michael had shoulder length jet black hair than hung in loose spirals as if the angels had roller set his hair in Heaven. He had the longest eyelashes that I had ever seen on a man. His eyes slanted slightly, just enough to keep others guessing at his derivation. If one dared, they could look at his eyes, but they were such a clear, bright, startling blue that most people didn't look directly into them. I guess that most people would say that he was beautiful, well at least everyone that I knew, saw or heard of thought that he was gorgeous. It wasn't just his looks that made students and teachers stop and stare. It was the way that he moved. He had a grace that was beyond his 18 years. He was not awkward or clumsy. He practically floated through the halls. There was none of the usual teenaged shuffling, no, he moved as if every cell in his body was in perfect accord with the universe. I had never seen him stumble, trip or drop anything. He didn't drag his feet, but his step wasn't noticeably bouncy either. I swear, he glided, and to my mind, he always moved in slow motion. Mikey, as everyone affectionately called him, or Miiikkkeeeyyy, always wore a wallet chain that dangled down his leg, near his near. Never in my life have I wished to be a linked metal chain more. Most people would expect him to be conceded and cocky since he constantly had girls and guys telling him that they wanted him, but I never saw even a glimmer of boastfulness in him. He was humble, almost to be point of being insecure and he was really nice to everyone, from the most popular, to the geekiest. You would have thought he'd have an entourage of worshippers to follow him around and heed his commands, but he was basically a loner. His loner status only added to the mystic and charm that made most of the school sick with want for him. He was still standing in the doorway when the bell rang. I thought. I had no choice, I had to walk past him and soon, or I would be late for class! So I took a deep breath, pushed my glasses up on my nose and attempted to pass. Just as I tried to slide past him, he spoke to me. "Hey Tia, can I borrow a pen?" I was floored. He said my name. Pen? Suddenly I couldn't remember what a pen was. My stomach knotted instantly as I tried to clear my mind but then I made a big mistake. I looked up into the blue jewels of his eyes. He was smiling. I was frozen. A dull thought in my mind returned, pen? I vaguely processed that the two plastic things in my hands were pens. "Here", I said, opening my sweaty palm to him. His hand touched mine as he took the black pen. "Thanks, I'll give it back to you after class", he said. And there was that smile again with the flash of perfect white teeth. Class was hard. I could not concentrate. Mike sat two rows away and in the front. I spent the entire class staring at the back of his head, watching tendrils move slightly as he took notes. Right when Senor Mario was conjugating past tense verbs I started to fantasize. I thought about what it would feel like to kiss Mikey and what his mouth tasted like. I decided that it tasted like cherry since that was my favorite flavor. By the time that the bell rang again, I was naked in my mind and giving Mikey the best brain job of his life. My panties were soaked. And there he was, at my desk to return my pen, and he was talking to me again. I must tell you that it is very difficult to hold a conversation with someone after you have spent the previous half hour imagining them in lewd sex acts. All I could do was look at the floor as the shame burned into my face. I couldn't concentrate on a single thing that he said. The heat of his presence was burning a whole straight into me. "Hey, are you okay? You look sick. Do you want me to walk you to the nurse?" He whispered. My brain was screaming for me to look at him or say something. My mouth was stuck, my stomach was churning double time and the insides of my thighs quivered. I managed to mumble that I was okay and just really hungry. I told him that I didn't think that I would be able to make it until lunch with no food. I was aware that my hands were continuously tucking my hair behind my ears as I spoke. Nerves, pure nerves. "I get like that sometimes too, he said as he opened his backpack and grabbed something out. "Here, eat this", he said, handing me a granola bar. "It will hold you until lunch." I almost cried, really, how freaking sweet could he be. I mumbled thanks as I took the bar from him and our hands touched again, making me shiver slightly. I wanted to leave so that I could be early for my next class, but he was still standing by my desk staring at me. "Oh, here's your pen and thank you. I always lose all of mine." He held the pen out to me still assaulting me with his warm smile. "Keep it", I said. "I have plenty." He smiled and tucked his hair behind his ears. I nearly fainted from the sexiness of that movement. "Um, Tia? This is going to sound weird considering that we don't talk much, but Senor Mario suggested that I ask someone in the class for help before the final. He said that I should pick someone who takes their work seriously and someone who really understands the material. So, I was wondering if we could maybe study together? I know you probably think that I am just some stupid jock wannabe who tries to get people to go their work for them, but I'm not! I have been really trying hard in this class and I have never, ever asked anyone to do my work for me. He looked down at the floor, completely flustered. I just sat there silent, not knowing how to respond to his outburst. "I just need some help" he continued. "Real help, not someone who will do the work for me because they thing I'm good looking." My mouth would have been on the floor if I wasn't frozen to my seat. My brain commanded my mouth to move and say the following: "Of course I will help you, meet me in the library after 7th period. We can go over a few things and see what you need help with." I don't know how I was able to say it, but I did. He thanked me again and said that the granola bar would help me. I watched him as he walked out of the classroom and I felt his heat and warmth go with him. My day was a blur after my encounter with Mikey. Talk about being distracted. I walked into the wrong class three times that day and left my back pack in the class twice. Everything that anyone said to me was a jumble of mush. The only thing that I could hear was his plea for help replaying in my head. He asked me to help him! No one would ever believe me. Of course I ate the granola bar that he gave me. I ate it slowly, letting each bite turn to mush in my mouth before swallowing. I also saved the wrapper. There were five minutes to go in the 7th period when I had a total panic attack. I realized that I would be alone with Michael and I would have not choice but to talk to him. The final bell rang and kids rushed from their classrooms with the usual post school day zeal. I on the other hand, had to drag myself from the bathroom stall where I was hiding. Maybe he would ditch the study session or have to reschedule, that would have been great. I would be off the hook at least for the day, but when I rounded the corner and looked through the double glass doors of the library, he was there. He was standing by the information desk reading the bulletins. I stopped and watched him as he mouthed the words and used his finger as a guide to read the flyers. He looked completely adorable! He must have sensed me watching because he looked up and saw me staring. I was caught, there was no way to deny that I was staring, but he didn't say anything he just walked over to me. "Thank you so much for coming, I was afraid that you would think I was dumb for asking you for help and that you would bail on me". His eyebrows furrowed slightly when he said this, making him look really serious. "What would make you think that I think you're dumb. I don't think that you are dumb. Everyone needs help sometimes, everyone!" I tried to use my words to ease his ego, but I just felt really stupid. I didn't know how I would be able to be alone with him without him seeing my hand shaking or hearing my heart pounding. And how, oh how would I be able to explain the drool coming from my mouth every time I had to look at him? This was my dream and my nightmare and it was coming true. He reserved a study room which was no more than broom closets with desks that measured approximately 4x4. They didn't even have PC connections. There was a standard wooden desk and two chairs as well as a lone window that faced the football field. We had a clear view of football practice but I wouldn't have cared if the National Hunk of Burning Love team was out on that field, my whole world was in that room. The tight configuration and the fact that we were there to study meant that we would probably touch before the session was over. Oh my heart, my chest, my head. I suddenly had a throbbing pounding headache. The pounding in my temples matched the drum of my heart and the room began to spin. "You have that sick look again", he said as I flopped in the chair to keep from hitting the floor. "Did you eat lunch?" "Yes", I mumbled. "Well do you need a soda or a snack or something, I have one if you want it." He pulled a diet soda and a bag of potato chips from his back pack and opened them. We both glanced at the "No Eating or Drinking" sign and laughed. I drank some of the soda and ate a few chips while he got settle next to me and pulled out of his books. I was sitting as far from him as I could and keeping my eyes on the desk as not to stare. "Do you feel better? You look at little better", he said while peering down at me and trying to look into my downcast eyes. "Yeah, a little", I mumbled again, feeling completely stupid. Why couldn't I just sit there and talk to the boy like a normal person. He was going to start to think that I was crazy if I didn't get myself together. "I'm hypoglycemic so I have to eat like every 2 hours or I will get completely nauseous and dizzy, kinda like you just did. You should have your doctor check you out. They wrote me a note saying that I can have food in class and everything. It's a sweet deal. You really should see someone. I mean, you don't want it to get so bad that you pass out, right?" He was really concerned about me and I just couldn't form the words to tell him that my "condition" wasn't medical, but emotional. I couldn't tell him that he was the cause for my "sickness". So I just agreed with him and said that I would talk to my doctor. "Well I guess we should get started", he said after and awkward 2 minutes of silence. He scooted his chair closer to mine and slid the Spanish text book toward me as he leaned in. I could smell his scent when he moved closer to me. It was a mixture of cologne, strawberry candy and his natural odor, which combined with the heat of his body near mine made me feel dizzy again. We began the stud session with masculine and feminine nouns. I quickly realized that one of his issues was one that most people have when studying romance languages. He confused the articles that went with some of the nouns. I showed him some of the tricks that I used to remember exceptions to the el and la articles and we made reminder cards for him. It was strange, but once we started talking about schoolwork, I was able to focus and my nervousness faded some. He was on my ground now. An hour had flown by once we got in the groove and we were both reluctant to stop. He was a willing student; he listened closely to what I said and took notes. We progressed well and he was really grasping the concepts, but by the end of the second hour we were both mentally drained and starving. At the tale end of present tense verb conjugation he put his head on the desk and sighed loudly. "Tia, I need a break, I'm going to barf if I don't eat soon and my ass is getting numb from sitting here. How do you study like this for hours and hours? You are really focused, I can see why you get such good grades." He turned his head to look at me from beneath his folded arms and I thought . I just stared at him for a moment memorizing the cute puppy look on his face. My trance was broken when he grabbed the soda can and drained it without a second thought to the fact that I had been drinking from it as well. "Um, sure, we should probably call it quits for today anyway. I know that I can be a bit of a drill sergeant at times, I just get in the mode and the hours fly by. See I'm an absolute hardcore dork." I shut myself up and this point because he was just staring at me and I felt myself starting to ramble. "You are not a dork! You are very smart and intelligent and I wish that I had the focus that you have. You really should put yourself down like that. You are a good and wonderful person, never let anyone tell you different!" He was sitting straight up looking at me like he wanted to smack me. "You know", he continued, "You remind me of my mom..." As a side note this is not something that a teenaged girl wants to hear from a guy she is in love with. My displeasure with the statement must have shown because he started to back peddle. "No, not like you're old or anything, but your personality is like her. She's so smart and amazing but she has the worst self esteem ever! She is always down on herself and taking everything that everyone says about her to heart. And I hate it. I just want to scream at her sometimes. Fuck what other people think, just fucking be yourself!" So he's screaming at this point, and I'm just sitting there with no response. He put his head back down on the desk and sighed. "I'm sorry about that, I just get really pissed when I see wonderful people wasting away with self hatred. I hate when I do it to myself as well. It's just really stupid. Look, I'm starved and I so owe you one for helping me like this, so how about we go and get some dinner, my treat?" I wanted someone to shoot me in the face so that I would at least be able to blink. My mind was screaming. Okay so I had to calm down and think. I was able to force a weak "sure" from my lips. I also told him that I needed to call my sister to let her know that she didn't need to pick me up since he was going to take me home. I left my sister a text to let her know that a "friend" was going to bring me home later and Mikey and I gathered our stuff and walked out into the parking lot. It was 7:00 and the parking lot was almost empty except for a few teachers cars and some of the maintenance staff. I was glad that there weren't any students outside because I didn't want him to feel embarrassed about being seen with me. He didn't say much until we were in the car. He just kept looking at me, not smiling, or anything, just looking at me blankly. Finally when he started the engine of his 98 Camry, he said, "I didn't know that you had a sister. Does she go to school here?" As a note, no one knew that Tasha and I were sisters. We had the same mother and father and the same last name, but we certainly didn't look related. Tasha was petite, and cute. She had big hazel eyes, long dark brown hair which was always fly, and a body that was made for seduction. She was a diva. I was not. I was the chubby to her slim, the dork to her diva, the garbage to her goddess. When people found out that we were truly blood sisters, they usually laughed and told me that I got the short end of the stick in the gene pool. Tasha was a doll about the whole thing really. She always took up for me and had gotten into quite a few fights with people who insisted on picking on me. In short she was the beauty, so I had no choice but to be the brains. She never called me ugly and she wouldn't let anyone else do it either. She did however call me fatty on those rare moments when we fought. My only rebuttal was to call her stupid. "Yeah, my sister goes here, she's in 11th grade, I know that you know her, everyone does, Tasha Simmons." "Wow, that's your sister, I never would have guessed!" "What is that supposed to mean!" I said with my defense mechanism all ready to go. "No, I'm not even saying it like that, it's just that you two are so different. She's loud and kinda wild action, and you aren't. And she dresses kinda um, provocatively, and you don't. She's is always in the halls hanging on someone's shoulder and you like to hang out in the library. You guys are different, not in a bad way, just really different." "Oh yeah and you forgot to mention that we look different too. Yeah, my sister is really pretty and I'm not, right? And she has lots of friends and I don't, right. And she has been to the prom 3 years in a row and I don't even know if I am going to have a date ever, right." Okay so at this point I was getting hysterical. I really wish that someone had been there to slap me and tell me to shut up, but there wasn't. I wanted to cry and that made me even angrier. I felt my face getting redder, I was holding my breath to keep from screaming at him and he just looked at me. "God, Tia, I am sorry if I hurt your feelings in any way. I didn't mean it like that! Not at all, actually I don't really care for your sister all that much, I don't like girls that feel like they need to hang all over guys to get attention. She tried that with me last year and it was a major turn off. Then she told everyone that I must be gay since I didn't respond to her advances. I thought the whole thing was stupid and immature. I was trying say that I think you are a way better person than your sister. You don't flaunt yourself around and force yourself on people, you just keep to yourself. I like that. I like you." Okay so by this point we are close to the restaurant, but I wanted this ride to go on forever. My mind was doing flips and so was my heart, but I was conflicted as well. He likes me, but he's saying bad things about my sister. "Don't talk about my sister like that! You make her sound so one dimensional, like she is just some dense slut, she's not, you don't know her, and you don't anything about her. She's is confident and yeah, she likes to show off, but she's beautiful, she can do that. Where do you get off saying that you don't like her? You had one encounter with her and decided to write her off as a bad person, that's pretty shallow of you! My desire for him was fading fast. I started to get madder and madder the more that I though about it. He was judging her and he didn't even know her. It was pretty pompous of his to tell me that he didn't like my sister, that's my sister and I'm not going to let anyone talk about her, especially not some guy! " "You know what?! Stop the car. I can't sit here and let you talk about my sister like that. Did you think that I was just going to agree with you? Did you think that I wouldn't go back and tell her what you said! Why would you even think that was cool?" "Um, I am really fucking this up, aren't I? I really did not mean to say that like it sounded, but it's the truth, your sister is not the nicest person. You are much nicer. I didn't mean to offend you with what I said, but it's true. She spreads rumors about people and makes fun of people. I don't mean to make her sound like anything, but I am only telling you what I have witnessed. Please don't be mad at me, I didn't mean for it to come out like that. I just..." His words faded into nothing as we pulled up to Duncan's Diner got out of the car. We were both silent as we sat in the bright red booth and stared at the menus. I didn't know what to say to him. I didn't want to be mad, but I felt like I had to defend my sister, she would have done it for me. But on the other hand, some of the things that he said about her were true. And there were lots of people who told me that they didn't like her, but they were mostly girls so I figured that they were just jealous. We sat in silence, only speaking to order drinks and food, each of us stuck inside our own heads trying to figure out how to break the ice. Luckily, Mother Nature had mercy on us both, because right when the waitress came to bring our orders, the sky cracked open and it started to pour down rain. "Wow, look at that!" He said while pointing out the window like a little kid. "Whoa, it is pouring like crazy", I said, forgetting for a moment that I was supposed to be mad. "Damn look at those two, caught in the downpour." We both laughed at this couple running across the street laughing and holding hands. Both of them were completely soaked, but they didn't really care. They ran under the restaurant's front awning for shelter. When they were safe under the awning they grabbed each other and began a passionate kissing session that made both Mikey and I blush. We were both silent again, staring at the kissing couple, watching their tongues dance inside each other's mouths. "Have you ever been kissed like that?" Mikey asked in a hushed whisper. "No, never", I answered before I could think. "How about you? You ever been kissed so passionately that it made your knees buckle?" Of course I started blushing instantly and began concentrating on dipping my fries in ketchup. "No, me either", he replied, while never taking his eyes off of the couple outside. "Nope one has ever kissed me like that." He sighed and turned away from the window. "Are you serious?" Of course I blurted this out before I could stop myself. I was in shock that no one had ever kissed him that way. He was gorgeous and could have any girl that he wanted and I am sure that they would have done anything dirty little thing that he asked, but he was sitting there telling me that he had never been kissed truly passionately. "I don't believe you! You have probably kissed tons of girls, and you are telling me that you have never felt passion like that with any of them. Yeah, right". "What makes you think that I have kissed a lot of girls? How many girls have you seen me with? None, right? You want to know why? Because I have only ever loved two girls in my life and one them is my mother. The other one, well we ended badly two summers ago, but she never kissed me like that. She never made me feel like she wanted me, desired me. We just used to..." Then he stopped talking and returned to staring out the window. The kissing couple was gone and the sun was peaking back through the clouds. I was so mixed up, I was still mad about the things that he said about Tasha, but I felt so sorry for him as well. What did he mean that she never made him feel wanted? What kind of twisted girl was this that would let a guy like him go? And what exactly was he about to tell me about what they used to do? I noticed suddenly that all of my anxiety about talking to Mikey from the previous days, months and years was fading. I had set up this image in my mind that he was untouchable, but now that I was sitting here with him, I saw that he was so vulnerable just like me, and it made me want him really, really badly. "Tia, I really am sorry about the things that I said about your sister, I just didn't know what else to say, I don't know how to talk to you. You are so smart and have it together. I feel really stupid sitting here right now talking about kissing and old girlfriends. You should just put me out of my misery and tell me to shut up. I really didn't intend for things to turn out this way. I really am not an asshole who goes around insulting people's family." He laughed a little, but he was sad too. "I know that you aren't an asshole, I know that you probably didn't mean all those things the way that they came out. I know that Tasha gets under people's skin sometimes, but she is my sister, and I love her and wouldn't have her change for all of the money in the world. She loves me just like I am, she protects me and watches out for me. Sometimes I feel like I am the little sister and she is the big sister. I call her my big little sister." After that we were talking again and laughing. I told Mikey that he should just talk to me like he would talk to anyone else, I was no different. He however insisted that I was different and that instead of hanging my head down, I should be proud of it. I wanted so badly to ask him about his ex and what they did together, but I just couldn't work up enough courage to do it. We ended up having dessert too, hot fudge sundaes and I tired my best to eat like a lady, but I ended up dripping hot chocolate down my chin and on to my shirt. "I am such a slob sometimes", I said as I wiped fudge from my chin and smeared the stain around on my shirt. Mikey watched me, but he wasn't laughing at my joke, he was staring at my boobs! I blushed again when I realized what he was doing. "What are you looking at, mister? Are you oogling my boobs you perv?" Of course I was laughing when I said this and totally didn't mind that he was looking. "Oh god, I am so sorry", he said, "but you have a fudge stain right by your nipple and I can't stop looking at it. I..." His voice trailed off again as I looked down at my nipples, which were sticking straight out in full salute, and sure enough there was a fudge stain right next to one. I got up quickly and ran into the bathroom. I stood there staring at my self in the mirror as I tried to clean the fudge stains off my shirt. My face was still flushed from constant blushing and my nipples were still sticking out straining against my shirt. I knew what was going on. His staring at me like that had made me horny. Or should I say hornier, because I was already horny. I was afraid to go back out to my seat. He would see my nipples. He would know. Then I thought, . So I went back and sat down. He had paid the bill and asked if I was ready to go. . So I just sucked up my feelings and prepared for him to drop me off at home. As soon as we got in the car it started to pour down raining again so when he pulled up to my house, which was only two blocks from the diner, he suggested that I wait in the car until the rain stopped. I couldn't look at him knowing that I was so aroused all of a sudden, so I looked out the window. "You have fudge on the side of your face", he said and he reached over and gently wiped the smudge off of my cheek. I wanted to melt into the floor, my nipples got harder just from that one touch and the wet stain in my underwear spread. I shivered a little. He didn't remove his hand after the smudge was gone, he continued to stroke the side of my face. I didn't move an inch or breathe. "Tia, look at me." His voice was different, softer, deeper, sexier. I was afraid to look, because if his face looked as lustful as mine, well then we were in trouble. I turned to him and he licked his lips. I looked away from him quickly, but he tilted my face towards him again and then he leaned over and...Kissed me! His lips were so soft and his tongue was moist and gentle not forceful. He used his tongue to caress the roof of my mouth slowly over and over which sent shockwaves down my thighs and to my privates. I was going to grab him and just hold him close to me, but he pulled away. "I'm sorry Tia, I don't know why I did that, I just...the chocolate on your nipple well I...it...it made me so horny. It's been so long since I've felt like this, since I've wanted someone, since I've kissed someone. I wanted to tell you that I liked you for a while, but I didn't know what you'd say. You always seem so above everything and I didn't think you'd be into me, but today I got to be close to you and see in your eyes and I think that maybe you want me too. If I am wrong, feel free to slap me for kissing you like that. If I am right, then kiss me again." Okay so, pause right here while I pick my entire jaw up off the floor. No, I was not dreaming, this really happened, he really said this. Of course I kissed him. Softly, slowly just like he kissed me, my tongue repeating the same movements that he used. My body moved on it's own to touch his face and feel his hair. He moaned when I finally touched him, the sound vibrated in my mouth and my thighs quivered. We kissed like that until we were sucking each other's breath and were panting for air. As we pulled away from each other we looked and both of our faces were nothing but passion and fire. I just sat there for a moment staring at him and the swelling bulge in his pants. He made no attempt to hide it. He was too busy staring at me. Now that he opened this secret box, I felt like I could ask him about his ex girl. "Mikey", I said as he took my hand and began kissing each finger and up and down the back. "Was your ex the first girl that you were ever with? I mean had sex with?" "Yeah", he said in between kissing my arm. "But she didn't love me, so it didn't feel very special. I didn't feel very special." "So you're saying that it wasn't good? You didn't enjoy it". Although I couldn't imagine sex not being good for him, what woman wouldn't crawl across hot coals to please him? "No, physically it was very good and she showed me a lot of things, but it wasn't special, not emotionally. Like, I didn't feel like she was making love to me, it felt like she was just going through the motions, like she didn't want to do it. I don't think she enjoyed it, but it wasn't because I didn't try. I mean she came a couple times, but there was not peace or joy about it, no love, just sex." "What do you think went wrong?" I was only able to mumble this because he was kissing my neck and down to my breasts and I could hardly breathe. "Well I think that she only did it because she was breaking up with me and knew that I didn't want to be a virgin anymore, so she gave me some pre-breakup sex to ease the blow, but it didn't. The break up still hurt, I really loved her. Or at least I thought that was love." He started sucking my nipples through my shirt and running his teeth lightly across them. I shivered violently then and moaned. "Where did you learn that, from her?" I moaned and gasped for air as wetness leaked down my legs. "Oh, I learned this from my brother. Oh and this too", he said as slowly slid his hand under my skirt and between my legs. He rubbed my private place over my panties and felt the wetness that had been plaguing me all day. "Wow", he said rubbing his finger over my most sensitive area, "you are soaking wet, I can't wait to put my tongue inside you." The words made my skin jump, "tongue inside you". I knew what that meant, but everything was glazed over at this point. I looked out of the window as he slid his fingers inside my panties and massaged slowly back and forth across the slickness. My skin was hot and aware of everything that he did. I was dazed and trying to remember exactly how we ended up making out in front of my house in the rain. I was sweating and moaning a little too loudly as he put a finger inside and used the others to rub my clit, I realized that we were outside where anyone could walk by and see me with my legs cocked open. "Oh Tia, you're so tight. Are you a...virgin?" I was pulled from my haze by his comment. "No", I laughed. "Why, were you hoping that I was?" "No, the only thing that I am hoping is that I can be with you soon." He slid another finger in, stretching me more. His finger work was starting to feel really, really good, but then I noticed my next door neighbor standing in her doorway staring at the car. I panicked. "Mikey, we have to stop, my neighbor is looking down here. She might see and tell my parents that I was making out in a strange car in broad daylight." This hauled him back to reality as well. He pulled his fingers out of me and licked them clean. Then he kissed me again and said, "see, you taste good too, just like I thought". I was suddenly sober and thought about what was happening. "What are we doing here", I asked. "How did we get from barely speaking, to make out buddies in one day?" "I don't know, I have been wanting to talk to you for a while, I just didn't know how but when Senor Mario told me to get help with class I thought that would be the perfect excuse to get close to you. I have been dreaming of kissing you all school year and once I did, I couldn't stop. And now, well I want to do all of the things we do in my dreams." Slobber was coming out of my mouth at this point. "Why, why do you want me?" I said, but I was really only supposed to think it, not say it. "Why now? Where were you when I was lonely and dateless and ate lunch alone and didn't go to any of the dances because I didn't have a date? Why not tell me then! I want you to Mikey, but I'm confused, why me?" "Because I think you are beautiful", he said as he caressed my face. "And I may never get this chance again in life. We're graduating soon and I wanted to tell you how I felt before we both go away to school. I will be honest, I didn't expect to end up making out so soon, but you are so sexy and I want you so bad right now. No, I can wait until you are ready, but just let me kiss you." Now, I had two options, I could keep asking questions or I could go with the flow. The rational side of me said that this guy was just playing head games and wanted nothing more than sex and that was bound to get my feelings hurt. Miss Rational also said that I should stop now and not have sex with him because I didn't really know him. I mean he could have something or get me pregnant or my parents or sister could come home. Or what if he hurts me physically? But that was Miss Rational talking, now her arch enemy Miss Horny was telling me to go for it, just take the boy to your room and do the do. Miss Horny echoed what Mikey said, I may never have this chance again. I had better take it now. I was so stuck in my own head that I hardly registered that Mikey was kissing me again until I felt his kiss deepen and his tongue probe with more force. I noticed my neighbor was still staring into the car. "Let's go somewhere more private", I said to Mikey as I nodded towards my neighbor. Mikey smiled and bolted his car down the street before I could get my seatbelt back on. We kissed and fondled each other at every stop sign and light. We were both so worked up that Mikey was trembling and I was on the verge of tears. We got to Mikey's in 10 minutes, but it felt like 2 hours. He said that his parents were out for the evening and that his brother was away at school, so we had the house to ourselves. The knowledge that we would be all alone made the knot in my stomach tightened. I still had so many questions floating around in my head but every time that I tried to ask one Mikey would kiss me and it was the perfect way to shut me up. I don't remember any details of the house from that first visit because it seemed like a blur until we reached his bedroom. I was able to gather that it was big and well kept inside and out. We kissed our way up the stairs and across the threshold of his bedroom. It was very clean, his bed was made, his books and papers were neatly stacked on his desk. He was frantic, kissing me and pressing his rock hard groin into me. He was so aroused that his lips were quivering. I wanted to take it slow, make it last, I didn't know if I would ever be able to do this with him again. I was trying to force my mind to focus so that I could remember every detail. "Slow down", I said. "I'm not going anywhere, we have lots of time." He already had his hand up my skirt again, playing with my clit, making my knees shake. "I just want you so bad, I've been wanting you, dreaming about you, I can't believe that you are really here." I just stood there watching him watch me while he slid two and then three fingers inside me. He was opening me and I was squeezing him. My knees finally buckled and I started to slump, but he held me and withdrew his fingers which were dripping with my juices. He stood in front of me and removed his shirt in one deft movement. I stared up at his smooth, hairless, perfectly carved chest and abs and let my eyes wander over him for a moment. "You're perfect", I whispered, more perfect than I thought". He didn't say anything, he just slowly unbuckled his belt and opened his jeans revealing his thick, full erect 7 inches sans underwear. My mouth watered, never have I ever wanted to suck a guy off more in my life, but I was frozen. I just sat there staring at his thickness and the heavy looking testicles which I was sure were to the point of bursting with creaminess. My face was so flushed and I couldn't move, but I didn't want to take my eyes off of him. He pushed his jeans down and off of his hips and used his hand, still slick with my wetness, to slowly stroke himself. He moaned, I squirmed, my body was achy and feverish, my vagina quivered. "Touch me Tia, please", he moaned through his clenched teeth as he continued to stroke his cock. "I can't", I whispered. "I..." my voice cracked, my face burned scarlet with shame, want and desire. He grabbed my hand and put it on his chest, then he placed his hand on top of mine and used it to guide me across the terrain of his skin. I found it hard to breathe as I felt his skin quiver at my touch. He held my hand over his nipples and I felt them harden as my fingers ran over them. "Don't stop", he said, "pinch them, suck them". His eyes were closed, he was lost in a private ecstasy. I reached up and pinched both of his nipples simultaneously. He groaned and shivered as his legs gave slightly. "Lay down on the bed and get comfortable Mikey". "Okay", he said, with his eyes glazed over, he was limp and dazed. He lay on the bed and slid down between his legs and came face to face with the object of my fantasies. "Mikey, it's so hard and big, and soft. I want to kiss it. Can I?" I was teasing of course and making sure to blow my breath on him with every word. I wasn't waiting for him to answer, I licked the head of his cock and sank my mouth down on him as far as I could. I didn't really know what I was doing, but this is how it always went in my dreams, so I just followed my instincts. I took him deep until I gagged. He clutched the covers at his sides and moaned loudly and I moved my mouth up and down on him and used my hand on his shaft as I had seen the girls do in the dirty movies. "Is it good?" I asked in between sucks. "Yes, oh, yes". He breathed. I sucked him slowly and squeezed his cock harder with my hand. I felt his whole body tense and shiver like a mini seizure. "I'm going to come, Tia! Please, please, please." I moved my mouth from him and stroked his cock as come shot up out of him in spurts and his body shook violently. He cried out loudly in a long series of ohs and ahs as the last of his fluids ran down my hand. I had never seen anyone come so hard and been able to be that up close and personal. He covered his face with a pillow and I just sat on the floor between his legs trying to figure out what to do with my messy hand. "Um, Mikey, can I have a towel or something to wipe off?" He didn't answer me right away, he just lie there still and lifeless. I thought that he had gone to sleep. I was about to call his name again when he removed the pillow and I saw the tears in his eyes and his red, flushed face. "Mikey, what's wrong? Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?" "No, Tia, you did everything just right, too right. I just didn't want to be over so soon. It wasn't supposed to be over so quick. I wanted to please you and show you all of those things that I do in my dreams, but I just made a fool of myself. I feel so stupid." I lie down on the bed next to him and wiped my hand off on his shirt. I put my face close to his and kissed his nose and cheeks. "Is that what all these tears are for? You don't have to be embarrassed about that. It's not a big deal baby, we can go again as soon as you are ready. That is nothing to be upset over." "It's not just that", he said while wiping his eyes with the back of his hands. "It's just that I, it was overwhelming, being here with you is so intense. I just feel like I'm going to explode or implode and the only way that the feelings can come out is through tears. I know, you probably think that I'm a total wuss, but I don't know what else to do. I really like you and now that you are here in my bed I just want it to be good for both of us." "And it will be good baby, it already is, we can just take it slow, okay? We'll go slow this time. We were both so amped up before, but now that the tension is released, we can relax and enjoy it." I was massaging him as I said these words and he was kissing my neck and breasts. He continued kissing down my body and removed my shirt and bra in the process. He sucked my nipples until they were hard and throbbing and then he moved down to remove my underwear. "Tia, I need you so bad. You don't understand!" But I did understand, because I needed him too and knowing that he wanted me so bad made me crazy. He licked me slowly over and over using the entire surface of his tongue to lap from my opening to my clit. "Mikey, Mikey, Mikey". His name became a song in my head. I felt the explosion building in my belly and spreading through my loins. "Oh oh, I think I'm coming", I moaned. I came right after that and I was shocked by how my body quivered all over and the delicious pleasure that radiated through me. Mikey licked the juices that spilled out of me. I was so sensitive after my orgasm and ready to feel him inside me. We were so in sync that he already knew that what I wanted. He moved up my body and on top of me and kissed me. I could feel his hard cock close to my opening, he rubbed it up and down my slit. He pushed the tip of his penis inside me and I felt us both shiver from the skin to skin contact. My mind was gone, I didn't even care that he was inside me without protection. I just wanted him to keep going. All of our health class lessons and statistics were suddenly lost. I moved my hips to push him deeper inside me. He went a couple inches deeper and held himself still. I felt my insides stretch to fit him. "Tia, baby, I can't believe it. I can't believe it's finally happening. You feel so good". He pushed all the way inside me then and held completely still letting us both adjust to the shock of full penetration. He hovered over me and stared into my face. I felt the tension in his arms as he supported most of his weight on them. I wanted to tell him that this was my dream too, but I couldn't even talk. I couldn't breathe. I just lay there under him and concentrated on how he felt inside me. I memorized the pain in my loins that mingled with the satisfied feeling of finally having him inside me and the feeling of fullness. My insides were clenching him without my permission, my body had a mind of its own and was going to do what it wanted. He was just lying still on top of me and I was waiting for him to move. My body craved movement, friction and thrusting. My hips started to move against him on their own, riding him from the bottom. He let me move beneath him for a while but he stopped me after a couple of minutes. "Hold on we should stop. We can't do this like this, I need to get a condom. I'll be right back." He pulled out and got up and left me; I felt his absence the same way that I had in the classroom earlier that day but only worse because I was empty inside and out. I saw him kick his pants off of his feet as he walked out of the room. I noticed that all of the questions in my head disappeared and it was quiet in my brain. It was body that was screaming. I started to rub my clit in anticipation of Mikey's return. It felt as if he were gone for hours but it was only actually a minute or two. He returned to find me in full masturbation mode. I was so into it that I didn't care if he watched me. He lay down on the bed next to me and opened the condom and put it on. I watched him put the condom on and it made the blood rush to my head as I thought of feeling him inside me again. I realized that my fingers were never really a substitute for the real thing. Mikey pulled my hand away from my vagina and sucked my fingers. He moved on top of me and penetrated me in one thrust. I cried out against him and I noted the change in the feeling. I could feel the condom inside me, not his skin. Something unknown in my body yearned to feel him without the condom, but I knew that this was not a good idea. Condoms were the right thing, especially for unwed teens. He was moving inside me with slow deep strokes. The slight ache inside me turned to pain as he thrust deeper and pushed his weight against me but I didn't complain. I wanted to relish every sensation even the uncomfortable ones. I wrapped my legs tight around him and grabbed his butt. I could feel the muscles of his ass flex with each thrust. I looked up at him for a moment as he looked down at me and we were caught in each others stare. The beautiful ice blue of his eyes was even more mesmerizing than before. We locked eyes for a moment that seemed to go on beyond us and it hit me that this is what making love was. It was to be caught inside the other person's mind, to see inside their soul. I saw myself when I looked into Mikey's eyes, but not the me that I would see in the mirror, this was a different me. She had to same face and body, but this me was beautiful and sexy, irresistible. "Is this how you see me?" I didn't mean to say this out loud, but there it was hanging in the air between us. "Yes, I have seen you this way since the first day. You are perfect. None of those other girls could hold a candle to you, not your sister, not anyone". Suddenly neither one of us could talk, the feeling that sucked us in became overwhelming. Mikey started to tear up again and I felt myself starting to get choked up as well. I closed my eyes and tried to focus, but the pleasure started to over take me as well and soon I was crying. Yes, tears and all, in fact I was bawling and he was too. Our tears mingled as we kissed and I felt the beginnings of an orgasm stirring in me. I started to move my hips in tandem with his movements. We were both thrusting faster as if we were racing to the finish line. Mikey opened my legs wider and pushed my hips up higher which allowed him to penetrate me deeper. I moaned and grabbed his back as he thrust harder, his body slamming against mine, and rubbing my clit with each movement. The bed springs squeaked loudly under us and the headboard banged against the wall in a steady rhythm as he thrust wildly into me. My vagina was clenching, my skin was quivering, my toes were curling and I was shaking. I knew that I would orgasm soon and in some part of my brain I got sad because it would be over. My focus was gone, everything became a blur. Mikey was lost in his own struggle with desire and release. Every inch of me was electric fire, my muscles locked and the fireworks in my head exploded as the wave of orgasm crashed down on me over and over and over. Mikey looked at me, he watched my face screw up and melt into a look of total shock. My body went slack as it attempted to recover from my orgasm. Mikey slowed his movements for a moment to allow me to regain consciousness. I started laughing and I can't tell you why, but when your body experiences something so intense it is kind of a shock and I didn't know what else to do but laugh. He smiled down at me and started moving again. It seemed as though my body was sucking him deeper inside, like it wanted to be permanently joined with him. I massaged my hands up and down his back to his butt as he moved. His movements were slower and more controlled but I could still feel his body starting to tense and shake. I lie still and really felt the way that his muscle quivered inside me and the way that his whole body locked against me as he came. I was sure that if he hadn't had the condom on I would have been able to feel his come inside me. I was saddened by the fact that I couldn't feel it, had never felt it. I felt Mikey's weight crash against me as he collapsed on top of me. I could still feel him tremble slightly as he buried his face in my skin. "That was better than I ever thought it could be, better than in my dreams. I want to do this everyday, all the time. I will never be able to lie in this bed again without thinking about making love to you, screwing you. I'm awake, right? I mean I'm not sleeping, you are here with me. This did happen." I just stared at him for a moment. He was worried, I could see it stretched across his face. "This is real Mikey, it really happened. We're here togther in your bed and we did make love. I can't believe it either but I can bet I will believe it tomorrow, well at least my body will." "I hurt you, I'm sorry, I didn't want to but I couldn't control it, I tried to be gentle, but my body took over and started doing things for me. I can make it all better later though." He smiled and kissed me as he pulled out and walked on shaky legs to the bathroom. I lay there looking around his room and I couldn't help but laugh at the fact that we were supposed to be study partners. I was breaking the main tutor rule. Don't have sex with your tutee. The questions in my head returned too. I was pulled from my version of 20 questions by Mikey calling my name. "Tia, come here for a minute. I want to show you something". It wasn't until I got in his bathroom that I realized that I had to pee really bad. He was sitting in the bath tub as I danced my way to the toilet. I had been so stuck in my own thoughts that I hadn't noticed the water running or heard the soft music playing. I sat down on the toilet just in time for the burning, stinging feeling to hit me full force. "Ow, it hurts. I forgot how it feels after." Please note that I am sitting on the toilet in front of a boy that I was afraid to even speak to a few hours earlier. Ain't life funny like that. "Come here", he said as he held his arms out to me. "A nice soak in the tub will relax you and make it better". "Okay, just let me wipe and flush first." I sank down in the deep tub and fit right between Mikey's legs. The hot water and lavender bubble bath made me relax instantly, or was it him? We sat there in silence and he massaged my shoulders and back. My body enjoyed his attentions so much that I lie back against him and dozed off for a moment. I dreamt of us making love on his bed again, only this time both sets of parents walked in and watched. They all had popcorn and 3-D glasses and they gave us both a stand ovation when we climaxed. I was stirred from my sleep by the sound of water sloshing around. I opened my eyes and saw that Mikey was asleep as well, his head was cocked to the side and his arms dangled down the sides of the tub. I didn't know how long I had been sleeping but my hands and feet were wrinkled and pruned. "Mikey, baby, wake up. We fell asleep." He roused at the sound of my voice and smiled before he even opened his eyes. "I'm so tired," he said. "Tired but relaxed and happy, you know?" "I think that I should probably go now, it's getting late." I looked out the window and saw that it was getting dark out. "Well stand up and I'll wash you off and then we can have a snack and I'll take you home." I stood above him in the tub with my legs straddling Mikey. He took the washcloth and lathered it up. He started at my feet and soaped them as I lifted each so that he could wash them. We didn't talk, I don't think either one of us knew what to say. He washed up my legs inching closer and closer to my sacred place. I opened my legs more the higher that he washed. This was not something that I was conscious of at the time, but it happened. He soaped my upper thighs gently and I felt the yearning in my body increase. I couldn't believe it but I wanted him again. I looked down at him as he looked up at me. I watched him gently, slowly soap my pudenda. I winced a little since I was still tender. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry that I hurt you." He was very tender as he washed between my legs my pubic hair. He moved and stood up front of me to wash my upper body. I couldn't believe how he washed and caressed in between my fat rolls. He was not repulsed by them in the least. He pinched my breasts when he got to them. My body quivered again, remembering our previous session. Mikey kissed me deeply and whispered, "Turn around." I obeyed without a second thought and he repeated his washing process starting at my feet and working his way up. He soaped in slow circles around my butt and he inserted the washcloth between the crack. He pressed his finger in my opening and got the tip of his finger in. I winced again. "What are you doing?" I said as I looked back at him and noted his devious smile. "Sorry, I couldn't resist. I had to try it, I've always been curious. I probably should have asked first, huh?" "Um, yeah, that would have been nice. You can't just go around sticking your finger inside of people uninvited. How would you like it if I jammed my finger in your butt without asking?" "I would love nothing better than for you to do that. Just jam it in there. I don't care." He was laughing "Okay, I'll remember that for next time." It slipped out of my mouth before I could think. It just felt like a natural thing to say. I couldn't look at him after that. I was afraid of what I would see in his eyes or of what he would say. "yeah, next time. I would love for there to be a next time and a next time and a..." He kissed me then, right on both of my ass cheeks and up my back and on my neck. He turned me around and kissed my lips and eyelids. He started massaging my breasts, rubbing the soap in. "I'm all soapy, I need to rinse off." He pulled away and began dipping the washcloth in the water and rinsing my skin. Every time he went to wet the washcloth he kissed my lower legs and thighs, soon he was licking between my legs and making my legs buckle. "Mikey, we can't, I have to go. I have to get home, we don't have time". I couldn't protest anymore after that because my words got lost in the pleasure of my body. He ate me until my orgasm was near and I had long forgotten about going home. He stopped right when I grabbed his head a started pushing his head deeper. He pulled away from me, stepped out of the tub and walked back to his room. I followed because my body willed me, forced me to go. When I got to the doorway of his bedroom, he was already lying on the bed waiting for me. "I'm cold, come warm me up." He said as he held him arms out to me like a child. "You look too cute for words right now." I leapt over to the bed and into his arms. He was freezing and his skin was slightly damp from the rain. I held him tight feeling his cold skin touch mine. He shivered a little. "Poor baby, you're freezing, come under the covers and we'll get us both nice and warm." We bundled up under the covers like little children and lie there quiet for a while listening to each other's breath and heartbeats. "You are so soft and you smell so good, I love the way your skin feels, it's so smooth", he said while caressing my thighs. "You'd better stop it buddy before you get me all worked up again". "Mmmm", he moaned "I would love nothing better than to get you all worked up right now." He ran his hand between my legs and to my wetness pooling there. "You are so wet, you want it, don't you?" He kissed me then, deep full throttle on the tongue. "Tell me that you want it, tell me that you want me inside you, say it." He stroked my clit gently while simultaneously sucking my nipple, driving me crazy. I noted that he was talking dirty now and it made me hot. "I want it baby, I want you, I want you inside me , please!" "Mmmm, I want you too sweetie. It's all that I have been thinking about all day. Being with you, touching you, smelling you, feeling you, tasting you. I love it, it's my new drug." He kissed down my body moving lower with each phrase until he reached my quivering clit. "Can I lick you all clean, you're so messy down here?" He did lick me until I was a shaking quivering ball of flesh. I came hard from his tongue. He watched me recover from the throws of my private ecstasy, his eyes filled with lust. Everything was a blur as my heartbeat struggled to slow and my senses drifted down from the heavens. He laid close to me, out bodies barely touching and slowly began to stroke his cock. Watching him jerk off turned me on. He was teasing me, tormenting me with his desire and need for me. His cock was a beautiful, rock hard rod that curved upward toward his belly. It was thick and seemed to get thicker with each movement of his hand. I reached out to touch him, caress his chest. He moaned as I pinched his nipples. I could see how aroused he was, pre-cum leaking from him like a faucet. "See what you do to me?" He whispered. "See how you make me need you?" "I want to please you", I said. "I want to make you cum so hard. What can I do to please you? Whatever you want, anything." I knew that this was a brave offer on my part and rather bold and hasty, but I was caught in the moment, and I knew that he wouldn't ask me to do anything that would make me uncomfortable. He would take no pleasure in that. "Put your mouth on me", he said. I slid down his body slowly kissing and licking a trail past his sensitive nipples and following the dark patch of hair to his pleasure center. I took the tip in my mouth and sucked his pre-cum clean. "Oh, honey", moaned through his clenched teeth. "Don't stop". He caressed my head gently. I expected him to force me, but he didn't, he just stroked the top of my head and ran his fingers through my hair. Even as I took him deep into my throat and felt his hips flex in anticipation, he never forced my head down. "Tia, baby, I'm so close, stop, before I cum, I don't want to, too soon". He was really close, his whole body was tight, tense, poised to release a flood of cum, but I stopped when he told me to. I let him rest and recover for a few moments, without touching him. "Why won't you come in my mouth?" I asked and then I realized that I sounded like a total slut. I blushed instantly and hit my face in the pillow. He laughed softly and took my face in his hands. "Don't ever be embarrassed about sharing your desires or fantasies with me. If you want me to come in your mouth, tell me. If you want to try it, we can, but I don't think that you would like it." "How do you know whether I will like it or not, do you know what it tastes like?" He looked me in my eyes and kissed me. Then he whispered in my ear, "yes, I know what I taste like, I have tasted my own come before. A couple of times when I masturbated I tasted it, I just had to know what it was like. It's a little salty, a little sweet, a little tangy. I like the way I taste." His revelation made me hornier. I probably should have been turned off by it, but I wasn't and that scared me a little. "Have you ever tasted another guy?" I asked as I noticed him stroking his cock again and staring at me. I was afraid that he would get mad at me for implying that he was gay, but he just smiled and answered me. "No, I haven't ever been with a man in any way like that." "Would you ever want to? I asked, noticing that I was getting hotter and hotter by the minute. "I don't know. I have thought about what it would be like to kiss another man and have him touch me, but I like girls, I wouldn't want a relationship with a guy. I just wonder what they feel like sometimes." His honesty was shocking, comforting and arousing all at once. I kissed him again slowly, taking care to thrust my tongue in and out of his mouth in a sex type motion. He moaned against my lips and pushed me back against the bed. He spread my legs and lay between them, still kissing me. He blindly reached in the nightstand next to the bed and got a condom out. I watched as he ripped open the package and slid the lubricated Trojan over his rod. My insides shook with anticipation. I needed him inside me, to feel his weight on me, to hear him moan and grunt with release. He positioned himself to enter me and leaned down to kiss me again. "Nice and slow", he whispered. I tensed a little when I felt him push against my opening. I was still very sore from earlier. He pushed the tip in and stopped. I felt him shiver slightly and moan. He waited a few seconds before pushing a few more inches inside me. I could feel myself stretching as my inside tried to adjust to his thickness. There was a surge of pain and he thrust the remaining inches inside slowly, gently applying more pressure. Once he was completely inside me he lay still for a minute or two allowing us both time to adjust the feel of our bodies together. It felt like he got harder, bigger once he was inside me. I was achy inside but I needed him inside me so badly that I didn't care. "You feel so big inside me Mikey, bigger than before. I feel you in my stomach, I feel you stretching me." He started to slow, shallow thrusts while I talked. "Is it too much, baby? Am I hurting you?" He asked, pleasure and concern joining in his gaze. "No, I just feel so, opened, but it only hurts a little. Just don't push too hard okay?" "I won't baby, I won't. I want to make you feel good. If I do something that hurts or doesn't feel comfortable, tell me, promise me, you'll tell me." "I will", I said, but I felt a pressure building in my guts, right where he was thrusting. It was pressure spreading out into warmth. I felt my muscles contracting around his slightly sending a vibrating pleasure through my belly down my spine. "That feels good, just like that". I put my hands of his ass to guide him to the right spot. "Right here", he said as he thrust deeper into my pleasure spot. My muscles clenched harder around him and the shockwaves of pleasure followed. "Yes", I moaned. "I feel you baby, squeezing me with that tight little kitty every time I hit that spot, feels good, huh?" he said as he attacked my spot with stroke after slow, deep stroke to my cervix and g-spot. I was no longer in control of my body, my inner walls and muscles spasmmed at an alarming rate. I quivered against Mikey and wailed nonsense sounds and words. I felt like the room was upside down and there was nothing I could do. The pressure in my belly was building and red hot fire that is radiating all over my body. I feel my body locking up as my millionth orgasm comes. "Mikey!", I screamed in a panic, "stop, stop it's too much, I can't, I can't." I was whimpering like a child. "It's okay Tia, look at me, it's alright baby, just let it happen, let your body have it's pleasure." With that he quickened his thrusts and my body locked from my eyelids to my toenails and...I came harder than I ever had before. When my muscles finally unlocked, I cried like a lost kid. Mikey held me and kissed my tears while he was still rock hard inside me. "It's okay, it's okay" he whispered as he caressed my face. We stayed still like that until the last sobs left me. "You didn't finish", I said. "Don't worry about me. It makes me feel good to see that you had such a fantastic orgasm. That was more than enough for me". He smiled and kissed me as he pulled out. "No, that is not fair. I should please you the same way that you please me. I want you to come in my mouth right now." I could see that just hearing me say the words turned him on. He pulled off the condom and kneeled in front of me with his hardness right against my face. I took him in my mouth just as I had done earlier but this time I took extra special care to make sure that I put as much of him deep in my throat as I could. I deep throated him 7 or 8 times holding him there until I gagged for air. He moaned and moaned my name until it was unrecognizable. I felt his body tensing and I knew he was very close. He started to pull away, but I held him inside my mouth as his body convulsed and the first jets of come hit the back of my throat. He flexed and pumped his hips a little as shot after shot of come when in my mouth. Some began oozing out of the sides as he shot faster than I could swallow. The jets slowed and stopped as his body continued to spasm and contract. I sucked the last few drops of come from him and released him as he slumped over and collapsed on top of me in exhaustion. Once again we had shocked each other to silence. He stared at me for a while and I realized that our bath time was in vain since we were both covered in sex funk again. "I need to eat again, I am completely drained. You must be hungry too." He said as he got up from the bed and started towards the door. I would have loved nothing more than to stay the night with him but I knew that was impossible. I pulled myself from the bed as well and began picking up my clothes from the floor and dressing. "Let's have a snack before you." He was being so causal about the whole thing as if we had actually spent the evening studying and not screwing each other to oblivion. "Okay, but I need to go home right after or my parents will be pissed." And that was all we said to each other. We were silent as we ate our peanut butter and jelly and on the drive to my house. I began to wonder if it had all really happened. I mean maybe I just daydreamed it all and the day really ended after we left the library. Maybe he dropped me off at home and I took a nap and just dreamed about making love to him. But the ache between my legs and in my thighs told me that it did happen. I could almost still feel him inside me. I wanted to tell him that he was great, that I really, really liked having sex with him, but we were awkward now. We were more awkward than before we started talking. We were both stuck inside our own heads and I had a fresh batch of questions plaguing me. He didn't even look at me until we pulled up to my house. I noticed that the living room lights were on. They were probably about to have dinner. My sister was probably on the phone and my little brother was most likely playing video games. Life was normal in my house and here I was about to walk in completely different. I was a woman now, wasn't I? He turned to me and kissed me slowly, passionately. He looked into my eyes and started to say something but then stopped. He just stared at me for a long moment so much that it made me turn away from him. "Tia, thank you for helping me with Spanish. I had a wonderful time with you. Um, I'll see you in school tomorrow, okay?" Then he got out of the car and opened my door to let me out. That was it. He acted like we weren't even together in the heat of passion just a few minutes before. I'll see you tomorrow! He didn't even offer to call or give me his number. I got out of the car and started to walk away, anger was showing on my face. I felt tears start to well up. He grabbed the strap of my bookbag and pulled me to him to hug me tight. "Tia, I just don't know what do to now or what to say. Everything is the same but so different. I just don't know what to do." He was nearly sobbing and squeezing me tighter. "Don't do anything." I said as I pulled away from him and walked up to my house. I didn't look back but I heard his door slam and his car peel off my block. I realized that I wasn't in trouble when I walked in because no one even asked me where I was. They had just assumed that I was at a late study session and that was all. I didn't want any dinner. I took a shower and went straight to bed. I slept like a log until 3 am when I awoke from a dream of a million tongues licking me all over. I was sweating a shivering when I woke up. I felt the tenderness between my legs and remembered my day with Mikey. How would I ever be able to look at him again? What would I say to him in school. I decided that I would just play it cool. If he didn't say anything, I wouldn't either. Maybe it was just one of those things, a jump off. Maybe he didn't like me as much as I thought, maybe it was just a one time sex thing. Don't catch feelings I thought. I ended up repeating that to myself all night as I replayed and analyzed everything that Mikey had said to me. I ended up staying awake until my sister's alarm went off at 7 am. I had contemplated playing sick and staying home, but I wanted to see exactly how Mikey would act now that things were different. I got dressed and rode to school with my sister as usual but everything was different. Everything that my sister babbled about seemed stupid and trivial. My breakfast tasted bland and even the sun seemed a dimmer shade of yellow. What's wrong with me? I thought. By the time that we got to school I was sure that I was going to go to the nurse and get a pass to go home. I couldn't be there, not today. I couldn't walk those same halls and see those same people when everything about me was different and I certainly couldn't go to Senor Mario's class and see him. No, I would fake sick and go to the nurse right after homeroom. That was the plan. I went to the nurse's office with my "stomach cramps" story in tact. She let my lie down on the cot through first and second periods but when I tried for third period she saw through my rouse and told me to go to class. She checked my temperature, which was perfect and signed my hall pass. I seriously considered cutting, but I had never cut a class in my life and I wasn't going to do it in the tale end of my last year. I rounded the corner to Senor Mario's class with my stomach in knots. I did not want to see him. Maybe he didn't want to see me either and decided to stay home, that would be terrific, but no dice. There he was standing in the doorway the same as the day before, but this time he was scanning the halls looking for someone, me? I watched him for a moment and realized that I wasn't breathing. He was as beautiful as before, even more so because I knew what his skin felt like, his kiss, I knew how he felt inside me. I felt as though I were melting as I looked at him. He turned his head in my direction and smiled slightly. The warning bell rang, I had no choice but to go to class and in a replay of yesterday's events, I would have to walk past him to do it. I walked up and stood at his side. I wanted to simply slide past him as if I were invisible, but that was impossible. He was staring at me as I squeezed past him. I made sure to make my body as small as possible and press myself into the opposite side of the door frame, but my efforts were in vain because our hands grazed as I passed. The shock of our bodies touching made me shiver, that one touch brought all of the feelings and pleasures of the previous day flooding back to me. I froze for what seemed like forever, I stood there staring at him, the air between us was loaded with questions and longing but we said nothing. The same giggly girl from the day before pushed past me while grinning at Mikey. I used her as a shield and moved past him and on to my seat. I sat down and took out my books as the final bell rang and I noticed him still standing in the doorway. I locked eyes with him again and didn't not turn away, instead I looked at him and saw his fear for the first time. The world froze and the space between us seemed more than a few feet, more like a universe. I wanted more than anything to go to him to heap my questions on him, but I was glued to the seat unable to think as I watched him walk away from the classroom.

It's just one of those days that feels like it's been years coming. It started out with a mission. That alone shouldn't be intimidating enough except this mission just so happens to be at an abandoned Schnee mine which only reminds her of the grime her family's legacy has become at the hands of her father. Then of course, her father just had to make an appearance. Because nothing goes past him in Atlas. He doesn't even need the mine anymore and yet he still makes a scene when someone else actually wants to put it into good use. How typical of the greedy man. He'd sooner threaten people before anyone could pry anything from him. And that's exactly what he tried to do to Weiss. Just like how he had married into the family name, he didn't see Weiss as his daughter. No, he only threw around the word whenever it was convenient for him. When in reality, she was less family and more of a possession for him. Just another thing he owns and controls. That's why as soon as she cut herself from his strings, he threatened to strangle her back into his servility. "It was my decision to come here." It wasn't the easiest decision but it's one she does not intend to regret. More importantly, it was her decision. She didn't do it because she was told to. She did it because she chose to. And no matter how terrifying this decision was, she'd choose it again over letting anyone else dictate her life. Which is ironic because she came back here. Here where her greatest dictator lived. Here where she too had once lived in. She may have been born and raised here in Atlas but she didn't come here to come back home. "Just like it was my decision to leave." There's no coming back home when there's never a home to begin with. If it was just about her, she wouldn't come back at all. But to make such an egotistical decision would only prove that she never unlearned her father's selfishness. And the last thing she wanted was to prove that man right. This isn't just about her. This isn't about the Schnee Dust Company either, although it's part of it. A part that she can never be rid of. Not that she wants to be rid of it but more of she wants to take it back. But that's besides the point. She came back because there were higher stakes involved. She came back because they were stuck and they couldn't afford to stay stuck for long. She came back because she and her team needed to move and this was their next step. She came back because this was the only way for them to move forward. "Believe me, I know exactly the kind of man you are." The kind of manipulative man who told everyone she had a mental breakdown as an excuse to keep her imprisoned in their mansion. The kind of self-serving man who told her personally that she was being unreasonable for being miserable on his account. The kind of gaslighting man who remembers her mother only when it's convenient for him to guilt trip her with. The kind of cruel man who slapped her when he wasn't satisfied enough with his just as merciless words. The kind of abusive man that she had grew up calling as her father. The very same man that she had just stood up against. That was just this morning, and by night she received her huntress license. And while these two aren't necessarily mutually exclusive, she feels as though both monumental milestones happening on the same day is a bit overwhelming, to say the least. So here she is now. In Atlas Academy, going over everything that has happened today, and everything else that has led up to this moment. Any longer then she would have started thinking about the future too. But it seems a distraction is in order, as she soon catches the scent of roses before she could get caught off guard. "Ruby." She calls out just before her partner materializes in front of her in shock turned pouting. "Aww, how did you know? I was being sneaky!" She whines, abandoning all stealth for the blatant display of disappointment. "Leave the sneaking business to the professionals like Blake." She pokes her forehead. "If you really wanted to surprise me then you could have just put your speed to use." "Oh!" She immediately lights up as if only just remembering her semblance. "Oh, yeah! Pfft! Why didn't I think of that?" Without warning, Ruby takes Weiss in her arms. Red and white burst, and scatter. When the world finally stops spinning, Weiss finds herself on a balcony. "Sneak attack success!" Ruby proudly proclaims her victory. It takes Weiss a few moments to gather herself but once she does, she's back to reprimanding. "There was nothing sneaky about that, you dolt! I've already been preempted! You could have at least waited for another opportunity, preferably on a different day." "But Weiss! I can't wait for another opening! That'll be too loooooong!" She drawls on. "I wanted to surprise you now!" "The only surprise here is how you didn't just dash up to me like usual." "That still counts!" It really doesn't but Weiss doesn't make another comment. She lets her partner have this small victory even if only to see her infectious smile longer. Which by the way, Ruby catches her staring and just grins wider. Warmth bubbles up in her chest until it spills out in laughter. It's only the two of them out here but with their efforts combined, they easily fill the night with sounds of joy. Eventually their fit of giggles subsides, and silence returns while the warmth lingers. It's strange but not entirely unexpected how Atlas has never been warm but now with her partner here, she doesn't feel the least bit cold. "Sooo, what's got you all broody this time?" Ruby pulls away, still smiling but softer. Weiss scoffs. "Like you're any better. What? Being a licensed huntress and you're already too busy brooding to enjoy cake?" Like being caught with her hand in the cookie jar, which has happened many times before, Ruby wears the same embarrassed expression. "Ehehe… You uh, saw that?" "Kind of hard to miss when there's a dolt missing who's not eating sugary treats." She pokes her in the chest for every point she makes. "If Qrow hadn't already gone up to stay with you, I would have been sitting in his place." Before Weiss could poke her again, Ruby's finger pokes back at her poking finger. "Well you know, you could have sat elsewhere too— with us, I mean." Ruby pokes harder until Weiss relents and breaks contact just as she proves her point, "It's not like all the seats were taken." "Perhaps but…" She hesitates longer than she should have. And even when she reasons, she sounds less explanatory and more hesitant. "Unlike you, I didn't want to intrude on a… family moment." "Aww, but you won't!" Unlike Weiss, Ruby shows no hesitation at all. There is no doubt in her declaration as her eyes shine like solid silver forged with nothing but faith. "Besides, didn't you say that we're family already?" Family. For the longest time, Weiss doesn't know what to do with that word. It certainly hasn't been her favorite word growing up. Family meant an aggravating younger brother who hasn't even grown up yet but already plays the manipulative games that adults construct. Family meant an admirable older sister who tries but could have been more present. Family meant an alcoholic mother who would rather much be absent than sober. Family meant a controlling father who ran the household much like he does his corporation, tyrannical. Whatever the word family meant, her own family has obscured that. No, not obscure, they ruined it. She was robbed of a family growing up. She grew up playing pretend in that house, not really understanding that it was only pretend until her tenth birthday. She was so young, too young. It wasn't fair. She was only a child, just turned ten, and she only wanted to celebrate with her family, and this wasn't how things were supposed to be and— She feels a familiar comforting hand on her back. It's warm, and solid, and it steadies her. Suddenly she remembers where she is. Returning to Atlas may have brought back memories of this accursed place but those aren't the only memories that she's brought back with her. She knows now what family truly means, what a family is supposed to be like. Family meant Blake who even though they did not see eye to eye before, they worked through it and now she's a trusted confidant. Family meant Yang who says she's the big sister when really she acts more like their mother in her own considerate ways. Family meant Ruby who for all her quirks and sometimes childish ways, is genuine and loves her just as much as Weiss does. Ruby, who she couldn't have asked for a better partner. She meant what she had so proudly declared back then. They weren't just her friends. They're her family. Just like back when she was still facing the man who parades to be her father, Weiss only truly relaxes once she's reminded that she's not alone in this. Not anymore. She has her team, her true family, and more notably, she has her partner who has her back. With the hand still on her back, she breathes easier. "Weiss?" She turns her gaze towards Ruby, only to find her frowning. "Your dad sucks." That's one way of describing him. She sighs, suddenly exhausted with years of dealing with that man. "I'm well aware." "He really sucks." "That he does." "He just— Ugh! Just, why! He's so UGH!" Ruby keeps interrupting herself with frustrated groans and fuming shouts. "Why is he— Who does that?!" It's endearing to see her partner so worked up about her vexing father. That says a lot knowing that Ruby, who has a bleeding heart, who has silver eyes powered by love, who signed up to be a huntress solely just to help people— does not tolerate this man. Weiss can tell that if she asked Ruby, she would be down to fight him. It's a tempting thought but she'll entertain that idea another time. "Well as you so eloquently put…" Weiss makes a halfhearted gesture with her hand. "He just… sucks." "It's not f—" Ruby immediately shuts her jaw tight. She doesn't need to finish that sentence for Weiss to know where it was headed. It's something that doesn't need to be said when they know it too deeply through experience. Lots and lots of experience. "I'm so sorry your dad sucks. You deserve better," Ruby says instead, still just as sincere and maybe softer. "Perhaps but that's not the way the world works, does it?" Weiss dares to say what Ruby couldn't. "It's not fair but a lot of things in life aren't fair. This just so happens to be what I was dealt with." She feels Ruby's hand on her back tighten ever so slightly. "You shouldn't have to deal with such a horrible parent." "Hopefully after what happened today, I'll be dealing with him less." Weiss shrugs. They stay quiet for a while. Just when Weiss thinks that's the end of that topic, Ruby surprises her. "You know, my dad could be your new dad instead," She suggests all too sincerely. "Ruby, as generous as that offer sounds, aren't we getting ahead of ourselves here?" It's more than just generous, it's downright benevolent, and sweet. But that's not the point. "I haven't even met your dad yet. How do I know if I'll like him? Or if he'll like me too?" "That's easy! You'll like him because he's the best! And..." Ruby instantly lights up the night with her brilliant smile. "He'll love you for sure 'cause he knows how much I love you!" And as bright as her smile is, Weiss thinks that Ruby's silver eyes just might be shining just a bit brighter too. "When we visit Patch together or when all of this is over, I'll introduce you to dad." She moves her hand to rest on Weiss' shoulder, her arm spanning the other shoulder, and continues in grandiose, "And then he'll say, 'Wow! That Weiss girl is really, really, cool… and I want to be her dad!'" For a moment, Weiss imagines it. She imagines her goals with the SDC accomplished. She imagines their fight against Salem over. She imagines them settling down in Patch after. She imagines being introduced to what a father should be, and then being treated like how a daughter should have been. For the longest moment, she imagines what a life after would be with her partner. Ruby must have taken her silence as disapproval because she hurriedly adds, "I-If you're that iffy about it 'cause we skipped some social protocol or whatever, we could even ask for his… his uh, blessing? Bless you? Is that it? Ack! Words! Why can't you just accept the love like normal people!" The blessing of Ruby's father… Well, when Ruby puts it that way, Weiss… wouldn't be so opposed. After all, they are partners, aren't they? Just as she's about to quell her partner's worries, someone else interrupts— "Wow, getting licenses one day and then proposing on the same night? My little Rubes is growing up so fast!" The duo turn to the obnoxious source and see the other half of their team walking up to them. "Proposing what?" Ruby innocently asks. "Not another word from you!" Weiss threatens instead. The only response both of them get is the blonde's guffaws. "Yang, go easy on them." Blake tries to reel in her partner's teasings. "I am," Yang says with a cheeky smile that says otherwise. "They're just too easy, ha!" In the background, Ruby remains confused while Weiss continues to be annoyed. Not one to be one-upped, she decides to remind them that two can play this game. And she only plays to win. With arms now crossed and her chin held high, she smirks. "You're just jealous because Ruby here has made the move first between the two of you." Hear that? That's the sound of silence. Coincidentally, that's also the sound of Weiss' resounding victory. Yang's jaw drops as Weiss looks on smugly. Sweet victory. Blake snickers. "She got you there." Weiss flips one of her hands palm up and Ruby quickly smacks it with her own. "Yeah! Go Weiss!" Ruby doesn't quite get it but she knows a burn when she sees one. Plus, she's supportive like that. Yang looks at Blake, then at Ruby, and then finally at Weiss who's still wearing that smug grin. She recovers soon enough with a scheming laugh. "Ohoho! Someone's eager to join this family! C'mere little sis number two!" She pulls in Weiss for her well deserved noogies. "Hey! Do you know how hard it is to get my hair like this?" Weiss tries to break free but it's futile against the blonde brute. Yang just noogies her harder in retaliation. "Who cares? We're going to sleep in a few so it's going to get messed up anyways!" "I do!" Weiss screeches. "If you mess it up this way, I'll end up with tangles!" "Don't worry, Weiss! I can help you with the brushing!" Ruby chips in. It's a lovely offer for later but it's not much of a help right now. Click. She hears the shutter of a camera first and to her horror, she sees Ruby holding up a scroll. "Did you… Did you just take my picture?" She asks even though the evidence already speaks for itself. Ruby squeals. "You just look so cute right now!" She happily shows her the picture. She does not, in fact, look anything close to cute. Her hair is messed up to the point that even a bird's nest looks more tidied up than her hair. Her face is frozen in what looks like a scowl but at this angle, she looks almost like she's about to sneeze except scowling. If it was her, she'd say she looked atrocious, at least definitely not presentable. But Ruby says otherwise. She even goes so far as to say that she looks cute. Cute— in this mess? Weiss knows for a fact that she does not look cute. However that doesn't mean that Ruby's compliment loses any of its effect. If only Weiss had a mirror, then she'd see the telling blush blooming on her face. "Careful Weiss, you don't want to look obvious on top of that too." Blake comments all too amused and Yang has to lean on her partner's shoulder as she laughs so hard. "Shut up." Weiss' red face is out of annoyance and definitely not out of embarrassment. "So cute!" Ruby gushes as she takes a few more pictures of her, and then some of them together. This only darkens the shade of red on Weiss' cheeks as she hears snickers from the side. She would have pointed out that those two are no better since they took pictures too earlier that night but she'd rather they move on this topic altogether. She clears her throat and casually brings up, "You know, there's a lot of free time in between missions." Ruby gasps and absentmindedly, she puts away her scroll. "Are you… Are you saying what I think you're saying?" Weiss shrugs. "I'm just stating facts. They just coincidentally might be helpful in arranging an… excursion." As soon as the word drops, Yang snorts. "It's okay to call it a date, Weissy." "I wasn't suggesting just for us two!" Weiss' voice hits an octave higher in her rush to rebut. "Really?" Blake cuts in. "Because that's too bad. Yang and I could have easily let you two go without us." Weiss' mouth opens to counter… only to have words seemingly fail her. "Why not both?" Ruby suggests. "Team bonding and then partner bonding!" "Partner bonding? Is that what they call it these days?" Yang wags her eyebrows. "You watch your mouth or I will freeze it shut." Weiss takes the threat to the next step as a glyph forms beside her. "I don't get it." Ruby mumbles unbeknownst to the two arguing. "Oh, wait. I think I get it! Is this a Ninjas of Love reference?" "Ruby, only you and I will get that reference," Blake says, her face suspiciously red all of a sudden, then in an all too serious tone she continues, "They must never ever know." Whether or not Ruby agrees with this, Blake will never know because before Ruby can voice her opinion, she gets accosted by her partner. It looks like Yang bit on Weiss' threat since the two were already engaged in combat. Much to Blake's exasperation and Ruby's delight, they join in the fray. "Yay! Late night combat training!" Ruby cheers as she whips out Crescent Rose. "Of course you would call this that." Weiss shakes her head but it does not take away the smile on her lips. This is her life now, she supposes. This is the life she chose. She chose to attend Beacon. She chose to fight alongside her team. She chose to run away from home. She chose to continue the fight with her friends. She chose to return to her homeland where home is only in the name. She chose to go against the man masquerading as her father. Because if there's anything that Weiss has learned about family, it's that she didn't learn it here at Atlas. No, she had to get out and figure it out herself. Family aren't necessarily the ones who you were born into but those you choose. And she found her family in Team RWBY.

“It can’t be artificial,” Bruce says when they reconvene. “I mean, that’s a conscious person. Drake’s people were good, but they weren’t good enough to make a living creature that’s clearly more than instinct. Artificial intelligence - definitely possible. But a new organism? A new conscious organism?” “It’s a ball of slime.” “It thinks,” Bruce continues, bewildered. “We’ve seen - of course - plenty of aliens, but nothing that deviates from a humanoid form so drastically. How can it possibly - it’s incredible. And it lives inside of Eddie Brock.” “Why though?” Natasha asks. She tilts her head back and shrugs at their looks. “It clearly can think. It wants Brock to eat, constantly, from what we’ve seen. And there’s specific things it wants him to eat. So why does the symbiote need a host? Is that an inherent biological need, or…?” Tony tosses a wrench up in the air shrugs as he catches it, using it as a back scratcher as he talks. “Might not have the digestive system necessary for our planet. Might not breathe air. Might feed off of some hormone or chemical the human body produces when eating those foods rather than the foods themselves. Might not like our sun. If we’re assuming it’s an alien, there could be a number of reasons for holing up inside of one of our natives. We’d need more information to speculate.” “FRIDAY, start keeping a log of any abnormal physical characteristics that Eddie shows,” Bruce orders. He’s tapping a finger against the rim of his glasses as he peers at the still-frame of Brock sleeping with a sleek black figure wrapped around his airway, acting like a neck pillow. “If he looks flushed, is using the bathroom more frequently, sleeping more, if you notice he has an abnormal heart rate - mark it all down. It might be useful later.” “Shall we get back to it?” Tony asks, all false cheer. “Maybe we’ll get more than Brock making goo-goo eyes at the contents of a paint can.” “How much of this are we going to watch?” Natasha asks as they start to settle back into their seats. Her travel mug, pale pink with black splotches of paint splattered across it, has been refilled, and a pair of fuzzy socks cover her feet. If they weren’t stuck in the austere basement of their current HQ that Tony has taken over as his “until things calm down” lab, she’d look almost cozy. “Brock’s clearly a loser, maybe a serial killer, and almost definitely an alien’s host - shouldn’t we bring him in anyway?” “And we will,” Tony agrees. “But if we watch a few more hours, FRIDAY will almost definitely be able to pare down the footage we have to directly watch. She needs some time and our feedback to determine what’s worthy of investigation and what’s more of the same crap. After that, it’ll hopefully be cut to just a few hours of relevant data, which will, hopefully, help us bring him in without getting our asses kicked.” “Hopefully,” Natasha repeats doubtfully. “Life is uncertain and nothing means anything, what do you want from me?” He starts the next set of footage without waiting for her response. Brock walks out of the bedroom and is already laughing, an oozy mess trailing behind him. It looks like he’s stepping in gooey puddles and dragging it forward, but his steps are unbothered and the ooze never lessens or leaves any debris behind. “Eddie, we’re tired.” “Have to go to work, sweetheart.” “No, go back to bed.” “Believe me - if I could, I would. I have to go make money so we can eat.” A wordless groan leaves the symbiote, and Brock laughs harder. He starts his ancient coffee maker and wanders to the fridge. “What do we want for breakfast? Eggs?” “Disgusting.” “Eggs it is.” “No!” Brock has to grab the counter when the symbiote starts to try to drag him back to the bedroom, crawling along the ground inch by inch. Brock narrowly misses slamming his jaw against the counter, crashing to the floor. “You don’t even LIKE work or eggs - Eddie said we could do whatever we want, so we should do whatever we want. And we want sleep.” “We want to be able to eat,” Eddie counters, rather calmly for being hogtied. HIs legs snap to attention underneath him and start walking him back to the bedroom. “If you’re fine with us starving, I’m cool.” “If you’d just let us - “ “We aren’t eating the neighbor's dog!” “We could!” The bickering continues, Eddie grabbing onto the doorframe with one hand while the rest of his body strains towards the bed. Eventually, he goes limp and the symbiote melts out of his chest to pool over him. “On my planet, labor was reserved for the weak. We aren’t weak anymore and therefore shouldn’t have to work.” “Klyntar was pretty fucked up, from what I can tell, so I’m not sure we should be using that as a basis for our day-to-day life,” Eddie counters. “Besides, labor can be fun - “ “Your own memories show you’re lying.” “Yeah, okay, it fucking sucks,” He admits shamelessly. “Especially this job. I hate cooking for other people. And having a perfectly fine burger sent back because it had lettuce on it when they’re on a ‘low-vegetable diet’ makes me want to shoot myself - “ “No!” “I wouldn’t,” Brock immediately soothes, petting the symbiote. “I just mean it sucks. But I do it to take care of us. Keep a roof overhead, keep you flush in chocolate - our society isn’t like Klyntar.” Tony briefly pauses it to say, “FRIDAY, send a message to Thor. Ask if he’s heard of ‘Klyntar’ - not sure if it’s a planet name or a species.” FRIDAY pings him an affirmative, and he lets the footage continue. Brock finishes with, “And I have to pull my weight in this too, don’t I? You keep us healthy, I keep us fed and sheltered. I won’t be a parasite either.” The symbiote wraps around Brock’s wrist and crawls up his arm, finally allowing Brock to stand up. “Okay. It would be better if you could do what you actually want to for compensation, because we deserve the best, but I understand now.” “I’m working on it - the other good part about this job is that it gives me an ear to the ground.” The symbiote perks up. Tony can’t explain how he knows - it doesn’t have shoulders to straighten, or a head to lift, but it looks like it has a shiver running across it, and it seems close to what humans do when something catches their interest. “For bad people?” Brock points a single finger gun at it, pulling eggs out of the fridge. “Got it in one. I’m working on getting a domain name for a website now - ” “And we’re going to be good.” “You bet your ass we are. No more Drakes in our city.” “Our city,” It purrs. “Ours ours ours - “ “Yes, right, now shut up and eat. No time to cook anymore since we had to have a temper tantrum.“ He tosses a few eggs up into the air, and the symbiote envelops them before any hit the ground. Natasha is fast forwarding past a boring couple of days when Steve and Bucky come down through the elevator. Steve still hasn’t learned how to use a razor, apparently, and Bucky looks as haggard and stressed as ever. Tony can’t really blame him - Bucky, at one point, had been content living in a one-bedroom apartment with little more than a paper bag of plums. Now he’s freshly post-war once more and stuck babysitting Mr. Righteous I’ve-Done-Nothing-Wrong-Ever-How-Dare-You-Imply-Anything-Else. Tony would be stressed too if he had to deal with that on top of barely-healed brain damage. “Is this Eddie Brock?” He asks, pointing at the screen. Natasha had paused it at a picturesque moment of Brock shoveling fried rice into his face. Its date stamp says that it’s two weeks since the last video they watched - Something’s different, though, which is likely why she paused there. On screen, Brock’s a mess. He looks like he hasn’t showered in days, and his beard is choppy and has some weird gristle in it. Despite that, he looks to be in good health. His eyes are clear, and the symbiote is draped around his shoulders like a shawl, an extra-long tendril curled around one of Brock’s pinkies. His hands are curled around a takeout container, and his mouth is once again opened just wide enough to look unnatural, and more than wide enough to fit a couple cups of rice in. Tony rips his gaze away and nods, trying to keep his expression as neutral as he can. “Yep. Our resident maybe-cannibal.” “No luck yet?” “The only things he can currently be convicted of are being disgusting, harboring an alien of some kind, and wasting my time. If I wanted to watch wholesome domesticity, I’d watch Full House.” “Full House doesn’t have parasitic aliens, though,” Bruce says. “That you know of,” Natasha points out, sounding quite reasonable. “The Olsen twins are pretty creepy.” “Anyway,” Tony continues. “You two need something? Or did you miss my sparkling personality? I know I’ve been busy kiddos, but Dad’ll make it to the big ballgame, I swear - “ “We thought we’d offer our help,” Steve cuts him off. “It can’t be that exciting. If anyone wants a break, Bucky and I can tag in.” Bruce immediately stands up. “Sure, that’d be great, Steve. I can go talk to Thor and some of the other Asgardians to see if they’ve heard of Klyntar while you keep on with the footage. I might reach out to Quill and his crew, too. They’ve gotten around more than Thor has, from what I can tell.” “With a face like that? Thor’s been around plenty, I’m sure.” Tony grins at their exasperation. “Oh come on, we all know he hasn’t always been the stern, mystical king he wants everyone to see him as. If anyone other than Brock’s had some kinky parasitic loving, I’d put money on - “ Bruce is already walking out the door, and Bucky looks like he regrets letting Steve talk him into it. Steve, too, already has his “I’m getting a migraine” face on. Neither of them make any motions to leave, and Tony, in the spirit of reconciliation and charity, doesn’t finish his thought. He has More-ON (a DUM-E clone he made a few weeks ago when he needed an extra hand and everyone else was busy) bring over another seat, and Steve and Bucky settle in. “Anything we should know before we start?” Steve asks. “Nothing in particular. It’s all weird. You’ll see.” Natasha presses play, and Brock resumes shoveling food into his mouth at a pretty gross pace. The symbiote creeps out of his collar and proceeds to swallow the rest of it - container and all - whole. “Dude!” Brock yells, dropping his fork. “Spit it out! You’re gonna make us barf!” When the symbiote keeps chewing, Brock grabs it and tries to pry its mouth open. “My body can’t digest plastic, come on - “ “So hungry, Eddie,” It whines. The mouth opens enough for Brock to shove his hands in and pry the takeout container, tossing it aside. A huge puddle of saliva pours out of the container onto the floor, viscous and slightly green. “We didn’t eat because you said not to and we want to be good but we’re so hungry.” Steve goes, “What the - ?” while Bucky’s eyes widen. Tony pretends he didn’t have the same reaction at first and laughs at them. “That’s the alien?” “Yep,” Natasha pops the “p” and sips from her mug. “Is it weird that I’m starting to think it’s kind of cute? It’s like a weird dog.” “That’s not a damn dog,” Bucky says. “That’s a. I don’t know what. I’ll have nightmares.” “I thought your brain couldn’t make dreams anymore,” Tony says curiously. “Did the princess fix that or - ?” “No, this is just freaky enough that I can’t imagine not waking up screaming later.” On screen, Brock is tugging the symbiote into a weird one-armed hug and standing up. “I know, I know. Um. Okay. Takeout’s not doing it, so…” He goes back into the kitchen and fiddles around, opening and shutting cabinets and the fridge. “We have half a chicken - “ a loud CRUNCH interrupts him. “Okay, we had half a chicken. I can make brownies? You’ve definitely earned a treat. I've eaten worse than brownies for dinner.” “Brownies? You like brownies.” “You will too. They’re chocolate.” “We LOVE chocolate. Let’s make brownies.” It’s weirdly endearing to watch the symbiote become an apron while Brock looks up a recipe on his phone. He says, “Alright, we need cocoa powder, vegetable oil - “ “Vegetables come in liquid form?” “Not really? I don’t actually know how oil works. Look it up on Google while I get this ready.” Brock’s stirring in the dry ingredients when the symbiote tosses the phone into the living room with a huff. “Why didn’t we beat the bad guys tonight, Eddie? We could’ve. They were bad, and we were hungry. It would’ve been good.” Brock slowly releases the spoon and sighs. “I figured we’d have to talk about it. I know your solution is bite bad guys’ heads off, but sometimes we can’t just do that. I would argue almost all of the time we can’t do that.” “Why not? We’re clearly the strongest. We can do what we want, and since we want to do good, we also have the ethical high ground. And who would stop us?” “That’s not - Just because no one can stop us doesn’t mean we should do something.“ “You wanted to hurt them too though.” “I did,” Brock admits. “This is - These guys are bad news, babe. They’ve hurt a lot of good people, just to get money. It makes me mad. But if we kill them, other people will rally to their cause.” “Martyrdom. When killing someone makes other people sympathetic to their cause.” “Yeah. That. I don’t want these fuckers getting any sympathy. Which means we have to take them down my way. Pen is mightier than the sword and all that.” “Will your words have that much of an effect?” “Honestly?” Brock picks up the spoon and starts stirring again. “No idea. Don’t exactly have as much sway as I did before, and even when I did, changes were minimal. Getting Mr. Jimmy Caesoro and some of his goons arrested tonight’ll work well in our favor, though. So we still did good tonight. And I’ll write my article, see if anyone will print it, and we’ll go from there. And hopefully that legislation won’t go through.” “I want to read your article. You’re very smart.” “Aw, babe.” Brock dumps the batter into a pan and shoves it into the oven. “I would’ve let you lick the spoon even if you didn’t flatter me.” “Nice.” The symbiote does wrap its tongue around the proffered spoon four times. “Can we lick the bowl too?” “I appreciate you asking. Yes, we can.” “I was going to no matter what you said.” “I figured. You didn’t have to say it, I almost thought you were being sweet.” The symbiote cackles and sweeps its tongue over the bowl, lapping up most of its contents. Brock licks some stray batter off of his arm while setting a timer on his phone. Natasha pauses the feed and says, “So. There’s implications of potential cannibalism. The symbiote being hungry and tying that to Brock not letting him kill whatever ‘bad guys’ they came across, as well as them openly discussing killing people.” “Openly discussing NOT killing people,” Steve corrects. “The conversation was about the parasite wanting to kill people but not doing so. Brock clearly has it on a leash - at this point, at least. Do we know how much control the parasite has over him? How much free will does he have?” “As far as I can tell, Brock’s got some decent veto power,” Tony says. “Either that or the symbiote makes him think he does. Unless there’s some major brainwashing happening behind the scenes, it seems pretty damn consensual.” “Could still be brainwashing. The thing has access to his entire body, and there’s clearly more than just verbal conversations happening between them which indicates a neural component. It might be a slow, Stockholm Syndrome type of situation.” Bucky’s making a face that Tony is interested in. “What’s on your mind, sarge? Looking contemplative over there.” He flushes when the others look over too - as he always does when someone other than Steve is paying direct attention to him. “They just. They seem happy. It’s kind of sweet. And the - symbiote? Whatever it is. It’s happy too. And it cares about Brock.” They’re all quiet - even Tony has learned to shut up until Barnes completely finishes talking, because it takes him a little while sometimes. He finally adds, “It doesn’t look like any brainwashing I know of, at least. People who take advantage of other people don’t normally worry about being good.” It’s hard to argue when the paused screen shows the symbiote looking at Brock with crinkled, pleased eyes. It’s a look that transcends the cultural barriers that Tony’s been becoming more and more aware of since “first contact” occurred. That’s how he looks at Peter, how Steve and Bucky look at each other, how Natasha looks at Pepper when she thinks no one’s looking, how Thor pointedly avoids looking like when he’s around Bruce - it’s fondness and affection and adoration and love, so much of it that it can’t stop from spilling out through their eyes. Tony savagely fast forwards so they don’t have to look at it anymore. “Come on, guys, we’re looking for a killer, here. No getting attached now. Not unless we clear them.”

Chapter 14 – Marnie and Me The rest of my journey through Galar Mine No. 2 was fairly uneventful. Ana was oddly quiet as we made our way along the twisting passages, eventually finding the sunlight an hour later. Once I emerged from the cave Motostoke was standing right before me, just about a half hour walk. I turned to my Pokémon and asked, “Do you think I did the right thing back there?” “That’s not really my place to say Kassi. I think you taught a bully a lesson and made sure they didn’t suffer while doing it. Hopefully, what you did taught Bede some humility. If you’re troubled by your actions, however, I would seek the advice of one of your friends.” Said Ana in response. She was right, while she and most of my Pokémon were more intelligent than most people would credit a Pokémon for being, I needed a human perspective on the situation. There was still plenty of day left, so I went into town and decided to see if I could find Hop or Sonia. Hopefully one of them would be around. My first stop was at the Pokémon Center to heal up the party. Mainly I was concerned about my new Ponyta and making sure that she was ok. Once that was done, I went to the Budew Drop Inn and got myself a room with a Snorlax-sized Bed. The lobby was empty at the hotel so I made my way back out of the hotel and went to a Pokémon Café. This special café served treats for Humans and Pokémon. The building was unfortunately too small for Tsunami but I was able to let my Pokémon out one by one to enjoy a treat and chat. I did pick something up for my big brute, however. The first Pokémon I talked to was Hope. When she came out of her ball, I could see that she was still mad at the situation with Bede. “I took care of Bede, so calm down Hope. We have his Ponyta with us now and I fucked him in his ass like I said I was going to do. I even took steps to make sure he wasn’t hurt in the process and Ana made sure he even enjoyed it. Even if I didn’t.” I said. That seemed to cool her anger but not dispel it. Hope asked that I keep her ball active as I talked to the Ponyta and introduced myself. I agreed then she happily ate the spicy cake I had purchased for her. Next was Taiko who happily, and with a great deal of mess, ate a slice of chocolate cake and agreed that what I had done seemed fair to him. “Bede lost, you did what you said you would do. Seems fair to me.” Was his opinion. Bolt had much the same opinion, just put more elegantly, as he snacked on a lemon Poffin. Ana was, for her part, too busy floating around the café and staring at all the new things to really talk with. I did have the owner of the Café, however offer me a special treat for her if I wanted to evolve her into an Alcremie. He told me about the process and I happily purchased the expensive sweet. Ana and I could have that conversation later. The Ponyta was the last member of my team I needed to talk to, but we hadn’t bonded yet, so I didn’t know if I could actually talk to her. The owner had been ok with me having Ana and one other Pokémon out because Ana had been adorable to him in her fascination over his sweets and how he made them, but I didn’t want to push my luck. For Ponyta I bought a Rainbow Bean Bun. It was a specialty from Alola and while pricey, the owner swore up and down that every Pokémon loved it. I had to scoop Ana under my arm to get her to leave the café and made my way out of town to the Wild Area. The sun was shining once again as I made my way to the tree where Tsunami and I had first bonded. I let the big brute out of his ball to swim around in the water and he was elated when I gave him his sweet meat bun. He then swam off to gather his own meal in the lake. Activating Hope’s ball, I sat it next to me then called out the Ponyta. Ana had agreed to being my interpreter, at least until she and I could form a bond. The gorgeous small unicorn came out of the ball with a whinny. Her mane flashed with energy before she settled onto the grass and looked at me, then started to look around at her surroundings. Ponyta then started to whine and stamp nervously while looking around her desperately. “If you’re looking for Bede, he’s not here. He gave you to me after you lost to Hope, my Ninetales. He claimed he didn’t want you anymore so I said I would take you in, give you a loving Trainer and home.” I said in response to what I assumed her questions were. She’d been knocked out cold when Bede had thrown his tantrum and abandoned Ponyta. The petite horse started to stomp and whinny wildly, tossing her head around. “She says she doesn’t believe you. Bede was the one who caught her and trained her. He would not just abandon her like that.” Relayed Ana. “I know it’s hard to believe. Search my thoughts, you’re a psychic-type, right? I’ve got nothing to hide from you Ponyta. I want you to be a valuable member of my team. That starts with open communication and understanding.” I sat up and looked into the eyes of the small horse. Her eyes were a dark midnight blue, but wherever the light shone on them the reflection came back a fluorescent blue. Almost, like they would glow in the dark with a light of their own. I felt a presence wash over my mind then. It was gentle, but I could feel its strength as it ran through my mind. I was able to follow along as the Ponyta ran through my thoughts and memories. Childhood days spent with Hop playing games. Sleep overs full of giggles and gossip with Sonia. My first time sneaking away with Chonk, Mum’s Munchlax, to have him satisfy the strange itching between my legs. My first-time making love with Taiko in the forest. The pain and suffering I had gone through after my initial interaction with Tsunami. My last few lust-filled days since my Challenge had begun. As we grew closer to that moment I watched as the images slowed and grew clearer. Finally, the Ponyta reached the battle between myself and Bede. She watched the entire thing play out in real time through my minds eye. For several minutes we sat there and watched as member after member of Bede’s team was defeated. Finally, the Ponyta herself came out and was defeated by Hope so effortlessly. She shuddered when she heard the fateful words from Bede and cried as he tossed the Pokéball at me and transferred its ownership. I felt the connection pulling back and I spoke, “Finish it all. You need to know everything little one.” With that I made an effort to push the memory towards her. What happened with Hope blasting the rock to pieces in anger at his dismissal of her. My revenge and carrying out my promise to peg him for being a pretentious twat. The strange guilt I had been feeling since the exchange. All of it. The Ponyta then broke the connection and shook her head. I watched as tears rolled down her beautiful white fur, leaving streaks as they went. Her fluffy mane of multi-colored hair visibly deflated and lost its inner glow as she wept. I reached out slowly and tried to touch the poor thing, to bring comfort to her. She recoiled at my touch and looked at me through blurry eyes like I was a Silicobra about to bite her. The Ponyta let out a few low-pitched cries then collapsed to the ground, shuddering with her sorrow. “She asks that you leave her be for now. This is too much for her to handle all at once.” Ana translated again for me. “Let Hope out. The three of us can talk to her and see if we can calm her down. We’ll make sure she doesn’t do anything reckless as well.” Ana said, a hopeful but sad expression in her eyes. “Thank you, Ana, you’re a sweet heart.” I kissed the sweet little milk drop and then released Hope like she had asked. Before I walked off to see where Tsunami had gone off to, I made sure to pull out the Rainbow Bean Bun and set it next to my pack. Then I walked down toward the lake. A quick backwards glance showed me that Hope had curled up next to the Ponyta and Ana was patting her on the back with one of her stubby arms. Ponyta had faced abandonment. Something that Hope was all too familiar with. If anyone could help the poor Pokémon out in this time of need, it would probably be her. Tsunami was sitting on the bank of the lake, finishing the last remnants of his meal. He had apparently caught himself a Magikarp and all I could see at this point was the majority of a skeleton. “Isn’t that some kind of cannibalism?” I asked him, my stomach turning over a little bit at the sight. “Not to me or my kind. Many times, I was almost devoured by a Gyarados in the lake that sat at the end of the stream we met at. This assures that only the smartest and strongest Magikarp become mighty Gyarados. There is no room for a weak Gyarados in this world.” He said in his incredibly deep, slow paced tone. “You are seeing one of only three Magikarp and two Basculin I caught today. It’s been many days since I’ve had a meal fit for me and I was hungry.” “Oh, I didn’t realize you needed that much. I’m sorry Tsunami, you should have told me.” I said patting him apologetically on the side. “No need for remorse, dear mate. I had enough to sustain me and can make up for it when I hunt.” He hummed contentedly as he finished stripping the meat off his meal then tossed the skeleton back into the water. “How is the newest member of our team? I can hear her sorrow even from here.” He commented, moving his head toward the girls that were back towards the tree a few hundred yards. “Miserable, she feels like she was abandoned and that I’m some how to blame, I think.” I sat down and pulled my legs tight against my chest. “You saw everything from your ball, right? Do you think I did the right thing?” “I think that you are foolish to second guess your own actions. You are a strong Trainer. An alpha that has tamed a mighty Gyarados, a powerful Yamper that is soon to become a Boltund of great worth. As well as a truly unique Ninetales that scares even me with her potential power. Let us not forget, Taiko and Ana who in their own ways, are powerful creatures.” He reached his massive head down and I felt his powerful whisker lift my chin so I was looking into his large scarlet eyes. “You are going to become the first female Champion in a Human generation. You might make mistakes along the way, dear Kassi, but that was not one of them. Bede had cruelty and malice in his heart, I think you might have cracked the vessel that held such things, so it will slowly leak away.” I stood up and hugged the big beautiful creature. Tsunami was surprisingly wise for a creature that was supposed to just be a rage-filled killing machine according to most people. “Thank you Big Guy, and you are indeed a mighty Gyarados. How you feeling after last night’s activities?” A deep rumble that sounded like two boulders smacking into each other over and over came from deep within the Gyrarados, his laughter. “Spent but satisfied. I got to deposit my seed three times in one evening, it was a good day. Though I noticed you did not retain mine like you usually do.” “What you like seeing me all ballooned up with your seed?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. When I had gotten Tsunami off for a final time last night, I had pulled him out after the first couple of pumps. I didn’t feel like being cum logged for today’s travels. “What male would not?” Was his only reply. That got me to thinking. I grabbed the balls for Taiko and Bolt and let them out next to the lake. “Boys I want to have a serious talk. I’ve received an item that will let me have an egg with one of my Pokémon. Not like Taiko and Blush putting their eggs for me to carry, but actually have an egg with one of my Pokémon. The easiest way would be to use it on myself and one of you put an egg in me. I think I could also do it to one of the girls as well, according to the person who gave it to me. I want to ask your opinions on what I should do, since you’d be involved as well. I love all of you and would happily have a baby with any of you.” The three boys then became lost in thought for several seconds, it was odd to see Taiko sit still for that long. Bolt was the first to speak, “Have you asked the females what their opinions are Kassi?” His deep melted chocolate tone asked. “No, they are busy trying to get our newest member calmed down. I was planning to ask them though.” I replied. “Is this something you can only do once Kassi?” Asked Tsunami. “No, I think if it’s successful the people that gave me the item would give me more.” I said honestly. “Let us talk amongst ourselves, dear Kassi. I would like to spar with these two ruffians as it were. I feel I am at the cusp of evolution and I would like to again be able to mate with my dear Hope.” Said Bolt standing up on his stubby legs. “Gentlemen, would you be up for a friendly sparring match as we discuss our Trainer’s proposal?” The other two bellowed a response and I walked away as the three started to battle each other without causing serious harm. Bolt, by my guess should have been able to evolve already through battle experience alone, I wondered what was stopping him. I slowly made my way back over to the girls of my group. When I approached Hope nodded to let me know that it was safe to come near. The Ponyta had cried herself to sleep and now rested her small head on the side of Hope as she slept. “How is she?” I asked, keeping my voice low so I didn’t accidentally wake her. “She’s heartbroken, which is understandable.” Said Hope, her red and blue eyes looking into mine. “But, I think she will recover in time and become a valuable sister.” She paused and pushed a lock of pink fur out of the face of the Ponyta with her nose, then looked back to me. “Thank you for helping me master my anger in the tunnel. I might have actually hurt that boy if you had not hugged me when you did.” “You’re welcome Hope. I don’t know if I fully understand your hurt, but I can see why you became so angered at the thought of Bede so casually throwing abandonment around after what you’ve been through.” I reached over and gave Hope a gentle scratch behind her ear. I laid down at the head of Hope and she laid her head on my chest, her nose placed between my breasts. The smell of her cinnamon and berry breath blew past me every time she exhaled. Ana then floated down and came to rest on my lap, adding the scent of flowers. Finally, I caught the scent of the Ponyta. She smelled like cotton candy and ice cream. It was a pleasant aroma, especially when mixed with the other two. “Girls, I have a question to pose for the both of you that I already gave to the boys.” I said, my hands idly petting my two Pokémon. “I’ve been given an item that will allow me to have an egg with any one of you. Since it’s a decision to be shared I want to ask what you think about it. Do you know who I should pick?” Both Pokémon were silent for a time then gave me the same answer the boys had, “Let us consider your proposal Kassi.” Said Hope in her smooth feminine tone. “Yeah let’s think about it.” Said Ana in her girly analytical voice. That seemed acceptable to me and I let myself be carried into a short nap while the boys sparred. This was a moment I didn’t want to ruin. It wasn’t often I just got to cuddle with my girls. Half an hour later the boys woke us up, careful to not disturb the Ponyta. I put her in her ball and sat there with the rest of my team surrounding me. “By the way, does she already have a name that Bede gave her?” I asked. “No, apparently he doesn’t give names to his Pokémon. He claims it’s a stupid sentiment that breeds to much attachment.” Said Ana in response. I huffed, what an asshole. He probably just sees Pokémon as disposable tools. To be thrown away when things don’t go your way. “Well, I’ll have to think of something once I know more about her and her personality.” I said then turned to my team. “Did you all think on my proposal, do you have and answer for me?” I asked looking around to everyone. They all looked at each other and nodded then turned back to me. Taiko was the one that first spoke, “We think you can choose any of us and we be happy Kassi.” He then pointed a hand at Hope, “But I choose Hope.” “I agree with my simian friend. While I dream to one day have a litter with our captivating vixen, I too choose Hope.” Said Bolt pointing his paw at her. “You shall one day breed with me and give me an offspring to be proud of, but for now, I as well choose our fox.” Tsunami said in his deep tones. “Hope! Hope! Hope! Hope!” was Ana’s response as she zoomed around the entire group. Hope looked completely taken aback at the response from the rest of the group. “I was going to say Taiko since he was Kassi’s first partner and has been with her the longest. Why me?” She said with shock in her voice. “I can answer that.” I said walking over and hugging my beautiful vixen. “Because they all see you as the strongest member of our team. You’re the alpha among my Pokémon.” Everyone nodded in agreement to my words. “For my own part, I would be delighted to have a Vulpix with you Hope. Maybe we could make another beautiful hybrid baby like yourself.” Hope had tears in her eyes as I spoke and nuzzled her face into my chest. “Let me think about it and let us beat Kabu first. Then we can revisit this subject. But,” she hiccupped, “thank you everyone, and thank you Kassi for loving an outcast like myself so much.” I kissed her cheek then felt my entire party squeeze in tight around me for a group hug. We held there for a minute then all got up. I let gathered my bag and noticed that the Rainbow Bean Bun was gone. That, at least, brought a smile to my face. I let the whole party travel with me up to the gates of Motostoke. During our walk I mentioned the treat for Ana that would allow her to evolve. She said she would consider it and let me know tomorrow before the match if she wanted to evolve just now. Once I was at the gate, I had everyone but Hope go into their balls. Even Ana seemed ok with the idea as long as I kept her ball active so she didn’t lose anything in real time. Hope caused a lot of attention to come my way as we made our way through town. She was indeed a famous Ninetales now I heard several people exclaim praise when they saw her and most often it came with my name whispered along with it. I made my way to the Pokémon Center near the hotel and got my team some new moves. Kabu’s gym was Fire Type and he had a reputation for being ruthless and cunning when it came to battles. Tsunami was my front liner, followed by Hope who was neutral to fire. Bolt would be my third stringer but with him not yet evolved I didn’t know if his speed would be enough for this fight. “Hope, do you have any idea why Bolt hasn’t evolved yet? He should have enough experience to have done so by now.” I asked. “No clue Kassi. I think maybe he just needs some of your attention, shall we try tonight?” She asked with a twinkle in her eye. The sly fox was horny and I caught just a whiff of cinnamon as we stepped up to the Move Reminder’s desk. I taught Tsunami Crunch, Waterfall, Rain Dance, and Hurricane. The last move was a single use TR that cost me as much as a Full Heal, but it was worth it to have the type coverage. Bolt got Thunder Fang and Fire Fang as TRs but they were much more reasonably priced. Hope was already as built up as I could get her, but the Reminder looked at her, his screen, then back to her. “Miss, your Pokémon has a unique move I’ve never seen before. FireFrost Blast. It’s a Special Type attack, Base 120 accuracy 85 but deals fire and ice type damage.” He said. That sounded amazing! It must have been what Hope had used in the mine against Bede. I had her forget Dazzling Gleam and pick up that move. I thanked the gentleman and we made our way to the hotel. As I entered the lobby, I was stopped by a bunch of Team Yell goons. “Oi, Marnie wants a word wit’ ya.” Said the man I recognized as the one who had been harassing the guy on the bridge. “Yeah, and what would that be?” I said derisively. “I wanna test your strength for a special prize.” Said a sweet female voice. Marnie then stepped through her group of fans and stood in front of me. The word Goth-princess popped into my head when I looked at her and I actually kind of dug it. “I see you changed your look, nice.” She said as she let her eyes take the elevator ride down then back up me. “Thanks, but what’s this prize you’re talking about?” I asked also giving her the obvious up-down in return. “Dinner date with me, possibility for a happy ending if you play your cards right.” She winked and blushed at the last part. She then held up a ball in front of her. “What do you say?” “You’re on girlie, but you get to buy us each a nice dinner gown for the date. I’ll pick up the food” I said and she smiled. “What about if I lose?” “Then you get to buy both.” She said. So, this was Marnie’s odd way of asking me out on a date? I’d take it though; she certainly was cute enough. “Deal.” I said then walked out of the front of the hotel and motioned for the girl to follow. I didn’t wanna get kicked out of the hotel for damaging the lobby. I kissed Hope on her nose, “Go get her my special girl.” I said. Hope leaped in-between Marnie and I and the Trainer tossed out a Croagunk named Wanda. That wasn’t good, Hope was no good against fighting types and it resisted some of her attacks. Luckily it tried to use Sucker Punch as I called Hope back to her ball and called out Tsunami so the attack didn’t do anything. Tsunami appeared with a roar and stared down at the small fighting frog. “Hurricane!” I yelled and suddenly a mass of air pulsed out of Tsunami. The Croagunk was sent flying backwards taking a good amount of damage from the buffeting winds. Marnie also had her skirt fly up by the sudden rush of air and I got a glimpse of an adorable pair of white panties with a cartoon version of a Teddiursa on them. She yanked her dress back down and stared daggers at me while her cheeks burned a deep red. I clapped my hands to my cheeks and squealed. “SO CUTE!” I practically screamed the statement. That was the cutest damn thing I think I’d ever seen. This tough looking woman who wore studded leather and boots wearing little girl panties. “Toxic!” Marnie shouted and the Croagunk hit Tsunami with a blast of poison. Suddenly his movement slowed and I knew he’d been poisoned. “Sorry buddy I got distracted. Hit it one more time then I’ll get you healed up.” Tsunami let another massive blast of wind go and the Croagunk fainted. I noticed this time that Marnie had held her skirt in place during the attack. I called back Tsunami so he wouldn’t be affected too much by the poison and tossed Taiko into the fight at the same time she sent out a Scraggy. Damn, a dark/fighting type. If only I could use the Ponyta, this would be over in one hit.   “Taiko, Left, Right, DH, Back, Up, RL.” I gave a string of commands and he leapt into action. The Scraggy tried to use Beat Up but Taiko dodged the punches by weaving left then right following up with two hard smacks from his sticks. After those blows, he jumped back narrowly missed a Headbutt. Finally, he leaped into the air to dodge a Low-Kick and blasted the scraggy with a Razor Leaf right to the face. The Pokémon went down in a heap and Marnie called her back. “Pekums, lets get her!” Marnie called out and tossed out a Morpeko. The little Pokémon that had woken me up countless times as my alarm clock back home was one of my favorites and I couldn’t help the girlish squeak that came from me as I saw the adorable little Pokémon. “Thunder Shock!” Said Marnie with clear annoyance in her voice. Taiko tanked the hit and just shook his head after being zapped by the little Rodent. “RL, Left, Right, DH.” I ordered and watched as Taiko carried out the string of attacks. Pekums tried to counter with a bite once Taiko got to close but it was too slow and the Mouse was knocked out as soon as it was shifting to its Hangry Mode. “Well done.” Said Marnie with clear disappointment on her face, the crowd of Team Yell members that had been making a ruckus behind her during the entire match was still cheering her on with encouraging words. Telling her to not give up and she’ll win next time. I had Taiko go back into his ball and walked over to Marnie. “Well done yourself. Now, let’s heal up our teams and head out on the town.” I looked to the crowd of people that were slowly starting to surround us. “Uhm, could we have an evening, just the two of us please?” I asked politely. I got a whole bunch of “Sorry” “Sure” and “You bet” as the crowd dispersed and went back in to the hotel. I turned to Marnie, “How do you handle all that attention all the time?” I asked raising an eyebrow. “I don’t always have them with me and they mean well, but it can be overwhelming at times too.” She turned back to me with a snap, suddenly remembering something. “You saw, didn’t you?” Her eyes narrowed and she clutched at her dress. “What?” I smiled my biggest shit-eating grin. “You’re super cute teddy panties? Nope! Wanna see mine in return?” I laughed as her face lit up like a Cherri Berry from embarrassment. Then as I turned to walk to the Pokémon Center, I flipped up the back of my dress so she could see that I wasn’t wearing anything underneath my skirt. I didn’t know she could turn an even deeper shade of red, but she managed somehow. We got our team healed up then went to the boutique in town. Marnie picked out a black evening gown that sparkled with embedded silver thread. The dress had a halter top and long skirt. It was modest, yet sexy as it showed off her slight curves. Marnie had a petite build. Thin in the hips and bust but she was somehow even shorter than I was, not even hitting 5 foot. (1.5m). She had her hair in her signature punk rock style and had applied some dark makeup to her face. I went for a hot pink dinner gown. It had a plunging neck line and was backless. The left leg had a slit that ran all the way up from the ankle length skirt to my hip. It showed off that I had the opposite build as Marnie. I was just at 5-foot-tall (1.5m), had full hips and a tight yoga butt, thin waste and flat stomach and on my chest sat my perky D cup breasts. I had tied my platinum blonde hair up into and elegant bun and pinned it with a Kantonian Hair Stick. I had also applied a hot pink lip gloss to go with my new dress and fixed my makeup. Marnie paid for the dresses, which were a bargain considering how sexy they were, and I called to reserve us a table at the nicest restaurant in town. I held out my elbow and Marnie took it as we walked through town, turning heads everywhere we went. Several times throughout our travels I caught Team Yell members lurking in the shadows, spying on our date. I couldn’t wait until this evening to see how they might react. The restaurant was lavish and Marnie and I turned every head in the place as we made our way in. We were seated against a window and could see a view of the beautifully lit townscape below. Our waiter brought us some wine and told us that our meal had been taken care of by a benefactor. I looked around the restaurant to see who the mystery person was, but didn’t recognize any faces. Without fear of bleeding myself dry I ordered a moderately expensive steak and Marnie ordered a special of the chef’s, Shepard Pie. We laughed and chatted as we sipped the wine and waited for our meal. Marnie and I came from different worlds. She was from Spikemuth and her brother, Piers, was the Gym Leader there. She had grown up in his shadow and was now trying to take on the Challenge to prove her superiority to her brother. Like me, however she didn’t come from a lot of Money. Spikemuth was a run-down poor city and the only Gym that wasn’t a Dynamax Capable Gym. She was a big music buff and after a couple of glasses I even got her to a sing a little for me. Marnie’s voice was beautiful when she sang and I found myself so lost in it I didn’t even notice our food arrive. We had polished off the first bottle of wine already and the waiter brought a second without even asking. The deep red paired amazingly with the steak and potatoes. Marnie and I enjoyed more conversation and giggles as we polished off our meals. During the meal we had someone approach us. It was a young girl who looked like she might be just old enough to attempt the kids challenge in the fall. “Excuse me, you two are in the Poképhile Challenge, right?” The girl spoke in a nervous tone and could barely make eye contact with either of us. “Yes, we are. I’m Kassi and this is Marnie. Why do you ask sweetie?” I asked having to focus so my words didn’t slur from the wine. “Well I’ve watched both of you on the telly and you both look so strong and pretty and I just wondered if I could get a picture with you?” She said, her face turning a little red with embarrassment at having asked. “Sure! I’m ok with it if you are Kassi.” Marnie replied. I agreed and we posed for a few pictures for the girl’s mother who had come over to take them. My favorite was the little girl doing my signature pose beside me as Marnie struck hers. I asked the girls mother to send that to me and I made it my background on my Rotom Phone. When we were done Marnie signed a card and handed it over to the little girl. “What’s that?” I asked. “You mean you haven’t made a League Card to pass out yet? But, you’re like, the crowd favorite Competitor right now?!” She said, shocked. “No, I haven’t. I wasn’t aware that we were supposed to. Where do I go to make one?” “Pokémon Center, we’ll do it later.” Said Marnie. I asked the girls mother to send me a mailing address and promised to send her a signed card as soon as I had made one. Then the little girl asked me about Hope and if she could see her. I asked the waiter if I could release my Ninetales here and he nodded since she was so famous. Hope came out of her ball and fanned her beautiful tails out to make the girl squeal in delight. She petted Hope on the head and marveled at how gorgeous she was. Even Marnie stared at my beautiful vixen. “What happened to her eye? I don’t remember seeing that on the telly.” Said the little girl, who was apparently named Jessica. “Her Mama didn’t like the fact that she’s different and tried to hurt her pretty blue eye. I’m glad she missed, aren’t you?” I replied. The girl and her mother both nodded and the girl gave Hope one more hug before walking off. “She was a sweet kit.” Said Hope while slowly moving toward the remainder of my steak. I laughed then handed it to her. “She was a sweet kid. Makes me look forward to becoming a mom some-day.” I said to Hope in response. “How did you know what she said?” Said Marnie, looking at me curiously. “Can’t all trainers understand their Pokémon to a degree?” I said, realizing I’d blown my secret. “Yeah, but that was an oddly specific thing to say to your Ninetales just yipping a little. I thought she just wanted your steak.” Marnie raised an eyebrow at me. I sighed and leaned in close to her, Marnie’s eyes dipped down and looked at my boobs that were probably spilling out a little, then back into my eyes. Smiling at that I replied, “That’s a secret for later. If you wanna know more maybe you should come to my room tonight. 501.” I said then winked. As I sat up, I made a show of adjusting my top so my cleavage showed a little more and Marnie blushed. With the second bottle of wine down and our stomachs full, Marnie and I made our way back into the city. I giggled out loud as two Team Yell members scrambled into a bush once we exited the restaurant. Marnie looked annoyed but didn’t say anything as we stumbled our way back to the hotel. Once we were in the elevator alone that’s when I leaned in and planted a wet kiss on Marnie’s lips. The beautiful punk rock girl leaned into the kiss and pressed her petite body against mine. My hands ran up her back and I tangled my fingers into her hair. By the time the elevator reached our floor we were both one step away from undressing each other in the elevator and fucking right there. I quickly stepped out of the doors and fumbled for my key in my bag. I found it tucked safely in a front pocket and slid the card into the door. It opened with a soft click and Marnie practically tackled me through the door. We tumble onto the floor and I pushed the door closed with my foot. My hands were now pulling at the knot that tied Marnie’s dress top and she had one hand in my dress, fondling my chest. I moaned with delight when she broke our kiss and planted a string of light pecks as she made her way down to my other eagerly awaiting breast. When she took my nipple into her mouth and sucked on it tenderly, I bit my lip and sucked in a soft breath. I pulled hard at Marnie’s tied dress and finally got it to come undone. The front of her dress slipped out of place and I started to wiggle my own hips as my legs attempted to pull the dress off of her. I felt Marnie’s small, perky breasts pressed into my stomach as she continued to lick, suck, and bite at my nipples. Her hand left my breast and slid down my side and into the slit on the thigh of my dress. She hummed softly as she felt how wet my slit was and that I still wasn’t wearing panties. I reached up and undid the top of my own dress and tossed the fabric strips to the side so that my heavy boobs could bounce free. Marnie sat up and pulled herself away long enough to tug at her own dress. Suddenly the petite rocker was naked on top of me. I had just enough time to see her tiny pink nipples that had almost no areola and that Marnie had a small, but well-trimmed, bush of black hair on her cunt. I tried to sit up so I could take my own dress off, but Marnie pushed me back down. “Not yet, we’re still waiting on our guests to arrive and I wanna taste you.” She pulled my dress aside and dove her face into my soaked pussy. “What guests?” I asked, then gasped as Marnie showed me what her tongue could do. She was just as good as Nessa had been, maybe even better. Suddenly, I didn’t care who she was talking about. Marnie ate me out expertly for a couple of minutes while I moaned in delight at her attentions. Then, as I was brought to my first major climax, I heard a key slide into the door lock and two familiar faces stepped into the room. “Aw, you two horny bitches started without us huh?” Said the fiery redhead, Sonia. “Can I get in the middle please?” Asked the honey blonde Rei. Sonia shut the door and Rei had dropped her bag to the floor and was already stripping. “Wait, you horny blonde. We need to shower up, we still smell like the road. You two get out of the doorway and onto the bed, we’ll be there in a minute, save some attention for us.” Sonia said and pushed the half-naked Rei into the bathroom. Marnie helped me up and I slid my dress the rest of the way off. “How did you know about them coming?” I asked Marnie as I followed her over to the bed. She laid down on her back and spread her thin legs for me. In the middle of the short patch of black hair was Marnie’s pink pussy, dripping wet and spread invitingly just for me. I didn’t wait for an answer and dove onto the bed, my ass in the air as a prize to whomever came out of the bathroom first. Marnie tasted sweet with just a little bit of salt. I twisted my tongue around her sweet folds and she moaned. “I know Sonia and she told me that her and Rei were traveling here together. They wanted to surprise you. I think it worked, Mmm.” She trailed off at the end as I inserted a finger into her warm love tunnel and started to swirl it around in time to my tongue. I ate Marnie out until she was panting on the bed then heard a moan come from the bathroom. We both laughed. “Hurry up bitches or we’re going to go to bed without you!” I lied and heard the water immediately turn off and towels being grabbed. I smiled at Marnie and told her to get on all fours next to me. She did and we started to make out as we shook our asses in the air. “Sonia look! I see two tasty rumps for dinner! Do you want the lean meat or the curvy one?” Rei said to the red head. “Hmm, I want some of both, but I’ll take the curvy one for now.” She said and I heard Sonia step up behind me. Rei stepped in behind Marnie and we gasped into each other’s mouths as the two girls dove into our pussies. The head was amazing and Sonia had definitely improved since we’d last been together in this very same hotel. Rei also had Marnie gasping for breath and screaming in no time flat. After the raven-haired beauty and I had both cum at least twice we all switched places. Sonia Sat on my face, Rei eating my pussy as Marnie sat on her knees and ate out Rei. My face was ridden hard by the horny red-head and I even started to finger her ass to get her off harder. That must have given Rei and idea because she did the same to me. A squeak from Rei a few seconds later told me Marnie had followed suit. I also heard Marnie playing with herself and roughly fucking her fingers in and out of herself. Once we had all had our fill of that position I teamed up with Marnie and Sonia and Rei teamed up and we all scissor fucked ourselves to an intense screaming mass of sweaty naked bodies. Not satisfied, I asked one of the girls to get my toys and it turned out that Sonia and Marnie both had the same strap on system. I put Rei into my gear and she chose to have the Grimmsnarl attachment. “Size queen.” I said with a laugh. “You’re not wrong Love.” She winked, “Now close your eyes.” I moaned as I closed my eyes and a blindfold was put over them. I then felt several hands running all over my body, coating me in slick lube. “Wait, let’s all have more fun, someone get me Ana’s ball!” I held out my hand and Rei put it into my hand. I heard Ana pop out and she made a flustered cry. “Kassi you forgot to keep me activated I’m so mad…never mind it’s playtime.” Her tone shifted halfway through to one of pure delight. “Ana, we all need your special combo, then you can have your way with any or all of us until you’re satisfied.” I said. The four of us all cried out at the same moment as Ana penetrated a random hole for all of us at the same time. For me, she got my ass and I felt her special fluids flow into me. Just a few seconds later my entire body was tingling and I was so horny I couldn’t wait anymore. I got on the bed and shook my ass, making it jiggle seductively. I hadn’t seen what attachments Marnie or Sonia had but the snickers I heard told me I was in for something fun. I felt Rei slide underneath me and the large Grimmsnarl cock pushed its pointed tip into my pussy. The large ripples that ran along its length feeling amazing as they slid into my entrance. The thing was also huge and I felt overly full once its full foot-long length had somehow buried itself in my guts. That was until someone else stepped up behind me and I felt a large, flat head press against my anus. “Wait I don’t know if that’ll…”  was all I got out before I felt my eager asshole accepted its large intruder. The head was much thicker than the shaft but it was long and I felt it slide in past even the Grimmsnarl cock. I moaned in pleasure at feeling so incredibly full without any pain. The final person stepped up in front of me and I felt another pointed dick slap me in the face. I opened my mouth and recognized the other large invader going down my throat, because I had almost bought it for myself. This was the dick for a Kommo-o, it had a long thin shaft but bulging rings all along its length that were supposed to feel incredible. I heard Sonia moan as she fucked the big toy down my eager thoat. “And you called me a size queen. You are taking a Grimnsnarl, Rapidash, and Kommo-o dick all at once bitch. Now, let’s see if we can break her girls.” Said Rei and then she started to move her hips. They all did, at the same time, and it felt incredible. My guts were being pushed and pulled against each other by their massive invaders. My throat was being forced to flex and stretch around the bumpy protrusion inside of it. I heard Sonia ahead of me start to moan herself and heard the splashing sounds of Ana’s tentacles fucking her holes as well. While getting fucked that hard I had an almost endless orgasm. As one would start to fade another would take its place from another part of my body. After a few minutes the feeling from the artificial dick and Ana must have been too much for Sonia and she came down my throat. She had actually gotten a strawberry flavored artificial cum and it splashed into my mouth and on to my face as she climaxed, then collapsed on the bed. “One down, two to go Ana.” I whispered and she chuckled. This was a competition or endurance, and I wanted to win. Ana moved next to Marnie, who had been trying her best to break me with her fake horse cock. My Pokémon must have showed her no mercy however and within another minute I felt the fake cum that had a strange warming sensation flood into my bowels. The Rapidash toy popped free with a wet squelch and Marnie flopped panting onto the bed beside me. With only one dick left I started to slam my hips onto the massive Grimmsnarl cock and rode Rei for all I was worth. At the same time Ana helped out by giving the Blonde a heaping dose of her skilled tentacles. I won and felt some of the real Pokémon cum we had collected together flood into me. Rei flopped down and I continued to ride out my orgasm on her dick. Once I was satisfied and Rei’s toes were curling from me continuing to ride her after she’d cum I slipped off the dick and flopped onto the pillow. We were all sweaty, exhausted, and completely satisfied. The three other girls slowly removed their fuck toys and crawled under the blankets next to me. The bed was crowded and hot with this many bodies plus a satisfied Ana resting on my legs but it didn’t matter. Within seconds of everyone settling in, I was out like a light.   ***Message from DmDrewDragon. Thank you all for checking out GTiG. I never dreamed I would take this story so far and the support and love from all of you and those on the GTIG discord have kept my fire lit and powerful. If you want to join us in fun discussions and maybe collaborate on artistic works please join the GTiG discord at https://discord.gg/F5QdwRk*** See you Soon!

Here’s the problem with allowing your imagination to get the best of you. Reality rarely follows the same path, and Ann learnt this lesson the second she opened her eyes the next morning to hear heavy rain bucketing down outside her apartment. Gone were the thoughts of the clear blues skies, the gentle breeze wafting around their faces as they smiled at each other from across the table as the seagulls wheeled and swooped along the waterfront, and instead it was deep grey cloud cover and enough water to be instantly drowned the minute you went out in it. Ann gave a heavy sigh of disappointment as she watched her dreams get washed away outside her window, but her glum mood only lasted a short while when she reasoned that it didn't matter what the weather was, as long as she and Anne could have time together. She got up , showered and did her hair, doing her best to tame her hair, now thanks to the weather, was a wild curly mess, into the elastic hair tie and then went to her limited wardrobe and chose a pair of jeans, pale pink sweater and a pair of brown flats. The sweater was probably not the most practical of choices, being made out of a very thin fleecy material, but it was comfortable and she remembered her sister telling her the colour was flattering on her. At the last minute, she grabbed the pink denim jacket she’d owned since her teens, only because it matched her sweater. By 8 she was ready and out the door, deciding that she would give herself the treat of a cab ride to the cafe, thinking that waiting for two buses and a train would leave her too bedraggled by the time she arrived there. As she watched the grey soggy city pass by the window of the cab, she began to think that she really should of taken an umbrella and the heavier coat as the one she wore was going to offer little protection from the seemingly endless rain. But it was too late now. The driver pulled up to the curb out the front of the cafe, the rain drumming on the roof hard enough that it was difficult to hear how much the fare had been. She paid him and then, pulling up the collar of the jacket, she said a silent prayer that she wouldn't get too wet, before she stepped from the car and rushed as quickly as she could into The Crows Nest. The place was done out in a nautical beachy theme, with light grey weathered looking wood panels coming half way up the walls and then a pale blue, the colour the sky was supposed to have been, going to the ceiling. Pieces of driftwood that were interesting shapes, coils of rope, shadow boxes of seashells, adorned the walls. It was cute and kitschy and even though she wondered if this was a personal favourite place for Anne.   In spite of coming through early morning traffic, she was still 20 minutes early but Ann scanned the busy room for a familiar face anyway. Her first sweep of the room didn’t yield a familiar face and she was about to find an empty table when she heard her name being called and looked in that direction. Her first thought was simply, wow. Just wow. Anne Lister in the light of day, even a day as dull as this one was, made her heart skip a beat. She was beautiful, and taller than Ann realised and she wore it well; dressed in a pair of black pants that flared slightly at the ankles and brushed the tops of a pair of matching boots. Her shoulders carried a jacket that was in the same colour and was open to reveal a loose fitting white blouse that had a dark stripe down either side of the buttons. Smart but casual. And more than a little sexy. Ann headed towards her, returning her welcoming smile. “Miss Walker, I see your a woman of my own heart.” Anne said to her as she waved her into the seat of the booth she had claimed for them, that was tucked around the end of the main restaurant area. “Sorry?” Ann said, a little confused as to what she meant, and trying to ignore the tingles that were running down her spine because of it. “You like to be early to appointments. I thought we said 9,” Anne leaned towards her across the table, dark brows raised and a cheeky grin curving those perfect lips, “couldn’t wait to get here, hmm?” Oh god, it had only been a matter of seconds into this first date, if that’s even what this was, and Anne Lister has her feeling like she had a herd of butterflies in her stomach. She needed to try to get her thoughts together so she wouldn’t start sounding as inexperienced as she really was. “I’m afraid I have a bad habit of arriving early.”She said, feeling her cheeks pink. “Feel free to practise your bad habit in the future, Ann, it will give us that little bit of extra time to spend together. Now, I have something for you.” Ann gave a small nervous laugh but tried to make it sound as casual as she could while all the while a little voice inside her head was squealing in delight and doing backflips at the thought that Anne had eluded to the possibility of a second date. Breathe Ann, just breathe, she recited over and over. Wait, did she say she had something…….. Anne produced a gift bag from beside her and handed it across the table. The surprise must of shown on her face. “This is my way of apologising for ruining that pretty blouse of yours the other night. I hope you find this a satisfactory replacement and that I judged your size correctly.” Anne gave a small wince and then her smile returned. Ann swallowed, feeling more than a little unnerved. She had in no way expected her to go to these lengths to make up for what had been just an accident. “Oh you didn’t have to…….” she started to say, unable to hide her flustered state. But Anne shook her head and brushed off her remark with a wave of her hand. “Please, have a look, see what you think. Oh and don't feel the need to say you like it if you don't, I’m not that easily offended, believe me.” A short raise of her dark brows did funny things to Ann’s insides, as she took the pretty bag and removed the crumpled tissue paper in the top. The blouse was a much finer material than the cheap chain store one she had been wearing and as she took it out of the bag to hold it up, she couldn't help the small sigh that escaped her as the silky soft creamy white fabric slid wrinkle free, over her fingers. This wasn't just clothing, this was couture. Ann began shaking her head. She might of been a complete novice at dating, but even she knew that this was more than generous. “Oh you don't like it? Maybe another colour, perhaps or a different size…..” Anne began. “No, no, it's not that. I love the colour and the size is perfect. It’s just, well, it’s so much more than the one I had on. I never expected you to….” “I know you didn't but I wanted to and besides, I saw it in the store I buy most of my clothes from and it screamed Ann Walker to me. I had to have it for you.” The first thing that popped into Ann’s head was, oh, she’s been thinking about me! She felt her face getting redder by the second, and she smiled back at Anne and unconsciously, bit her bottom lip. Something in Anne’s eyes brightened and flared and she leaned on the table on her forearms, moving closer towards her. “I don't think you know how pretty you are when you blush like that. That blouse is going to look amazing on you. Delicious like strawberries and cream.” Another quick raise of eyebrows and Ann felt like she was going to slide sideways onto the padded seat of the bench. She had to know what she was doing to her, it must of been written all over her face. Oh God, she wished she had more experience to handle this sort of thing. “Thank you.” She said, quietly, looking down and away from the brilliant smile, unable to come up with anything else. Soft fingers came up to gently lift her chin and Ann felt her heart actually hiccup in her chest. ‘You’re most welcome, my sweet Ann.” Ann was totally lost in those two large chocolate brown orbs and had zoned out, Anne’s fingers still touching her skin, her thumb lightly brushing the curve of her chin. She was completely held captive by her and everything else had somehow faded away. A small “huhmm” snapped them both back to reality, and a young girl wearing a T shirt with the name of the cafe written on it stood by their table expectantly. Ann personally would of liked nothing better than to crawl under the table but Anne took it in her stride and just pulled her hand back gently and then turned to the waitress and ordered a cappuccino. They both turned their gazes to Ann who was still fighting to gather her scattered wits. She hadn't even looked down at her menu and had no idea what to get. “Why don't you get the earl grey tea? The type they have here is supposed to be very good.” Anne suggested, coming to her rescue. Ann felt instantly relieved and nodded. “So, tell me about yourself, Ann. where do you work? What do you like to do apart from going out to nightclubs.” Anne asked her, as soon as the waitress was out of earshot. “There’s not much to tell, actually, I moved here after I got a job at the library. I guess I’m still settling in, really. Last Friday was the first time I’ve been out since I moved here. I’ve never been into going to nightclubs. We didn’t have them where I’m from. I’ve had a pretty quiet life, I guess.” She was secretly worried that Anne would find her way too boring. She gave her the impression that her life was the complete polar opposite to hers, and way more interesting. “Oh I think that there most definitely is more to you than most people see. You have quite an air of mystery about you.” She leaned forward again, whispering, “And if there’s one thing I find irresistible, it’s a good mystery.” Ann felt the breath leave her lungs and stick in her throat. Dear god, was she trying to kill her by saying things like that? Was every date with a woman like this or was it just her inexperience showing? Urgh, please don’t let her look as clueless as she felt. Her mind searched for something to say. I have a sister.” Ann blurted out. Why it had been that, she had no idea. “She lives not far from here with her husband and children. Her name’s Elizabeth.” To her small relief, Anne’s face brightened. “Fancy that! I actually have one of those too, a sister, I mean. Only mine’s called Marion. She lives at our Estate with my Aunt and father. I like her well enough but she does tend to disapprove of my, nefarious ramblings, as she calls it. Lucky for me, I can use my job as an excuse to travel.” “What do you do?” “I deal in antiques. I have clients who ask me to find them certain pieces and I go looking for them, basically. I also work for a local auction house as well. It keeps me busy and it allows me to go to some very interesting places. Do you like to travel, Ann?” “Oh no, well, I’m not sure, actually. I’ve never been out of the country. My parents were always too busy working to take holidays overseas. We did have a few family vacations when I was younger, but nothing too exciting.” “I'm sure you’d love it if you did. Maybe one day, we could go somewhere together.” Anne said, smiling and reaching out a hand to touch the back of Ann’s fingers, lightly. She smiled at her softly, and Ann was beginning to feel like that moth to a flame again when the girl returned with their drinks. The rest of their time together was spent making small talk about their jobs, favourite foods, how they liked to relax and fill in their spare time. Ann found it easier than she had thought to have a conversation with her, and gave her full attention when she did. She wasn’t used to this as her sister had always acted like she could care less what she was saying. She always acted like Ann was annoying her. They had both emptied their cups and were still chatting away, when Anne looked at the large faced watch she wore under the cuff of her jacket. “Good lord, is that the time? I had no idea. I probably should get to work before there’s a major crisis or something. I’ve enjoyed our morning together so much, though. We need to get together again, what do you think?” Anne asked her, looking hopefully at her with those expressful brows raised. “Yes, I’d loved to. It’s been so nice. The best day off I’ve ever had.” Ann told her and she meant every word. “It’s settled then. Why don't we have dinner tomorrow night?” “That would be lovely, yes.” Ann agreed. “Fantastic, I’ll text you the details, how about that? Unless you have a preference where we go?” “No, I’m sure anywhere you pick will be fine. I’m easy.” As soon as she said the words she felt her face going nearly tomato red. Anne was doing her best to be polite about it but Ann could see the flicker of mirth in her eyes. Oh god, she was going to think she was an idiot, or something. Ann tried to splutter an apology but her tongue didn't want to cooperate at all but Anne grabbed her hand and then as they stood together beside the table, she put the tip of her finger up to her lips and shook her head. Ann immediately fell silent and hoped that her legs wouldn't give out. “Sweetheart, I know what you meant. And anyway, it was worth it to see that beautiful blush again. Shall we brave the weather?” She asked and dropping her hand, she lead them up to the counter to pay for their order. The rain had let up a little but it was still falling and Ann hoped that she would be able to make it to the bus shelter without getting completely drowned. She clutched the pretty gift bag with her new blouse in it to her chest. “Until tomorrow night, then?” Anne said to her, and they stepped out from under the front of the cafe, feeling the first of the cold drops of rain on their heads. Anne took her hand and brought it up to hold it between them, so she really could have cared less about the weather. “Yes, I’m looking forward to it.’ Ann said, smiling. Anne lifted her hand to her lips and lightly brushed her lips to her knuckles and Ann felt her insides go to mush. “Good bye my sweet Ann, until tomorrow.” She said and then with a final warm smile she dropped slowly lowered her hand and began to turn to leave. Ann was still standing there in a dream as she watched her walk down the street, still feeling the skin on the back of her hand tingling from the warmth of her kiss, which was the reason why she didn't hear the delivery truck coming up behind her on the street. Still smiling to herself and hugging the gift bag, she turned to go the other way, only to have a wall of water sprayed right over her from the tires of the truck. She squealed and went to jump back, the gift bag falling from her grasp. Oh no! The expensive blouse would be destroyed and she hadn't even had a chance to wear it yet. She made a grab for it and at the same time got bumped from behind and for a few horrible seconds, she was sure she was going to pitch face first into the sidewalk, her clothes already soaked from the truck. But just as disaster looked to be imminent, two strong hands came around her waist and pulled her back up right. Ann’s first reaction was one of relief and then she stiffened, terrified some stranger was still grabbing her around the waist. She turned and began to try to struggle out of their grasp, when she came face to face with Anne. She stilled immediately. “Ann, are you alright? Dear god, I was terrified you were about to go head first into the street. Oh look at you, you poor thing, you’re soaked. Come over this way, out of the rain, at least.” Anne’s voice was full of concern and she lead her, clutching her gift bag, dripping wet and cold, under the cafe awning. “Are you alright? You’re not hurt or bleeding or anything?” Anne said, her eyes scanning her from top to bottom. Ann shook her head, trying not to let her teeth chatter. “N-no, I’m fine, r-really, just shaken a little.”she said, and looked down to see that her jacket had offered little protection and the light material of her thin sweater was now clinging to her like a second skin. URGH, she must look like a total wreck. “Here, put this on.” Anne began to help her out of the sodden denim jacket and replaced it with her own, the heavy material still warm from her body. Ann resisted the urge to bury her face into the collar. She could smell the spicy scent of Anne’s perfume on it, the same one she remembered from the club. “How did you come to be there so quick? You must of been half way down the block.” Ann asked her, feeling the borrowed warmth seeping into her skin and calming her rattled nerves. “I heard you cry out and saw what had happened so I ran back to make sure you were alright just as I saw you fall. Lucky I was in the right place at the right time. I was terrified you’d been hurt.” the concern in her voice was very evident and Ann wanted to melt. She reached out a hand and gently wiped her damp cheek. Ann felt herself leaning into the touch, not caring at that moment how damp she still was or what a fright she must look like. “Thank you, for rescuing me. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been there.” Ann said to her and she meant it. “You're most welcome. You should go home and get out of those clothes though. Do you want me to get you a cab?” Anne asked her, but she shook her head. “No it’s fine I can catch a bus. That’s twice I’ve ended up wet when I'm with you.” Ann said, giving a small laugh in the seconds before it dawned on her what she had said. Oh dear god, she’d done it again. The expression that spread across Anne’s face made her mouth go dry. She leaned forward, putting her mouth close to her ear. “Isn’t that a coincidence, so have I.” Ann heard a small squeak of surprise as it left her lips and she pulled back, to see the spark of heat flash behind those deep brown eyes and the impish grin that had taken over her lips. Holy shit, had she really just said that? Before She could react any further, Anne had given a whistle and held up her hand to a passing taxi and it pulled up to the curb before them. “I can't have you catching a cold on me waiting for a bus, now can I? Go home and dry off. I’ll call you later.” In a daze, Ann drifted into the open door of the cab, holding the gift bag and the jacket closed around her in the back seat of the car. She recovered enough to give the driver her address and she turned to wave goodbye to Anne as they joined the rest of the traffic. She had no idea what a good first date was classed as but as far as she was concerned, this one had been brilliant, even with her almost drowning and then her near death experience. Ann settled back into the seat of the cab and pulled up the collar of the jacket, snuggling down into it with a smile. She closed her eyes, and this time, gave into the urge to bury her face into the damp material. Tomorrow night couldn't come fast enough.

The man stood across from the Local TV News Building. He’d watched the footage of the fires that had plagued the city the past weeks and he was not happy. He felt the scenes they showed focussed too much on the rescue missions and not enough on the actual fires. He'd invested a lot of time creating his blazing works of art and to see them being unappreciated was disappointing. The News Channel was more interested in Spider-Man. He felt he deserved more recognition than him. He had grown weary of always being overlooked, laughed at, rejected. The time was right to teach those disrespectful people a lesson. The entire place was rigged up with what the man called 'trigger points'. He'd infiltrated the offices disguised as an electronics maintenance engineer and strategically placed detonating devices throughout the building. In his hand he held a box with a digital coding system. Each device had its own two digit code. All he needed to do was activate them and the fireworks could begin. As well as the explosives he'd left a trail of accelerant as he walked round each floor. It consisted of a fine powdery substance he'd created and placed in the bottom of a tool bag he carried with him. A small opening in the bag meant he could easily spread it about the place undetected. It was so fine nobody would notice it, but it was highly flammable. He took one last look at his target and nodded to himself. Let's get ready for show time. He felt the anticipation course through his veins as he activated the first code. A little one to get things started. Let them think they have it under control and then hit them with number two which would be a big explosion. He grinned as the first bang rang out and shards of glass came tumbling down from the top floor of the building. Then he heard the first screams, like music to his ears. That's it, you better get running.  He checked the live news tv stream on his phone and sure enough there was a breaking story about an explosion in their very own building. His eyes shone as he watched the footage of panicked office workers making their way to the exits. He'd let them get a little closer to the doors and then he'd strike again. A big one right near the main entrance. Here they come, like ants fleeing their plundered nest. He entered the code and pressed the button. The blast was huge as the whole main entrance and foyer went up in flames. People were screaming and yelling, all trying to flee the inferno that was rapidly growing around them. The news footage was going crazy, the cameraman was frantically trying to record what was happening while shouting at people to make their way to the emergency exits.  Oh I've not forgotten about those. A third code was activated and this time two smaller explosions went off simultaneously at separate points by the emergency exits. The people were now trapped inside the building as the flames engulfed the entire ground floor. Windows were being smashed and he could see people jumping out from the second floor. He laughed to himself at their desperate actions. The sound of sirens started getting louder and he got ready to increase the heat. Really give those firefighters something to work for. Maybe their spandex-clad assistant would join them. See how Spider-Man handles this one. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Earlier that day Peter had stopped by the store to see Wade. Mr. S was out on some errand and Tia said Wade was out the back stacking up empty crates for the delivery guy to take away. She told him to go through. Tia suspected there may be a spark between the two men as she had come to the conclusion Wade was gay. Mr. S had of course planted that seed in her head after Wade didn't respond to her flirtations. They would make a cute couple. Wade deserves to be happy. As Peter pushed the door open he caught sight of Wade lifting the crates. He let out a strained whimper as he saw he was wearing a vest top and his big scarred arms were gloriously on display. Peter watched him for a few moments, taking in the movement of his muscles under the damaged exterior. He was sweating slightly so his skin looked all shiny. Peter sighed deeply before he audibly cleared his throat to get Wade's attention. The big guy saw him and stopped what he was doing. Without speaking he walked over to Peter and grabbed a cloth to wipe his forehead. For a tense moment the two men just stood and looked at each other. Then Wade smiled warmly.  "Hi." Peter felt his face burn. He had no idea why Wade's monosyllabic expressions got him all wound up. Maybe it was his deep voice, or his gaze, but Peter was quite literally putty in his hands. "Hi Wade, so ah...you know we talked about you meeting Spidey? Well, I messaged him and if you're free this evening he'd be happy to come over to my apartment to see you. I suggested my place as I figured you wouldn't want the fuss of him turning up here. I can just imagine Mr. S making the most of that photo opportunity to promote his store." Peter did an impression of Mr. S talking to a camera and Wade sniggered.  "Sure." Wade felt such affection for the younger man and couldn't believe he was finally going to meet his hero. All his previous anxiety fell away as he focussed on those vibrant brown eyes before him.  "So how about nine? I know you finish up at eight here, so that would give you time to freshen up. That okay? Hey and don't worry about anything. Spider-Man is a talker so he'll lead the conversation." Peter didn't want to insult Wade, but he wasn't the best communicator and he suspected it possibly made him shy. "Yes." Wade gave Peter another smile. He wanted to touch him, give him another kiss, but he felt hesitant. He didn't know if the younger man had welcomed his advances when he left him on their last encounter. The voice flooded his mind. Just do it, you know you want to. He's going to walk away. Pucker those lips baby. Kiss him. Wade shook the voice off as he threw caution to the wind and stepped into Peter's personal space. The younger man didn't move and gazed up at The Merc with big doe eyes. His heart was almost pounding through his chest as Wade folded him into his big scarred arms. This was more than both of them could have hoped for in that moment.  "Peter." The deep voice went straight through him as Wade pressed their lips together. Peter felt his whole body light up like a flare. The Merc kissed and sucked his lips, parting them with his tongue, greedily entering his mouth. Peter softly sighed and moaned as he submitted to the bigger man's desire. He slipped his hands under Wade's t-shirt wanting to feel the expanse of scarred skin on his broad back. The Merc leant him against the wall and ran his fingers through his thick brown hair. He kissed him so passionately, yet with a gentle touch, not wanting to hurt him or be too forceful. Peter loved the way Wade was holding him. The scars were driving him wild, but the delicate caressing of his face and body was making him want so much more from the big quiet man.  Nobody has ever touched me like that. Wade pulled away from their kiss, Peter whined at the loss of the chapped uneven lips on his. He closed his eyes and leant his head back as Wade mouthed at his neck and moved his large hands down to his slim hips. He reached round and cupped the younger man's ass, tenderly massaging as he sighed in Peter's ear. "Good." One word spoken with such intention it hit Peter right in his groin. He was already hard at the ecstatic feeling of the big guy's blemished epidermis, but his voice made Peter weak.  "Wade, let me feel your hands touching me." Peter grinded his hips towards The Merc, showing him he wanted more, letting Wade feel his prominent erection against his considerably larger one. The younger man bit his lip as he imagined Wade's naked form. Please let that big cock be all scarred up and gorgeous....just like the rest of him. A big warm hand cupped Peter between his legs and he felt Wade carefully squeeze him, pressing his hard on, stroking it through the fabric of his pants. With his other hand he tilted Peter's chin upwards and kissed him once more, sighing through their eager attachment.  Peter was trying not to make too much noise. He knew nobody except Tia could walk into the back, but his anxiety about them getting caught was only turning him on more. He panted and moaned at Wade's increased stroking of his clothed erection, desperately trying to get his own hands into the Merc's pants. Then just as he finally curled his fingers round Wade's impressively bigger and sublimely textured shaft a panicked voice called out from inside the store. Fuck, no. "Wade, Wade, I need you please." Tia sounded distressed as Wade instantly broke free from Peter and grabbed his shirt to cover his hard on. He winked at Peter as he dashed through the door to see what was happening.  "It was him, he was back. That guy, the one you hit. He came right up to me when I was straightening up the newspapers and started saying all kinds of weird shit. He had something in his pocket I don't know what, but he said if I made a sound I'd be sorry. I was worried he had a gun, what a fucking loser." Tia looked visibly upset as Wade put his arm round her and clenched his teeth in frustration. He couldn't believe the audacity of the guy after all these months to show up and start acting like a dick all over again. Peter heard everything Tia said and rubbed her arm in a show of support. He was a little surprised to hear Wade had hit someone, but maybe the guy deserved it. He threw him a glance, but he averted his eyes. Wade looked like he was brooding. "You said he was saying weird stuff, like what? If it's too upsetting don't worry, but you know if the police come they may ask you the same thing." Peter was trying to be helpful, also he wanted to see if it threw up any clues. Maybe somebody else needed a meeting with Spider-Man. "He kept talking about the news station, saying something about being an artist and how the television people had no respect for his work. He said if I watched the news I would see what he was talking about. He said he had something very special planned and the TV station would not forget him again. He sounded like he was maybe high or something." Tia shuddered as she thought about the guy's manic stare as he'd cornered her. Then she remembered something else he'd said at the end. "Oh he also said that all the TV News cared about was Spider-Man."  Peter rolled his eyes. Clearly another idiot complaining about Spidey. He sometimes wondered if it was a jealousy thing. All he did was help people and perform selfless acts of kindness, yet it was never enough. There were always those people who targeted Spider-Man with their pathetic pessimistic attitudes. "Hm he's obviously got some major issues. How do you know this guy? You need to tell the police he threatened you. Have you got any security cameras?" Peter suddenly realised there might be a camera out the back and he fixed Wade with a stare. "Might be worth checking any footage." Wade looked downwards and smirked. "No Mr. S is so goddamned cheap he only has the cameras for show, they don't record shit. The police won't be able to do anything. I don't actually know him at all. He was hitting on me a few months back and then when he got handsy Wade punched him. Knocked him flat out, it was so incredible. He never came back until just now." Tia was talking too fast, she was clearly shook up from the encounter.  Peter noticed Wade looked the other way. He was clearly embarrassed by the story. Peter was kind of relieved. He didn't like to think of Wade being aggressive or violent. It didn't fit with the man he was starting to admire. Peter's urge to explore Wade's scars was slowly turning into something more. He loved the way he had held him so carefully, like he was breakable. Peter wasn't used to being with someone so considerate and giving. The truth was that Wade's soft heart had captured him. I think he may possibly be my perfect man, rough on the outside, soft on the inside. Wade was battling his thoughts. He felt angry that this guy had intimidated Tia, but even more that he had come back for round two. He also felt guilty that he had been fooling around with Peter out the back when he should have been keeping an eye on things in the store. He couldn't let himself be distracted like that. The front of this guy had wound him up. The voice was back to taunt him. So, you just gonna let Mr. Pretend Gangster disrespect you and your friends? This fucked up shit sandwich needs some playtime with Deadpool. What's the matter? Scared of upsetting the pretty baby now he's touched your cock? I won't tell if you don't. Go on, get the suit out, just try it on. You're looking a little chunky fella, it might not even fit anymore. Hey, wear it to meet Spider-Man, he might web you up in it. Ohhhh I need to touch myself. Wade hated the voice, but at the same time it spoke a lot of sense. He was scared of Peter finding out about his past as Deadpool. He knew how much Spider-Man disapproved of the things he had done. If Peter was his friend all it would take would be one mention of his alter ego's name and it would be game over. I've just found him, I don't want to lose him already. On the other hand he felt like he needed to teach this guy a lesson, but he had no idea how or where he could find him. He seemed to just appear last time and the same today. He couldn't live locally or he would have seen him. No, he was a pest and he needed controlling. If there was one thing Deadpool was good at it was flushing out vermin. Hell yeah baby just call me The Rat Catcher, or The Cockroach Stamper. No? What about The Trash Man....hm no maybe not. Ah The Nuisance Obliterator! Yessss. Ugh...Aha! I Know..Deadpool: Immortal Exterminator!  Heh heh DIE for short ......damn, I'm good. Wade groaned at the noise in his head. This wasn't good. He was torn between wanting to nail this guy and needing to steer clear of his alter ego's destructive ways. He didn't need the aggravation of his past choices catching up with him. He knew if he just kept away from the suit the voice would eventually disappear again. Wade decided he would just have to be more vigilant when he was in the store and if the guy came back he would teach him a lesson in manners. Coward. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ At seven thirty Peter was preparing things at his apartment for Wade to meet Spider-Man. He had already thought of a good reason why he wouldn't be there as himself. He had to rush over to his aunt's place, because she got locked out and he had her spare key. It was a bit of a lame excuse but the best he could come up with and it was pretty plausible. Wade would have no choice but to buy it. He decided an hour was plenty of time for their first meeting. He set a timer to go off so Spidey could pretend he was needed elsewhere. Then Peter would return as himself and hopefully things could pick up where they had left off back at the store.  Get him naked. Now I've felt it. I want to see it....get closer to that tarnished beauty between his legs. Peter felt himself twitch at the thought of undressing Wade and mapping his imperfect skin with his hands. He wanted to straddle him and rub himself all along his scarred abdominal muscles. Feel the drag on his smooth member.  Jesus Peter snap out of it, the last thing you need is a hard on in your suit. Once he was suited up he saw he had an hour to spare so he switched on the TV to check the news channel. His attention was immediately drawn to a situation unfolding over at the Local TV News station in Midtown. It appeared that their building was under some kind of attack as the anchor woman reported there had just been an explosion on the top floor and security were on their way upstairs to check it out. People screamed in the background as everybody tried to make their way to the exits. Peter watched with baited breath as the scenes unfolded. He was ready to go and lend a hand if needed, but it might just be something minor. Then the second explosion went off and the footage went berserk. The minute Spidey heard the sound of the blast he was out the window webbing his way to the scene. He had no idea what kind of devastation he was going to find, but he had to help rescue the people.  As Spider-Man was rushing across town to help save his fellow New Yorkers, Wade was whistling in his bathroom as he showered. His stomach was in knots about meeting Spidey. He had a framed picture of the web shooter he really wanted him to sign. He hoped he wouldn't think he was a total fanboy, but truthfully when it came to Spider-Man that's exactly what he was. He looked in the mirror at his damaged face and hoped his appearance wouldn't be too off-putting for the web shooter. He figured Peter might have already told him about his skin.  Most of the time Wade ignored any comments or reactions about his exterior, but sometimes it bugged him. He would just for once love to be able to walk down the street without anybody doing a double take or just blatantly staring. Some rude people even took pictures of him, like he was some kind of freak in a public show. He put those thoughts out of his mind, all he wanted for his meeting with Spidey was positivity. He had even written down a few questions to ask him if he became too tongue tied. He was relieved that Peter would be there too.  Wade let his mind wander to the events from that morning. He had felt so aroused by Peter's face and his body and then the feeling of his hand around his erection had been amazing. In a way he was glad they had been interrupted, because while it was incredibly hot it wasn't the most romantic of settings. Wade wanted to take his time with Peter and really treat him right. He hoped when the meeting with Spidey was over he could show the younger man just how much he turned him on.  Give him some real pleasure, nice and slow. Full of happy thoughts and good intentions, The Merc made his way over to Peter's apartment. He had the picture in a bag together with some snacks and soft drinks. He remembered seeing Spidey in a public service announcement telling kids about the dangers of alcohol so he assumed he was teetotal. As he walked through the downstairs entrance he checked his breath on his hand and smoothed his shirt down. He climbed up the stairs and there he was at Peter's front door. Wade swallowed as he knocked on the door. He waited for a response, but nothing happened. He knocked again and fixed a smile on his face. Still no answer. He pressed his ear to the door to listen, but there was no sound. He felt confused.  Maybe I misunderstood....no he definitely said 'later' as in tonight.  Wade shuffled about in the hallway. He checked his phone for the time and saw that it was ten past nine. He knocked one last time and hung on for a little longer. He had clearly forgotten or something had come up. Wade felt a little stupid standing there, so he decided to go back to his place.  He could have let me know. Guess I'm not on his mind after all. Back at his apartment he opened one of the sodas and kicked off his shoes. He switched on the TV and was confronted with the sight of Spider-Man rescuing a bunch of folks who were trapped in the Local News TV station. By this stage more explosions had gone off and the building was ablaze. The reporter on the scene was frantically highlighting the details of the fire and how Spider-Man was bravely carrying people to safety. Wade took one look at the situation and his brain suddenly went into auto pilot. He's going to get seriously hurt. That fire is too big. Suit up. Help him. Do it. Show him Deadpool is a good guy. Before he knew what he was doing Wade had ripped open the big bag under his bed and wrangled his way into the suit. It fit a little tighter than he remembered, but otherwise it felt perfect. He could feel the adrenaline pumping round his body. He looked at his reflection and stared at his own eyes. Once he put on the mask he would have crossed a line, but he was no longer the broken man from before. Now he had renewed vigour and he had a point to make. He inhaled deeply as he fitted the mask. "Ohhhh this feels like magic. Now get your sexy little tush over to save Spidey from that campfire in the city." Deadpool slapped his own ass as he rushed out the door. Mmmm Tight. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Spider-Man struggled to battle the relentless heat from the fire. People were still trapped inside, but it was getting almost impossible to reach them. The firefighters did their best to douse the flames and carry people to safety, but Spidey was the only one who could get to the upper floors where some office workers were still trapped. They had attempted to make their way up to the roof but got cut off at the last set of stairs when another explosion had detonated, blocking their way. If Spidey could somehow still get them to the roof there was a rescue helicopter circling above.  Come on Parker, deep breaths, you can do this, you have faced worse. Except in his mind he knew there really wasn't much worse than a ferocious fire. He webbed himself onto the roof and was relieved to see that the fire hadn't reached up that far. It seemed to be contained within the building. He opened the door that led to the floor below, but almost immediately realised it wasn't a possibility as flames licked the lower stairs. He went to the edge of the roof top and saw a smashed window directly below so he webbed himself through it. Straight away he was confronted with a thick smog of smoke, but he could hear people shouting. He saw a coat lying on the floor, obviously left by someone fleeing the building. He picked it up and used it to cover his mouth. He wasn't too scared of catching fire this time as he had upgraded his suit to flame retardant spandex. He knew that was only a temporary barrier, but it meant he could carry on a bit longer before the suit was in danger of being too damaged. The smoke was the worst problem. He made his way through to the corridor, trying to follow the screams. He soon located a group of six people trying to crawl through the smoke to the larger space. They were all coughing and spluttering and he realised he had no time to lose. Grabbing hold of two people he carried them out into the bigger space before going back for the others. He instructed one of them to hold on to his back while he picked up another at the front, telling the others to wait as close to the window as possible. Then he shot out a web and made his way back up to the roof with the two people clinging on to him. He dropped them off and waved over the helicopter, already two harnesses were being lowered. Spidey told the people to strap themselves in and they would be lifted to safety. He made his way back down and did the same with the next pair. He could see the last two were struggling, but he had no way of carrying any more. He made sure they had enough fabric to cover their mouths and hurriedly transported the other two people. His own breathing was starting to suffer as the smoke was now pouring on to the roof from all sides. In a matter of minutes this would not be a safe place for anyone. He pushed forward and once again lowered himself down. One of the people had passed out and the other was lying on his side as he hoisted them both up. He webbed the man's hands together so he could hook him over his shoulders, doing the same at the front with the other man who was still partially awake. Spidey coughed and wheezed as he shot out his final webs and reeled them up to the roof. The two men collapsed. As soon as the harnesses came down Spidey fixed them on and watched as the two men were lifted up and the helicopter flew away. Peter didn't feel right, he was dizzy and the smoke hung too heavy around him. the door to the lower floors had blown open with the force of the heat and flames spilled out at an alarming rate. Spidey tried to focus. He needed to web to an anchor point on one of the buildings across, but he had double vision and he couldn't breathe. He fell to the floor, wheezing and trying to remain conscious. It was too late, the fire had conquered him, he couldn't breathe. As a weird fuzzy feeling of static came over him he thought he heard a voice. His vision was blurred but he just made out a figure emerging from the flaming doorway. He tried to reach out, but his body was paralysed. The last thing he remembered was feeling two hands grab him and lift him over a broad shoulder.  "Oh no Spidey Baby you're not going to die, not on my watch." Deadpool wrestled one of Spidey's web shooters off his wrist and attached it to his own. He wasn't a hundred percent sure how they worked but he was willing to try anything at this stage. He clicked the button and first webbed his own foot, then he remembered how Spider-Man held his wrists straight ahead and he shot a web to the roof of an adjacent building. "Okay webs, here goes ...think Tarzan ...but in spandex and leather. Wooohoooooo" Deadpool hollered aloud as he swung across holding Spidey tightly on his shoulder. He clumsily crashed into the other building and lifted them both up along the webbing. As soon as he reached the rooftop he laid Spider-Man on his back and checked him over. He couldn't detect a pulse and in his mild panic Deadpool lifted Spidey's mask up above his mouth. Lifting his own mask to resuscitate him.  Ohhh Spidey what soft lips you have. No nopety no don't even think about kissing him you messed up shit pickle. Heyyyy give me some credit. I'm saving his life here. After a few breaths the web shooter started to come to, coughing and spluttering. The Merc lowered his own mask again and put Spidey in the recovery position. He stood back and waited for him to regain his senses.  Peter slowly opened his eyes and realised he was no longer on the burning building. He could still smell the sulphur in the air but he was clear from any smoke. How the hell did I get here? Somebody picked me up. Who? Peter could hear sirens and helicopters, but then he heard another noise behind him, like shuffling. He rolled over on to his other side and let out a cry of dismay when he saw who it was. "Deadpool?" Peter gasped, clearly shocked. "The very same. How's tricks, Spidey? I know we've never really met, but I know ALL about you. You are such a great guy." Deadpool twisted his foot as he went all star struck in front his hero. Peter was speechless. The only thing he knew about Deadpool was that he had a reputation as a ruthless killer with a smart mouth. That seemed in stark contrast with the guy who stood before him. The guy who had just saved his life.  "Erm, so yeah I sort of know about you too. Thank you for getting me away from the fire even though I have no idea how you did it or how you managed to get up on the roof. Are you okay? Your suit looks a little charred." Peter had managed to get to his feet and was checking his suit over. He felt his wrists and then he saw Deadpool reaching over with his web shooter. "Guess that answers that question." "Using your web shooting gadget was about the coolest experience of my entire life. I mean holy shit Spidey it felt like a dream come true, except that wouldn't include an unconscious superhero over my shoulder, but at least you're still alive. You have no idea how scared I was that you'd died. Oh my god....that would have broken my heart." Deadpool fell to his knees and let out a giant sob. It had all been too emotional for him. The initial excitement of donning his suit and then the realisation that Spidey was on the roof and he almost didn't make it. The Merc just needed to let out all his relief at seeing his hero in one piece.  "You don't know this Spider-Man but I genuinely have love sparkles in my heart for you. You are everything I never was and could ever hope to be. That's why I had to save you. This city needs you, I need you, you're a symbol of goodness and hope." Deadpool sat on the roof and looked up at Spidey as he poured his heart out. Peter was astounded. He couldn't believe this big suit-cladded anti hero was sitting in front of him crying his eyes out because Spider-Man was still alive. He was beginning to doubt he was even the same guy he'd heard about before. He patted The Merc on his shoulder and reached out his hand to help him up. Deadpool got to his feet and towered over the web shooter. He looked down at his slim athletic frame and was struck by a feeling of recognition. He reminds me of Peter. Spidey observed The Merc's large impressive form and smiled under his mask. Hm he's built just like Wade. There was an awkward silence as they looked one another over and then Spider-Man reached across and stroked the side of Deadpool's mask.  "Thank you for saving me. I won't forget it." He turned to leave, but stopped as The Merc grabbed his wrist and kissed it. "Neither will I." 

The next morning, Jillian Holtzmann leaves her apartment later than usual.  She hasn’t had a smile etched onto her face for this much uninterrupted time for as long as she can remember.  Earlier, she had woken up to see Britt was no longer in her bed, and after looking at the clock to see the time was gone 9am, she’d bolted out of her bed and sprinted out to the kitchen, where a fresh pot of coffee was waiting for her and a handwritten note beside it.   Thought you could use the sleep, you’ve been up all night for a few days this week.  Abby knows. Took Britt to school.  I’ll be over for lunch.  See you later - EG :) xxx   The breath Jillian had let out was so soothing, and she’d felt so much lighter at the thought of not having to rush for a moment.  She normally likes being kept on her toes; she’s a busy person, and she likes it that way.  Never stopping, never standing still.  But there really are times when she could just use the quiet.  That had been earlier though - now she’s on her way to work, a spring in her step and that everlasting smile on her face.  She sidles into the lab, Abby is nowhere to be seen - she assumes she’s in the bathroom, or hiding behind the mountain of equipment, so she hums to herself and dumps her bag on her desk, her little Wonder Woman and Supergirl bobbleheads wobbling about as the bag hits the cold metal.  ‘Hey there stranger.’ She whirls around to see Abby, a crooked smirk on her face with a pair of kind eyes to go with it.  ‘Hi.’ ‘How you doing?’ Abby asks, walking over to her stool on the other side of the desk as Holtzmann takes out a few of the tools she’d had at home.  She whips off her jacket and flings it onto a swivelling chair on the other side of the room. ‘I’m uh…I’m doing pretty damn good, Abs.’ ‘I can imagine.’ Holtzmann’s eyes look up to see Abby’s smirk certainly hasn’t fallen, but only gotten wider. ‘It’s just…it’s working.  Everything’s working out and I can’t really believe it’s all happening.’ ‘It’ll sink in a some point.  I’m…god, I’m really happy for ya, Holtz.  You both deserve this.  Hell, it was about time.’ They both chuckled to themselves, Holtzmann busying herself with putting her bag on the floor and taking her tools over to one of the other work desks. ‘Hey…Erin and I were walking in the upper west side yesterday, near central park, there was super weird smell by the mansion on one of the streets up there.’ ‘And you feel the need to tell me that because…’ ‘Because,’ Holtzmann turns around dramatically, maniacal eyes down to a tee. ‘it was a ghost smell.’ ‘Ghost smell? Really?’ Abby’s eyes are disbelieving, ready to dismiss Holtz’s declaration as a joke. ‘No actually, I’m not, I’m not kidding, there was definitely a strong whiff of ionisation discharge.’ Abby’s disbelieving grimace fell, her face turning serious as anything. ‘Wait, you’re serious?’ ‘As Mr Black himself.’ ‘Oh…well, shouldn’t we check it out?’ ‘I was thinking maybe this afternoon?’ ‘Sounds like a plan, Erin should be here with lunch in a couple hours so we can go then?’ ‘Sounds good - do you think…do you think she’ll wanna come with us?’ Abby stops in her tracks, where she’s walked over to the computer. ‘I don’t…I dunno.  It’s kind of…ghosts haven’t been her thing for a while.’ ‘Haven’t been her thing?’ ‘They haven’t really been anyone’s thing for a while, I guess, but she…you know, actually it’s not really my place to talk about it.  When Erin wants to tell you, she’ll tell you.’ ‘Okay.  I mean she obviously has interest, so something’s gone on.  I can wait.  But meanwhile…here’s the…address, of the,’ Holtzmann says in a stunted manner, typing it into the computer and ushering Abby over.  They look at the website of the mansion, scanning over the info on the front page. ‘Wait, hang on a minute.  It says it’s closed today, why would it be closed?  It’s a Saturday, primetime for tourists,’ Holtzmann remarks, her alarm bells going off; she knows that ionisation discharge was something.  She’s not letting it go. ‘Well yeah, but I guess people need a break, sometimes?’ ‘I just think it’s weird, especially after what we got a whiff of last night.’ ‘Wait…hang on, keep scrolling.’ House is closed until further notice due to haunting. ‘That can’t be real.’ ‘Oh really?  That’s what you’re going with?  I thought you believed in this stuff.’ ‘You know I said I was open to believing, I never said I believed,’ Holtzmann counters, furrowing her brows as she reads through the site’s page once more. ‘Okay, we really need to check this place out,’ Abby declares, going over to her own desk and burrowing through her pile of crap on top of it. ‘Shall we go now? Wait, no Erin’s supposed to be coming by with lunch…’ ‘I’m calling her.’ ‘Wait, what?  No, why would you call her I thought this was sensitive -‘ ‘I know, I’m sorry I just…she would kill us if we go without her.’ ‘You said you didn’t know!’ Abby dials the number and puts the phone to her ear, the rings beginning to chime through. ‘Yeah I know, but thinking about it…she would be too curious not to.’ Erin obviously picks up on the other end, as Abby’s face contorts into concentration. ‘Hey, Erin, how’s work?  Good? Yeah awesome listen, Holtz told me about that ionisation discharge you both got a peek of at the Aldridge mansion? Yeah, you got a good snout on you there Gilbert.  Yeah, okay I was thinking that we might go down there now, see if the owners are around, it says they’re closed online but there must be somebody around, it’s the best lead we’ve gotten…yeah, we were gonna ask if you wanna…you do? Great.  Meet us there, half an hour.  Ok.  Bye.’ She presses the end call button and nods at Holtzmann, a small, excited smirk on her face.  The engineer’s eyes widen and begins to run about, grabbing all their stuff they may need. ‘I got the pack,’ she says, picking up her high voltage strap silver bag and picks up her jacket, following Abby out as they both run to flag a taxi, nothing in their way.  Maybe they’re about to see their first ghost, maybe they aren’t, but it’s gonna be fun either way.  Holtz swings the door of the taxi closed and claps her hands together, rubbing them hotly as she snickers in her seat. ‘Let’s go see a ghost, baby,’ she declares slyly, wooping much to Abby’s surprise.   ~~~~~~~~~~()~~~~~~~~~~   Holtzmann and Abby step out of a cab, and Holtzmann beams as she spots Erin leaning on the wall outside the mansion.  ‘Hey babe,’ Holtzmann address her girlfriend happily, and she leans over to Erin.  She plants a kiss on her cheek, and when Erin tries to hold back a pout at the lesser proximity, Holtz simply winks and turns around to see Abby already looking around for somebody who may know something about the mansion. ‘Excuse me? We’re not open,’ a man calls from the other side of the street, attracting the attention of all three women.  Immediately, Abby tries to rein in her excitement as she crosses the street, the other two crossing behind her as Holtzmann lifts her hand to give the man a two-fingered salute. ‘Hi, we’re looking for the proprietor of this establishment, believe his name is Ed Mulgrave?’ ‘Ed Mulgrave?’ ‘That’s the one.’ ‘But Ed Mulgrave died fifteen years ago.’ Erin jumps in, confused as all hell. ‘But I’m pretty sure I, pretty sure I’ve seen him walking around, I was walking past last night…’ ‘Dead for fifteen years, Ed’s a ghost! Ha!’ Abby exclaims, clapping her hands together excitedly. ‘No, I’m pretty sure he was…oh.  Well, that’s him.’ ‘Well that’s Ed’s son, Ed Jr.’ As the man walks up to join the conversation, he looks confused as to why three women are accosting his employee. ‘Can I help you?’ ‘Yeah, we’re here because we saw you had a haunting?  On your, on your website?’ ‘Wait, you actually went on our website?’ the younger man says, a look of sheer disbelief etched on his face. ‘Yeah, we’re scientists who have an interest in the paranormal, we’ve been researching it for a while.’ ‘Seriously?  That’s brilliant!’ ‘Yeah okay so,’ Abby says, eager to get down to business, ‘if I may uh, when was the last time the entity was actually seen, and if you could rank it between a T1 and a T5, what would you..’ ‘Garret here saw it on Tuesday, and I believe it made him soil himself.’ ‘Jesus.’ Garret is mortified, but hardly shows it in his face. ‘Wow. Soiling, I'd put that at a T3.  T4, if it was poop.’ ‘Holtzmann!’ Erin tries to chastise her girlfriend, but she’s on a roll now. ‘What?’ ‘Unless you ate something weird.Then it wasn't the ghost.Kinda hard to suss that out after the fact though,’ Holtzmann rambles, Erin face palming into her hand. ‘I didn't soil myself,’ Garret tries, looking away from the conversation as he tries to salvage what may be left of his ruined reputation. ‘He did. He called me sobbing, saying, “Oh, my God, my pants are toast.”’ ‘Ooof, unlucky buddy,’ Holtzmann says, leaning forward and patting his arm jovially.  ‘Would you be able to give us a tour -‘ Before Abby can finish her sentence, the keys already on the road behind the group.  ‘You’re gonna die in there.’ Holtzmann just turns around, a smile still etched into her features as she follows Abby, whose stoic determination almost scares Erin.  The physicists hurriedly follows them both to the mansion, and they open the gates and make their way in. Erin only gets in the door as Holtzmann has dumped her bag, and Abby takes the PKE Meter out of it and switches it on, the machine beginning to whirl at a steady pace. ‘Aldridge Mansion take one AND we are rolling,’ Holtzmann announces, Abby taking the lead as they make their way through the main corridor. ‘So tell me, Erin, how is it that you manage to look so wonderfully pretty every single day of your life?’ Jillian asks, pointing the camera in the physicist’s face. ‘Holtzmann please, this is serious!’ ‘Oh totally, I am serious.  Also, how do you feel good about life when you look like you’re going to a funeral?’ She’s worn her heels today, and her smarter trouser suit with a crisp white shirt. ‘It’s a hardship of life, now stop it!’ Erin pushes the camera away from her face, having to do it twice when it takes a couple of tries for Holtzmann to relent and follow Abby. As the other two walk into the main room, Erin hangs back.  Something drips onto her suit, and she grimaces as she feels what it might be - it’s green and disgusting, and it makes Erin angry more than anything. Abby comes across a door, and tries the doorknob - it’s sealed shut. ‘Somebody definitely doesn’t want us getting in there,’ she mutters, turning her attention to the big main drawing room, ushering Holtzmann in with the recording camera. Erin, meanwhile, keeps following, turning around as she walks and surveying the 360 of the corridor.  She returns to her original spot, and notices the basement door has been left wide open.  Her eyes bug out of her skull, and she storms into the main room to confront her friend and girlfriend. ‘Very funny, you guys, is everything a joke to you today? Pooping, now this?’ ‘Just your mama,’ Abby retorts, having no clue why Erin looks so disgruntled. ‘No, actually, I think the world of your mom.’ ‘You guys put all that gooey stuff on the ceiling, you must have.  You opened the basement door.  You tried to freak me out.’ ‘Er, babe, please, you know we wouldn’t do that…’ ‘We did not open the basement door…basement door is open. Oh, my god, okay,’ Abby says, not taking her eyes away from the now inexplicably opened door.  It is goddamn terrifying being in this house. ‘I didn't open it. Did you open it?’ Abby asks Holtzmann, who looks mildly offended at the question. ‘I did not open it.’ ‘You know what, it was probably Ed,’ Abby says, turning to Erin who still looks decidedly freaked. ‘And the guy who didn't poop his pants,’ Holtzmann adds in, earning a glare from her girlfriend. ‘Uh-uh-uh-uh, look over there,’ Abby mutters quietly, pointing out of the window where they were both standing on the sidewalk, both Garret and Ed. Jr.  All three of them are about let out a breath. Then the PKE meter suddenly whirls around at a speed that could rival a drill. ‘I didn't even know it did that,’ Abby says looking up at Holtz who shakes her head, agreeing that she absolutely did not know the machine could do that.  The tension has turned so high that it could be cut like a knife. A sharp pain rips through all three women’s ears, and they all react with a small grunt of pain. ‘I… My ears just…’ ‘Mine just popped, too,’ Erin lets out quickly, her breathing becoming erratic. ‘That is definitely…’ ‘An AP-xH shift. Yes!’ ‘I mean, for sure. That’s…’ ‘Uh, guys?’ The other two turn their attention to Holtzmann, who looks at them before pointing at the door.  A strange, blue light is glowing from the stairs, and all of them gulp simultaneously. ‘I don't think we're alone,’ Holtz whispers, looking over at Erin to see that she’s still breathing at an acceptable pace.  She’s not entirely satisfied, but it would be a bad move to try and cross Abby to get to her now. ‘Holy crap,’ Abby breathes, ‘Let me have the camera. Thank you.’ Suddenly, the light creeps up, and before long, a terrifying real apparition slinks through the door, feet not touching the floor and a sly smile on the face of this blue creature, hovering above them all and glowing like something out of a bad sci-fi movie.  Erin’s heart just stops. Of course, it would if Holtzmann didn’t decide at this exact moment to pop open a can of pringles, and bite into one as if she was watching a shitty film. ‘How can you be eating right now?’ ‘Once you pop, baby,’ she mutters, her eyes still on the apparition. ‘Are you seeing what I'm seeing?’ Abby whisper-shouts, glancing in Erin’s direction but hardly registering her reaction. ‘Good God. Class 4 apparition. Distinct human form!’  Abby’s excitement hardly gets Holtzmann’s attention, because all she can do is keep glancing Erin. ‘This can't be happening,’ Erin whispers.  Holtz barely captures it, and all she wants to do is grab her hand but she’s too far away and the ghost is creeping closer and it’s all becoming so incredibly real. Suddenly, she seems to snap out of her paralysis, slowly walking over to the ghost, reaching a hand out tentatively.  Holtzmann’s breath hitches. ‘I’m gonna try to talk to it.’ ‘Uhhhhhmmm are you sure that’s such a good idea?’ Erin ignores Holtz’s caution, and proceeds to almost ignore Abby’s too. ‘Just be careful,she could be malevolent.’ ‘Yeah, just make sure you're recording,’ Erin mutters softly, not taking her eyes away from the ghost.  ‘Yeah, I'm getting it all.’ ‘Just be cautious,’ Holtzmann says, watching Erin’s every move.  It’s not that she wants to seem overprotective, she’s just worried.  Her new girlfriend could, oh who knows, get eaten by a ghost or thrown across the room.  She has every right to be terrified right now. ‘I think she wants to communicate with us,’ Erin says, staring into the ghost’s black and then all too white eyes. ‘I knew it, I knew it, I knew it,’ Abby says, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. ‘It's okay. She seems peaceful.’ Sure sure, sweetheart. ‘Hello.’ ‘I think you're gorgeous.’ ‘Hello. Hi.,’  Erin stammers, trying to come up with something that doesn’t sound ridiculous. ‘Um, my name is Erin Gilbert, Doctor of Particle Physics at Columbia…’ And just like that the conversation is over. Because Erin has a ghost that Abby just called gorgeous ghost-vomiting all over her.  Right in the face.  If there’s one thing Holtz didn’t expect it would be that - and to be honest, it’s the lightest she’s felt since walking in this building.  The ectoplasm she’d theorised about was real, and it is being deposited by the gallon all over her girlfriend. This is priceless. ‘Yes!’ ‘Oh, God!’ Abby says, hardly able to keep the excitement out of her voice as the ghost promptly finishes her puking spree and zips away from them, through a window. ‘She's getting away, come on!’ They all run out to the small outdoor courtyard, Abby leading them on their pursuit as they all exit through the gates, trying to see where the ghost went. ‘Where'd it go? Where'd it go?’ ‘There!’ They see it fly away down the main street, zipping in its corporeal blue form away. And it’s all on camera. ‘Oh!’ Holtzmann throws her arms up in the air, watching the ghost get away. So much for being ‘open to believing’.  She’s in now.  This is finally the real deal, and goddamn, is it a rush. ‘What just happened?’ Erin is looking at her hands, and back up to where the ghost once was, her face the pure picture of shell shock. ‘Abby what just happened?’ she repeats, looking at her best friend. ‘I’ll tell you what just happened,’ she says, still holding the camera up and now pointing it at Erin. ‘We saw a ghost.’ ‘We saw a ghost!’ Erin’s voice is a hell of a lot higher than normal, and she looks at her girlfriend who is now dancing around them, crazy stupid moves that put them both to shame. It’s fucking fantastic. ‘Yeah, we saw a ghost!’ ‘We saw a ghost! Oh, my God!’  Erin begins to bounce in her spot, hardly believing every bone in her body. She launches herself at Abby, who gladly takes her in her arms and embraces her. ‘We were right! We weren't crazy!’  As she keeps dancing around, Holtzmann does register that.  It gets her wondering, wondering what just might have happened for Erin to feel this way.  To feel she was crazy.  What were they not telling her? She’d find out later on, but for now, she continues to celebrate with her lover and her colleague, bouncing around as Erin begins to scream into the camera. ‘We saw a ghost! Ghosts are real! Ghosts are real! I believe in ghosts 'cause I just saw one! They're real!’ As she finally finishes dancing off-camera, and Abby shuts it down and runs to grab a taxi cab for them.  The street is a little sparse on cars at the moment, so she has to wait for a bit to cross the road to get one in the right direction. Holtzmann faces Erin, who’s still breathing heavily from her exhilaration. She hardly has time to register Holtzmann being in front of her when she leans in, wiping the ectoplasm off of her mouth and cheek, letting her hand stay there.  She kisses Erin hard on the lips, and Erin melts, but doesn’t put her arms on Holtz because of the small problem of being covered in ghost puke. When she pulls away, Holtzmann lets a smile creep onto her face, her eyes still determined as she looks into Erin’s. ‘Good snout you got there, Gilbert.’ ‘Damn right.’ ‘Hey lovebirds!  You coming? Thought you might wanna wash that off before you get frisky.  I gotta ring Patty!  Also you need to tell Britt, this is gonna make her month!’ They let Abby babble on as they all climb into the cab, and Jillian glances at Erin, a smile gracing her face that simply says… Let’s do this. The smirk she gets back is an answer overwhelmingly in agreement.

So. They’re wandering round Chelsea, and Cassie has absolutely no idea where they’re going, but she’d agreed to let Rachel ‘surprise’ her, something which she’d regretted pretty much as soon as the words left her mouth. (She’s still feeling a little guilty about being such a bitch to her, so when Rachel proposes she takes her somewhere she’s ‘been dying to go for ages’, Cassie lets herself be persuaded with only minimal objection. It doesn’t hurt that Rachel’s topless and curled up against her, stroking her stomach when she asks.) “Schwimmer, where are we going?” she asks for about the fifth time that evening. “You’ll see, you’ll see!” Rachel tells her, and Cassie rolls her eyes. She never quite understands where Rachel gets her boundless enthusiasm for life from, and wonders sometimes if she had a particularly blissful childhood. (Something in Rachel’s stubborn resilience to Cassie’s borderline persecution of her makes her think otherwise, though, but that thought always causes her heart to twinge uncomfortably, so she pushes it away.) They round a corner into a dingy, gaudy street, with honest to god fairy lights hanging from one of the buildings, and she’s basically about to turn and run when Rachel grabs her hand, and goes, “Ok, now you have to promise not to get mad-“ “Schwimmer… ” “-but it’s all anyone’s been talking about on off-off-Broadway and it’s hilarious and really sarcastic and a little dark, so I thought you might like it…” Cassie’s chest feels like it’s shrunk in on itself, and her expression literally freezes as she tries to keep her rush of emotions in check. She takes a deep breath, and glances at Rachel, who’s looking up at her hopefully and a little nervously, and all she wants to do is tell her exactly where to go and high tail it back to her loft; but upsetting Rachel again is possibly the only thing worse than walking into that theatre right now. (And when the fuck did that happen anyway?) “I swear to god, if we see anyone…” Cassie says warningly, but Rachel’s already dragging her inside with a huge grin plastered across her face. She hasn’t been inside a theatre in about seven years; not since she went to watch one of Lucian’s new plays and got so drunkenly hysterical she was asked to leave. (He’d spent the better part of the evening trying to calm her down instead of talking to the press, and it took about six months for him to forgive her for that.) It’s a small, fading little place, slightly musty and with the faint sound of old pipes buzzing away in the distance. It reminds her of the places she worked in when she was still at high school, trying to fit in rehearsals and classes and a bar job to help her mother pay the rent on her tiny Brooklyn apartment. She grips Rachel’s hand tighter before she can stop herself, but Rachel doesn’t show any signs of letting go. She shows their tickets to the usher and chats excitedly to him about the show, seemingly oblivious to Cassie’s discomfort except for the small, soothing movements of her thumb on Cassie’s hand. Her heart clenches when she sees the stage, faded velvet curtains still hanging closed and the orchestra tuning up in front. Rachel leads them to their seats – thankfully near the back, and she feels a sudden wave of gratitude to Rachel who undoubtedly usually sits in the front three rows of every show she sees – and Cassie sinks down, crossing her legs and clenching her hands tightly in her lap. Rachel’s reading through the programme, making excited little noises every thirty seconds, but Cassie’s throat has gone dry and all she can do is sit in silence. Shit, she can’t do this. She can’t sit through this again. She has to get out. “Schwim-“ But then the lights dim and Rachel gasps and claps her hands together, and she looks so fucking happy that Cassie just closes her eyes for a moment, sinks back into her seat and bites her lip. When she opens her eyes again she’s composed, and if Rachel notices anything she doesn’t say. The curtains open and a striking woman of some Latina background she can’t place begins to sing about meeting her childhood sweetheart twenty years on, and Cassie rolls her eyes so hard it actually hurts. But the woman’s voice is beautiful, and the song is well-written and it actually is kind of funny in the dry way that Cassie loves, and it has a similar feel to the things Lucian writes. She forces herself to focus on the song and its layers of innuendo and snark, and not on what it would feel like to jump up on that stage and start singing herself… The story draws her in, though, as the woman recounts the dreams she gave up her young love for, and the successes she achieved. It feels so bittersweet, and it grips Cassie, and she gets swept up in the emotion of this woman’s journey in a way she hasn’t let herself be since she was last performing. And then suddenly it all comes crashing down, and the woman’s sobbing on stage with her life in ruins, and Cassie’s hand comes up to her mouth in horror. (And for a moment she can't fucking believe Rachel dragged her to something so goddamn heartbreaking.) She’s blinking away the tears as fast as she can but they just keep falling. Her make up’s going to be a fucking mess but that’s the least of her worries, because there’s people all around them; and maybe they can’t see, maybe they don’t even know who she is, but Rachel does. Rachel who she’s bullied and teased and worked harder than anything to hide all her insecurities and weaknesses from and convince her that Cassie’s better than her. Rachel who is the absolute last person she’d ever want to see her cry. (And suddenly the pain that hit her when she sung but to cry in front of you, that’s the worst thing I could do comes back with such a heavy dose of irony she almost laughs.) But then Rachel takes Cassie’s hand in both of her own and holds it in her lap. Cassie’s breath hitches for a moment, but she starts stroking so soothingly with her thumb that the cries Cassie’s been biting back force their way out her chest, and she slams a hand across her mouth to stop herself from making a sound as she sobs. She can’t think or feel anything apart from longing and despair and humiliation and the aching sting of regret, and she hangs on to the feel of Rachel’s touch like an anchor to pull her through the waves of emotion hitting her. She watches as the woman on stage claws her life back together, and something in her resolute determination to carry on makes Cassie suddenly so ashamed. Her tears dry up, and her chest settles, and expands with not hope exactly, but… They walk home in silence, and it’s not awkward, exactly, and Rachel’s still sniffling away as she tries to compose herself. “Schwim…” She can’t quite bring herself to say thank you, because that would mean acknowledging the gravity of what just happened, and Cassie can’t face admitting to Rachel the emotions running through her right now. (She suspects Rachel knows, anyway, from the look of understanding on her face, but she’s just too tired to be angry about it anymore.) She’s exhausted, honestly, and she just wants to curl up in a ball in her duvet and never face anyone again. But it’s so late and Rachel lives so far away, so she ushers her into her loft and silently climbs into bed. She turns away from Rachel so she can finally hide her face, but when Rachel slowly wraps her arms around her and snuggles up behind her, Cassie can’t resist tugging her arms underneath her own and pulling her in a little tighter. Rachel falls asleep soon after, but she lies awake for what feels like hours. She lets the tears fall silently down her cheeks, and for the first time in a really long time something in her chest uncoils. * Rachel disappears off back to Bushwick the next morning as usual, saying absolutely nothing about Cassie’s minor breakdown the night before or her puffy, red eyes when she wakes up. Cassie can’t quite believe she’s able to keep her mouth shut, and avoids her as much as possible in class for the next week in case she’s just storing up all her questions and teenage insistence they just sing about their feelings. (Because that’s worked out for her so fucking well in the past.) Rachel, however, seems to be attempting to give her space, judging by how she looks away quickly whenever Cassie glances over to find her watching her in concern, and how she never lingers after class but just offers Cassie a small smile as she leaves with her rest of the students. By Friday Cassie manages to swallow the fear rising in her chest and makes a snarky joke about Rachel’s skimpy leotard as she saunters past, which has Rachel blushing and attempting to glare at the same time. Cassie doesn’t miss her pleased smile in the mirror, though, and she feels a little like she’s gained back some control. (Even more so when she’s ripping the leotard off Rachel later that night as she rides and thrusts against Cassie’s face unashamedly wantonly.) It’s basically exactly the same as every other time they’ve had sex, except the next morning Cassie pulls Rachel back into bed when she tries to leave, and spends another hour going down on her just to find an excuse for why. “This is bliss,” sighs Rachel happily as she sinks back against the pillows, Cassie sliding up her body to collapse next to her. “I could never leave.” Cassie bites her lip, and then says in what she hopes is a casual voice, “Stay here for the day.” “Really?” says Rachel happily, and Cassie occupies herself with trailing her fingers over Rachel’s stomach so she doesn’t have to look at her face. “Yeah,” Cassie replies. “I’ll make it worth your while.” Rachel chuckles, and Cassie can’t help but lift her head to grin at her. Rachel stays for most of the rest of the day, and they only have sex once more, but it’s somehow still one of the best days Cassie’s had in years. They just kind of hang out, curled up on Cassie’s sofa with their legs just brushing, as Rachel makes her laugh with stories of her high school Glee club. She’s still unsure as to what exactly Rachel’s high school experience was like – she doesn’t seem willing to share, and Cassie’s not about to pry – but she can just imagine Rachel in all her over-enthusiasm bossing about a group of resigned musical theatre kids, and it actually seems kind of adorable. Rachel stays over more after that weekend. Sometimes Cassie invites her over a little earlier in the evening and they watch really bad reality TV and eat takeout before going to bed. Sometimes she stays for a few hours the next morning and Cassie makes a gesture at cooking her breakfast and they take long, leisurely baths together. It’s nice. She’s happy. It’s not a big deal. * One Wednesday evening Cassie calls Rachel up, and Rachel mumbles something about being busy with homework. She’s about to shrug it off and hang up, but something in Rachel’s voice catches her. “You OK, Schwim?” she asks, and she hears Rachel heave a huge sigh. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she attempts, and really, Rachel needs to seriously fucking work on her acting skills. “Schwim, what’s happened?” she says in a kind of resigned voice, but she can’t help feeling a little concerned. “Nothing, it’s just… in theatre we had this writing assignment and I’m really not good at play writing but I tried so hard, and then we had to perform it today and… oh Cassie it was horrible, and everyone was sniggering and I don’t understand why playwriting is a requirement for Broadway actresses.” Rachel sniffles, and she frowns for a moment at the thought of Rachel being publicly humiliated in the middle of her class. (Which- yeah OK, she’s not oblivious to the fact that she’s done that for a good half of the last nine months, but she was making a point. And she does it to everyone. And…) “Well, Schwim, you’re either going to have to become an incredible playwright overnight, or learn to deal with idiots laughing at you, in public, on stage, at something you’ve worked incredibly hard on.” Rachel sniffs again. “Did that, did that happen to you?” she asks hesitantly. “More times than I can count,” Cassie tells her. “Once when I was 19 I had to prepare my own dance interpretation of a monologue for an audition, and I was literally laughed off the stage. And then when I got out into the wings, all the other actors were in hysterics as well.” “But you’re the best dancer I know!” Rachel says in disbelief, and Cassie can’t help but smile at that. “Yeah exactly, but sometimes you can be the best and you still screw up, or people don’t like what you’ve done with a piece, or the girl after you is sleeping with the director,” Cassie says dryly. “Isn’t that kind of what I’m doing now?” Rachel teases, and Cassie snorts. “Schwimmer, no amount of sex in the world is going to get you a free ride in midterms next month.” Rachel laughs, and Cassie smiles happily, relieved she’s managed to divert some kind of crisis. “I’m gonna go now, Schwim,” she tells her. “OK,” Rachel replies, and Cassie can hear she’s still smiling. “Cassie… thank you.” “See you tomorrow, Schwimmer.” * Rachel kind of becomes a regular fixture in Cassie’s life, and Cassie honestly doesn’t even know when or how that happened. She just wakes up one morning and realises she’s spent every day that week with Rachel in some form, and she doesn’t even mind. She just feels her heart swell a little in contentment because her loft’s starting to feel a little quiet when Rachel’s not in it, and her bed’s cold and empty and it’s always harder to sleep. She’s dimly aware of this constant, vague feeling of panic that Rachel’s suddenly going to disappear, but she pushes it away because they’re just having so much fun. (And maybe she shouldn’t be quite so accepting of Rachel skipping class to stay in her bed, or bailing on her friends to go out with her, but she feels like she’s living in some addictive, rosy bubble and she doesn’t want it to burst.) When Cassie stops to think for a moment – which she doesn’t much, anymore, because it just hurts her head – Rachel seems just as addicted as her, bending and changing and relinquishing more and more control to Cassie. (And she’s not abusing it, whatever Lucian says, because she’s not even a bitch to her in class anymore. She’s probably too nice, or at least too familiar, but she doesn’t really give a fuck as long as it means she has Rachel.) Rachel’s make-up darker and her clothes are skimpier and she doesn’t look anything like the girl who first walked into Cassie’s class. And it’s not just the leotard barely covering her breasts; it’s the constant insecurity Cassie can see in her eyes that she’s not quite sexy enough, which is ridiculous, because most of Cassie’s classes these days are spent not trying to throw Rachel up against the piano. One day she just gives up all together, and the last student has barely made it out of the door before she slams it shut and does just that. “I didn’t think… we could do this… in public…” Rachel gasps, tousled hair falling back against the polished wood as she writhes against Cassie. “Then maybe you should stop driving me crazy in class,” Cassie tells her hoarsely. Rachel grins wickedly before she cries and falls apart under Cassie’s hands. * More than once Rachel bursts into tears whilst she’s at Cassie’s loft. The first time is fucking terrifying, and she very nearly tells Rachel to harden the fuck up and take her waterworks somewhere else. But she quickly discovers it’s usually over no more than an emotional solo she sung that day, or an argument with her flatmate, or Barbra releasing new tour dates. Those times Cassie lets Rachel cry it out before they carry on doing whatever they were doing before. Sometimes, though, Cassie catches Rachel silently crying for what appears to be no apparent reason, huddled brokenly on the corner of her couch or next to her in bed. Those are the times Cassie learns something is genuinely wrong, something that Rachel doesn’t want to burden Cassie with but at the same time desperately needs comforting about. Those times Cassie draws her into her arms and strokes her hair whilst Rachel sobs into her shoulder. She doesn’t let go until Rachel’s cried enough to choke out what’s wrong, and Cassie can find a way of cheering her up by snarkily belittling whoever’s upset her or sharing a story of her own or just giving her advice. She doesn’t know why she’s doing it, why she’s sitting in her bed cuddling a nineteen year old girl some casting director had the nerve to call unattractive, but all she wants to do anymore is just make sure Rachel’s happy. A lot of the time that involves taking more and more risks, running round the city hand in hand with Rachel, laughing their heads off, in danger of being seen but unable to care when Rachel jumps up on a karaoke stage, blows her a kiss and proceeds to seduce the entire audience with the most raunchy version of Whistle she’s ever seen in her life, smouldering all the while at Cassie across the room. This whole thing started just to see how much she could mess with Rachel’s head, but now she feels like she’s being dragged along through some crazy adventure by this beautiful, laughing girl and she doesn’t ever want it to end. * She’s never actually asked Rachel if she’s seeing someone else, she’s just assumed she isn’t. (Like she’d even have enough hours in the day between classes and the amount of time she spends in Cassie’s loft, anyway.) But then she sees Rachel and Brody laughing together in the corridor one day, and jealously hits her so hard and strong she almost punches something. Or someone. Her eyes narrow as she walks towards them, Rachel playing with her hair as Brody regales her with some well-used story. “Don’t you have some weights you should be lifting or something Brody?” she asks loudly, and Rachel turns round in surprise. “Those abs won’t keep themselves,” she says sweetly, and Brody looks unimpressed. He seems to get the message, though, and smiles at Rachel before walking away. Rachel opens her mouth to say something, but Cassie just gives her a look before she stalks past her into the dance studio. Rachel looks a little nervous when she follows her in, but Cassie ignores that anything just happened – because honestly, she just doesn’t want to see Rachel embarrass herself with someone destined for the chorus, at best – and starts her lesson. (And maybe she’s a little icier to Rachel than usual, but whatever, her balance is horrendous. And Rachel still agrees to come back to her loft, so…) “Is there something going on with you and Brody?” Cassie asks, slightly sullenly, later that evening as they’re on the couch eating noodles. “No,” says Rachel, looking up in surprise. Cassie bites her lip. “He looked very friendly earlier,” Cassie says a little more sharply, stabbing at the noodles with her chopsticks. “He’s a friendly person,” Rachel says, shrugging. Cassie snorts, before throwing her chopsticks down and stalking over to her kitchen counter. “Cassie, we’re just friends!” Rachel insists, uncomprehending. Cassie chucks her food on the countertop before whipping round to look at Rachel. “Rachel, I know what Brody’s idea of friendship is, OK,” Cassie tells her snarkily. Rachel’s eyes widen in surprise and Cassie realises she just used Rachel’s first name. It wrong foots her completely, and she snaps, “You know what, if you want to fuck Brody, that’s fine!” Rachel jumps up. “Oh, you’re one to talk about fucking Brody,” she says angrily, her eyes flashing as she moves over to Cassie. Cassie feels like she’s been stabbed, and for a moment her breath catches in her throat. Then she rolls her eyes so hard her entire head moves and yells, “It was just sex!” “Well, isn’t that what this is?!” Rachel demands indignantly, and Cassie freezes, because she knows Rachel’s calling her bluff right now. “Because if it is you shouldn’t have a problem with whoever I spend my time with when I’m not here.” Cassie can’t say anything. She can’t even meet Rachel’s flashing eyes, challenging her to cross a line they’d silently agreed to never even acknowledge. Rachel shakes her head and laughs in disbelief, before she snatches her bag from the couch and stalks across the room. Cassie literally cannot breathe as her worst nightmare comes to life. She can’t lose her, she can’t. Then the tenuous grip she has on her dignity and control slips completely, and she strides across the room after Rachel, catching her arm just as she reaches for the door. “What?!” shouts Rachel, whipping round. But Cassie doesn’t answer. She just shoves Rachel roughly against the door and crashes their mouths together, wrapping her arms tightly around Rachel’s body. For a second she’s terrified Rachel’s going to shove her away, but maybe she’s learnt to speak Cassie’s language now, because she just sort of melts into Cassie as if this was the answer she wanted. “You’re mine, ok?” Cassie tells her breathlessly, nipping sharply at her neck because she’s always been better with her body than with words. Rachel gasps, head tipping back against the wall as nails dig into Cassie’s back. “You’re mine.” Her bites turn into kisses, up and down Rachel’s neck until she presses her lips back softly against Rachel’s. Rachel’s small hands push her back slightly, so she can look at her with wide, shining eyes and say softly, “I’m yours, I promise.” And it breaks Cassie’s heart, because it’s all she’s both ever and never wanted to hear. Rachel tucks a strand of Cassie’s hair behind her ear, and Cassie can’t resist letting her eyes flutter closed for a moment and leaning into Rachel’s touch. Cassie carries her slowly to her bed, and they kiss languidly with their limbs tangled up in one another, hands stroking and caressing everywhere they can reach. All Cassie can think about is finding a way to make her stay, make sure she never, ever leaves her. And it terrifies her. She’s given up all her cards to this girl without even knowing how. She wants to shove Rachel out of her bed and her loft and her life but she just can’t. So instead she slowly peels off Rachel’s blouse, brushing her lips almost imperceptibly across her stomach and watches as Rachel’s abs flutter in reaction. She tip toes her fingers across her stomach, marvelling at the soft skin until Rachel misses her mouth too much and pulls them back together. Cassie loses herself in their kiss, and barely notices as Rachel rolls them over until she’s straddling Cassie. Christ she’s gorgeous. Cassie watches breathless as Rachel slowly peels off her bra, sliding it off her body as she smiles seductively down at Cassie. She leans over her teasingly, her hair forming a curtain around them as Cassie’s hands stroke up and down her sides. “You’re so beautiful, Rachel,” she whispers, and the look of joy and amazement and disbelief in Rachel’s eyes at those words breaks her heart, because she knows, she knows how entirely she convinced Rachel of the complete opposite. Rachel leans down to kiss her with such passion her entire body feels like it bursts into flame, heat tingling from her crotch all the way down to her toes. They barely break contact, even as they slowly peel off each other’s clothes, gasping breathlessly before they come back together. And god Rachel’s good with her fingers now, hitting some spot inside of her that sets every nerve in her body on fire. They claw at each other as they move, as if they can’t get close enough, and when they come apart, almost simultaneously, they both have tears sliding down their cheeks. Rachel burrows into Cassie’s side as they fall asleep, and Cassie doesn’t let her body go for the entire night.

“How drunk was I when I agreed to this?”   “Not as drunk as when I convinced you to get that tattoo.”   “How are you my best friend?” Oliver asked as he leaned back in the hard, uncomfortable office chair and looked up at the white tiled ceiling of the conference room.   “Because you’d get in just as much trouble without me but with no one to bail you out,” Tommy answered with an easy smile.   “When you aren’t sitting next to me in the jail cell.”   “Exactly. Sometimes you just need someone to keep you company, and I am excellent company.”   The air conditioning kicked back on, pushing out freezing recycled air that Oliver tried not to suffocate on. No matter what office he was in, Oliver had difficulty breathing the same stuffy air all corporations pushed out of their vents that seemed, to Oliver, to pacify their workforce. He tugged at his tie and turned his chair toward Tommy.   “Tell me again why this is a good idea?” Oliver asked as he pinched his nose.   “This show will reinvent your image-“   “Ugh. Don’t use that phrase.”   “And it will demonstrate that you’re a serious cook with actual skills in the kitchen and not just a bored billionaire. And it’ll prove you can work with anyone.”   “All of which I wouldn’t need if my dad would just fork over the capital so I could open up my own restaurant.” Oliver grumbled.   He thought that after the four dropped ivy-league colleges and culinary school being the only school Oliver was able to graduate from; his parents would understand that a corporate position would never make him happy. Oliver couldn’t have been more wrong.   Robert and Moira Queen still used phrases like ‘family legacy’ and ‘reaching his full potential’ and refused to help Oliver in any endeavor that kept him away from the family empire of Queen Consolidated. It was almost enough for Oliver to change his last name and run away to small rural community in Texas or Rhode Island and open up a diner. Almost.   “And you’ll be doing me a favor, keeping me from auditioning know-it-alls who think they’re going to be the next Iron Chef.”   “Don’t you still have to audition the other people?”   “Nah, just have to make sure they look decent on camera.” Tommy twirled a pen around his fingers and sat back in his chair.   Oliver couldn’t help but be envious of his friend, who found the perfect fit for himself at a subsidiary of his family’s business, Merlyn Global. The subsidiary was a production company that produced over a dozen reality shows, but was branching out to cooking shows with Tommy’s most recent brainchild.   “And you really think I can teach a bunch of average people to cook?”   “It’s just three people at a time and only one dish. That’ll be easy for you,” Tommy said.   “Won’t it be easier to teach the same three people, though? Not bring in different people for each show?”   “No. We want to showcase you, not some randoms. Besides we want this to be average people. One cooking lesson from you and these people will be on their way to being culinary geniuses.”   Oliver rolled his eyes at Tommy’s ass-kissing but pulled himself back up to the conference table.   “Fine, I’ll sign the contract. I assume I’ll be getting my own private massage therapist.”   “It’s that kind of humor that’s going to make you a star.”   --------------------   “Kraft Macaroni and Cheese again?” Caitlin asked. “I mean, I know it’s one of your few safe options but every time it’s your turn to cook it’s either this or Top Ramen.”   “I can cook other things,” Felicity said as she set an empty pan on a hot burner.   “You can microwave other things; that’s not the same thing. And you forgot to put water in the pan.”   Felicity saw Caitlin was right, scrunched her face up, and quickly pulled the pan off the burner. She turned around in their tiny kitchen to the sink and began filling the pan with water.   “Mac and cheese and Ramen are two things that are both easy and cheap,” Felicity said. She refused to acknowledge her mistake out loud. “My top two requirements when I cook.”   “And they’re the only things you can cook.”   “That’s not true.” Felicity was indignant.   “I’ve never seen you successfully cook anything else.”   Felicity crossed her arms as images of burnt potatoes, frozen meat loaf, and congealed green beans popped up in her head. She shook her head to clear it of all the food disasters that had happened to her.   “Just because the kitchen gods haven’t smiled upon me, doesn’t mean I’m not able to cook.”   “Do you want to make a bet?” Caitlin asked.   “What kind of bet?” Felicity narrowed her eyes at Caitlin.   “You cook a meal that doesn’t come from a box tonight. If I can eat it, I’ll never bring up your lack of cooking ability again.”   “I like that.”   “But if you can’t-”   “If the fates conspire against me,” Felicity interrupted.   Caitlin smiled and pulled out a folded flyer from the back pocket of her dark wash jeans. Felicity stared at it with unease. When Caitlin refused to relent, Felicity grabbed it at the corners with only two fingers and stared at it. The blank glossy white back stared back at her. She looked back up at Caitlin and attempted to discern the contents of the flyer from Caitlin’s face, to no avail. Felicity finally began to unfold the flyer, ready for any ninja attack it could possibly hold.   “A cooking show? Really?” Felicity took a gulp of the wine she had left on the counter next to the blue box of processed starch.   “A culinary expert will teach you how to cook one meal. Just one. It’ll be one hour of your life.”   “How is me learning how to cook one meal going to help you in the long run?”   “You could learn skills that will apply to other meals.”   “I don’t want to be on TV.”   “Everyone wants to be on TV. And who is going to see it? Plus they pay you $1500. You can’t tell me you couldn’t use a little extra money.”   “I don’t know,” Felicity said as she crossed her arms.   She inwardly cursed her entry-level position and the just-marginally-above-minimum-wage paycheck that came with it. Felicity was aware she had to pay her dues before she’d be able to move up the corporate ladder within Queen Consolidated, but her job was so boring and her supervisor was so incompetent. She had started compiling a list of improvements she would make if she was her supervisor’s boss. Number one on the list was to fire her supervisor.   “Do you not think you can win the bet?”   Felicity knew it was a possibility she could cook one edible meal; she just wasn’t sure how probable it was.   “What do we even have in our kitchen that I can cook?” Felicity asked flippantly, as she still hoped to get out of the bet.   “I was going to make tacos tomorrow, you can make those. That’s easy.”   Felicity had her doubts on the easiness of said meal, but realized that if she lost the bet she gained $1500. It wasn’t too bad a deal if she could just shut up her pride.   “Fine, you got a deal.”   Ninety minutes later, as all the windows in their apartment provided an escape route for the smoke, the two women ate macaroni and cheese on their hard and lumpy couch in their living room.   “I think I had too much wine to be able to cook probably.”   “You are not drunk,” Caitlin replied.   “But my higher brain functions were clearly compromised.”   “You’re still signing up for the cooking show. A bet’s a bet.”   “They may not even take me,” Felicity said with a crumb of hope in her voice.   “Please. They’re just looking for pretty faces. They’ll love you.”   --------------------   Felicity knew since she would be working with food, her hair should not be down or coated with as much flammable hairspray as it was; but the hairstylist for the cooking show had insisted. The makeup artist had also insisted on caking her face with at least an inch and a half of makeup, stating the lights would wash her out otherwise. The overall effect was that Felicity looked like a Jessica Rabbit cartoon version of herself. At least no one would be able to recognize her if anyone watched the show.   The other two “normal people” were just as made up. So much so, Felicity wouldn’t be surprised if they were mistaken for siblings even though they had started out looking nothing alike. They all wore identical blue aprons with the show’s title, Now You’re Cooking, emblazoned in white on them. From their corner of the set where they sat in director’s chairs, Felicity just managed to see three stainless steel cooking stations beyond the cameras, lights, booms, cords, and at least 35 people all moving quickly around each other shouting technical terms Felicity didn’t understand.   Controlled chaos on what Felicity thought looked to be a very generic cooking show.   Felicity rubbed her hands over her arms to try to keep herself from shivering.   “It’ll be warmer under the lights,” a man said to her as he walked up to the trio.   Felicity only just managed not to gape at the size of the man’s arms. She was sure both her arms put together were smaller than one of his.   “My name’s Diggle. I operate the center camera. We’re ready for you on set.”   He extended his arm out towards the stations in invitation.   “Do cameramen usually fetch the guests?” Felicity asked.   “No,” Diggle laughed. “I just wanted to warn you about the director, Mr. Lance. His bark is way worse than his bite. Don’t let him scare you.”   “Oh, okay,” Felicity replied. “What about the chef?”   “He’s a good guy. But he’s filmed 4 other episodes today, so he’s a little crabby now.”   “Sounds like this is going to be barrels of fun. I can’t wait for all the excitement to begin.”   “You’ll do fine.”   Felicity stepped behind the last kitchen station and tugged at her apron. She tried to tell herself that the $1500 was worth an hour of humiliation. Of course, after taxes it’d be less than that, but it would still help her feel more comfortable with her financial situation.   “Listen up, folks,” a man with a close buzz cut said, being easily heard over the rest of the crew’s talking. “This is the last episode we’re filming today, let’s not screw it up as bad as the others. You, Normies, just relax and try not to burn the place down. Where’s Queen?”   “He’s on his way, Mr. Lance,” a young guy who had intern written all over him said from beyond the cameras.   Mr. Lance walked over to a director’s chair behind some monitors and put on some headphones. So much for helpful direction. Felicity guessed the chef would help her more than the director, so she took a calming breath and began to count to five in her head.   Once she got to four a door slammed shut hard and Felicity jerked her head up to peer into the blackness of the sound stage but couldn’t make anything out. She crossed her left arm over her body to hold onto her right arm.   “So nice of you to join us, Queen. Now we can get started,” Mr. Lance said, and then began talking more production speak to the crew that Felicity only understood a quarter of.   Just as she was tuning out Mr. Lance, the chef stepped out of the shadows and onto the stage. Felicity choked on the air she just took in.   Queen was Oliver Queen. The Oliver Queen.   He was in a plain black t-shirt and jeans, with a matching apron of his own. Felicity suddenly understood every woman that had ever thrown herself at him, even with his playboy reputation. She had never known what sex personified meant until she saw him in the flesh. And what beautiful flesh he had.   Then Felicity remembered who she worked for, and she froze.   “Action!”   --------------------   Bourbon Chicken*   Ingredients 2 lbs boneless chicken breasts, cut into bite-size pieces 1 -2 tablespoon olive oil 1 garlic clove, crushed 1/4 teaspoon ginger 3/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes 1/4 cup apple juice 1/3 cup light brown sugar 2 tablespoons ketchup 1 tablespoon cider vinegar 1/2 cup water 1/3 cup soy sauce   Directions Heat oil in a large skillet. Add chicken pieces and cook until lightly browned. Remove chicken. Add remaining ingredients, heating over medium heat until well mixed and dissolved. Add chicken and bring to a hard boil. Reduce heat and simmer for 20 minutes. Serve over hot rice and ENJOY.   It was not Felicity’s fault the dish was going to end up in the hall of fame of her more disastrous meals. She wasn’t allowed to wear her glasses, as apparently glasses caused glares. She told Mr. Lance her glasses had glare resistant coating on them, but he didn’t care. So Felicity could hardly see anything, especially the recipe.   Then there was Oliver Queen. Mr. Queen flustered her. Quite simply he was hot., in a he’s-too-sexy-for-his-everything way. She became even more self-conscious about all the makeup and hair product she was wearing. Though most of her agitation was due to Mr. Queen being her boss-well her boss’ son. A son who was set to inherit the family business, so he was her eventual boss. Felicity really didn’t want Mr. Queen to find out he was giving cooking advice to one of his eventual employees. She also did not need her co-workers thinking she was trying to ingratiate herself with the boss’ family.   Her inability to maintain eye contact or even form a complete sentence in front of Mr. Queen, which was a rarity never before seen in this world, kept him from helping her too much on the meal. The other two guests gobbled up all of his attention and then some. They couldn’t seem to stop themselves from flirting with Mr. Queen. And Felicity knew the guy had come here with his girlfriend. Unless the guy was attempting a ménage à trois.   That thought had distracted Felicity with wondering how everyone kept involved in the activities and didn’t all those legs get in the way--which is what she blamed for the brick-like rice. Felicity was pretty sure that the rice was not supposed to take on the characteristic of a brick. But there it was, on the plate, in a perfect circle. A circle that matched the pan it had miraculously come out of.   The real danger though was the chicken. With all those distractions running around in Felicity’s head, she didn’t have time to cook the chicken properly. She was 89 percent certain it was still raw. She couldn’t let Mr. Queen eat it. She couldn’t poison her boss’ son. There was no way she could live off unemployment checks.   And it’d be bad to make Mr. Queen sick, too.   At least the sauce was okay. If it didn’t have strands of her hair in it. Blonde hair was so hard to see. Especially without her glasses.   “So, Felicity,” Mr. Queen said as he walked up to her station. Her name was written on the cabinet facing away from the camera. “How’d you manage?”   She pressed her lips together and did her best not to glare at him.   “Can’t you see the evidence of my spectacular catastrophe in front of us?” Felicity asked, and then immediately slapped her hands over her mouth. What she wouldn’t do for a brain-to-mouth filter.   Mr. Queen smiled down at her. His broad shoulders and model good looks were trying to encourage dirty thoughts, but she could not let those thoughts escape her brain. Especially on camera. Or to her eventual boss. Felicity mentally slapped herself and turned back to the thing people were calling food.   “What do you think went wrong?” Mr. Queen asked, his voice soft. He grabbed a fork and tried to stab the rice.   “Don’t eat the chicken!” Felicity blurted out too loud. Quieter, she added, “It’s not cooked thoroughly.”   Mr. Queen’s eyebrows shot up, surprised. Barely a second later he composed himself and said, “Thank you for the warning. That’s a good message for our viewers that they should never consume undercooked meat. Chicken should reach 165 degrees before eating.”   Felicity was thankful how quickly he went into TV host mode and saved her some embarrassment. Like she had purposefully ruined the meal to be a cautionary example to the viewers.   “The sauce is probably okay,” Felicity said. Her cheeks felt like they would never stop blushing. At least then she would save some money on blush.   “All right, let’s try that.”   Mr. Queen took a small spoonful of sauce. Felicity became fascinated with watching his lips surround the spoon. She was thrown out of her daydream of his lips elsewhere when his eyes began to water and he coughed and sputtered. Mr. Queen quickly took a large gulp of water.   “Felicity, how much garlic did you use?”   “One thing of garlic,” Felicity answered, unsure. “Just like the recipe said to.”   “When you say one thing of garlic, do you mean one clove or one bulb?”   “Uh, what’s the difference?”   “Okay,” Mr. Queen choked out. “That’s all we have time for today. Join us next week when I’ll say, Now You’re Cooking.”   Mr. Queen held a fake smile to the camera that looked nothing like the smile he had for her when she accidentally babbled. Disappointment spread through Felicity, though she didn’t know why. She had never cared what anyone had thought of her cooking before this. Why did she care so much now?   “Cut!” Mr. Lance screamed. “Great. Let’s wrap this up and get out of here.”   Mr. Queen looked down at Felicity one more time before gulping down more water. She dodged around him, ignored the snickers from the other guests, and headed out to the dressing rooms. Once in her shared one, Felicity tore off her apron and grabbed her purse. No one stopped her as she sped out the front door.

"It was an honor defending the universe with you."   Lance's breath became caught in his lungs after Keith spoke, his eyes widening and his grip on the other's hand faltering. His heart began to pound even faster against his chest, if that was even possible at this point, and the strangest warmth seemed to surround him in that fleeting moment. He swallowed thickly before even attempting to reply, and even when he did he still stammered almost embarrassingly badly. "Same here... thank you, Keith." Keith's chest swelled even more, and he gave a warm smile to Lance- who sent him a wavering, shy one in return. They looked back out the window, and panicked a bit more when they realized how much closer to the ground they had gotten whist their eyes were pried away from the thick, glass pane. Both of their eyes shut tightly while they squeezed each other's hands tightly, bracing for impact.   Lance was at a loss of what to think in a moment like that one. The same person who flirted with seemingly anything with two legs had no clue what to say or do, and it frightened him more than he was properly able to express. One would think that Lance would be used to death-defying situations like this one, however as the time dragged on in the castle he found himself caring less and less. Of course, he would never intentionally put the rest of his team in danger because of this, but he still could never shake the dark shadow that seemed to constantly loomed over him. It left a bitter taste in his mouth when he thought about these kinds of things for too long, but in free-fall like this, that flavor spread across his tongue faster than it ever had before. The looming shadow grew and festered as they continued to fall, making Lance's thoughts run at a thousand miles an hour. No matter how much support he got from the rest of his team, he couldn't help but still feel replaceable in the grand scheme of this intergalactic war. Surely there was another person in the wide span of the universe that could pilot the blue lion, and hopefully be a better pilot of Blue than he was. He felt like the frayed end of a shoelace- which, in his mind, could be as easily replaced as he was.   Keith's mind seemed to go numb in this moment. He couldn't feel a single thing; not the sense of dread from the ever approaching ground, nor the butterflies that were previously swarming his stomach. The only thing that he seemed to still feel was the warmth of Lance's hand wrapped around his own clammy one, and what replaced that feeling of dread was one of contempt. He knew he couldn't possibly die now, there was so much he hadn't done. He hadn't saved the universe, he hadn't found his mother, he hadn't made amends with his teammate. Keith prayed to whatever higher power was up there profusely in that moment, begging and pleading for a second chance while be felt his eyes begin to burn and blur.   Then there was nothing. The two's eyes clenched shut a few moments before they made collision with the ground, and stayed that way while they anticipated the collision with the ground. But there was nothing.  No fiery explosion was felt or heard after free fall, even gravity had gone back to normal in the small space they were calling home for the time being. Slowly, and very hesitantly, Keith pried his eyes open. A small twinkle reflected from his dark eyes when they landed on the scenery surrounding the outside of the pod, and he became frozen in place. When he realized that Lance hadn't opened his eyes, and that he was missing this wonderful sight, Keith nudged his side and glanced over at the boy beside him. Lance's demeanor was stiff beforehand, but as soon as Keith's elbow made contact with his gut he lurched forward slightly and his eyes flew open. Before he could whip his head in Keith's direction to snap at him the scenery outside the large window in front of him caught his eye, and his jaw dropped while his eye widened.  In front of the two was likely the most beautiful planet either had ever been to in their entire journey across the galaxy. The grass across the entirety of where they currently were was varying shades of blue- spanning from baby blue to the same color as the deepest corners of the ocean. The grassy ground was heavily contrasted by the red trunks of the golden-leaved trees that were scattered across the small meadow they had landed in, all different heights but all sharing the same likeliness. All of the trees' leaves heavily resembled the willow trees back on earth, and swayed daintily in the small breeze that swept across the serene landscape.  The two paladins could see that quite a ways away there were preparations being done for the festival Coran was talking about, and it appeared that hundreds of different alien races were in that space helping each other.  Suddenly static appeared on that same square of the window before them, revealing Coran a few moments later. "Ah, so you've made it! I apologize for the landing again, the control I have over your pod is less than satisfactory." The two watched him fumble with a few leavers and colored buttons in front of him before he addressed them again, a wide smile on his face. "Welcome to Solaris, paladins!" The two were still quite taken aback by the scenery of the world before them, to which Coran seemed to notice.  "Ah, I see you're admiring the nature! This is quite a beautiful planet, I even came for a celebration of Soliarp once in my youth!" Coran seemed to not have an off switch when he went on rants like this, and he continued to go on and on about his experiences on the planet until Princess Allura came onto the screen.  "I'm sorry about Coran, paladins, he tends to grow a bit overly-nostalgic about experiences from his youth." She gave a small, almost shy smile whilst said Altean continued to talk in the background. "I just wanted to let you two know that these calls with not be common over the next week; it is crucial that you preserve power in your pod until we can retrieve you, and these calls aren't exactly the most energy-saving utility." She gave a lighthearted chuckle whilst Coran shuffled into view behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders when he felt it was time to interrupt. "Exactly- that's why we have to end our little chat now! We'll see you in seven quintents!" With no warning or chance to say goodbye either the screen went black, and the red and blue paladin were left in complete and utter silence. The two decided to admire the scenery this silence for a short while longer, before either could truly deem this terrible trip had begun. The way the muted wind outside made the glittering branches of the trees almost dance soothed them, and before they realized it both of their adrenaline from the earlier terrifying event had washed out of them. Moments passed into minutes, and as tranquil as this scene was, it eventually grew boring. Keith glanced at the only other person in the room, then turned his whole head towards him when he realized Lance was doing the same.  No words needed to be exchanged to tell why the blue paladin was doing so, because as soon as Keith glanced down at the space between them he knew why he was being stared at so strangely... ...They were still holding hands.

Sometimes, Chris still dreams about Eijun. He disliked Eijun on sight: baseless self-confidence made him furious. Shouting at the top of his lungs about his plans to be Seidou's ace with nothing to show for it except a bit of potential. Chris felt no guilt about dismissing him as yet another loser-in-the-making. Until Eijun looked at him with tears in his eyes, asked why Chris let a clueless first-year mouth off to him, and begged, please teach me baseball. Chris called him gross and annoying and a pest, but in truth he was a little flattered. He had never inspired anyone before. Nor had he ever felt like he'd made a true difference in another person's life. Everyone said Eijun started trying so hard to learn everything about baseball because he wanted Chris to acknowledge him. He took Chris's words to heart in a way no one else did. For the first time in a year, Chris felt like he mattered. How could he have gone on disliking someone who made him feel that way? Still, Chris didn't want to be anyone's mentor. He wasn't mature enough to set his own worries aside -- but Eijun became a presence he couldn't ignore. Chris's heart beat in a different way when he heard Eijun's laughter, and Eijun's attention became flattering where it was once annoying. When Eijun stopped wheedling him and focussed on perfecting his form, Chris began to wish he hadn't. Even though it was embarrassing to have this over-enthusiastic first-year following him around. Even though just weeks before, he told Eijun he didn't want to form a battery with him, he grew fond of the stars in Eijun's eyes. He didn't even care if that made him a narcissist. He stood in the dugout during that final second-string game, watching Eijun's new fastball go wild again and again. In a matter of days, through sustained effort and careful attention to advice, Eijun achieved a form Chris assumed would take at least a month to perfect. Coach Kataoka said Eijun was waiting for Chris on the mound. Chris closed his eyes and thought of his father, who might be watching somewhere out there. Then he thought of Eijun, trying so hard to do well, to throw the best pitch he could, and in an instant, his heart filled up with love newly found. Love for the game and for this obtuse, loud, determined brat of a pitcher. It felt so pure in that moment. So innocent. Shoulder, elbow, and wrist joints very flexible. Long fingers. Chris used to think about Eijun's hands, strong and lithe. About how his dominant left would look curled around Chris's dick. How his eyes would look muddled with lust. He'd never seen Eijun hard, but he could extrapolate: they were boys in a baseball club with all shared facilities. He could see Eijun naked every day if he wanted. And he wanted. So he made sure to avoid the baths during first-years' hour and never to bathe alone. It was awful to even think such things when Eijun was simply idolising him as his senior and mentor. It was downright evil to think such things about someone still so childlike he loudly announced every thought in his head the moment it occurred to him. Despite no lewd intentions, Chris felt like by thoughts alone he was betraying Eijun's feelings, dirtying them with his perversion. But it wasn't like he could help it. He didn't try to imagine Eijun in those kinds of ways. He didn't try to think about catching Eijun after his late-night practice and stealing kisses in a shadowed dormitory hallway. He was simply eighteen and in love for the first time. One afternoon before a match against Yakushi, Chris and Eijun were in the gym working on Eijun's stance when Chris became overly conscious of how close he stood behind Eijun: of his hands on Eijun's hips, of his balls snug against the top of Eijun's ass. The friction and pressure alone would have been enough -- it happened so often with other pitchers that Chris learned to take it in stride -- but this was Eijun. Chris had feelings for Eijun. So instead of moving away as soon as he noticed what was (literally) up, he lingered on the verge of bending Eijun forward so he could-- His hands clenched, and Eijun noticed. He half-turned to Chris and froze with an uncertain look in his eyes. Chris stared at the scarlet high in Eijun's cheeks and the surge of tenderness in his chest was so swift, he almost stole one of those kisses. Just one kiss -- lips closed, soft and innocent -- was all he wanted, all he needed. Just so Eijun knew how he felt, because words could never be enough. Almost, almost-- Then Eijun laughed on the edge of his voice breaking, loud and harsh. "Chris-senpai, is that a roll of coins in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" He looked so delighted at what he no doubt considered the height of wit that Chris couldn't help laughing. He relaxed his grip, stepped away, and they left the moment of almost-passion behind. Eijun was never the wiser that Chris was about to do something unforgivable. Months later, on the day of Chris's graduation, Eijun rushed up to him with a huge bouquet 'from everyone on the team', but Chris has always remembered that as the time Eijun gave him flowers. They're moments he'll never forget, because Eijun isn't just another pitcher. Chris has helped several dozen pitchers stretch, sometimes every day for weeks on end. He's manhandled just as many into better form. None but Eijun made his heart beat faster and dried his throat out every time. And though it's been two years since he saw Eijun last, those things still happen if Chris thinks about him long enough. They still happen after he wakes up from a dream about Eijun. So when he arrives outside the coach's office door one afternoon at the start of recruitment season and overhears the names Sawamura and Furuya, it's all he can do not to burst in so he can hear everything. "We should invite both," the coach says. "Won't their rivalry be bad for morale after what happened with Matsuda-kun?" the manager counters. Earlier in the year, Matsuda, the team's previous ace pitcher, paid some geek to try and sabotage the current ace's grades in the university's computer system so he'd get suspended, if only temporarily, from the team. "They've been rivals since first year," the coach points out. "Seidou made it to Koushien two years in a row once they came into their own. They won at Koushien last month." "With Furuya pitching the whole game." "And Sawamura in the bullpen, yelling that he's ready to go at any moment. Their rivalry is not the ugly, one-sided kind of grudge Matsuda had. It makes them both try harder." "I suppose we do have Miyuki-kun, who knows them well. And Takigawa-kun can handle any pitcher. Not that they'll make regular right away." "Didn't Takigawa-kun go to Seidou as well? Was it before these two joined or after?" Chris knocks on the door. "Enter," the coach calls. "Did I hear my name just now?" Chris asks after greeting them both. After rehab therapy, he's used to standing behind doors while people with power over him discuss him. He knows how to make it look like he wasn't listening. "Yes, you went to Seidou High, did you not?" "That's right." "Were you still there when Sawamura and Furuya joined?" "Yes, that was right before my last summer there," Chris says. "I was a team manager back then due to an injury, so I did spend some time with Sawamura." The manager taps his chin with his index finger. "What about Furuya?" "I practiced with him too, but not as much. Coach Kataoka assigned me to mentor Sawamura at first." "What was he like?" the coach asks. "A quick study," Chris says. "Are you going to invite him here?" He directs a deliberately hopeful look at the manager, who looks gratified. He has no power over the decision, but sometimes making someone feel powerful can be enough to turn them in your favour. "Is he a diva?" the coach asks. Despite himself, Chris smiles. "Eijun? Unless being the relief pitcher has gone to his head, I doubt it." A question occurs to him as soon as he's well away from the coach's office, one with a potentially deal-breaking answer. He doesn't want to take up any more of the coach's time, so Chris sets out to find Miyuki. The two of them were finally able to reconnect a bit over watching the Koushien final a few weeks ago. The first-stringers have their own dedicated practice ground, so interaction between them and the rest of the team is almost nonexistent during the baseball season. Miyuki is at the library, copying training schedules for the other first-years. "Coach is talking about inviting Furuya for next year," Chris says without preamble. "I figured as much," Miyuki says with an easy grin. "He's been asking me a lot of questions about what kind of guy he is. Can't blame him really, after the Matsuda disaster." "So you think he wants fresh blood to relieve Oonishi? Don't we already have three or four decent guys in the second string?" "We do, but none of them won at Koushien. That kind of thing goes a long way." Miyuki casts an almost wistful glance out at the autumn sunlight in the park outside. It can't wear easy on him to not have been the one to take Seidou to summer Koushien victory. He did take them to Koushien, but only until the quarter-finals. The photocopier makes a series of alarmingly loud knocking noises, and then goes on spitting out copies with a fussy whrr-whrr-whrr. Miyuki's smile slowly returns. "I heard them talking about Sawamura," Chris says in as casual a tone as he can manage. He always tries to be super blasé when asking Miyuki about Eijun, because if anyone can see right through to his true motivation, it's Miyuki. Miyuki nods. "Yeah, Coach asked about him too. Manager didn't seem too enthusiastic about him, though. A lot of people write him off as a wildcard, which is too bad." "But why are they even asking?" Chris insists. "How can Sawamura go to university? He was barely passing his classes last I checked." Granted, that was two years ago, but Eijun would clearly never become the studious type. "Plus, he's an idiot." Miyuki chortles. "Didn't you read the post-game interviews? Sawamura promised his family that if Seidou won at Koushien this summer, he'll go to university even if it kills him to try." "I'm surprised they won, then," Chris deadpans. "What a way to go." Miyuki snickers. "Right? I can't imagine Sawamura wanting more education, on purpose." "Well, if he manages to pass the entrance exam, that'll be one for the history books." "Hey, listen, if you don't want him here and you can't talk the coach out of it, just say the word and I'll try to convince him to go somewhere else before the application deadline," Miyuki says, gathering up his photocopies. "He might even listen." "Not at all," Chris says, trying his best not to sound like he's panicking. "I'm kind of looking forward to it, if I'm honest." Miyuki grins. "The little shit really grows on you, doesn't he?" You have no idea, Chris thinks. - It rains on the day they are to meet the new crop of first-year team members, so the coach moves the assembly to the gym. Roughly eighty pairs of shoes litter the floor at the entrance. Since it's just a meet-and-greet, not a practice, almost no one came in proper footwear. Chris tries not to search the newcomers' faces for Eijun's, but it doesn't matter, because Eijun calls out to him before he's even across the threshold. "Chris-senpai!" Eijun hasn't changed much outwardly -- his shoulders sit a little wider and his neutral stance is a bit surer thanks to a stronger core. He's got the same too-loud, enthusiastic voice that makes everything he says have multiple exclamation points. The same bright eyes. The same genuine, unreserved smile. It's the kind that makes you want to smile back even though you really shouldn't because Eijun's undue ebullience has already drawn disapproving looks from the upperclassmen. He's waving frantically, looking for all the world like an idol fan before a meet-and-greet. Chris nods at him, suppressing an embarrassed smile. He can't encourage Eijun but he doesn't want him to feel bad, either. Miyuki smacks the top of Eijun's head, very lightly. "Quit causing a scene, you numpty," he says. "You weren't this happy to see me, even though I was your captain." Eijun ducks down a little, bellows an apology, and falls back into line. The assembly is short: it's already late afternoon and a lot of the guys have part-time jobs. The newcomers introduce themselves, the manager's assistants distribute team handbooks and uniforms, and the coach announces the next morning's practice times. The new guys must be surprised by the lack of military-style discipline, but that's college level baseball outside the Big 6. Most of the team members aren't here to win championships: they just want to enjoy their university years before they have to put on smart suits and get real jobs. Tournament and league games are a big deal, of course, and plenty get drafted into the pro leagues out of college, but team admins can't exert control over adult university students the way they can over high school kids. Nor is there any money in Japanese college baseball. So it's a different vibe. Eijun doesn't seem fazed by any of it. Stuffing his uniform and handbook into an already-full backpack, he bounds up to Chris. "Have you been watching me?" Eijun asks. "I only had my moving fastball back then but I have like six weapons now! A cutter, and two types of sliders, and, well, you know, right?" "I can't say that I do," Chris lies. After his conversation with Miyuki in the library, he spent a week reading everything he could find about Eijun's growth. He used to avoid all that stuff because he didn't think he'd ever see Eijun again. What would be the point of ripping open the seams he's so carefully laid over his feelings? But just the hope that Eijun might come here made him learn all he could about Eijun's progress since they last worked together. If Eijun's disappointed in Chris's answer, he doesn't show it. Which probably means he isn't: for Eijun to hide what he's feeling, he would need to be in a straitjacket with his face covered in bandages and his eyes behind sunglasses. "I'm glad, anyway," Eijun says. "This way I get to show you. Wanna go play catch right now? Do you have time? How about we get something to eat? My treat! My family sent me too much money for this month, and--" "Sorry," Chris says, cutting him off with a rueful shake of his head. "I've got somewhere to be." He doesn't, but he can't just be seen leaving with a newbie pitcher after the year's first team assembly; it would only cause trouble with the other would-be relief pitchers. "I"ll walk you there," Eijun says cheerfully and starts to follow Chris out. "Where are we going?" Chris sighs. "Sawamura," he says, making his voice as quiet as possible. Using Eijun's surname tastes like another lie, but it's one he'll have to get used to. "You might not know this, but we just recently lost our regular reliever. Several people have their eyes on that spot, and you just told everyone you're a pitcher. I'll be team captain next year. If I leave this assembly with you, what do you think that's going to look like?" Eijun blinks. "I don't know? I doubt a first year like me is going to be picked to play regular." Chris grins. "True enough, but would you think about that if you were in their shoes?" Eijun casts a glance at a small group of upperclassmen chatting near the storage closet door. Oonishi chooses that moment to make eye contact with Chris, and Eijun looks contrite. And though he really should go and see what his pitcher wants, Chris lingers. "Good job getting into university, by the way. You must have studied like a beast." Eijun's smile turns brighter than the sun. "Thank you very much, Master!" Chris rolls his eyes a little. "How much practice are you going to need before you're back in fighting shape?" he asks. He can't imagine Eijun had a lot of time to do much except study during exam preparation. The Centre Test was back in January, but the university's own exam was only a month ago. Eijun salutes. "I'll catch up before you know it, sir!" Chris isn't sure what to make of Eijun's abrupt change in tone -- first Master and now sir -- did he take the admonishment about the pitcher drama closer to heart than Chris intended? "I'm glad university is for four years," Eijun says, not missing a beat. "That means we'll get to be on the same team for two years instead of just a few months." Chris smiles wryly. "Didn't you just say you knew you wouldn't be a regular right away?" Eijun finally succeeds in zipping his backpack shut and hoists it up on his shoulders. "I don't care. Even if it's just practice, that's good enough for me, because I've missed you a lot." Chris feels like someone's just punched his lights out; he's speechless, and his heart's MIA. Eijun isn't even looking at him: he clearly has no ulterior motive in saying something so... honest. And of course he wasn't listening when the coach explained that the regulars have their own training ground, since he's under the impression they're going to train together from now on. "Eijun," Furuya says, placing a hand on Eijun's shoulder. "I'm going out to try on the uniform and run some laps, you coming with?" Even though it's raining this hard? Chris thinks. His eyes are fixated on Eijun's hands, thumbs hooked under the straps of his backpack by the shoulders. "Sure," Eijun says. "See you later, Chris-senpai! Maybe next time we can get some ramen or something." All Chris can do is nod weakly and watch the two of them disappear into the changing room. Eijun's absence is too keen, like a blinding-bright spotlight suddenly vanishing and leaving behind a dark stage. He said he missed me. - Chris tells himself it's just nostalgia. He was eighteen, and Eijun idolised him so much it made him feel like the most wonderful person alive. Of course it flattered him, and of course he thought he was in love with Eijun. But that was then. He's an adult, he's getting a sports science degree so he can amount to something new after he retires from pro baseball. He doesn't have time to get his wits all tangled up like last year's Christmas lights. He needs to know better. He needs not to let the lingering bitterness from his final two years of high school -- and his desire to recapture that irrevocably lost time -- affect his present or his future. Eijun is just a fellow player who once, for a time, made his heart beat faster, and there's no need for that to happen again. Then their practice game opponents misread their schedule one bright April Saturday, show up two hours early, and Chris has to hurry to the campus indoor pool to fetch Oonishi from swimming drills. The pitching coach makes all the pitchers swim at least five hours a week because swimming helps maintain core strength with minimal impact. All the pitchers attend these drills, which means Eijun. With most of his clothes off. There he is, throwing water in Furuya's face and laughing. The natatorium's acoustics amplify the sound, and little echoes give Eijun's familiar voice a distant, lonely cast. A piece of rawhide is wound around Eijun's wrist with a locker key dangling from it. Furuya prepares to retaliate, but the coach throws a pool noodle at them. "Stop being babies and go back to your drills!" Chris asks a passing lifeguard to give Oonishi a message from him. Moments later, Oonishi runs off to blow-dry his hair. Chris hovers just outside the entrance to the pool area, not close enough to see water droplets slide down Eijun's chest when he surfaces but close enough to imagine he can. Eijun's backstroke is only serviceable, but his front crawl is faster than Chris would have pegged him for. His heart beats triple time whenever Eijun glances in his direction. Chris wants to come closer and at least say hi -- he hasn't talked to Eijun since the first assembly three weeks ago -- but the pool has a strict no-footwear policy, and Chris needs to be ready to leave. "Chris?" Oonishi's voice startles him. "Yeah," Chris says. "Let's go." After the spring tournament comes the Championship Series, then the US/Japan Collegiate Games, and the All-Star tournament in Ehime. Chris doesn't see Eijun again until the pre-fall season assembly, where Furuya gets bumped up to first string and Eijun doesn't. Afterwards, Eijun peppers Chris with questions about everything he did this summer, but before Chris has a chance to answer even one, Miyuki marches Eijun off to run laps. A few days later, Chris is on his way to a nutrition lab when he spots Eijun and Furuya leaving a lecture hall together, their shoulders bumping occasionally. Chris watches them go and remembers the uncharitable thoughts he had towards Miyuki for taking Eijun away the other day. He contemplates the borderline hostile thoughts he's having towards Furuya right now for walking beside Eijun like it's nothing. That's when he knows his feelings can't be put down to nostalgia. He isn't longing for something he can never have again. Chris doesn't want the past Eijun -- he wants this one. Though 'want' alone doesn't begin to describe it. I miss him, too. - The fall tournament ends on a high note for their school, thanks in no small part to Furuya. Oonishi, who's got no pro ambitions, gets ready to delve into job hunting, and the cheer squad starts working on chants incorporating Furuya's name as the ace. Chris is less sure that Furuya's the one: the head coach has been spending a lot of time letting his assistant supervise the regulars' practices while he visits the second-string grounds incognito. The indoor practices with the whole team will start first thing in January, and Chris expects that the coach will want his opinion another month or so after that. For now, practice is more or less wrapped up: it's time for exam season and then the winter break. Finally Chris will have a chance to try and talk to Eijun instead of greeting him hurriedly at assemblies or exchanging the occasional LINE message. "We're not quite done yet," the manager tells them near the end of the second-to-last club assembly of the year. "As you all know, our school's at the forefront of sports science research in the country, and we pride ourselves on always supporting the research efforts in every way possible. Those of you who have just entered might not know that every academic year, all clubs are required to raise funds for a contribution towards our researchers' work." "Here it comes," Chris mutters to Miyuki, who snickers discreetly. Last year, registered baseball club members had to wear fake reindeer-antler headbands from the hundred-yen shop for a full school week and solicit money from everyone who asked about said antlers. Those who chose not to had to pay a thousand yen for every day they didn't wear the things. With most members opting for the path of least resistance (not to mention least humiliation), the team raised a solid four hundred thousand yen. The manager clears his throat. "This year, we're going to team up with the softball team and host a masquerade ball right here in our gymnasium. The entrance fee will cover your research donation, unlimited hors d'oeuvres and festive punch." "Masquerade?" Oonishi asks. "Last year it was antlers, this year we have to cosplay like high schoolers?" "You don't have to, ah, cosplay, Oonishi-kun," the manager retorts. "You can just cut out a figure eight out of some construction paper, glue it to a stick, and hold it up to your face. Don't forget to cut holes so you can see where you're going." Titters break out in the ranks. Oonishi rolls his eyes. The manager coughs again. "As I was saying, it's a masquerade ball. We're teaming up with the softball club for this, and so those of you who don't have any experience dancing are going to need some help." The nervous laughter grows stronger. "Dancing?" someone calls. "Like in music videos or old-timey movies?" "That's up to you, mostly. There will be one exhibition dance that we'll be recording to put on the club website. If you have never danced with a partner in a ballroom setting before, come here at eleven this Saturday; we've invited an instructor to show you how it's done." "Can I bring my girlfriend?" someone asks. "People with girlfriends should just die," another advises. "Yeah, who are we supposed to practice dancing with if we don't have girlfriends?" "Pick a team member you like," the manager says with a straight face. "Think of it as being stretching partners." "Dibs on Chris-senpai!" Eijun yells from the back of the room. The travelling frisson of laughter turns into a full-on roar. Chris hides his face in his hands. - "One, two, three," Eijun mutters under his breath. Tiny sweat dots cover his forehead, and his hand is clammy inside Chris's. Not that Chris can tell whose hands are sweating more: he's afraid that he's going to leave a wet handprint beneath Eijun's shoulder blade. He wishes he could goof off like the rest of the club, but Eijun's proximity is bad for his heart and for his mental health and why on earth did he ever agree to do this in public? The music from the boom box the instructor brought in is too quiet to be a distraction: they'd need a surround sound system first. Eijun's lips move silently now, counting the steps. They aren't doing half badly: neither has trod on the other's foot in about three minutes. "It's too bad you couldn't make regular in time for the fall tournament," Chris says, determined to fill the silence so his racing thoughts don't fill it for him. Besides, the instructor said to make conversation. "What? Oh. Baseball!" Eijun brightens. "I'll be there in spring, you'll see." Now that he's stopped counting, he promptly stumbles into a misstep and Chris holds on tighter to keep them both from ending up on the floor. Eijun looks up at him, and his eyes are so bright Chris's steps falter. He loosens his hold on Eijun and glances away, at Furuya and Miyuki, who look like they were born to dance together. "Is there anything Furuya's bad at?" Chris murmurs, half to himself. He doesn't have the courage to look back at Eijun. All he wants is to pull him closer again. "He snores," Eijun offers in an uncharacteristically subdued voice. The music stops. Thirty or so pairs pull apart with lots of feet-shuffling and nervous laughter. "All right, time's up. Any of you want to practice some more before the party, I'll be here again on Thursday," the instructor calls. They all thank her in a rolling chorus. Chris stands with his right hand in a loose fist. Would that he could mould Eijun's lingering warmth into a shape he can take home. "Senpai--?" "Yeah?" "N-nothing," Eijun says, running a hand through his hair. "Never mind." He grabs his jacket from a wall hook and leaves, not bothering to shower, change, or wait for Furuya. Later in the afternoon, as Chris is heading to his dorm floor's kitchen to start dinner for everyone, his phone buzzes with a LINE notification from Eijun. Do I have a shot at the ace number in spring? It's too early to tell, Chris types. He contemplates putting in a smiley face: by itself, his response looks too abrupt, almost rude. Instead, he adds, Was that what you wanted to ask at the gym earlier? Eijun doesn't respond, leaving Chris with a lingering unease. He makes curry in a huge pot, rings the bell to let the other guys know it's done, and they eat amidst typical post-exam cheer. Chris just can't get into being cheerful, though -- he can't stop wondering why Eijun was acting so strangely today. Did I do something to upset him? Is he angry that I haven't been his mentor like he wanted? It's true that Chris hasn't paid much attention to Eijun's development, but it isn't for lack of interest. He just can't be in two places at once -- three places, if he counts schoolwork. He hopes Eijun knows that. Chris is loading the dishwasher when his phone goes off again. Do you have time today to get some ramen with me? Eijun asks. I just ate, but I'll keep you company. Some other time, then. A sticker of a black bear in a hula skirt pops up beneath the text.. Oops. Ignore that! Chris sighs. Trying to act so proper doesn't suit you at all, Sawamura. If you want me to join you, say the word. I've got nothing going on tonight. Five minutes pass. Do you know the place next to the arcade? Chris doesn't. I'll come to your dorm, we'll go together. Eijun and Furuya lucked out with a spot in the new building that just went up last year: sleek Western style with in-room air conditioning, ensuite bathrooms, and kitchenettes. Chris has been here once before when Furuya didn't show up for practice after forgetting to set his alarm. He flashes his university ID at the attendant downstairs, takes the elevator to the seventh floor and follows a twisty maze of hallways to Eijun and Furuya's door. Eijun answers Chris's knock wearing boxers and one sock, with a toothbrush in his mouth. "Fif-fenfai," Eijun says, his eyes huge. "Faf fof faf." He bolts into the bathroom. Chris takes that as permission to enter, shuts the door behind himself, and removes his shoes. "I mean to say that was fast!" Eijun yells amid sounds of water running into a sink. And, knowing Eijun, probably splashing out of the sink, too. Chris walks further inside and stops to examine the mini artificial Christmas tree squished into the space between the two writing desks. It's decorated with tiny red and silver gift-box ornaments. He's surprised to see one here: it's only the end of November. "Nice tree," he calls. "Didn't know you two were into Christmas." "Furuya is," Eijun says, buttoning his shirt as he walks out of the bathroom. "He even wanted to pay for a real one, but I talked him out of it." He picks up a pair of jeans laid out on the bed next to the window and starts pulling them on. "All that effort over some weird holiday." Chris shrugs. "My dad's American, so we always had Christmas trees while I was growing up. I like them." "Hey, don't get me wrong, I love Christmas!" Eijun declares as he finishes doing up his jeans. "Good job being born, Santa Claus!" Chris laughs. "Speaking of Furuya, where is he?" "He went to work on some group project." Chris notices a half-eaten rice ball sitting next to an opened textbook on Eijun's desk. It should probably be put away before a friendly neighbourhood cockroach gets wind of it. He's about to point it out to Eijun when Eijun jumps in front of the desk and blocks it from view. "I wasn't lying about wanting to eat ramen!" he says, not meeting Chris's eyes. Chris frowns, puzzled. "I... okay?" It didn't occur to him that Eijun might have been lying about anything, let alone ramen. "I was kind of lying about ramen," Eijun amends with a sigh and sinks down onto the corner of his bed, shoulders slumped. "Sawamura?" Eijun's head snaps up, and the look in his eyes is exactly the same as it was on the day he once begged Chris to teach him baseball: guileless and pleading, on the verge of tears. "Chris-senpai, I-- look, I know you already noticed, that's why you've been avoiding me so politely, because even though you're strict when it comes to baseball, you're the kindest person I've ever met." Chris blinks. Avoiding him? Politely? "I haven't been--" "Somehow I'll make myself stop feeling this way, so please don't avoid me any more." "I'm trying to tell you, I haven't--" Feeling this way? What way? "I know I'm a disgusting animal, but I promise I won't do anything! I would never. So." Chris crouches down in front of Eijun. "So? What on earth are you going on about?" "My feelings!" Eijun is nearly yelling. "For you," he adds in a quieter voice. Chris's heart stutters, and he tries to meet Eijun's eyes, but Eijun is glaring off to the side, at the floor. Abruptly, he rises, sidesteps Chris, and stalks over to the window. "I'm sorry," he mutters. "I'm an idiot, but I hope we can be friends." Chris gets to his feet and approaches Eijun again. There are so many things he wants to say to Eijun, so many things he wants to ask him, but he doesn't know where to begin or how to choose his words so Eijun will know he's not just trying to let him down easy. Then he remembers that words alone might never be enough to make Eijun understand. It's not how he pictured this. Truth is, he's never seriously thought something like this might happen at all. It's the stuff of dreams that make him wake with a smile that's gone as soon as he remembers that the world isn't kind. But sometimes it is. Today, it is. So Chris puts a hand on Eijun's shoulder, half-turns him around, and presses his lips against Eijun's flushed cheekbone, then next to the corner of his mouth, and then to his lower lip. Eijun's mouth opens with a puff of mint-flavoured breath and a sigh too soft to come from someone so loud. "Chris--" "Eijun," Chris murmurs, and Eijun's eyes fall shut. He puts one hand up on Chris's neck, fingertips tangling in his hair, and pulls him down into a deep, wet kiss that makes Chris's dick hard while his knees start to tremble. Eijun's other hand is clutching at Chris's sweatshirt, pulling it down hard enough for the back of the collar to dig into the base of Chris's neck. Chris puts both hands on Eijun's ass, pressing closer, closer, and Eijun gives a soft little moan; it really was such a waste for him to get dressed earlier-- "I'm home," Furuya calls from the front entrance. "Oh, hello, Chris-senpai." Chris and Eijun spring apart like a pair of alley cats from a water bucket dumped from above. Chris can't look away from Eijun's wet mouth and his heart's beating harder than it ever has. "If you guys are going to practice dancing, you should put on some music," Furuya advises. Eijun starts laughing at the top of his lungs, and it's obviously fake, though Furuya doesn't seem to notice. It's possible that he just doesn't care why Eijun does the things he does. "How about you show me that shortcut you mentioned?" Chris suggests to Eijun. "I'm sure Furuya-kun's too tired for us to be making all this noise." Eijun stops laughing abruptly. "What shortcut? I don't remember us talking about any shortcut. Shortcut to where?" Chris fights the urge to put his head in his hands and cry. "You know, the shortcut. To the ramen place." "What--? Oh! Ohhhh!" Eijun grins with a knowing look on his face. "Yeah! I get it now! Come on, Chris-senpai. I'll show you the best shortcut ever!" They bid a hasty good-bye to Furuya and leave. "I'm not really hungry," Eijun says in the elevator. He's blushing and it's criminally cute. "The ramen was mostly an excuse." "I got that," Chris says. "We're not going to the ramen place." "We're not? Where are we going?" "Where do you want to go?" Chris asks as they walk past the attendant and step out into the chilly air. Night has fallen, dry and crisp. "I want--" Eijun's phone rings. "Hello?" He frowns and claps a hand to his forehead. "Oh, crap! I'll be right up." "What happened?" "I completely forgot about the Skype call with my family," Eijun says. He looks torn. "My phone camera is broken, so I have to do it on Furuya's laptop. Um, I'll just quickly tell them I'm busy and come right back--" "It's fine," Chris says, feeling a little wistful. There are way too many things he doesn't know about Eijun. "Go talk to your family. Let's go out for ramen tomorrow." Eijun's eyes widen with plain delight. "Is it like a date?" Chris wants to pull him close, but the lobby attendant is watching them. "Not 'like'. It is a date," he says. Eijun's smile is like the sun when dawn breaks. - The next day, Eijun gets called in to cover for a sick coworker at his part time job, so they agree to meet right outside the supermarket where Eijun works. Chris takes the subway two stops north of campus and takes his time walking: he's ten minutes early. But most of the stores on the street are already closed for the night, so there's not much to look at. Plus, he wants to see Eijun as soon as possible, if only to make sure that everything that happened yesterday wasn't some kind of fever dream. A portly Santa Claus stands outside the supermarket where Eijun said he works, holding a Time Sale Ending Soon! Eggs for Half Off! sign. A little bell attached to the top of the sign tinkles softly. "Merry Christmas!" the Santa hollers in Eijun's voice, and Chris is so startled he stops. "S-Sawamura?" "Chris-senpai! You came!" Chris nods at the outfit, trying not to snicker. "I guess I'm too early?" Eijun sets the sign down next to the entrance. "No, it's fine! Are we going on a date now?" "I-- yes?" Chris doesn't think anyone overheard him except for a cat washing its whiskers atop the recycling bin at the supermarket's entrance. The pragmatic, celebrity's-child part of him wants to tell Eijun to keep his voice down. The part of him that's in love with Eijun wishes he'd been louder. Eijun shoves his hands in the pockets of his Santa suit and starts walking in the direction Chris just came from. "Awesome. I know a good place nearby, we might as well go there instead of taking the subway all the way back." Chris follows, wondering if Eijun intends on wearing the Santa outfit the whole night, or if he's just worried he'll be too cold without it. Surely he'll want to at least remove the padding? "Chris-senpai," Eijun begins. "You can't call me that if we're on a date," Chris says before Eijun can continue. "But you are my senpai." "It doesn't matter," Chris says, trying not to laugh at the incongruity of a white-bearded guy saying such a thing, fake beard or no. "It's a way of showing respect, but there's nothing I can call you to show you the same. If it's a date, we should be equals." "How about Eijun-sama?" Eijun suggests cheerfully. Behind the beard, it's hard to tell if he's joking, so Chris gives him a disdainful look just in case he isn't. "By the way, are you going to eat dressed like that, or were you planning on changing first?" he asks, deciding that he really does want to know. Eijun stops dead. "Shit! I forgot!" "What?" "To change! And all my stuff's still in the back room!" Chris laughs as they turn back to the supermarket. "Are you really an adult?" "I got so excited when I saw you that I forgot about everything," Eijun says. Chris's heart clenches. He'll develop arrhythmia if Eijun keeps saying things like that. Right now, it doesn't sound like a bad way to die. Eijun leads him around the building to the supermarket's loading doors and into an employee breakroom with a row of lockers against one wall, a picnic table against the other. There's just enough room for one person to pass, sideways, between the two. . Underneath the suit, Eijun's wearing padding Velcroed to his torso and limbs over his normal clothes. Chris helps him remove it and stow it in an empty locker along with the Santa outfit and fake beard. Eijun pulls a Seidou jacket and knitted cap from another locker and puts them on, then, as though in afterthought, sidles up to Chris and kisses him. He's not shy about getting close or sliding his hands underneath Chris's jacket, either -- they're too warm from the Santa mittens, yet Chris shivers. In his mind, he's gone over last night so many times that he expected to feel self-conscious about getting physically close to Eijun again, but he's never been surer of what he wants. Too bad Eijun's sense of time and place are still as atrocious as ever. "We can't," he breathes, pushing Eijun's hands away. "If someone comes in--" "Shift just started," Eijun whispers. "No one's coming back here for the next hour." Chris pulls away. "Not here." "Buuuuuuuuuuuut--!" Chris gives him a stern look. "Sawamura." "If I can't call you senpai, you can't call me by my last name," Eijun says, and Chris smiles. He's been on a first name basis with Eijun in his head for years. One day, he'd like Eijun to call him Yuu. Because all this time he's been dreaming about Eijun, and you just don't keep dreaming about somebody you intend to let go. -the end-

Once Derek gets to New York, he gets a job in a shitty part of town at a movie theater that always seems to be about 3 dollars from having to shut down. The pay's awful, but the manager lets him sleep in the projector booth when he's off work (which isn’t much; he doesn't like to spend too much time alone with his thoughts these days). He showers at the Y down the street and ignores the speculative looks some of the men shoot his way, the once-overs he gets in the gym. They don't get any first-run blockbusters at the theater. Or second-run, for that matter. They couldn't run them even if they did—the projector Derek works with is at least as old as he is. Mostly they play porn, softcore stuff from the 70s and 80s—all big hair and mustaches, more silly than sexy. Derek learns to tune it out after awhile; it wouldn't have done anything for him before, let alone now. He only watches what's playing Tuesday nights, when they put on a few of the actual movies that the owner bought a bunch awhile back in a remainder auction in a weak attempt at legitimacy. It's stuff no one else wanted—old sci-fi B movies, Westerns, whatever analog stuff other theaters had around when they made the move to digital. So he sits there numbly reel after reel for week after week and watches sheriffs with tin stars and two-bit detectives tromp around the screen. It's comforting at first: the hero always wins and the villain always pays. Black and white. He figures out pretty quickly that that's not always true, even in shitty melodramas; pure evil doesn't make for good stories, and gray gets in everywhere. But crime is never allowed to pay—even the most sympathetic villains still have to buy their absolution with blood and misery. He's still naive enough, then, to think that the world doesn't work like that. That forgiveness and redemption in life are possible, even for killers and fools. Even for him. A postcard comes for him at the theater every so often, addressed to increasingly unlikely pseudonyms; Laura's always had a good imagination for that kind of thing. Derek thinks 'Butch Cassidy' might be pushing it too far, though. Laura misses a couple of weeks every now and then, and Derek doesn't let it worry him too much. When she misses two months in a row, though, he quits his job and makes the drive back to Northern California, worry burrowing deeper into his bones as he goes. He stays in cheap motels along the way, the kind that still advertise color TV like it's something new and exciting and whose owners only take cash. (There's a kind of hope in fear, he realizes later. You've got to have something to lose before you're afraid to lose it.) It's not until long after he gets to Beacon Hills, long after he meets Scott McCall for the first time and calls him brother, that he realizes just how wrong he was about all of it. He's no hero. He's not even the hero of his own story. He's Eddie Bartlett in The Roaring Twenties, dying unmourned and unremarked in the rain, redeemed only by his own blood. If anyone makes it out of this thing, it’s going to be Scott, and Derek doesn't even bother to think of that as unfair at this point. But there it is: he's a bit player in Scott McCall's life, a footnote in a love story. Brother, he thinks bitterly, what a fucking joke. But it’s still true, is the thing: blood’s no bond against betrayal. It’s the oldest story there is; Derek knows that all too well. And then there's Stiles, always Stiles, who somehow manages to stay perpetually stranded halfway between comedy and tragedy. Derek knows his story, too: the plucky sidekick whose brave death spurs the hero on to victory. He watches Stiles cry, hears him lie about why, and thinks: you idiot, did you ever think you'd get the girl? did you ever think this would end any other way? Still. They're two of a kind, strays that Beacon Hills doesn’t have a use for anymore. Derek knows that both he and Stiles won't have much more of a role to play in this story after this. It doesn't make him any fonder of Stiles. Somehow he survives. He's not dumb enough to attach any particular meaning to it this time. When Peter's second betrayal finally comes, it's not a surprise. Derek thought it would be sooner, honestly—but then again, Peter has a much better sense of timing than Derek. He's always been a past master of the grand finale, the delayed punchline. He ends up with Stiles somehow, trapped and waiting for the Alphas to break through the door in the cellar of what used to be Derek's home. "This is the part where the cavalry comes, right?" Stiles asks, drumming his hands against the floor while Derek searches fruitlessly for anything that might actually keep the Alphas out for another few minutes. "The cavalry doesn't come for us," Derek says wearily. He wants to yell, wants to make Stiles understand just how fucked they both are. Maybe he wants to apologize too; this death shouldn't belong to Stiles, too. "You mean won't," Stiles says shakily. "Not that that's much better." "I mean doesn't," Derek snarls. "You don’t get the girl, and I don’t get the glory. That’s not how things work for us." He tosses a piece of rotten wood aside and paces back towards Stiles. The kid's hunched against the wall now, shaking and reeking of fear and desperation. Above them, Derek can hear voices echoing loudly; they’re planning something. Not much time left. "I don't want to die," Stiles says quietly. Whatever fight he had left in him a minute ago is gone now; he's slumped against the wall of the cell, staring blankly at the claw marks on the windowsill opposite him. "I don't think my dad would make it, not a second time," and wow, the kid must be terrified if he's saying this stuff to Derek. "Nobody wants to die," Derek says shortly. He pulls at a rusted manacle, more to have something to do than because he thinks it'll be of any kind of use. Stiles doesn’t respond. “We didn't talk much, before my mother died. And after-" Stiles breaks off. "We didn't talk at all for awhile, after that. He was a good dad, don't get me wrong. He still is. But when you watch someone you love go like that, slow and painful—a part of you goes too. It's like gangrene. You have to cut part of yourself off to save the rest." "But he survived," Derek says swiftly. "And he'll survive this, too." He doesn't know why he wants so badly for Stiles to admit that they're beat, that this is it. Maybe a part of him thinks that if Stiles accepts it, Derek will too. "The first few weeks after she died, he didn't sleep. He’d wait until I went to bed, then he’d sit at the kitchen table with a bottle of whiskey and his service revolver. There was a rhythm to it—take a drink, clean the gun, take another drink, load the gun.” Stiles lifts his head up, his eyes hard and flat like cheap amber when they meet Derek's. "You'd be amazed at how clearly you can hear that in an empty house.” Derek doesn't know what to say to that. He settles for nodding. It doesn't seem to make a difference to Stiles either way; he stares back down at his hands and keeps talking. "And did I do anything? Did I go downstairs and talk to him? Or lift a fucking finger to stop my father from just taking that Magnum and blowing his head clean off?" Stiles does move, then, with sudden and surprising fury, and it takes all of Derek's reflexes to stop him from smashing his hand into the stone wall. "You were a kid," Derek says, keeping a firm grip on Stiles' wrist. It’s the best comfort he can offer, and he knows it’s no comfort at all. “It wasn’t your fault,” and he knows Stiles can hear that lie. Derek’s never been able to believe it for himself, and he can’t be expected to sell it to someone else. "For our viewers who are following along at home, the answer is 'no'," Stiles says, choosing to ignore Derek and his weak platitudes entirely. He twists in Derek’s grip and pulls himself up easily; Stiles is stronger than he looks. “And I’m not going to let that happen again, so fix this, Derek. Get us out of here.” “I don’t know how,” Derek says tersely. It’s the bloody bones of the truth he’s been running from for years. “Can’t you just try?” Stiles is pleading, now. “Work whatever werewolf magic you have to do to get us out of this. Or I can, I can help. Just tell me what to do.” It’s the only time he’s ever looked at Derek like Derek had any answer at all to any of this. It almost makes Derek sorry that he doesn’t have one. “This isn’t one of your stories, Stiles,” Derek snarls. “There are no last-minute escapes, no second chances. Accept that.” “But it is one of yours,” Stiles says slowly. “You’re playing a death scene right now, aren’t you?” He always forgets that Stiles is capable of this; the kid spends so much time talking that Derek forgets he watches, too. “I’m not playing at anything,” he says. “This is how it is, Stiles. You have to accept that.” “I don’t have to accept anything,” Stiles says. He weaves in closer, watching Derek closely. “I know what you’re trying to do,” Derek says flatly. “It won’t work.” He doesn’t want to admit to either of them that it might be working, just a little. Stiles stares at him. “You’re an asshole,” he says finally. “And a cowardly one.” "Sure," Derek says easily. He can admit that much, after all. “But when did I ever pretend to be anything else, Stiles?” “So that’s it,” Stiles says contemptuously. “Some creature of the night you turned out to be; I can’t believe I ever thought you were worth being afraid of.” Derek lashes out, finally, even though he knows he shouldn’t; Stiles is baiting him, that much is laughably obvious. Stiles doesn't seem to mind, though, doesn't even flinch when Derek's fist hits him. He just stands there afterwards, grinning fierce and bright and beautiful, blood oozing sluggishly from a fresh cut on his bottom lip. Derek can't look away. “I’ve hated you,” Stiles admits roughly. He flicks his tongue out experimentally and winces a little when it brushes against his cut lip. “And I’ve been afraid of you. But I’ve always trusted you, Derek. And I think you have a choice.” He steps forward and tangles a hand in Derek’s shirt, yanking him in for a kiss that tastes more like desperation than lust by now. There’s no shivering fog of fear around Stiles now. He smells like iron and smoke and anger, like war, and some part of Derek howls back a response: time to fight. “Make up your mind,” Stiles says finally, swiping the last of the blood off his lip. It’s the last thing he gets out before the door breaks open. Derek does.

You sit atop Seven's lap, the soft, consistent taps of his fingers against the keyboard and the dull whir of his computers were almost enough to lull you to sleep. You probably would have fallen asleep too, Seven's lap was so comfortable and the cotton of his jacket was extremely soft against your cheek, but there was one thing keeping you from having a peaceful nap against the hacker. There was a thick vibrator inside of you and the remote to it was currently in Seven's hand. He flicks it on full force suddenly and you buck your hips against his. Your earn a warning squeeze to your ass, and you hold your breath, trying to keep your body still as the vibrations stimulate your insides. You whine as he turns it off again, leaving your thighs shaking and your clit throbbing. ~ Seven had invited you over earlier, promising that he finally had a day off from work and he wanted to spend the whole day with you. But, as soon as you stepped passed the threshold, after successfully getting past all of his intricate locks, Seven's phone had gone off. He had smiled at you sheepishly and you sat down on his bed with a sigh. You listen to him talk back and forth with the person on the phone, sounding almost as if he were bickering with them. You pull out your phone and check the RFA app, just to see if you had missed anything. You hear Seven sigh into the receiver heavily, and you smile at the clearly exaggerated sound. He hangs up the call loudly and sets his phone down on his desk with a groan. “Everything okay?” He runs his hand through his hair. “I'm sorry... I just got a new job. Even though I was told I could get a day off today-!” He lets out a sigh, a genuine one this time. “Anything I can do to help?” You see him sit up straighter in his chair, and you know you've just awoken something within him. “I can think of several things.” He says, voice lower than it was earlier, huskier. He pushes his computer chair out a bit and turns to look at you. His eyes are dark, staring right at you, practically undressing you with just those eyes. He motions you towards him with a little upturn of his lips and your heart skips a beat. “Come here, kitten.” And there it was, your cue that told you exactly what he wanted from you. You stand up from the bed and walk towards him, his mouth forming a smirk as you easily plop down onto his lap. He holds you steady with a grip on your hips before he turns back to his monitors. You assume he just wants to use you for your warmth and company but when he moves a hand from his keyboard down to your shorts, you realize things would be going very differently that night. You weren't scared though, sometimes Seven just got in a mood like this, and he wouldn't be calm until you were both naked. You knew the drill, knew the rules and the words to make him stop immediately, so you weren't worried. The tapping on his keyboard ceases completely and when you're about to ask him what was wrong, you hear him opening up one of the drawers on his desk. “Seven, what-” “Shh. Kittens can't talk, right?” You close your mouth and he smiles. “Good girl.” You hear things rattle and clank against each other in his drawer, but it's silent when he closes it again. A few things thump against the desk but you don't dare to turn around and look at them, worried about ruining the surprise he had in store for you. He pushes against your chest and you get the clue and lean back against his desk, the wood digging slightly into your back. He holds something out for you and you stare down at it, eyes widening when you realize what it is. A thin, leather collar colored a pale shade of yellow, adorned with tiny crystals and a shimmering bell. The bell jingles as he reaches out to put it around your neck, tightening it so it rests snugly against your throat. You swallow and it feels weird, but you have to admit you love the soft weight resting around your neck. He grips at your shorts again, unbuttoning and pulling them off, with a bit of struggle thanks to your position. His hand moves down to stroke you through your panties and the bell around your neck chimes as you buck against his touch. Seven moves his hand away to grab one of the other items left on his desk. He reaches down with one hand to pull your panties to the side and you shiver as his cold fingers touch against your wet heat. He smirks into your shoulder as he rubs something foreign against your wet folds. “You're already so wet...” He whispers before pushing the object against your entrance, not stopping the advance of his hand until it's fully inside you. A full body shudder wracks your spine as the object suddenly starts vibrating. Seven bites at your ear. “How does it feel? The vibrator, I bought it just for you.” You whine and your pussy tightens around the toy at the low chuckle that Seven gives in response. You grip at his jacket and he puts a hand to your back to pull you close. You rest your head on his shoulder and bite your bottom lip as he turns the vibrations up higher. He leans in and whispers into you ear, “Don't cum until I tell you to. Or else, I'll have to punish you.” You moan, low in your throat and Seven continues on with work as if nothing had happened. ~ You don't know how long you had been sitting in Seven's lap, but you can only assume it's been at least an hour. It feels like you've been here forever, though and you were aching to cum. Seven was a jerk when it came to the vibrator's remote; turning it on at full speed, only to shut it off completely when you were this close to finally cumming. Hearing his soft heartbeat against your own was enough to help you calm down once he turns the vibrator off, but as soon as it's back on, you're writhing in his lap, unfiltered moans leaving your lips. The tapping on his keyboard stops and you hear him go pick up the remote to the vibrator, but it clatters back to the desk when Seven's phone starts ringing. He answers the phone at a lazy pace, an annoyed greeting leaving his lips once he picks up. Your eyes widen as he picks up the remote again and you bite your lip so hard you're afraid it will bleed as he puts the vibrator on to it's maximum setting. He was doing this on purpose, you realized, testing you to see how long you could last like this. You think you can do it though, you had been enduring this for what seemed like hours, you're sure- All those thoughts go out the window once Seven shifts his weight and reaches his hand down, fingers rubbing at your clit like he wasn't in the middle of talking on the phone with someone. You claw at his shoulders and a moan slips past your lips as your hips buck involuntarily, the vibrator hitting right up against your g-spot. You hold your body completely still, Seven's fingers working your clit at a slow and teasing pace, and the vibrator hitting right were you need it to. Your orgasm hits you suddenly and you can't help the load moan that leaves your lips because of it. Seven's fingers leave your panties and move to grip tightly at your wrist, and you know you're in for the time of your life when he roughly hangs up the phone with no care to whoever was on the line. Your body felt heavy and sleepy, still coming down from your post-orgasm high, and you look up at Seven lazily, body threatening to fall asleep, right then and there. “You came, didn't you?” He asks, voice even. “Even though I said you couldn't.” “Sorry, Seven...” “No, naughty girls who don't listen have to be punished.” He stands up from his computer chair with you in tow, hands held against your thighs to keep you from falling. He walks to his bed and drops you unceremoniously to the cold, unslept in sheets below. “What about work?” You ask as you run a hand through his hair. He doesn't answer and instead focuses on taking off your clothes, ridding you of your shirt, bra, and panties. He stares down at you for a second, just drinking in all your naked body has to offer before he suddenly leaves the bed. You watch him as he walks over to his closet, but you don't dare move to get a better look. He pulls out a black bag and shuts his closet doors before making his way back to his bed. He dumps the contents of the bag onto the bed and your eyes widen when you realize what all of it was. Dark red, almost the color of freshly brewed wine, is what catches your eye first. They were ropes, thick and corded together, and just the sight of them made your heart pound faster. He plucks something else from the pile first, though and your mouth waters. A sleek, black piece of silk you can only assume would be used as a blindfold. He leans forward with it in hand, and your assumptions are proven correct once he reaches around you to tie it firmly around your head. You blink and the fabric feels strange against your eyelashes, so you prompt to just keep your eyes close. He trails a single finger down your body, but not being able to see and predict his movements makes it feel like so much more. He circles your nipples with the tip of his finger, rolling the pink nubs until they harden under his touch. He pulls his finger away and you're left wondering what he was doing, until his mouth closes around one of your nipples. You let out a breathy moan at the sudden warmth around your nipple and you cry out when he gives a hard suck to the pink nub. “S-Seven, don't s-suck it!” You feel him smirk against your skin as he moves over to your other nipple. His mouth closes around that one before he gives a hard bite to your skin. You let out a sharp hiss as the pain tingles against your skin. You're sure he bit hard enough to leave a mark. “Seven!” “You told me not to suck, didn't you?” You whine in response and he grins. The bed creaks under you as Seven shifts his weight, and you hear what sounds like the ropes from before being moved. They thump against the bed as he starts to untangle them, and you shiver as he lets a few rest against your thighs. “These will look so pretty against your skin.” He says. “I couldn't have picked a better color. How should I tie these? Diamond? Tortoise?” Anything! You want to shout, body growing restless. He doesn't say anything to you after that, mostly mumbling to himself about which tie would look best on you. He must decide though, because suddenly your thighs are being brought up and your hands are pulled behind your back as Seven crosses them together to rest fully against your back. The first rope goes to tie around your arms in a box tie, and you can only imagine how long it will take before they start to go numb. The next rope starts around your neck, the bell on your collar clinking in protest as it's moved around by the rope. He connects it to another rope that he wraps around your bare breasts, pushing them together and making them stand out more. Your legs were bent at the knee, a few, thin ropes keeping your thighs and calves tied together. This goes on for a few minutes, Seven's experienced hands and watchful eyes make sure you're safe. He leans back to admire his handy work, pants growing tighter as he watches you squirm to test the ropes, completely at his mercy. He quickly grabs a condom from his pocket, one that he had taken from his desk earlier, and sets it to the side while he gets undressed. You're left to lay back on the bed, forced to wait and listen while Seven takes his clothes off. “What if I just left you like this? You were a bad kitten, cumming right after I told you not to. Is giving you what you want, really a punishment?” You whine and Seven takes his cock in hand, stroking it as he watches you writhe on the bed. “Please, Seven!” “Hmm? Please what?” He asks, rolling the condom onto his hardened length. “Please fuck me! I want- I need to cum!” Seven moves closer to you on the bed, pushing your thighs apart to look at your dripping pussy. He drags two fingers through the mess between your legs, and you can't help the desperate moan that leaves your lips. “You're dripping, kitten. Do you really want me that badly?” “Yes!” Seven laughs despite the mood in the room and pulls you closer, dragging you by your thighs until his cock rubs against your wet cunt. He rolls his hips, and your head falls back as his thick cock rubs against your clit. He grips your thighs and in one smooth and fluid motion, raises your hips until they're off the bed, before driving his cock fully into you. Your back arches and he struggles to hold you up, a long and drawn out moan escaping your lips. He snaps his hips without warning, using your pussy for his pleasure only, not even bothering to touch your clit. You cry out, arms pulling against your bonds, desperate to ease the ache from your untouched and engorged clit. A sob wracks your body as Seven pinches at one of your nipples, the pink nubs overly sensitive now. You were sobbing out Seven's name, begging him with incoherent words to touch you. You didn't even register that the words were leaving your mouth until Seven started laughing at you. “You're so desperate!” The bell around your neck clinks angrily as Seven lets you drop back down onto the bed. He drives into you harder, his thighs smacking against yours. “Cry for me more, kitten.” His hand reaches down to rub at your clit, rolling the bright red nub between his fingers. You hear him giving you the command to cum, and before the words have even left his lips, you're cumming, fast and hard, making a mess of both Seven and his sheets. You crumble to the bed, body numb and bones feeling like liquid. But, Seven wasn't done yet. His hand was still on your clit, cock still pounding in and out of your sore pussy. His name leaves your lips in a choke as you beg him to stop, way too sensitive to continue. Tears build up in your eyes and slip past the blindfold as you feel another orgasm build up in your belly, your thighs shaking violently as you cum to the sudden feeling of Seven releasing into the condom. He pulls out and everything past your hips starts to throb in protest. Your breathing is heavy and you whine when Seven reaches up and unties the piece of silk, pulling it away from your eyes. “You okay?” He asks softly. You nod slowly and he leans down to press butterfly kisses to the tear tracks staining your cheeks. “Sorry, I went a little overboard there...” You shake your head with a lazy smile. “Mm, it's okay. I liked it. A lot.” He grins. “I'm glad. I'll untie the ropes now, okay? Sit up for me, if you can.” It takes a bit of work to sit up off the soft sheets of Seven's bed, but it's worth it when he starts pulling away the ropes. He goes to remove the collar but you shake your head, wanting to keep it on for just a bit longer. You sigh happily when you can fully move your body again, smiling down at the soft, red marks that now adorn your skin. Seven looks sheepish so you decide to quell his worries and place a soft kiss to his lips. “It's okay, Saeyoung,” You whisper, relishing in the tiny gasp that leaves his lips at the use of his real name. “I enjoyed it all.” He leans his forehead against yours before he lets out a small laugh. “How did I end up with someone so perfect?” You give a lopsided smile. “I could say the same thing.” “Let's go take a bath together, babe.” He whispers, voice deep. Your face flushes and you stare up at him with wide eyes. The moment is ruined though, when Seven breaks out into a fit of laughter. “Ah, I sounded just like Zen there, didn't I?” You can't help but giggle and he smiles as he presses a kiss against your forehead. ~ Seven leaves you to sit atop the bathroom counters as he kneels down next to the tub, hand reaching under the faucet to test the temperature of the water. Once he gauges it to be just right, he picks you back up and steps fully into the tub. You decide to help him out a little, making sure the two of you don't slip. The two of you make it into the warm water without any injury, both of you letting out soft sighs once you're fully seated in the tub. Seven lays back against the tiled wall, and you lay against him, eyes closing at the feeling of warmth and safety that surrounds you. The scent of green apples fills your nose as Seven pours some body wash onto a washcloth. He drags it down your body gently, paying extra care to the soft, red marks the ropes had left on your body. His cloth covered hand hovers over your hips and you put your hand over his, guiding it passed your hips and in between your thighs. “It's okay,” You whisper and you smile when you feel his lips press a kiss to your neck. The delicate moment that had settled around you two was ruined, once again, by Seven. You feel something hard resting against your back and you can only assume what it may be. “Ready for round three?” You don't even bother to open your eyes. “No way in hell, Seven.”

There were purple marks on Ronan’s neck, standing in stark contrast against the black lines of his tattoo and the paleness of his skin. Finger-shaped and angry-looking, they seemed to call to Adam, whispering accusations. Adam felt nauseous just looking at them. He knew from personal experience how much they had to hurt, could feel the phantom of his father’s hands on his neck and the throbbing and burning in his throat once he was allowed to breathe again. But Robert Parrish wasn’t the one to blame for Ronan’s bruises. Adam hissed as Ronan dabbed antiseptic on his face, where the demon had left deep scratches, jerking away on instinct. Ronan cupped his chin to keep him still, his grip gentle and his thumb tracing soothing circles on Adam’s skin, and Adam felt pressure build behind his eyes. Because Ronan’s touch was careful and gentle and loving, and Adam - Adam had hurt him. “Ronan.” Ronan’s thumb stilled, but he didn’t lift his eyes from his task. “Almost done.” The roughness of his voice and the gentleness of his touch made Adam’s throat tighten with guilt. Ronan’s hands were warm on his skin, and Adam wished suddenly that he would tighten his grip, make him feel the same pain he had inflicted him. But, he knew now more than ever, Ronan would never do that. His hands came up to encircle Ronan’s wrists, but he thought better of it at the last moment and curled them into fists instead. “Stop,” he snapped, turning his face away. Ronan did, but the concern evident in his eyes and pinched eyebrows was even worse than his careful touch. Adam’s skin itched with tension, nails biting at the tender skin of his palms from clenching his fists too tight. “What’s wrong?” Ronan’s bed creaked under them as he shifted closer, then stopped when Adam glared at him. Following Adam’s gaze, he looked down on himself, but Adam could tell he still wasn’t getting it. “You asshole, your neck. Your neck is what’s wrong.” His voice broke a little, and he blinked back the burning tears he could feel coming. Ronan’s mouth twisted in a grimace. “Parrish,” he said slowly, head slightly bowed to better meet Adam’s eyes. “They’re just bruises.” “Just- “Adam inhaled sharply, hands trembling in his lap. Ronan bore the signs of Adam’s violence on his skin and his voice, and still he dismissed everything as just bruises. The enormity of that understatement made him laugh a bitter, unhappy laugh. “I almost killed you, you idiot, and you just stood there!” The words were like a match igniting his temper. He was angry at himself for not having been strong enough to stop the demon from using his hands, and at Ronan for not having been strong enough to stop him. His heart was on fire with it, but Ronan was fireproof. He said, calmly, “Stop that,” and grabbed Adam's hands, prying his fists open. His nails had left small crescent-shaped indents on his palm, and Ronan traced them with the pad of a finger, at once soothing the reddened skin and pouring water over Adam’s anger. “I begged you to stop me, to knock me down,” Adam went on, his voice barely more than a whisper now. The horror of what had happened was still fresh, crawling beneath his skin like a living thing. “But you wouldn’t.” Ronan just shrugged. “I could never hurt you.” He said it like he’d said “I took Chainsaw out of my dreams” a night months ago, when everything was just starting. Unconcerned and matter-of-fact, as if it wasn’t something that meant the world, as if it wasn’t supposed to rob Adam of his breath as if he’d been punched after all. Adam’s anger sizzled and died, leaving behind only a cloud of smoke that made his eyes smart. He drew a shaky, watery breath, and used his free hand to grab a fistful of Ronan’s shirt. “You jerk. How do you think I felt while the demon used my hands to try and kill my boyfriend? That hurt me, too.” Ronan smiled at that, a wide, brilliant smile, and Adam jabbed his side in retaliation, feeling a fierce blush warming his ears and cheeks. “What?” Ronan’s grin didn’t even dim in the face of Adam’s outrage. “You said ‘boyfriend’. That’s the first time you called me that.” Adam blinked, taken aback, as warmth unfurled in his chest because of how utterly ridiculous and perfect his boyfriend was. His boyfriend. This wonderful, caring boy with an armor of steel and a heart of gold, and he was his. “Seriously?” He rolled his eyes, but couldn’t quite manage to keep the fondness from his voice. “That’s what you’re focusing on?” “Yep.” Ronan nodded, cheeks dusted with pink, and Adam shifted closer to him, close enough to rest his head on his shoulder as he’d done back at the picnic area. Ronan brushed a hand through his hair and sighed, all traces of laughter gone. He said: “I’m sorry.” He wasn’t apologizing for refusing to hurt Adam, but for failing to recognize that he had hurt him anyway, just not in a physical way. Adam brushed his nose against Ronan’s collarbone, inhaling his scent and enjoying the way Ronan’s breath stuttered in his chest. “I’m sorry, too.” “Nothing to be sorry for, Parrish.” Ronan pulled Adam flush against him with an arm around his waist and brought his mouth to his good ear. “It wasn’t you.” Adam knew that, but he also knew it was his fingers that had tightened on Ronan’s pale skin, could remember how tender and fragile his neck had felt under his fingertips. “I ripped out Blue’s stitches,” he grimaced at the memory of blood staining her face and his fingertips red. She was at the hospital with Gansey right then, having her wound treated again because of what he’d done. Ronan bumped their foreheads together, the tips of their noses touching. “She doesn’t blame you. None of us do.” Adam sighed, because he knew it was true, and because he couldn’t stop feeling guilty anyway. But, he thought as Ronan’s chest rose and fell steadily under his hands, it was over now. It was over. “Alright,” he mumbled weakly. Ronan must have thought he didn’t sound too sure, because he took Adam’s right hand in his, turning it so he could show Adam his own scraped knuckles. “Besides, you couldn’t hurt anyone even if you tried. Look at that, you can’t even throw a decent punch.” “Shut up.” Adam half-heartedly tried to pull away. Ronan laughed. “I mean, you punched a tree, Parrish, come on. What a loser.” Adam’s laugh joined Ronan’s as relief flooded his body, loosening his muscles and lifting the corners of his mouth. He slipped his free hand under Ronan’s shirt to pinch his side, and was rewarded by an indignant yelp. They were close, so close Adam could feel the heat of Ronan’s body through his clothes and the shift of muscles beneath his hands. Ronan’s skin was warm and soft, and Adam squeezed his hip to feel him gasp and see his eyes darken. His gaze fell on Ronan’s neck once again, pale and bruised, and his hand hovered above it, hesitating for fear that his touch wouldn’t be welcome. But Ronan reached out to grab his hand and lead it to his neck, blue eyes filled with trust, and Adam ran a finger over one of the biggest marks, careful not to press too hard. “I’m still sorry about the bruises.” Ronan raised one eyebrow, lips curving into a teasing smirk. “Prove it.” Adam didn’t need to be asked twice. He closed the distance between them, wiping Ronan’s smirk away with a slow, deep kiss that he hoped conveyed everything he couldn’t say out loud: how scared he had been, how sad he was for everything they’d lost, how happy for everything they’d gained. Ronan moaned into the kiss, loud and unrestrained, and Adam felt it everywhere. He bit and tugged at Ronan’s bottom lip just to hear him again, then his mouth travelled down, small kisses leading to his throat. He blew on the abused skin of Ronan’s neck, eliciting a delicious shiver from Ronan as his head fell back against the headboard, then brushed his lips against every one of his bruises, tender and careful. Ronan tasted of salt and clean sweat and rain, and he said Adam’s name in a reverent sigh. Adam thought it was the best thing he’d ever heard. “There,” he pressed a final kiss on Ronan’s neck, then pulled back to look him and grinned smugly at how absolutely wrecked he looked. “Better?” Ronan blinked at him, all flushed cheeks and puffy lips. He didn't answer, just hooked a hand around Adam’s neck and pulled him in again, capturing his mouth in a kiss, then another, and another, and another. For long, blissful minutes, nothing existed but them, bodies moving together and lips whispering secrets in a symphony of whimpers and moans. Adam’s hands were only his now, and he ran them across every inch of Ronan’s skin he could reach, leaving behind a trail of pleasure that he hoped could erase the violence from before, both from Ronan’s heart and from Adam’s own. There were purple marks on Ronan’s neck, and they told the story of the nightmare they’d gone through and the things and people they’d lost - Noah, already fiercely missed, Persephone, Cabeswater. And Aurora, whose death had been violent and horrible and had left bloody handprints behind Ronan’s eyelids. But Gansey was alive, and so were they, and the future was yet another quest they couldn’t wait to go on. Together.  

It must've been only 9 p.m. by the time Stiles fell asleep. In the waiting room, Malia, Lydia, and Kira had just arrived as Kira had bumped into Melissa. "Oh, sorry Mrs. McCall. What's going on?" Kira asked as they continued walking until she met with the sheriff, Scott, and Liam. Kira swooped into Scott's arms, hugging him tightly as she looked into his eyes that were puffy and red. The sheriff got up instantly as they all started shooting Melissa with questions about the injured friend. "Melissa what the hell is going on?" The sheriff demanded an answer. "Stiles had a second seizure. He took a bad blow to the head and its looking like there's a scar in the brain tissue which is causing the seizures. We wanna diagnose him as epileptic but we need to run an MRI first." Melissa explained thoughtfully and carefully as she tried so hard not to get her guard down. Lydia turned pale under her makeup, listening about the news of the guy she could possibly be in love with. Everytime she was in trouble, he had come save her. But now that he was in trouble, she was helpless. Malia looked at Lydia the second she heard her heart rate plummet, trying to give her a sense of comfort. Malia felt a the sheriff's hand around her shoulder as he tried to comfort the teens as well as swallow the news. "W-wait so this is gonna happen for the rest of his life?" Scott asked, feeling even more guilty for not stopping it. "He's gonna live with seizures his entire life!?" He was almost shouting until he hushed his tone. "Scott honey, I know it's a lot to take in. But there's nothing we can do. There's no real way to stop the seizures if it's epilepsy, we can only control them so they don't hurt him." Melissa grabbed his hands, squeezing them tightly as she prayed that his werewolf claws would not come in. The sheriff rubbed his hand down his exhausted face. He had never felt so worried for Sties in his life, no matter how clumsy or how accident prone he was. "Can we see him?" He asked softly, his hand still on Malia's shoulder. Melissa nodded, "hopefully he's awake." She lead them down the halls. Lydia had a bad feeling in this place. She felt the death lurking around the corner but she didn't feel it as she got closer to Stiles. Scott had bad memories of the hallways. Numerous memories flashed through his mind, memories of him when he had bad asthma attacks before the bite or when Stiles was possessed by the nogitsune. He quickly shook the thoughts away as he heard his mom talking to the sheriff. "Oh, and I think we're gonna pull him off the adderall for a while just to be on the safe side." Melissa explained to him as she slowly opened the door and went in by herself. She pulled down the shades that showed all the glowing streetlights against the night sky. "Stiles?" Melissa whispered, laying her hand on his forehead as she swiped it down with a damp cloth. His eyes started to flutter and he woke up slowly. Stiles' vision shifted continuously until he saw the familiar face. The nurse gave him a gentle smile. "Hey.. Can you tell me my name?" Melissa asked. "M-Melissa?" Stiles croaked, his voice sounded raspy and raw but he was still there. "Good. Stiles, you know where you are right?" Melissa asked again. He seemed confused and distant as he looked around, catching noticed at the bright lights. The beeping of the machines bothered him and the tube feeding oxygen through his nose annoyed him. He still gave her a slight nod. The lights flickered in Stiles' head as he realized he was still a little dizzy. "Okay," Melissa sighed as she continues to bring the news. "You took a bad blow to the head and had two seizures okay? I've scheduled you for an MRI in the morning to check out what's going on.." Melissa quietly said, the words echoing in Stiles' head. -- "Seizures?" He thought to himself. "You're so weak and so pathetic Stiles, you don't belong in the hospital, you don't deserve to be helped," Immediate thoughts swarmed his mind. -- "Hey. Stiles? You okay?" Melissa broke his trance. He snapped out of it and shook his head as he gave a slight "yeah." He didn't know whether it was him zoning out and not feeling pain or whether his slinged-arm was numb. The door knob jiggled before the Sheriff had come in. Stiles looked at his father even though he wanted to look away so much. He looked like he had one of those nights where he stays up till 3 am in the office trying to solve a case. Tired creases formed at his eyes when John had formed a smile, glad to see his son safe. He slowly walked up to him, "Hey kid." Melissa left the two alone as she exited the room and updated his friends out in the hall. Stiles couldn't even bring himself to talk to his own father. He felt himself turning red with embarrassment. The words could not come out of his mouth. "It's okay, you don't have to say anything. It's okay to feel tired, it's okay to give yourself a break every once in a while. Whatever this is, we'll figure it out." The words flowed out with such sympathy to his son that Stiles' eyes watered. He should've never underestimated the player. He should've listened to Liam. "I'm an idiot. I-I should've never did that. If I listened to Liam, he warned me, then we wouldn't be here. Im always the one to hold everyone back..I'm sorry Dad." Stiles said in a hushed tone, knowing every word he said was true. "Don't you dare think that any of this is your fault. It could've been anyone.." He sighed after a slight minute of silence between the two. He's never witnessed Stiles this quiet, in his life. Ever. "I gotta go finish up some work at the station and I'll be back as soon As I can. Now how about you take some medicine and get some sleep?" The sheriff gave him a gentle smile and pushed forward a cup with two tablets in it and a water bottle. He slowly turned away and clutched the door to open it. "Dad?" Stiles' raw voice croaked. "Yeah Stiles?" John backtracked himself. "Do you think work can wait for you?.." Stiles whispered across the room. He didn't feel okay without his dad by his side tonight. John gave his familiar smirk. "Of course son, let me just take a phone call." Stiles felt relieved now with his dad here. He couldn't risk any more seizures without him. The sheriff stepped outside to make a call to the station to tell them he's not coming. After doing so, he told Melissa that he was gonna stay so they both went into the office to dig up Stiles' files. While the adults were gone, Scott and Lydia slipped in to the room, leaving Kira to comfort Malia who denied any comfort. "Hey.." Scott whispered as he and the strawberry blonde crept in. Stiles gave a friendly smile when he was happy to see his friends. But they looked petrified which immediately made Stiles' heart sink deep into his chest. Scott walked up until he sat down on the side bed. He wanted to do nothing more than take as much pain as possible. A wave of silence flooded the room. "I'm okay guys, really." Stiles finally said something after a while of intense stare downs. "No, you're not Stiles! You had a freakin seizure, two of them! Do you know what that means Stiles! Do you? Do you know you could've died tonight? One more notch of pain and you could've ended your life on the lacrosse field! We've gone through to much for you to go like this!--" Scott absolutely blew his top, infuriated with the fact that Stiles is injured. It hurts him to see his best friend in pain. Lydia got close to Scott, pulling at him as Stiles fixed his watered eyes at him. Stiles had gone pale from the fright and sudden outburst from Scott. "Scott.." Lydia interrupted him not loudly enough for him to stop as he continued. "You're hurt Stiles! You need to accept that it happens. People get injured but you can't blame yourself for it! And you're too stubborn to realize it but we're all pulling limbs over here because you won't let me take some of your fucking pain!" Scott finished his rant. At that point he was yelling so loudly that Kira and Malia had burst in the room. The sheriff and Melissa followed in a hurry as they crashed into the room. "Scott what the hell are you doing!?" Melissa yelled at her son. She looked at Stiles who looked like he was gonna break down. She'd never seen him so vulnerable. "Out! All of you! Now!" Melissa kicked the teenagers out and profusely apologized to Stiles and the sheriff as she hugged the teen gently and closed the door after the sheriff had entered. Melissa confronted Scott out in the hall. "Scott, I don't care what the hell is going on, you had absolutely no right to do that! Are you absolutely insane? I mean what in god's name would you think that was okay to do! Stiles is human! He doesn't have supernatural abilities to heal! His body is coping and you are stressing him out. Go home, Scott, I don't want to see you here again until tomorrow." And with that, Melissa left the teenagers to escort themselves out.

They traveled in silence for several hours, Dorian eventually pulling another book out of his pack and burying his face in it.  Iron Bull thought about asking about his staff but wasn’t sure if Dorian would tell him that either.  So he just bobbed his head along to the music he was barely listening to.  They snacked their way through what was left of the food from the diner, now cold and slightly congealed.  Not a problem for Bull, but Dorian wrinkled his nose every time he choked down a cold fry. “Where do you want to eat?” asked Bull wadding up the paper bags and tossing them in the back to be dealt with later.  He was hungry for more than cold fries.  “We’re coming up on Vol Dorma, should be more to choose from than just truck stop diners.” Dorian scratched the back of his neck, “I’ve… rarely been out of Minrathous.  Hardly any need to, really, everything I had ever needed had been there.” “Andraste’s saggy tits, Dorian,” Iron Bull pinched the bridge of his nose.  “You’re going to run all the way to Skyhold when you’ve never even been out of your home city?  Have you ever even HAD a job?” “I was the Archivist at my University’s Library!” said Dorian defensively.  “Don’t talk to me like I’m some… child!  I’m a grown man!” Iron Bull knew, from personal and painful experience, that telling a kid they weren’t a kid only made them angrier.  When Bull had been young and stupid it had certainly gotten him into plenty of fights even he couldn’t win.  So instead he sighed and nodded, “Yes, I know you are.  You’re just…lacking experience.” Dorian seemed ready to fight, but when Bull didn’t push him he relaxed, looking a little lost for words.  “Well…yes, I suppose… but we all have to get it sometime.” Bull laughed, glancing from the road to Dorian with a sardonic little grin crooking his lips, “Most people don’t learn how to swim by throwing themselves into the sea during a storm.” “Yes, well,” Dorian turned to look out the window, one hand coming up to lightly touch the bruise on his face, “when the ship is sinking…” They road in silence, Dorian going back to his book and Bull turning his attention back on the road.  When the exited into Vol Dorma, Bull already knew where he wanted to take Dorian to eat.  He had no idea why he was putting this much effort into pleasing Dorian, the kid was in no position to complain and except for the truck stop, he really hadn’t complained at all.  Bull easily could have saved time by grabbing more food at a diner and continuing on. Yet here they were, walking through the historic (everything in Tevinter was historic) downtown.  Bull had parked just off the freeway, as the little roads downtown would have been a nightmare to navigate… not to mention park anywhere near.  Dorian didn’t seem to mind the walk, he had put on some kind of loose hoodie which shadowed most of his face and was now walking with a bit of a bounce in his step, taking in the sights. The heat had wrapped totally around them and while Bull could adjust to any temperature, he’d been living so long in the cold South that right now he was sweating through his t-shirt.  Dorian, probably wearing three different layers of shirts, looked completely at ease.  He was going to wilt in the cold, Bull could already tell. “Alright, if you don’t already have hair on your chest, this will put it there,” Bull growled with a grin, stopping Dorian in front of a little restaurant front to hold to door open for him.  “You said you like spice, right?” Dorian brushed past Bull as he walked inside, eyes darting every which way as he took in the atmosphere.  The restaurant was a little run down, perhaps even more so than the last time Bull had been here, but it was still owned by the same Qunari couple, two Tal-Vashoths who could cook something so hot it felt like a dragon had sneezed right in your mouth. The pair of them greeted Bull like an old friend and immediately ushered both of them into a booth.  “What can I get you both?” asked the woman cheerily.  She had a pair of curling horns with silver caps on the tips and big hoop earrings that hung nearly down to her shoulders. “Dorian here says he likes spicy foods, so I thought we might test that,” Bull grinned.  “Well, if you really like spicy foods,” she said slowly, “You ought to try our curry made with Maleficar’s Fire peppers.” “Oooo, I don’t know,” said Bull, “that seems like too much for him to handle.” “It is not!” Dorian snapped, “I’ve been eating spicy food since I was old enough to stuff whole peppers in my mouth!  I’ll have that!” Bull hid his smile behind a hand, “I’ll have one too… and some glasses of milk.” She smiled, not even bothering to write it down before walking away from their table.  Bull leaned back, one arm thrown over the back of the booth as he watched Dorian.  “You really think you can handle this?  Have you ever had a Maleficar’s Fire?” “Well… no,” said Dorian, “but it can’t be that bad.  I can handle a LOT of spice.”  He had a cocky smile on his face, it looked like it belonged there.  The cuts on his face had scabbed up completely, and Bull thought the bruise was as vibrant as it was going to get, soon it would turn a molted yellow.  Iron Bull burned to know who had done that to him, and why.  He hated how protective he was growing, Dorian was just some hitchhiking kid… and Bull wanted to break in half whoever had dared to hurt him. “How about we make a bet,” said Bull, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table, resting his chin in one hand.  “If you start to cry then you have to tell me something.  Nothing too personal,” said Bull quickly, seeing the way Dorian’s expression closed off, “I won’t ask about the bruise or why you’re running.  But I get to ask you something and you have to tell me the truth.” Dorian fiddled with his napkin, and that smile returned to his handsome face, “Alright… but if I don’t cry then you have to…” something must have flitted unbidden across Dorian’s mind because he blushed fiercely and ducked his head, “you ah… owe me one thing.  To be determined.” “Okay, shake on it,” Bull held out his hand and Dorian clapped his in, giving Bull a hearty handshake with that roguish smile on his face.  He was so pretty it hurt. “Alright dears, two cups of milk,” she set down two very large glasses before each of them, “and two plates of our famous Maleficar’s Fire Curry.”  She winked at Dorian.  “If it’s too hot let me know and I’ll get you something a little more mild.” Oh great, now even if it was too hot he’d never give up.  Dorian picked up his spoon stubbornly, digging into the rice and creamy curry sauce.  Bull watched as he stuffed a giant scoop of the curry into his mouth, chewed, and then swallowed.  Bull and the restauranteur just stared as Dorian glared at them both.  He could see the exact moment the peppers kicked in.  Dorian’s glare broke, mouth falling open with a loud hiccup and eyes starting to water. “Uh oh, you’re not going to start crying, are you?” Iron Bull grinned. “N-no!” Dorian took another two spoonfuls of curry and stuffed them in his mouth.  Bull burst into laughter as Dorian bent forward with a groan, breaking out into a sweat.  He pushed his hood back, reaching forward and chugging down half his glass of milk.  “Don’t laugh!” he wheezed, kohl running down his cheeks as tears flowed from his eyes.  “Let’s see you do it!”  A burst of hiccups interrupted whatever Dorian was going to say next. Iron Bull was laughing so hard he could feel tears in the corner of his own eye.  Dorian’s dark skin was flushing bright red and he kept blowing air over his tongue as if that would help.  He tried to stop laughing long enough to grab his spoon but then Dorian burst into another round of hiccups and he lost it all over again.  People were starring and Bull didn’t even care. Finally Bull grabbed his spoon, looking down at the steaming plate of curry with some apprehension.  He liked spice as much as the next person, and unlike Dorian he DID have some experience with Maleficar’s Fires.  A little bit of them had been shaved over one of his meals once… but he’d never had a full on curry.  Dorian had done it so Bull would too.  He took a bite as Dorian watched him, hands on his belly as he glared and hiccuped loudly. Iron Bull held it together for exactly a minute and then he hiccuped.  Dorian burst into delighted laughter.  By the time they forced down the curry Bull felt as if he’d never taste anything but pain again and his stomach hurt from hiccups and laughter.  He left a generous tip before they left, pushing past a pair of Tevinter businessmen on the way out. “Qunari,” one of them muttered. Dorian turned to glare at him but Bull put a hand on his back, urging him forward.  “So, you cried,” said Bull as they walked, “you owe me some answers.” “You cried too,” Dorian said, walking a little closer to Bull, looking up at him and trying to rub the kohl off his cheeks. “That wasn’t our bet,” Bull smirked, “now was it?” “Not fair, you couldn’t handle it either!” Dorian elbowed him in the side. Iron Bull laughed, he was doing a lot of that with Dorian.  “You know what, you answer my questions and I’ll owe you one thing… to be determined.  We both lost there.” They walked back to the truck as clouds started to gather.  Big fat drops of rain fell around them when they finally reached the truck.  It was still too hot outside, so the rain just made things humid.  Bull shook the water off his horns as he climbed into the cab, Dorian jumping in across from him and slamming the door shut as a gust of wind tried to bring the torrent in after him. “Uhg, Tevinter,” said Bull, “one minute too hot and the next too hot and raining.” “What’s the South like?” asked Dorian, pulling his coat off and using it to dry his hair. “Still rains,” Bull turned the key in the ignition, getting the truck going again.  “It’s cold, lots of snow in some places.” “I’ve never seen snow,” said Dorian, fingers playing with the tips of his mustache. “Do you like being cold?” Bull asked. “No,” Dorian wrinkled his nose, leaning back against the door with Bull’s flannel coat laid over him like a blanket again. “Then you won’t like snow,” he chuckled.  They traveled in silence for a bit, only the sound of Bull’s ever present rock radio station and the increasing torrent of rain on the roof breaking it up. “You haven’t asked me a question,” said Dorian at last. “I’m saving it,” Bull rolled his shoulders, “I assume you’re saving that favor I owe you too?” “Never know when you’ll need a favor from a big…strong…Qunari…” Something in Dorian’s tone had Bull looking over at him, mouth feeling a little dry.  However the kid was already looking out the window, a pensive expression on his face. The wind buffeted against his truck as he drove, rain falling so hard that his wipers couldn’t keep up with it anymore.  Bull leaned forward, eyes narrowed as he tried to watch the road.  It might be time to stop, before he crashed into someone.  Besides, it was getting harder to watch the road when he wanted to just watch Dorian.  He was lounging in the chair, one hand toying with his mustache while the other flipped through a book.  Iron Bull was good at reading people, he always had been… and he was picking up signs from Dorian. The worst part was how much Bull liked that.  He shouldn’t, they almost had two decades between them.  Yet he wasn’t blind, Dorian was a young, nubile man with a perfect face and body.  Iron Bull sighed to himself, shaking those thoughts out of his head.  Inappropriate, if Dorian was sending him signals it was only because he was so grateful to Bull for picking him up.  He wasn’t some pervert…well… okay, he absolutely was. “Can we get a hotel?” asked Dorian after awhile, squirming in the seat, his book on the dash.  “My ass is getting sore just sitting here!” “Oh ho, a hotel!” said Bull, pulling off the freeway, “someone is Mr. Snooty-Fancypants!” “Oh come on,” Dorian scoffed, “we can’t both sleep in this truck, that bed is barely big enough for you.”  Which just raised visions of Dorian sleeping on top of him. “I’m pretty comfortable,” said Bull, patting his stomach with a smirk.  “You do look it,” Dorian murmured.  Bull glanced at him, but Dorian was already looking away, lips pursed and a flush high on his cheeks. There was a motel just off the freeway, nothing fancy but it would do for the night.  Dorian scoffed when he saw the flickering neon light in the Vacancy sign.  If Bull hadn’t already figured out he was from a rich family, Dorian’s disdain of the motel would have given it away immediately.  Bull got them a room with two Queen-sized beds while Dorian fed some coins into the soda machine. The front desk clerk seemed unusually twitchy as Bull paid him in cash for the room.  Iron Bull was used to ‘Vints getting hopped up around him, but the guy kept looking between him and Dorian and then the TV.  Bull’s gut told him he should leave, now, get back on the road and drive until the Imperium was behind them. “Are you almost done?” asked Dorian with a yawn, nursing a soda. “Uhh, yeah, we’re done,” said Bull, giving the clerk a fierce glare and snatching up their room key. “Uhg, I feel like I should update my shots, staying here,” Dorian complained as they entered their room.  It was on the second floor, which Bull wasn’t terribly pleased with though he didn’t know why.  Dorian threw his pack down on the bed closest to the window and then flung himself down after it with a bounce.  “Ah yes, a mattress made out of bricks, a risky move for a motel but we’ll see if it pays off.” Iron Bull’s nervousness faded a little as he shook his head at Dorian’s dramatics, unable to keep the grin off his face.  “Hey, turn on the TV, I’m going to take a shower but when I get out I expect something really good to be playing.”  Bull grabbed the remote and tossed it at Dorian, admiring his surprisingly quick reflexes as he reached up and caught it. “You strike me as a man who enjoys a good explosion,” said Dorian, turning the TV on to flick through the channels. “Am I that transparent?” asked Bull with a laugh, unbuttoning his flannel shirt and shrugging it off his shoulders. “You..ah…just a good, um, guess…” Iron Bull raised a brow at Dorian, noticing his blush, the way he stared shamelessly at Bull’s naked chest.  Okay, not so much signs as big flashing neon lights.  Iron Bull was not such a good man that he could resist flexing a little before entering the bathroom.  Like most things in Tevinter, it was not Qunari sized.  By the time Bull left the bathroom he had a painful crick in his neck from trying to keep his horns from putting a hole in the wall and his knees ached from bending down so the water would hit anywhere near his head. He pulled on a pair of sweats, still slightly damp when he walked out to see Dorian with the TV off and his nose buried in one of his books.  His eyes weren’t moving. “Hey,” Bull frowned, “I thought I said I wanted to see some explosions.” “There’s…um… there’s nothing good on right now.  Aren’t you tired, wouldn’t you rather sleep?”  If Bull hadn’t been suspicious earlier, he was now.  The remote was sitting right next to Dorian so he lumbered over to pick it up.  “Wait wait!” Dorian grabbed him by the arm as Bull wrapped his fingers around the remote, trying to hold him there.  “Dorian, what are you hide-mmph!” Warm, soft lips slotted over his.  A hot tongue brushed along Bull’s lower lip before pushing between his slack lips to trace along his teeth.  Dorian’s arms wrapped tightly around his neck, holding Bull there as he kissed him breathless.  Bull didn’t respond, but he didn’t pull away either. Dorian pulled back with a pant, pressing their foreheads together.  “You know, you could watch something other than TV.  Wouldn’t I be more interesting?” “You know you are,” said Bull, giving in to temptation and touching Dorian in return, hand curling around his waist.  Dorian beamed, leaning in for more kissing.  Bull shook his head, standing up straight still holding the remote.  “However I’m getting a little worried about what you’re not telling me.” Dorian clung to Bull’s neck, trying to tug him down.  He kept placing distracting kisses along Bull’s neck and shoulders.  Stubbornly, Bull turned the set on and found a news station.  Dorian went tense behind him, kisses stopping as they both watched the TV with bated breath. “Hold on to your horses, Tevinter!” said the weatherman, “The storm blowing through is only going to get worse in the next couple days!  We recommend staying off the road and indoors if at all possible.  Heavy rain, wind, and lightening are all coming to us!” “By Andraste, Greg,” said the anchor, “sounds pretty bad.” “Oh it is,” said Greg with far too much cheer, “worst storm of the century they’re calling it.  However if you stay indoors and keep your weather barrier spells up, you should be just fine!” “Thanks for the tip, Greg,” said the anchorwoman, tapping her notes on the desk with a cold but professional smile.  “Tonight’s top story, are the Qunari planning for another invasion?” Bull squirmed a little as Dorian’s lips started to nibble his ear, hands stroking ever inch of skin they could reach. “I don’t know, Mira,” said the woman’s co-anchor seriously, “but there have been increased sightings of Qunari in the last two months, and reports of Dreadnoughts off the coast.” “They really are just savages,” said Mira with a shake of her pretty head, “we should be beyond this war, the Tevinter Imperium is a land of opportunity and beauty.” “So true, Mira,” said the man. Bull sat down on the edge of the bed, attention fading from the TV to the way Dorian was rocking shamelessly against his back. “In other news,” said Mira, “the slaves in the mines are protesting harsh working environments and cruel treatment from the mine owners.” “Slaves!” said the man, throwing his hands in the air, “Most of them asked to be there!  Why can’t they just be happy?” “How true, Septimus,” said the woman seriously, eyes staring straight into the camera.  “How true.” Next they talked about the Magestarium’s newest decision to blah blah blah Dorian was moaning against the shell of his ear, grinding and obvious erection against Bull’s back.  Maybe he was just being paranoid.  Of course Dorian wouldn’t want to watch this, it was reminding him of everything he was leaving behind.  Clever fingers trailed down his arm, over his hand, and then pressed power on the TV, letting it flicker off.  Bull found himself staring at his reflection in the inky blackness, Dorian kneeling behind him with his face pressed against Bull’s neck. “I’m going to ask my question now, Dorian,” said Bull seriously, watching Dorian in the reflection of the TV. Dorian’s lips paused, he sat back with a small frown playing on his face.  “Alright… what is it?” Bull twisted, careful not to hit Dorian with his horns as he faced him, one hand coming up to cup his smooth jaw.  “Is this something you actually want?  You don’t have to… do anything with me you don’t want.  I didn’t pick you up to sleep with you or take advantage of you.  So tell me Dorian, be 100% honest with me.  Do you really want to have sex with me?” “Yes,” said Dorian without hesitation, meeting Bull’s eye with a small smile.  “Never thought I’d say that to an ox-man but… here we are.” “I am quite charming,” said Bull, twisting the rest of the way around to push Dorian down onto the mattress and pin him there.  He was already half hard and Dorian’s erection was straining against his pants.  Bull bent down, capturing Dorian’s lips in a kiss he was fully prepared to participate in now.  Dorian seemed so small beneath him, and as much as Bull wanted to fuck him on this crappy motel bed he realized this wasn’t the time or the place. Dorian’s hands stroked down Bull’s chest to the brim of his sweats, dipping in to rub the base of his cock.  Bull groaned, pulling back to sit up and push his sweats off completely.  Dorian sat up on his elbows with a wordless keen at the sight of Bull’s cock, long and fat between his spread knees.  There was some hesitation in Dorian’s eyes as he glanced up but Bull shot him a reassuring smile. “No actual sex tonight, Dorian,” he said, “now strip down and I’ll show you some fun.” Now Dorian was all eagerness as he threw his clothes off.  Bull watched appreciatively as all that dark, smooth skin was revealed bit by bit.  Dorian had a nice physique, even some muscle definition which Bull appreciated.  His hard cock was resting against his belly as Dorian lay flat on the bed, one hand lazily stroking along the shaft as his other arm was bent behind his head. “I want you to roll onto your belly,” said Bull gruffly, squeezing his own cock as arousal throbbed hotly just under his skin.  “Stick that tight ass in the air, knees spread.” Dorian followed orders well, biting his bottom lip as he rolled onto his belly as then brought his knees under him.  His back was arched, ass high in the air and puckered little hole bared for Bull’s greedy gaze.  He kneeled on the bed, hands grabbing Dorian’s slim hips and hauling him a little closer so Bull could run his tongue between Dorian’s cheeks.  The kid, Bull had to stop thinking of him as a kid if he was going to be tongue fucking him, writhed and moaned without shame.  Bull circled his asshole with his tongue, pressing but never pushing in.  Not yet.  Dorian whimpered, pressing back against his face, wordlessly begging for more.  Dorian may be young, but he wasn’t inexperienced if his reactions were anything to go by.  Bull felt a bit better, at least Dorian wasn’t some naive virgin Bull was defiling in a dirty motel.  He let his tongue wriggle in past the initial resistance, one hand snaking from Dorian’s hip to his cock. “Ah! Bull! Bull!” That was all the warning Bull got before Dorian came, splashing come over the comforter and Bull’s own hand.  Still young.  Bull pulled back with a laugh that turned into a grunt as Dorian rolled onto his back and kicked at his belly.  “Don’t laugh!” he groaned, hands moving up to cover his eyes. “Ah ha, I think it’s cute,” said Bull, gripping Dorian’s ankle to keep him from kicking again. “Hmph,” Dorian crossed his arms over his chest, eyes traveling from Bull’s face down to his cock, now fully hard and jutting up between his legs.  “Can I…?” Dorian shook off Bull’s grip, sitting up so he was kneeling right before Bull’s prick. “Sure,” said Bull, spreading his feet on the carpet as Dorian gripped the base, fingers not even able to meet as he squeezed lightly.  He leaned in, tongue lapping at the head like someone would lick up a melting popcicle.  Bull moaned, resting one hand on the back of Dorian’s head, urging him gently forward. Dorian couldn’t fit much of his cock in his mouth, but Maker did he try.  With every bob forward he’d glance up at Bull as if seeking his approval and Bull would reward him with a low moan or a pet through his messy black hair.  However Iron Bull was a grown man, and his stamina was a great deal better than Dorian’s own.  He finally pulled Dorian back, gripping his hair as he started to stroke his own cock.  Bull didn’t try to draw it out, gritting his teeth as he let Dorian’s spit slick his shaft with every twist of his wrist or roll of his fingers. Dorian darted forward just as Bull’s balls tightened, lips closing around the head of his cock so every splash of come landed in his mouth.  “Ohhh fuck, Dorian!”  Bull hissed as arousal shot through his body again at the sight of Dorian swallowing down every drop, looking inordinately pleased with himself.  “Well well,” Bull muttered, his cock slipping from between Dorian’s lightly swollen lips, “aren’t you an eager one?”  He let the pad of his thumb brush along Dorian’s bottom lip. “I can be, and I’m a fast learner,” said Dorian, nipping the tip of Bull’s thumb with a grin.  And a spoiled brat used to getting his way, no doubt.  It was awfully hard to say no to him. Despite getting a room with two beds, they ended up collapsing naked together in just the one.  Bull couldn’t say he was too terribly upset at having Dorian snuggled up close to him.  Still, his sleep was restless.  There was something here he was missing.  Something important.  Bull finally gave up trying to sleep, deciding he needed some ice for a cold glass of water.  Maybe that would help.  He gently pushed Dorian off of him, freezing when he muttered in his sleep.  Dorian just rolled over and drew Bull’s pillow against his chest. Iron Bull let out a breath, grabbing his sweats before heading out the door.  The ice machine was an old, rickety thing downstairs besides the front office, locked up now that night had fallen.  The wind and the rain had picked up drastically since they’d checked in, howling bloody murder between the buildings nearby.  To keep his mind off of it while the ice machine dispensed one goddamn ice cube at a time, he looked at the cork board covered in local bulletins.  Some flyers for music lessons.  Dogs for sale.  Bull’s idle gaze froze as he spotted a large poster tacked up in the corner. Ice scattered over the ground as he ripped the poster down and took the stairs three at a time.  Fuck fuck fuck! He should have guessed!  Iron Bull opened the door as outside police sirens blared, barely heard over the wind.  He slammed the door shut, waking Dorian up with a snort. “Wh- Bull what’s going on?” Dorian groaned, rubbing his eyes sleepily. Bull shoved the poster in his face, “I knew it!” he growled, “I knew there was something up with you!  I just didn’t know it was something this fucking big!” Dorian shied away from the poster. WANTED DORIAN PAVUS SON OF MAGISTER HALWARD PAVUS GONE MISSING AFTER THE MURDER OF A SLAVE. LARGE REWARD ONLY IF BROUGHT BACK ALIVE Followed by a picture of Dorian smiling at the camera. “You… you murdered a slave?” Bull hissed, crumbling the poster up and tossing it away. “No!” said Dorian quickly, crawling forward and trying to touch Bull’s arm.  “No it’s not like that!” Bull jerked away, “You’re the son of a magister, if they find you with me… they’ll kill me.  Why shouldn’t I just turn you over before I get a fireball to the face from a bunch of mages?” “Please, please!” Dorian had started to cry, Bull looked stubbornly away.  “Please Bull, I can explain! I promise I’ll tell you everything!  My father is lying about the slave, I’d never kill anyone.  You believe that, right?  Don’t turn me over, I can’t go back there!” Iron Bull thought back to the diner, to the woman who had shook her head when finding out Bull had a hitchhiker.  I stopped doing that after I found out I was helping a fugitive cross the boarder.  “I don’t know what I believe,” Bull muttered, feeling oddly betrayed.  He shouldn’t.  Dorian was just some kid after all, he’d only known him a couple days.  What other big secrets was he keeping? BANG BANG BANG! Both Bull and Dorian starred at the door. “Open up!  We know you’re in there with Magister Pavus’ son!” Bull looked back at Dorian, teeth clenched so tightly he was giving himself a headache.  This could all be over if he willingly turned Dorian over and explained that this was all a big misunderstanding.  He could get back in his truck and continue on with his normal life.  Dorian sobbed and shook like a leaf on the bed, one hand cupped over half his face—the bruised half—, one visible eye wide and terrified, big fat tears rolling down his cheeks.  “Please,” he whispered, “don’t turn me over.  I have to get out of here.” BANG BANG BANG! “Open up now before we break down this door, Qunari!” Iron Bull looked from Dorian to the door, lips pursed as he made up his mind.  With steady legs he walked towards the door. Dorian curled up on the bed with a broken cry.  Bull grabbed the chair out from under the desk and jammed it under the door knob.  “Get dressed, Dorian, NOW!” Bull roared, storming away from the door with his fists clenched at his sides.  Dorian sat up with a gasp, but to his credit he didn’t freeze for more than a moment. Bull tugged on his clothes while Dorian got dressed so fast his shirt was on backwards.  “You owe me some answers,” Bull hissed right in his face, furious at himself for choosing to do this.  It was the right thing, he could feel it in his gut… but it was also making him sick.  Some part of him wished he’d driven right past Dorian that night. “Yes, I promise!” Dorian threw himself at Bull, hugging him tightly with a small sob. “Alright alright,” Bull pushed him away, wincing as the cops started to kick the door.  It wouldn’t last long.  He turned towards the window, popping his neck before lunging forward, head down.  His horns shattered the glass, some shards cutting into his scalp and along the back of his neck.  Bull didn’t even fell the pain, jumping out the second story window with little thought.  When he landed he turned around, the wind and the rain lashing at him like whips. “JUMP!” he yelled as Dorian froze in the window, one foot on the sill. “I…” he looked over his shoulder and whatever he saw had him flinging himself out the window into Bull’s arms.  Bull didn’t even set him down, just cradled him in his arms as he ran as fast as he could for the parking lot.  He couldn’t take the truck, it was too big and too noticeable… and once the company found out he was on the run with a magister’s son he probably wouldn’t even have a job anymore. Iron Bull mourned its loss even as he punched through the window of a nearby car that looked moderately quick and, more importantly, was easy to hot wire.  He opened the door and tossed Dorian into the passengers seat with little care for being gentle.  There wasn’t time for gentle.  Bull’s hands shook a little as he touched the wires together, letting out a small breath as the engine fired up.  He was soaked to the bone when he climbed in, reversing with a squealing of tires as the police yelled and pointed from the second floor. Bull floored it, glad that no one was out on the road in this miserable storm.  Dorian shivered against the door, still sobbing and hiccuping silently to himself.  Blood dripped from Bull’s forehead and he wiped it away, still angry and knowing if he said anything now he wouldn’t be able to take it back later.  They drove until the sound of sirens faded completely.  Bull had them get out in another parking lot, this one with cars that looked a bit abandoned.  He stole the one that looked like it would run the longest and hoped no one would report it anytime soon. It wasn’t until they were back on the freeway that he turned to Dorian, lips curled into a frown.  “Alright, kid,” Bull grunted, wiping more blood away from his eyes, “talk.  And it had better be the truth.”

Veronica had been traveling with Six for three weeks when the Courier suddenly announced that she had "personal business" to attend to in the hills north of Nelson. She dumped Veronica in Novac with Craig Boone, her pet sniper and sometimes fuckbuddy and left orders that Boone and Veronica come after her if she was gone more than three weeks. It had been four so far, and Veronica was starting to worry that she might literally die of boredom. She had only agreed to tag along with Six because was cute and she had wooed Veronica with the promise of adventure in New Vegas. Unfortunately, Six had turned about to be straight as an arrow and preternaturally fixated with dank, irradiated caves. Even her mad revenge fantasy had fallen by the wayside, and Veronica had spent the better part of three weeks traipsing through every cave in southern Nevada. It was a relief when Six's Pip-boy picked up the Sierra Madre broadcast. She had given it careful consideration, then decided to go off alone to loot the infamous casino on her own. In addition to her claustrophiliac tendencies, Six was a compulsive hoarder with a weakness for shiny things. Veronica had been glad to get left behind. She figured Six would take the time alone to work through her personal issues regarding dark, damp crevices, and be back in a week, maybe two. With the Madre's riches burning a hole in her pocket, they'd set off for New Vegas, and Veronica would finally get to see the city for herself. It hadn't panned out that way, and Veronica was stuck in Novac, perhaps indefinitely. Boone was content to sit around and pick his teeth, she was not. She had been promised adventure, intrigue, and glamour. Novac was severely lacking in all three departments, and its abundance of dust and old people somehow failed to compensate. Unfortunately, her suggestion to Boone that they "steal Six's identity, skip town, and live it up in Vegas" did not inspire him to embrace spontaniety. Instead, he locked himself in his hotel room and wasted a day brooding. She resigned herself to the fact that Boone had somehow managed to become an even less fun version of himself, and she turned to the townies for entertainment. She spent an enjoyable day tailing Ranger Andy and trying to convince him to wrestle her. So she was surprised the next morning, when Boone woke her at 6:00 and told her that he'd come up with an activity for the day. Golden Geckos had been wandering into Novac from the east, and he had decided to head out to Clark Field to clear out their nests. He made them instant oatmeal for breakfast, and they set out just before 6:30. As they left town, Veronica blew a kiss to Manny in the dinosaur's mouth, which he did not return. It was ten miles to Clark Field, over two hours on foot. They talked tactics, and by 7:00, they had hashed out a basic plan. They'd stop 50 yards short of their destination and find higher ground. Boone would pick the Geckos off, and then Veronica would go in on foot and clean up anything he'd missed while he covered her, then they'd return to Novac. If they made good time, they'd be home in time for lunch. At 9:15, they rounded a final bend in the road and found themselves on the outskirts of Clark Field. It had been a power plant in the days before the Great War, and its massive reactors provided a steady trickle of radiation, hundreds of years later. Boone boosted Veronica up onto an overturned truck, and she pulled him up after her. Boone fired twice into the ruins before the Geckos emerged from their dens. Once he'd lured them into the open, he dispatched them with ruthless efficiency. He worked with ruthless efficiency, and Veronica did her best to contain her boredom while he lined his shots up. Glad as she was for the change of scenery, sitting on a truck in Clark Field wasn't much more interesting than sitting in her room in Novac. She hadn't even brought a deck of cards along. By the time Boone was satisfied that it was safe, Veronica had calculated all the prime numbers up to 271. She hopped down from the truck without waiting for his help, and dashed into the ruins. Most of the Geckos were dead, or close enough that killing them didn't provide much of a challenge. She was starting to wonder why he'd brought her along (for her sparkling wit and stunning good looks, she decided) when she heard rumbling coming from somewhere inside a pile of broken cement and rebar. She dropped into a fighting stance and crept toward the rubble. She found a nest of young Geckos, all wide eyes and bared fangs. They were cute and they were on her before she had time to say "Boone look at babby." It was nothing she couldn't handle, which was why she was surprised when she heard the crack of a .308 and one of the Geckos dropped like a stone. Startled, she turned towards Boone at the same second one of the Geckos leapt on her from behind. She tumbled to the ground, and rolled onto her back, growling in frustration. The Geckos swarmed her, climbing on top of her and biting at her exposed face and neck. Her finicky, refurbished power fist required very particular conditions for operation. She couldn't punch at all from her angle, and she couldn't stand with the weight of the Geckos on her chest. She batted at the Geckos, and had almost freed herself from them when Boone took a second shot. The bullet passed through the skull of a Gecko and lodged itself in her abdomen. The adrenaline kept her from feeling the shot until she'd knocked the remaining Geckos aside and pulled herself to her feet. She staggered back towards the truck, holding her stomach, while Boone covered her retreat. She made it to the truck in time to catch herself against it when she collapsed. She leaned heavily against the sun-warmed aluminum, and turned to see the swarm close in. At that moment, Boone jumped down from the truck, wielding a machete. He shouted at the Geckos and slashed at them indiscriminately. He was bruised and bloodied before he managed to drive them off. Satisfied that they were gone, he turned to Veronica with a stricken look on his face. She opened her mouth to call him a "dumb shit-idiot," but her knees buckled and she collapsed against him. He swore and set her down against the truck, arranging her hands over the wound on her abdomen. "Keep applying pressure," he muttered, before climbing back up to retrieve their gear. She closed her eyes and laid still. This was how she died. It would have made a good poem. A beautiful young woman, alone but for the company of the desert (Boone didn't count), her dreams fading as she breathed her last, her blood red upon the broken asphalt- A good poem and an even better cautionary tale. If she died, she was haunting the shit out of Boone. Boone proved himself a clumsy and inefficient nurse. He injected her with two Stimpaks before he realized they were still in range of the radiation from the old reactors. He dragged her 100 yards down the road, and injected her with a shot of Med-X and a shot of RadAway. She tried to remind him that she weighed a lot less than he did, but the Med-X kicked in and her head went all swimmy. She didn't remember most of what happened after that. He must have picked her up and carried her back to Novac, because she only remembered snatches of the 10 mile hike. She remembered him begging her not to die, and she remembered him telling her to keep pressure on the wound. She managed to hold on until Novac, where she was entrusted to the care of one "Dr." Ada Straus, the Mojave's least licensed physician. Straus ran her ramshackle clinic out of an abandoned house behind the Dino Dee-Lite Motel. What Straus and her operating room lacked in cleanliness, they also lacked in efficiency, lighting, and expertise. This was where Strauss laid Veronica out, murmuring reassurances like "you'll be okay, probably," and "holy shit, that's a lot of blood." She injected her with a second syringe of Med-X, and that was when Veronica's exhausted body gave up on remaining conscious. She woke up a few hours later, sore and swathed in dirty bandages. Her vision was blurry and her head was pounding. She tried to rub her eyes, but discovered that she couldn't raise her arms. She wondered if this was a side-effect of the drugs, or if the cumulative force of Boone and Straus' joint ineptitude had permanently paralyzed her. "Hello?" she called. "Anyone there?" There was a clatter in the next room, and Straus appeared in the doorway, her glasses on a chain around her neck. "You're alive!" she said brightly. "None of us expected you to pull through." She crossed the room and stood by the operating table, looking down at Veronica with discomforting surprise. "Can I get water?" she croaked. "Of course." She left the room and returned with a bottle of water. She opened it for Veronica, and set it on the cart beside the operating table, then stood back. "I can't get it," Veronica said, not bothering to keep the peevish note out of her voice. "Just try," said Straus. "C'mon, what's the worst that could happen?" Veronica stared at her for a long minute before she could even formulate a response. "I could pull my stitches out," she said. "Or collapse from all the stupid chems you people gave me. Or get an aneurysm." "Alright, Miss Whiner. Fine. Have it your way. Here's your stupid water. I guess we'll never know what you're capable of." She moved the water half an inch closer to Veronica. "I hate you so much," Veronica said. "You and Boone." "Are you even going to try?" Veronica decided she'd rather not spend the rest of the day battling with Straus. She grit her teeth, counted to three, and forced herself to sit up. As she moved, she was hit with a wave of such intense pain that she blacked out for a second, and nearly fell off the table. Straus rushed forward to catch her, and set her back on the table. She held her for a moment, and Veronica leaned into her, grateful for the support. Even if it was all her fault. "Can I just have the freaking water, now?" she mumbled. Straus frowned and stepped back. "But you almost had it on your own." "I almost fell off the table." "But doesn't it feel good to try?" "No," said Veronica. "It hurts like a bitch. I got shot in the stomach, and I have a headache, my throat hurts, and everything is sore. Can you give me the water, please?" "Fine." Straus took the bottle off the cart and pressed it directly into Veronica's hand. "There you are. Happy?" "Thank you," Veronica said. Some of the leaden feeling had left her arms, and she was able to raise the bottle to her lips and take a drink without spilling it down her front. The water soothed her sore throat and helped to clear her head. She licked her dry lips, and clumsily set the bottle back on the cart, sloshing its contents over Straus' array of dirty syringes, forceps, and scalpels. The doctor watched her, apparently satisfied. "Do you want to try walking?" "I don't know if that's a good idea." "Can you wiggle your toes?" Since she'd woken up, Veronica hadn't given any thought to her lower body at all. Her bare legs were stretched out on the operating table in front of her, as heavy as her arms had felt. She frowned at her toes, and focused on moving them. They responded to her commands sluggishly, as if they'd really rather not. "Yes," she reported. "Sort of." "If you can wiggle your toes, you can walk!" Before Veronica could protest, Straus had looped an arm around her middle and turned her body so her legs were hanging off the side of the table. She put her hands on Veronica's shoulders and pulled her off the table, onto her feet. Her knees buckled, but Strauss caught her and set her back on her feet, gently holding her upright. "See? If you can wiggle your toes, you can walk. Or at least stand. C'mon." She began to walk, and Veronica had no choice, but to stagger along after her, clinging to her for support. They moved around the operating room, and into the clinic's main room. It had been a living room once, many years ago, but Straus had moved the furniture around and added a reception desk. Now it was a waiting room, and every bit as shabby and disgusting as the operating room had been. Pins and needles shot through Veronica's legs with every ungainly step. The sensation was tingly, but not necessarily painful. Straus maneuvered around the desk and couches, careful not to go faster than Veronica's legs could carry her. It was almost like dancing. Suddenly, Straus stopped short. "I'm going to let go of you," she said. "Let's see if you can walk on your own." She let go, and Veronica stumbled towards the wall. Leaning against it, she found her feet and took a step towards the center of the room, then another. "You're fine," Straus said. "You are somehow totally fine. Congrats." "You don't really inspire confidence," Veronica said, marveling at the sensation of walking unsupported. "I like to keep expectations low," she said. "And you do an excellent job of that," Veronica muttered. "Can I go now?" Strauss shrugged. "I guess. Try not to collapse on your way back to the motel, and don't take any more chems today. Maybe Med-X, tomorrow, but have a big breakfast, first. And if you get the shakes, try not to move until they pass." There was a baggy coat on a rack by the door. "And put this on. I had to throw your other stuff away. It was all bloody and gross." Veronica rolled her eyes. "Thanks, doc." Strauss opened the door for her. "Yeah, whatever. Just be sure to come back before you leave town. I need that coat back." It was dark when Veronica stumbled out of Straus' clinic. The sky was full of stars, and Veronica paused for a moment to gape up at them before she made her way around the Dino Dee-Lite to Boone's room. His door was closed and he'd hung the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the knob. She knocked anyway, and pressed her ear up against the door. Six must have stumbled back into town while she was laid out on Straus' operating table. She could hear bedsprings squeaking, and the low rumble of voices engaged in what she imagined was the least erotic dirty talk that had ever occurred anywhere on earth. She sighed and limped her way across the yard, towards Six's room. The stairs took ten long, painful, gasping minutes, and she was out of breath by the time she reached the door. It was locked. She swore. She leaned up against the door and pulled Straus' coat around her shoulders. The night was cool, and she was practically naked beneath it. All her clothes were in Boone's or Six's room. She supposed she could go back down the stairs, barge into Boone's room, and out herself as the world's worst roommate. She could go to Cliff Briscoe's bungalow and ask for the spare key to Six's room. She liked Cliff too much to risk waking him up. And she didn't want to risk being ousted from the courier's sad little group before she made her way to Vegas. Even if they were demonstrating a complete dearth of concern for her, so soon after her brush with death. Even if Six was a selfish, obsessive-compulsive liar and Boone was a trigger happy shit-idiot with the personality of a houseplant. Even if she didn't really like either of them that much, not really. They were her best chance of making it to Vegas, and of finding a new way forward for the Brotherhood. She sighed and lingered there a moment, looking out at the desert and enjoying the feel of the cool breeze on her skin. After strengthening her resolve, she limped back down the stairs, clinging to the hand railing, pausing after every step. The exertion raised sweat on her brow, and she was red-faced and flushed when by the time she had crossed the yard and made her way back to Ada's little clinic. The doctor lived there (she had gotten a peek of the bedroom while she was in the living room), and she was probably still awake. Veronica could spend the night there, maybe stay there until Six and Boone remembered they'd had a third companion. And when they came to collect her, she could act really pitiful, and they'd be sorry for being such massive shitheads (Boone especially). Veronica knocked. Straus answered. "Miss me already?" Veronica didn't wait to be invited in. She crossed the threshold, and took a seat on the couch. She sighed and swung her aching feet up onto the couch, and flexed, trying to relieve some of the soreness that had settled in her bones. "They locked me out." Straus sat on one of her mismatched, threadbare chairs. "Six came back while you guys were out shooting each other. And boy, is she pissed. I've never seen her so angry." Veronica grinned. "How'd she enjoy her stay at the Sierra Madre?" "Said it was full of 'monsters and assholes.'" "That does sound like her." "Also, she was looking for you. But then Boone said you were unconscious and she started screaming at him, right then and there." "I'll bet she was even more pissed when he told her he shot me." Straus cleared her throat. "He may have left that detail out." "And you didn't tell her?" She shook her head. "Doctor-patient confidentiality." "Boone's not your patient," Veronica said, flatly. "Well, no, but I figured you'd want to tell her yourself." Veronica considered. "Now that you say it, yes. Yes I do." "I thought so." Straus smiled, then sat back on the chair, arms hooked over the back. "So, you planning to spend the night?" "Well, you did cut me open and dig a bullet out of my stomach. Shouldn't I be held for observation?" "Eh, probably. I'll warn you, though. I'm a shitty cook, and I don't have any of that prepackaged stuff. It's bad for you. Too much radiation." "I'm not really hungry," Veronica said. Straus looked her up and down. "Okay, loss of appetite is a bad sign, but you look fine. Maybe I should observe you, or whatever." Veronica sighed. "If you weren't the only doctor in town, I would strangle you." Straus got up and walked into her tiny kitchen. "You would not believe how many times I hear that a week," she called over her shoulder. "You want beer or water?" "Should I be drinking?" Straus returned with two beers and a bottle opener "Probably not." Veronica sighed and took a bottle and the bottle opener from her. Their fingertips brushed as Straus passed the bottle to her, and the contact was accompanied by a meaningful look. Veronica nearly dropped the bottle. Was Straus coming onto her? She put the thought out of her mind and focused on getting the top off her bottle. Her hands were still numb, from the chems and from the cold, and it took her longer than it should have to pop the cap off. She passed them back to Straus, making carful note of how long Straus' hand lingered on hers while she returned the bottle opener. Definitely coming onto her. Well, though Veronica, leaning back against the arm rest. Well. It was certainly unexpected, and didn't say much for Straus' professionalism. There were probably laws against this sort of thing, but Veronica had been flying solo for years. She was desperate for a copilot, and Straus was cute enough, and apparently interested. And ever since Six had breezed into 188 trading post (and then had the nerve to be straight and involved with a certain potato-faced shit-idiot) she'd been having a greater than average number of steamy dreams. Veronica had a lot of pent-up energy to work out, and she didn't know if she'd have another opportunity to get laid before Six lead them all to their deaths in an irradiated mine shaft. Ah, what the hell, she thought, and leaned forward and kissed Ada. Straus' lips were dry and chapped, but her mouth was soft against Veronica's. She wound a hand through Veronica's short hair and leaned into her, pressing their bodies together. Veronica put a steadying hand on either side of Straus' face, pulling her closer and sinking deeper into the sofa. It wasn't the most amazing kiss in Veronica's personal history, but it was a start. Straus' weight was warm against her, and she liked the insistent tug of the hand in her hair. It was bossy but not forceful, and Veronica decided that she didn't mind, not at all. They were both breathless when they broke apart for air. "Thank god," Straus panted. "I'm no good at flirting." "I don't know," Veronica mumbled. "I figured it out." She pulled Straus' mouth towards her own, and they kissed again, their bodies flush. Straus kept one hand in Veronica's hair, one running up and down her body, pausing to cup her breast or stroke her thigh. Straus was an insistent kisser, always tugging at Veronica's hair or at the lapels of her borrowed coat, always demanding more. Veronica held her close and savored the attention, her mouth going dry as Straus peeled the coat from her shoulders, leaving her bare and shivered, despite the heat pooling between her thighs. Despite the bruising pressure of her mouth and the insistence of her hands, Straus took great care not to disturb Veronica's stitches. There was a deftness to her movements, careful attention dressed up as raw lust. She could have been a great surgeon, if she only cared as much about her patient's physical needs as their carnal ones. Straus had been straddling Veronica's hips, her weight pressing her into the couch. Now, she went to her knees in front of Veronica, pulling the coat open the rest of the way, exposing the ratty shorts she wore beneath her robes. "Lift your hips, beautiful," she said. Veronica did as she was told, and Straus slid her underwear down her thighs. Veronica shivered from the cold, but Straus was in no hurry to begin. She ran her hands up and down Veronica's legs, pressing kisses to her thighs and belly. She passed over her pussy entirely, coming maddeningly close to it without touching it. "Ada," she croaked. Her mouth was completely dry, her voice hoarse. "Ada, please." "Always so impatient," she murmured, but she didn't tease any longer. She parted Veronica's outer lips with two fingers, and immediately went to work. She ran her tongue along her slit under she found her clitoris. Veronica squeaked and moaned, her toes curling as Straus sucked her clit and fucked her with her pointer and middle fingers. She kept up a steady rhythm, expertly applying just enough pressure to make Veronica beg. A spring was coiling in her gut, winding tighter and tighter as Straus fucked her. "Right there! Don't stop, please, don't stop, don't stop, don't-" Straus grinned up at her and suddenly changed tactics. She ran her tongue over Veronica's slit, not concentrating her attentions on any one spot. Instead, she massaged her labia, dropping one hand to the ground to steady herself. It was a different sort of pleasure, milder and less localized. It was maddening after what Straus had been doing-Veronica had been on the ede of coming, on the brink of the best orgasm she'd had in years. She was wound up, breathless, sweaty, and on the verge of tears Unable to hold out any longer, she slid her own hand between her thighs, and masturbated while Straus kept up her routine. The combined attentions of Straus' mouth and her own hands pushed her over the edge. She let go of the tension, and pleasure rocketed through her body, blurring her vision and drawing a long, low moan from her lips. Straus climbed back into her lap and kissed her fiercely as she came down. The taste of her own juices on Straus' lips and tongue was almost enough to get Veronica going again, but she'd had hers. It was Straus' turn. Veronica reached out for Straus' hips, intending to undo her belt and fuck her brains out, but the doctor batted her hands away. "Tomorrow," she promised, kissing Veronica's forehead. "When you're less tired." "C'mon, just let me try." Straus laughed, and climbed off her lap. "Now you want to try? Come on, you need to rest." "Now you want to play responsible doctor?" "You'll need your energy, for what I'm planning to do to you tomorrow. Trust me, we'll both have more fun if you're rested." Veronica raised one eyebrow, a skill she'd spent years honing. "What do you have in mind?" Straus went into the bathroom to wash her hands, and Veronica followed her. "I got a box full of toys in my bedroom, and your ass isn't going to fuck itself." Veronica considered. "Y'know," she said, "You're the best doctor I've ever had." "You would not believe how many times I hear that a week," she said, grinning. "And you should pee. Don't want you getting a UTI." She left, and when Veronica was finished in the bathroom, she was in the waiting room, straightening magazines and shutting the lamps off. Veronica crept up behind her and kissed her neck. "Seriously, though. Best doctor ever." They fell asleep in Straus' single bed. The next morning, when Boone and Six came around to collect her, Straus refused payment. "What can I say?" she said. "Anything for a friend." She winked at Veronica, who decided she could use a few more friends-and doctors-like Straus.

It already hadn’t been a very good day for Phil, and his mood only continued to sour. Not only had stupid Dan Howell messed up their assignment in Herbology, he’d even gone as far as to steal his glasses and then break them. Phil liked to consider himself intimidating and scary, as already many of his fellow first years were wary of him and careful not to annoy him, and even Howell looked like he had to brace himself before daring to insult him, but he honestly hadn’t thought that Howell would have had the nerve. The nerve to commit such a crime. Stealing and breaking his glasses. And it wasn’t a walk in the park afterwards, either, stumbling back up to the castle, one half of his glasses in each hand, held precariously in front of his face so he could see. He certainly wasn’t looking forward to finding a teacher and getting them to fix his glasses. What was he supposed to tell them? He couldn’t rat out Howell, as then they probably wouldn’t be able to get away with their duel later, and Phil wanted nothing more than to get Howell expelled. He knew that Howell was a nerd, constantly holed up in the library, doubtlessly because he didn’t have any friends. But still, Phil knew plenty of spells too, and he was taller, which meant he could probably intimidate Howell with his height alone. Plus, Howell wasn’t the only one who knew where the library was, Phil could just as easily study up before their duel. No, he would have to lie, to think of an excuse about why his glasses were broken. Lying wasn’t something foreign to him, he’d grown up doing it his whole life, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was good at it. He could be, at times, but this was probably his least Slytherin-like attribute. Most Slytherins could lie much easier than him, and he still found himself stuttering when he told an untruth. What was going to make it even more difficult was that he’d be lying to save Howell from trouble. Now that truly was a foreign concept. Phil stumbled over yet another rock, swearing under his breath as his toe throbbed. There were fingerprints all over his lenses, likely from Howell’s grubby little fingers. He debated pausing to wipe them on his cloak, but decided not to. He would forge on, ignoring the stupid prints of Howell’s stupid hands. When he finally made it back to the castle, the long stretch of grounds thankfully behind him, he debated which teacher he should go to. He could always go to Flitwick, who was good at charms, seeing as he was the professor for it. But still, there was something about Flitwick that Phil didn’t quite trust… possibly his height. His short stature. He then debated going to Snape, before pushing that far out of question. Snape would no doubt pry to see which brat had broken a precious Slytherin’s glasses, and even if Phil refused to tell, he sometimes got the weird inclination that Snape could read minds. And so that left the Head of Slytherin out of the question as well. Eventually Phil settled on Professor McGonagall. Sure, she was the Head of Gryffindor House, but she was always really strict, even with them. Phil felt something close to trust when he thought of Professor McGonagall, whom he’d always felt a good amount of respect for, and who didn’t look at him like she looked at most Slytherins. Admittedly, she looked at most Slytherins like they were her students, but she looked at him like he was her student that she liked just a little bit more. And he liked that. And so McGonagall it was. Phil had to make up a story as he ventured through the corridors towards the transfiguration classroom. It was hard refusing the initial urge to just blame everything that happened on Howell, as he usually did. And this time it actually was Howell’s fault. Okay, so maybe he had tripped Howell first, but that was nothing. Howell had stolen his glasses. And broken them! It was as he came level with Professor McGonagall’s classroom that he realized he’d forgotten to fabricate a lie about his glasses, that he’d instead spent his entire walk fuming about Dan Howell. Pushing thoughts of a dumb, annoying, short, posh-sounding boy out of his head, he knocked, deciding to come up with a story on the spot. He just needed his glasses fixed, preferably by a responsible adult, one who wouldn’t ask too many questions and would fix his glasses properly. “Mr. Lester,” McGonagall said as the door swung open, revealing her tall form, made even taller still by her black wizard’s hat. For a brief moment, Phil found himself wondering how Howell must feel, one of the shortest first years, when he stood beside McGonagall, towering body accompanied by towering hat. He must feel positively small and terrified. Loathe he was to admit it, Phil even felt slightly intimidated, standing in her shadow. “What can I do for you?” The Professor asked, drawing him out of his thoughts. “Oh, er– Professor!” Phil greeted suddenly, remember why he was there. Dan Howell. Broken glasses. “I uh, I broke my glasses,” he said sheepishly (he was playing her, obviously. He most definitely didn’t feel embarrassed or sheepish for coming to her like a child, holding his dumb, grubby, broken glasses in his hands). “And I was wondering if you could fix them,” he added. Professor McGonagall held out her hands, and Phil eagerly shoved his glasses into them. He just wanted more than anything to have his glasses again, repaired and clean and on his face. And then he wanted to go curse Howell into oblivion and get him expelled from the school. Of course, Hogwarts might be a little more boring without someone to fight with and pester, but Phil supposed he could live with the loss. “How did this happen?” She unfortunately asked, which he’d been hoping she’d overlook. The how. The why. He obviously couldn’t tell her the truth, not if he wanted to get Howell expelled. Sure, he could tattle and Howell might get a detention, but Phil wanted him out. And, unfortunately, Phil had spent all his scheming time, his walk throughout the school, otherwise occupied. “Well, Professor, I– er, tripped,” he said, completely convincingly. McGonagall was dazzled by his convincing lie, in fact her eyes seemed to be gathering tears. Phil felt bad for lying so well, so believably, knowing he’d made his trusted Professor positively bawl with compassion. Or, perhaps, her lips might’ve tightened slightly, her eyes squinting. Minutely. This could easily be misinterpreted as disbelief, a stern look possibly, but that was merely misinterpretation. McGonagall was obviously distraught with the fact that he’d tripped and hurt himself. He could just tell. “Did you, now?” Professor McGonagall said, with her eyebrows raised. An obvious display for her further concern. “Yes. On my way back from Herbology, actually.” See, sometimes Phil did something that could make him be classed as a skilled liar. He added a little bit of truth around his lie, to distract from the lie itself. The more details provided, the more believable the lie, really. “Am I correct in my belief that one usually has a partner in Herbology?” McGonagall questioned. Phil, feeling like he was falling into some sort of trap, proceeded with caution. “Yes…?” He answered, his voice rising slightly, making it sound like a question. “And where was your partner when you so unfortunately tripped, Mr. Lester?” She further interrogated, and Phil felt the sudden urge to turn tail and run. It seemed like she was on to him, or onto something, at least, and he didn’t want to be caught. “Uh, not there?” Phil said, sounding like a question once again. “Mhmm.” McGonagall fixed his glasses with a sharp tap of her wand, before handing them back to him. Phil murmured a quick thank you, thanking his lucky stars, before he hurriedly turned around and began to make his retreat, either to the library or his common room, he wasn’t yet sure. “Oh, and Mr. Lester?” Called Professor McGonagall, making him turn to look at her once more. “I suggest you go to the hospital wing right away. You’re limping, you realize?” An image of every rock and slightly uneven patch of ground suddenly flashed through his mind, remember just how many things he’d tripped over on his walk across the grounds. How could he have not noticed he was limping? “Exactly what I was planning to do, Professor,” Phil lied smoothly, before retreating around the nearest corner (incidentally one that led nowhere near the infirmary) and trying to disguise his limp as well as possible. – Phil had ended up going to the library instead of his common room, in search of knowledge instead of comfort from his friends. Plus, being a whole lot of Slytherins, they’d all be trying to dissuade him from going. It was quite possible that they’d be able to convince him too, and so he avoided them. They didn’t need to know what he was going to be getting up to tonight, it wasn’t like it was any of their business anyway. Plus, Phil didn’t even want to imagine how big of a coward he’d look if he didn’t show up. He’d just look like a typical Slytherin, saving his own neck, avoiding confrontation. Howell probably expected him to do just that, anyway, and Phil wasn’t about to grant him the satisfaction of being right. He was aware how Gryffindor-like his determination seemed, as well as his desire to avoid looking like a coward, but it wasn’t like he could help it. At the beginning of the year, he’d been absolutely affronted that the Sorting Hat had even dared to suggest that he might have attributes that could apply to houses other than Slytherin. He’d spent a lot of time fighting against those qualities, trying to immerse himself into the Slytherin house, blend in and act accordingly. This hadn’t worked out very well, however, and he’d ended up letting the good things from the other houses return to his personality. It wasn’t so bad to be brave and courageous, nor was it unpleasant to be smart and quick witted. Even being loyal wasn’t all that bad. And so, letting himself be himself (as much as he felt comfortable, being surrounded by a bunch of snakes, anyway) he’d managed to rise to the top. Having so many redeeming qualities (not to brag) hadn’t excluded him, hadn’t made him an outcast, it had only made him more strongly revered, boosted him to the top of the food chain. All of his friends looked up to him. He wasn’t too scared and cowardly to pick on the other idiots in their classes, and for that he had Gryffindor to thank. The scheming, of course, he could thank Slytherin for. His good grades and grace at studying were obviously Ravenclaw’s doing, and he got many rewards and bribed many of his peers thanks to them. And, of course, he couldn’t ignore the Hufflepuff in him, the loyalty he felt towards his house (for which he absolutely abhorred losing house points, and revelled in the ones he won). And so he supposed it wasn’t so horrible that the hat had wanted to place him in other houses, although he would still never admit it to anyone. Plus, he still hated the other houses with his guts. He supposed that they might have been slightly better, had he been placed in them. But, seeing as he was in Slytherin, the award for best house was unarguable. Phil drew himself out of his thoughts, trying to concentrate on the words before him. He couldn’t help the trickling feeling of dread that was suddenly climbing up his sides, as the sun sank lower and his time to go to the Astronomy Tower grew closer. Now that his blood wasn’t pumping with the chase he’d had with Howell, nor the narrow escape he’d had with Professor McGonagall, he could finally focus on how he was actually feeling. He honestly hated dueling. His nerves went haywire, and his limbs went heavy with dread. Anxiety clawed through his chest and up his throat, and he distractedly tried to force all these feelings to go away. He was just going to fight Howell, inevitably (or, though he didn’t want to admit it, hopefully) win, and then go on with his life, free of the annoying twerp. Plus, he figured that even if at the very long shot, he didn’t win, he could always back out, refuse to let himself get expelled. It’s not like they’d made a Wizard’s Bet, or promise or something or other. Thinking this though, led him to wonder if Howell might have the same plan. To simply back out if he lost. He didn’t allow himself to dwell on that for long, however. He would just have to believe that Howell would honor their challenge if he lost. When he lost. And if he didn’t… Well, Phil would deal with that later. Sighing, Phil forced himself to concentrate, glaring down at the words on his page. …the Fluxweed’s Venum, however, is toxic to many people. It’ll cause a violent, immediate rash (similar to that of undiluted Bubotuber pus) to those with asthma, lactose-intolerance, anemia, or heterosexuality who touch it. If left untreated, it could cause several maladies such as… Phil resisted the urge to curse violently out loud, realizing he’d subconsciously managed to read a book about Herbology instead of curses, jinxes, and counter-curses. He slammed the book shut, glaring at the title (Wizard’s Wisest Autotrophs) and stood angrily, marching towards the shelves. He strolled down a long aisle, picking up a formidable looking book (Dangerous Jinxes, Horrendous Hexes, and Uncomfortable Curses) and planning to sit back down at his table. He realized that many of these spells would be far out of his capability, but he planned to write down the ones he thought he could manage, and then go practice them in a deserted classroom somewhere. His plans were diverted, however, when he emerged from the shelves and found none other than Dan Howell sitting at his table. He marched determinedly forward, prepared to kick Howell out of his seat, by force, if necessary, but he stopped short. He could see the book that Howell was reading, one that he was very familiar with. Phil darted behind the nearest shelf, pushing a few books out the way and staring at Howell. The book in front of him was a book about space, and Phil watched as Howell flipped the page, running his fingers over the picture in front of him, seemingly transfixed. Phil could probably name every constellation on that page, and he knew what they all looked like and where they were supposed to be in the sky, but he could still never find them when he looked. He could see the stars, obviously, and he knew that they were beautiful and wonderful, but for some reason he could never find the constellations he was looking for with a telescope pressed to his eye. He watched in wonder, and then slight disbelief, and then anger, as Howell cast a quick, furtive look around, before carefully tearing out the page. Of a library book! Who did he think he was? Phil continued to watch as Howell stared at the now freed page with something akin to amazement, before a grin found the short boy’s face, and he carefully tucked it under his shirt, making sure not to let the corners get bent. Then Howell closed the book, replacing it on its proper shelf, and escaped from the library, a book about counter-curses in his hand. Phil felt amazed. He would never have the courage, nor the absolute profound sense of entitlement, to steal a page straight out of a library book. It seemed daring and cool, despite being rude and obnoxious. He found himself wanted to imitate this act, and so he fled from the library, book and all, before he actually went crazy enough to do it. He hid the book in his bag as well, not wanting to have to check it out with Madam Pince. He was afraid he’d draw suspicion to himself, or that the old bat wouldn’t even let him check it out. For now, he had some studying to do. – It was well past everyone’s bedtime when Phil finally managed to sneak out. He’d had to wait for the common room to clear out before he could leave, and then he’d had to wait for his dorm mates to actually fall asleep as well. He’d slid on his shoes and a cloak over his pajamas before quietly escaping from the Slytherin house and cautiously making his way through the school. He’d yet to sneak around after hours, but he’d heard upperclassmen talking about it before, about how teachers patrolled the corridors, most often Filch and his cat, Mrs. Norris. It would really suck if Phil managed to bump into the cat, as not only would he get in trouble, he would also have a sneezing fit. He was allergic to cats. Thankfully, Phil made it to the tower virtually unscathed, narrowly avoiding Peeves the poltergeist, who’d been taunting a suit of armor, and convincing a painting of a tattling monk not to tattle. (He’d promised to give in a good work to Violet, a painting the monk had been crushing on.) He finally crept up the last stretch of stairs eyes warily searching for Howell, ears straining to hear a sound. He was careful to keep his footsteps quiet on the stone steps, and he peeked around the tower once he’d reached the top, searching for the Gryffindor. Phil was surprised to find that Howell was actually there, having beaten him to be the first to arrive. He was laying on the ground, arms crossed behind his head, and staring diligently at the sky. Phil remembered, briefly, the page that Howell had made a theft of from the library. His eyes moved upwards, almost without his command, to take in the beauty of the night sky. It was a cloudless night, and the stars shone brightly from this high up, this close to the sky, where no torches were burning. It was dark except for the twinkling of the stars millions of miles away, and the hushed light cast from the moon. A sudden, strange desire flitted through Phil, to throw down his wand and lay beside Howell, to stare up at the sky together, silent but appreciative, their breaths aligned with one another, their chests rising and falling gently, the air turning white before their noses. It was a bizarre thought, of course, and Phil was quick to discard it from his mind, but it still left a warm sort of feeling deep in his chest. He almost regretted the fact that he was about to disturb this peaceful scene. And sure, Phil could curse Howell while he was down, while he wasn’t paying any attention, but that’d be sick and cowardly. He was a Slytherin, not a moraless piece of crap. “Howell,” he said finally, after another minute or so of not-creepily-staring at Howell, wishing that he wouldn’t have to disrupt that look of contentment on the other boy’s face. Howell jumped in shock when he heard Phil’s voice, and he was quick to scramble to his feet, digging his wand out of his robes haphazardly and pointing it at Phil. His hand was shaking. Despite the fact that the wand being pointed at him was shaking with how nervous Howell seemed, it was still a wand pointed at him. And so Phil drew his, trying his best to hide his nerves as he held it forward. The scarier he looked the more scared Howell was likely to be, and so he would try to look downright terrifying. Perhaps they could get out of this fight without actually fighting? “S-shouldn’t we like, shake hands first? Or something?” Howell questioned. His hand had stopped shaking somewhat, which wasn’t a good sign for Phil. Don’t you dare start gathering your courage Howell! I need you to be nice and scared so I can beat you! “We can if you want,” Phil said reluctantly, his wand dipping slightly as he lost concentration. If Howell tried to hex him before their duel officially began, then he was going to push him off the goddamn tower. “Okay,” Howell answered, before taking a tentative step forward. Phil walked forward as well, reaching out his hand that wasn’t holding his wand. Howell did the same, and they came to predicament where Phil’s left hand was out, and Howell’s right hand was. Phil blinked down at their extended arms, feeling slightly exasperated. “Kind of hard to shake hands when you hold out the wrong hand,” Phil said bitingly, letting his eyes roll with the statement. Howell scoffed but shoved his wand into his right hand, before holding out his left. Phil had never even realized that Howell was left handed before. They shook hands, Howell’s grasping his lightly, their hands rising upward before swinging back down in a firm shake. It was as they pulled away that Phil realized how soft Howell’s hand was, and how cold his fingers were. He shook the thoughts from his mind, and Howell traded his wand back to his dominant hand. They each backed up a few steps, and stood with their wand arms extended, faces morphing into something that resembled determination. In that moment, Phil couldn’t help feeling a bit childish. They’d come up here, in the middle of the night, to perform a wizard’s duel. Except they were both eleven, and knew hardly any magic at all yet, and really, they were most likely to injure each other by accident by performing a spell wrong. Furthermore, sneaking out in the middle of the night and dueling was really dangerous and idiotic, and it was likely that they were both going to end up getting in trouble. How often did students wander out of bed anyway, especially without getting caught? And how much noise was their fight going to make? Enough to alert someone? As Phil was letting his mind go off on its tangent, trying pitifully to put an end to it, to convince himself that he couldn’t back out now, Dan leapt forward. “Petrificus totalus!” He cried, and Phil jumped to the side, narrowly avoiding the spell that could’ve easily put an end to their duel. “Stupify!” He yelled in return, watching in annoyance as Howell waved his wand, and the spell dissipated against thin air. “Anteoculatia!” Howell said, his wand pointed directly at Phil’s head, which he was too slow to dodge. Annoyance coursed through him as his hair transformed into a pair of antlers, which Howell had the audacity to giggle at. “Oh you’ll pay for that, Howell!” Phil taunted. “Avis Oppugno!” The spell was supposed to summon a flock of offensive birds, but he’d never really had time to practice it. Instead, maybe six birds sprang from his wand, and they fluttered meekly towards Howell, before changing their mind midcourse, and flying half heartedly towards the owlery. Embarrassment plagued him, before Howell laughed again, summoning Phil’s anger once more. Howell cast the same spell as Phil (obviously because he was unoriginal and couldn’t think of any other spells) although it was admittedly better, as about twice the amount of birds Phil had summons sprang forth, and they dived towards Phil, vicious beaks sharp and pointed towards Phil’s face, talons extended with malice. Phil dodged them, sprinting backwards and diving towards the ground, hands protecting his head. In that moment he couldn’t think of any spells to banish the birds, nor to protect himself, and he ended up relying on his arms. Thankfully, the birds seemed to lose their spirit as Phil’s had, and they abruptly stopped their attack before they could do any damage, and retreated. Still, so far he’d only managed to embarrass himself, although thankfully his antlers were losing shape, changing back into his hair. “You haven’t even gotten close to getting me!” Howell laughed, a gleam in his eye. His wand was held loosely as his side, and his stance was relaxed. Oh, he wasn’t going to beat Phil that easily. “Just warming up, Howell,” he snarled, before swinging his wand upward and shooting a jelly legs jinx at him. Howell tried to sidestep, but wasn’t quite quick enough, and the spell struck him in the leg, causing him to wobble where he stood, before he tripped and fell backward. Howell was quick to cast the countercurse, but Phil had already advanced on him, and was much closer when Howell managed to stand again, still a bit unsteady on his feet. Phil continued walking forward, and Howell tripped over his feet in his hurry to get away, and he stumbling backwards quickly, fumbling with his wand and trying to think of an appropriate spell. Not wanting to be overcome by Howell, Phil quickly cast a tickling charm, making Howell gasp and back up even further, his shoulders rising uncomfortably, his body curling inwards, trying to get away from the phantom tickling sensation. He stuttered the countercurse, his words coming out breathless and giggly, and when he finally looked up, he seemed to notice how close he and Phil were. Phil pressed forward one more step, and Howell backed right into the low walls of the Astronomy tower. It didn’t quite reach Howell’s waist, but he was lucky there was a wall behind him at all. There were sections of the wall that were missing, just like the typical image of a castle turret, with low, zipper like walls, leaving gaps between the chunks of stone. “Do you surrender?” Phil questioned, his lip turning up in a smirk. Howell glared. “Never.” “How about now?” Phil asked, and he pressed forward even more, grabbing Howell’s shoulders tightly and pushing him back slightly, enough to make him feel afraid. He obviously wasn’t going to push him off, he wasn’t an idiot, and he wasn’t a murdered either. And he most certainly wasn’t cruel. Or, at least, he wasn’t that cruel. He didn’t find it below himself to make others think that he was willing to push them off a tower. Howell’s eyes grew wide, frantic, and suddenly he was thrashing in Phil’s grasp, his breaths coming out in sharp, loud pants, his body twisting, his shoulder connecting harshly with Phil’s chest. And then he was grabbing Phil’s sides, pushing him, and they were tripping, falling hard into the ground of the tower, Phil’s head worryingly close to an area of the wall where there wasn’t actually any wall. And Howell was sitting on his chest, to make matters worse, and he was panting with panic, his face red and blotchy, his hands fisted worryingly tight in Phil’s chest. His body was shaking on top of Phil’s, and he seemed legitimately terrified, despite being the one in control, the one doing the sitting on Phil’s chest. Phil opened his mouth, to perhaps suggest an end to this fight (adrenaline was coursing swiftly through him, and he didn’t doubt that he could continue on, but Howell’s shaking was starting to worry him) when a sudden shout was ringing through the air. “Howell! Get off that boy immediately!” A familiar voice screamed, and Howell looked like he wanted to get off, but he was still shaking, positively vibrating on top of Phil, and his clenched hands no longer seemed so threatening, but more like he was trying to hold onto something. Suddenly Professor McGonagall, the one who’d shouted, was marching forward and yanking Dan off of him, who flew backwards and seemed suddenly able to move again, and he was scrambling backwards, as far away from the edge as he could, before he pulled his knees up to his chest, which he buried his face into. “Are you all right, Mr. Lester?” McGonagall questioned, and Phil nodded numbly, not knowing what else to do. McGonagall was then marching fiercely right back to Howell, and she was grabbing him by the shoulder, pulling him to his feet. His face was pale and his shaking hands were stiff by his sides when he stood before McGonagall, who was glaring at him as if he’d killed her very own pet cat. “I cannot believe you, Mr. Howell,” She said quietly, furiously. “How incredibly dangerous that was! You could’ve killed Mr. Lester! Murder! Which was probably just what you were going for, wasn’t it?” Howell was shaking his head frantically, his mouth open slightly, but McGonagall ignored him. “How disgraceful, how horrible. It is an embarrassment to have you in my House.” She spat, and at that Howell stopped shaking his head, his mouth falling open impossibly wider, his eyes shining, possibly brimming with tears. Phil pushed that thought from him mind. He couldn’t help feeling guilty, he’d been fighting too, after all. And he’d been the one that’d even pretended to threaten Howell with pushing him off the tower, Howell had only defended himself, had ended up near the edge as he sat atop Phil, looking terrified as he did. But still, wasn’t this what Phil had wanted? Hadn’t he wanted Howell to get in serious trouble? To get expelled? But, no, he’d wanted that after he’d won the fight. And he’d never won it, sure, he’d had Howell backed against the wall, but he could’ve made a comeback. His spells had been stronger, quicker, it was likely that Howell would’ve ended up winning the duel, if only Professor McGonagall hadn’t interrupted. Feeling a horrendous amount of guilt pile onto his shoulders, Phil stumbled forward, desperate to right things. “Please Professor,” he said suddenly, determinedly. “I was fighting too, it’s not his fault.” “Oh, it most certainly is,” McGonagall answered, without so much as considering Phil’s words. “Attempted murder is a crime. He’ll have to be expelled for this. Azkaban, if it were up to me,” she said darkly. One glance at Howell’s face, horrified, distraught, and streaked in tears, had Phil opening his mouth again. “No Professor, please! It wasn’t his fault! You can’t expel him, he wasn’t even trying to push me off the tower! He just fell onto me!” He insisted, begging, pleading with her. Desperate for her to understand. She looked between them carefully, before seeming to come to a decision. “Mr. Howell, you will not be expelled today,” she said calmly. Howell let out a breath of relief, his eyes wandering up to hers, daring to look hopeful. “However,” Phil could hear Howell’s heart shrivel up into a little ball, “there will be punishment. And, to ensure that the two of you fight no longer, a spell will be placed on you, Mr. Howell.” There was a long paused, and the three of them were completely silent. Phil could hear the wind, whistling past his ears, making Howell’s hair billow around his face. Phil suddenly, desperately longed that he’d just lain down next to Howell and looked at the stars. That would’ve been a much better alternative to this. “A spell?” Howell questioned quietly, and Professor McGonagall nodded sharply. “Yes. To ensure that you don’t attempt to attack Mr. Lester again–” “But Professor-” “Quiet, Mr. Lester. To ensure that future quarrels are disbanded before they begin, you will be charmed to feel intense pain upon touching Mr. Lester.” “What?” Both the first years exclaimed, incredulous. “But, why only on him? Why don’t I have to have to be punished as well?” Phil demanded. Howell glared at him, even though he should definitely be glaring at McGonagall. It was as if Howell didn’t want to be pitied, but how could Phil help it, after all that was happening? McGonagall had called him a disgrace, an embarrassment! And now he was being punished, and Phil was being allowed to walk free? What kind of enforcement was this? “The spell can only be applied to one, in a pair. As for the punishment, well, you will be punished too, of course. In time.” Phil was gaping at her. In time? What the hell did that mean? Way to keep him on the tips of his toes. What was he supposed to expect? When would this punishment begin? Would she inform him? And then McGonagall was making them clasp hands, and Howell was glaring viciously at him, and it only felt right to glare back. He couldn’t just let himself be glared at, after all. Professor McGonagall then began speaking very quickly, in a language that most certainly wasn’t English. She was sliding her wand over their intertwined hands, flicking and prodding, and thick, bright, red ropes of light were extending from the end of it. They wrapped tightly around Howell’s arm, they looked hot and Phil wondered if he was in pain. For him they simply circled widely around his arm, far away enough that the light barely even reached him. Suddenly it was over, and the red light was disappearing, no, being sucked into Howell’s arm, and around him they were disappearing, twinkling out of existence and looking friendly. They dropped their arms, still standing in front of each other. Phil felt wary, and wrong. What had McGonagall done? Dan didn’t deserve this, it wasn’t even his fault that they’d fought in the first place. “Okay, we need to test it,” McGonagall said coldly, and then she cleared her throat. “Go on, Mr. Lester, touch his hand,” she insisted. Phil looked at her, wondering if she was crazy, but she nodded her head forward, insisting. Phil took a tentative step forward, and then he was reaching forward slowly, horribly slowly, feeling guilty and sick and nauseous already. This wasn’t right, this wasn’t fair. This was cruel, it was torture! Phil touched Howell’s hand, his fingers just barely brushing over the backs of his knuckles, but Howell jumped back as if he was burnt, a loud gasp ripping from his throat, his hand flying towards his chest, cradled against his body. A whimper forcibly crawled out of the shorter boy’s throat, and he pulled his hand away from his chest, which was shaking violently, to look at it. There was nothing, of course, how could there be, when the pain was all magic? All fabricated inside Howell’s mind? But still, Howell stared at it, looking horrified and worried. Phil couldn’t have felt any worse. He’d made that face, he’d ruined the peaceful, gentle look of the Dan Howell who’d lain out here less than an hour ago, gazing at the stars carefully. He’d ruined that face, transformed it into this one, one full of pain and shock, one full of despair. Oh Merlin, what had he done?

 “What do you mean you don’t want to go?” Lydia turned abruptly from Stiles’ desk to look at him. “Danny said that you’ve been there before…And if I’m not mistaken…Those friends you invited to my party seem to be frequent flyers there.” Stiles sat back on his bed twirling the lacrosse stick in his hands. He shrugged softly. “I dunno. Just feels weird…Now.” He looked at her quickly and then away again. Lydia saved her translation on the computer and turned back towards him. She sat silently regarding him. “We need this, Stiles. We’ve been working hard at school…at this…” She gestured at the laptop. “It’s a Friday night! Let’s go.” She stood up and put her hands on her hips waiting. “What?” Stiles mumbled. “I just don’t feel like it…How about we just steal some of Jackson’s parents booze and go to the park.” Lydia wrinkled up her nose. “Uh. Yeah. That’s not going to happen. Now Mr. Grumpypants. Tell me what’s gotten into you?” She sat down next to him concern flashing in her eyes. Stiles shrugged. “I feel weird. I barely see Scott anymore. Jackson hates me…He does!” Lydia made a face at him. “You’ll be all mushy with him….Danny will be the belle of the ball. Scott will get free drinks …the fucker. He’s probably bring Isaac or Alison…I’ll just be sitting alone with the drag queens.” Lydia chuckled and grabbed his face. “Because you are such a cute little baby!” Stiles laughed and blushed deeply. “ Anyway Alison refused…again. So Scott’s probably going to need you there. I’m sure he’s feeling pretty down right about now.” She leaned in the look at him. Stiles wagged his finger at her. Uh-uh. No-No-No guilting the Stiles! Scott has blown me off for the past three weeks…I’m not gonna just up and forgive him like that… he needs to grovel a bit.” Lydia flounced her hair back with a sigh. “Fine. What about Derek? Call him. Maybe he’d like to hang out?” Stiles looked at her like she had three heads. “You want me. To ask Derek Hale. To go to a GAY club? With me?” Lydia laughed again and squeezed his cheeks. “God you are adorable. And yes. Ask him. He’d probably like being included.” Stiles slapped his leg and stood up. “Nope. Nope. Never gonna happen. Now if you excuse me…I have to go potty…then I have to water the gardens…” “Oh. Can I see the gardens? You told me about it but I didn’t get a chance.” She twinkled her eyes at him. “Oh. Ok…But don’t go trying to butter me up….I’m still not going.” He left her sitting on the bed, her hands tapping the mattress softly, her eyes scanning the room. She saw Stiles’ phone lying on the desk. She picked it up and scrolled down. A small sly smile touched her lips. “Oh you are going Stiles and if I have to drag you…so be it” Her fingers flickered over the screen quickly. She hit send with a satisfied smirk, put down the phone and sat back waiting. Stiles returned grabbed his phone and pocketed it. “Ok all ready.” Lydia got up and walked gracefully downstairs after Stiles.   “Wow” Lydia smiled at the gardens. “He did all this? For you?” Stiles was wrestling with the hose, which somehow had gotten wrapped around his ankle. After his third spin he stopped and nodded dizzily at her. “Yeah. Pretty nice huh? I mean way nice…I had just been telling him about my mom… going to the garden center and then…” Stiles turned on the hose and began misting the plants gently. “Uh-huh…” Lydia was looking at Stiles like he had grown wings and a tail. Stiles turned off the hose and bent down plucking out stray weeds. He turned to Lydia. “Over there he put in a vegetable garden that was way bigger than…What? Why are you looking at me like that?” She walked over to him and squatted down, careful not to get mulch on her skirt. She met his eyes. “You do know that if someone had done this for me I’d probably be over the moon in love.” “Pffft…Huh? What?” Stiles jerked back looking at her with a stunned expression. Lydia rolled her eyes. “Why are you so oblivious? Derek obviously cares about you.” “Yeah! Right! So wrong its…”Stiles stammered. “…back to right?” Lydia concluded. Stiles just flopped down into the wet grass, eyes wide. “He just happened to take something you said in passing…then spent…I don’t know… a few hundred bucks and hours of labor to plant you…Three freaking gardens! And you don’t think there is some other motivation than you being a friend?” “You are crazy. Ass backwards. Nuts. Is Peter in there telling you to say that? Get out Peter bring Lydia back!” Lydia slapped him on the arm. “That’s not funny Stiles!” “Owwie.” Stiles rubbed his arm. “And I’m in full control of my faculties…Thank you very much.” She sighed. “Listen, I’m just giving you my logical and rational explanation of this…” She gestured at the gardens. “He purposefully and deliberately went out of his way to give you something that a) was meaningful b) heartfelt and c) long term.” She stressed the last words. “If he was just being friendly… why not just…Oh. I don’t know…give you a gift certificate from the place…or a plant…” Her eyes scanned back over the plants. “Seems pretty straight forward to me…Uhm. No pun intended.” Stiles felt his heart begin pounding, his hands shook as he dragged them through his hair. He looked at Lydia, who only gave her mouth a little quirk and raised her eyebrows. “Derek Hale is not gay…I mean…he dated Kate Argent…He’s like the Marlboro man…” “Yeah. I guess.” Lydia got up wiping her hands together. “By the way ever see Brokeback Mountain?” Lydia patted Stiles head softly. “You know labels don’t mean anything. Sometimes love is just love…You know. It’s what inside that matters.” She got up and began heading to the door. Stiles jumped up and called to her. “Wait. So…Do …you…think I am?” Lydia smiled at him. “Stiles all I know is that you are a big hearted guy. You have a lot to offer…Maybe someone wants to take you up on that.” Stiles stretched his legs out in front of himself and looked at the garden thoughtfully. As Lydia was leaving she turned back with a grin. “And Stiles? Now you know that you are attractive to gay men.” He put his head down on his arms and laughed softly.     Stiles knew he had no choice but to go. Lydia’s constant texting and then finally her “Please…Pretty Please,” on his voicemail cinched it. The pile of clothing kept getting higher and higher on his bed, and yet it seemed he had nothing to wear. Stiles looked at himself in his mirror’s closet and frowned. Then doing his best Bugs Bunny impersonation pointed to his reflection and said “You are a Mental Case.” “I couldn’t agree more.” Said a voice behind him. Stiles turned and squeaked clutching a shirt to his naked chest. Pretty much like a damsel in distress. He groaned inwardly as Derek smirked at him. “What…why are you here…And coming through the door?” Stiles couldn’t help but look over at the window. “Yeah. That’s what people do…” Derek pointed his thumb out behind him. “You’re dad let me in…” “But…But what are you doing here?” Derek frowned slightly. “Uhm…Meeting you…to go…out?” He looked at Stiles with a confused grin. “That’s what you texted…” Stiles felt the color drain from his face. “I texted?” Was he dream texting gain…because the last time that happened he had sworn off his two am taco bell runs for a month. “Yeah.” Derek pulled out his phone and lifted it up to Stiles. “This afternoon…Told me …” Here he read the text to Stiles slowly, as if hoping it would jog Stiles’ memory. “Come to my place around eight…Clean yourself up …and get ready to go out to have some fun with friends.” Derek raised his eyebrow waiting. Stiles pulled on a red t-shirt, and looked at the phone. “Yep…My number…Sooo. Hey.” Stiles flopped down on his bed and pulled on his sneakers. Derek watched him carefully. “You didn’t send the text. Did you?” He clenched his jaw slightly and looked away. Stiles looked up at him while he was tying his sneakers. “So who texted me then?” Stiles tucked in his shirt and shrugged. “Lydia…I’m guessing…She’s the only one whose been around.” Derek shoved his phone into the pocket of his leather jacket. “Ok. And why the fuck would she do that Stiles?” “I don’t know!” Stiles said louder than he meant too. “Maybe she just thought you’d like to get together…I haven’t heard a peep from you in over a week…Figured I pissed you off again.” Stiles mumbled. Derek turned to him. “I have a lot going on right now…Plus you seem pretty busy yourself. Every night out with Lydia…So I figured you had…better things to do.” Stiles huffed. “Ok. Mr. Martyr…Sorry. Sorry that I didn’t text you…Just didn’t think you’d want to go out with a group of teenagers on a Friday night. Lydia obviously thought that you did…or would…I don’t know anymore.” “Well now you make me sound like a real pathetic loser…Nice. Thanks.” Stiles grimaced. “I didn’t mean it like that…And for Christ sake Derek you are only about what …three years older than us? In fact I’m happy you’re here…Really. You should be doing this kind of stuff! Picking up hot…Uhm. Coming out….Getting out!...Having fun.” Stiles stuttered, than started smiling at him. “Ok? No sour wolf tonight. Let’s have fun. We deserve it.” Stiles patted his arm. “And by the way you look nice.” Derek raised his eyebrow, and then looked down at himself. “It’s just a button down shirt with jeans.” He said with smile. “Well since I’ve only really ever seen you…uhm either shirtless or in a wife beater or tee that’s a big step forward.” “Wonder what you would have done if I wore a tie?” Derek smirked. Stiles laughed. “Probably blow a gasket…My neural processors can’t handle that much disruption. Come on let’s go.” He ushered Derek from the room. Wondering how the hell this night was going to play out now. John looked up from the TV as they both barreled down the stairs. “Now Stiles, I know you are going to a club…but absolutely no drinking…You too Derek. You driving?” Derek nodded. “I can. And I won’t be drinking…” “Me neither Pater o’ mine.” Stiles smiled crossing his heart. “Yeah. Right. Derek I will hold you responsible for this miscreant.” John got up and handed them each a folded bill. “For soda, Stiles!” He wagged his finger at his son. “Take it Derek, for gas…whatever…” “Oh! he gets ‘gas or whatever’ and I get Soda?” Derek took the bill slowly. “Thanks Mr. Stillinski.” “What happened to John? Two hours knee deep in manure earned you that at least.” The sheriff turned back to Stiles. “Now behave and be good…And listen to Derek.” Derek ‘Hmmphed’ and said “Yeah. Fat chance.” Stiles had his mouth open in amazement. “I feel like I’m being sent off with a personal bodyguard!” Derek and John both smirked at him. “You are!”     “Uh…Why are we here?” Derek’s eyes had gotten twice as big as they made their way to the door and the line of people waiting. The steady thumping of music could be heard and felt through the walls. Stiles began shaking his groove, biting his lip and smiling at Derek. “Stiles….WHY ARE WE HERE?” Derek pulled Stiles dance to a stop and turned him around to face him. “We are here to dance, meet up with friends…hopefully get a little tipsy-wipsy…and have fun.” Stiles turned back and began moving again to the music. “Stop it!” Whispered Derek. “You’re bumping into me.” Stiles turned around and put on a sad face. “That mean you won’t dance with me when we get inside?” Derek’s eyes were huge in surprise. “You do know what kind of club this is Right?” He looked around nervously. The guy behind him gave him a smile and wink. Derek chuckled nervously. Stiles draped his arm over his shoulder protectively. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.” Stiles couldn’t help but laugh at the face Derek pulled. “But you have to buy me a drink first sailor.” “Stiles!” Derek growled. Stiles ignored him and waved at someone behind them. “Hey! Danny! Over here!” Danny moved up to Stiles with a smile. “Hey fancy meeting you here…again. Something you want to tell me? Jackson and I made a bet years ago…” Derek noticed the quickening of Stiles heart and the faint flush that ran up his neck. “Ha…ha..Kidder..You…Kidder.” Stiles playfully punched Danny’s shoulder. Danny noticed Derek and his eyes went wide. “Hey, Miguel! Great to see you again.” He reached out his hand to Derek and shot a confused look at Stiles who had suddenly doubled over in a laughing fit. “Stiles I swear…” Derek whispered. Stiles ignored him and dragged him by the arm into the club. For a split instance Derek had thought his head had exploded. The lights and music playing havoc on his heightened senses, and for a moment the only thing keeping him from bolting out the door was Stiles steady tug on his arm. “Come on I can see Lydia.” They made their way to the table Lydia had procured. Jackson got up to greet Danny and turned to give Derek and Stiles a nod. Scott and Isaac came back from the bar smirking at each other. “I told you I’d get a free drink.” They both say Derek and Stiles and giggled slightly at Derek’s face. Which looked like a dog headed to the vet’s. “Hey! I’m glad you could make it…This was a good idea.” Scott gave Stiles a hug. “Miss you.” Stiles nodded. “Yeah…We’re so far from each other…three houses down and no modern conveniences…like telephones…” “Dude! Come on…Lets just have fun. Here you can have this…I got it free!” Scott grinned like a toddler with a new piece of candy. “I Love this place.” He handed Stiles the glass, but Derek intercepted it and sniffed at it . “Dude!” Stiles groaned. “Aw!….Now it’s full of your werewolf breath!” “It has alcohol in it…and I promised your dad…” “Derek. Come on. Just one? Please. Pretty, pretty, please….I won’t tell.” Stiles held his hands together in a small prayer. “No Stiles…I’ll get you a coke…And none of you should be drinking here either!” He waved his finger at them all. He turned and marched off towards the bar. “Wow. Your cousin is really protective of you.” Danny said with a smile. “What?” He asked when every head turned to look at him with a confused frown. “I think he’s sweet. He’s just looking out for him.” Lydia said pointedly looking at Stiles. “Ok. Enough of that…” Stiles sat down and pointed at Lydia. Derek returned with two sodas. One for Stiles and one for Isaac. “Aw. Why can’t I drink…It’ll be out of my system in like two minutes! I won’t even get drunk!” “First. You’re a minor. Second, shut up.” “Boy this is going to a fun… fun night…Good call Lydia.” Lydia stood up. “Come on who’s with me? Let’s get out there and show these boys what we got!” Lydia gave her hips a little shimmy. She took Jackson’s hand and kissed his cheek softly. “But Danny is the only guy you can dance with!” Jackson chuckled and nuzzled her neck affectionately. “No promises!” Danny grabbed Stiles and pulled him up. Stiles turned and gestured to Derek, who shook his head slightly. Stiles eyes looked down for minute then back up. For a second Derek’s body nearly betrayed him and he almost took a step to follow him but then Scott jumped on Stiles and pulled him into the crowd. Derek leaned up against the wall and watched them all dancing. Every so often he caught Stiles eyes looking over at him. Derek was beginning to wish that he could get drunk.   It seemed like hours had passed. Derek checked his watch again but it had only been an hour since they had gotten here. He finished his water, and resumed his post at the table watching the others dancing. Jackson had Isaac and Danny on either side of him bumping and grinding and basically making the four middle aged guys to Derek’s right hyperventilate. Derek huffed tiredly. He kept an eye out for Stiles but couldn’t find him. He was about to get up and search when Lydia plopped down next to him with a smile. “Not having fun?” she asked her green eyes bright and sparkling. Derek shrugged slightly. “Not much of a dancer…” Lydia frowned at him. “Oh. Come on. I swear in this place all you’d have to do would be to stand still and move your hips and everyone would notice.” She leaned in and took his hand with a big smile. “Shall we prove my hypothesis correct?” She pulled him to his feet and led him out onto the dance floor. He jumped, twisted and turned as they moved through the crowd. Lydia looked up at him with a questioning gaze. “You ok?” “I just got my ass patted like five times…” Derek looked around to find the offending hands. Lydia laughed and leaned against his ear to whisper. “See I told you…they won’t be looking at you dancing!” Derek smirked then smiled down at her. She did have a way about her. He could definitely see what Jackson, Stiles and even Peter saw in her. “Ok. I’ll dance but just with you…” He smiled. “Well, that’s no fun. I bet there are lots of people here who’d love to be this close to you.” “Yeah…But not anyone that I’d like to be as close to.” Derek smiled again. “Oh. I don’t know about that.” She beamed up at him. As they danced Lydia turned to grab the guy behind her. When Derek looked up he saw Stiles sweaty face smiling at him. Lydia kept dancing between them smiling up at both of them. Stiles leaned in to be heard over the music. “Glad you stopped being a wallflower…” Derek shrugged and leaned in to respond. “I was tricked by the red haired girl’s guiles.” Stiles laughed. “I know that feeling!” Lydia smacked his chest. “Ok. I need a drink…Yes! Derek a real drink…” She turned and left before Derek could respond. Suddenly Derek and Stiles found themselves face to face dancing together. Stiles smiled a bit shyly. “You know you can move your arms up.” Stiles reached out and lifted Derek’s arms out. “Just relax and listen to the beat.” Stiles pulled his shirt up to wipe his face off. Derek stumbled a little looking at him, his hands catching along Stiles abdomen. “Sorry. Sorry.” Derek said stepping back and jerking his hands away as if he had touched a fire. Stiles nodded slowly his eyes fixed on Derek’s. “Yeah… Ok. It’s ok. Here.” Stiles put Derek’s hands on his shoulders. “Keep you from tripping.” Derek squeezed the shoulders gently under his hands. His eyes fixed on Stiles. Stiles moved slowly beneath him gyrating and moving to the music. Derek licked his lips nervously watching Stiles. Stiles opened his eyes and looked at Derek intensely. He hesitantly put his arms on Derek’s waist. Derek looked down at them in surprise. He opened his mouth as if to say something when a guy behind Stiles bumped into him sending him up against Derek’s chest. Derek’s leg caught between Stiles’ legs. And his hands grabbed him securely to his chest. “You ok?” He whispered against Stiles neck. He felt Stiles lean gently against him for a moment. Stiles moved his mouth slowly against Derek’s jaw as he leaned up. Then suddenly he jerked away quickly, but not before Derek felt him hard against his thigh. “Uhm. Sorry! Sorry! I gotta go…get a drink…or pee…” Stiles moved through the crowd faster than Derek could even follow. Derek looked over to see Lydia watching. He moved back to the table and sat down frowning. He felt the heavy thump in his chest that echoed the music. What the fuck? He shook his head slowly. What the fuck was he doing here? Of all places with him? He ran his fingers over his mouth and stopped in shock when he realized he could smell Stiles on him. Taste Stiles on his lips. He brought his hand back up to his face slowly smelling it again. The hot pulse that shot through him made him shudder. Jackson sat down next to him and he flinched slightly. Jackson eyed him sideways. “You ok?” Derek nodded silently. Jackson leaned over. “Here…I know it won’t affect you…but you look like it couldn’t hurt.” He handed a small flask to Derek. Derek just grunted and took it and threw back a slug. The whiskey burned his throat and cleared the smell of Stiles from his nose. “Thanks.” He handed it back to Jackson. Jackson just shrugged slightly. “No problems.” Time seemed to stop for Derek as he kept replaying the scene over and over in his head. What did it mean? Was Stiles attracted to him…Why did that make him smile? He groaned again and put his head in his hands. The kid was only seventeen. He didn’t know what the hell he was doing…At seventeen you get an erection when you’re caught it a cross breeze…for crying out loud. What the hell was wrong with him…He should know better. He was no Kate Argent. He didn’t go around stalking and fucking up the lives of kids. Then why was he here. Why hang out with Stiles…Become his friend. Why couldn’t he get the stupid kid out of his head. He looked up abruptly to see Lydia staring down at him. “Ok. What happened and where the hell is Stiles?” Derek jumped up. “What do you mean?” Derek looked around the club frantically. “I’ve got to find him.” Lydia put a hand on his chest. “Jackson, Scott and Isaac are already sniffing for him. Tempa said he left crying about forty minutes ago…” “Who the hell is Tempa?” Lydia gestured over her shoulder to the drag queen behind her. The tall blonde extended her hand with a wink. “Miss Tempa Rarry. At your disposal.” “Where did he go? What happened?” Derek growled. She threw up her red manicured fingers in his face. “Ooh. Honey. Step back. Probably not up for all your rough trade bullshit.” Derek sighed. “I’m sorry. Just worried about my friend.” Tempa smirked at that. “Hmmm. Well. I saw my baby rushing into the bathroom looking all teary eyed so we followed him in. Miss Ebony gave him a little bottle of spirits… to try and calm his ass down…He just started crying…Look he got slobber all over my new scarf. He just kept saying “He hates me. He hates me”…What did you do?” Tempa stepped forward and glared at Derek. Derek took a step back and looked to Lydia for support. “Nothing…Nothing I swear. We were just…dancing…and” Derek looked down. “Something came up.” Lydia and Tempa exchanged glances, and then looked back at Derek scrutinizing the floor. Lydia grabbed Derek’s hand. “Come on. Let’s go. I’m sure he can’t be that far. Thanks Tempa.” “If anything happened to him…” Lydia mumbled and Derek felt his stomach clench. Derek was able to catch the scent of Scott first, followed by Isaac and Jackson. They were all sitting at the park surrounding Stiles. He could hear his slurred mumbling from here. “Oh fucking great guys…Way to have my back…You freakin called him here…with your stupid wolf…were powers.” “Stiles!” Derek sprinted to where he was sprawled over a dinosaur bouncy seat. “Uhmm. You might not want to step there. He just puked.” Jackson scrunched up his nose. “A lot!” “I’ve got him…You can all go.” Derek said lifting Stiles up. “You got me…I’ve got you babe…I’ve got you babe…Ok I’ll be Cher you be Sonny.” Stiles laughed. “What the hell did he drink?” Lydia step forward grabbing the bottle from the ground “Jagermeister. Who the hell drinks this?” “Drag Queens?” Isaac shrugged. “Ok. Let’s go Stiles. Home time,” Scott helped Derek get him to his feet. Stiles looked at Derek “Are you mad at me?” Derek shook his head. “No. Stiles. But that doesn’t matter because your father will be killing me very shortly.” “That would make me sad.” Stiles pouted. “I’m sorry I drank and threw up. But you…You!” He thrust his finger into Derek’s chest. “You confuse me! You make me feel all wobbly and not good…sometimes…But then you do such nice things. Like plant me flowers.” Stiles cupped Derek’s face. “And it makes me even more confused because I want to do this…Like all the time.” Stiles pressed his lips up against Derek and wrapped his arm around his neck. Derek pulled back eyes like a deer in the headlights. “See like that.” Stiles laughed. “Dude!” Scott yelped. “What the hell!” “Ok. Ok. shows over boys. Derek take him home. Jackson let’s get these two back to Scott’s car. Snap, snap… let’s go!” Lydia went over to Derek. “You ok?” He just nodded. “Get him home and cleaned up if you can…Oh and make sure he sleeps on his side.” Scott just stood looking confused. “What the fuck just happened?” Jackson shook his head “Damn, I owe Danny fifty bucks.”       Derek had waited patiently from the sheriff’s heart beat to slow down to a consistent steady pattern which told him he was asleep before bringing Stiles up Climbing into Stiles window was usually an easy process. But when you are carrying a babbling drunken mess on your back it gets a lot harder. The fact that in hindsight flipping him over his shoulder while still drunk wasn’t such a bright idea… Stiles threw up whatever little remained in his stomach and begged Derek to kill him with a rock. Derek wiped him off using the one or two clean spots left on his shirt. “Stiles! Stiles! Look at me. We have to get into your room. Just hold me. I don’t want to wake your father.” Stiles nodded and put his head down on Derek’s shoulder. He mumbled softly “Ok.” Derek crept up and into the room quietly. He carried Stiles onto his bed and began slowly taking off his clothes piece by piece. “Oh, God Stiles you stink.” Derek eyed the soiled clothes, bunched them up and tossed them out the window. He looked down at Stiles sprawled out in his Spiderman boxer shorts and laughed silently. This kid he shook his head and tore his eyes from Stiles. He crept out into the hallway and listened. John was still asleep, he sniffed out the bathroom which smelt of Stiles and soap. He went back and carrying Stiles trotted as quickly and quietly as he could inside. He patted Stiles face gently. “Wake up. Stiles. I need to clean you off.” Stiles opened his eyes and blinked at him, then looked down at his naked torso. “Don’t tell me I had sex and I don’t remember!” Derek chuckled. “You are drunk and covered with puke and I need to wash you.” Stiles pushed away from Derek. “I can do it.” He fumbled to turn on the shower. Derek held his back to steady him. Stiles turned to look at him slightly. “Uhm…Don’t do that…please.” “I’m just holding you up?” Derek whispered. The sudden flare of arousal caught Derek’s nose; followed by the more acrid smell of fear. Stiles ducked his head and stepped into the shower. He leaned against the wall. “It’s not helping the situation I’m having… don’t want you to see me being….such an idiot.” “You’re not an idiot Stiles…Just a regular teenager.” Derek stepped back. “Use the soap.” Stiles looked down at his boxer shorts and groaned. “Oh. My god…you undressed me?” The flush ran up and down Stiles neck and face, making Derek’s heart pound painfully in his chest. He could almost feel the blood rushing through Stiles. “How else should I get you into the shower?” Derek smiled softly at him. Stiles rubbed his body frantically. “I have to take these off….so please…” Derek nodded and closed the curtain. The wet plop of fabric let him know the deed was done. The water shut off. Derek handed him a towel. Stiles pulled the curtain open, eyes down clutching his towel. “I will never trust Drag Queens again!” He rubbed his face. Derek helped him step out still holding his back. “Now quiet Stiles…We don’t want to wake your dad.” Stiles stopped and suddenly looked at Derek. “Did I kiss you?” Derek felt his cheeks flush slightly. His eyes on Stiles. He nodded quickly. “Was I any good?” Derek looked up at the ceiling, his heart pounding. “Uhmm. Yeah. But a little too… vomity for my taste.” Stiles chuckled. “Figures. My one chance to make a good impression…and I blow it.” Derek grabbed him quickly and turned him to his face, then leaned in slowly cupping Stiles cheeks drawing him in close. Their lips pressed together softly at first, then slowly pushing harder and deeper. Stiles felt Derek’s breath catch and he leaned against him, melting into his embrace. He could feel the heat rising off Derek, could feel the thumping of his heart matching his own. When they pulled apart Stiles felt as if he had forgotten how to breathe. “Now.” Derek rubbed his finger over Stiles’ lips. “We can both remember it, Ok?” Derek smiled shyly. Stiles just nodded rapidly. He pulled his towel even tighter around his waist, hoping that the situation that was arising wasn’t apparent to Derek. “Now remember.” Derek said back at him opening the door. “Quiet…I don’t want to have to face your …” John didn’t look pleased at all when they opened the door. “What the hell are you two doing?” Nope, not pleased one bit.

Will stood staring over two different brands of dog food. It was eleven o'clock and he’d forgotten to go to the pet store again for the second time this week. He sighed, knowing it wasn’t the ideal but he picked the cheapest one though that was tough at a gas station where everything was four dollars more than it should be. “Heading home to feed your animal?” He looked up into the warmest pair of eyes he’d seen, smiling despite himself. “Yeah, could’ve picked a better place for it but it’s been a long day. Forgot again at lunch.” The man frowned, eyeing the price tag. “That does seem to be a small bag for nearly eight dollars.” Will laughed, “You don’t shop much at gas stations do you?” The man shook his head, smiling, “I have not entered many gas stations to do anything but pay to be honest with you Mister…?” Will moved the dog food to his one arm and held out his hand, “Graham, Will Graham.” The man took his offered hand, shaking it slowly as he said, “Lecter, Hannibal Lecter.” Will couldn’t help but look Hannibal over, noticing the leather jacket over his expensive looking shirt, the tight jeans that hugged his legs almost too well, and the expensive boots that Will expected cost more than Will’s entire wardrobe. He swallowed, licking his mouth and letting out air through his nose. “It’s nice to meet you, Hannibal.” Hannibal’s eyes trailed down his form, lingering on Will’s legs and lips before replying, “It was very nice to meet you too, Will.” They shared a look between them once more before Will nodded and went to get a Coke, cheeks still warm remembering Hannibal’s smile. When he went to the counter and attempted to pay the cashier said, “Already paid for, man. By that other dude.” Will grinned, “Really?” The young kid nodded, looking excited. “Dude totally handed me a hundred and said to pay for yours too. Scary dude, he said he’d know if I kept it. You’ll tell him I didn’t right?” Will laughed. “Sure.” He went home that night and fed Winston his free food, smile on his face still over the nice meeting. Sometimes good things did happen he supposed. The next time he saw Hannibal Lecter was a surprise, since the last place he’d expected to see the man was at his job. He worked full time at the animal shelter, manning the front desk and sometimes working with adoptions. When he saw Hannibal come inside he was surprised, especially when he saw the little girl in his arms. Hannibal looked just as surprised to see him, his eyes lighting up as they came closer to the desk. “Hello, Will.” Will smiled. “Hello, this is a surprise.” Hannibal held the little girl in his arms higher, her brown hair in pigtails as she regarded Will coldly, “Who are you?” Will went to speak but was interrupted by Hannibal who said, “I spoke of Will to you, Mischa. Do you remember?” He watched Mischa’s eyes light up as she smiled. “Will? You’re Will? Hello!” Will blushed, “Hi. Are you here to get a pet today?” Mischa nodded, “Hanni says I can! We’re gonna bring him home with us after my birthday!” Will frowned, “Home?” Hannibal nodded, “Yes, we do not call Baltimore home. This is just a visit. But Mischa is adamant that she receive a puppy for her birthday and refuses to wait until next month. So here we are.” Will laughed, “Well, I’ll…” Another worker came out and took over, much to Will’s annoyance. The woman, Sheryl, was blonde and perky, and she kept eyeing Hannibal appreciatively as they spoke. He sighed, trying not to watch as they went to the back when Mischa called out, “I want Will! Will! Where’s Will?” and came running back to him. He turned and Mischa ran to him, Will picking her up as she clutched hard onto his shoulders. He frowned at Hannibal, who was smiling and Sheryl looked positively murderous. “Um…” Hannibal asked, “Is it possible Mr. Graham could help us?” Sheryl said, “I guess. Will, I’ll take the desk.” Will walked over, Mischa holding onto him tightly, and they headed to the back room. The cats were all meowing as they passed and he headed for the dog area, “Mischa, you need to loosen up honey so you can see.” Mischa turned, looking at the dogs. “Puppies! Hanni look at the puppies!” Hannibal frowned, “Mischa, darling quiet yourself.” Will laughed, “She’s excited, just let her be.” Hannibal sighed. “I suppose.” Will showed them the different dogs for the next hour, Mischa picking two older dogs that he brought into the room at separate times for them to get acquainted with. Will was surprised when she refused to let him leave and he sat next to Hannibal as they watched the little girl get licked in the face and chase around the dog. “It was a very pleasant surprise to see you today,” Hannibal said after a while, not looking at Will. Will blushed, “Yeah, I didn’t think…thank you, for the dog food.” Hannibal smiled at him. “I’m glad that the man behind the counter did not steal my money, I told him I would be very angry if he did.” Will laughed. “He told me to tell you that he didn’t. You must’ve scared him.” “I can sometimes be very frightening, right Mischa darling?” Mischa giggled, “Scary Hanni! Rawr!” By the time they were done, Mischa had chosen a four-year-old golden retriever named Honey for her new dog, Will carrying her out of the back while Hannibal signed all the papers. He was surprised when the little girl hugged him goodbye, and Hannibal shook his hand. “It was a pleasure, Will,” he said, bringing Will’s hand to his lips. Will blushed. “Yeah, I…it was nice.” Hannibal left and Will sighed, rubbing the top of the hand he’d just kissed. “Well, well, looks like Graham’s got himself a Sugar Daddy.” Will turned, glaring at Sheryl. “He’s not…shut up.” She laughed, and Will knew by the end of the day most of the people he worked with would know about Hannibal and Mischa. He sighed, frowning. He had no idea why Hannibal was so interested in him, or at least interested enough to mention Will to his sister. Will smiled, remembering the warm reception Mischa had given him. The memory made him smile the rest of the day. The third time he saw Hannibal, it was again at his job this time a week later without his sister. The man in question walked inside, Will noticed this time there were two other men with him that stood far back. Will frowned but said nothing. “Hello.” Hannibal smiled. “I am here to request your help.” Will smiled. “Problems with the puppy?” Hannibal sighed. “Mischa insists on sleeping with the dog, and it has begun to tear up her shoes. Honey is not fond of the toys we bought for her, I was wondering if you knew of alternatives?” That was how Will ended up spending his lunch break at the pet store buying dog toys with Hannibal Lecter and his bodyguards. Hannibal explained that there was a worry about his and Mischa’s safety so he had hired them as soon as they came in Baltimore. Will frowned, saying nothing and not sure if was allowed. They stood in the dog aisle, Hannibal looking around at everything like he’d never been in a store before and Will was beginning to suspect he hadn’t been. “The dog needs this?” he asked, holding up a box of treats Will had put in the cart. Will smiled. “It wouldn’t hurt her. Plus all the balls, dogs love balls,” he said, then blushed horribly. Hannibal laughed. “I can imagine.” Hannibal kept picking up things that Will didn’t think he needed to: a dog bed warmer, every type of dog shampoo, spray bottles to help combat itchiness, and dog boots. Will would laugh when he added something he told him not to, but in the end they walked out of the store having spent well over two hundred dollars. He was dropped off in a car that cost more than he was sure he’d ever see in his lifetime, Hannibal taking his hand in front of his work and kissing it again. When he walked back inside work Beverly Katz nearly attacked him at the door. “Oh my god, Graham! I just heard about your new boyfriend! He’s so cute! Who the hell is he? What’s…” Will was blushing and he shook his head, heading for the desk. “Shut up, Bev. Okay?” “No, seriously, I’ve heard all about him but…” Will sighed, “Just cut it out, all right? We’re just friends. That’s all. He’s from another country, he doesn’t really know how things work here so I’m just helping him out.” Bev smiled. “Then why are you blushing?” Will looked away and said, “Shut up.”

  Saturday, August 27th Somewhere in Nebraska   The moon is full, and the stars are twinkling, and the sky is clear. Pansy is lying flat on her back in the bed of the shitty rental truck, wearing nothing but a lacy violet bra and a pair of denim cutoffs. Her arms and legs are still itchy from her sprint through the cornfield, and the tacky temporary tattoo on her left ankle is finally beginning to peel, chemically enhanced slivers of strawberry-scented latex flaking off her skin and leaving filmy red rubble behind. She’s using her discarded tank top as a pillow. Her convenience store flip-flops are stacked in a dusty heap next to her bare feet. And everything feels a little unreal, like she’s an outsider looking in—like she can’t possibly be solely responsible for the natural fucking disaster she’d just witnessed, the storm-torn ache in her chest and the lightning-scarred streaks of Urban Decay on her cheeks— Up above her head, a star winks. And she laughs, suddenly, laughs and licks her lips and tastes cotton candy, artificial sweetener and mechanically spun sugar, waning malty hints of that beer Draco’s been buying six-packs of since they’d been old enough to know better. He hadn’t chased her. She hadn’t really expected him to. And maybe that’s what she’d been counting on. Maybe that’s what she’d wanted all along. A reason to say no. An excuse to keep running. Justification for not taking a risk—for not taking the risk—sooner than she had. She sighs, wistfully, and the sound melds with the breeze. Summer’s almost over. Tan lines won’t matter in another few weeks. She wonders when everything had gotten so fucked.     Saturday, August 20th Wikieup, Arizona   The diner is small and mostly empty—the kind of place where blister-burnt coffee, processed American cheese, and cheap maple syrup go to die. “What the fuck,” Draco asks, and since it isn’t really a question, Pansy doesn’t feel guilty for not really deigning to answer. “Do you think they have sweet potato fries here?” she muses instead, plucking at the laminated corners of a ketchup-stained menu. Draco’s nostrils flare. “Pansy.” “Draco,” she mimics. “What the fuck,” he says again, tone edging in on plaintive. “Shh,” she hushes him, directing a blandly winning smile at a nearby waitress. “This is, like, the bible belt, you can’t just say—” “Fuck,” Draco interjects, snidely. Underneath the table, Pansy kicks at his kneecaps. “What is wrong with you?” “What’s wrong with me?” he bleats. “Last I checked, I was not the one who dragged you out of bed at three in the fucking morning.” “Is that what you’re having a tantrum about?” He stares at her, flatly unimpressed, but then he tilts his head back against the tacky turquoise vinyl of their booth, heaving a sigh that’s partially exasperated but mostly contrite. The line of his jaw is oddly delicate at this angle, squared-off and sharp. He’s always been a little prettier than her. “I forgot what week it was,” he eventually offers, and Pansy knows it’s an apology. “Lucky you,” she coos. He winces. “Did it have to be a road trip?” She shrugs. “Better than another visit to the cemetery.” He runs his tongue along the ridge of his front teeth, a flash of slick cherry red against bright, bright white. Their first year of college, he’d wanted to pierce it. Pansy had laughed at him for an hour. “Where are we going, then?” “Wherever we want.” “Oh, now you care about what I want.” “You did love Jack Kerouac in high school,” she reminds him with a droll pop of her gum. Draco snorts, lips twitching, and then uses his middle finger to push his sunglasses back up the bridge of his nose. Pansy’s reflection is distorted beyond all recognition in the mirrored silver lenses of his Ray-Bans.     Monday, August 22nd East Carbon City, Utah   That first night, they stay in the nicest hotel they can find—a spectacularly shitty Motor Lodge with retro orange shag carpet and a television that still has a functioning antenna. It’s uncomfortable, the paper-thin mattress and the cardboard-stiff pillows and the way Draco’s elbow digs into her ribs when he rolls over the next morning; she groans, glancing blearily at the plastic analog alarm clock, and he presses his face into her hair, yawning hotly against the nape of her neck. It’s intimate, waking up like this, intimate and hazy and warm. It’s never bothered her before. It doesn’t bother her now. It doesn’t. It just— “What’s wrong?” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep. She holds herself still, ignoring the heat of his palm against her lower abdomen and how it elicits the most insidiously delicious shiver up and down the curve of her spine. “Nothing,” she lies. He goes quiet for a while, absently rubbing his thumb along the hollow of her pelvis, and she squeezes her eyes shut. Hard. “Nightmare?” he asks, tone perfectly neutral. “No.” She huffs, then, knowing she needs to end the conversation; needs to stop it before it gains any traction. “I’m probably just about to get my period.” He shoves her away with an exasperated chuckle, scrubbing at the dark blond stubble on his chin, and she smirks, climbing out of bed with his old lacrosse jersey slipping down one shoulder, her hair knotted in a bun and the previous day’s mascara clumped and smudged beneath both eyes. He brushes his teeth while she shaves her legs, and she pencils on her lip liner while he complains about the water pressure, and it occurs to her, after they’ve checked out and stowed their bags in the trunk and stopped at a gas station in an old mining town—it occurs to her that she should be immune to this by now. Immune to him. She used to be, she thinks, a little despondently. She used to be. She’d been unfazed by the sight of him without a shirt, by the smooth interplay of muscles in his upper back, his shoulders, the lean length of his torso and the soft pink of his lips and his hands, bigger and broader and stronger than hers, the navy blue freckle in his right eye that she isn’t sure anyone else has ever noticed and the waxy crescent-shaped burn mark on his foot from when they’d tried smoking menthols in the eighth grade and it’s notfair that she can’t go back to that, that she can’t go back to being thirteen, sixteen, nineteen and oblivious and it’s not even her fault, is it, it’s— “Hey, I finally found something uglier than that Betsey Johnson shit you used to wear,” Draco says, grinning as he flops down in the driver’s seat with a crinkling white bag. “You bought me that Betsey Johnson shit, remember?” Pansy asks, picking at her cuticles. “I only wore it because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.” He scoffs, rummaging through the bag. “Bullshit. You had pink highlights in our Homecoming pictures, the evidence is still on my parents’ living room wall.” Pansy sniffs. “Frosted tips,” she says, pointedly. “Body glitter,” Draco retorts, just as pointedly. “At least I didn’t ask for a tanning bed for my fifteenth birthday—” “Anyway,” he interrupts, expression uncharacteristically flustered. “Look, they sell mullet hats here! Like—it’s a hat, right, but it’s also a wig.” “Oh, is that what the Von Dutch guy is up to these days?” Pansy drawls. And Draco chokes out a laugh, shaking his head as he holds out a bottle of Mountain Dew and a family-size bag of Cheddar & Sour Cream Ruffles, and it’s—it’s fine. Fine. It’s fine.     Saturday, August 27th Somewhere in Nebraska   They don’t actually know where they are when Pansy’s car stops working. “The, uh, the computer’s all fucked up,” the grease-stained mechanic explains, scratching the back of his neck and sneaking not-so-surreptitious glances at Pansy’s legs, and Pansy’s breasts, and Pansy’s mouth. “Happens sometimes, ‘specially with these foreign—” “But you can fix it, right?” Draco demands, crossing his arms over his chest and raising an expectant brow. “Yeah, sure,” the mechanic replies, sounding amused. “Next week.” It turns out there isn’t a huge demand for spare Land Rover parts in Bumfuck, Nebraska. They’re handed the keys to a thirty-year old Ford pick-up— “Guess you can call her our loaner,” the mechanic says with undisguised glee—and given directions to a motel that hasn’t been renovated since 1969—“That Rob Zombie fella filmed a movie here,” the clerk at the front desk says with inexplicable pride—and, lastly, told about the county fair that’s taking place nearby, the closest thing to a nightlife they’re likely to find within a hundred-mile radius. They go to the fair. It’s a typical shitty cluster of muddy white tents and 4H showcases and rickety, rust-stained rides, a Ferris wheel that isn’t quite standing straight and a Gravitron that squeals murderously every time it starts to spin. There’s a sad little food court filled with funnel cakes and fried Twinkies, an honest-to-god butter churning contest, and a long row of old-school carnival games that Pansy stares at for a minute too long, unexpectedly thrust back to a bittersweet memory of her mother signing her out of school and taking her to the boardwalk in Santa Monica and teaching her how to play Pac-Man. Draco notices, of course, because Draco notices everything about Pansy, and he’s wordlessly stuffing a handful of pastel blue cotton candy in her mouth before she can muster up the courage to cry. She doesn’t cry. She smiles instead, helpless and immeasurably grateful, and doesn’t overthink the lazy stutter of her pulse, the tightening in her gut that she’s always associated with a certain kind of anticipation. She’s so tired of fighting with herself. Of not even knowing if she’s winning, or losing, or being disqualified for wasting too much time. The night goes on. Draco wins her a giant teddy bear in a candy-red Cornhuskers t-shirt after finagling a way to cheat at ring toss, and she beats him at Skee Ball by almost two-hundred points after they discover the rundown arcade. She pelts him with caramel corn when he dares her to try the deep-fried Jelly beans, and he pinches her waist when she teases him about wanting to go to the petting zoo. A guy in a semi-official looking t-shirt with a Polaroid around his neck asks if he can take their picture—“We’re gonna have a website next year”—and Draco slings his arm around Pansy’s shoulders, hesitating for a heart-stopping split-second before he drops a kiss onto her cheek, just as the flash goes off. It’s normal, technically, an almost-shadow of how they’ve spent the past decade together, always on the same page and always on the same wavelength and always—always. Because there have never been any surprises with Draco. She will always find his jokes funny and he will always find her concern for him endearing and this night—this trip—it’s a reminder of that. Always, always. And that strangely ethereal tension that’s been hovering between them for the past few days, taut like a bowstring and new enough that she hadn’t had a fucking clue how to navigate the landscape of it, how to shut it down and clip its wings and prevent it from swooping, lurching, turning tangible and inevitable—that tension is all but gone. She will always love him. Always, always. But maybe—     Tuesday, August 23rd Hugo, Colorado   It’s a little after ten at night when they pass it. They’re driving through another tiny town that’s barely a footnote on the map, its skyline silhouette a familiar suspects lineup of water towers and windmills and sheet-metal grain silos. It’s hot out, the air still and stale and heavy as it filters through the vents in the dash. Pansy’s sitting cross-legged in the passenger’s seat, smooth black leather slip-sliding against the backs of her bare thighs, the button-fly of her high-waisted shorts digging into her abdomen as she shifts around, trying to get comfortable. Her hair is piled on top of her head, flyaway strands sticking to her neck, her shoulders, her collarbones. Draco’s slouched behind the wheel, sweat beading on his upper lip and streaking the stubble-rough sides of his face. “We should stop,” Pansy says, nodding at the flickering neon sign posted up next to the highway. “I could use, like, a gallon of vodka right about now.” Draco’s already slowing down, squinting at the somewhat derelict wooden building. “Is that—is that a bar?” It’s a roadhouse, not a bar, but Pansy isn’t sure there’s much of a difference. The interior is shabby and smoky and whiskey-soaked, wobbly off-center barstools infested with rednecks in cut-off flannels and plastic cups overflowing with cheap draft beer. A trio of dartboards line the cracked plaster wall next to the bathrooms, and a Willie Nelson song is blaring spottily from an oak-veneered speaker affixed to the ceiling. It doesn’t take long for someone to approach them; for someone to approach Draco. The girl doesn’t look old enough to be there. She’s tall, slender, legs long and smooth and sun-kissed in a low-rise denim miniskirt, the bottom of her Forever 21 sales-rack tank top riding up to expose a fucking belly chain, Jesus Christ. She has scuff marks on her cork wedge espadrilles and her eyeliner is visibly uneven and her smile is half predatory, half sticky-sweet lip gloss and Pansy knows, intellectually, that this girl isn’t Draco’s type, that he might not even bother to be polite when he turns her down— But Pansy stiffens anyway, clutches her vodka soda and wishes she’d ordered something better, been more adventurous, because it irks her, she realizes, irks her that this—this tramp in the middle of fucking nowhere has concluded that Pansy and Draco can’t possibly be together, not like that, not when they’re so obviously platonic that this girl hadn’t even spared Pansy a second glance before deciding to run her tacky Wal-Mart talons up and down Draco’s arm, and Pansy— Pansy loses her shit. That’s really the only explanation she has for how she spins around and drapes herself over Draco, lacing her fingers through his and pressing a daring—stupid, reckless, stupid—kiss to the spot where his shoulder meets his neck. She feels him freeze, and then swallow, and then rub his thumb over her knuckles, just the once, almost as if he hadn’t made a conscious decision to do so. And it’s temporary insanity. It has to be. Pansy will plead guilty to that, she will, because the alternative—jealousy, possessive and fierce—it’s fucking unacceptable. But then the tramp is blinking at them, a sour blend of disappointment and skepticism flashing across her Maybelline-caked face as she saunters off to the pool tables. Draco doesn’t speak for a while, but he doesn’t let go of Pansy’s hand and she doesn’t offer an explanation for what she’s just done because—god, the number of times they’ve been mistaken for an actual couple is astronomical compared to the number of times they haven’t been, and Pansy knows that, Pansy remembers that now, but she still—she’d still—she still hadn’t been able to stop— Draco licks his lips. Pansy clears her throat. “Would’ve probably been better off with a six-pack of Corona and another shitty motel room,” he finally says, voice slightly gravelly.     Wednesday, August 24th Shiprock, New Mexico   The sun is starting to set when it happens. Pansy reaches out to adjust the air conditioning just as Draco reaches out to fuck with the GPS—and their hands brush, and her skin tingles, and it’s fucking absurd, really, how violently she flinches backwards. Because they touch all the time. They always have. She curls up in his lap when she misses her mom and he carries her over his shoulder when he gets impatient and they fall asleep together five nights a week, in his bed, in her bed, in too-small tents in Pismo after being forced to go camping and on narrow poolside chaise lounges in Cancun during spring break and god, they’ve been living in each other’s back pockets since before they’d hit puberty, practically. And even though Draco has eyes that remind her of the sky right before it rains, and cheekbones that make her want to design an exclusive line of menswear just so he can model it—their relationship, it isn’t like that. He knows exactly how much she weighs, down to the pound, and she knows exactly what kind of porn he watches, his mysterious preference for girls with her coloring, and there aren’t any boundaries between them, never have been, because they don’t lie to each other. It’s a rule, she supposes, unspoken but undeniably significant. No one will ever know her like Draco does. “Okay?” he asks her now, mouth curled up in a bewildered half-smile. “Yeah, sure,” she lies again.      Thursday, August 25th Jetmore, Kansas   They skip Texas. They’ve both been weirdly quiet since that night in Colorado, a peculiar thread of tension tying them together as seamlessly as it keeps them apart. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel as he drives, expression coolly contemplative, and she clenches her jaw, irrationally irritated by the silence and the scenery and the ridiculous amount of Britney Spears she’d put on all her playlists. It’s her own fault, she knows, but it still rankles. Burns. Gnaws at the brittle parts of her—the inadequate parts of her—that she doesn’t like to admit are even there. Draco takes a noisy sip of his Slurpee. Pansy fiddles with the emerald stud in her nose. “Do you still talk to Pucey?” Draco blurts out, and Pansy goes still. “No,” she answers, wryly. “Which you know. Adrian hasn’t spoken to me since we broke up.” “That was six months ago.” “Five.” “And a half,” Draco corrects her, and then grunts. “He lives somewhere over here.” “For football?” “What else would he be doing?” She snorts. “Well, he is fifteen hundred miles away from me. Perk of the job, probably.” Draco looks at her askance, and it unnerves her a little, how she can’t quite tell what he’s thinking. How she can’t quite get a read on him, or his mood, or why the fuck he’s bringing Adrian fucking Pucey up to her like this. “What happened between you guys, anyway?” Draco asks, and his tone is difficult to interpret—it could be conversational, casual, even, but there’s a searching kind of alertness to it that makes her believe otherwise. Still— “Pansy,” Adrian had said, and it had been so gentle, her name on his lips for the very last time. “You’re not in love with me.” “I could be,” she’d whispered, dread beginning to pool around her tonsils, cold and vaguely acidic, acting like quicksand for her army of excuses. “You don’t know—” “No,” he’d interrupted, before glancing at a picture frame on her mantle; her and Draco’s prom photo. They’d gone as friends, color coordinated her dress and his tux, split three bottles of Dom Perignon on the deck of his family’s beach house before watching the sun rise with sand between their toes and an oasis of forever stretched out in front of them. “You don’t know, do you?” She’d pretended not to understand. She’s still pretending not to understand.     Saturday, August 27th Somewhere in Nebraska   Draco kisses her on a haystack. They’re on the outskirts of the fair, surrounded by two mostly-empty six-packs of Corona, and something is different. The lingering glide of his elbow against hers. The low-pitched rumble of his laughter. The space between them, summer-hot and thick like molasses. The buzzing inside her head is not entirely from the alcohol, but it’s languid. Blurry. She’s waiting for him. He’s waiting for him. “Pansy,” he says, and she drops her empty bottle with a dull clink. “Draco,” she manages to reply, and he’s tilting her chin up, cupping her jaw, meeting her eyes. His pupils dilate. Her thighs clench. And he kisses her slowly at first, like he’s not quite sure how to, but then she makes a sound—soft and tentative, thin and quavering and needy—and his hands move from her face to her shoulders and she’s being pulled forward, urged into his lap, and her knees are bracketing his legs and his fingers are tracing the curve of her waist and their tongues are curling, twining, the catch of their lips mimicking the roll of her hips, and she shudders, the sensation as liquid as it is instinctive, and the lace of her bra is abrasive where it touches her skin and his palms are scorching where they travel up her sides and he’s hard, she can feel him, feel it, and it isn’t like an awkward adjustment of adolescent morning wood, no, because this is for her, this is because of her, and a whine gets stuck in the back of her throat as she rocks against him, as he yanks her tank top off, as her breasts press against his chest and he fumbles with the button on her shorts, murmuring, no, panting— “Never thought we’d do this.” And it’s like a bucket of fucking ice water being poured down her back, it is, because she abruptly feels like the cooling embers at the bottom of a fire pit. Doused. Banked. Suffocated. She wrenches herself out of his arms, losing her balance on the haystack and toppling backwards. “What’s wrong?” Draco asks, mouth swollen and red. “Pansy?” And Pansy can only stare at him, stare and stare and wonder how it’s possible that this whole situation—her shirt on the floor and his sweat on her lips and a borderline electrifying heat coiled like a wire trap in the pit of her stomach—it seems like the culmination of something, like an emotional transaction that’s had years and years of buildup, singular grains of sand sifted through an hourglass to shape the future, this moment; because it seems like she’s finally getting everything she’s ever wanted, and Draco’s just…along for the ride. Like this is nothing more than a vaguely pleasant surprise to him. Not a monumental shift in the earth beneath his feet, tectonic plates crashing and ocean currents changing, not a realignment of the planets or the solar system or— Pansy shakes her head. She gulps down a rising surge of nausea. Hysteria. Regret. She runs.     Friday, August 26th Cortland, Nebraska   They stop for coffee in the early afternoon. There isn’t a drive-thru, and it isn’t a Starbucks, but Draco dutifully grabs his wallet and saunters inside, the collar of his polo slightly rumpled from the headrest in the car. Five minutes later, he returns with two iced drinks, both milky and light. Pansy can already tell that it’s her usual order; a half-caf vanilla latte. She isn’t sure why she’s so mad about it. She blinks at the cup he’s holding out. Snatches it out of his hand. Takes a sip, short and sweet and semi-automatic. “You didn’t ask me what I wanted,” she says, voice emerging clipped and slightly accusatory. “Uh, no?” he replies, swift and easy. Too easy. Infuriatingly easy. “You’ve been getting the same thing for, like, eight years. Why would I have asked?” She bites down on the tip of her tongue, insisting to herself that she’ll ease up, just a little, once she tastes blood. But the things she aches to say—aches to shout, aches to yell, aches to scream—are still bubbling up the back of her throat, frothy and slimy and vile. Because she hates it, suddenly. Hates him, and how he always just knows—knows who she is and knows what she wants and it’s unfair and it’s stupid and it’s just another fucking way for him to permanently wedge himself into her life, for him to steal a spot that she should be saving for someone else, someone who will love her like Draco doesn’t, like Draco can’t— “Maybe my order’s changed,” she grits out. “What, since last week?” Her teeth clack together. “Yes, since last week. Maybe I don’t even like coffee anymore.” “You liked it this morning,” he points out, sounding annoyed. “And yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before—” “But that’s not today, is it? Today, you didn’t ask. You just assumed that I—” She breaks off, catching sight of how flushed her cheeks are in the side view mirror. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter.” “Pansy—” “Draco,” she sneers, cutting him off. He starts the car. She drinks the coffee.     Saturday, August 27th Somewhere in Nebraska   An hour goes by before he returns to the truck. She’s still not fully dressed, and his gaze roves over the planes of her body in a way that she only distantly recognizes, settling with long, deliberate pauses on all the places he hadn’t been allowed to touch before tonight. She doesn’t know what it means, that he’s looking at her like that. Because he’s studying her, brow furrowed and lips parted and hands tucked into the pockets of his chinos and she can see it, the moment he finally fucking gets it, can see how he pieces together her silence and her resentment and her bizarrely unbelievable evasion tactics and her jealousy that night in Colorado, her fingers laced through his and her breath against his neck and— “I’ve loved you since I was eleven,” he snaps, the words slipping, tumbling, colliding like he’s been holding onto them far too tightly for far too long. “That’s half my life.” Above him—above them—the moon is a white-bright silver dollar, painting his blond hair blonder and making her think stupid, ridiculous,poetic things. He’s effervescent. The center of her world. She’s been circling him for half her life, and gravity was being such a bitch now that it had caught up with her. “Yeah,” she replies, stiffly sitting up. The truck bed creaks, suspension as fragile as her grip on reality. “As a friend, right?” “Pretty sure I don’t want to fuck you as a friend, Pansy,” he says, audibly frustrated and almost, almost, almost amused. She can’t quite bring herself to flinch. “And I don’t want to just fuck you, Draco.” He grimaces. “I didn’t mean it like that.” “Yeah?” “Yeah.” Her smile is tremulous. “Kind of how it sounded.” “Will you stop doing that?” “Doing what?” He makes a vague gesture with his hand. “Acting like this is—one-sided. It isn’t.” “It isn’t,” she repeats, carefully. “Really.” He rocks back on his heels and kicks at a pebble, pinning her with a glare that’s more intent than it is truly angry. “I’ve loved you since I was eleven,” he says again, earnestly, helplessly, and it’s— It is, she thinks in a daze, the closest thing to a declaration she’s likely to get from him. Draco is dramatic, yes, dramatic and petulant and downright moody when he wants to be—but he keeps his own secrets. He always has. He shares sparingly, doles out honesty with a savage kind of selfishness that, once upon a time, she’d recognized in herself, too. But he’s confessing something to her right now. Something big, and something important, and something risky. “Right,” she mumbles on a shaky—shaken—exhale, scooting off the bed of the truck. “Right.” Dry grass tickles the bottoms of her feet as she stands up; whispers and crunches as she walks towards him. His eyes are steady on hers. Focused. Guarded. Adrenaline is simmering low and slow in her veins, and her skin feels tight around her bones. She comes to a gradual halt directly in front of him. Looks up. He’s taller than her. Has been since his tenth-grade growth spurt. “Why didn’t you chase me?” she hears herself ask, and she wants to cringe as soon as the question fall off her tongue, wants to take it back and swallow it whole because it isn’t right. It isn’t what she needs an answer to. “I had to be sure,” he explains, but then he stops, pressing his lips together. “You had to be sure,” he amends, and Pansy— Pansy huffs out a laugh, reedy and quiet and perfect, perfect like him and perfect like them and perfect like the hope currently blossoming behind her ribcage, wispy and subtle and so, so tantalizing. She arches up onto her toes. Frames his face with her hands. Registers his arms coming to wrap around her waist; to keep her upright, or pull her in closer, or both. Probably both. Definitely both. “I’ve loved you since I was eleven, Draco,” she says, simply. She doesn’t mind that the words get lost in his mouth.    

More weeks passed. There was no time for dates, no time for much beyond the odd kiss in a hallway, a lingering touch along a back, stolen smiles. It came as a shock when the group found themselves with a night off--an appearance had been cancelled due to a power outage at the network studio.  "How do people spend their time when they're not ranking their friends in degrees of manliness?" Youngjae asked the apartment at large.  "Rank them in youth!" Junhong called from his room. "And wildness," Daehyun put in from his station in front of the refrigerator.  "And freedom," Youngjae finished with satisfaction. "What better way to spend your time?" "By eating!" Daehyun yelled. He closed the refrigerator door; its interior was pretty bleak after so many weeks of travel. "Let's go out!" "Yahhhh!" Junhong yelled in apparent approval.  Himchan perked up from his position on the couch. Going out for fun would be...well, fun. He looked across the room at Jongup, who was tapping away obliviously on his phone.  "Out to dinner, yes?" Daehyun appeared in the doorway and grabbed Youngjae's shoulders, shaking him hard. "Food food food!" "Ramen?" Yongguk said hopefully.  "Whatever!" Daehyun said agreeably. Junhong appeared in the doorway. "I want ice cream," he said. "And dancing." "After ramen," Youngjae said.  "I'd rather get a hamburger," Jongup said without looking up from his phone.  "Boooooo," Daehyun and Youngjae vetoed. Jongup merely shrugged. Himchan had a thought. "We don't all have to do the same thing," he said. "You can get ramen--" "Ice cream!" "and get Zelo some ice cream," he added with a nod, "then go dancing. We could get a burger for Jonguppie and meet you after."  Jongup's eyes flickered up to meet his and the faintest smile appeared.  It was decided: Jongup and Himchan would go for burgers and the others would get ramen and ice cream. They would coordinate via text to meet up later. Himchan stood in front of his closet, indecisive. This was almost like a date, right? Did he need to dress up? That hadn't worked out so well last time. He settled for a t-shirt and nice jeans and a leather jacket. He looked good, but not like he was trying especially hard or anything.  "Are you sure you'd rather get a burger than ramen?" Yongguk asked, pulling a hoodie over his head.  "I don't really care, I just don't want to leave Jongup on his own," Himchan said. Yongguk gave him a searching look. "And everything's okay there now?" he asked a bit hesitantly. "With you and Jonguppie?" "Yeah, it's fine now," Himchan said, leaning over to tie his shoes. He couldn't look at Yongguk while he lied to him. "It must have been a phase or something." "A phase?" Yongguk repeated. Himchan glanced up in time to see the doubtful look his friend was giving him.  "Yeah," he said with a shrug. Yongguk looked at him a moment later, then shrugged.  "Well. We'll all meet up later, then," he said.  "See you." Himchan listened as the larger group gathered in the common room and left the dorm. He took a deep breath and went to the door, where he promptly ran into Jongup. He was dressed in much the same way as him, in a t-shirt and jeans with a jacket. Not for the first time, Himchan wondered how the younger man was able to look so good when dressed so simply.  "Ready to go?" Jongup asked. Himchan nodded.  "Where did you want to go?" "I had some ideas." Jongup made for the door without waiting. Nonplussed, Himchan followed. This was the first chance the two of them had had to be alone in ages. He suddenly worried that Jongup had used the time to reevaluate their whole thing--maybe he was planning to tell Himchan it was time to stop. He certainly didn't seem all that excited about hanging out with him--although with Jongup, it was hard to tell.  He led the way down their street. "I wanted to check out this place that just opened," he told Himchan. He had his hands shoved into his pockets, essentially closing himself off from the other man. Himchan was getting increasingly nervous. The restaurant was close, though, and they soon arrived.  It was busy, music playing at a decent but not-overpowering volume, the walls lined with mosaics made of repurposed records. They must have been trying to appeal to the music crowd, being so close to various studios like TS, Himchan reasoned. It was lucky he didn't see anyone that he recognized. They managed to get seats at the end of the bar. Jongup ordered a soju and Himchan got the cocktail of the month, something with gin and ginger, and they ordered their burgers. The bartender moved along, leaving them alone, or as alone as they could be in a crowded restaurant.  "Thanks for coming with me; I've been wanting to come here," Jongup said.  "Of course!" "I also wanted to do kind of a do-over," Jongup said, leaning closer so Himchan could hear him. "Of our date?" "Oh," Himchan said, relieved. They smiled shyly at each other.  On the whole, Himchan thought it went better than their first date. Jongup was clearly more at-ease in the casual setting, and while Himchan would have preferred wine, the cocktails this place was serving up weren't half bad. By the time they got up to leave (Jongup paid, Himchan let him), he was slightly wobbly on his feet.  "Did you want to meet up with the others?" he asked reluctantly once they were outside.  "No way," Jongup said with a laugh. "I have a better idea." His better idea turned out to be the arcade half a block down. Himchan was hesitant at first--wasn't he a little old for this kind of thing?--but Jongup was so enthusiastic and once Himchan put his mask on, no one gave him a second look. Before long, he and Jongup were engaged in a long, drawn-out battle of every game in the place. The prize on the table was the choice of what to do next.  It was close; Jongup dominated at DDR and had freakish luck at all the games of chance, while Himchan proved to be ace at the point and shoot games as well as pinball. In the end, though, Jongup won. Between the two of them, they had won hundreds of tickets to trade in at the gift shop. While perusing the options (dismal at best) they spotted a little boy with his nose pressed up against the glass, looking longingly at a toy sword. Jongup and Himchan exchanged a glance, and then, without needing to speak, Jongup tapped the little boy on the shoulder and handed over all their tickets. The joy on his face was better than even the sparkly toy microphone would have been.  "Where to now?" Himchan asked when they were back outside. Night had properly fallen and he felt buzzed, awake. It had been too long since their last night off. Jongup pointed and Himchan followed his gaze to a food cart.  "Soju!" Jongup said happily. They bought two and sat at one of the metal tables near the cart.  "Let me ask you something," Jongup said.  "If you must." The soju was warming and delicious and Himchan felt a great sense of well-being. "Why do you like wine so much? What's that about?" Jongup was slurring slightly and Himchan giggled. He was just so cute.  "Ummm. Well. Okay, don't laugh." Jongup raised a hand in an on my honor gesture. Himchan tried to sort his thoughts. They were ever so slightly more fuzzy than usual. "So you know how wines are supposed to taste like...like oak and leaves and all that based on where they're from, right?" "Wormwood," Jongup agreed. "Velcro." "Right, and it sounds like nonsense, right, because you drink wine and it tastes like wine, and whoever's saying they taste, like, cedar--" "Nesquik." "Or whatever, you think they're full of crap. But I was reading an article and it turns out your olaf--olfactory...something...like the part that identifies taste and smell? That part of your brain? Is the one part you can actually grow intentionally with practice as an adult. So wine experts and sommeliers and stuff, they really can taste that stuff that most people can't. And I just thought--I want to be able to do that! It's like teaching yourself to see new colors or something, and who wouldn't want to do that?" Jongup's grin had faded and he was looking at Himchan with an unreadable expression. Himchan laughed a little, self-conscious.  "It sounds silly," he said. Jongup shook his head shortly and downed the rest of his soju in one long swallow.  "Come on," he said, standing abruptly. Himchan finished his drink just as fast and followed, feeling a little foolish. They hadn't gone far though before Jongup pulled him down an alley.  "What are we--" Himchan didn't have a chance to get his whole question out before he found himself being pressed up against the wall and kissed breathlessly. He should have been worried someone would see, but it had been too long since he'd really kissed Jongup. He pulled him flush against him, slipped his hands under Jongup's jacket. Jongup gasped as Himchan's fingers slipped under the waistband of his jeans, grazing his hip bone. He pulled back slightly and they pressed their foreheads together, breathing unsteadily. "I like the way your mind works," Jongup said. "Should we--" "Dorm? Yes," Himchan said. They slipped out of the alley and made their way back home as quickly as possible, their hands brushing up against each other with every step.  It wasn't very late when they reached the dorm, so the others were still out. Himchan kicked the door shut behind them and locked it again, pausing just long enough to take in the silence of the dorm before pulling Jongup back to him. For once, they weren't holding back; there was no restraint. If the others were going dancing later, they wouldn't be back for hours. Jongup pulled away from Himchan; he let out a protesting whine that died away when the smaller man began dropping hot kisses along his jawline and down his neck. They grappled with their jackets for a minute, tossing them heedlessly onto the common room furniture as they made their stumbling way through the room and to the hallway, where Himchan took his turn pressing Jongup against the wall and kissing him fully.  Fuck, but he wanted him. Maybe it was all the soju, or the empty dorm, or the incredibly hot way Jongup had kissed him in the alley, but Himchan didn't feel nervous in the slightest. His hands snaked under Jongup's t-shirt and yanked it up and over his head, and Jongup gave his the same treatment, immediately pulling Himchan back against him. It was the first time they'd been so directly skin to skin, and it was enough to wake Himchan up a little bit. He broke off the kiss--Jongup whined and tried to chase his lips with his own, but Himchan kept just out of reach.  "Wait, Jonguppie," he panted. "What's the matter?" "Nothing, just--if we don't stop soon it might be hard to stop later," Himchan said.  "Do you want to stop?" Jongup asked.  Never, please. "No. But I don't want you to feel pressured, or--"  Jongup kissed him. "Got it," he mumbled against Himchan's lips. "Only good pressure here, I promise." So they were really doing this. They took a few more stumbling steps down the hall before stopping again.  "Your room or mine?" Himchan said. They both glanced at the doors.  "Mine," Jongup said decisively. Himchan couldn't help being relieved; he had a hunch neither of them was too keen to do..the things they were about to do...a few meters away from where Bang Yongguk slept.  Jongup pulled Himchan into his room and closed the door behind him, pressing him back up against it. His hands went to Himchan's belt. Was this really happening? Jongup got his belt loose and yanked it out of its loops, pulling Himchan's hips in the process so they ground against Jongup's. They both groaned into the kiss at the sudden friction, and Himchan had to stop himself from ripping Jongup's jeans off. He felt like he could do it Hulk-style, he was so turned on. But this was their first time; he wanted it to last.  Easier said than done. Jongup undid the button on Himchan's jeans and ducked slightly, sucking on his neck while slipping a palm down and pressing it against Himchan.  "Fuck," he gasped. He pulled Jongup up again to kiss him and began to walk him backwards to his bed, trying to loosen his belt at the same time. His fingers were clumsy with want and Jongup had to help him, but Himchan couldn't spare the attention to be embarrassed. They toppled onto the bed--the springs creaked alarmingly--and lay side by side, kissing as best they could while also kicking off their jeans.  "This is really--difficult," Jongup said, gasping, pulling back to yank at his pants. Himchan started giggling helplessly as he did the same with his own jeans.  "Why are my pants so tight?" he demanded. Jongup started giggling too. "Wait, don't answer that." Each down to their underwear they recommenced kissing. Jongup managed to roll Himchan over onto his back and straddled his hips, crawling on top on him. The full length of him was pressed against the full length of Himchan and Himchan couldn't recall how exactly he had lived so long without ever experiencing this particular brand of perfection.  Jongup ground down just as Himchan ground up and they both shuddered.  "Wait, wait, time out," Jongup said, lifting his hips slightly and laughing. "I'm about to come in my pants like a teenager." "You and me both," Himchan said, brushing a sweaty strand of hair off Jongup's forehead. "Um. This might be an awkward time to be asking, but have you ever done this before?" Jongup captured his lips again and Himchan thought he wasn't going to answer, but he pulled away again quickly.  "Which part?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow. It wasn't something they'd talked about before. Maybe it wasn't that strange. Yongguk and Himchan had certainly talked about girls in the past, to each other, but they had always refrained from doing so in front of the dongsaengs, and the dongsaengs had maintained the same boundary. He was sure Daehyun and Youngjae talked to each other about this stuff, and probably Junhong and Jongup did, too. The matching age and experience thing.  "Um." Himchan laughed a little. "I changed my mind, I don't want to know right now." "Okay." Jongup bent to kiss him again, but stopped just shy of his lips. "Some of this is new," he said in a low voice.  "For me, too." That seemed sufficient for the time being. Himchan thought he knew more or less how this was supposed to work, and he was interested to find that he could be so turned on by the feel of the other man's dick against his thigh.  He was considerably more than interested when Jongup's lips left his and he began trailing kisses down Himchan's neck, chest, hips....Jongup tugged at Himchan's boxers and he lifted his hips to let them slide off. It should have been awkward; he was waving like a ridiculous flag right in Jongup's face, but then Jongup's mouth, hot and wet, was on him, and all thought flew out of Himchan's head. His hands tangled in Jongup's hair and he had to work not to push himself further down the other's throat. Jongup had a firm grip on Himchan's thighs and Himchan had to wonder if this was one of the new things Jongup had mentioned, because if this was the first blow job he'd ever given, he was a fucking prodigy. Just when Himchan was about to go over the edge, Jongup would pull off, kissing the inside of his thighs until he was ready to beg him to just get back to it already. Himchan had to bite the back of his hand to keep from crying out too loudly. Somewhere in the back of his mind was the possibility of the others returning early. Then Jongup's teeth grazed the bottom of his cock and all such worries were silenced in a white heat.  "Jongup-ah!" he gasped. "Jon--" His orgasm hit him so fast, so suddenly he couldn't prepare the other man for it. Jongup didn't pull off, though; but rather increased his suction, prolonging Himchan's release until he thought he'd go mad. When it finally subsided and Jongup pulled off him, he could only lay there in a boneless heap. Pun intended.  Jongup crawled back up him and kissed his shoulder a few times.  "Sorry," Himchan managed. "Why?" Jongup laughed.  "I didn't mean to--just, without warning, like that." "That's okay." Jongup bit his shoulder lightly. "That was actually the desired outcome." Himchan had to laugh as he propped himself up on his elbows and pulled Jongup's lips up to his. He tasted what could only be himself on him; that was a first. Himchan was no stranger to blow jobs, but none of the girls had swallowed before; he'd never tasted it after. The idea had always been vaguely repugnant to him, but with Jongup it was unbearably sexy.  "Your turn," he breathed, pulling him onto the bed and getting him on his back. Now that it was his turn, he felt a little nervous. This was one of his "new things", after all.  He took his time sliding down the younger man's abdomen, swirling a tongue around one of his nipples as he went. Jongup arched his back and let out a gasped "Hyung!" at that, which Himchan filed away for later. His own nipples weren't that sensitive but obviously Jongup's were. He wished there was a good way to pay special attention to his abs as he passed them--they deserved a fucking parade, in his opinion; possibly a national holiday--but settled for sliding his lips along them reverently as he moved down Jongup's body. His fingers found the waistband of Jongup's shorts and hovered for a beat, allowing Jongup a chance to change his mind. When he didn't, Himchan ran a tongue along the length of him, soaking through the fabric. Jongup's hips jerked sharply and he gasped, and Himchan pulled the shorts down. He waited for any sense of wrongness or disgust--this was his first time with a guy, after all--but none came. It was Jongup, and Himchan was the luckiest person in the world for getting to be the one to make Moon Jongup make the sounds he was making now.  Himchan didn't hesitate. His technique wasn't great, probably, but he made do. Jongup certainly wasn't complaining. His hands tangled in Himchan's hair, his hips bucking of their own accord. When he came with a groaned "Himchan," far from being revolted at the liquid he had to swallow, Himchan actually felt himself getting hard again. He had done that. Jongup was his.  He swiped a hand across his lips, swallowing--not terrible, really, a little saltier than he'd expected--and kissed his way back up until he lying half-draped over Jongup, head on his shoulder. "That was--" "Yeah." They lay entwined together for a beat before Jongup lifted his head. "Hey." "Mm?" Himchan rose on an elbow to look at him and Jongup kissed him very softly. Then he dropped his head again, spent. "That's all," he said. Himchan collapsed on his chest, laughing. It was enough.

“Stiles!” Peter shouted. Stiles cursed and spun around in time to take a knife to the gut. Peter lunged at the witch from behind and dragged her away from Stiles, digging his claws into her shoulder. The witch cackled and raised her hands in the air. Peter went flying backwards, skidding to a halt a few yards away. “Alright bitch,” Stiles said, pulling the knife out of his stomach, his eyes consumed by shadow, “I’ve had enough of this. Have fun in hell!” Stiles lashed out, taking hold of the woman’s limbs and pulling them apart. The witch screamed and shouted out in a language that Stiles wasn’t familiar with. Just before he could tear her limbs from her body a white light began to glow at her chest and grew until it completely covered her. Stiles lost his hold and couldn’t seem to get it back. He growled in frustration. Peter circled around until he was standing beside Stiles. “Maybe now’s a good time to call your hounds?” he said. “Fuck no. I can handle this. Goddammit Scott owes me so much for this,” Stiles replied, lashing out at the surrounding trees and launching the broken branches at the witch. The wood reflected off the glowing light as if it were a physical shield. “You can’t touch me demon! Go back to hell where you belong or I’ll send you there myself!” the witch shouted. “Psh, drama queen,” Stiles muttered. Peter snorted despite himself. The witch must have heard as well because she shrieked and lifted her hands to attack. Stiles muttered a spell under his breath and the glowing light abruptly dissipated. The witch froze, her mouth slack in shock. “H..how?!” she stuttered. “Like I said, have fun in hell,” Stiles said as the knife rose from his hand and pointed in her direction. The witch fumbled around in the inner pocket of her coat. Just as the dagger flew at her she drew out a long, beautiful feather and rushed out a spell. “Is that…” Stiles said before the world shifted and warped into darkness. ******************** “Stiles, wake up,” Peter said. Stiles groaned and rolled over. He had been unconscious? “Oh thank god! I thought you were dead. Or well…you know,” Peter said. “What happened? Were you unconscious too?” Stiles asked. Peter tilted his head and suddenly his eyes lit up. “You know, I didn’t think anything of it but that is really bizarre,” he said. Stiles snorted and shook his head. “Where are we?” he asked, looking around. They were in a dirty alleyway; too generic for him to recognize where he was. “Let’s find out, shall we?” Peter said, helping Stiles to his feet. When they left the alleyway they froze. They were in Beacon Hills, but monsters milled about the shops and sidewalk like it was nothing. Stiles rubbed his eyes to make sure they were still functional. “Are we…is this Halloween town or something?” he said. “Stiles, what the fuck is going on?” Peter asked. Stiles tried to remember what happened before he passed out. “Oh. Oh crap. She had an angel feather,” Stiles said, running a hand through his hair. “So, what does that mean?” Peter asked. “She sent us to an alternate universe, a reality that exists right alongside ours with the same basic plan but different implementations. It’s like plugging different numbers into the same equation,” Stiles said. “Ok, but how do we get back home?” Peter asked, frustrated. “Thaaat’s the bad news,” Stiles said. Peter groaned and cursed Scott for pissing off a witch in the first place. **********************************************(elsewhere) Stiles leaned against the counter, staring intently at the coffee pot as if that would make it brew faster. “A watched pot never boils,” Lydia said lightly as she brushed past him to get to the espresso machine. Stiles snorted. “I’m using my heat vision to help it along,” Stiles snarked. Lydia rolled her eyes and began steaming milk. “I don’t understand how you get laid,” she said. “Speaking of Stiles getting laid,” Erica said, resting a hand on Stiles’s back and squeezing herself between him and Lydia. Stiles groaned. “Erica no. Just no,” Stiles whined. Erica just flashed her trademarked evil smile and continued right over his complaint. “Did he tell you about the incident on Laura’s birthday?” she said, grinning from ear to ear. “Erica! There’s a customer! You should go help him!” Stiles said desperately. Erica leaned back to get a better view over the register. “Isaac can handle it,” she said dismissively, “Anyway. So Derek and Stiles go to this big company party for Laura’s birthday and long story short, Laura catches them fucking in her office.” “Why would you go to her office instead of Derek’s” Lydia asked incredulously. Erica was shaking with laughter and Stiles felt his face and neck fill with heat. “There were people on that floor. I mean we weren’t…it’s not like… ugh you know what? I’m going to get more ice,” he said, turning on his heel and disappearing into the back room before he could dig himself into a deeper hole. He tuned out the sound of Erica’s laughter and Lydia’s coos as he shut the door firmly behind him. “Why is this my life?” he asked himself, rubbing his face as if that would make the redness go away. ***************************** Stiles had a fresh cup of coffee ready at ten o’clock on the dot. He only had to wait a few short minutes before his favorite customer slid onto the back of the line. He smiled and waved at Erica that he would be back in a minute before grabbing the coffee and running around the counter. “Here’s your coffee!” Stiles said brightly, offering the Styrofoam cup. Derek raised an eyebrow. “Don’t I usually get my coffee after I pay for it?” he asked, resting his hand on Stiles’s back and guiding him to an unoccupied corner. “Well yes, but I’m buying your coffee since I’m such a good boyfriend,” Stiles said brightly, leaning in to press a quick kiss to Derek’s lips. “Hmm,” Derek hummed skeptically. Stiles slapped his arm lightly and handed him his coffee. “Hey, I can always just stay home and study tonight if that’s what you would prefer,” Stiles said. Derek gripped the front of Stiles’s shirt and dragged him in for a less than chaste kiss. “I’ll see you after work,” Derek said smirking and walking away, leaving Stiles open-mouthed, staring, and more than a little aroused. After the bell rang signaling the door opening Stiles snapped out of his haze and ran his hands down his shirt to fix the wrinkles. He walked back to help Isaac and the girls with the line, hoping that they had been too distracted to spy on him. “You two are nauseating,” Isaac said, crushing Stiles hopes. “I think it’s cute,” Lydia supplied from her spot by the espresso machine. “I think it’s delicious,” Erica said blissfully and Stiles shivered a little at the fact that she literally fed off of his arousal. She had tried to tell him what he and Derek tasted like when they were having sex—after she had “accidentally” walked in on them when she came to his apartment early one day—and Stiles had covered his ears and run from that conversation every time it came up. “I think, if you have time to watch me and my boyfriend when there’s a line out the door then you’re not working hard enough,” Stiles said and everyone laughed a little as they tried to fill the long line of orders. ************************************** “An angel feather? Well why don’t we just find one?” Peter asked. Stiles rolled his eyes. They were sitting on a picnic table off to the side in front of a cute little coffee shop. “Yeah, ok. So let’s just look around and see if we can find one just lying around on the ground,” Stiles said sarcastically. Peter glared at him. “You know what I mean. We just have to find the right market,” Peter said. Stiles sighed. “Yeah, but even if we do, how are we supposed to cast the spell? Assuming I can even find the spell to get us home, neither of us can touch the feather, remember?” Stiles said. Peter grunted and stared off into space for a few minutes, deep in thought. Stiles twisted around and stared at the café doors. “Do you have any cash on you?” he asked, turning back around to face Peter. Peter shifted his eyes to Stiles’s face and away. “I have forty dollars, why?” he said. “Give me some. I want to get coffee and some food; I’m starving,” Stiles replied. Peter lifted his head from his hands and looked at the café. “I could go for some coffee right now too,” he said, digging into his pocket and pulling out his wallet, “Get me the biggest size they have and a bagel or something.” Stiles snatched up the offered up twenty and flounced into the little shop. He stopped immediately because the line extended almost to the entrance. He huffed in annoyance and amused himself by trying to identify all of the supernatural creatures filling the café. There was a pair of trolls sharing coffee at a table off to the side. One woman on line was some kind of aquatic creature that he had never seen. There were harpies and werewolves and vampires and…and that was Erica. Stiles blinked a few times and rubbed his eyes. Yeah, that was definitely Erica. She wasn’t a werewolf, but he could tell she wasn’t human. He scanned the rest of the staff. A boy darted up to the register. Isaac. The line moved closer and he leaned forward to peer behind the tall coffee machines. He spotted Lydia and his heart sang because he could see the magical residue on her. She was a witch and she was exactly what they needed. The person in front of him walked away and Stiles stiffened immediately. He felt his eyes flash black in his surprise and he carefully focused on keeping them a human brown. Those same brown eyes stared back at him in a mirror image of his own shock. “Oh my god, Julian?” Stiles asked. The boy in front of him blinked. “How did you know my…why do you…who are you?” he asked. “I’m Stiles,” Stiles replied, smiling slightly. “Um. I’m Stiles,” the boy said, confused. Stiles tilted his head to the side. “That’s interesting. Anyway if you want to know why we look exactly the same that’s a long story, and in all honesty, I can really use your help,” Stiles said. The boy stared at him vacantly for a moment then nodded slightly. “When do you get off work?” Stiles asked. “At two…” the boy replied, sounding totally lost. “Ok, Stiles. I’ll meet you here at two then. In the meantime, I’m gonna need two large black coffees, a poppy bagel with nothing on it, and an everything bagel with cream cheese,” Stiles said cheerfully. The rest of the employees had all stopped working at this point and were blatantly staring between the two Stileses. When his order was finally ready—it took a lot of time due to the repetitive glances—Stiles smiled and thanked his double, whistling as he left the café. He placed the coffees and the bag down on the table and grinned toothily at Peter who only raised an eyebrow. “I think I found the solution to our problem,” he said. ***************************************** Stiles gaped at the retreating figure until the Kitsune at the register cleared his throat. “Oh, right, sorry. How can I help you?” Stiles said quickly. He passed on the order and worked through the morning rush in a total haze. He could hear Lydia and Isaac whispering to each other as they made drinks and he felt everyone’s eyes on him. When the last customer finally wandered off Stiles spun around and leaned his weight against the counter. “What the hell was that?” Erica asked, “Stiles, did you know that guy?” Stiles shook his head slowly, staring down at his feet like he could find the answer down there. “Maybe it was a spell? To make a double?” Lydia suggested, resting her hand against her hip. “Or he could have been a shifter,” Isaac tried. “No,” Erica said, weirdly serious, “He was a demon, didn’t you see his eyes?” The others stared at her blankly. “Oh, did they turn black?” Lydia asked. Stiles finally looked up at that and nodded. “That was…how did he know my name? Only my dad and Scott know my real name,” Stiles said. “He could have just gotten your info from your school records. If he’s a demon he could have possessed a shifter and imitated you or something,” Erica said, waving her hand dismissively. “But why would he do that?” Isaac asked. “He said he needed my help, but I don’t know what that could mean,” Stiles said. The four were silent for a few minutes. Isaac went to help a customer waiting at the register. “What are you going to do?” Lydia asked. Stiles hummed. “He’s coming back after my shift so I guess I’m just going to find out what he wants,” he said. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to talk to him alone?” Erica asked, “I can just go to class a little late if you want me to wait with you.” Stiles shook his head. “Nah, Derek’s coming today so he’ll be with me,” he said. “In that case, you might want to give him a heads up,” Lydia suggested, moving towards the register to help Isaac. Stiles nodded and gestured towards the back room. Erica waved him away and he rushed into the kitchen, leaning against the door once it shut behind him. He took a deep breath and pulled out his cellphone. Just so you know, there’s a demon who says his name is Stiles and looks exactly like me who wants my help with something and he’s coming back at two so that’s what you’re going to be walking into this afternoon. Stiles hit send and was only halfway across the room when his phone buzzed with Derek’s response. You’re joking. Stiles huffed out a laugh. Nope. He managed to get to the coffee beans before his phone started ringing. “Yeah?” he said without looking at his phone. “When the hell did this happen?” Derek asked. “Not long after you left,” Stiles said, “But it’s weird. Like, he knows my actual name!” “Do you think Peter could be involved in this?” Derek asked. Stiles considered this. Peter could know his name, true, but he highly doubted that the man would ever work with a demon. He was crazy, not stupid. “No, it’s not Peter. He’s on vacation halfway around the world and we both know that vacation time is his planning time not his time for implementing his weird schemes,” Stiles said. Derek sighed, frustrated. Stiles could picture him running his fingers roughly though his hair. “Alright. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Don’t leave the café before I get there,” he finally said. Stiles nodded then remembered that Derek couldn’t see him. “Okay. I’ll see you later,” he said. “Don’t do anything stupid, Stiles,” Derek said before hanging up. Stiles looked at his phone like it slapped him. He furiously typed out at text. I’m the smartest person you know! Derek’s only response was a condescending Yeah. Stiles couldn’t help laughing a little because ok, it was true that he tended to get into more trouble than was absolutely necessary, but he never did anything stupid, just poorly thought out and lacking in decent judgment. He brought the coffee beans back out to the front where the line had once again stretched back toward the door. He sighed and dropped the bag to go help Lydia make drinks. *** ******************* “Remind me why we’re spending hours waiting for a teenager to get off of work and help us out?” Peter asked after he got bored with clawing patterns into the wooden table. Stiles rolled his eyes. “Because said teenager is friends with a witch who happens to be quite powerful for her age,” he said, “If you have a better idea, I would love to hear it.” Peter scoffed and dragged Stiles’s arm across the table so he could scratch barely-bleeding patterns into his skin. Stiles was completely entranced with the flowing lines of white and red. He lost track of how much time had passed until someone cleared their throat behind him. Stiles turned his head and Peter continued writing on his skin, not even bothering to look up. “Ah! Julian, Derek, thanks for joining us! Why don’t you have a seat and we can talk?” Stiles said cheerfully. Derek scowled down at Peter and Julian looked distinctly uncomfortable and neither of them moved to sit down. “Um, why is he…I mean, are you ok?” Julian asked, vaguely gesturing at his arm. “Oh, I’m fine. I heal quickly,” Stiles said, smiling. “You’re not Peter,” Derek growled and Stiles pulled his arm away so that he could block him from leaping over the table at the man. Peter finally glanced up and looked the two up and down slowly. “That’s a fascinating theory. Is that Laura I smell on you? She’s alive?” he asked curiously. Derek snarled and shifted, moving forward only to hit an invisible wall. He growled in frustration and Julian reached out to try to calm him down. “Derek, chill out. Are you threatening Laura? What the hell are you guys?” he asked angrily. “You know what, Julian, I always had a feeling you would get along well with Derek. Are you two together or is this just unresolved sexual tension,” Stiles said, gesturing between the two. Julian’s hands squeezed into fists and he looked like he was ready to attack, himself. “Stop calling me that! My name is Stiles!” he shouted. Stiles frowned. Why would Julian take on that nickname? Stiles had picked his nickname up before he even died. Why would Julian, in this universe where he never died, share his name? “My apologies,” he said, “I can assure you that we mean you and your friends and family no harm, now please sit down so that we can explain what’s going on.” Stiles stood and joined Peter on the opposite side of the bench, wanting nothing more than to wipe the smirk off his face because that was going to get them nowhere. Julian and Derek looked at each other for a tense moment then sat down across from them. Derek’s features slid back to human form but his eyes still glowed blue. “Alright, we’re sitting, now what the fuck are you?” Julian snapped. “Oh, a spitfire,” Peter mumbled under his breath and Stiles punched his junk under the table as Derek growled in warning. “I’m Stiles and this is Peter,” Stiles said over Peter’s gasp, “we’re from a parallel dimension. We were spelled here by a witch bitch and to answer your question directly, I’m a demon possessing a dead boy and Peter is a demon of sorts and my bitch.” Peter laughed and Stiles smiled at him while Julian and Derek sat in stunned silence. “They’re not lying…” Derek said quietly and Stiles turned his attention back to them. “You wouldn’t be able to tell if we were lying. Both of our bodies are dead and our heartbeats are totally separate from our psychological states,” he said. He smiled at the dumbstruck look on Derek’s face. He kind of wanted to pinch his cheeks but this Derek seemed different from the one he was friends with and he doubted that would fly. “So you need help…getting back?” Julian asked slowly. “Yes,” Stiles said, smiling broadly. Julian hesitantly smiled back. “How are we supposed to help you?” Derek asked. “We actually don’t need your help exactly. We need Lydia’s help. In order to get back to our universe we need to acquire an angel feather and find the proper spell. Neither of us can touch an angel feather without burning out the magic, so we need Lydia to actually get the feather and to cast the spell,” he said. Julian thought about that for a moment. “Could me and Derek help you get the feather and we can see if Lydia wants to cast the spell or not?” he asked. Stiles studied him for a moment. “You are part fae…and something else?” he asked. “Tengu.” “Yes, then you would not be able to touch the feather either without tampering with the magic. Derek is a werewolf and has the same problem. In general, only creatures of the light, witches, and humans can make physical contact with an angel feather without rendering it useless,” Stiles explained. Julian pouted and looked at Derek. “Well…I think we need to talk about this with Lydia before we can give you an answer. Where are you staying?” he asked. Stiles looked at Peter and smiled. “We’ve been staying at this picnic table so far,” Peter said, laughing a little. Julian’s eyes widened and he looked at Derek meaningfully. Stiles bit back his laugh as they had a very expressive conversation with their eyes before Julian turned back to him with a look of determination. “You can stay with us,” he said. Derek growled but didn’t contradict the statement. “That would be much appreciated. We promise you won’t even notice we’re there,” Peter said. “One step out of line and I’ll rip your throats out with my teeth,” Derek said, his eyes flashing blue. “We swear on our immortal existences to be on our absolute best behavior,” Stiles said and Derek seemed to relax a little bit. *********************************** Stiles had never felt so awkward in his life. Derek hadn’t said anything since they began walking back to his apartment. He was probably pissed that Stiles invited his double and not-Peter to stay with them, but he couldn’t help feeling kind of bad for them. He wasn’t about to make them sleep out in the street. Not-him and not-Peter were quietly following them. Every time he glanced back he found both their eyes on him and it was making him feel kind of paranoid. He relaxed a little when they finally made it to Derek’s apartment building. At least they could watch TV or something and it would be less awkward. “What room number are you?” not-Stiles asked just as Derek was typing in the passcode to unlock the front door. He looked back in confusion, his eyebrows raised. “621,” he grunted after a pause. Not-Stiles smiled and hooked not-Peter’s arm and then they were gone. “What the fuck? Did you just see that?” Stiles asked, running over to where they were standing as if he might find them there, invisible. Derek looked dumb-struck. His mouth was hanging open and his hand hovered over the key pad uselessly. “Derek! Is that a demon thing?” Stiles asked desperately. Derek shook his head as if to clear it and scowled, turning his attention back to the door. “I can’t say I know much about demons to be honest,” he said, pushing the door open and breezing past the overly-friendly security guards. Stiles had to jog to keep up with his pace as he made a beeline for the elevators. “Are you mad at me?” Stiles asked when Derek continued to scowl down at the elevator button after pressing it. Derek looked over at Stiles before wrapping an arm around him and dragging him against his side. “I’m not mad at you; I’m just processing what’s going on. And I don’t really trust those two, though I can’t figure out what their real purpose would be,” he said as the elevator arrived and they stepped in. Stiles selected the 6th floor and wrapped his arms lightly around Derek’s neck. “I could use my Voice to make them tell us the truth but…” he said. “But then they would know about your ability. Then again, they may already know and that could be why they’re here. It’s your call, Stiles,” Derek said. The elevator dinged and Stiles pulled Derek down the hall to his apartment. “I’ll feel it out,” he said while Derek unlocked his door. Stiles didn’t know what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t the wave of deliciousness that assaulted his senses. If Derek’s inability to move more than one step into the doorway was any indication, he wasn’t either. “Umm,” Stiles said, seeing plates full of food lined up on the island in the center of the kitchen. Not-him and not-Peter were pulling out more dishes and glasses from the cabinets. “Oh! We got dinner,” not-him said cheerfully. Not-Peter snorted but didn’t say anything. Derek finally shook himself out of his shock and joined Stiles at the entrance to the kitchen. “Where did all this come from?” Derek asked, glaring at not-Peter. “It’s from a family restaurant in Beijing that we frequent. I was happy to find that it still existed in this universe,” not-him answered. “You seem tense, Derek. And here we thought you loved Chinese food,” not-Peter pouted. Derek didn’t say anything but looked at Stiles meaningfully. “Ugh, fine,” Stiles sighed, “Tell me who you are and what you want from us.” “I’m Peter Hale and I need your help to get home,” not-Peter said, his eyes widening a little bit. “Oh, neat! Try that on me! I wanna see if it works,” non-him said gleefully. Stiles looked at Derek who seemed to relax a little bit. At least they weren’t lying before. “Um, Tell me who you are and why you’re here,” he asked his double. “My name is Carlos the dragon and I’m here for hugs and alcohol,” not-him said, “That’s right Peter, all this time I’ve been living a lie. I am indeed, a Mexican dragon.” Not-Peter picked up a piece of beef and popped it into the boy’s mouth as he laughed loudly. God, was that really what he sounded like when he laughed? “Why didn’t it work?” Derek asked. “He’s a rather powerful demon. Most psychic abilities don’t work on him,” not-Peter answered when his double was too busy trying to wrestle him back. “Come on; let’s eat before the food gets cold! I think you guys are gonna like it,” not-him said, pulling not-Peter in for a kiss and filling a plate full of food. “Oh my god, wait, you guys are like, together?” Stiles asked incredulously. Derek looked as shocked as he was. Not-Peter grabbed a plate and smirked at the two as he went to sit with not-him. “You know what? Peter would probably really appreciate the irony here,” Stiles said. Derek smacked his head lightly but grumbled an agreement before going for the food. ********************************* “So like, right now, they can’t hear me?” Julian asked. Stiles smirked and leaned a little bit closer. “Not a word. I bet you anything it’s driving them crazy. No, don’t look! You’ll ruin the effect,” Stiles said. Stiles wasn’t expecting Julian to want anything from him at all, but it seemed the boy had a strong sense of curiosity. Stiles himself was thrilled to talk to him. He’d always wished he could have watched Julian grow up. Well, technically he did, but he always wanted to know how the boy would have turned out had he not checked out early. “Ok, well I have to ask, why are you…whatever you’re doing with Peter?” the boy asked. Stiles smiled and glanced over at Peter and Derek, both of whom were staring intently at them sitting on the couch. “You mean why am I his boyfriend?” Stiles emphasized with a flutter of his eyes, “Peter and I understand each other. We’re both a little bit twisted and somehow it just works for us.” “Huh,” Julian said, “I guess that makes sense with you being a demon and all. Wait, so have you been to hell? What’s it like? Is the devil real?” “It sucks. It’s confusing as fuck so if you get sent down there unexpectedly it’s really easy to get lost in one of the layers for a few decades. When you’re new it’s torture, but after a few centuries you kind of carve your own niche. I still like the human realm better. I get bored too easily down there,” Stiles said, gesturing vaguely with his hands. Julian looked thoughtful, chewing on his bottom lip. “Is anyone else a demon where you’re from? Like, is Derek?” he asked. “Derek’s just a grumpy werewolf. He’s pretty similar to your Derek except he’s a bit more laid back,” Stiles replied. “Dude, I just totally pictured Derek as a surfer bro,” Julian said, laughing. Stiles tried to picture it and immediately broke out in laughter. “Dude, bro, the bite is totally a gift,” he said in his best surfer accent. “This full moon’s gonna be totally gnarly bra,” Julian immediately replied. They went back and forth for way longer than most people would find amusing and then eventually dissolved into side-splitting laughter. *************************** “What do you think they’re talking about?” Peter asked after five minutes of silence. Derek glared at him then went back to staring at the two Stileses talking on the couch in the living room. Peter smiled when he noticed the pout on his face and the slump in his shoulders. “Does he do this a lot?” he asked suddenly. Peter raised his eyebrows and tilted his head. “What, talk to himself in alternate dimensions?” he asked. Derek clicked his tongue and glared at him. “No, this silence thing. It’s unnerving,” he said. “Ah, well he likes to do it when he knows it’s going to bother someone. He hasn’t gotten a chance to do it to Derek—well, our Derek—in quite a while because he started retaliating by revoking Stiles’s snacking privileges at his apartment. I think he’s thrilled to be able to get under your skin,” Peter replied. Derek looked down thoughtfully then went back to staring at the two. “They’re so different, but then weirdly similar too,” he said. Peter hummed in agreement and they went back to looking on in silence. Stiles—Peter’s Stiles—began gesturing wildly and he felt a fond smile curl his lip. “I don’t suppose you can read lips,” Derek asked. Peter laughed and squeezed his shoulder, shaking his head. But how he wished he did. He knew that Stiles was doing this to annoy him just as much as to annoy Derek. He was dying to know what he could possibly be talking to himself about. ************************** “Good news!” Julian said cheerfully when he burst back into the apartment. Stiles was sprawled almost on top of Derek while Peter lazed on the opposite end of the couch. He had started over there but slowly got closer and closer to Derek as they watched episodes of SVU. He was practically giddy to have this new Derek who hadn’t already adjusted to his bizarre, clingy behavior. It was like taming a jumpy squirrel. “Stiles 2! Is that a bag of donuts I spy in your hand?” he called, taking the opportunity to slide fully onto Derek’s lap and latch onto him like an octopus. Julian took one look at Derek’s tense form and look of desperation before bursting out laughing. “Oh my god, Derek, just push him off you’re like twice the size of him!” he said laughing as he slid his shoes off and tossed the bag of food onto the kitchen counter. “Yeah but I don’t want to hurt…I mean, he even smells like…” Derek stuttered out before giving up and falling silent. Stiles chuckled and blew a raspberry into his neck before springing off the couch completely. Derek put a hand on his neck and stared at him with wide eyes which just made him laugh harder. “That’s sweet, Der, but you’d have to do something pretty drastic to cause lasting damage to this cute little meat-suit. Stiles 2, what’s the good news?” he said. Julian joined Derek on the couch without even bothering to change out of his uniform, curling into his side. “Why am I Stiles 2? This is my universe, so shouldn’t you be the double?” he asked. “Yes, but I’m older than you so I’ve been Stiles longer which makes you the double,” Stiles said, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the TV. “Hmph,” Julian huffed, “Well anyway, I told Lydia about you guys today and she kind of agreed to help you, but she wants to meet you both first. And to be honest, I doubt she’s going to do it for free.” “Can’t you just use that nifty trick of yours to make her help us?” Peter asked. Stiles glared at him and Peter shrugged defensively. “She’s my friend,” Julian ground out, “and I would never use my ability for something like that.” “I’m just saying it would be so much easier…” Peter mumbled under his breath and Stiles launched every pillow in the living at him. Julian and Derek watched the barrage then stared at Stiles who hadn’t moved an inch. He smiled and winked at them. “Cool trick, huh?” he said. Peter growled as he threw the pillows off of him but he didn’t say anything when Stiles shot him another look. **************************** “This is ridiculous; we’ve been here almost two days now. Why can’t we just make the kid help us? His power doesn’t affect you,” Peter growled when the other two wandered into the bedroom. “Because that draws way too much attention to us! We’re looking for an angel feather; if the wrong people find out this could turn into a demon hunt instead!” Stiles hissed, getting in Peter’s space, “You need to calm the fuck down, ok? I know you’re antsy, I am too, but Jesus Christ, what do you expect me to do about it?” “Maybe we should go hunting,” Peter said after a moment of thought. “I don’t know,” Stiles hesitated, “I mean, this isn’t our plane of existence. I don’t know how comfortable I am going on a killing spree here. I haven’t even seen one human yet!” “Stiles, I promise you that if I don’t get this feeling out from under my skin, I’m going to end up tearing one of our ‘friends’ apart. I don’t know how you always manage to deal with this feeling,” Peter said. Stiles shrugged. “It doesn’t come back as frequently when you get older. Dammit, fine. But if this backfires on us and I get exorcised in a parallel dimension, I’m holding it against you for the rest of eternity,” he said before grabbing Peter’s wrist and teleporting them to a small town in Russia. ***************************** By the third head he tore off, the whole place was up in flames and shifters were running around chaotically trying to quell the fire. They didn’t even notice their neighbors’ dying screams apart from their own cries of distress. By the end of the night, Stiles was feeling infinitely better about Peter’s suggestion. *************************** Stiles woke up feeling overly hot. He pushed the covers off of his legs but it did little to cool him off when there was a supernatural heat machine attached to his back. He wiggled, trying to squeeze out of Derek’s grip but Derek only grunted and dragged him closer, sniffing at the back of his head. “Good morning, Sourwolf,” Stiles said, chuckling. Derek grunted again and began rubbing patterns into his stomach. Stiles was quiet for a few minutes until he started thinking about their guests. “Derek, can you hear if they’re awake yet?” he asked. Derek stilled and turned his head toward the door, straining to hear them. “I don’t know, I can’t hear anything,” he said, relaxing back into the pillow. “Well, now you know how I feel all the time,” Stiles said, smiling. Derek grunted and Stiles decided to translate that as appreciation for his hardships. “Do you think they can hear us?” Stiles asked. “Peter probably can,” Derek replied, pushing himself up and caging Stiles between his arms. “Is that supposed to be sexy or something?” Stiles asked between kisses as Derek attacked his mouth and neck. Derek chucked into his neck and bit playfully at the sensitive flesh. “No, I was thinking more along the line that I don’t particularly care if he can hear us or not,” he mumbled. Stiles’s laughter quickly turned into a moan as Derek sucked a particularly deep mark into his skin. To be honest, Stiles couldn’t bring himself to care either right now. *************************** “And then when I found the book, it was in the hands of this bitch witch who didn’t even know what it was that she had so I…Good morning Derek and Stiles 2!” Stiles said without missing a beat when they walked back into the apartment. Derek and Stiles were sitting in the kitchen eating bagels and Peter was pleased to note that he no longer wished to tear their faces off. “Where have you two been?” Derek asked when they shut the door behind them and joined them in the kitchen. “We were looking for a spell book. Which I totally found because I’m so amazing,” Stiles said brightly, holding up the thin, old leather volume in his hand. “Well that makes things easier,” Derek said. Stiles tilted his head and shot a look at Peter. “You’re in a good mood this morning, Sourwolf,” he said casually. The other Stiles coughed as he choked on a bite of his bagel and Derek’s eyebrows furrowed like Stiles had said something strange. Stiles looked at Peter again and Peter smiled, figuring out where he was going with this. Sometimes he forgot how much Stiles loved torturing his nephew since Derek for the most part had gotten used to the teasing over the years. “Doesn’t he seem happier this morning Peter?” he asked, looking over at Peter innocently. “Indeed, he does,” Peter confirmed. Derek looked confused and the other Stiles was hiding his reddening face in his hands. Peter smirked and appreciated the way the color made him look so innocent when he was so used to his own depraved Stiles. “Stiles 2! I see you hiding over there! Why are you so embarrassed? There’s nothing wrong with getting down and dirty first thing in the morning,” Stiles said, grabbing a bagel and biting into it. Peter shivered. He would never understand why Stiles ate bagels with nothing on them. It was almost sacrilege. Derek’s eyes widened and Stiles started laughing hysterically. Peter walked behind the double of his nephew and patted his shoulder sympathetically before getting his own bagel and pulling cream cheese out of the fridge. “Oh my god, evil Stiles, stop! I thought we were friends!” the double whined as he threw a spare bagel at the laughing boy. “Someone’s got to be the evil double, remember?” Stiles said, walking into Derek’s space and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Besides, I’m basically Derek’s uncle so I have to tease him once in a while,” he said. The second Stiles stuck his tongue out in disgust and Derek looked like he couldn’t figure out if he should get angry, start crying, or start laughing. “Or all the time if you’re being truthful,” Peter said quietly. Stiles winked back at him and he felt his stomach fill with warmth. Why was he so pathetic? “Ok, let’s just pretend none of this ever happened and get ready to meet Lydia at the library,” the other Stiles said, but he was starting to smile. ********************************** “Fine,” Lydia said without even looking up from her book. Peter remained carefully distant while Stiles sat with Julian, Derek, and Lydia at a table toward the back of the library. “You’ll do it? Just like that?” Stiles asked in surprise. If he knew witches, and he liked to think he did, then there was no way Lydia would really trust a demon. “I’ll be paid, of course,” she said, turning the page as if she couldn’t be bothered with any of them. “Let me guess: you’re not asking for money,” Stiles said dryly. Lydia finally looked up and met his cool gaze. She smirked and folded her hands on top of the open book. “I want your blood and I want that spell book you acquired,” she said. Stiles blinked. He wasn’t expecting it to be such a simple request. When he didn’t respond Lydia sighed and looked at him intently. “I’m not asking for any more than that. There’s no ulterior motive here. You want me to help you out; well I’d be glad to. I’m just asking this small favor in return,” she said. “Deal,” Stiles said, holding his hand out. Lydia eyed the offered hand suspiciously before slowly shaking it. Stiles felt the buzz of magic slip up his arm and he grinned at Lydia’s look of awe. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to make a deal with a demon?” Derek asked, smiling despite his words. Lydia smiled back at him. “She did. She also said werewolves were good for spells and coats. I tend to trust my own judgment on these matters a little more than I trust hers,” she said sweetly. Derek winced and Julian rubbed circles into his back.

It was a strange thing, waking up to a body already in progress. John's awareness still filtered in from a distance, but it wasn't just sounds or sensations coming at him, it was movement, gestures, thoughts. Vision returned as a snap into focus, his own hands holding alien tools and coaxing some kind of shiny silver widget back into its proper position, but even though he wasn't the one moving them, they still felt like his hands, his knees, his eyes. He wasn't so much in the back seat as the copilot's chair. Also, his head hurt like a son of a bitch. Took you long enough, were the thoughts next to his, close enough to touch but still clear and wholly separate. You're one to talk, John shot back. Kharoush's amusement bubbled across wordlessly; out loud, in one of those bizarrely distorted bass voices, he announced, "He's awake." There was a bang and a curse from somewhere underneath, and Rodney suddenly climbed out of an open square in the floor. He was down to a t-shirt and covered in grime; John realized the inside of the ship was oppressively hot, and in one of those disorienting bursts of knowledge he understood that this was some glitch in the life support system, or a coolant system, or possibly both together; but they at least were getting clean air, which was the most important part. Rodney's eyes were huge, and he had a small smile on his face, like he was hopeful but afraid to hope. "Really? I mean, are you sure?" And just like that, John was in charge again; there was nothing sudden about it, no actual feeling of transition, just the awareness that Kharoush was standing back and waiting on him. He set the tools down. "I think he'd be the first to know, McKay." Rodney's grin lit up the whole ship (which quite frankly, needed the illumination). "Oh, thank god," he said, clambering out of the hole in the floor. "I was afraid—I mean, I got banged around pretty bad when we went into hyperspace, but as least I was laying down, you were thrown clear across the room and even though Kharoush said you were fine there was an awful lot of blood and it's so easy to damage the frontal lobes of the brain and I really thought--" "Hey." It suddenly seemed like the easiest thing in the world to reach over and grab Rodney's shoulder, silencing him. "I'm okay. We made it out of there." "Well, of course we did," Rodney said. "Genius, remember?" He paused, smile faltering. "And, um, and you weren't flying too badly. You know, for an amateur." John rolled his eyes. "Thanks, McKay." "I'm only saying that just because you think you're a character from Top Gun--" "I meant it," John clarified, giving Rodney's shoulder another squeeze. "Thanks. You know, for everything." "Um. You too," Rodney said, then flushed even redder and shrugged John's hand away. "Um. Yes. Work to do, busy busy, the navigation sensors won't fix themselves..." The jump into hyperspace had nearly torn the ship in half, and so while they weren't entirely back to square one with repairs, a lot of good work had been undone. At least the distribution coil had held this time; Rodney had also put every single other part they'd stolen to good use, and cannibalized other systems (like, for instance, the thermostat) to establish minimum functionality in others (like navigation). "We'll have to land when we get to the outpost, and we won't be able to identify ourselves until we're almost right on top of them, so this might be a, uh, a warm reception," Rodney said. "As long as we get there in one piece," John said. "Hmm." Rodney prodded at a crystal array. "Well, I can guarantee a couple of large ones." John reached over him to push a connecting rod back into its socket. "Hey, you keep it together and I'll get it down." "So you say," Rodney said. He popped out a crystal and inspected it for chips. John leaned against the bulkhead and swiped at the sweat on the back of his neck. And my reception? he wondered. Don't fear, Kharoush said. You will be welcomed as any new host. Even though I'm from the SGC? We won't hold that against you. "The others," Rodney said suddenly, echoing this conversation, "they'll be, uh, surprised to see you, but I can explain everything. Or Kharoush can." John nodded. "They gonna do anything for Nurlan, you think?" Rodney shrugged, not looking up. "Nothing official, I think, but maybe we could....I mean, it's really up to you." And by you he didn't mean John. "I would like that," Kharoush said out loud. "When we have time." "Which will probably be shortly after Hell freezes over," Rodney groused without actual rancor. "But...yeah. As soon as there's time." They didn't actually know where they were, though Rodney had a fairly good idea based entirely on passive sensor observations and trigonometry. The important thing was that Inanna didn't know either, so her Lion Guard and her designs on John were a safe distance away. The only thing constraining their time was the protein paste and a bag of crushed and wilted greens that Rodney had seen fit to stash away, since they still needed to eat; but even that was enough to last for days, considering how much they'd already tightened their belts. (Well, John had tightened his—Rodney still bolted his food and then stared at John's with covetous eyes, but knew better than to make a move on it.) So they could work on repairs almost, though not quite, at their leisure: taking the time to do everything carefully, do everything right, and still get six or seven hours of sleep a night. Or whatever they chose to label a night out here, without a sun or horizon to define it. They had the luxury of time out here, but it still came with a deadline, and John thought for a long time about how to make the most of it. /// John and Kharoush made a pet project of the water recyclers, for the stated purpose of maintaining a drinking water supply, and the stealth purpose of taking showers again. The water came out lukewarm and with a chemical smell, but it was still better than nothing, especially when he located the soap in the tangled mess of their cargo. This time, John didn't feel like messing around with curtains and clotheslines. He spread a towel out right in front of the sink, stripped down and started washing up. Rodney, when he actually noticed what John was up to, dropped a very important crystal. "What are you doing?" he yelped, hitting octaves most grown men rarely approached. "I stink," John said casually. "You stink. The ship stinks. Ring any bells?" "We're about thirty-six hours of hard work away from proper showers," Rodney said weakly. John noticed he was looking very hard at his tools. "But we can shave now," John pointed out. "Not to mention cool off a little." He flicked a little water at Rodney and laughed at his flailing, sputtering response. "C'mon, take a break." "You're in an awfully good mood," Rodney said glumly, and glared at him with a crooked little frown. "That glad to be rid of me, I suppose." John thought about how to respond to that while he carefully shaved around his mouth, making all the silly shaving faces he could think of. "What makes you think that?" he finally asked. "Well, I mean...you're all..you, and I'm...I'm me," Rodney said, filling in his pauses with abrupt gestures. "And while you've been far from the most unpleasant person I could've been stuck with, I'm not deluding myself that you actually would've chosen to hang out with me if we'd met under any other circumstances." "But we didn't meet under other circumstances," John pointed out. "We're here and now." Rodney stared at him. "Okay, Sheppard, can we just clarify whether or not you're messing around with me? Because I'm completely unable to tell." John dunked his whole head in the basin and then shook out like a dog. "I'm just saying what I think," he said. "Nothing complicated about that." "Everything about people is complicated," Rodney said mournfully. "And I am not exactly good with people." John smiled at him. "Don't sweat it, Rodney. I'm not messing with you." "All right," he said warily, but when John sprawled out on top of his blanket to dry out Rodney deliberately looked away. (You're freaking him out, Kharoush warned. (You would think he'd have a high freak-out threshold, all things considered. (All things considered, I think his own species is the one that freaks him out the most.) Rodney and Kharoush tag-teamed work on the navigation sensors late into the night, trying to make certain nothing was going to explode on activation, and the end result was that by morning (for their distorted spaceship values of morning) they knew where they were, which was nowhere at all. "Basically, it's a star desert," Rodney explained, not because Kharoush hadn't filled John in but because Rodney liked to talk and John didn't mind listening. "A gap between the spiral arms of the galaxy. There's literally nothing but hard vacuum for light years in every direction. No Goa'uld, no Tok'ra, no nothing." "Which is good," John said. "Nobody to trip over us while we're defenseless." "Which is bad," Rodney reminded him, "because it's going to take us longer than I thought to get back to the nearest Tok'ra base. Every hour of the trip is another hour this mess has to hold together, and I may be a genius, but I am not a miracle worker." "If it gets us there, I can land it," John said. "We can shut down anything we don't need to get us there." "That's going to include the water recyclers." "Which is why you ought to take your shower now," John said, "because once we land we're gonna get dragged off into debriefings until the heat death of the universe, right?" "Oh, Kharoush told you about those?" Rodney said, and it sounded sarcastic, but he also didn't meet John's eyes. Rodney hung a curtain to wash up, and put a shirt back on before he came out of hiding. They went over every crystal and connector in the engine, the navigation computers, the hyperdrive, the inertial dampeners—anything that might possibly go bad on them during the last few hours to home. Rodney also worked on an automated program that would compensate for the dead thrusters on the right side, after lecturing John on why nothing short of a spacewalk was going to fix that, a spacewalk they were entirely unequipped to perform. They had to disassemble half of the copilot's console to repair the main controls, and Kharoush helped John through the delicate process of patching high-voltage cables together so no power was being eaten up by such useless subsystems as the radio. John and Rodney still slept on pallets inches apart, head to head, and sometimes before sleep they still talked about comic books and sci-fi movies. But Rodney seemed quiet and distant and was really quite bad at faking sleep. Rodney kept staring at John with confused and miserable expressions when he didn't think John could see him. Rodney was unhappy, and John wasn't sure what he could say to him, but he was starting to think that he was going to have to take a direct approach. /// Rodney insisted on personally checking everything John did, and occasionally doing it over in the exact same way, just to be sure. He insisted on crawling into inadvisable places to visually verify the results of a computer diagnostic. He insisted on running a simulation before John, Tanys and Kharoush collectively nixed it. "If this damages anything, we have no way of repairing it," Rodney warned direly. "You though I was joking about tying things together with string but I really wasn't." "Rodney," John said. "We have to turn it on eventually." "All right," he said. "I just wanted to warn you that if anything explodes--" "Rodney." "Fine, fine..." Rodney took a deep breath. "Okay. Here goes nothing..." He revved up the engines and reconnected the distribution coil. Engines, hyperdrive, inertial dampeners, navigation—the only things that counted—lit up smoothly and calmly. There was one faint popping sound, but everything stayed running, and when it had been running for a full thirty seconds John grinned. "You did it." "We did it," Rodney said, sounding stunned. "Oh my god, we actually did it. I'm a genius." "That's what you keep saying," John reminded him as he clapped in on the shoulder "Oh, please, like there's any point in modesty," Rodney said, but he was grinning now, ear to ear, and for John it seemed obvious that the next thing to do was to pull him closer, to lean in, to kiss him on the mouth. There was a moment of stillness, and then Rodney leapt backward, actually pressing himself against the bulkhead. "What the hell?" he said. "Don't tell me you never been kissed before, McKay," John said. "No, seriously," Rodney said, and suddenly he looked angry. "Are you messing with me or not?" "Why do you think I'm messing with you?" "Because you don't want me," Rodney said ruthlessly. "You're military and you're straight and you're going to get rid of Kharoush and go back to Earth and there's nothing that's going to happen here beyond a...a pity fuck, and I may not have a whole lot of self-respect in that regard but I do have some, Major, so please don't...just don't, okay?" John reached out and touched the back of Rodney's hand, but Rodney pulled away and folded his arms over his chest with a glare. "What makes you think I'm straight, Rodney?" John asked. Rodney's eyes went very, very wide. "Are you...I mean, you can't be." "It's called 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' for a reason," John reminded him. "Oh," Rodney said, very soft and very small. Now John tried putting his hand on Rodney's knee, pressing his fingers very, very lightly into the coarse weave of his trousers, the pattern of different stains. "What makes you think I'm leaving after this?" he asked. "Did you know I never liked the Socratic method?" Rodney asked. "You told me you were leaving. You practically demanded I get rid of Kharoush even if it killed you." "I changed my mind," John said. "You changed--" Rodney spluttered and stared at him. "You don't just change your mind about this kind of thing!" "I really changed my mind," John said. "I don't believe you," Rodney said mulishly. Kharoush stepped forward. "He really just changed his mind," he said. It was gratifying that for about thirty seconds solid, Rodney couldn't seem to speak. His mouth moved, and little strangled syllables made their way up out of his throat, but for the most part he just stared at John with an expression that managed to mingle shock and delight and affection and sheer abject terror. "You changed your mind," he finally said, dully. "Yeah," John said, without moving his hand from Rodney's leg. "Turns out I kinda like having you guys around." "And you really want to..." Rodney stammered. "I mean, with me? And you know what you're doing?" "I've been warned," John said. "Now, you wanna try that again?" "Oh, hell, yes," Rodney said feverishly, and nearly jumped into John's lap. It was still hot and stuffy in the cargo hold, and they had still been bathing from buckets and sinks for too many weeks, and John had a fifteen o'clock shadow and Rodney was heavy; it was still a good kiss, all warm and eager and wet. John grabbed at Rodney's shoulders and Rodney cupped the back of his head, sinking fingers into his hair, practically holding him down. "I've been thinking about this for a really long time," he suddenly muttered, pulling back just far enough to draw breath. "I kinda figured," John said. "What with calling me pretty all the time." Rodney snickered, but it ended with a sigh when John slid his hands under Rodney's filthy shirt. Since John had given up on wearing any shirt at all, there was nothing to stop Rodney returning the favor, fanning those big hands out over John's shoulders and then sliding them down, stopping with another hesitant flutter at his waistband. John didn't have any of the same inhibitions, and when he proved it, Rodney moaned. And yeah, Kharoush was there—of course he was there, of course they were in this together. But it wasn't as strange as John had feared. He was there but he wasn't there, in a way, because for a moment they had the same thoughts, the same intentions, the same urgent desires. It didn't matter which of them traced Rodney's lips with his tongue, or grabbed at Rodney's thighs with urgent hands; it didn't make much difference if the impulse came from John or Kharoush or both, because for that moment they were literally of one mind. And for that moment, he pulled Rodney close, and then pulled him down to the floor. \\\ Of course, afterwards, John felt the need to point out, I thought symbiotes didn't care about sex. I never said we didn't care about sex, Kharoush said. I said it wasn't that important to us. That doesn't mean we don't enjoy it. Is that right? We have the same body, John. I feel as you feel. John smiled. So was it good for you? It has been a long time since I have been able to give such pleasure to my mate, Kharoush said prissily, and John chuckled quietly. Rodney didn't stir. They had made it, with minimal casualties, to the sleeping pallets, which Rodney had shoved together to better accommodate two grown men. Rodney was now sound asleep with his face mashed into the pillow, but he kept one of his arms looped tightly around one of John's, as if afraid that he might wake up and find it had all been a dream. Despite the heat, John tucked his face against the nape of Rodney's neck, studying the patterns of scar tissue up close. So what happens next? John asked. He wasn't talking about Rodney. You really don't know? Kharoush asked. You may have noticed I'm not really a forward-planning kind of guy. Now you are Tok'ra, Kharoush said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. Now we go back to the work we've been doing for thousands of years. What happens for me, though? John asked. Somehow I don't think the SGC is really gonna let me go quietly. Whyever not? Kharoush asked with feigned shock. Are we not allies? They went to an awful lot of trouble to get me and my genes on their side. And we will go to equal lengths to support your choice. John nodded in the darkness and silence of the hold, and pressed his face a little closer to Rodney's neck. Rodney stirred, smacking his lips a little, and scooted away from John slightly to let a breeze pass between them and dry the sticky sweat. John kissed his shoulder, softly, and then rolled away onto his back, leaving one arm trapped under Rodney's neck as a sign and promise. (And also because he couldn't feel his hand.) "Mmmmph?" Rodney said quietly, not really awake. "Right here," John said, and that seemed to be enough.

Remus Lupin's alarm clock goes off on the second morning after June's full moon, jerking him unpleasantly into an achey half-wakefulness, and for a few disoriented seconds he thinks how he ought to get up for work even though he would really rather not move at all-- and then his memory catches up, and he immediately pushes himself upright (though he can't quite suppress the faint groan in response to the creaking in his joints). He's been sacked after yesterday's missed shift, but now he has an actual compelling reason to get out of bed, one far more important than any of the pointless dead-end jobs he's been forced to take on-- and even if it can't mend the still-fresh gashes on his arms and down his sides, can't stop the sharp little twinges of pain from sparking along his spine and through his limbs, that makes the pain a little easier to bear. He's needed; he's not alone. He glances over at the clock again-- of course he's grateful it's gone off as intended, as he really can't afford to sleep through another full day when they're so low on food... but it's also a bit worrying, because it means Sirius didn't try to turn it off, and that's really not like him. Remus rolls to his feet and tugs on his dressing gown, and heads out into the main room. Harry is already awake but hasn't got up yet; he's lying on the couch with the magical creatures book propped open in front of him, and looks up to give Remus a quiet good morning-- very quiet, because Sirius is still asleep, though he must have woken sometime in the night since the black dog is now squashed onto the couch against Harry's feet and the bottle of sleeping draught is down another dose. Remus smiles and whispers a good morning in return, before crossing over to the stovetop to put the kettle on for tea. The leftover beans and rice are still in the cooker (exactly as Remus left them the night before) which tells him that Sirius still hasn't eaten since yesterday afternoon. He sighs as he sets his mug on the countertop and fetches a teabag from the tin, but tells himself he shouldn't be too surprised (sleeping draughts always make him a bit queasy, after all; perhaps the same is true for Sirius). Still, it's difficult not to worry-- he thinks how Sirius is far too thin, too frail; how he was always so bright and vibrant that he seemed to fill up every room he entered but now he's too cold too quiet like he's trying to take up as little space as possible-- Harry gets up carefully (so he doesn't wake Padfoot) and heads over to the table, and Remus smiles wanly and tells himself one thing at a time and offers Harry breakfast. But this forces Remus to confront the pitiful reality of his near-empty cupboards, and he's ashamed to find that all he has to offer is a box of slightly-stale cornflakes (without even any milk to go on top) which is a piss-poor excuse for a proper meal (Remus could kick himself for being so woefully unprepared going into the full, except he knows exactly why he couldn't be bothered and it's far too depressing to admit out loud). He apologises profusely, but Harry insists he doesn't mind (even when Remus assures him it's fine if he does) so they split the rest of the cornflakes between them and Remus tries to swallow the guilt along with the bland dry cereal. After they've eaten and cleaned the dishes (which Remus does by magic as promised, and Harry watches with wide-eyed wonder even when Remus explains that it's only a simple scouring charm) there's not much else to be done until Sirius's potion has worn off, so Remus pulls out an old checkerboard and the deck of muggle playing cards, and offers to teach Harry some games to pass the time. Harry says that his neighbour Mrs Figg already taught him checkers as they set up the board, and Remus blinks and asks if he means Arabella Figg, and Harry says yes he thinks that was her full name, and takes the first move. Remus plays without really thinking about the game. He's never met Arabella Figg in person but he remembers the name from back in his Order days-- one of the squibs Dumbledore had enlisted as part of his extensive information network. If it really is the same woman (and he can't bring himself to believe it might be a coincidence) then it's certainly no accident she wound up living near the Dursleys and acting as occasional babysitter for young Harry. He's... not sure yet whether that's something else they ought to be worried about. If Dumbledore had people watching the house and checking in on Harry, how much did they all really know about the Dursleys' abuse-- had they simply missed all the signs, or had they seen it and chosen to do nothing? And had anyone seen the large black dog lingering around Privet Drive...? Harry wins at checkers. The first victory makes him grin, but after the second round (which goes even faster) he pouts and accuses Mr Moony of losing on purpose, and says that's no fun at all and he doesn't want to play anymore if Mr Moony won't even try. Remus sighs and sits back in his chair and apologises, because while he didn't actually mean to throw the games he was distracted and not really paying attention, and no, that wasn't fair to Harry. Harry gives him a very long look. 'Mr Moony... is Padfoot very sick?' he asks quietly. Remus runs a hand over his hair. 'He's... no, not exactly. He's just had a rough go of it lately.' Harry doesn't appear convinced. 'He looks sick, when he's person-shaped, and he's still not woken up.' Remus studies his small face for a moment (those bright clever eyes and fixed stubborn jaw) and then he straightens up in his chair. 'Harry... you know how you've been looking through that book about magical creatures?' He pauses while Harry nods, then continues, 'There are many wonderful and fascinating creatures in our world, but there are also some that are not very nice at all-- ones that make you feel like you'll never be happy again, just by being near them. And Padfoot-- he had to live with those creatures, for a very long time.' Harry is quiet for a moment, frowning thoughtfully. '...Sort of like living with the Dursleys, then?' 'Hmm...' Remus pauses and looks over at Sirius (still huddled on the couch) while he tries to sort out how to explain the concept of dementors to a young child without giving him nightmares... and after a moment he turns back to Harry. 'When you were living with your Aunt and Uncle, did you ever try to imagine that things would get better one day?' Harry nods again. 'Sometimes, I thought... maybe I'd get too big for my cupboard and they'd have to give me Dudley's second bedroom, or they'd let me just stay home alone instead of going to Mrs Figg and I'd get to watch whatever I wanted on the telly... or...' He looks over at Padfoot too. 'Or maybe I'd have some sort of... secret family, who might come and take me away,' he adds quietly (in such a way that Remus thinks this must have been the one thing he wanted above all else). Remus puts a hand on Harry's shoulder. 'When you were with the Dursleys, you had hope-- even when things seemed horrible, you could still imagine a world where everything was better-- that someone like Padfoot would come for you.' Remus takes a deep breath. 'But the place where Padfoot had to live-- he wasn't able to think about any nice things at all. The bad creatures made him forget that it was even possible for things to get better... or that they ever had been.' Harry's eyes go very wide. 'But... he got away from those monsters... didn't he?' 'Yes, he did. But I think...' Remus pauses again. 'It's a bit like keeping a garden-- if there's a very bad winter, sometimes all your plants die, and then you have to start over with new ones... but it takes time for everything to grow back. What Padfoot went through was like that sort of bad winter, so we just need to be patient.' 'But... he will get better, right?' says Harry, in a small voice that sounds uncertain and a little afraid. 'I know he wants to,' says Remus gently. 'And he's never been the sort of person to give up without a fight-- I'm sure he's doing the best he can right now.' Harry takes a moment to consider this. '...Padfoot said being a dog makes him think quieter,' he says. 'D'you think that's why he's staying dog-shaped most of the time, instead of being a person? Because his head's still all messy and full of bad things?' 'It's possible,' Remus sighs, with another glance towards the couch-- now that Harry has brought it up, he can remember the handful of times Sirius did this sort of thing back during the war, spending the nights after particularly rough missions curled up as a dog at Remus's feet-- though, admittedly, never to this degree. Remus tries to imagine rolling all his worst days into one and sticking them on an endless repeating cycle... but he's pretty sure nothing he imagines could ever come close to the horrible reality of living among dementors. '...I do think being a dog helps him, one way or the other.' Harry sits a little straighter. 'He seemed better when we were outside, too. Can we take him for a walk when he wakes up?' This startles Remus into laughing, warm and heartfelt, for the first time in years-- he finds he can't help himself. 'He's not really... that much of a dog, you know,' he says once he's caught his breath. 'But yes, I think that's an excellent idea, Harry-- a bit of fresh air will do us all some good.' Harry smiles, and then says they can play checkers again but only if Mr Moony really tries, and Remus smiles back and promises he will. * * * It's the laughter that wakes Sirius-- deeply familiar, or at least he knows it should be. He'd once known its exact cadence by heart, bright and warm and far too precious to lose... so, naturally, it had been stripped from his memory along with everything else he'd ever found beautiful. That's the real cruelty of Azkaban, he thinks; the things you most desperately want to hold onto are the first to go, bleeding out into the ravenous air to be devoured and broken down to nothing, crushed between the irreverent tides and the barren rocky shore... But now it's jumping the gaps in his mind, returning to him in small stuttering fragments-- his first instinct is to kick it all away, press it back into the darkest recesses of his being before They can come for it-- but the scent of Wolf folds around him, warm and comfortable, standing as a shield between him and the creeping cold, and it gives him the strength to reach out and hold on. He remembers-- at first in a vague shimmery sort of way like it's a dream he's just woken up from, but instead of slipping away like ashes crumbling through his fingers he finds it growing stronger, solidifying into something he can believe is real. He remembers how Moony has never been the sort to laugh easily-- even back at Hogwarts, he always had a tendency to be quiet and solemn, perhaps some unfortunate side effect of growing up a werewolf, a boy who had already understood by age eleven exactly how harsh and cold the world can be to those who don't fit. Sirius had learnt that lesson too, just as early, but he'd taught himself defiance along with it, taught himself to laugh as though that alone could burn away the cold and push back the dark. He remembers both sides of it-- the old fears, being trapped underground and the bitter taste of cellar dirt, but also what it felt like to break free. Running, flying, laughing; everything always circling back to Moony... beautiful clever wonderful Remus Lupin with his secret smiles and the mischievous devious nature he keeps carefully tucked away behind the calm and polite facade, but Sirius knows it was only ever an act and he remembers the delight of drawing out that hidden brilliance. The last dregs of the sleeping draft leave everything feeling fuzzy and indistinct; he lies there a bit longer, as the bright laughter fades back to soft quiet movements and occasional murmuring voices he can't quite make out... it's lovely, of course, but also rather unsettling; he can't shake the fear that this tentative calm is all too fragile, that even the memory of it could be stripped from him in a single instant-- He hops down to the floor and shakes himself out, then pads across the room as a dog. The switch back into human form isn't always pleasant (especially when his mind already isn't in the best space) so he puts it off until he's reached the kitchen table, then shifts and stands all in one fluid motion and tries not to think-- he ruffles a hand over Harry's head with a mumbled greeting that falls short of intelligible speech, and then drapes himself over Remus's shoulders from behind and pushes his nose into the soft hair just behind Remus's ear; it's okay it's okay it's-- 'Hallo Pads,' says Remus, words vibrating through his chest under Sirius's arms, through thin jagged bones. 'Sleep well?' 'Mmh,' Sirius grunts, and tilts his head forward-- Remus still looks exhausted from the moon, the skin around his eyes tinged grey. '...Sorry, Moony,' he croaks-- because Remus shouldn't have been left to do everything himself, not while he's still-- 'That's all right,' says Remus, patting him on the head. 'Really-- it's good that you were able to get some sleep.' Sirius gives a faint whine and leans harder into Moony, too worn out to feel appropriately self-conscious over how starved he is for the physical contact-- for that long stretch of years, he knew nothing but cold unforgiving stone, could remember human touch only as a stinging slap across the cheek, a too-large hand wrenching at his arm hard enough to leave fingerprint bruises. He'd forgot it could ever be like this, soft and warm, Remus's fingers finding the nice spot behind his ear (perfect for scritches)... and even in human form he can still smell the full moon on Remus's skin (he can't have showered yet, which isn't like him, but Sirius isn't complaining). He takes a deep breath, and-- 'Are you feeling any better now, Padfoot?' says Harry, with rather more concern than any almost-five-year-old should have for a grown man (especially one who is in theory supposed to be his guardian now). Sirius lifts his head abruptly (feeling a little guilty) as Remus's hand drops away. 'Er-- yeah, a bit,' he replies, as a lock of his hair flutters against his cheek-- he's surprised how light and soft it feels, realises he forgot what it felt like to have it clean. That's not the most comforting thought, and rather distracting, and he shakes himself out a little. '...Potion helped,' he adds, trying to smile. 'That's good,' says Remus mildly. 'Harry wants to take you for walkies.' His eyes are bright. 'I already told him yes on your behalf. Figured you wouldn't mind.' Sirius barks out a laugh. 'Well, since it's Harry, that's alright.' He winks across the table. 'Maybe I'll even play fetch if you ask nicely.' Harry grins at him, and Remus finally shrugs him off. 'Well, have something to eat first-- there's still some rice from last night.' Sirius starts towards the counter, and Remus continues without looking up from the checkerboard, 'Use a bowl, Pads. And a fork.' Sirius snorts and rolls his eyes, but obediently reaches for the cupboards anyway. Remus raises his eyebrows pointedly in silent response, and transfigures up a third chair before Sirius can sit on the table or the counter or the floor. 'So you do know about forks,' says Harry, as Sirius falls into the newly-conjured chair in the slouchiest position he can manage. 'I thought maybe you didn't.' 'Of course he does,' Remus sighs, as Sirius uses the fork to shovel too much rice into his mouth all at once. 'Padfoot just delights in behaving as though manners have personally offended him.' 'Manners? Don't know her,' Sirius says through his mouthful, to prove the point. Remus kicks his shin under the table, and Harry giggles. Sirius smirks and props one foot up on the table and raises his eyebrows at Moony as he wolfs down his rice-- Remus gives him a despairing sort of look but seems to decide this is not a battle worth fighting, and sips his tea and turns back to the checkers. But now Sirius thinks of his awful mother's shrill voice, of Petunia Dursley's sour horsey face-- and he meets Harry's gaze, and can guess Harry is thinking much the same thing. He sits up and drops the offending foot back to the floor, and sets his half-finished bowl aside, and says quietly to Harry, 'You have to know all the rules so you can know when to break them, right?' Remus frowns a little-- Sirius thinks none of the others ever really understood, never needed to (because even Moony, accustomed to being hated and shunned for his lycanthropy, always had the support and love of his parents, always knew he was safe within his own home). But Harry returns the solemn look, and nods. Sirius smiles faintly. 'We're all right, here,' he says. 'Moony likes to fuss, but he's all bark and no bite.' Remus groans and rolls his eyes and mutters something that sounds a bit like don't tempt me, and then he looks back at Harry in a long-suffering sort of way. 'I really would prefer if no one put their feet on the table, though.' 'We'll try our best,' says Sirius (winking at Harry, who smiles back at him). 'You won't,' Remus replies with a snort. Sirius slides lower in his chair and stretches his arms over his head, making the bottom of the borrowed jumper ride up over the sharp ridges of his hips. 'So little faith, Moony,' he says with a smirk. 'You never know; maybe I'll surprise you.' Moony stares at him for a moment, and then coughs a little and turns back to the board to make his next move. Sirius takes up his bowl again and finishes his rice while Remus soundly beats Harry at checkers; Harry seems strangely pleased about losing, and says that he knew Mr Moony could win if he tried. Sirius raises his eyebrows at Remus (because winning against a child is hardly an amazing feat worth celebrating) and Remus just suggests in a mild tone that Harry should try playing against Padfoot, who has never deliberately lost at anything in his life (which Sirius figures is probably true; he hates losing). With that, Remus goes off to shower, and Harry says he's bored of regular checkers and proposes a few alterations to the rules that might make it more exciting, which Sirius is all for because normal checkers is rather dull. This involves the addition of Double Kings (which can jump sideways over red squares as well as the usual diagonal moves and which are too tall to be jumped by non-king pieces) and temporary bonus power-ups for pieces that execute double or triple jumps. Remus emerges into the middle of a good-natured squabble about what sorts of powers a hypothetical Triple King should have and the conditions for acquiring one, and he just gives them a blank look as though he's wondering how they've managed to so thoroughly upend checkers in the span of the fifteen minutes it took him to wash up. They set aside the Triple King discussion and invite Moony to play what they've dubbed Better Checkers (which they've yet to actually play for themselves, because inventing the new rules is at least as much fun as implementing them) but Remus politely declines and reminds them that they've got to go buy groceries (and toothbrushes, and a few other things besides) before it gets too much later in the day. Harry runs to put his shoes on, and Sirius looks up at Remus and grabs his wrist. 'Do you think it's safe?' he asks quietly. 'It's been days-- someone must have noticed he's missing by now...' 'Hm. Well, you two can't stay inside forever,' Remus says sensibly, and then frowns. 'I suppose we'll have to look into all that, and sooner rather than later, but we can talk about it once we get back. We won't get very far on empty stomachs.' Sirius (already well acquainted with the rather depressing state of Remus's cupboards) can hardly argue with that logic. But... 'What if he's recognised?' he says, with a glance at Harry-- they still have the hat to cover the scar on his forehead, but his eyes are far too memorable as well, his skin and hair dark enough to make their startlingly bright green stand out in a way it never did on Lily. Remus seems to be thinking much the same thing. 'I've got a couple ideas-- Harry, would you come here a moment? I'd like to do a bit of magic on your clothes, if that's all right.' Harry is very eager to see more magic, and doesn't mind at all if Mr Moony alters his clothes because they're just Dudley's old things anyway, so Remus changes the colours and shrinks the baggy shirt and trousers down to a better fit and mends a handful of rips (he's had a lot of practise with that particular charm, as nearly all of his own clothes have come second-hand and he only replaces them when they quite literally fall to pieces) and while he's at it he crouches down and sticks the peeling bottoms of Harry's trainers back together as well. Once he's satisfied with that, Remus sits Harry on one of the chairs and explains the glamour charms-- unlike the spells he's done on Harry's clothes, these are pure illusion and won't actually change his features, but they will at least prevent him from being recognised on sight. Harry gives Sirius a critical look while Remus starts on the cosmetic charms. 'Are you really going out in your pyjamas?' Sirius glances down; the borrowed pyjama bottoms are a bit too big on him, brushing the floor behind his bare heels, and the old slightly-frayed jumper hangs loosely from his bony shoulders. He probably looks rather ridiculous (between the pyjamas and his horrible vampire face) and certainly not prepared to venture outdoors... but he just shrugs. 'Doesn't really matter long as I'm a dog the whole time, does it?' 'I suppose not...' Harry wrinkles his nose as the spells settle over his face, like he's trying not to sneeze. 'But what about your other clothes, the wizardy-looking ones? Can't Mr Moony just use magic to clean them?' Sirius snorts. 'I'm fairly sure the dirt's the only thing holding those rags together at this point.' 'He can't be seen in them anyway,' says Remus. 'We're going to be in nonmagical areas, so we have to look and act like Muggles.' 'Oh.' Harry glances over Remus's clothes-- a shabby cardigan over a button-down shirt and carefully patched grey trousers, and mismatched socks. If he hadn't been holding a wand, he wouldn't have looked magical at all. Sirius grins and slouches against the cupboards. 'It's all right Harry-- you can tell him he dresses like an old man. He knows.' 'Hm.' Remus tilts his head, looking over the charms on Harry's face. 'At least I look like an ordinary Muggle, and not a medieval court jester poorly disguised as a rock concert attendee.' Sirius puts on his most supercilious look. 'Oh, I'm sure they tried to blast that particular branch off the family tree, but I'll have you know I'm very proud of my court jester pedigree,' he says, though the mock-haughty tone is rather spoilt by the smile tugging at his mouth-- and then he blinks, his mind jumping backwards. '...And you were the one who kept giving me those Muggle Rock t-shirts,' he adds brightly (pleased that he could remember this fact at all), 'so you've only yourself to blame for that.' Remus gives a little cough, his ears and cheeks gone faintly pink-- perhaps remembering some other piece still locked away to Sirius. Before Sirius can work out how to ask about it, he straightens up and pats Harry on the shoulder. 'Well, I think these spells should be enough for now.' Harry pokes at his face as he gets up, and turns to Sirius while Remus goes to put on his shoes. 'Do I look very different now?' Sirius bends over to have a better look-- at a glance, Harry's nose appears a different shape and his chin a bit rounder, his eyes brown instead of green, but under closer scrutiny the effect isn't quite natural-- even the best glamours tend to look a bit stiff and flat if you watch them long enough (and once detected they're easily dispelled) so they're far from ideal as a disguise. Sirius lifts one shoulder in response to the question and tugs the knit hat down over Harry's forehead. 'Different enough. Just keep your scar covered and try not to draw attention to yourself.' 'I know,' says Harry (with a faintly resigned note that makes Sirius think he was really hoping he could do without the hat). 'If you ever get tired of going out as a dog, could you put on spells like this too?' 'Too many people know what I look like,' says Sirius. 'I'd be in a lot of trouble if they wore off before we got back inside. And Padfoot's a much better disguise anyway-- easier and faster, and even wizards don't expect a dog to secretly be a person.' Harry pauses thoughtfully. 'Where do your clothes go while you're a dog?' 'Hmm... they sort of stick to me when I change, and anything I've got in my pockets as long as it's not too big or complicated,' Sirius replies (he's found that animagus-related facts like this are easier to remember-- most likely since it's the part of him that's most resistant to the dementors, or simply because he's spent so much time in dog form lately). 'But there's a bit of a trick to it; I didn't get it right on the first try.' Remus snickers at that. 'Didn't all your seams come undone the first time you changed back? James said your robes just fell right off you like a peeled banana.' Harry giggles at this mental image, and Sirius raises his eyebrows haughtily. 'Yes, well, James left his behind on his first go, and then panicked and tried to shake them off and got them stuck on his antlers and ran about looking like a particularly noisy coat stand, so he's really one to talk. And--' He breaks off abruptly, thinking about how Peter had (true to form) taken far longer than the rest of them to fully master the change, resulting in dozens of mishaps that had been hilarious at the time but now just make him feel ill... 'Wait, my dad turned into an animal too?' says Harry. 'With... antlers?' 'Yes, he was a stag,' Remus replies, with a glance at Sirius as though he can guess exactly where that train of thought took him. 'We called him Prongs, for the antlers,' he adds for Harry's benefit, and takes his hand. 'We'd best be going, now, before those charms wear off-- they're not the most reliable sort of disguise, and I won't be able to fix them once we're outside because doing magic where muggles might see isn't allowed.' This distracts Harry well enough, and he asks about the other ways and why Mr Moony didn't use those instead if they're better, and Remus gives brief descriptions of human transfiguration and polyjuice potion (as Sirius turns into a dog and silently follows them outside)-- he explains how these alternatives are a lot more dangerous than cosmetic charms and could have permanent and unwanted side effects if done incorrectly, and a short trip to buy food isn't worth that sort of risk. Harry glances at Sirius, and then asks how Padfoot can be a dog so easily if regular transforming spells are as complicated and difficult as Mr Moony says, and Remus explains that Padfoot had to do an especially tricky spell so that he can transform any time he likes, and Harry's dad also did the same spell to become Prongs. 'Do you turn into an animal too?' asks Harry, clearly fascinated. Sirius's ears go back and he shifts closer to Remus, looking quickly up at him-- but Remus doesn't seem bothered by the question. 'That spell doesn't work for me, I'm afraid,' he says mildly, and then he gently reminds Harry that they have to pretend not to know about magic now (as they are approaching the intersection of a busier street where someone might overhear) and there will be plenty of time for further questions once they get home. He suggests that Harry could tell him about their new game with the checkers instead, and Harry launches into an explanation, with Remus asking clever questions about aspects of the new rules they hadn't considered yet. Sirius only half listens, too busy being alert to their surroundings. The dilapidated streets beyond Remus's flat feel different in the light of day, less sinister-- or perhaps it's just that Sirius is less twitchy for having slept, or the quiet confidence with which Moony leads them through the neighbourhood (Remus doesn't make any particular effort to avoid other people the way Sirius has grown used to doing, but he also gives off an air of belonging, and no one looks twice at them). London was once Sirius's city, its chaotic vibrancy a welcome escape from his parents' rigidly quiet home... but now he can't imagine belonging here or anywhere else, feels as though everything he once knew has come unmoored, drifting off into some murky unknowable future and leaving him caught in liminal space... But Remus moves with purpose and confidence, and Sirius follows him without hesitation. Their leisurely route loops through the nearest park, no more than a small rectangle of patchy rubbish-strewn grass and a few stunted trees; they don't linger long (as they don't want to take any chances with Harry's disguise spells and neither Remus nor Sirius have much energy to spare) but even a short detour through this shabby patch of green manages to feel pleasant and refreshing after a full day spent indoors. The smell of Earth is another of the things Sirius once took for granted and then lost to Azkaban; now every breath feels like a rare treasure. From the park, it's not much farther to a street lined with shops; dogs are, of course, not allowed inside, so Sirius is left to wait in the street while Remus and Harry go in. He doesn't much care for this arrangement, even if he understands the necessity of it; sitting on his own out in the open makes him think of all the ways in which everything could go wrong, and he has to forcibly remind himself that Remus is a very capable wizard and if anything were to happen he's currently far better equipped to keep Harry safe than Sirius is-- But nothing does happen. There are hardly any other people out, and after a very uneventful wait (probably no more than fifteen minutes at most, though it feels like longer) they emerge with bags full of food, which Remus covertly charms feather-light to make them easier to carry back. As they walk, Harry tells Sirius that Mr Moony let him get Mars bars for dessert and he's only ever had a little taste before (a half-eaten one that Dudley forgot about and it had melted slightly at one point and was a bit squashed as though Dudley sat on it while it was in his pocket) but he had enjoyed it anyway and he's very excited that he gets to have one all his own for the first time. Sirius isn't entirely clear on what Mars bars are (either because he forgot or because he was never particularly well-versed in muggle candy in the first place) and he can't ask on account of being a dog at present, but it doesn't really matter-- it's enough to know that Remus bought Harry something he really wanted. Sirius knows all too well that the smallest gestures count for a lot when you've never received them before. Sirius turns human once they're back inside, thinking he ought to help put the food away-- only to remember the problem of the Muggle Cold-Box. Unlike the enchanted cold-cupboards found in wizarding households, the muggle equivalent cannot detect and generate ideal temperatures for each individual item (keeping everything perfectly chilled) and therefore is divided into compartments, each with a set level of coldness. Sirius is fairly sure he never quite got the hang of which food items are meant to go into which section of the Cold-Box, and whatever he did manage to work out has thoroughly vacated his mind. It's hard enough to hold onto the important things, let alone small details about muggle kitchen appliances... He must have stood there longer than he thought, because Moony nudges him aside. 'Go on, Pads, sit-- it'll go faster if we don't have to worry about you trying to freeze the eggs.' Sirius lets himself be pushed into one of the chairs, and looks blankly down at the bar of plain dark chocolate Remus presses into his hands-- 'Why does Padfoot want frozen eggs?' says Harry, with a highly concerned glance at Sirius. 'He doesn't do it on purpose,' says Remus, with a fond sort of smile. 'Our Padfoot doesn't really understand how refrigerators work, I'm afraid.' Harry frowns. 'Do magical people not... normally have refrigerators?' he asks, as though he's trying to work out why Mr Moony has one if they're not common for magical people, or perhaps wondering how they keep their food fresh without. 'There are charms to keep food cold or preserved,' Remus explains. 'But I'd sooner not take any chances with food-spells-- they can make you dreadfully ill if done wrong, and I haven't had much practise with that particular branch of magic.' 'Oh... do they not teach that, at magic school?' 'No-- not officially, anyway,' says Remus, as he puts the milk and orange juice away next to the eggs. 'Culinary spells are typically passed down in families, and neither of ours really... well, my mum was a Muggle, and she was firmly of the opinion that food and magic shouldn't mix.' He glances at Sirius (who still hasn't moved) and then at the chocolate. 'Really, Pads-- have some of that.' Sirius starts, and blinks, and looks down at his hands as though surprised to find they still belong to him. Slowly, he peels open one corner of the chocolate bar and snaps off a square. Harry passes Remus two tins of beans, glancing at Sirius as well. 'Er-- I thought we weren't supposed to have chocolate before lunch?' Remus pauses, looking between them. 'Not normally, but... sometimes chocolate helps people feel better, after they've had all their nice thoughts stolen by those bad creatures I told you about.' 'Oh,' says Harry, looking back at Sirius (who is a little surprised that Remus has already explained the dementor situation to Harry, and also grateful, as he would have had no idea where to begin). 'Do you feel better?' asks Harry, a flicker of something achingly like hope in his eyes. Sirius hesitates-- he wants desperately to give Harry the reassurance he's seeking, but this isn't something he could lie about, even if he wanted to. He folds the corner of the chocolate wrapper over and sets the bar aside, and makes an effort to sit straighter. 'Erm, a little bit. But it works best if you have it right away, and...' And Sirius is quite sure no one has ever bothered to study the effects of long-term dementor exposure (let alone research possible cures) seeing as people only end up in Azkaban's top-security wing when they've been convicted of the worst sort of crime-- he was meant to suffer until he wasted away. He knows that, perhaps, there is no reversing the damage that was done-- the unsettling gaps in his memory, many things forcibly taken and many others willingly sacrificed in a final desperate effort to preserve some small shred of his own sanity... Remus meets his eyes, a look heavy with sorrow and uncertainty-- it's clear that he never believed it could be that simple, either. He sets the tins on the shelf and crouches down in front of Harry, and says gently, 'It's just that Padfoot was trapped there for a very long time, so it's going to take more than a simple remedy for him to fully heal.' Remus smiles. 'But he's doing very well already, better than most people would in his position-- he escaped all on his own, which no one else has ever done before.' Harry turns to Sirius, wide-eyed, and Sirius blinks-- he's never thought of it quite like that, in terms of how far he's come, everything he has managed to accomplish. 'Padfoot is one of the strongest and bravest people I've ever known,' Remus adds quietly, and Sirius thinks this comment is as much for him as it is for Harry. It also stirs up a lot of emotions that he currently lacks the capacity to deal with, so he shrugs it off and reaches out to ruffle Harry's hair. 'Nah, I was only able to do it because I thought you were in trouble, Prongslet. And I was right, so good on me.' 'Yes, quite.' Remus stands up, smiling at Harry. 'Why don't you and Padfoot play your new game with the checkers, and I'll make us sandwiches for lunch?' 'Only if Padfoot wants to,' says Harry. Sirius hesitates-- someone who knew Remus Lupin less well might have missed the slight wince as he stood up, but Sirius has had a decade of experience in reading the tiny shifts in Moony's expressions, and not even Azkaban could make him forget. He rolls to his feet as well. 'Mm, later-- I ought to help Moony with the sandwiches.' 'Okay-- I could help too,' Harry offers. 'There's not enough space here,' says Remus, gesturing towards the narrow bit of available counter between the stovetop and the rice cooker. 'So you sit down and I'll make them,' says Sirius. Remus doesn't budge, and retrieves three plates from the cupboard with the particular sort of mild expression that actually means he's fully prepared to dig his heels in. 'I'd sooner not spend the afternoon cleaning up one of your kitchen disasters, Pads.' 'It's sandwiches, Moony, I think I can manage.' 'No. Perhaps another time, when I'm feeling adventurous.' Remus sets bread slices on the plates. Harry tugs at Sirius's sleeve, with an expression that makes Sirius suspect he's thinking of the frozen eggs again. 'Padfoot, I think we should let Mr Moony make them.' 'I wouldn't put anything weird in,' says Sirius, feeling a little betrayed. Remus rolls his eyes. 'Pads, you gave me an exploding sandwich once, so forgive me if I don't trust you to have a sensible person's definition of weird.' 'Did you really?' says Harry, looking at Sirius curiously. 'That was one time,' Sirius protests (or at least he can only remember the one instance, which resulted in Remus fastidiously picking bits of lettuce out of his hair all through History of Magic). 'We were twelve! I've since seen the error of my ways.' Remus winks at Harry. 'That just means he discovered that there are far messier things to explode. Like puddings. Do not under any circumstances let Padfoot near your puddings.' 'Is making food explode common, for magical people?' asks Harry, glancing at Sirius. 'Aunt Petunia never lets me near her puddings either.' 'Not common, no-- Moony is being very silly.' Sirius sits down (having given up on the sandwich debate, as they're already halfway finished by now) and rolls his eyes. 'As if I'd squander a perfectly good pudding by exploding it.' 'Fair enough,' says Remus dryly. 'You'd steal it though, so the point remains that no pudding is safe with you.' Sirius tilts his chair back on two legs, his eyebrows raised. 'You make it sound as though I'm some sort of monster who never left you any pudding, which is patently untrue.' 'Only after you'd stuck your face in,' Remus laments. 'Never was I to know the delights of puddings pristine and undefiled...' 'That was a necessary evil,' says Sirius. 'Someone had to make sure your food was free of malicious influences.' Remus snorts. 'The only malicious influence upon my food was you, Pads.' Sirius draws himself up, his chair thunking back to the floor. 'Mr Padfoot would like to remind Mr Moony that a certain Snivellus repeatedly threatened to slip the lot of us dodgy potions,' he says, with the air of one giving a situation report. 'I was protecting you, sacrificing my own flesh to the dastardly whims of slimy unwashed gits so you wouldn't be poisoned, and this is the thanks I get! Shameful, Moony, I expected better of you.' Remus casts a glance at him, faintly amused but wholly unimpressed. 'And he wasn't foolish enough to actually try anything-- just as we all knew he wouldn't, because we were in school. Attempted murder is taking things a bit far.' Sirius says nothing, because he knows the others never realised how many near misses there were, how easy it was for a sufficiently determined classmate to slip them something nasty (not deadly, of course, but certainly enough to injure or incapacitate). They hadn't grown up around the sort of people who would do it without hesitation-- of course they could never see the threat for what it was. Sirius had given up on convincing them, and therefore never mentioned the spiked chocolates or those eclairs with the filling that made you feel like your skin was full of bugs, or that one memorable occasion when he downed something unidentifiable but truly awful and then spent the night heaving his guts out in the girls' toilets on the second floor (chosen for the fact that no one ever went in there unless they were truly desperate-- he'd used the cubicle farthest from Myrtle's, though this had not stopped her from drifting over and all-too-hopefully inquiring if he thought he might die)... he always made up excuses, let them go on believing it was a joke; he'd come to think it was for the best, because he would've done anything to protect his friends, more than they would ever have accepted had they known... But now he's too tired, can't bring himself to spin it into another joke... and that silence speaks volumes all on its own. Remus glances at him again, this time puzzled and a little concerned, like he's beginning to wonder if he's really been misreading it all this time-- 'What's a snivellus?' asks Harry. 'Is that some sort of magical creature?' Sirius chokes and nearly slips off his chair. Remus (very pointedly avoiding eye contact with him) has that look on his face like he's trying to be Prefectly but is too busy fighting the urge to laugh to quite pull it off. 'No Harry, he's--' Remus's gaze flicks towards Sirius-- a grave error on his part, as Sirius immediately catches his eye and quirks an eyebrow. Remus swiftly ducks his head, biting his knuckles in an attempt to stifle his laughter. Thus encouraged, Sirius rolls to his feet and turns to Harry. 'Why, yes, young Master Prongslet,' he says in his poshest Pureblood accent, 'the Snivellus is most commonly found lurking about dungeons and other damp and dreary places, where it lies in wait to lure unsuspecting young mischief-makers into its clammy spindly-fingered clutches--' 'Pads, please,' Remus wheezes, clutching the edge of the counter. '--though a few well-placed hexes should send it scuttling back to its lair.' Sirius can no longer quite keep the grin off his own face as he sneaks a delighted glance at Remus. 'This most unfortunate creature is easily identifiable by its abundant coating of oily secretions, and by its extraordinarily large nasal protuberance.' Harry looks between Sirius (still manfully refraining from laughter) and Remus (giggling helplessly), trying to work out the source of their amusement. 'What's a prob-- port-- that thing you said?' 'Big nose. Absolutely massive. Beaky.' Sirius pats Harry on the head and sits back down. 'He's a person, actually, not a creature-- just a horrid miserable git of a person.' 'Oh.' Harry frowns. 'And he tried to poison you?' Sirius's smile slips; he no longer feels like laughing (and Remus has gone very still). He gives a little cough. '...Well, anyway, he was really awful to Moony and your mum-- he wanted to make it so they wouldn't be allowed to use magic anymore.' Sirius runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face; he has no trouble remembering Snape in great detail and hates how easily those memories rise to the surface-- Snivelly, aged sixteen, greasy nose and foul breath inches from Sirius's face and dark eyes filled with hate as he sneers and utters taunts in that slimy silky-smooth voice, goading him until in a flash of white-hot rage he shoves Snape back and opens his traitorous mouth and tells the odious little twat that if he's so desperate to figure out what's down there he can press this one knot on the Willow's trunk to reveal the tunnel's entrance and-- 'Why would anyone want to do that?' asks Harry, bewildered. Sirius blinks, trying to pull himself back to the present. 'There are some magical people who think that certain others don't deserve magic,' Remus begins. 'And they're wrong,' Sirius cuts in. 'But let's not talk about him anymore, shall we?' he adds, perhaps a bit hastily. 'He's not very nice to think about.' 'Sorry,' says Harry, with a flicker of hesitation. 'No-- no it's fine-- not your fault.' Sirius slides down off his chair, pulling Harry against his chest. 'We're alright.' Harry hugs him back, and for a moment Sirius manages to keep his mind from shooting off on some erratic tangent-- he's here; they're safe. * * * After they've finished eating, Remus gets up to clear the countertop and put the rest of the food away-- as he cleans, he asks if there's anything Harry might like to do on his own while he and Padfoot talk about Important Adult Business that will probably be boring to listen to. Harry hesitates, then looks over at the bookshelves and asks if there are any other interesting books with pictures that he might look at. Remus apologises (making a mental note to find some proper children's books later) and explains that he only has the one illustrated grimoire and most of his books don't have any pictures at all. Harry says that's all right and he doesn't mind looking at the creatures book again, but Remus (wanting to make sure Harry has enough to do, and guessing that Harry is too polite to complain about being bored) fetches out some paper and pencils and suggests that Harry might find it fun to draw some pictures of his own. Harry has never tried to draw pictures before (the Dursleys, it seems, were not big on creativity and disapproved of artistic hobbies as 'time-wasting nonsense', and beneath that Remus gets the sense that Harry was strongly discouraged from engaging in any sort of activity that would leave a physical trace of his presence) but he agrees that it might be fun to try, and takes the pencils and pad of paper with him when he goes to sit on the couch. Remus turns back to put the kettle on, aware that Sirius has been trailing around after him since he got up from the table, giving him concerned looks. 'Moony,' he says, quietly, almost like a warning. 'Tea, Pads?' asks Remus, pulling one mug from the cupboard and brushing fingertips against a second. Sirius ignores this, and instead glares at him and says, 'You need to lie down.' Remus sighs-- he'd guessed this was coming, especially after a moon as bad as this last one, still too recent for his fresh scars to have healed-- but the inconveniences of the lunar cycle can't be helped. 'We have to decide what to do about the Dursleys,' he says, leaning his hands on the countertop (and trying to ignore the way his healing skin pulls over his ribs). 'You know as well as I do it's been left too long already.' Sirius scowls, and huffs, and then shoves himself between Remus and the stove. 'Fine. We can talk while you're lying down. Go on; I'll bring your tea.' He says this last as though he means to add that he does remember how to make tea, thank you very much, so stop being so bloody difficult Moony. Remus considers it, and gives in-- he's too tired to argue, especially since Sirius seems to have found a fresh burst of energy and is channeling all of it into Taking Care Of Remus (just the way he always used to) and Remus knows from years of experience that when Sirius works himself up into this sort of fixation he's all but impossible to talk down. And it seems to benefit Sirius's mental state to have a concrete task to focus on, and Remus supposes there's no logical reason why they can't talk in the bedroom just as well as here. It's wasted energy, he tells himself as he enters his bedroom, and it's worth eating his pride if it helps Sirius. ...And even Sirius at his most insufferable is preferable to being alone. Remus has never liked being taken care of (and Sirius can be especially frustrating about it) but he also knows that he has smiled more in these last couple of days than in the past three and a half years combined, and can't even remember when he last had a proper laugh. Those years taught him that he is in fact perfectly capable of being self-sufficient, and he knows he could do it again if necessary. It was also absolutely dreadful and he would rather not repeat the experience. He positions his pillows against the wall and sits against them with his legs stretched out in front of him. It feels nicer than he really wants to admit-- he's used to ignoring all the small bone-deep aches that follow each transformation, the waning moon only reluctantly giving up its hold on him... Sirius follows a few minutes later, holding two mugs of tea in one hand and one of the kitchen chairs in the other. He plonks the chair down next to the bed, then passes Remus one of the cups. 'Ta, Pads.' Remus sips his tea, and finds it exactly as he likes it-- in fact, it's better than he usually allows himself to make it, stronger and sweeter. 'You put too much sugar in,' he adds (without any real conviction). 'I find that rather difficult to believe,' Sirius says dryly, and sits down, his own mug between his hands. 'Right. Hell-muggles. Much as I was tempted to retroactively earn my murder conviction, I doubt that's in our best interest.' Remus is reasonably sure that he's being facetious, so he chooses not to comment on the subject of murder convictions, and simply nods. 'We want this done as quietly as possible. Obliviate all witnesses, and... ideally, find some way to reduce the chance of Harry's disappearance being connected to you.' 'No one saw me,' says Sirius. 'Not as a human, anyway... and it's only you and Wormtail who know about Padfoot.' But this last sounds almost like a question-- there's just the faintest hint of doubt in his tone, a slight uncertainty in the way his gaze flicks towards Remus. It's not that he doesn't trust Remus-- just that he doesn't expect their former loyalty to have held through the sort of unforgivable betrayal he was accused of. Remus can hardly fault him for wondering, though it stings a little to be reminded that they're not what they once were. 'No, I never told anyone,' Remus assures him gently. 'Revealing your animagus form would have implicated all of us, and I just wanted to...' He shakes his head. 'Well, Peter can't have done either, not without spoiling his cover, so Padfoot should be safe. But that's not what I meant-- it's the timing of it. You escape Azkaban, and not a month later Harry Potter goes missing...' Sirius blinks. 'Oh. Merlin Fuck.' He chews on a fingernail, his expression bleak. 'And they'll have to know I'd come straight to you...' 'No-- I doubt that,' says Remus. 'They all think you were in league with Voldemort, remember-- they most likely expect you to seek out former Death Eater allies, or attempt to make use of your family's assets. There's no reason for them to think you'd come here.' He snorts derisively. '...Well, unless it was to kill me-- finish off the last of your old school friends, since they think you did for James and Peter-- but I can't imagine anyone would be terribly fussed if you did.' Sirius makes a faint outraged noise at this, and Remus rolls his eyes. 'Pads, they didn't even bother to set a proper watch on Privet Drive, and they certainly value Harry's life far above mine.' 'Sodding Ministry,' Sirius grumbles, his eyes stormy, but he at least seems satisfied that they're not in imminent danger of a squad of aurors swooping down on them. He stares into his tea. '...So what now?' Remus taps a finger against the side of his mug, turning the problem over in his mind before he speaks again. 'We need to establish how many people know he's gone-- if it's still limited to the muggle police at this point, we should be able to cover it up well enough. Modify their memories, vanish all the records.' He sighs. 'But I suspect Dumbledore was keeping watch on Harry, even if the Ministry wasn't-- do you remember Arabella Figg?' Sirius gives him a blank look. 'Er-- should I?' Remus shrugs, and gives a brief summary of Figg's participation in the war and her presence in Little Whinging-- he doesn't know for sure to what extent she's involved, but he isn't willing to bet on it being a coincidence and can't imagine any other reason for her to be there except on Dumbledore's orders. 'Bastard,' Sirius mutters. 'So you think he knew what was going on, and just left Harry with those vile trolls anyway...?' 'It's hard to say,' says Remus tiredly. 'I... want to believe Dumbledore meant well, but for the moment I think we'll have to assume the worst. Either way, he wouldn't approve of us taking Harry in-- he made it quite clear that he found it inadvisable for me to see Harry at all, let alone--' 'He what?' Sirius jolts upright so abruptly that he sloshes tea over his fingers, though he's apparently too outraged to notice. 'He had no right-- never mind that you should have been the one to look after Harry in the first place-- we're his family for fuck's sake!' Remus rubs at his forehead. 'Dumbledore told me it was... well, Harry is famous, and he didn't think it would be wise for Harry to be exposed to that.' 'And what-- he didn't trust you to be discreet? You could've pretended to be a Muggle yourself if that was the concern.' In general, Sirius has always been quick to anger and equally quick to get over it, but Remus recognises the tight fury in his stormy eyes, flashing like the edge of a knife-- this is the rarer form of Sirius-anger, the sort where he digs his teeth in and refuses to let go. 'You should have been there,' he growls, his voice low, helpless. 'I know,' says Remus quietly. 'And I... I regret that now. But dwelling on it won't help us, or Harry.' Sirius hisses a breath out through his teeth. 'Fine.' He looks down at his tea for a few seconds, and dries his hand on his pyjama trousers, then takes a long drink. 'So. Reconnaissance, memory charms, get rid of the evidence.' He pauses again, thoughtfully this time. 'I suppose we'll have to give the Dursleys some sort of false memory for why Harry's gone, or else make them forget they ever had him... but memory charms can be broken, and that won't stop other people from noticing he's gone...' 'Mm, true,' says Remus. 'I was thinking-- if we're not too late to pull it off-- we might make it appear as though they moved away, went abroad and took Harry with them. If we time it right, we might even be able to make it appear as though they left prior to your escape.' Sirius gnaws on his thumbnail. 'That's not a bad idea, though there's not much window for it-- the Prophet ran a piece with a photo of him.' Sirius sets his tea aside and pulls a very ragged and much-folded sheet of newspaper from the pocket of his pyjamas and offers it to Remus. 'A little over a month before I escaped, by my reckoning.' Remus accepts it and carefully smooths it out to see-- the boy in the photograph is unmistakably Harry. 'They let you have newspapers?' Sirius shrugs, and looks as though he would rather not think about it. 'Begged it off some Ministry bloke.' 'It's not the front page, is it? I don't remember seeing this.' 'It was just after the full,' Sirius explains. 'And no, it was a few pages in.' Remus wonders again how Sirius was able to track the lunar cycle (he can't imagine Azkaban has windows, or clear skies overhead with all the dementors around) but he sets that mystery aside for later, as it's unlikely to be relevant to the matter at hand. 'Well, it's something to keep in mind, but we're getting ahead of ourselves a bit; it may not be plausible at all.' Sirius nods. 'We'll need another wand,' he says, 'before anything else.' Remus sighs. 'I know you don't like to be without, but can't that--' 'No-- not for me.' Sirius runs a hand through his hair, long dark strands slipping between his fingers. 'I... I know you're better cut out for this sort of spellwork, and it has to be someone able to blend in and navigate muggle areas, and one of us has to stay here and watch Harry. But you can't use your own-- we can't risk this being traced back to you, either.' 'I can't exactly walk into Diagon and buy a new one,' says Remus, hoping that it doesn't come across too bitter. 'You know I'm on the register-- the purchase of a wand would be flagged, and I'd have to explain to the Ministry what I need a second one for when the first is still in working order.' And he hasn't got the seven galleons to spare, either, but that's beside the point. Sirius lurches back to his feet, nearly knocking his chair over with the force of it. 'Those bastards-- they said that was a temporary measure!' 'I suppose they did,' Remus replies tightly. 'But we can't do anything about it now-- sit down, Pads.' Sirius doesn't sit. 'It's not right,' he snaps, pacing a tight circle around the small room. 'Them treating you like you're some sort of criminal when you've never--' 'We don't have time,' Remus cuts in, a touch irritably. 'We can't put this off, and drawing the Ministry's attention like that would be an even bigger risk than me using the wand I've got.' Sirius growls something unintelligible under his breath, then falls back into his chair and glares at the wall. Remus takes a deep breath and sips his tea-- thinking of the last year of the war, how Sirius grew increasingly bitter and angry, how Remus had spent more and more time away on those covert missions for Dumbledore until it seemed like he hardly saw Sirius at all except at the full moons... They hadn't spoken much, in the end, had kept far too many secrets and left too many unresolved arguments hanging between them-- now, Remus suspects that was where they'd gone wrong. '...I'll find you one,' says Sirius. 'I'll go tonight after dark.' Remus doesn't ask what Sirius is planning-- he's not sure he wants to know (and perhaps it's better if he doesn't). But he trusts Sirius-- he has to, knows they can't risk falling apart again. 'Don't be seen,' he says quietly. 'I won't,' says Sirius, with that understated intensity that he has when he sets aside the jokes and the air of idle disinterest and truly devotes himself to whatever he's doing. Raw naked energy, potent as the pull of the moon; Remus does not doubt for a moment that he will do exactly as he promises. It's a strange contradiction, he thinks-- that Sirius, who is at times the most ridiculous and unsubtle person Remus has ever known, can switch it off without any apparent effort and go silent as a ghost (James might have been the one with the invisibility cloak but it was Sirius who had mastered the art of walking silently, Sirius who didn't need to be invisible to go wandering the corridors at night without getting caught, Sirius whom they had only half-jokingly nicknamed after the spectral Padfoot). It's a side to him that Remus suspects few people have ever seen-- the man who could escape an impenetrable fortress in the middle of the sea, who could take Harry from the Muggles and bring the three of them back together and somehow not get caught in the act. Sirius Black, who seems to live and breathe magic, unstoppable, beautiful... Sirius watches him, eyes like bright silver-- he lifts his head slightly when he notices Remus watching him back. 'Moooony,' he says softly, 'you've gone all moony.' Remus snorts. 'What does that mean? I thought I was always Moony to you.' 'Yeah, well you've gone moonier than usual. All thinky, with the moony-face.' Sirius raises his eyebrows. 'You do that sometimes.' 'Hm. Do I?' 'I remember,' he says, vaguely. He tilts his head, studying Remus's face. 'What were you thinking?' 'Dunno.' Remus lifts his mug and slowly sips from it. He's not sure how to put it into words, not sure if he should even try. He sits straighter (his body protests the movement, but this time he hardly notices the aches) and smiles faintly at Sirius. 'I think it's a good plan. To start with, at least.' 'You always have the best plans,' says Sirius-- he stretches, leans over languidly to pick up his half-forgotten tea, the motion graceful in spite of the too-sharp angles of his limbs. Remus thinks about reaching out to touch Sirius's wrist, sticking out from the rolled-up cuff of the borrowed jumper-- those sleeves were too long even on Remus; on Sirius's skeletal frame it makes him think of bird bones, slender and feather-light and far too fragile. He doesn't move, doesn't cross the distance between them; he murmurs something vaguely agreeable, and they both sip their tea in companionable silence. The rest of the day seems to pass quickly-- Remus enchants a couple of (technically illegal) portkeys in case they need to make a quick escape with Harry, and doubles the wards and sets proximity alarms to notify them of any approaching wizards other than the two of them. Sirius follows him around, brushing fingertips over the walls-- he can't help with the casting without a wand, but he can sense the delicate weave of spellwork and makes occasional suggestions. Once satisfied with the spells, they all sit on the couch and Harry shows them his pictures, which include two attempts at drawing Padfoot and quite a lot of snakes-- Remus asks if Harry likes snakes (hoping that this will discourage Sirius from declaring his own feelings on the matter) and Harry shrugs and explains that they're much easier to draw than dogs because they're 'long and squiggly and have no legs'. Harry asks if either of them ever draw pictures, and Sirius promptly answers that Remus is 'quite good' (before Remus can object) so he finds one of his notebooks with some sketches in it. Most of these are diagrams of plants known to have magical properties, done several months ago for a book on the subject (herbology is not his primary field of study, but he's decent enough at it, and the schedule for this sort of freelance work is flexible enough to accommodate the lunar cycle). Remus is quite sure that Harry will find the illustrations dull, but he doesn't seem to mind the spontaneous herbology lesson-- and even Sirius (who never had any patience for revising back in school) sits quietly and listens, watching Remus intently as he identifies each of the plants. They make spaghetti for dinner that night, with marinara sauce from a jar (a poor substitute for homemade, but it's at least passable, and none of them are inclined to be picky). Sirius, in his ongoing vendetta against table manners, teaches Harry to slurp his noodles-- the pair of them are enjoying themselves far too much for Remus to tell them off properly, though he does send them to the washroom to clean the streaks of sauce off their faces before he'll let them near his books again. After they've finished the washing-up, Remus reads from the grimoire, this time going through the chapter on dragons; Sirius gets up halfway through the descriptions of different dragon breeds and goes to change into the clothes Remus found for him to wear on his wand excursion-- a pair of old jeans charmed from their original faded denim blue to a dark grey, a plain t-shirt, a hooded jacket and a scarf to cover his face. He pauses to wish Harry good night, nods to Remus, and then slips out into the dark. When asked, Remus explains to Harry that Padfoot is looking for something and he'll be back before morning; he goes back to the book and tries to lose himself to the words (tries not to let himself think of other times Sirius walked off into the night, many times when he came back with something in his eyes like he'd lost pieces of himself to the unending war, and the one time he didn't come back at all, lost to betrayals and dementors and the questions no one ever bothered to ask). Harry starts to nod off halfway through the segment on Romanian Longhorns, and Remus sets the book aside and pulls the blankets up over him; with little else to do but wait for Sirius to return (and aware that he ought to conserve his energy for the tasks ahead) Remus goes to lie down in his own bed, though he doesn't expect he'll be able to sleep, not while he's worrying about Sirius, somewhere out in the night... He waits in the dark, paces through dusty broken rooms; the floorboards creak under his weight and he hates the way they feel under the pads of his feet. He was meant for deep forests, broad fields, cold night air across his face and wind rippling through his thick fur; he should be running wild and free beneath the stars with the Moon singing in his veins. They are late; they should be here. He growls, snaps, scratches and howls at one of the boarded-up windows. He hates this prison, this box of dead wood; the others should be here by now-- Voices, voices beneath the floor, voices underground. Loud, bickering. Human. He can't quite track what they're saying, won't remember later even if he could. Blood, he smells blood and sweat and fear. He is a hunter; they are loud and slow and soft; they are prey. He is a hunter but it's something darker than hunger that drives him on, down to the bottom floor, to the trapdoor. He scratches at the floorboards-- they're close now, so close-- he gets claws and teeth under the trapdoor's warped edges and wrestles it open, squeezes himself down into the tunnel-- He can see them, wands bright in the dark. He can smell them; he tastes their fear on the air. Then they shout, different words this time; one wand flashes angry red and he scrambles back, growling, as the tunnel ceiling crumbles and falls in; he's trapped and can't reach, claws gouging at the earth as he snarls and snaps and howls and tears at the earth, tears at himself-- Remus jolts awake in the infirmary, feels as though his entire body has been wrung out; he's been torn apart and clumsily patched back together like Frankenstein's Monster, made of pieces not his own, unnatural and freakish, revolting and inhuman; his stomach churns and his limbs are filled with needles. It's the worst he's felt after a Wolf Night in a long time. He shifts onto his side (has to bite back a pained whimper) so he can reach for the basin Madam Pomfrey always leaves at his bedside-- and he notices that the bed immediately next to his is occupied (which is highly unusual, unprecedented); he sees the shaggy raven hair strewn like spilt ink across the pillowcase, clean white bandages, the smell of dried blood and stale sweat and old sick; he lies facing the wall, back and shoulders far too stiff to be asleep... As always, Remus remembers only a vague jumble of sensations from the night before-- fresh blood, fear, indistinct shouting-- remembers being horribly achingly alone, alone in his little wooden prison, alone and screaming and tearing at the walls and the earth-- fear, bloodlust, despair. He remembers human screams and blood in his teeth, and-- 'Pads?' he croaks, tastes the bile rising at the back of his own throat, no nonono not this not him-- Sirius jolts upright like he's been burnt, falls out of his bed in his haste to reach Remus's side, crawls across the floor as Remus retches helplessly into the basin-- Sirius's eyes are puffy red and his skin ashen and clammy and he whispers Moony Moony I'm so sorry I cocked it all up and I'm sorry I'm so sorry it was all my fault he found out he knows and I didn't mean to but I did and I'm sorry-- Remus must have drifted off after all, because he wakes with a start-- he grabs his wand and sits up, immediately alert and on edge thanks to the odd sixth sense he's always attributed to the wolfish part of him-- and half a second later, he hears the outer door bang open, immediately followed by muffled swearing in what's unmistakably Sirius's voice. The swearing cuts off just as abruptly as Remus heads out into the hall-- he can hear Sirius speaking in a much quieter tone, assuring Harry that everything is fine. 'Expelliarmus,' says Remus from the shadows of the hall, and Sirius whirls to face him with a wild look in his eyes as an unfamiliar wand flies from his grasp-- Remus freezes up as though he were the one hit by an unexpected spell (Sirius's alarmed look hitting him like a punch to the gut, knocking the breath out of him) and he misses the catch, the new wand clattering to the floor just behind him. 'Sorry, Pads,' he manages as he forces his limbs back into motion, stoops to pick it up-- he feels bad for startling Sirius, but he knows the wand is much more likely to favour him if he has 'won' it fairly, and the memory charms he'll probably have to perform with it are such delicate and fiddly things... Sirius doesn't reply, and he's still standing stiffly when Remus glances up again-- he looks worse than merely startled, his expression tight with pain, and that's when Remus realises he can smell fresh blood. Remus shoves the new wand into his pocket and stands slowly, taking a careful step towards Sirius-- he's got the scarf wrapped around his right hand, presumably to stop the bleeding. But he catches Remus's eye and gives his head an almost imperceptible shake, shooting a brief glance towards the couch. Remus nods back towards the hall with a pointed look, stepping aside to give Sirius space to pass behind him. Harry watches them uncertainly, and Remus gives him a tired smile. 'Everything's fine, Harry-- we didn't mean to wake you.' 'Are you sure Padfoot's alright?' asks Harry quietly. 'Yes-- I promise.' Harry still seems a little concerned, but he settles back down. 'Okay. Good night, Moony.' 'Night Harry,' he says, and follows Sirius into the washroom-- he casts a quick muffliato as he closes the door, which turns out to have been an excellent idea, as Sirius lets out another explosive burst of swearing as soon as the latch clicks. Remus gives him a moment to catch his breath, keeping a steady grip on his shoulder, before reaching for his injured hand. 'What happened?' 'Fucking splinched,' Sirius croaks. 'Was going fine til I-- bloody apparition, I knew it was a shit awful idea but I just-- I wanted to get back quickly and I--' 'Don't worry about that now,' Remus says gently. 'How bad is it?' 'Couple fingernails,' Sirius answers, hissing as Remus peels back the scarf. 'Circe's tits, that smarts...' In better times, Remus might have rolled his eyes (trust Sirius Black to get all dramatic over some missing fingernails) but that sort of teasing feels a little too mean-spirited under the circumstances... and in all fairness, the injury does look rather painful. 'Episkey,' Remus murmurs, which takes care of the bleeding at least-- he's fairly sure there's a charm that would grow them back right away, but it's one he never had cause to learn... Up close, Remus can't help but notice that Sirius's intact fingernails aren't in the best shape either-- they're ragged and cracked and gnawed painfully short. Sirius was always a bit fidgety, prone to chewing things while deep in thought, but Remus can't remember his nails ever looking this bad before, thinks maybe he was once a lot better at covering up the evidence-- 'If you're trying to read my fortune, Moony, it's called palmistry for a reason,' Sirius drawls. Remus jumps and lets go-- Sirius has evidently regained his composure enough to make stupid jokes, and also notice how long Remus was staring at his hand. 'You know I never bothered with Divination,' he says with a weak smile, hoping it comes across less awkward than it feels. 'As you shouldn't. Bloody useless business, trying to tell the future.' Sirius looks down at his missing nails, a bit morosely. 'Wouldn't have helped me anyway-- should have known better, apparating on a strange wand, yet here I am, sans fingernails...' 'On the bright side, you didn't lose any important bits-- fingernails grow back.' Sirius winces. 'Urgh, let's not talk about splinched bits-- I mean, can you imagine the accidental magic reversal people showing up, and then you have to explain what you're missing and drop your pants so they can reattach--' 'Anyway!!' says Remus loudly, turning back to the medicine cabinet (while silently cursing Sirius's tendency to respond to this sort of topic by sharing his horrible mental images in the most graphic terms possible). 'We should get some murtlap essence on those, before...' Sirius puts his arms around Remus from behind. 'Nahh, don't worry. I'll get it later.' Remus has to remind himself to breathe-- Sirius is too light, too thin, but his embrace is surprisingly strong. Remus swats him gently on the nose. 'Off.' Sirius squeezes once, then releases him, leaning against the wall. 'So you've got the wand,' he begins (as though he's asking what next). Remus draws it out again-- it's thicker and perhaps an inch shorter than his own, made of a very pale wood. The feel of it isn't quite natural, but it sparks halfheartedly when he gives it a wave. 'This should work-- er, thanks. For finding it.' Again, he tries not to think about exactly where it came from. 'No one saw you?' 'Moony, please, have a little faith-- aren't I the sneakiest person you know? Expert Stealth Operative of the Merry Marauders, Most Skilled Discoverer of Secret Passages and Intrepid Explorer of the Untold Mysteries Within...' 'You also had the most detentions of everyone I know,' says Remus, 'from all the times you were not sufficiently sneaky.' 'We do not speak of past time--' His expression goes abruptly from facetious to haunted. '--served,' he finishes, barely above a whisper. Remus pockets the wand again, and (before he can let himself second-guess it) he pulls Sirius against his chest and holds him securely. Sirius returns the embrace, taking deep measured breaths, while Remus rubs slow circles across his back (the smell of him is just as Remus remembers, beneath the sharp metallic blood-scent that still lingers in the air-- a bit like dog fur, stormy winds and something faintly electric, that particular warmish smell unique to him). 'Are you sure you'll be okay?' asks Remus, a moment later. 'Staying with Harry while I...' Sirius huffs out a breath, and Remus can sense he's rolling his eyes even with his face smushed against Remus's shoulder. 'Course-- that's the easy part, innit? Keep an eye on the kid, don't explode anything... think I can manage well enough.' 'I could lend you my wand,' Remus begins, but Sirius shakes his head. 'We've got the wards, and the emergency portkey-- you're more likely to run into trouble, and...' He grimaces, dropping his arms and stepping back. 'Better not risk apparating on a strange wand.' Remus winces at that. 'Fair enough.' Sirius gives him a faint smile. 'Wouldn't want to splinch your bits...' Remus shoves him gently. 'Sod off.' Sirius sighs and pushes his hair back from his face. '...You sure you're up for all this?' he asks softly. 'I have to be, don't I?' says Remus. 'This is too important to leave up to chance...' He smiles wryly. 'And you know perfectly well that I've pushed through worse days for a lot less.' Sirius makes no effort to return the smile-- he leans against the edge of the sink, his shoulders tense. 'Sorry I... dumped all this on you. It's not fair that you--' 'Oh, stuff it, Pads.' Remus grabs him by a bony wrist, gives his uninjured hand a firm squeeze. 'Look-- you did the right thing. I won't have you thinking that coming here was a mistake.' He turns Sirius's hand over in his own, massaging slow circles into his palm. 'I'm helping because I want to-- this is important to me, too.' Sirius won't quite meet his eyes. 'Just... don't overdo it, Remus. Don't...' He sighs. 'We need you in one piece, alright?' Remus snorts. 'You know werewolves don't break easily.' 'You're still human,' says Sirius, very quietly. Remus knows Sirius is referring to human limitations-- but it always throws him off, how easily Sirius can say that sort of thing when so many would disagree. Human. Remus was so young when he received the bite that he has no recollection of being properly human, of a time without the Wolf under his skin. And yet... '...I suppose I should get started, then,' he hears himself saying. 'It's still the middle of the night,' Sirius objects, scowling. 'You need--' 'I slept while you were out,' says Remus mildly. 'And you always used to insist it was The Marauder Way, that we do our best work after dark-- this will go easier if I reach the Dursleys before they wake up. It's a thursday; I would assume they work during the day.' Sirius blinks, and sighs. 'Fair point. The husband does, anyway; Petunia stays home with Cousin Piggy.' Remus snorts and raises an eyebrow at this, and Sirius shrugs, plainly not sorry. 'Harry says he looks like a pig in a wig, and I must say the description suits him.' Remus tries not to smile (he really shouldn't encourage that sort of thing) but he's not sure he's successful. 'Try not to get up to too much mischief while I'm gone,' he says, turning towards the door. 'I like having my furniture intact.' Sirius catches his wrist as he reaches for the knob, expression tight and drawn-- 'Wait,' he says quietly, and looks around the room as though he's concerned some invisible (and scentless) person might overhear-- and then he leans in close and murmurs a handful of spells, describing their effects without quite meeting Remus's eyes. And it's clear why: they belong to a category of magic that Remus has never used before, and which they certainly never studied at Hogwarts-- spells for altering and erasing memories that are more powerful than obliviate and more delicate and targeted than confundus, spells to coax truths out or extract them by force. Remus doesn't ask where Sirius learnt that sort of magic (he can guess well enough) and just nods grimly-- both of them hoping it won't be necessary yet fully prepared for that eventuality. Remus hates the thought of doing anything that might harm other people (even if they've wronged him, even when they're as horrible as the Dursleys); it feels too much like letting the Wolf win. But he understands that it's up to them to keep Harry safe, and he'll do whatever it takes to ensure Harry will remain in their care-- because Sirius is right; they are his family, and Lily would never have trusted her sister with Harry, even as a last resort. He quietly leaves his flat and locks the door, and walks two blocks to the nearest apparition point, and vanishes with a faint pop. * * * When Harry wakes that morning, Padfoot promptly sits up at the far end of the couch next to Harry's feet, and when Harry gives him a very sleepy good morning he turns back into a person and tells Harry that Moony already left to take care of Important Business, so it's just the two of them until he gets back. Harry wonders out loud what they'll do all day, and Padfoot gives him a blank look and then suggests they start with breakfast. 'We've got eggs now,' he says. 'I think I can manage eggs without burning them... or there's cornflakes, if you like.' 'Let's do cornflakes,' says Harry. He doesn't add that he would have preferred eggs, but Padfoot's comment about burning things isn't very reassuring, and Harry would sooner have cereal than burnt eggs-- he'd had to eat burnt eggs on one memorable occasion with the Dursleys, because Aunt Petunia hadn't wanted to 'waste food' and had seemed convinced that it was Harry's fault the eggs had burnt, and he's not eager to repeat the experience. Padfoot nods and rolls to his feet, and Harry follows him, thinking that Padfoot isn't the sort of person who would force him to eat anything nasty and burnt-- but he decides that it's best to play it safe anyway. Burnt eggs smell very bad, after all, and even if he didn't have to eat them he and Padfoot would still have to spend all day in a flat that smells of burnt eggs, and Harry would really rather not do that either. So Harry sits at the table and Padfoot pulls out bowls and spoons for each of them (because he did promise Mr Moony that he'd try to be better about manners, after all-- or perhaps it's just that cereal would be terribly messy to try and eat with their hands) and then sets the box of cereal and the bottles of milk and orange juice beside the bowls, and asks if Harry wants to pour his own. Harry says yes (because he's used to doing things for himself and would feel a bit awkward just sitting there while Padfoot serves him) and fills up his bowl-- a little bit past the point where Aunt Petunia would have snapped at him for taking 'more than his share', but Padfoot obviously doesn't mind, barely glancing at Harry's portion as he reaches for the box. To Harry's great astonishment, Padfoot pours orange juice on his cornflakes instead of milk. This is made even more startling by the fact that he quite plainly did so on purpose. Padfoot puts the milk and juice away again and then turns his chair around backwards before sitting down to eat his breakfast. After a moment, Harry asks if juice on cereal is a common thing for magical people, and Padfoot shrugs and says no not really, and puts a large spoonful of orange-flavoured cornflakes into his mouth as though this is completely normal. The Dursleys probably would have been appalled, because the Dursleys hate when anyone does something the least bit different or unexpected. Harry says so, and then adds that anything the Dursleys hate is fine with him (even if he'll probably stick with milk for his own cereal) and Padfoot gives him an odd thoughtful look over his bowl. 'That's sort of why I tried it in the first place, you know,' he says eventually. 'Well, not your Dursleys specifically, but... people like them. People who think there's only one right way of doing anything.' 'So you put orange juice in your cornflakes just to be different?' Harry knows how wearying it can be, trying to fit in with people like the Dursleys and all of their seemingly-nonsensical rules (especially since there's always some new bit you've never heard of before that you only learn about after you've already messed up) but he thinks that going out of your way to be different all the time sounds every bit as tiresome. Padfoot snorts, and seems to pick up on what Harry's getting at just from his tone. 'I put orange juice in because I like it-- but I'd never have known I liked it if I hadn't tried the first time.' His mouth quirks into a faint smile. 'Pumpkin juice is even better, but that's not really a Thing for muggles.' Harry didn't even know you could make juice from pumpkins, and wonders what it even tastes like (Padfoot gives him a blank look and a shrug and answers like pumpkin, which is not the least bit helpful) but then the subject also reminds Harry of how Padfoot said he'd never had much in the way of 'muggle candy' (implying that there's such a thing as magical candy) and he's very curious about what sorts of foods magical people eat and how they're different from regular food. When prompted, Padfoot says that there's a chain of magical candy-shops called Honeydukes that carry all sorts of things Harry has never heard of before (in addition to common items like plain chocolate bars and fudge); Padfoot tells him about every-flavour beans (which have all sorts of nasty flavours in addition to the nice ones), and sugar quills and pepper imps and fizzing whizbees, and the 'specialty' items like blood-flavoured lollies and cockroach clusters (both of which Padfoot has tried as a result of dares and lost bets; he describes the cockroaches as 'crunchy' and 'surprisingly decent if you're not weird about eating bugs', and says the blood lollies taste 'exactly as you'd expect' and are 'for vampires, probably'). Padfoot suggests that maybe they can talk Moony into picking up some treats from Honeydukes for them, and Harry can see how they compare to Mars bars. Harry says he would like that, though he does wish that they could all go together. Padfoot looks very sad at that, and says he wishes they could too, more than anything-- which Harry is fairly sure has little to do with the candy shop and is really about the whole situation, Harry's parents being gone and everyone thinking Padfoot has done awful things... While living with the Dursleys, Harry had learnt the hard way that some topics are simply Forbidden (Harry's parents being at the top of this list, as well as any mention of magic or things that could be perceived as such) and since speaking of Forbidden Topics resulted in long stretches locked in his cupboard, Harry got into the habit of carefully avoiding them. Harry pays attention with Padfoot, too-- not because he might get in trouble (he knows by now that Padfoot won't be angry with him if he says the wrong thing) but Harry has noticed that Padfoot will sometimes trip up over certain topics, going distant and silent, and Harry doesn't want to make Padfoot sad even if it's an accident. Harry asks what other interesting foods Padfoot has tried (since the subject of food seems relatively safe) and this carries them through the end of breakfast-- Harry has never had the luxury of being a picky eater and is used to accepting whatever he's been given even if he's not particularly fond of it (Dudley was often finicky and had to have everything exactly as he liked it, but Harry knew that if he ever tried to complain he'd get nothing at all). For Padfoot, though, it's clearly more than a matter of survival-- he seems to genuinely enjoy trying strange new things, especially when other people around him claim that they're 'weird' or 'gross' (which, Padfoot explains to Harry, usually just means unfamiliar, and Padfoot thinks this is a silly reason not to try something). Padfoot has eaten octopus and brains and snails and bugs, tiny peppers that make your mouth burn and hot mustard that feels a bit like being punched in the nose, and he can't think of any food he truly disliked enough that he wouldn't have it again, even if it's not a favourite. Curious, Harry asks which are his favourites, and Padfoot thinks for a moment and says curry, probably-- and then he goes a bit wistful and says Harry's grandmother made the best naan and Padfoot liked the crispy almost-burnt bits most of all, and samosas with potato and lamb and green onion, and the candied fennel seeds she'd send as a special treat which Harry's dad was a bit self conscious about but which Padfoot loved and when Mrs Potter had learnt of this (and that Padfoot's parents never sent him anything) she would send him little packages of his own. Mrs Potter was very kind, says Padfoot quietly. Harry has thought about his own parents a lot, but somehow it never occurred to him to wonder about grandparents-- he knows that Aunt Petunia's (and his mum's) parents died years before either Harry or Dudley were born, and while Uncle Vernon's are alive Harry has never met them (he vaguely recalls that they had retired to someplace tropical before Harry came to live with the Dursleys, who of course had no desire to spend the extra money bringing Harry on holiday with them, and Aunt Marge was the only Dursley relative to ever visit Privet Drive) so Harry's only experience with grandparents is through the expensive gifts everyone except him would receive on birthdays and christmases. He knows that his Potter grandparents must be dead too (the Dursleys always complained about getting stuck with him and told him he ought to be more grateful because there was no one else to take him) and wishes he might have known them; even just based on the handful of things Padfoot has told him, Harry thinks they must have been very pleasant and kind. But Padfoot has gone all distant and sad, and doesn't seem in the mood to talk more; they put their dishes in the sink and Harry sits back down at the table, and thinks that it's very strange to have a whole day all to himself like this, and he's at a bit of a loss for what they're supposed to do until Mr Moony gets back. While he was living with the Dursleys on Privet Drive, Harry would help Aunt Petunia with simple chores whenever she needed another pair of hands (usually tidying up around the house, or pulling weeds in the front or back gardens) and when he wasn't working he was expected to stay in his cupboard, or at least out of sight. He'd spent many long hours lying in the dark, trying to remember what his parents were like or just imagining going on fantastical Dursley-free adventures... but that feels odd now that he really is free of the Dursleys, and Mr Moony isn't around to suggest activities to fill the time, and Padfoot seems to have even less of an idea of what they should do than Harry does. After several minutes of thoughtful silence (in which Padfoot sits statue-still and stares fixedly at a blank patch of wall) Harry says that he thinks he will draw some more pictures-- and when Padfoot twitches and blinks as though he forgot Harry was there (or perhaps like he's the one who isn't entirely present), Harry adds that he won't mind if Padfoot needs to be a dog for a while. After all, Padfoot is very nice company whichever shape he's in, and Harry wants him to feel better. Padfoot looks very grateful for this, and when Harry lies down on the rug with his pad of paper, the large black dog curls up at his side. * * * By the time Remus has finished with the Dursleys, he considers it a miracle of restraint that he managed not to cause some form of accidental magical calamity within Number Four-- the Dursleys are, without a doubt, some of the most unpleasant people he has ever had the misfortune to meet (even under the magically-induced trances he'd put them into for questioning) and the cold fury shivers wolflike beneath his carefully constructed calm. He understands Sirius's desperation, the righteous fury, the refusal to back down. And he hates it, hates that Harry should ever have been subjected to those people, that any of this should have been necessary. Fortunately, Remus has had two decades of experience in controlling his temper (werewolves cannot afford to get angry, after all) and he was able to accomplish what he came for without setting fire to the drapes or shattering all of the windows in the house-- after taking careful notes on everything the Dursleys told him, Remus carefully and thoroughly modified their memories and instilled in them an overpowering desire to live abroad, and then he left the house. He had looked inside the cupboard under the stairs on his way out, and now he cannot stop thinking of Harry trapped inside that narrow dark space for hours at a time. It's maddening, that this should have been allowed to happen-- that no one was watching. Maddening, and terrifying, when Remus thinks of the possibility Sirius had brought up, that anyone might have been able to find the house had they put in the least bit of effort (it had taken Sirius a couple of weeks at most, even fresh out of Azkaban, and Remus had easily located the house on only Sirius's vague description and several-day-old scents) and there were no wards or alarm-spells to stop them approaching (the Marauders had all become experts in detecting location-based defensive magic while exploring and mapping Hogwarts; Remus is quite confident that he would have been able to detect them if they were present). Only Arabella Figg was there to check in on Harry with any frequency, and (as Remus discovered upon questioning her) she only saw him occasionally, and was powerless to help when she saw he was unhappy (she had meant well, and hadn't known the full extent of the Dursleys' abuse, so Remus feels a little bit bad about the memory spells-- but it's necessary, and he performs them without hesitation). Remus leaves Arabella Figg's house on Wisteria Walk, and spends the next several hours following up on other leads-- there's the hospital where Dudley's arm was treated, and the police officers whom Vernon shouted at over the telephone and who later took statements concerning the incident, and then all of the coworkers to whom those people might have mentioned important details and the reports they have filed for their records-- Remus modifies memories and vanishes bits of paperwork, all while bluffing his way through areas he definitely should not have been able to get into (being neither hospital staff nor law enforcement). Remus once again counts himself very fortunate that he grew up with a muggle mother who taught him to navigate the nonmagical world, as he cannot imagine he would get even half as far without a lot of past experience. It would have been exhausting work under the best of circumstances, and it's only the third day since the full (still too soon for his injuries to have healed completely, even with Sirius's ministrations and his accelerated werewolf-healing) and there's the emotional strain as well as the physical-- the reality of Harry's living situation has left him sick with guilt and shame, and Remus has a deep dislike of hospitals (both magical and muggle) so as the hours drag on he begins to feel as though he's stuck in a bland sanitised sort of purgatory, its chemical cleaners unable to entirely cover up the lingering reek of illness and death. Still, he forces himself to keep at it (this is too important to put off after all, and the more he does now the less there will be tomorrow) and only lets himself leave when he's hit the point where he can hardly stay upright. Not trusting himself to apparate, he heads to the nearest train station and confunds the muggle at the ticket window into giving him a free ticket (because he hasn't the money to buy one, and this day has already been so rife with illegal magic that he cannot bring himself to be bothered) and in this way he makes the trip back to London, and then onto the Underground (courtesy of another well-placed confundus). The sky is fully dark by the time he leaves the tube station nearest his flat, the waning gibbous glowing through the city's haze-- he lives in London out of necessity (for its near-endless supply of crap dead-end jobs he hasn't yet been sacked from) but Remus grew up in the remote Welsh countryside and sometimes he desperately misses being able to see the stars on clear nights, the cool fresh smell of rain sweeping over the rugged rocky hills... He makes it down the stair without falling over his own feet and stumbles through the door, and in a flash Sirius is there, placing steadying hands on his shoulders and making faint concerned noises at him. 'Pads, it's fine,' he mumbles (with a feeble and ultimately unsuccessful attempt at shrugging Sirius off). 'I'm not hurt, just tired.' Sirius steers him over into a chair anyway, puts the kettle on and sets a bowl in front of him-- he's hardly eaten anything since he left before dawn that morning (just the sandwich he'd brought in his coat pocket) so he probably needs it, but his body can't seem to decide whether to be queasy or ravenous (a feeling he's well acquainted with from two decades of post-full-moon mornings). Left to his own devices, he probably would have skipped the solid food entirely and just had tea and perhaps a dose of sleeping draught, but Sirius is watching him pointedly so he manages a weak smile and picks up the fork. He knows that he should be filling Sirius in on the parts he's taken care of and new information acquired, but all he can think of is that dark little cupboard and the way the Dursleys sneered and talked about Harry like he was a burden and a freak, something nasty and subhuman (and he thinks of the long sequence of healers who always spoke of him as though he wasn't there and cringed from touching him, the number of times his parents would take him tightly by the hand and hurry him out of the room and tell him it was their problem and not his but that never made it easier to bear). The nausea doesn't go away; Remus feels like he's trying to eat glue. Sirius sets out mugs and teabags, squints impatiently at the kettle, then comes to stand just behind Remus, putting hands on his shoulders, thumbs moving in small tentative circles. 'Moony,' he says, and it's like he's saying what's wrong, talk to me. Remus forces down one more mouthful, then gives up and leaves the fork in the still-mostly-full bowl, takes a deep breath. 'I should've looked in on him sooner,' he says quietly, bitterly. 'I... truly never imagined...' Sirius crouches down next to him, takes his hand, looks up at him with eyes soft and sad. 'Of course you didn't,' he says quietly, gently. 'This isn't on you, Remus.' He can feel the anger like the swell of the tides, boiling up from somewhere beneath the exhaustion. 'D'you know what he told me?' he bites out. 'Harry is safe. In that way of his, like he knows everything and has your best interests at heart-- he swore to me that Harry would be safe, and I just-- I took him at his bloody word and walked away.' Remus presses his free hand over his eyes. 'Harry was... I was all he had left. If you hadn't escaped and brought him here...' 'You can't have known,' Sirius murmurs, massaging slow circles into the palm of Remus's hand. 'We both cocked up and trusted the wrong people-- so of course you thought Harry would be safer with the muggles than with you.' He sighs, and grimaces. 'And I could hardly blame you for that-- I very nearly convinced myself of the same, even after seeing what they were like.' Remus lifts his head, eyebrows disappearing into his fringe. 'Did you really?' Sirius snorts. 'I thought at least he'd have... well, a roof over his head, for one. I had no home of my own to offer him, no resources, only the prospect of a life on the run... the life of an escaped convict.' His eyes go distant, desolate, like cold barren stone and iron-grey seas. 'I knew that would be hell for a kid to go through, and I was... honestly, I was terrified I'd be even worse. I didn't exactly have good role models growing up-- I don't know the first thing about being a decent parent.' 'You had the Potters,' says Remus gently. 'And you were always wonderful with Harry, right from the start.' Sirius glances up at him, hesitates. 'It's... still difficult for me to remember any of that,' he admits quietly. 'I had wondered,' Remus murmurs, and squeezes his fingers. 'But you still got him out.' 'I couldn't leave him behind, when it came down to it-- because they were that awful.' He sits straighter. 'But what I meant to say is, maybe Dumbledore was counting on that-- that you'd accept Harry was better off there and stay away.' Sirius shakes his head. 'We can't know why he wanted Harry with them, but--' Remus sits straighter at that-- 'I might, actually,' he says, and digs the little notepad out of his pocket with his free hand. 'Dumbledore left a letter for Petunia-- when I questioned her, she mentioned that it was the only reason they kept Harry at all.' Sirius's eyes snap up, intense and stormy, and his hands go still, fingers tight around Remus's. 'What did it say? Do you have it?' 'No-- she burnt it years ago-- but she told me what it said.' Remus sighs. 'Apparently, when Lily...' He looks over at the couch where Harry appears to be sleeping, then he pulls out his wand and silently casts a muffliato before continuing. 'Dumbledore thought that, in dying to protect Harry, Lily created a sort of protection spell over him-- very old and powerful blood-magic-- and that was why the AK rebounded. But the only way that protection could be sustained was if Harry lived with one who shared his mother's blood, and Petunia was the only other Evans left.' Sirius blinks, and scowls. 'That's a bloody awful reason to subject him to-- to all of that.' 'I know, but it seems that Dumbledore isn't convinced that Voldemort is really gone for good,' Remus adds quietly. 'He thought Harry would need that protection again one day.' 'Sod that,' Sirius growls. 'None of the rest of us who fought Voldemort ever had special protection spells; none of the Muggles he murdered had-- we'll protect Harry, and when he's old enough we'll teach him to protect himself-- he'll be raised a Marauder; he'll have the best chance we can give him.' Sirius's eyes are hard. 'But any magic that puts blood before true family can go hang-- nothing is worth leaving a child in a home like that. Nothing.' Remus nods, and squeezes his fingers. 'I know, Sirius... I know.' Sirius lets out a deep breath, then releases Remus's hand. 'You always were the reliable one, Moony...' He sits back on his heels. '...So, what's our status?' For a moment, Remus could almost imagine that they're back in Gryffindor Tower, plotting some new bit of mischief. He gives a tired smile. 'Surprisingly favourable, actually; the Dursleys hadn't reported Harry's disappearance at all, and I was able to reach Arabella Figg before she noticed and owled Dumbledore.' 'Oh. That's...' Sirius smiles back. 'That's good.' 'About the best we could hope for,' Remus agrees. 'So the Dursleys should be on their way out of the country by now, and Figg is under the assumption that this happened roughly a month ago and that Harry went with them when they left, and she believes that she did attempt to notify Dumbledore of their movements-- no such letter ever existed, of course, but owls do go astray every so often; it's plausible enough that no one should look too deeply into it.' He snorts. '...You know, we as a society like to poke fun at muggles for their tendency to come up with mundane explanations for magical phenomena, but I rather think that's a human tendency, not a uniquely muggle one.' Sirius gives a short laugh. 'Much easier to blame the owl than to catch a mischievous Marauder on a mission.' He grins, the crooked one Remus loves best. 'Especially our Moony-- has anyone told you lately that you're very talented and clever?' 'Only you, Pads-- and it's for the best if no one else catches on; we're far less likely to get caught if no one's paying attention.' Sirius gives a faint discontented noise that's half sigh and half almost-doglike whine. 'I don't like you being underappreciated...' Remus lifts a shoulder. 'It's not up to us, I'm afraid,' he says mildly. 'Anyway, that was the easiest bit, as they kept quiet about Harry and were already favourable to the idea of moving-- but Dursley had made a horrid fuss about you; it took the better part of the day to track down and erase all of the dog reports. And there's still a few loose ends to take care of-- the neighbours on Privet Drive, and Vernon Dursley's workplace, and--' He breaks off, having noticed the copious plumes of steam rising from the stove. 'Ah-- Pads, the kettle--' 'Bugger,' says Sirius, jumping up to turn it off. Remus lifts his hand and makes a cutting motion, dispelling the muffliato. 'We won't be able to completely stop them from noticing he's gone,' he says, as Sirius pours their tea. 'Someone will have to notice eventually, but...' He smiles faintly. 'I'd say we've got a fair chance of pulling this off.' Sirius shoots Remus a disbelieving look over his shoulder. 'That sounds suspiciously like optimism, Moony... I didn't know you had it in you.' Remus hums, and thinks of Sirius, trying to apologise for coming back-- for coming to Remus with a problem too big to manage on his own, for not giving Remus a choice (as if there ever was another option Remus could have chosen). Remus takes a deep breath, and settles on the truth, much as it hurts to say. 'This is the first thing I've had to look forward to since-- well, in years. I think I deserve a bit of optimism.' Sirius's eyes go sad, and he turns back, offering Remus the cup of tea-- there's an unspoken question in the gesture, one Remus isn't entirely certain how to decipher (not why, because that answer is obvious-- Remus can't imagine how long it might have taken him to find something else to truly live for; perhaps never). 'Moony...' He accepts the cup (has no other answer to give). 'Ta, Pads.' Sirius regards him pensively, and then drops into one of the empty chairs, slouching against the edge of the table with his legs stretched out (because Sirius Black never could permit himself to sit in a chair like a sensible person) and watches as Remus sips his tea. 'So what exactly is it, then?' he asks after a moment. 'That you're looking forward to. Assuming this whole endeavour doesn't go tits-up.' Remus raises his eyebrows. 'I should think that's obvious. I have you, and Harry.' Sirius rolls his eyes. 'I mean specifically-- how do you see this working?' He slides lower in his chair, his expression suddenly bleak. 'It's just that I... I can't. Anything past right now, or maybe the next couple of days... if I try to think about it I go blank, or... or I start thinking that something terrible is bound to happen.' Remus sighs. 'Honestly...? I haven't thought that far ahead either. And I think that's fine, for now-- we'll finish getting this bit sorted, and then we'll think about the next bit.' His mouth twitches. 'No battle plan survives first contact with the enemy, as they say-- I don't think we'll be any worse off for it.' Sirius lets out a deep breath. 'I suppose not.' Silence falls between them, and Remus sips his tea (he really will have to convince Sirius to put less sugar in; at this rate he'll run out and won't be able to afford more) and he lets the calm wash over him like a fall of rain, tumbling grey skies and cool clean air... And, at last, he feels the anger that has gripped him since early morning slowly melt away (like the full moon dipping towards the horizon, its pale maddening glow fading into the coming dawn, its slow wane taking the Wolf along with it); in the sudden absence of tension he is left with bone-deep exhaustion, limbs that can never be entirely his own still echoing with the aftershocks of shattering and splintering and (only reluctantly) pulling back together... Some time later, Sirius slides off his chair and rises, taking the near-empty cup from Remus's hands. 'Come on, Moony,' he says softly, 'let's get you to bed.' Remus's legs are not inclined to cooperate, and Sirius pulls him up (and does not comment on the fact that Remus really Should Have Known Better and did in fact overdo it even after Sirius quite plainly advised him not to, though Remus can feel the tacit I told you so in the motion). He leans somewhat guiltily on Sirius's too-sharp shoulders (he knows he's heavier than he looks, dense werewolf bones and lean wiry muscle, and Sirius feels like spun glass beneath him) but somehow he makes it into bed without incident. Sirius shifts into his animagus form and jumps up beside him, and Remus drifts off with the familiar weight of the large black dog across his ankles, the scent of Padfoot warm and close on the air-- and it's the easiest he's slept in years.

When Shouto makes his way back to Yuuei, Midoriya and Bakugou in tow, he’s met by Aizawa at the entrance. “Dualwield,” Aizawa says, inclining his head. “We’ve got the villain in custody, the police are interrogating her as we speak.” Shouto nods in response, and then trails behind Aizawa as the other man leads the way into the school. Standing outside the interrogation room is Izuku, a few rips in his suit and a bruising cheek, but otherwise none the worse for wear. His grin is wide and happy, and Shouto feels his heart do a little flip in his chest at the look of excitement on his face. Shouto loves Izuku’s smiles, the ones that brighten any room that he’s in, even the small ones that are just for Shouto. Izuku turns that bright smile on him, and Shouto feels an answering smile spread over his cheeks. He steps forward and wraps his arms around Izuku, pressing a soft kiss to his mop of hair. “Ready to go home?” “Yep,” Izuku murmurs, eyes bright. “I miss home, Shou. And I’m pretty sure I’ve missed my weekly lunch with Ocha- oh god, she’s gonna kill me, Shou, I’ve never missed our weekly lunch before-” Shouto chuckles softly, and presses a kiss to Izuku’s lips to quiet him. “Calm down, ‘zu, there were extenuating circumstances, I’m sure she’ll cut you some slack.” Then Aizawa steps out of the interrogation room, and turns to Shouto and Izuku. “You can speak to her now, she doesn’t seem to have much malicious intent- she’s more of a petty criminal than a villain, really. She says she was only in the area of the attack because she was drawn to the chaos so she could do some breaking and entering unnoticed. Detective Tsukauchi seems to believe her, and with his truth quirk I’m inclined to trust his judgement.” “Alright then,” Izuku says, and Shouto recognises the shift in his expression as Izuku’s game face. “Let’s get home, Shou.” ”Oh, it’s you two,” the girl drawls when they step into the room, eyeing them. The girl is dressed simply in a tank top and jeans, her blonde hair pulled into a sloppy ponytail and an eyebrow arched. The only thing really of note about her appearance is the way her eyes change colours in the lighting, a psychedelic kaleidoscope whenever she blinks. She’s familiar, now that Shouto thinks about it. He thinks he might remember someone who looked vaguely like her when they were chasing down that robber right before Izuku and him had been transported here. But was she this world’s version of her, or was she actually the same person from their world, and her quirk could be used on her as well? “You know us?” Izuku asks, eyes narrowed. “Oh, sure,” the girl says. “I may not be the same person who sent you here, but our minds are all pretty collective across the dimensions. I know you guys well enough. I was trying to help my friends get away with their loot, and you guys showed up. So I just- whisked you guys away. Simple enough, really.” “How do we get back?” The girl shrugs. “Effects should really be wearing off in a few days, longest someone’s ever stayed gone is, what, three weeks? You guys have already been here for just over two. I wouldn’t worry about it.” “So that’s it?” Izuku says. “We just have to wait?” The girl shrugs again, nonchalant. “Well, technically I could send you guys back, like, now, but really, what’s in it for me?” Shouto huffs an annoyed breath. He could stand to wait, it wasn’t like they’d landed in a horrible dimension that he wanted out of, but he knew both him and Izuku wanted to get home, quick. Besides, if he was gone for any longer Bakugou would take the number two spot again, and then Shouto’d never hear the end of it from the other man until the next rankings. “You don’t stand to lose anything if you help us,” Izuku reasons, and the girl cocks an eyebrow. “Yeah, but I don’t stand to gain either, you get me, hero?” Izuku sighs. “Listen, i-” “Oh, hang on,” the girl says abruptly, cutting Izuku off. “Good me’s speaking. You’re in luck, heroes, good me wants me to do you guys a favour. Hey, I usually wouldn’t, but I hardly ever listen to her, just this once doesn’t hurt.” Shouto casts a glance at Izuku, and watches as his boyfriend shrugs. Out of all the different dimensions there theoretically should be, there must be at least a few where this girl was a good person, right? “Right, then,” the girl says, grinning. “Said your goodbyes to yourselves yet? ‘Cause you’re headed back home, guys.” Izuku grins wide, and waves at the two-way mirror where Shouto knows Midoriya, Permafrost and Bakugou are standing. Shouto follows suit. The girl cocks her head to the side. “Ah, you know what? Since I’m feeling charitable today, you guys get a moment to go say bye. Go on, hug it out.” ”I take it you fuckers are finally leaving, then,” Bakugou says when Shouto and Izuku walk out of the interrogation room. “Good fucking riddance.” “Nice to meet you too,” Shouto says drily, raising an eyebrow. “Fuck off back to your world,” Bakugou grumbles, and Midoriya makes an aborted noise of protest. “Stop being so mean, Katsuki, they helped us a lot!” “I agree,” Permafrost says. “I must thank you two for helping me realise that not using my fire was simply letting him get to me.” “And helping me with my quirk,” Midoriya tacks on, grinning widely. Izuku grins back. “You’re welcome! It was great finding a version of myself with Dad’s fire breath, I’ve always been curious about it, and Mum would never talk about it.” Shouto lets the corner of his mouth quirk up as he looks at his counterpart, and sees the returning smile, slight as it is. “Really, thank you for everything,” Permafrost says. “Thank you for reminding me that I’m more than my blood.” “Had to drill that lesson into his head too,” Izuku jibes, grinning at Shouto, and Shouto huffs, but doesn’t deny it. “It’s been good knowing you,” Shouto says then, and he’s not really sure how he feels about this. He thinks part of him might be sad, at leaving this world behind, but most of him is just glad to head back to their own world, with their family and friends and lives. But he's glad that they were able to help. The look on Permafrost’s face, when they’d first seen him -cold, closed off, carefully blank- it’s something that Shouto never wants to see on his own features ever again. And even though this Shouto will probably never be with this world’s Izuku, Shouto finds that he can’t really mind it, because this Shouto never had the experiences with his Izuku that made him fall for him, the closeness and the love and all the little things that they’d learned about each other along the way. Besides, this Izuku looks happy with his Bakugou, and Shouto wouldn’t deny any Izuku his happiness if he could, no matter what dimension he came from. “I guess…” Izuku starts then, hesitant. “I guess we’ll be going, then. It really was nice, being here. Thank you for everything.” “Likewise,” Permafrost nods, and Midoriya chirps an agreement as well. Even Bakugou grumbles out a low, “I guess you fuckers weren’t as bad as you could have been.” Izuku hides a laugh, and Shouto smiles too. Bakugou would be Bakugou, no matter what world he was from, Shouto supposes. “Katsuki,” Midoriya sighs, and Bakugou growls. Izuku smiles a little at that, and then turns to go. Shouto follows behind, back into the interrogation room, and just catches Bakugou leaning down to shut Midoriya up with a kiss. The last thing Shouto hears before the door to the interrogation room closes behind him is his counterpart's muttered, “I’d appreciate if you would get a room,” and Bakugou’s explosive reply. Shouto laughs.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼ To give words right from the heart Where do I even fucking start He makes me so god damn irate Damn bastard cannot even skate ✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼ Let it be known that Bakugou Katsuki is not compelled to do anything he doesn’t want to do - ever.  He makes his own choices, sticks to them. Nothing and nobody can sway that stubborn fiery resolve once set. To repeat for explosive emphasis: nothing. So when walking home to their apartment in the warm winter glow of the city Todoroki comes to a stop by the public ice rink, Bakugou decides they’re getting their asses on there. He decides this all by himself, not at all coerced by the curiosity adorning that handsome face. It's his choice. Despite disliking this kind of shit, which is going to push back their schedule for making dinner by at least a few hours, he still decides this on his own. Because he's the bigger person, the better person. The best. Not at all influenced by the man stood beside him, or the pretty pouting lips.  Yeah. He’s not a fool, he's a king.  By the gate to the ice, a woman stands at the reception desk. Antlers protrude from her head, decorated in twinkling lights. She's beaming, expression not faltering for a single moment. The closer they get, the clearer it is that the antlers are a cheesy headband but rather part of her quirk. Bakugou can't deny the aesthetic is fucking cool.  Before they're allowed on the ice, they receive a boring lecture from her in the most monotonous voice that does not match the smile whatsoever. Talk about whiplash. For some reason, she seems to direct the 'no quirks allowed beyond this point' spiel more towards Bakugou than the guy with the fucking ice quirk. Just to be a petty bitch, Bakugou lets a small crackling in his palms loose into the air.  Whatever. He's a fucking saint. Top of his class and one day top of the hero rankings. Thank you very much.  Beside him, Todoroki nods to convey his understanding of the rules. It’s enough for the pair of them to be given a set of skates. Fucking finally.  Heading over to the bench, Bakugou sinks his feet into them. They’re heavy and clunkier than expensive fancy skates would be, but the blades are sturdy. With some skill behind it, any fucker could pick up some real speed on the ice.  In his peripheral, the world falls out of balance due to the existence of a paradox: the most beautiful yet most ridiculous man Bakugou has ever known in his fucking life. There Todoroki sits, observing the skates as if they're hidden treasure dredged up from the bottom of the sea. He turns one skate over in his palm, until it's upside down. There's something so very wrong about that which cannot be ignored. The same uneasiness Bakugou feels when Todoroki picks up a kitchen knife and tries to be useful is summoned in an instant.  Exasperated, Bakugou gives the idiot his full attention. One day, he just wants One Day. No theatrics, a moderate level of snark, zero idiocy.  Apparently, that is too much to ask for in his lifetime.   “Oi. What the hell are you doing?”  Startled, as if swept out of a trance, Todoroki hums. A finger taps the edge of the blade delicately. Bakugou still has no trust.   “They’re sharp.”  Snatching the skate from Todoroki’s hands, Bakugou gruffly puts the damn thing where it belongs: on his fucking foot. He’s not doing up his boyfriend’s skates the same way a parent would assist their toddler. No. He’s just protecting the world from such stupidity. As a hero, that's his duty.   “Grow up.,” he hisses, cheeks dusted with heat.  Christ. It’s all he can do to keep his eyes down, focused solely on tying the laces. He uses more force than necessary on the loops, so Todoroki can feel the mild scolding.  “There are kids around and some might even look up to you. You’re a goddamn hero. Act like one.”  What Bakugou doesn’t expect when he glares up at Todoroki is to be met by a warm, adoring look. Those eyes are soft, lips melted into the most serene wonderful smile that fits perfectly against Bakugou's mouth. Graciously, the world spins a little slower. Time turns less hurried, stopping to marvel at the sight. “You certainly do, nowadays.”  Before Bakugou has a chance to do anything other than gawk like a fucking loser, Todoroki is carding a hand through his hair with too much fondness for a mere mortal to endure.  Bakugou is only human.  He leaps to his feet, almost dragging Todoroki up with him in the process. “Shut up." Pause. "We’ve talked about this.”  “Touching?”  Rolling his eyes, Bakugou squeezes Todoroki’s hand in his for good measure. To prove a point. Damn bastard always wants to be difficult. But even if he’s just teasing, Bakugou isn’t going to pass up the opportunity to affirm that he doesn’t give a flying shit about what people think of their intimacy and where it is shared. He'll be as affectionate as he wants to be. Everyone can fuck off.  “Nah. Being an asshole.”  Todoroki follows Bakugou towards the ice, lips twitching.  “Sorry, Bakugou.” Funny. He doesn’t sound sorry in the slightest. “You make it so easy because you lead by example.”  Cheeky little shit. Bakugou refuses to rise to the taunting words, because giving no reaction is a solid win for him and a colossal loss for Todoroki. Indulging Todoroki just makes him more powerful. Nobody needs that. Honestly.  Now on the ice, this whole spontaneous unplanned cheesy as fuck date grows on Bakugou. He ain't no Romeo and Todoroki is nowhere near the Casanova his fans think he is, but they have their way. This doesn't have to be a nauseating cliched experience. Grinning, Bakugou calculates his perfect passage round the ice. If he sticks to it, he can meander around the amateurs who have next to no skill.  Really, there's only one way this can go.  "Last one round is a fucking loser."  Without looking back, Bakugou propels himself forwards. Even without explosions, he's fucking fast. Todoroki is going to have to step up big time to come close to first place right now. He’s rounding the corner, gaining speed and dodging people like debris in a villain fight. Bakugou gets halfway when he realises Todoroki doesn't meet him there, is not even hot on his heels as expected. And it's then Bakugou catches sight of the worst thing he's ever seen. That is not an exaggeration - he is being completely objective about this.   Right back where they started stands Todoroki. Since getting on the ice, he hasn't moved an inch. It's only when a kid whizzes past and pulls a face at him that Todoroki seems to consider that as encouragement to try. One hesitant step is all it takes for him to carry out the most epic fail on the fucking planet. Like a stacked pancake, he falls flat onto the ice.  What the fuck.  Miraculously unfazed by the embarrassing public stumble, Todoroki gets back onto his feet. He doesn't stay upright for very long. As if his face belongs smushed into the ice, as if the force of gravity is amplified tenfold for him and only him, down the fucker goes. Somebody yell timber, no way in hell is Bakugou picking up that stupid plank of wood.   I don’t know this loser. I don’t fucking know him. I don’t know h- “Hey isn’t that Todoroki?” a small child asks, all whilst twirling elegantly on the ice. Beside them, a teenager stops in their tracks to look over. This is it, this is how Todoroki destroys his entire image.  “I think it is but - um, why is he... like that?”  Oh god I don’t know him. I do not know this fucker, I-  “Bakugou-“ Todoroki’s voice calls out, mercilessly exposing both of them and cruelly dragging him into this charade.  And although there's chatter on the ice, music streaming through the intercom, Bakugou hears it so clearly. Haunting. Horrible.  Sigh.  Time to pick up the driftwood, save the bastard's reputation and ass from freezing over all at once. Making his way towards Todoroki who is still face-planting the ice, Bakugou hauls the loser up to his feet. He can't take much more of this. He just can't.  “You’ve gotta be shitting me. You have an ice quirk. How the fuck is this possible?” “I’ve never had to… before” Todoroki gestures to his feet, makes an endearing sweeping motion with his hand that is supposed to represent something. “My quirk makes it easy to just….” Todoroki makes another strange motion.  “Glide.”  It’s absurd. It’s absolutely absurd. One of the most prominent powerful upcoming new heroes of their time with a quirk that deals with ice can’t even skate. Also, based on a true story and inspired by recent events, he's shit at charades.   “Yeah well. Unlike you I don’t rely on my quirk for everything. I’m competent in basic shit.”  Like drying hair, cooling drinks, making ice, starting a fire, warming a coat, express laundry.  The list goes on, and everything on it proves Todoroki Shouto is a pro at being a hero but a total fraud at being a normal living person. Lazy, half-assed, perpetually sleepy. Again, the list goes on. Based on that, the fact he’s stacking it shouldn’t be so surprising.  “That’s why I need you,” Todoroki says as if he hasn’t just uttered words both magical and facetious. “Because you’re good at being basic.”  For that, amongst everything else wrong with this entire scene, Bakugou skates away. Out of reach. To the other side of the rink, because he can. Todoroki tipped the balance with this foolishness. He cast the first strike and sunk down to pettiness. It’s only fair he has to hold his own now.   Bakugou smirks as he passes Todoroki on the ice, doing a few more elaborate spins than necessary. Then, with a light shove, he steers the idiot to the edge of the ice. He'll do a few more laps then call it a day. Gloating isn't as satisfying when Todoroki isn't within kissing distance, nowadays.  He makes it a few paces before the music playing over the tannoy is drowned out by a hesitant voice. Antler lady. She sounds less monotonous this time, more confused. Well, it must really be something to drag expression into her voice.  “Could Lord…uh, Explosion Murder please make their way to the side. Thank you…?” God.  Bakugou glances to see Todoroki give a little wave from the reception desk, followed by an encouraging nod and thumbs up to Antler lady. Of all things, she blushes.  Skating over to the edge, Bakugou leans on the railings. On the other side, Todoroki is smiling. Like he has something to be happy about. With a gruff sigh, Bakugou narrows his eyes. He has to be on the defensive here, Todoroki has no business looking so good and destroying everybody's lives.  “What.”  “I want to do it too.”  Bakugou bristles. Todoroki sounds calm and collected, but there’s an impatience embedded there. A demand Bakugou cannot ignore.  “What’s that got to do with me?”  Wordlessly, Todoroki holds out his hand. For good measure, he wiggles his fingers. Alright, fine. If that's what he really wants, Bakugou will oblige. It's not everyday he sees Todoroki this unhinged and unbalanced. In all aspects of hero work, he conducts himself with dignity, grace, finesse. The exact opposite of what he is in this moment. What a fucking delight.  Grinning, Bakugou tugs the idiot back onto the ice. The gasp plucked from that mouth is so dramatic, so needless. Wide-eyed, Todoroki stumbles forwards and the only way to go is either down to meet his inevitable doom or right into Bakugou. They collide with a graceless thud, Bakugou bracing him with a breathless laugh. It's only because of Bakugou that they remain on their feet. Of course.   “Hold on, motherfucker. I ain’t slowing down because of you.”  ✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼ Can't believe I'm resorting to rhyme To detail all his heinous crimesHe makes me want to fucking scream Kissing the cat instead of me  ✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼ Patrol is boring.   The holiday rush and everything the season brings with it just about the only interesting part of it. Pathetic, to think that the villains may well be taking a break too. Bakugou finds himself walking the same block close to thirty times. At this point, he has the whole place etched into his fucking eyeballs.  He passes the same carol singers, watches the same Santa Claus holding donation boxes on the corner. The lights overheard glisten and twinkle in a brilliant array of gold, red and silver.  By the time his shift is over, he’s given Christmas gifting advice to a dozen clueless idiots that have no idea what they're doing because that scarf is fucking hideous go for the navy one obviously, taken photographs with a handful of too-cheery fans and committed the entire Christmas discography of Michael Bublé to memory.  Yeah. It’s about time to go home.  Entering the apartment, Bakugou is welcomed to a bizarre sight. Because nothing is ever straight-forward, not with Todoroki Shouto involved.  And there he is, tacky oversized Christmas sweater hanging off his lithe form as he pins mistletoe to the kitchen door. Halfway down.  “It’s meant to go above your head, idiot,” Bakugou remarks, dropping his keys into the bowl by the door.  Not that he cares about this particular tradition. No way. Still, the blank expression he gets in response warrants him to dig deep. Take a breath, be the epitome of calm.  “If you stand underneath the mistletoe you’re supposed to kiss. How the hell is anybody supposed to stand under that?”  The mistletoe barely comes up to an average person’s knee.  “It’s not for you,” Todoroki explains simply, crouching down with a smile. For a moment, Bakugou overlooks the audacity because he’s riddled with curiosity.  “It’s for Dyna.”  Right on cue, their cat - Dyna, short for Dynamite which is short for Dynamite Queen - walks towards Todoroki and heeds the beckoning. Shameful. Leaning down, the most ridiculous man in the world presses a small kiss to her forehead. Of all things, Dyna purrs. Traitor.   Well. At least one of them is satisfied. Bakugou is a grown-ass man. His heart is doing the most absurd things at the sight of Dyna nuzzling against Todoroki’s toasty side. Like a marshmallow on the fire, she practically melts against him.  It’s cute as fuck. What the hell.  He's tired, he's weak. He has barely enough strength left to fight this bullshit frenzy in his chest. Unfortunately, Bakugou realises too last he’s been caught staring at his boyfriend and their cat. Those mismatched are on him, gleaming with something knowing.  It’s something that doesn’t need to be said but if Bakugou stands here like a fool much longer Todoroki will voice it just because he can.  Bastard.  “Whatever. I don't care. Go kiss the furball as much as you want.”  Bakugou isn’t jealous over their cat. No way. That’s stupid.  Walking past the two of them getting cosy, Bakugou scoffs. He’s almost made it unscathed, when a tug to the scarf he’s still wearing pulls him backwards. Bakugou doesn’t stumble, he just lets Todoroki have this one as compensation for being such a loser.  An icy breath ghosts his ear. Bakugou also doesn’t recoil at the sudden abrupt drop in temperature, he holds his ground. That’s what heroes do. In the face of any challenge, they stand tall and assert their authority.  “Do you want a kiss too?” Todoroki murmurs into his neck, and wow okay the fucker is definitely laughing in his own private way.  Bakugou can feel the rumbling, the soft shake of those beautifully sculpted shoulders. Twisting out of Todoroki’s grip, unravelling the scarf in the process, Bakugou gives his best grimacing. Flicking Todoroki with the end of the scarf, he huffs.  “I don’t want shit.”  “Fine.” With a shrug, Todoroki immediately diverts all his attention back to Dyna. The casual dismissal and the sheer speed of it is utterly tragic. In the doorway, Bakugou watches as Todoroki lavishes Dyna with all the attention he has been deprived of since he walked through the door.  “Gremlins don’t get kisses unless they’re well-behaved.”  That's it. Bakugou lifts his chin up, eyes narrowed as he skulks towards the fridge. He takes out the ingredients for dinner. Two can play at this fucking game.  “I was gonna make soba tonight, but you’ve been such a snarky shithead. Maybe I won’t bother.”  On cue, Todoroki freezes. Not from his quirk, just from pure shock at the blasphemy. What comes around goes around, bitch.  “Oh…”  The dejection in that voice cannot be feigned. This is how a broken man sounds, having heard the worst news of their life and slowly processing it.  Hook line sinker.  Grinning, Bakugou sets the water in the pan to boil. He’s won. He’s fucking won.  “You still got one shot at convincing me though. Don’t blow it.” Less than twenty seconds pass, before Todoroki yanks Bakugou in for a searing kiss.  ✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼ He tries to decorate the tree How god damn hard can it really be Apparently it's a pressing taskCos I had to come and rescue his ass  ✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼ “How.”  Bakugou wants to know, he’s yearning to know. Yet it's all he can do, spit out this one single word. The display of idiocy in front of him makes it hard to string sentences together.  Todoroki pouts, eyes downcast.  And it’s absolutely ridiculous that he thinks Bakugou will give him sympathy for getting into this situation. Even Dyna wouldn’t commit such atrocities in their home. Unlike Todoroki, she’s sensible. Sophisticated. Classy.  In fact, nobody on earth could mess up this badly with something so simple. Bakugou is sure of it. Yet somehow, that makes it perfectly logical for Todoroki Shouto to fall prey to the deceptive nature of decorations.  Because apparently, decorations need to come with a warning for certain heroes to get a fucking grip on reality.  The baubles have made it onto the tree at least, alongside a few other ornaments. But there’s no system to it, not a shred of order. It’s pure anarchic evil and as a hero, Bakugou has no choice but to stop evil in its tracks.  Obliterate it.  Reaching into the decoration box, Bakugou scowls down at the haphazardly opened trays. This is exactly why he wanted to do this together.  “Thought I told you to wait til I got back.”  Todoroki averts his gaze to the doorway, as if he’s willing himself to materialise there and out of the ridiculous trap orchestrated by his own hands. No escape this time.  “I wanted to surprise you.”  Well. Consider Bakugou fucking surprised.  Swallowing down a laugh nobody could ever prove existed in the first place, Bakugou gets to work. God. He’s so done with this but still so far gone for this bastard.  What has life become, and why is it so fucking good.  “Don’t move.”  Not that Todoroki could. The silver and gold tinsel binds him, the same way Sero tapes an apprehended villain waiting to be taken to the police station.  This is such a crime, Bakugou might just send him there for questioning.  Again, Bakugou just wants answers. He wants to know how a person this much of a walking disaster can exist and how he has survived this long in the world. Part of him is begrudgingly endeared, the other frustrated beyond belief.  Todoroki really puts him through the motions, on a near daily basis.  Then again, Bakugou would be lying if he said he didn’t give just as good back. They balance out like that, in a way Bakugou didn’t think were possible. They also find themselves attracting chaos right to their doorstep pretty much every fucking day. For example, here Bakugou is untangling his boyfriend from tinsel that shouldn’t look so good wound around him instead of the tree.  Damn it.  “You could just explode it.”  Rolling his eyes, Bakugou squashes Todoroki’s foot beneath his own. Because he can.  “That’s wasteful.”  Todoroki hums. And even though his arms are now free does nothing to help Bakugou with the rest of the tinsel. For god's sake.  “You’re a shining example to the world. Maybe we should put you on top of the tree.” “You’re not funny,” Bakugou retorts and it’s weak because his voice is trembling with laughter.  Fuck. How dare his body betray him this way. It’s unacceptable. As is the fact that Todoroki’s deadpan delivery is tragically overlooked by so many. Now Bakugou has that shrewd wit on his radar, life will never be the fucking same.  He’s glad for it.  “I’m being serious. You’re probably compact enough to fit up there.” To prove his point, Todoroki brings his hands to each side of Bakugou’s waist. Then to rub salt to the open gaping wound, he rests his head on the top of Bakugou’s.  Scowling, Bakugou scrambles out of the hold. He’s through with this bullshit.  Compact. Compact.  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” “For someone so loud, you’re… disproportionate.”  As compensation for having to hear this nonsense, Bakugou throws a bauble at Todoroki’s pretty face, hoping it lands in his petty mouth to shut him up. Unfortunately, it bounces off his forehead.  “Fuck off. Size ain’t everything.” Todoroki’s lips twitch. And before he can say something he thinks is clever but isn’t, before he can make everything worse with his stupid words, Bakugou acts quicker. Initialise phase two. Grabbing one of the candy canes, he shoves it in Todoroki’s mouth.  Happy holidays, motherfucker. ✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼ He can’t wrap up a single giftWhy is he such a stupid shit  How is he human I don't understandThe foolish gorgeous dumbass man  ✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼ To be honest, Bakugou isn’t sure where to look.  There’s just so much to unpack here. Or rather, to unwrap. Ribbon is strewn around the living room, wrapping paper crumpled and covering the entire room like a new avant-garde floor for weirdos who want to live their life that way. Sat in the middle of the colourful vibrant paper, is Todoroki. “What the hell happened here?” Bakugou asks.  “I’m wrapping,” Todoroki explains, as if that explains absolutely everything.  Spoiler: it doesn’t. Not remotely.  At this rate, Todoroki is wrapping their entire living room. And it’s not even good. Kicking a sheet of paper beneath his feet, Bakugou frowns.   “You’re making a fucking mess.”  Todoroki tapes the green shimmery paper onto the box, which is definitely not how it works. Eye twitching, Bakugou tries to erase the image from his mind, tries not to get involved. Every fibre of his being is itching to step in and take control of this anarchy. It's like he's in the bad place and he's being tortured.  Tearing another strip of tape, Todoroki shrugs. “You’ll clean it up, anyway.”  Wow. Just wow.  Picking up sheets of wrapping paper thrown haphazardly across the floor, Bakugou clicks his tongue. To gesture his irritation, to make sure it’s abundantly clear. Because, in case it isn’t clear, Bakugou is fucking pissed.  Todoroki is unfazed, setting down a gift wrapped so suspiciously it would never make it pass any airport security yet alone the average postman. The shape is completely distorted, a simple box distorted with angular sides and unfolded corners.  Then there’s the ribbon, tied with no logic or tangible pattern. Maybe Todoroki tried to make a shape instead of a neat bow, either way it looks tragic.   Bakugou isn’t even going to acknowledge the glittery stars sprinkled across the paper, the glue on the surface of the wrapping a needless eyesore.  All in all it’s a failure. Bakugou picks it up and observes the disaster up close.  A five year old could probably do better, and that’s Bakugou being moderately nice about it.  “You planning to give someone this?” he asks in disbelief.  There’s no way this is allowed to leave their household. Absolutely not.  “Midoriya….”  Alright, it’s probably fine.  Todoroki narrows his eyes, as if sensing any type of slander against the damn nerd even in unspoken form and preparing to rend it asunder. What a drama queen. With a sigh, Bakugou is resigned to admit he no longer can keep out of this. Looking at the gift directly is too much. The ominous presence has started to gain sentience. There’s not much more that can be said about it. Catching Todoroki’s eyes, Bakugou gestures. He hopes the right amount of disgust is displayed on his face.  Because he is disgusted, for the record. He hates how Todoroki has coaxed this out of him, his need to fix something so objectively terrible.  “You’re gonna give your best friend this steaming pile of shit?”  Lips pursed, Todoroki tilts his head.  “Actually, that's not the contents of the package. I bought-”  Bakugou does not want to hear it. The surefire way to shut the smartass up is to toss the gift back to Todoroki, who catches it and reverently checks it over for any damage. Yeah, like it’s going to get any worse than it already is with that abysmal wrapping.  Sitting down opposite Todoroki, Bakugou pries the gift from his firm grip. Then, in one swift motion, tears the wrapping off. Todoroki pales. The dramatics aren’t appreciated or needed. There’s not much to mourn here, honestly.  “Get me another sheet.”  Todoroki picks up another piece of wrapping from the floor beside him, handing it over. With rapt attention, he watches as Bakugou starts his methodical and meticulous process. Not to fucking brag but he’s pretty much an expert at this. The novice beside him could sure learn a thing or two. A few moments later, the gift is wrapped to the standards few could ever aspire to. Naturally. “Tell the damn nerd I did that.”  Todoroki nods absently, so utterly transfixed on the gift his eyes are shining more than the glitter all over the floor. That does terrible things to both Bakugou’s ego and his heart. God. But then Todoroki empties the bag of presents left to wrap in the space between them, looks at Bakugou expectantly. Safe to say, the moment is ruined.  Still, because he’s the fucking best person in the world, Bakugou gets to work. Might as well get this shit done in one hit.  These presents are gonna be wrapped so damn good people will consider that a gift in itself. They’re going to lose their shit over how immaculate this is done. And when asked who, they'll know the future number one hero is not just the best in their field. Bakugou is versatile, jack of many trades.  He’s not sure how long they sit there, Todoroki reacting with the same series of amazed awed sounds each time a present is wrapped before promptly handing another one over.  But it’s satisfying to say the least as the end of the pile is reached. The product of his perfect handiwork is splayed out across the room. Dozens upon dozens of immaculate gifts. Smirking, Bakugou marvels at it.  Screw all of the presents, he’s the biggest gift of them all here.  He’s only halfway through appreciating his awesome work when Todoroki rudely interrupts.   “Bakugou, we forgot to label them.”   Well. Fuck.  ✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼ This ain't a poem so shut the hell up It's just an ode to how he sucks And even worse I'm ending this sappy:I love him he makes me so fucking happy ✼.    ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

April 16, 20xx Ren glanced at his obnoxiously pink, pig-shaped analog alarm clock sitting on the overturned milk-crate that served as his nightstand in the attic above Leblanc. The pig helpfully showed the time as 1600. He was, apparently, the last person in the world to use an actual alarm clock rather than his phone. It was also the only real piece of decoration in the attic. Ren had found a card table that he had set up in front of the couch and unpacked his clothes and laptop, but really, the place didn’t seem very lived in. When his new ‘roommate’ had arrived, Morgana had seemed a bit put-off at the sparse living space. Ren glanced at the ball of fur, curled up on the foot of the bed. Ren rolled his eyes in mild irritation; Mona had ended up at his place by default. Ryuji’s mom was allergic. Ann, understandably, didn’t want to give a slightly obsessed not-a-cat easy access to her room. And bathroom. And shower. Ren shook the thought of Ann showering out of his head. ‘...Anyway. That’s about all I can do with this place before they arrive. Not like I have any other furniture hidden away in here.'  His fellow thieves were due to arrive in an hour or so. That too, had been decided by default. Ann’s live-in caretaker was going to be home; Ryuji’s mother was going to be home as well. And anywhere at school was out of the question as a hideout, now - far too many prying eyes. People were always on the lookout for him and Ryuji, simply out of morbid curiosity. He sat down on his bed, opening up his laptop. Just enough time for the call he had been dreading. Ren made the call, hoping that he’d miss them. The call was immediately picked up. The faces of Kenji and Inoue appeared on Ren’s screen. “Kid!” “Ren!” “Oya-ji, Kaa-chan.” Ren said, smiling. He was genuinely happy to see them, of course. But it was a reminder of… everything. The one good thing about the whirlwind of events since he arrived in Tokyo was that the boxer hadn’t had much time to think about home. But now, as he saw his father, smiling at him through a screen, and his mother, sitting close and leaning against her husband… Ren swallowed the lump in his throat. He put on a smile, preparing himself to lie to his parents about what he was up to, how he was feeling... about everything, really. “How… how’s things at home?” “Things are good!” Kenji said, nodding vigorously. Maybe too vigorously. “Don’t you worry about a thing.” Inoue smiled warmly at her son. While Ren looked remarkably like his father, he had his mother to thank for his charming smile. “More importantly, Ren, how’s things over in Tokyo? Are you getting along well with Sakura-san?” “I am.” Ren said. At least that wasn't a lie. As the boy realized that he had no hope of flying under the radar, he had started snarking the boss of Cafe Leblanc with wild abandon - and the old man gave as good as he got, actually enjoying the repartee. In fact, Ren was now a part-time barista at Cafe Leblanc. “Good, good…” They chatted for awhile, until Kenji looked up, off screen. “Ah… That’s Coach Takeda and Kana-chan. I bet you’ll want to talk to them; your mother and I need to attend to the guests.” Inoue nodded. “We love you, Ren. Just think. It’s already been a week! Time flew by, didn’t it?” The response to that definitely required a lie. “Yes, definitely. Oh, and oya-ji? Have you lost weight?” Kenji grinned, laughing. “You noticed! Now that you’re gone, someone has to flirt with the lady guests--Ow!” “Just making sure there’s still something on your gut to pinch, dear .” Ren chuckled as Takeda took their places. The grizzled old man nodded firmly to Ren. “Kid. You alright?” “Yessir. ...Can I ask you a question, though?” Takeda frowned, recognizing Ren’s tone. He had a boxing related problem. “What’s wrong? You getting into fights? I told you, you need to lay low--” “No. No sir, nothing like that. I’m not fighting in any actual ring.” That wasn’t technically a lie. “Something just occurred to me, while training. Staying in shape, you know? Have you ever been… angry?” Takeda raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been my fighter since you were barely tall enough to bump the bottom of the heavy bag with your forehead. And even then, you pissed me off. And you’re asking me if I’ve ever been angry ?” Ren laughed. “Ah… Sorry, Coach. I mean, have you ever been so angry that it changes how you fight? When you’re boxing, I mean.” What could he say? Was he really going to ask his second father if he had ever been angry enough to want to kill someone someone in the ring? Coach Takeda sighed. “...Yeah, kid. Yeah. I’ve been angry enough to want to hurt someone. Really hurt someone… Maybe even kill ‘em.” “...How do you get over it? How do you stop feeling that way?” Ren asked. “You don’t.” “...Oh. Well. Thanks. So, how’s the wife and kid?” Takeda rolled his eyes. “Kid. Just shut up and listen, for a second. And stuff that massive ego of yours, because I’m going to get complimentary. You’re the best technical boxer I’ve ever trained. You think a fight better than anyone I’ve ever had. But you’re incomplete.” “Well, are you going to leave me in suspense, or…” “I told you to just shut up.” Takeda gestured vaguely. “You’ve never had to box with your will , or your feeling. It’s some combination of emotion and instinct. Martial artists would call it ki . When you get pushed far enough physically, mentally, or emotionally, you have to tap into something else past technical skill. That’s why you’re incomplete. You’ve never had to deal with that side of your boxing.” “It’s not like you to get philosophical.” Takeda shrugged. “You’re right. But I can’t deny it. I felt it happen to me, and I’m not surprised it’s happening to you, even if you’re just training. You’ve had a lot on your mind… In your shoes, I’d be angry, too. I’d be more surprised if you weren’t.” “...So, you can’t stop it?” Ren asked, quietly. “No. But you can use it. Only fucking monks think all anger is evil. Or nerds watching that Space Wars crap or whatever you call it. Rage can make you see red, make you want to wipe everything out. It can make you lose your form and make you sloppy. That kind of anger uses you. You know this - you do it to your opponents all the time. But if you use it, focus it, it becomes your weapon. The hard thing is getting there.” “How do I do that?” “Do I really need to tell you?” Takeda asked, raising an eyebrow. “By boxing. We’ll work on it when you get back.” “...Right. When I get back.” Ren murmured. “ Otou-san! Are you done yet?” “Ah. Your cutman wants to talk to you.” Takeda said, referring to Kaname’s role as the gym’s ringside medic. Her fearless demeanor, steady hands, and growing up in the gym made her suited for the role despite her age. Kaname shoved her father aside. “Renpai!” “Hey, Kana-chan.” The petite girl scrutinized him like he was a horse for sale. “You’re looking thin. How’s your diet? Are you lifting, or just roadwork?” “I missed you too.” “Do you think I’m joking?!” “‘Course. That’s why you’re the cutman. You..” “Keep you in stitches.” Kaname finished, eyebrow twitching. “It wasn’t funny the first time, and it’s not funny now. I swear to God, I’m going to marry whoever figures out how to punch you in the face over the internet.” The two stared at each other for a moment, and then started laughing. Kaname shook her head. She smiled, glancing over Ren’s shoulder at the clock. “I’m glad you can still laugh, Renpai. And I’m glad you kept P-Chan.” >>> Ann arrived at Leblanc a little early. She frowned, pausing outside the cafe. ‘Is this really the right place? I know he said he lives above a coffee shop, but…’ Shrugging, she pushed open the door. Sojiro looked up, raising an eyebrow at the appearance of someone who was not only not one of his regulars, but far younger than his usual clientele. Ann smiled at him. “Hi! Is Ren home? I’m Ann Takamaki.” Sojiro blinked at the pretty girl. ‘He said he was having friends over, but… ...damn, kid. You work fast.’ “Nice to meet you, Takamaki-san. Call me Boss, everyone else does.” “Nice to meet you too! Call me Ann, then. Thanks for having us.” She headed for the stairs, walking up. She paused at the door to the attic, hearing voices. She recognized Ren’s low register easily by now, but there was a second voice she could hear as well. A female voice, she realized with some surprise. And also consternation. She turned to head downstairs and give him some privacy, until she recalled the name he had murmured in his sleep that morning, on her sofa. ‘Reiko… Is he talking to whoever Reiko is? Why would he talk about her in his sleep, unless…’ She shook her head. Privacy. Right. She’d just make sure he didn’t want her to bring anything to drink, or a snack first. Right. But she’d open the door quietly, to make sure she didn’t disturb their conversation. And she’d just poke her head up the stairs, past the rail, to see what his guest might look like - rather, to see what his guest might want for refreshments. And so Ann, with the purest of intentions, silently pushed the door open and tip-toed up the remaining few steps. She peered over the rail. She felt only brief relief at seeing he was on a video call, his back to the door as he sat on the bed. “Really? It’s a shame that your school lost its boxing club. Even if you weren’t going to fight, you could have trained. ...Ne, Renpai. Are you sure you’re alright? You seem different.” Ann bit her lip. ‘Ren...pai? A cute nickname? Is Reiko a girlfriend back in Kamakura?’ “I’m fine. Why don’t I show you my place?” Ren started to stand up with his laptop. Ann’s eyes widened; she quickly turned to escape. But, her half-crouched position, leaning around the rail, was ill-suited for the maneuver. With a yelp, she caught her toe - and tumbled into Ren’s attic. Ren blinked - he was still half-seated on the bed and partially turned around, and just bore witness to Ann falling flat on her face into his room. And, Kaname, on the screen, also saw the girl tumbling onto the floor. “Oh. Hi, Ann.” “...Renpai. Why is there a random blonde girl in your bedroom?” All hell broke loose in Kamakura as the screen was wrenched back by Ren’s parents. “What?! A girl!? Oh, let me see, let me!” Inoue chimed in, peering through the screen. “Ah! She’s pretty! ” “That’s my boy. Damn, son. You work fast . Hey, little miss! You’re welcome to visit the inn any time, we’ll give you a discount-- Ow!” “You’ll stay for free! Oh, Ren, I’m so glad you’re over Reiko. Is she American? Did our Ren charm a pretty American girl--” Ren seemed nonplussed. “Bye Mom, Dad. Catch you next week.” “Wait! Renpai! Give me her full name and IN--” “Bye Kana-chan.” Ren closed the computer. He looked at Ann, just raising an eyebrow as the blonde girl scrambled to her feet. “Er, I was uh… er… ...Can I get you a coffee?” “I live in a coffee shop.” “Uh… ...snack?” “Not hungry.” Ann stood there, awkwardly. Ren didn’t help her out, continuing to stand there - the beginnings of an amused smirk quirking his lip. “...Do you have to just stare ?!” Ann snapped, her face hot. “I don’t have to, but I want to see what else you’ll come up with.” Ren replied, now grinning. Ann marched over to him, punching his shoulder. “Jerk. Aren’t you a little embarrassed by all the stuff your parents were saying…?” Ren smiled. “Not really. I kind of expect it now. And me being a jerk? That’s a generally well-known fact.” He put his laptop down, gesturing at the couch and card table. “You’re early. Come on, let’s sit.” Moments later, the two (plus Mona) were seated at the table, drinking coffee from downstairs and sharing a bag of chips. Ren was staring off into space again as Mona eagerly explained a few more nuances of the Metaverse to their newest member. Ann, though, wasn’t really listening. She interrupted. “Hey, Ren?” “Hm?” “Who’s Reiko?” Ren nearly dropped his coffee - he recovered in a split second, though, coughing as he put his mug down. “Glad you didn’t ask when Kana-chan was on the line. She hated Reiko. Oh. Sorry - Kaname was the girl who was asking for your name and IN. She’s the gym’s cutman - medic - and the Coach’s daughter. We grew up together.” “Oh. So she’s just like a… sister to you?” “Yeah.” “Oh. That’s good. I mean, to have a little sister. Right?” Ann said awkwardly, trying to cover up her relief. “Had a huge crush on me a couple years back, though.” Ren said casually. “What?!” “She got over it.” “Oh.” “But she’s still overprotective of me and probably trying to figure out who you are, and where you live. And she got her shodan in judo this year. First one in years to pull it off that early.” “You’re killing me, Ren.” Ann groaned. “No. She might, though.” Silence. Ren started to snicker; Ann laughed. Ren shook his head, sighing. “It’s funny because it’s true. Kana-chan really is pretty hardcore. Her dad’s a coaching genius, but she’s the real taskmaster when it came to my conditioning.” He stood up, collecting the pig alarm clock - P-Chan, placing it on the card table. “This is P-Chan.” Ann picked up the alarm clock. “I was going to ask. This doesn’t really seem like you.” “It isn’t. That’s why, when I was a third year middle schooler and she was a first, she made me wear it around my neck. Every day for a week.” Ann snorted. “Seriously?! She looked tiny .” Ren shuddered at the memory of what Kaname had done to him to get him to wear the clock. “She can be a little ball of hate. That was my punishment for sleeping in and missing roadwork, and also for screwing up a weigh-in. Piggy alarm clock. Reminder to not eat so much around weigh-in, and to wake up on time.” “...It really sounds like she cares about you. And your parents, too.” “...yeah.” He looked up, as Ryuji poked his head into the attic. He had successfully dodged the question about Reiko. “Oh, hey man. Have a seat.” >>> Ann and Ryuji walked toward the station in Yongen some time later, plans having been made. Ryuji walked a bit awkwardly; his bag had been stuffed with the team’s airsoft guns. Ryuji’s part of preparation was going to be maintaining and modifying their weapons while helping at Iwai’s shop. Ann looked through her phone, identifying some cheaper accessory shops. According to Morgana, certain items might actually have a beneficial effect in the Metaverse. For Ren’s part, their de facto leader was going to prepare a training regimen for them. He wasn’t sure that real life strength and stamina would have an effect in the Metaverse, but their lives were on the line - he’d take any advantage he could get. In any event, it would hopefully make injuries less likely… And that brought his mind to the glaring hole in their plans. They still hadn’t sourced medicine. A brief experiment had shown that typical over the counter drugs didn’t do much in the Metaverse; probably because the team’s cognition of those was fairly benign. Helpful, but not able to do much. They needed something more real . “Hey. Ren. You’re over-grinding the beans.” Ren blinked, looking down at the hand-grinder he held. He unscrewed the canister, cursing. “Damn.” He tapped out grinds that were a little finer than flour. No good for percolator coffee. Sojiro sighed. “You’ve been spacing out a lot more often, kid. Did something happen at school?” Ren almost laughed. “No. Nothing.” Ren replied. “...Girl trouble, then?” Sojiro asked, raising an eyebrow. “Huh? No!” “Do you want it to be girl trouble? Blonde girl trouble?” ‘Kinda…’ “No!” Ren said, defensively. Sojiro smirked. He looked over Ren’s shoulder at the grinds. “Ah, that’s too bad. Not much good for anything drinkable, now.” “Nothing drinkable . Hey, Boss - you still have those steaks that Arai-san gave you?” Ren asked, referring to the meat that a regular had brought as a gift. A short time later, the two were seated at one of the booths, eating grilled steak with a spicy coffee rub. The older man shook his head in amazement. “You used grinds and curry spices to make this ? If the steaks weren’t so expensive, I’d add it to the menu…” “The rub might work with cheaper meat, too.” Ren said. “It’s something I learned to make for an American guest who was missing home, back at my folks’ inn.” Sojiro nodded. “Thanks, kid.” “It’s the least I could do. You’ve… ...you’ve done a lot for me.” Ren said. “Well, don’t say it like you’re leaving tomorrow.” Sojiro replied, raising an eyebrow. “...Right.” They continued eating, in companionable silence. “Hey. Ren.” Ren looked up. “You know, things will get better. You’re a good kid.” Ren raised an eyebrow. “Really? After a week and multiple threats to throw me out, and we’ve already come to this? Are you going to hug me, too?” “Bring it in.” Sojiro spread his arms out. “Ha ha. No. Please don’t call my bluff.” Sojiro shrugged. “You can tell a lot about somebody by what kind of friends they have. Ann sticks out. Really nice girl, but I bet she gets her share of trouble from her looks alone. And your other friend, he walks with a limp and looks like a punk, but he was anxious to get home to his mother - especially after I gave him that banana loaf to bring her.” “We’re just a little group of misunderstood outcasts, huh?” Ren said. “You are.” Sojiro replied, simply. “But that’s not a bad thing. You’ll do okay. Just keep your nose clean.” “Or you’ll throw me out.” “Haha. Yep.” >>> April 17, 20xx Early on Sunday morning, Ren walked downstairs into Leblanc, dressed in shorts and a hoody. He carried a backpack; Mona stuck up out of the top of it, his front paws on Ren’s shoulder. Sojiro looked up, surprised. The man had just walked into the shop himself. “Isn’t it really early for a non-school day? Or even for a school day?” He asked. “Not really.” Ren replied. “I’m going to do some training today. Don’t worry about breakfast for me; I already made something and packed it in my bag.” “Ah, I see.” Sojiro glanced at the kitchen, where the dishes had already been done. “Where are you headed?” “Close to the Sport Science University’s Setagaya campus.” Ren replied, kneeling down to re-tie his trainers before fishing his headphones out of his pocket. “Oh. Then you’re going to want to wait a bit, anyway. The train heading that way isn’t running yet.” “Not taking the train.” “It’s over an hour walk…” “Not walking, either.” Ren headed to the door. His face had an expression that Sojiro hadn’t seen before - the boy looked focused, almost on edge. Not anxious, though. Funnily enough, more like a dog who had heard someone utter the word ‘walk’. The bell on the door jingled as Ren pushed it open. He glanced at Mona. “You sure you want to ride along like this? Remember, I told you - I don’t want any holes in this sweater from you hanging on.” “I’ll be fine, Ren! Trust me.” “Alright, pal. Your funeral.” Ren started jogging. Mona winced; it was a bit bumpy, to start, but he quickly got used to it. After a few moments, he nodded triumphantly. “See? No problem. A phantom thief has to be able to handle…” Ren glanced at the cat. “That was the warm up.” “...What?” Ren turned on his headphones, the pleasant voice of the the device confirming the Bluetooth connection was good before pumping tunes from his streaming service. A new artist, but apropos. Her voice was deep and powerful for a woman, ringing with vibrato as she sang to a thudding beat. Something in English, about rebellion, change. He picked up the pace quickly, matching the beat. “Ren!? Ren!” Mona cried, barely hanging on. He fell back into the bag. “Oh, I’m gonna be sick…” >>> Ryuji and Ann, dressed in gym clothes, left the train station near the university’s Setagaya campus. Ryuji yawned sleepily, dressed in a green tank top and blue track pants rolled up to the knee. He eyed Ann critically. “Seriously? It’s Sunday, and you’re wearing your Shujin gym clothes.” Ann took a sip of her latte, glaring at Ryuji tiredly over the rim. “It’s not like I have a huge selection of exercise outfits. Besides, it’s not like it matters what I wear to work out.” The truth was, Ann did have a collection of fitness outfits. And the reason why she was tired was because she had gotten up early to pick one before settling on the school uniform. It was entirely because all the other ones weren’t quite right, or she wasn’t used to their feel. Nothing to do at all with the fact that she didn’t know what Ren might like. Nope. “Well, I guess that’s true. You look like a dork right now, though.” “Well, you are an expert on looking like a dork.” Ann came to a stop in front of the Sports Science University. “Wow. I can’t believe we’re going to be working out here… This is amazing.” The campus was state of the art, well-known for the many famous athletes that had graduated from their ranks. “Yeah. I don’t know how Ren got us in here, but I’ll take it! Probably way better than Protein Lovers.” Ryuji said, enthusiastically. “I bet it’s a boxing related connection.” “Where is he, anyway? I didn’t see him on the train…” Ann said, peering at the station. Ryuji looked over her shoulder. “Oh. He’s there… ...holy shit, did he run here?” He had. Ren paused at a traffic stop, keeping his heart rate up by shadow boxing. When the signal changed, he ran up, coming to a halt in front of the two. He panted lightly, a sheen of sweat on his face. “Hey, guys.” “...hey.” Ryui and Ann mumbled, staring in disbelief. It was nearly an hour’s walk from Leblanc to get here. Probably faster at the pace Ren was going, but still. Ren put the bag down, looking concerned as he took out his headphones. He peered inside. “Morgana?” The cat stumbled out of the backpack, looking somewhat like one of those videos of a pet post-anesthetic. He stuck his head in some bushes; the sound of retching followed. “Oh! Mona!” Ann cried. “Urgh…” He waved a paw at the three, head still in the bushes. “Just… just go on without me. I’ll catch up.” Ryuji looked at Ren. “Dude… As funny as this is, even I wouldn’t have gone that far.” Ren shrugged. “I offered to take the train. He said he didn’t want to disrupt my routine. I took him up on the offer.” Ryuji eyed Ren’s expression, his nonchalance. “...Ice cold, man. You really take this that seriously?” Ren returned the look. “As a heart attack. This is kinda my thing.” Ann recalled yesterday; how Ren had actually worn the alarm clock, how he still had it with him as a reminder. She saw the focused look on his face, a polar opposite to his demeanor in class. It was markedly different from the Metaverse, also. ‘Joker’ was a deadly fighter, but still managed to give off an air of not giving a damn. ‘...So many contradictions in one person.’ Ren unzipped his hoody to cool down. Ann stared, much in the way that Ren had stared at her after her Awakening. He wore a sleeveless T, showing defined arms and broad shoulders; his shorts were above the knee, but clearly the young fighter never skipped leg day, either. He stretched, the hem of his top riding up just a little… Ann choked on her coffee, drawing Ren’s attention. He was oblivious to being ogled, though. “Oh. Good for you, Ann. That’s a good idea.” “...What?” “Pre-workout caffeine. It’s something I usually do, but I hate running on a full stomach.” “Oh. You should have told me, I would have gotten you one. Uhm… you can have some of this? Let me just wipe the lid…” “It’s fine.” Ren casually took the coffee. “Hm? Oh! Uh…” Ann watched, numbly, as he drank from the same cup that she had been sipping. Where her lips had been. Ann used to read shoujo manga in middle school and was familiar with the tropes. She had never quite seen the appeal of the famous indirect kiss, though. As she watched him drink, her eyes wide, she started to get it. Ren sighed, handing the cup back. “Thanks.” Completely oblivious. He became something of an idiot while working out, fitting to a tee the ‘boxing glove for a brain’ description. “Anyway, we should go in.” “Er… ..y-yeah!” Ann stammered. Ryuji brightened, eagerly heading toward the university. Ren turned the other way, heading across the street toward a building that looked like a repurposed warehouse. He paused, looking back at Ryuji and Ann. “...Where are you guys going?” Blinking, Ryuji and Ann followed Ren. The door had ‘Shinoda Boxing Gym’ printed on it. “This is the gym of one of Coach Takeda’s old friends. He gave me the door code, said we could train here so long as we don’t get in the way of his pros. Preferably on days where they won’t be around.” He pushed open the door. The ‘gym’ was a repurposed warehouse. It was harshly lit with fluorescent bulbs; the walls were concrete and steel. One side of the gym was equipped with multiple heavy bags, the other with ancient-looking squat racks, deadlift platforms, and benches. In the middle, a boxing ring that also seemed it had seen better days. And finally, at the back, old truck tires and sledgehammers. Everything was in good condition - no rust, nothing that seemed dangerous. But, it was all well used . “Uh… ...Ren?” Ryuji said, quietly.  Ren headed for a rack. “Let’s get started.” >>> April 21, 20xx Ann dragged herself out of the train station in Yongen-Jaya after school on Thursday, cursing quietly as she fished her phone out of her bag. Even that small combined motion made her wince. She was still in her uniform, on her way to meet Ren; she had a short meeting with her agency so he had left ahead of her. She allowed a little smile as she saw who was messaging her. SS: Hey! How’s things? I miss you AT: I miss you too. Are you home now? SS: Finally discharged. They didn’t want to let me out until my parents got back Shiho had spent the last few days in hospital. Her injuries were relatively minor, with the exception of a blown anterior cruciate ligament from Kamoshida’s latest beating and attempted rape. The injury would cost her the volleyball season but really, that was the least of her worries. Currently, her parents were exploring legal action but things weren't looking good. There was no proof, other than the physical abuse Shiho had suffered. And entering that as evidence would open up her medical record to the defense as well... something that Shiho and her parents weren't sure they were ready for. It seemed like nothing short of a full confession from Kamoshida coupled with key testimony would do anything. SS: What are you up to? Can you come over? AT: Maybe later? I’m going to go help Ren with something SS: Didn’t you guys just hang out yesterday? AT: Unfortunately… …we just worked out. Me and Ryuji are still recovering SS: ? Then why are you going? Does he work you and Ryuji that hard? He doesn’t seem the type Ann added a sticker of an exhausted looking rabbit to the conversation; the little bunny looked remarkably like Ann, down to the blue eyes. Everything hurt, even places she didn’t know could hurt. It wasn’t so much that Ren was a horrible taskmaster, or ran training like boot camp. In fact, it was the opposite… AT: He’s a freaking workout nut! He’s this space cadet in class but a totally different person at the gym! His regimen is insane, and he’s so focused and earnest that all you want to do is keep up with him! And when you can’t , he acts nicer to you but doesn’t give you the option to stop! It makes you want to scream! SS: ...this sounds like a you problem. You could just stop AT: You can’t. You can’t say no to him when he’s like that. He’s literally killing me with kindness! And burpees! SS: you’re doing burpees ? Damn you’ve got it bad for this boy AT: what are you talking about?! Ann smiled despite herself as she dragged herself up the stairs. The last few days had been exhausting, but strangely good. It felt good to do something. Whether it was discovering the effects of the different accessories she had purchased in the Metaverse, trying out Ryuji’s weapon modifications, or training with Ren, she felt like they were finally taking control of their lives. It might have been fun, if it weren’t for the deadline hanging over their heads. She was glad that it was just her and Ren today. It might give her time to actually check in with their leader. Because of that deadline, he was constantly doing something. A part time job, making equipment, training… It was hard to pin him down. And when they trained together, he kept Ann and Ryuji too busy to ask questions. Really, despite being ‘on the team’ now, she still didn’t know much about him, or his state of mind. Even Ryuji wasn’t sure. They both agreed, though - in the Metaverse, he was getting progressively more reckless and aggressive - as if he was trying to get them to the Treasure by carrying the team on his back, regardless of his own safety. Ann winced, stretching as she made her way down an alley in Yongen-Jaya. Ren had wanted to meet her around two blocks away from Leblanc, oddly enough. She glanced at the coordinates that Ren had sent to her on her phone. He was supposed to meet her right around here… She looked up. It was just the entrance to an alleyway, across from a small clinic. ‘That’s odd. It should be right here…’ “Had enough yet!? Boxer my ass, you ain’t so tough!” Ann looked down the alley, just in time to watch Ren take a punch to the face by someone wearing a Shujin uniform. The attacker was backed by three other students, all rough looking. “! Hey! What the hell are you doing?!” She looked down the block, spotting a police officer. “Police! Help! Someone’s getting beaten up!” The delinquents looked up, startled - they took off running toward the other end of the alley, now chased by the police officer. Ann dashed down the alley to Ren. Ren groaned, rubbing his cheek. His glasses were askew; his uniform was dirty. Ann hurriedly helped him up. “Ren?! What happened?!” “Ah… Had a little run in with some guy from school. Kentaro Nishima, I think? Or Keitaro Yamada… Guy’s been looking for me ever since Kamoshida outed me as a boxer.” “That’s awful…” She murmured. She touched his bruised cheek, frowning. “We should get you looked at.” “That’s the idea!” Ren replied, suddenly cheerful. He straightened out his uniform. He then frowned thoughtfully, and unstraightened it out. “There’s a clinic across from the alley. I need you to ‘help’ me stagger in there.” Ann stared blankly at Ren. “...Wait. This was why you asked me and Ryuji to come?” Ren nodded, thoughtfully. “If I had known it was going to be just you, I might have changed the plan. I’m lucky the cop was there, otherwise those guys might have taken a look at you and just kept beating me. No offense, but I'm glad the police officer was there. Heh. Never thought I’d say that --” “Are you insane ?!” Ann asked, looking like she was ready to hit Ren herself. “It was the only way, Ann-dono!” Mona said, poking his head into the alley. “I’ve been watching this clinic for a few days. The doctor sees all sorts of people, but she’s pretty sharp. I watched her throw a few students out trying to scam her out of stimulants for exams. She won’t even let them into her examination room.” “ You . You were okay with watching Ren get the crap beaten out of him?!” “Er, no, I…” Ann looked ready to continue her lecture. “Ann.” She looked up; Ren was standing straight, a reassuring smile on his face. “Really, I’m fine. I know how to take a punch, and I know how to make it look bad without taking too much damage. On top of that, those guys have been trying to get me alone for days. They wanted to ‘prove themselves’ against a boxer. Now that they’ve done it, they should leave me alone.” Ann shook her head, sighing. “I still can’t believe you.” Ann relented, supporting Ren as he affected a limp and leaned on her. She still grumbled in mock-irritation to hide the effect that his closeness and heat had on her as they trudged into the clinic. The doctor, seated behind a desk in the window, looked up. She was young; appearing almost too young for the job. She wore a white coat over her stylish green dress, and had a bob cut that just accentuated a sort of fashionable ennui that she radiated. Her eyes widened, though, upon seeing Ren’s bruises and limp. Ren held his ribs gingerly. “Uh… ...your sign said walk in appointments are over. Are 'stagger ins' still okay?” Ren asked, wincing. Ann tried hard not to roll her eyes. The doctor sighed, standing. “I suppose. The door to your right. Your girlfriend can come, too.” “I’m not…” The doctor was already gone, entering her exam room through the other door. “She seems nice.” Ren said. Ann did roll her eyes this time. They entered, where Ann made a show of helping Ren to the exam table. The blonde looked up at the doctor. “Ah, sensei. This idiot got into a fight, and…” ‘Legs.’ Ann stared at the doctor, who sat cross legged in her chair. Seemingly listening, but still giving off an air of boredom. The stylish green dress was apparently a stylish green mini dress, showing off ripped fishnet stockings, shapely thighs, and platform heels tied on with Roman style leather straps. “And? I’m Tae Takemi, by the way.” “Uh, sorry. And I wanted to make sure he was okay. He said he was feeling thigh— I mean fine , but he’s pretty stubborn . ” Ann stammered. Her eyes flicked to Ren. She wondered if he was having a hard time with this also. To the phantom thief’s credit, he was lying on his back, letting out laboured breaths. “Oh, really.” Takemi walked over to Ren. “Can you sit up…?” Ren nodded. “I… I think so, Takemi-sensei.” He sat up slowly, grimacing. “Good. Then strip.” Ann’s jaw dropped. “A-are you sure that’s necessary—…” And then her jaw dropped further as Ren started to disrobe, taking off his blazer. He slowly pulled his Shujin sweater off, peeling it off. Ann licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry. Takemi raised an eyebrow, looking at Ann. “Are you well? Feeling thirsty?” ‘Just had to ask like that?’ Ann thought, averting her eyes. “I’m okay. Just worried.” Takemi smirked. She started examining Ren, checking his eyes, his bruises. She spent a disproportionate amount of time on his hands before sitting back down at her desk. “Interesting.” “Really?” Ren asked, unable to hide his surprise. He just had a few bruises, after all. “Not your injuries. You . Not many people would let themselves get beat up just to get in my door.” Takemi said, idly spinning a pen in her right hand. “Let alone boxers.” Ren and Ann’s jaws both dropped, now. Takemi waved a hand dismissively. “I know, I know. Insert your denial here. Look. Your bruises are superficial; you obviously know how to take a punch without taking a lot of damage. You slipped the punches just enough to leave a mark and to satisfy your attackers. And your back and shoulders say boxer or kempo. Your hands give it away, though. No thickened knuckles from bare handed fighting; your calluses are only from weightlifting and calisthenics.” The back alley doctor smiled. Both Ann and Ren swallowed nervously at the expression. “So tell me. What makes high schoolers so desperate for my products that they’d go to such lengths? And it better be good, or you’re going to have another bruise. One not so superficial.” Ann tried to think of a lie. Any lie. Ren spoke first, straight faced. “We’re preparing to physically enter the mind of a criminal in order to rewrite his cognition and force him to confess his crimes. We believe that your medications could have profound effects on our recovery and battle readiness on the other side. Through the power of belief." Silence. Takemi sighed. “...wow. You must be desperate.” Ren nodded, gravely. “We are. ‘Exams’ sounded pretty lame as a reason, so…” Takemi laughed. “They do. Tell you what. If you’re desperate enough to make up insane stories and get beat up, this is just a small step further.” She reached into a cabinet, taking out a small vial of oddly vibrant blue fluid. “You don’t have to tell me any more and I’ll sell you my medicine at a discount, if you drink this and agree to help me on a few more experiments.” She handed Ren the vial. “Now, let me tell you…” Ren unscrewed the cap, throwing back the entire contents of the vial. Takemi’s eyes widened, no longer looking bored in the slightest. “...that you should only take a small sip.” “Oh. That’s unfortunate. You know, you really should label this thing, then this sort of thing wouldn't… …” “Ren!” Ann shouted, as he collapsed back onto the examination bed. >>> Ren woke up to a familiar ceiling. He sat up slowly, blinking groggily. “Ah… man.” He was still only wearing pants. ‘How did I…’ Ren looked over at the sofa. Ann was lying there, curled up on her side. Asleep. ‘Ah.’ He glanced at the time - 1900. A full two hours later. He stood, walking over to wake her up. He did take note of her sleeping face, though, rating the adorability of it a solid 9/10. Objectively. She let out a cute little snore. ‘...and she sticks the landing. 10/10.’  “Hey, Ann.” Ren said, kneeling beside the couch. Ann’s eyes fluttered open. Slowly, at first. Upon spotting Ren, she bolted upright. “Hey, thanks for getting me home—!” She threw herself onto him, her arms going around his neck as she hugged him. “Oh thank God! You’re finally awake! I can’t believe you drank the whole thing, you idiot!” “Ann, you…” “This whole plan was insane! And what were you thinking, gambling by telling her everything…” “Ann, you really should…” “But the medicine! We got the medicine! It was brilliant! Insane, but brilliant!” Ann said, excitedly. She leaned back, her hands still on Ren’s shoulders. “ Ann.” Ann blinked. Ren was… averting his eyes? Looking uncomfortable? Was he hurt, or… She realized now, that she was on the floor with him. Actually, straddling him. And his shirt was off. She averted her eyes also. Ren started to move. “I should get you home, it’s…” Ann’s fingers tightened on his shoulders. “Ren, wait.” “Ann…?” “I… That is, Ryuji and I noticed that you’ve been taking a lot of risks lately, in the Palace. And now today, purposely getting beat up and drinking that medicine…” “It was necessary.” “I know. I know that.” She said. Ann looked at him, now, their eyes meeting. “But I need you in one piece. We all do. What’s with you lately, Ren?” “I’m alright, Ann. Really.” “Are you sure?” “You might even say I’m thigh.” Ann blinked, and then glared at Ren. “You jerk.” He grinned. Ann rolled her eyes. She leaned in, her sudden proximity silencing him as she hugged him again. “Just… just remember we’re all here for you too, okay? We’ll finish Kamoshida in time.” Ren took a breath, catching the scent of freesias and pears from her perfume. “...right. I’ll remember.” She touched the bruise on his cheek gently. “Good.” Ren’s breath hitched as he thought he felt the brush of her lips against the bruise. If it was there, it was fleeting. Gone in a moment. She was already on her feet. Staring at her in some confusion, Ren put a hand on his cheek, where that soft feeling had been. “Anyway. Rest up. We go in tomorrow, right?” “Right.” Ann left quickly, drawing her hoody up as she nodded to Sojiro. She was glad the hood was deep enough to hide her burning face. ‘Yeah. Definitely thirsty. ’ >>> April 22, 20xx It had now been a week since the incident on the rooftop. A week since the expulsion threat. And now, finally, they were completely prepared for the last push. The four thieves sat in Ren’s attic, around the card table. Ren put a satchel on the table - filled with medications from Tae Takemi, along with a note addressed to her ‘little guinea pig’. Ann distributed items that seemed to counter-balance each of their Persona’s weaknesses. In Ren’s case, the adaptable Trickster was given something to enhance his already prodigious speed and precision. And that left Ryuji. Grinning widely, the bottle blond reached into his large duffel bag. “Wait ‘till you get a load of these .” The guns were nearly unrecognizable for the amount of work that had been put into them. “Holy shit… Ryuji, is this even the same gun?” Ren said, picking up the pistol. The 1911 had been heavily modified. “Heh heh. Yep. I copied this movie I saw, the Punisher. You’ve got a hair trigger on that thing, now, extended mag, and compensator. Gave you red accents instead of silver, though.” Ren shook his head, marveling at the work. “Iwai must love you.” “Both of us. He’s grateful for the shifts we’ve pulled.” Ryuji said. He passed Ann her MP5, now modified with integrated silencer - now an MP5-SD5, with full stock. “Here, Ann.” “Ooh. Nice.” Morgana hopped up onto the table. “You guys ready? I think we’ll be able to reach the Treasure today, with any luck.” Ren stood up, taking out his phone. “Luck won’t have anything to do with it. We're going to tear this place apart.” The world rippled and faded, revealing the Castle of Lust. As Ren looked up at it, new weapon and medicine in hand, the place didn’t look nearly as intimidating before. Ann fell in line beside him. “We’re all ready, Joker.” She smiled at him, her face concealed under the feline mask. Ren smiled that crooked little smile, holstering his gun. “It’s showtime.” >>> Just over an hour’s drive away at the Amamiya family’s inn, Kenji sat at the desk in the office, sighing as he flipped through some papers. The truth was, he had lost weight. Running a seaside inn required a surprising number of permits. A sale of liquor license, a business license, a hotel license. Even a license to utilize their patch of beach as part of their business property. The Amamiyas were well-known business owners in the community; in the years prior, getting these renewed had never really been an issue. This year, though, it had all gone to hell. They had the business license, but not the hotel license - they could run the restaurant and rentals, but couldn’t let anyone stay overnight. But they didn’t have the sale of liquor license, so they couldn’t sell drinks. Those were the worst things among a myriad of small issues. And at the root of it was Shido - he hadn’t just ruined Ren’s life; he had set up multiple barriers for his parents, also. Despite his public persona, the man was irrationally spiteful to anyone he had deemed as ‘crossing him’. Kenji rubbed his face with his hands. They could live off their savings for awhile, but it didn’t help with the stress that much. “Kenji…” Inoue murmured, leaning down and hugging her husband from behind. “We’ll figure something out.” Kenji nodded. “I… I know. We have to. Do you think the kid knows?” She sighed. “He… probably has some idea. Just like how we know he’s not telling us everything, either.” “Do you think we should just tell him…?” “...I think so, Kenji. I don't like lying to Ren. Maybe at the start of May? We’ll know more, by then.” “Right. Right…”

Joan VII S he wanted to rage, to smash and to destroy. She felt it so deeply in her bones, in her blood that her ears roared, her pulse throbbed, and she could almost hear the wind in her ears and the hot breath of air, the stink of that city in her nose. She could almost seen the sun, high in the sky and she roared, screeched, sneered, cried in rage.   White, hot rage. Blind and hot just like flames. Never before had she felt so much like her family words. Fire and blood .   She wanted to repay Robert Baratheon in kind of every hair harmed on her uncle's head a ten-times worse injury.   She was pacing, her porpora gown following her like dark live flame. She had put her hair up in a easy and half-undone updo, a knot on the back of her neck and she clasped her hands before herself with such a force the knuckles had turned white.   "I suggest caution." prince Doran said exchanging a look with the Maester as Aegon stood by his desk in his solar.   " Caution ? - she repeated disbelieving - where did caution get you in all this years, my prince?" she demanded.   Prince Doran looked at her brother with an eloquent glance and Aegon sighed. She pointed to the scroll, the scroll arrived directly from Kings Landing and the one arrived from Winterfell.    "My uncle has been taken prisoner and my cousin , a girl of ten and one, is at the mercy of the same people who murdered princess Elia and princess Rhaenys in their own chambers." she exclaimed.   Aegon took a step towards her before faltering when he saw the tears coming down her cheeks.    "Oh, kirimves - he crooned taking the last steps toward her and embracing her, holding her thigh - If I could I would spare you this sorrow."   He kissed her head and draw imaginary circles in her back as she sobbed.   "I'm not saying, uncle, to throw caution to the wind but the Usurper clearly knows that I have sought refuge here in Sunspear since he has wrote that I immediately cease these claims and come to Kings Landing to face judgment for my treason . I, the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms and that I cease with this treachery of passing off Visenya for my sister and release the daughters of House Stark to him ."   She heard him inhale and then exhale "I say we reply in kind, demanding the release of Eddard of House Stark." he suggested, he then distanced her from his chest and looked deep into her red and puffy eyes "Aunt Daenerys will depart shortly from Meereen where she is installing a form of auto-government in the cities of the Bay" he reminded her thumbing away her tears.   She nodded "She will sail here with an army of Unsullied and a Dothraki horde - he carried on - and if the Usurper doesn't release your uncle we will show him Fire and Blood." he assured her.   "I will write to Robb personally - he assured her - and we will rendevouz with the northern army to march South." he promised her.   Joan nodded fleebly and she felt the wheeled chair come closer, she looked down in prince Doran kind if tired dark eyes, his ringlets of liquid darkness tinged with silver as he took her hand in his and squeezed it. It was the first true act of kindness on his part to her.   "I won't let an innocent little girl pay as Elia and her daughter payed for crimes not theirs." he assured her before looking Aegon right in the eyes.   "Dorne will stand behind House Targaryen - he vowed - and House Stark. We will demand too the release of lord Eddard."    Joan felt quite overwhelmed by it as prince Doran nodded to them both before departing, his guard steering him out of the solar.   Joan let herself fall in one of the chairs unable to stop the tears from falling. Aegon knelt by her and flattened the palm of his hand on her knee as the Maester excused himself.   She sobbed and Aegon took her hands in his kissing the knuckles as she cried. He then grasped the back of her neck in one hand, tangling his fingers in her hair half knotted half down already and forced her to look in his eyes.   "I swear to you, kirimves , the Usurper will curse the day he was born by the time I am finished with him. - he vowed - but he isn't so idiotic to harm either of them for it would mean that we have no reason not to storm Kings Landing anymore. They are far more valuable alive then dead to him. We still have time."   His promise made her pause. She closed her eyes and inhaled, when she opened them again she could almost see herself reflected in Aegon's amethyst eyes.   She got up from the chair leaving him knelt before her, she crouched before him and cupped his jaw in her hands.   "And I promise you this, lēika - she said, her voice meanancing, almost metallic - there will be no peace if an hair on his head has been harmed."   Aegon wrapped his hands around her wrist and used them as leverage to get on his feet and press a open mouthed kiss to her lips claiming them with a fervor still unknown to her that made her belly arch and sing with something unfamiliar and powerful. She roared, a mighty scream that seemed to shock the very core of her being.    The wind whistled in her ears and roared as it lapped at her hot but not hotter than herself.   She felt each and every muscle of her arms ache, but it was a powerful and empowering sort of ache, like after a long day of training.    She felt the air lick and wrap itself around her underbelly caressing her core as a mother would.    She pivoted on herself, wrapped in a golden glow while the setting sun pinked the clear sky. She didn't like the noise nor the smell of the city, it was salted but not clear.    She could feel every pulse, every flap of the wind against her.    Then the scene changed, she crawled, observed silent as a wolf, the world around her changed colors setting to a strange nuance that was much more nitid than before.   The heat was almost unbearable but she couldn't find respite for she had someone to stalk, her prey . She could hear its beating heart, its smell of lavender and oils massaged on its skin. She could still feel her prey flesh under her jaws.    She missed her siblings but she would endure until the day they would reunite.   She woke up gasping as if she had just run all around the keep twice. It wasn't the first time she experienced something like this, it had started happening already in Winterfell when they had found the direwolves returning from the execution of the Nights Watch deserter.   It had grown steadily stronger since she had met Aegon and the comet had appeared in the sky.    She exhaled slowly and looked out of her window as she slowly sat up in her bed, the silk sheets pooling at her waist. She fingered them as she thought back at the raw sheets she had in her bed back at Winterfell, raw and coarse. A second choice, of second hand… she felt the tears prickly at her eyes as she realized that while she was here, safe , her uncle, the man who had raised her and risked his life and family for her, was now in the Black Cells terrorized about his eldest daughter safety.   She felt ungrateful and she sobbed. Had she the power she would storm Kings Landing atop one of her aunt dragons - surely she would lend her one for this instance - and give Robert Baratheon a piece of her mind.   He had already killed his father, robbed her of her life as it was supposed to be… if he killed the man who had been as a father for her or harmed the girl she regarded as a sister he would beg for his life to be ended and Visenya would not show mercy, she would let him live knowing it was the daughter of the man he had killed that had bested him and had his life in her power.    The knock came steady.   "Enter."    Arya padded inside as quiet as a mouse, barefeet and with her hair in disarray, her cheeks wet.   She opened the sheets and she laid beside her curling up as she had always done when she was little.   "Oh, Arya…"   "I dreamed of father. - her sister said - I mean father was there and that man of the Nights Watch, the one who came always with uncle Benjen."   Joan let her vent in silence "I was… I was crunched by a giant made of stone - she recounted - I was dirty and hungry. Then that man was there, and Sansa was screaming…"   Arya clenched her hands against her ears as she wept and Joan watched...she could almost taste the whole thing uncurling.   "...she was screaming so much that even her pretty dress seemed to become opaque as she screamed."   It was clear that dreaming of her sister in pain had shaken her much "And then father was talking, telling everyone you are a princess and that the North stands behind you… I don't know what happened then but that man was there and he forced me to look at the sky as the people screamed and hailed and I tasted something metallic on my tongue as the birds flew overhead."   Joan kept drawing circles in her back "But that wasn't the worst."   "What was it?" she quietly asked almost afraid of her answer.   "She had stopped screaming."

From the moment she woke the next morning, there was a nervous excitement beginning to flutter in her stomach. She couldn’t wait for her very first official dinner date with a woman, something she had thought possible in her life so she was secretly worried that she would get a message to say that Anne couldn't make it. So when her phone buzzed in her hand as she made her commute to the library, she felt the prickle of fear on the back of her neck. Good morning, my darling Ann. I hope your looking forward to our dinner tonight as much as I am. I made a reservation for us at a restaurant called The Golden Gondola at 7pm. Hope that suits. If not let me know. I’ll pick you up at 6.30pm. Can’t wait. Xxx Ann felt a happy smile stretch her lips as she read and then re read the text. She was such an idiot for worrying, of course Anne was going to show up. The thought of Anne being as enthusiastic about their date, kept the smile on her face all the way into the library. “Oh, someone looks like they had a good day off yesterday in spite of that terrible weather.” Ann snapped out of her happiness bubble at the sound of Margy’s voice. Her supervisor was standing next to her desk, dressed in a too tight dress whose busy floral pattern reminded Ann of a pair of curtains. She realised by the look she was giving her, she expected some kind of answer. “Yes, it was” Ann said, trying to sound pleasant while she stowed her bag under her desk and took her chair. “From the way you looked as you came in, it was a bit more than good. What did you get up to? And more importantly, who with?” Ann might not of been at her job for very long but she knew that Margy loved nothing more than to dig into the personal lives of the staff. She had both seen and heard her relaying her latest installment of juicy gossip with a couple of the others, so Ann had no intentions of giving the woman anymore fuel for her gossip mill. “I just had coffee, er, tea, with someone.” Ann told her, trying to sound as off handed as she could be. She’d never had a good poker face but in this case she willed herself to try. “It's wonderful that you’re making friends already, Annie. Is it someone in your building?” Margy looked determined to find out as much about Ann’s day off as she could, and the first prickle of annoyance spread over Ann’s skin and if there was one thing that Ann really hated, it was being called Annie. It made Ann all the more determined not to say anything that would give Margy even the slightest hint of her and Anne’s date, not to mention the one they were to go on tonight. “Um, yes, a neighbour.” Ann said, simply as she powered up her computer and tried to look interested at the screen. “Well, that’s convenient then. Any further plans to see him again?” For once, it looked like Ann’s luck was running for a change as Margy had presumed she had been out with a man. She needed to employ her best storytelling skills so she could safely lead Margy down the wrong path. “Oh, I don't know. It was just coffee. Um, tea.” She replied. “Oooh, but that’s how it all starts, you know. Some of the greatest romances started off that way.” Margy nodded her self sagely and folded her arms over her ample chest. Margy had just opened her mouth to ask her something else when another of the ladies from the office came up to her and they walked away. Ann gave her a sigh of relief. She had been starting to worry that she was beginning to run out of lies. For now, it seemed, she had gotten away with her deception. For the rest of the day, Ann found herself in a state of nervous excitement.. Even though she was nervous about her date, she couldn't wait for it to happen either. At the most inconvenient moments, she found herself daydreaming about Anne and their morning together. Each time, a smile crept across her face and she had to look around to make sure no one was watching her.   It wasn't until she was half way home, a tingly excitement coursing through her, that she suddenly realised that there was something rather important that she had forgotten. What the heck was she going to wear. The nervous excitement now turned to near panic as she ran the rest of the way to her apartment from the train station and went straight to her wardrobe. Ann had culled a lot of her clothes before she had moved, thinking that she wouldn't need half the expensive formal gowns and dresses that she had owned. Her parents had lavished her with beautiful things before they had died and she and her sister had spent many a weekend at some charity ball or formal dinner with them. But after their passing, Ann had retreated into herself, shunning any place or occasion that involved too many people, so the need for such lavish clothing was no more. She had kept two of her favourite dresses, more for sentimental reasons than anything, but even though she was sure that this restaurant they were going to tonight was formal, she didn't think that a dress that was more suited to a ball would be appropriate. With growing worry, Ann looked through her plane clothing options. Her only choices seemed to be either her work clothes, that consisted of serviceable blouses and skirts, or casual jeans, t-shirts and sweatpants, that she wore on the weekends. Oh god, was she going to have to text Anne and tell her that she couldn't go because of this? The sight of a navy hem had her pulling out a straight cut navy skirt that she had bought for the interview for the library job. It was plain but just might be okay if she could find something to wear with it. All her work blouses were just thin cotton shirts she had picked up at a department store, in white, blue and pink. Now her choices had been cut back for that as well with the demise of the white shirt after her meeting with Anne. Not that she cared about losing it, she stood to gain much more by its lose. She was bordering on a full blown panic attack when she saw the gift bag that Anne had given her the day before and her hopes rose once more. The silk blouse! It would be perfect with this. She ran into the bathroom and showered, did her make-up and hair in record time, before saying a silent prayer that it looked alright, before putting on the skirt and blouse. The material felt wonderful on her skin and it draped over her body in all the right places. Ann found herself smiling at herself in the full length mirror as she slipped her feet into a pair of navy pumps before she grabbed her bag and then headed down to the lobby of her building to wait. Even with the near disaster with the wardrobe, she had fifteen minutes to spare. She had just walked out onto the sidewalk when a large dark car pulled up out the front. Anne Lister alighted from the driver’s side door. Ann felt her heart skip a beat at the sight of her. For the first time since they had met, Anne’s long dark hair was falling loose around her face, one side caught back behind her ear.Why did such an inconsequential thing make her mouth water. The thought of feeling that long dark mane running through her fingers, was doing crazy things to her insides. She was wearing a pair of deep grey pants and a silver grey billowy blouse that had wide cuffs. A matching jacket completed her look along with a pair of dark grey heeled boots. She looked amazing and for a few crazy seconds, Ann couldn’t tear her eyes from her. But then Anne’s reaction immediately had her worried. Her hand came up to cover her mouth and her eyes went wide. She shook her head. Ann felt the icy chill of panic starting to creep down her spine. Oh god, why was she looking at her like this? Had she totally misjudged the way she looked? “My god, Miss Walker.” Anne finally said, taking her hand from her mouth and still shaking her head slowly. Ann could see her eyes looking at her from head to toe in a slow scan that was sending her pulse rate through the roof. Damn! Had she ruined this night that she’d been looking forward to all day already? Oh please say she hadn't. “Ah, h-have I d-dressed….” she started to stutter, tearing her eyes from Anne and looking down at herself. “God I love it when I’m right. Look at you.” Anne said, with conviction. She must have seen the near terror on Ann’s face and her face fell into a mask of concern. “Oh no! No! Don't worry! You look fantastic. I meant that blouse I gave you. It’s so beautiful on you, I knew that it was meant for you when I saw it. I just didn't think it would look quite this good. Ann, you’re a vision.” It took a few seconds before her words sunk in and made sense to her. “R-really?” She still wasn't convinced that she had heard her correctly. Had she just told her she was beautiful? Wow. She hadn’t realised how tense she’s made herself until she felt her shoulders lowering.   She thinks I’m beautiful. Anne came over to her and gently took her hand, bringing it up to her lips and kissing the knuckles. Ann felt like she had been bathed in sunshine. “I’ve been waiting for this all day and I certainly haven’t been disappointed. Shall we go?” Anne asked her softly as she looked into her eyes. She nodded and Anne led her to the front passenger side seat before she got behind the wheel and they headed off into the traffic. The restaurant was a relatively new one in the city, but word began to spread about the quality of their food, so even for a weeknight, it was busy. After they had parked and walked a short distance to it, they went in and were greeted by a smiling maitre de, who walked them through the dining area to a table for two near a wall. The whole place had a very cosy atmosphere. It wasn’t a large space so it gave Ann a homey feel. Very relaxed, and aromas that were wafting out from the kitchen were mouth watering.They sat at their table and ordered drinks and the waitress went to get them the menus. The table was small enough that when they were sitting forward, their knees brushed, sending small lightning strikes throughout Ann’s body. She could feel her pulse racing already and all they were doing was having dinner. She knew she needed to keep calm and try to relax so that she could enjoy their first date. “So, how was work?” Anne asked her as she sipped a glass of red wine. “Oh, nothing exciting, I can assure you. I do mostly boring admin work. I bet your work would be a lot more interesting though. How did you get into it?” Ann asked, genuinely wanting to know. “I grew up in a museum, well, that’s what I always thought of it. Good old Shibden was just that, old, ancient almost, and the place hadn't changed much since the day it had been built. It’s filled with antiques, paintings, furniture, that sort of thing and we were never allowed to run around or play inside. I always did though. I broke some sort of figurine once as I came tearing through the door after school one day and I don't think my parents ever let me hear the end of it. I can't even remember what it was. But, needless to say as I grew older, I learnt the value of things and the need to preserve the old pile of bricks where my aunt and father still live, by the way.” Listening to Anne talk, Ann found herself captivated by the way she spoke and the expression that filled each sentence. She was beginning to think that this woman could read the phone book to her and she wouldn't be able to stop listening. “It sounds fascinating to of grown up in such an interesting place with so much history, though.” Ann said as the waitress came back to hand them two menus. “Yes and no, I suppose. I left for a long while after my mother passed. I needed to spread my wings a bit. Our home town was a very small community, if you know what I mean. I had never really fitted in. But, I think I always knew I'd be back some day. I had little option when my uncle left it to me in his will. My father was too old to properly run the estate by then so here I am.” She said, smiling over the edge of the menu, giving Ann one of her now very familiar raised eyebrow smiles. Ann had no idea why such a simple action could make her heart pound. Maybe it was because it felt like it was a little cheeky or even flirty to her and Anne’s deep brown eyes always seemed to twinkle when she did it which never failed to give her a feeling like she had just been charged with electricity. Either way, sitting opposite her now as she read the menu, she could feel the tingle of goosebumps on her skin. And she loved It. They chose their meals and told the waitress when she returned and then sipped their drinks as they waited. It was easy to make small talk with Anne. She always had something interesting to say and Ann found herself relaxing completely in no time. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so at ease with someone whom she had only known such a short while. Just for this fact alone, made her think that the night was a special one. The rest of the their dinner together went wonderfully. The food was fabulous and Ann kept her amused by telling her stories about her work and clients, making her laugh more than she had done in months. While they ate and chatted, Ann was becoming increasingly aware of the now near constant touch of Anne’s knees to hers, and it felt so good and even a little magical to have that secret contact. The meal was over way too soon and they reluctantly got up to leave, with Anne’s hand gently at the small of her back when they went out the door, they both paused on the sidewalk. “It’s such a nice night, and I don’t know about you but I’m in no hurry to leave your company. How about a stroll down the street a bit?” Anne asked her, looking hopeful. Ann smiled back and nodded. “ yes, that sounds great.” She had been really hoping that they could have more time together. For the first few minutes, they walked side by side in silence. Ann’s thoughts began to turn to the possibilities of what might come next. Would this be the night that she got her very first kiss?The thought of that happening both excited and terrified her all at once. She had never kissed anyone before nor had she been kissed so she had no idea what to expect. The one thing she was very sure of, however, was that Anne would be perfect at it. God, would she even be any good at it? Would Anne be able to tell that she had never kissed anyone before? Of course she would, the woman would have a world of experience with others before her. Anne seemed to have sensed somehow that she was lost in thought and with a gentle touch of her hand to her arm, brought them both to a halt. “Ann, is something wrong? You looked troubled.” She hadn’t realised how so engrossed in her own thoughts she was until then. Yes, truthfully, she was troubled about her lack of expertise where dating was concerned; all previous attempts, even though they had been with men, had been disasters. She knew she probably should tell Anne about this being a totally new world for her, but, so far, things were going really well and she didn’t want to spoil it. “No, not at all, I’m fine.” She told her in the end, giving her, what she hoped was a reassuring smile.   But at the end of the street, in front of a boutique with the prettiest dresses Ann had ever seen in the windows, that decision was about to be tested. They both gazed into the store, looking at the flowing material, the rich colours and the overall elegance of each gown. Anne pointed to a pale pink one, that draped over the shoulders of the dress form that it sat on. “That dress would look so beautiful on you.” She said, smiling at her. “Oh I don't know, I don't think I have the figure to do it justice, really. And the price! I’d never be brave enough to wear it in case I ruined it.” Ann confessed, even though it was the one she would've picked if she could of had any of them to choose from. Anne turned to her and took hands. “Ann, don't you realise how exquisite you are? From the minute I accidently bumped into you the other night, I haven't been able to stop thinking of you. You have no idea how I spent that weekend before I messaged you to ask you out for coffee knowing I was going to be so disappointed if you had of said no, and finding out that you had some big brutish boyfriend called Mick and it would've broken my heart if you had of.” Ann gave a small giggle. It was a strange kind of comfort to know that even the very self confident and strong Anne Lister still had her moments of self doubt, even if they were very few and far between. “I almost broke my neck getting to my phone when you called me that day. I was coming through the door with groceries and I heard my phone ringing and I just dumped everything and ran for it. I almost landed flat on my face when I kicked a can of tomatoes.” Ann said, and they both laughed. “Can I ask you something?” Ann said, quietly. “Of course.” “Do you often ask ladies out that have big brutish boyfriends?” Anne gave a deep chuckle. “Ha ha, not as a rule, no. But I feel that I have enough experience to know the difference. But I do get it wrong sometimes. Just lucky for me this wasn’t one of those times.” Ann felt the air around them still as Anne stepped closer to her. Oh god, this was it, she was about to be kissed for the first time and her pulse was racing. Anne dropped one hand and brought it up to the side of her face, and she felt herself melting into the touch. So soft, so gentle. She felt her breath hitch in her throat as she saw Anne moving closer to her and felt her lace their fingers together. She prayed to God that she wouldn't be able to tell she was shaking as much as she felt she was. “You have no idea how glad I was that you gave me your number. I want us to be together, Ann, to see you as much as you’ll let me. It’s been a long time since I’ve even wanted to be in a relationship with anyone, but I really want that with you so much.” Her thumb was brushing her cheek bone ever so softly as she said the words, her voice barely above a whisper but Ann felt so caught up in the moment that she temporarily forgot where she was and that her stomach felt like I’d had a flock of eagles in it. Anne was so close that she could feel her body heat and the scent of that wonderfully exotic perfume wafted around her, filling her nose with its spicy smell. Her heart was racing and her breath was fast and shallow and she realised that the thing she had been both longing for and dreading was about to happen; Anne was about to kiss her. Just as she had begun to angle her lips towards her own, Ann felt her mouth go dry and her throat constrict with the fear of ruining the moment but then she jerked back, letting her own crippling insecurities do it instead. The intensity of the moment was too much for her nerves to handle right then. “ Oh damn! I’m so sorry, I’ve completely misread the moment haven’t I? I mean, I thought you wanted me to kiss you but clearly…::” Anne said, looking a little horrified. “No, it’s not that it’s just me……..” Ann started to try to explain but the thought of telling her that she had gotten cold feet was because of inexperience not lack of enthusiasm just seem to make things so much worse and she was worried about how she would react to the news. “No, no, this was all on me jumping the gun. This was our first date for heaven's sake, I shouldn’t of even thought about kissing you yet. You have every right to knock me back. Please, can you forgive me? I won’t try to kiss you again unless you tell me I can. Scouts honour.” Anne criss crossed a finger over her heart and looked so unhappy with herself that all Ann could think of to say was, “ yes, of course.” The smile that broke out over Anne’s face was worth the untruth that hung over Ann’s heart as she gave her a small smile back. She took both Ann’s hands in hers and giving her a small look of consent, she lifted them both to her lips and kissed the back of each of them. “ Thank god for that. I would of been most upset with myself if my over enthusiasm drove you away, my sweet Ann. Shall we go home?” As they walked back towards where Anne’s car was, Ann tried not to think too much about the truth she had kept to herself. She should of told her, she deserved to know the real reason but it was her insecurities that was stopping her from voicing it. This was her dream, the thing she had wanted for herself for years now and wrecking things by telling her that she was a complete novice when it came to dating women was just too much to bare thinking about right now. She knew that she owed her an honest explanation but tonight, this was all she was capable of dealing with.

Chapter 15 – Kabu’s Starter I woke up to sweet tasting lips pressed against mine. I opened my eyes and saw that Rei’s face was pressed against my own. Her naked body was on top of my own and I could feel myself growing wet again as she ground her hips into mine as we shared the moment. “I missed you beautiful.” Whispered Rei as she pulled away from me. “I missed you too darling. Want to do some yoga?” I asked the beautiful girl. “I guess, I’d rather do something else, but we’ve got a big day ahead, don’t we?” Rei said with a frown on her face. “Yes, we do Pet, so let’s get up and at ‘em.” With those words Rei stole one more tender kiss then helped me get out of bed. Neither of us bothered dressing as we started in on our morning routine. Halfway through Sonia woke up and joined us. Marnie, was apparently a heavy sleeper and only woke up when I let Ana go ahead and wake her up in her own special way. Rei and I were in the shower when we heard Marnie squeal and Sonia laughing as the lusty milk drop had her way with the raven-haired beauty. Having one room for four women to get ready in was hell and I opted to get myself around in my make-up mirror instead of the foggy bathroom mirror. As I stepped out into the room, I saw a very satisfied Ana laying in bed next to a panting Marnie. “Why did you let her attack me like that? I thought I was going to die at some point in the middle there.” She panted at me. I smiled then kissed one of her exposed pink nipples, that caused the petite girl to spasm once again. “Like Trainer, like Pokémon. Ana, just wanted to make sure you were satisfied before your match today, isn’t that right Ana?” I said to the two girls on the bed. “Yup! That’s right!” Said Ana as she got up and started zooming around the room. Marnie laughed then rubbed her hands across her body a few times before getting up. She smacked my ass as she walked by me to join Sonia in the shower. I got my makeup on and hair fixed then put on my regular clothing. Telling Rei where I was going, she quickly did the same and we ran down to the Pokémon Center to get our cards made. I had mine done with me making my signature heart pose and got Hope in the background. The entire thing had a foil effect on it. I grabbed a couple dozen of the cards and signed one and sent it off to the girl from the restaurant last night. Once we got back, I donned my uniform, which had been replaced by Nessa’s aid before I had left the Hulbury Gym. The dry-fit fabric was cut to be alluring but not expose you until you lost a Pokémon and fit like a second skin. I still hated wearing a bra, but after losing my shirt in Hulbury, I was glad for the extra coverage it afforded me. Rei and Marnie’s uniforms were identical to mine. Marnie’s number was 960 and Rei’s was 101 and she said it literally was supposed to mean LOL. Sonia was the last one to be ready and she looked amazing in a new pair of tight low-cut jeans and a cropped green sweater that hit just below her breasts. This showed off the red-heads amazing abs and ass. I was hit with the urge to peel her out of her clothing but managed to stop myself from doing so. Before we left Ana tapped me on the shoulder. “Thought it over and I’ve decided I would like to go ahead and evolve into an Alcremie. While I’ll miss having as many tendrils; I think I would like to be useful to you in battle, not just in the bedroom, and the only way I can do so is by evolving.” She said in her small voice. “Are you sure Ana? There’s no going back once you evolve. Also, is the sex the only reason you needed to think about it?” I asked the Pokémon. She blushed and nodded. “Ok, hold up.” Sonia said. “Yeah, you are actually talking to your Pokémon, aren’t you? How is that even possible?” Marnie tacked on. I sighed, these were two of my close friends, they deserved to know. “I’ll tell you, but keep it a secret. There was an accident with another Trainer and I was hit with a Psychic blast. It almost killed me, but now I can communicate with Pokémon I’ve bonded with. Actually, hear their words.” “It wasn’t an accident! That asshole Bede had his Pokémon attack you!” Rei objected. Both Sonia and Marnie looked shocked and horrified. “That’s not important anymore. I beat Bede, took a Pokémon of his that he abandoned, and fucked him in the ass as punishment. So, it’s over now. No more need to worry.” I replied and let my tone know that I didn’t want to hear any more about it. I turned back to Ana and smiled. “Now my little Milk Drop, let’s make you into a beautiful Alcremie.” Walking over to my bag I pulled out the specially made treat that would cause Ana to evolve. Most Alcremie would evolve with some berries, a bow, heart, or clover sweet. The one I had asked the shop keeper for was a Pair of Rainbow Ribbon Candies. I clipped them to my girl and she smiled at me. “Ready?” I asked. “Ready!” She said then hopped in my arms. I spun for all I was worth. I spun for over a minute until I felt ill. As I spun, I felt Ana growing heavier and her color starting to change to match her candies. Once I was done, I made my signature pose and held up Ana above my head as I did so. The room was bathed in white light as she evolved. Ana’s body shifted in my hand and she grew much larger, though her weight only increased by a little from before. When the light faded, I lowered her down and looked at my girl. Ana was now a bright fluorescent swirl of cream. Her body was striped with a repeating Rainbow pattern. Her arms and face were still a creamy white but the rest of her was more vibrant and beautiful than I had yet to see on an Alcremie. Her eyes had also gone from a Milk White to what looked like the Rainbow Contacts the Boutiques sold. Best of all her smell had shifted. She had smelled like a field of fresh flowers before, but now those flowers smelled like they had been candied. “Ana you’re so pretty!” I exclaimed picking her up in my arms. “Gorgeous!” Said Rei who also hugged her from behind. “I’ve never seen an Alcremie that bright before. Fascinating!” Said Sonia who had pulled out her phone and was taking pictures. “That’s a beautiful Pokémon Kassi. I’m jealous.” Marnie said while looking at Ana. I quickly carried Ana over to the mirror and set her in front of it. “Oh Kassi! I look awesome! Thank you, thank you, thank you for the special ribbons. I love my new look and I already learned a new power. Watch!” Her voice had not changed as much as some of the other Pokémon. It was just a little airier than it had been before. Ana spun in place once to check herself out then shuffled over to Sonia. One of her arms extended and Sonia was enveloped in a puff of sparkling dust. Sonia coughed and batted at the smoke with her hand. The woman had still been in the process of getting around, and hadn’t applied her make-up yet. Now, with Ana’s help, she didn’t need to. Sonia’s face was completely put together and looked even better and more natural than her typical make-up. “Wow!” we all said collectively. Sonia ran over to mirror and let out an excited squeak then wheeled on me. “Kassi! Let me have Ana please. I’ll give you anything. I let you do anything to me, but I want to get this treatment every morning.” She had clasped both of my hands in her own and was staring into my eyes. I laughed and kissed the beautiful woman. “Just stay close and you can. But, Ana’s my partner. She’s not going anywhere.” I said then picked up the lightweight Pokémon. Alcremie weighed just 1lbs (.5kg) and carrying her was easy. We made sure all our things were collected then made our way out of the hotel. I ran to the Pokémon Center with my friends and we all stocked up on healing items and taught moves to our teams. I got Ana Dazzling Gleam so she could have some impact.  Since the stadium was right next to the hotel it took no time at all to walk there and get checked in. I saw on the roster that Hop had been here yesterday and had won his challenge. He still had not responded to my texts and I wondered what was going on. “Sonia, have you heard from Hop? He ghosted us after we got to Hulbury Stadium?” I asked my attractive red-haired friend. “Yeah, he’s ok. He told me that he’s not avoiding you, he’s just working on something right now.” Sonia said cryptically. That did ease my mind a little, but raised further questions as well. I thanked Sonia and made my way to the locker room. Once again, I had been chosen to be the last Challenger for the morning. Sonia, Rei, and Marnie all said they would cheer me on from the Challenger’s Box. Rei went first and it was about 30 minutes before we heard the clash of a Pokémon battle and the roar of the crowd. Marnie had been singing softly to herself as she focused for the upcoming fight. I sat there and enjoyed the beautiful sound of her singing until she was summoned. For the next hour I sat in place and readied my team. My plan was simple. Hope first as she was neutral to fire damage and packed a punch. Bolt was up next and while his evasiveness was low, he also hit like a truck. The ringer was Tsunami. With his move set and raw strength, he should be able to deal with most of this fight by himself. I just hoped the DynaMax didn’t send him in to a MaxLust fueled rage. Finally, it was time to go. I gathered my things and made my way to the Trial Stage. The familiar voice of the announcer boomed through the speaker system. “Ladies and Gentlemen, we know what you’ve all been waiting for! Here is today’s main event. The girl who’s burning this Challenge up with Fire and Ice! Kassi from Postwick!” I smiled for the Rotom Cameras that floated around me and heard the crowd roar far above my head, then stepped through the doors. What I noticed first about this challenge was how hot it was. Then I saw a large empty space in front of me. The only thing that led forward was a narrow pathway lined by only empty space to either side. Objects and obstacles lined the path. Hurdles, walls, and swinging pendulums. Then I noticed a timer light up at the end of the first path. It started at 5 minutes then started to count down. “Crap!” I said then took off. The first test had been a test of intelligence to make it through the grass maze. The second test had been endurance, to make it through the water maze. This must be performance, speeding through a series of obstacle courses. I didn’t know what would happen at 5 minutes but I didn’t want to find out. I set a quick pace, but not a sprint that would gas me completely to make it through the course. I climbed the walls, crawled under wire nets that sparked, and narrowly avoided giant pendulum padded balls that would have surely sent me back to the beginning of this leg. I made it to the end breathing heavy and with 30 seconds to spare. I turned a corner and saw a battle pitch that had been hidden behind the turn. A man in his 30s stood there and nodded at me, then tossed out a Pokéball. A Vulpix came out with a yip. Bolt was my pick for this one and he made short work of the under-trainers Vulpix, only taking a small burn from an ember that landed well on his tail. I made my way past the man and on to the next stage of the obstacle course. This one had a few more moving parts like rotating platforms, spinning arms, and what looked like a wall of boxing gloves you had to slide along. I sighed when the timer read 6 minutes at first then flashed and added another 30 seconds to it. So, I got to keep the time I didn’t use. The countdown started and I took off again. The obstacle courses this time did not go as smoothly. While going through the wall of boxing gloves I lost track of my entire body and got slammed in the side by a glove. It didn’t knock me off, luckily, but I felt like I would be peeing blood when I went next. I made it with 45 seconds left on the clock this time and my side was hurting. The battle this time was against a Rolycoly and I thanked my luck. This time I brought out Taiko. In the match I was most likely going to be limited to 3 Pokémon, but I could use my entire party down here in the Trail. Since Rolycoly was a pure rock-type it just took Taiko two Razor Leaf attacks to knock it out. I turned the corner and winced at the final stretch of the course. This was a dead sprint, up a long flight of stairs, sandwiched between two giant heating coils. I looked at the nearest camera and did my signature pose. “The Road to Hell is nothing for the future Champion of Galar!” I said with confidence then ran forward. I heard the roar of the crowd above me. This was, by far, the worst part of the Trail. It was like being on a Stairmaster in front of a giant hairdryer. This was made only worse by the fact that the only thing I had to look at was more stairs and the damn timer counting down my doom. My side where I had been hit seized up a little over halfway and the stitch that was there hurt like a knife being twisted, but I pushed on. My Pokémon were about to get hurt on my behalf; I could deal with some pain of my own. With 10 seconds to spare I made it to the door and the heater turned off a split second before the confetti cannons went off. My chest was heaving as I spun in my pose and looked to the cameras. Thankfully I only had to stand there for a few seconds before the door behind me opened and I went through as fast as I could. First thing I did was heal up Bolt and give him a Burn Heal, just in case. Next, I looked at my own side and figured it was ok, it just might make for an ugly bruise. Last I grabbed a towel off a rod and wiped myself dry. Once again there was a mirror and products you could use to freshen up. I took 30 seconds to drink some water and fix my hair, then stood on the square to let them know I was ready. “Ladies and Gentleman today’s Main Event is a girl you should all know and love. Mistress of Ice and Fire, this young lady has been burning up the Poképhile Championship Challenge. Now, please welcome Kassi from Postwick!” The announcer finished up his announcement and the crowd went wild as I walked onto the pitch. I looked at the crowd and waved, catching sight of my friends and blowing them a kiss. They all pretended to catch it then fight over it, which brought a laugh from the crowd. “Now comes the Ever-burning Man of Fire himself. A true force of nature to be reckoned with. The man’s whose demeaner and strength in battle are matched only by the strength of his flames. It’s Kabu!” The announcer shouted and the crowd boomed. To my surprise, this was the first time I think my own reception had been about equal to that of the Gym Leader. Kabu was a taller man, thin but clearly in shape. He had intense black eyes and dark hair streaked with grey. He jogged to the center of the pitch and bowed to me in the Hoenn fashion. I returned the gesture as best I could. “Kassi, I appreciate your respect of my custom. I have heard many things about you and watched your fights. You love your Pokémon with an intensity I rarely see. Let’s hope you train them as hard as you love them. This shall be a 3-on-3 match. Each Pokémon lost will result in you losing and article of clothing. First loss shall be overclothes. Second, your bra. Third, your underwear. Should you lose to me here I will have one of my Pokémon take you in front of the crowd. Do you object? “No, I do not object. Should I win, I want my prize money doubled and ask to reserve a small favor for a later date with your right of refusal.” I didn’t want to sleep with Kabu and what I asked for was the standard fair way of saying that without offending the Leader. Kabu nodded and we took our positions. I did my signature pose when I got to my spot, spinning in place, making a heart with my hands then breaking it to hold up a number 1. “See me now Leon?” I said to myself as I grabbed Hope’s ball with my other hand. I kissed it and tossed the ball out. The crowd went wild at the sight of her. Hope’s creamy fur and white tufts glistened in the stadium lights. “I was hoping I would get to see your Ninetales. I have one of my own that I recently captured and I wished to test out here. Let’s see which breed is the better fox! Go, Lola!” Said Kabu as he tossed out his Pokémon. A tall, beautiful, well groomed Ninetales appeared on the field. Its eyes looked cold and calculating. “Hope Left, Right, DP, Left, up FFB.” I gave my chain of commands. “Lola, Will-O-Wisp.” Said Kabu, but neither vixen did anything. Neither of them made a move to follow their orders. Instead they growled low at each other and started to circle. “Mama! What are you doing here? How did you get caught?!” I heard Hope scream at the other Ninetales. She in return growled and hissed and snarled at Hope. “No, I did survive, no thanks to you. And now I am my own unique Ninetales.” Again, the other Ninetales snapped and snarled and moved closer to Hope. Kabu was shouting order after order, trying to get control of his Pokémon, but she refused to listen. “There is nothing wrong with me Mama! I am my own Ninetales and I am powerful.” Then Kabu’s Ninetales lunged at Hope, fire in her jaws, and attempted to use a Fire Fang on Hope’s throat. That was not a usual strike to cause damage. That had the intent to kill. “Mama, this is a duel, not a fight to the death! I will prove the power of Fire and Ice!” Hope’s tails started to glow in alternating patterns, she was charging FireFrost Blast at point blank range. Then Hope’s mother made a series of noises and Hope froze, her attack dying in mid charge. Her tails drooped and her stare became a thousand yards. The other Ninetales chose that time to strike she lunged out bit Hope hard on the nape of her neck. I watched as blood streamed out from Hope and dripped onto the grass of the pitch. Hope did not flinch, she didn’t move at all. Her gaze stared straight forward, not focusing on anything. “Hope return!” I said and called her back into her ball. This was not going according to plan and I was worried about Hope. I never in a million years would have expected to encounter Hope’s mother in a Gym Battle. As I worked to swap out my Pokémon Hope’s mother had gone to sit back in front of Kabu. “Lola, you need to listen. That Ninetales is out but you need to focus Lola.” He said and the Ninetales seemed to take little attention of the words coming her way. I barely noticed as my clothes faded and I was left standing in my underwear. Bolt’s ball was sparking and zapped me as I reached for it. I pushed through the pain and called him to the field. Bolt appeared and a flash of electricity. I had never seen the good-natured Pokémon angry before, but he was on a whole new level of anger at that moment. The cute little puppy took a step forward and I heard his bark go from a yip to a deep bark halfway through. He took another step and an arc of electricity shot off to the side and scorched a path in the grass. “You are the mother who caused so much trouble to my love? You are the one to cause her so much heartache?” He took another step and another wave of electricity caused the hairs on my arm to stand on end, I noticed that Kabu was feeling the same thing. “Then you have the audacity to call your own daughter an abomination that she failed to kill and attack her, drawing blood?” Bolt was screaming in my mind at this point and the growl that was coming from him had grown as deep as his own mental voice. Then Bolt started to glow from within. His light burning an intense white and bolts of electricity fired off in every direction. I even heard the crowd recoil from the light. A deep and powerful howl was what I heard with my ears coming from the light. But what I actually heard was. “You will pay for your transgressions against my love you fucking bitch!” Then there was a Boltund standing there, electricity arcing off his body like a Saturday morning cartoon character. “Bolt?!” I said, then he lunged at the Ninetales like he was made of lightning. He caught the fox in his jaws at the back of her neck and bit down hard. She let out a pained yelp and I saw blood stain the cream fur where his jaws met her flesh. Then he lit her up with a Thunder Fang. The strike was strong enough I could have sworn I saw the Ninetales’s bones. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she was clearly knocked out, but Bolt did not release her. “Bolt! Drop her, you can’t do any more damage in this battle. Please!” I pleaded with my Pokémon and I watched him snap back to attention. He opened his jaw and the Ninetales hit the ground completely limp. She didn’t even twitch. “Come here now Bolt, let Kabu collect his Pokémon.” Bolt quickly padded over to me. His eyes were serious and I could see the deep intelligence working at full speed. “Congrats on evolving buddy. You did a great job avenging Hope. Now focus on the task at hand, we can help her later.” I said and patted him on the side of his neck. Kabu had inspected her neck then pulled his Pokémon back into her ball. “I don’t know what’s going on, but it looks like you do. Are we going to have anymore violence or continue with a proper duel?” Kabu asked, holding his next Pokéball. His shirt had disappeared and I could see that his torso was all lean muscle. “We are fine. The situation is nuanced and I can discuss it with you later if you wish.” He nodded and that seemed to satisfy him. He tossed out his next Pokémon, a large Arcanine named Ringo. The thing looked intimidating, but Bolt was too hyped up from his evolution and fight to have taken notice. “D, left, left, TF, back, D.” I ordered “Will-o-wisp Ringo.” Ordered Kabu. The Arcanine began to spit purple fireballs at Bolt and for his part Bolt unleashed a wave of lightning at the massive dog then took off to try and dodge. The electricity slammed into Ringo and he was visibly harmed by the shock, but kept up his attempt to burn Bolt. My handsome boy ran in a large semi-circle to the left and closed the gap while dodging the purple flames. Then he used Thunder Fang once he got close enough. Arcanine yelped from the hit, but this time I didn’t see blood. While Bolt had struck with that attack the Arcanine finally managed to hit with a fireball at point-blank range. Bolt jumped back but I heard him wince in pain. “You ok?” I yelled. “Fine, just let me finish this ruffian.” Bolt said then unleashed a final Discharge as Ringo fired a flame wheel. Bolt was faster, even with the burn, and the Arcanine passed out from the shock. Kabu’s shorts faded as he pulled the dog back into his ball. He was left standing there in a pair of boxer briefs. A smile on his face. “Well done! Now, let’s get kick things up a notch!” Kabu yelled as he hit is his Dynamax Bracelet and grabbed his final Pokéball. He caught the digitally expanded ball as tossed it with one arm like it weighed nothing and tossed it far behind him. A massive Centiskorch appeared on the field, this one in a Gigantamax form. Its entire belly was yellow and had a glow, the DynaMax clouds appearing over the tip of its tail. “Switch Bolt, Let’s wash them away Tsunami!” I said as I pulled Bolt back into his ball, yelling switch had been important to keep me from losing my bra, and I hit my own DynaMax band as I grabbed Tsunami’s ball. Again, I did my signature pose after tossing the ball behind me, that way my massive Gyarados appeared behind me as I held my arm up. “Max Geyser!” I yelled. “G-max Centiferno!” Yelled Kabu. The fire hit first, since his Centiskorch had been out longer. The bug curled up and looked like a massive glowing heating coil as it attacked. I felt the shear heat roll over me as a swirling vortex of fire appeared under Tsunami. The heat intensified for a brief moment before Tsunami launched his attack. A gigantic stream of pressurized water smashed into the Centiskorch and the water spray filled the stadium, making it seem like it was raining. I saw Tsunami take some damage from the still burning spiral of fire underneath it, but we needed to push on. “One more should do it Big Guy!” I yelled and Tsunami charged another Max Geyser and fired. The attack hit the Centiskorch as it curled up to launch its next attack and it was struck right on its belly by the blast of water. It slumped to the ground and began to shrink with a series of explosions releasing the pent-up energy. I pressed my bracelet and watched with my breath held as Tsunami shrank back to his normal size. If he lost himself to MaxLust I had no idea how I would deal with him. The only way I could do anything with Tsunami that wouldn’t kill me was when he could control himself. The sigh that left me when I watched him return to normal made me feel like I had deflated. He hadn’t lost control and my DynaMax bracelet successfully returned all the energy to the wishing star inside. I ran over and hugged Tsunami. “Thank you for keeping control buddy and winning this match!” He made a happy grumble deep in his chest then I turned to Kabu. He was standing there completely naked, arms crossed and waiting. Kabu’s manhood was very average and I tried to take as little notice as I could when I went to get my reward from him. “Congratulations, Young Kassi, on your victory. I would ask that you stay so we may discuss the situation with our Ninetales as soon as I am dressed.” “Yes, I was going to ask for that as my favor for winning, actually.” I said as I took the Gym Badge from Kabu. “Excellent, go get dressed and I shall meet you in the Challenger locker room in a few minutes.” He said then walked off. I got Tsunami back into his ball then walked off the field to the crowd cheering, screaming, and even some whistles as I made my way off the pitch. In the Challenger entrance tunnel a light had gone off above a door in the side of the tunnel, I walked through and made my way through an access tunnel back to the locker room. Once I walked through the door I was bombarded by my friends. They all wanted to know what happened to Hope and why I looked so down, even after beating the match. “I think that Kabu’s Ninetales was Hope’s mother. The one that abandoned her and left the scar on her eye. If you guys can give me some privacy, I would like to check on my girl before Kabu arrives in a few minutes. They all agreed and said they would be waiting in the lobby. As quickly as I could I changed back into my normal clothes, this time going with the pink top and dress. A fresh uniform was already waiting in the locker and I stuffed it in my bag. Once I was dressed, I walked over to the healing bed that sat in the dressing room. I made sure the entire team was up to full then let Hope out. When she came out her body was back to perfect health, but her tails drooped and she hung her head. I walked over and got onto my knees in front of her then wrapped my arms around her neck. “Hope, I’m here for you. Do you want to talk about it?” I asked simply and without expectation of an answer. The thin shell that had kept her still and non-responsive shattered in that moment. Hope’s chest heaved as she took in a deep breath, then the keening cry she let out broke my heart. There was no translation in my head, this was a raw emotional cry of deep sadness. All I could do was sit there and hold my beautiful vixen as she sobbed onto my shoulder. Her tears would freeze when they came from her blue eye and feel like scalding hot tea when it came from her red. I didn’t mind the pain, I didn’t move to avoid it, I just held my girl as she cried. Several minutes went by, and eventually Hope started to run out of steam. The energy she was putting into this grief had made her droop and she finally pulled back and laid down with her head in my lap. I sat on my legs in the Kantonian seiza style and just ran my hand slowly across her head, petting the beautiful long mane that sat on her head. Eventually, Hope spoke, “Thank you Kassi, for being here for me. The things Mama said were things I already knew she felt, but when she said them, all my worst fears and nightmares from being a kit came true.” I wiped a tear from her blue eye that was looking up at me, it turned into a large snowflake then melted on my skin. “Hope, I’m sorry you had to experience that. If I had known I never would have brought you out and…” Hope cut me off by making a loud huffing sound. “If I had known I would have insisted I fought my Mama, only I would have had time to armor myself from her hateful words first. You did nothing wrong Kassi, and I did see what Bolt did for me once I was back in my ball. I shall reward him later.” She sat up and looked at me, the sadness was still in her eyes, but I could see that she was tired and trying her best to gather herself. “Thank you Kassi, for being so wonderful to me. I have thought it over and I want to have that kit with you. I want to be a good Mama, like mine never was, regardless of what they type may be.” I put my finger on her muzzle then pressed my own lips to it. “Let’s talk about this in the morning when you’re not still reeling from the day. I would be happy to, you know that, but for now Kabu is coming and you need rest. Will you be ok in your ball?” I asked. “Yes, some rest would be welcome right now. Thank you Kassi. My first love.” She licked me tenderly on the face and I felt a tear well up in my own eye as I pulled her back into her ball. A few seconds later there was a knock on the door to the locker room. I shouted for Kabu to come in and took a seat on one of the long benches in the middle of the room, still wiping tears from my eyes. “Are you and your Pokémon alright?” He asked as he sat on the bench across from me. “Yes, we are ok. Today was, just a surprise to all of us.” I took a deep breath and gathered myself. “My Ninetales is unique, as you might have noticed.” I started. “I think everyone in Galar knows that, there are some that think it might even be the first of a new Regional Variant.” Kabu said, his tone interested. “Well, Hope was born as a hybrid. I didn’t just evolve her that way. She’s always been a fire/ice type. When she was a Vulpix the only way to tell was her blue eye. Her mother thought that she was a freak against nature and tried to gouge that eye out. Then abandoned poor Hope after she ran and hid in fear. Hope still has a scar over her blue eye, you just can’t see it as well due to her cream-colored fur.” I said this part while trying to keep myself from getting emotional again. “That Ninetales who is Hope’s mother is your Ninetales. That’s what happened in the ring. They recognized each other and your Ninetales,” “Lola.” Kabu interjected but let me continue. “Lola, said something to Hope that broke her spirit. It’s why she didn’t react even when Lola drew blood. I don’t know what she said exactly, but I don’t think Hope has still fully recovered from it. I only just managed to get her calmed down enough to go back to her ball before you arrived.” Kabu sighed then looked at a ball. It was an Ultra Ball and I knew it had to be the one that held Lola. “I know that you were in here comforting your Pokémon. I was already on my way when I heard her wail of despair and have been waiting outside until what felt like the right moment.” He looked at me then continued. “You can communicate with your Pokémon, can’t you?” “Yes, I can communicate with any Pokémon I’ve bonded with.” I said in answer to his question. “Interesting. But, that’s not the point here. I am sorry for the incident today and what happened to your Ninetales in the past. Lola is a recent addition to my team, but a very strong example of a Ninetales. I plan to train her up to compete in the tournament at the end of the Challenge this year. Would your Hope be interested in battling her mother again?” My head perked up and I nodded furiously. “I think Hope would leave me if I made her pass on the chance to show up her mother. Next time, I know she’ll be ready.” “Then it’s settled. Beat the Challenge, meet me in the tournament and I promise to give your Hope a good fight so she can prove her strength as a Ninetales.” Kabu held out his hand and I shook it. He got up and exited the room and I gathered myself and my bag and walked out into the lobby. My friends were all there still and they wrapped me up in a tight hug. Everyone inquired about Hope being ok and I assured everyone that she was ok. She just needed some time and attention. With the first three badges in hand we could now travel on to Hammerlocke. But that could wait until tomorrow. Tonight, I wanted to do something special. “Marnie and Sonia, are you guys staying in Motostoke tonight?” I asked and they nodded. “Great I wanna do something with Rei tonight, can we all meet at the front gate tomorrow morning at 10?” The two women looked at each other, then nodded. I grabbed Rei’s hand and sped out of the gym. “Kassi, what’s gotten into you?” She said with a little concern in her voice. I didn’t answer instead I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text. I looked around and saw that there was a SkyTaxi parked outside the stadium, waiting for a fare. I heard my phone ding with a reply as Rei and I stepped into the basket. “Kassi, where are we going?” Rei said snuggling up to me as the downdraft from the Corviknight was chilly this time of year. “Home. After all the bullshit today I really wanna sleep in my own bed and have some of Mum’s spaghetti.” I smiled and looked at Rei then kissed her. “Ready to meet my Mum?” She laughed then kissed me back. “We’re that far along huh? Fine, but eventually we’re going to have to go see my Mum in Wyndon.” She put my arm around her and snuggled against my chest. “Guess that mean no hanky-panky tonight though.” She sighed. “Uhh, that shouldn’t be a problem, actually. Mum is very open about everything and we even, played together on the night before I left.” I figured admitting it now was better than letting it be a surprise later. “Really?! Wow, I never would have guessed. But…ok…yeah…” She trailed off as her mind spun up to process the new information that Mum and me had been intimate. “Well, I thought about it, and I honestly don’t care.” She said after a minute. “If you’re anything like your Mum then I’m sure this is going to be fun!” I kissed this beautiful woman even harder once she said that. “Where the heck have you been all my life, you beautiful creature?” I whispered in her ear. “Waiting on a route for some big titty blonde to piss on me.” She responded then we both burst out in a fit of laughter. The flight took about an hour and before the sun had even began to set, we touched down on the path directly outside of Mum’s house. I happily paid the Cabbie and tipped him then asked if he could meet us back here the next morning at 9 sharp. He agreed and took off towards Wedgehurst, probably to find another fare. I ran up the path to our quaint country home and knocked. It felt strange to knock on my own home, but I needed to make sure we didn’t walk in on Mum playing with one of her Pokémon. Only a few seconds passed then the door flew open, the spring catch protesting loudly at the door being tossed at it. “My baby girl is home!” Mum said as she pulled me into a crushing hug against her massive chest. I felt my back pop then she let go of me and repeated the same to Rei. “And you must be the Rei I’ve heard such good things about! Welcome!” Rei came out gasping from Mum’s chest and she had a big smile. “I see now where Kassi gets her looks from.” She said with a smile, “Nice to meet you I’m Rei. Kassi and I have been traveling together since Route 3.” “Just call me Mum, it’s all that Kassi ever calls me and I bet it’ll be a proper title someday anyway.” I turned beet red and Mum laughed as she led us into the house. Chonk came running up to me and demanded that I pick him up. I carried the Pokémon to my room and showed Rei where to put her things. I gathered up my team and took them with me. Mum was working on making the noodles from scratch for dinner and I marveled at how diligently she worked. “We’re gonna go let our Pokémon out to roam for a bit Mum.” I said as I walked through the kitchen. “Hold on, I’m almost to a stopping point and I wanna meet your team!” She said and set the ball of dough in a bowl and covered it in a damp cloth, then washed her hands. I stepped out the back door that led to the Wooloo fields. All the Wooloo were on the far end of the farm away from the house, so that would make this easier. Mum stepped up beside me and I noticed that she was still wearing her work overalls. She must have been in the fields and dropped everything when I messaged her. The first Pokémon I sent out was Taiko. Mum squealed in delight at how big he’d gotten and the cheeky monkey delighted in hugging her and sneaking his face between her massive jugs. “Oh! Horny little devil. Save it for later.” She laughed but didn’t push Taiko away. Next up was Bolt, who was now a prime example of a Boltund. Mum hugged the dog and he licked her face affectionately. “He’s so handsome! I couldn’t believe it when he evolved during a match like that!” Mum exclaimed and Bolt wagged his tail happily. “Bolt, I’m going to introduce Hope to Mum then I want you to take her for some quality time just the two of you. I think she needs your support right now. Just stay out of the woods.” I said and he nodded confidently. Hope came out and to my pleasure she did a great job of hiding her sadness around Mum. She put on a show of lighting up the tips of her tails and letting Mum fawn over how beautiful she was. When that was all done, Rei and I both gave Hope a hug before she and Bolt bounded off towards the grass fields. Ana was next, and seemed exstatic to be out of her Pokéball. Mum was a huge fan of sweets and immediately picked up the brightly colored swirl of cream and would not put her back down. “She smells amazing Kassi! Can she stay with me?” I laughed and denied her request. Last, for now was Tsunami. I let him out and he settled into the small stock pond in the corner of the field. “Wow, he’s so big!” Mum said then bit her lower lip, lost in her own dirty thoughts. “I have one more member, but they just joined and we haven’t had the chance to bond yet. If you don’t mind Mum. I’m going to take Ana and see if we can’t get closer to our Ponyta.” I said, holding out my arms for Ana. “Oh! A Ponyta?! I love those beautiful dears. I’ve always wanted one ever since I was a little girl, but my own journey didn’t take me that far. Hold on, I’ve got something that might help.” Mum handed me Ana and ran inside. “Rei, why don’t you relax and let your Pokémon hang out for a while?” She agreed and started to release her own team. Then I noticed she pulled an egg from her bag wrapped in a hoodie. Then she put on the hoodie and put the egg underneath. “You look good with a big belly like that.” I winked. “Shut up!” She laughed but leaned over and kissed me. “Besides, your Pokémon did this to me.” It was my turn to laugh and I kissed her again. “Aren’t you two just the sweetest thing?” Mum said as she walked up. She was holding a homemade treat for the Wooloo. They were a sweet grain and berry mixture and they loved them. “Thanks Mum.” I said then waved at both women and walked off in the direction that Hope and Bolt had gone. I wanted to check on them before I went to help Ponyta. As I walked away, I heard Mum excitedly talking about Rei’s Pokémon with her. Ana and I moved through the grass. Since she couldn’t float anymore it was faster for me to carry her. I found Bolt and Hope a few minutes later near the tree line. I had been expecting to see them talking but to my surprise Hope was on her back, underneath Bolt, blowing him as best she could with her mouth. Bolt was passionately licking at Hope’s sex and I could smell their pheromones even from a distance. I also took note that Bolt’s cock was now massive! It had to be almost a foot long and thicker than my wrist. Ana motioned for me to set her down and we crouched low in the grass to watch with voyeuristic interest as these two made love. The sixty-nine lasted for a couple more minutes then I watch Hope get up and crouch in front of Bolt. He mounted her and slid in with a couple of test pokes to find his mark. Then he reached down and took the scruff of Hope’s neck in his mouth. I couldn’t hear their words but I recognized the sound of pleasure that Hope let out as Bolt dominated her. While we watched Ana kept trying to sneak her rainbow-colored tendrils into me and I had to keep reminding her that we had other things to do and didn’t want to give away our position. She finally settled for laying on her back and having me finger her while I waited for Bolt to finish. I complied and clamped a hand over her tiny mouth so she couldn’t make any noise then finger fucked the Cream Pokémon to a climax. About the same time Ana got off I watched Bolt finally sink his enormous knot into Hope and they both howled as he filled her with seed. Bolt and Hope laid down and started to talk softly as they were tied together and that was my cue to leave. This moment was for them and their love to blossom. I had a Ponyta to try and bond with.   ***Message from DmDrewDragon. Thank you all for checking out GTiG. I never dreamed I would take this story so far and the support and love from all of you and those on the GTIG discord have kept my fire lit and powerful. If you want to join us in fun discussions and maybe collaborate on artistic works please join the GTiG discord at https://discord.gg/F5QdwRk*** See you Soon!

TUESDAY Patrick Brewer is the youngest vice president at Toronto's top investment bank. The candles had barely stopped smoking on his 30th birthday cake when the promotion came through. He celebrated by breaking up with his on-again, off-again girlfriend Rachel, saying he “just wasn’t able to give her what she needed right now.” Like a schmuck. He found he liked the idea of missing her more than he actually missed her. He went back to her again and again, like a moth drawn to a candle whose flame he couldn’t comprehend, but still found comforting. And he was starting to miss her again….or miss the idea of her again. Patrick was very confused. He has no time to dwell on that now though. He’s come to New York City to woo the CEO of a multi-billion dollar private family business who is finally ready to sell his company so they can take it public. If Patrick can beat out the other hungry wolves circling this fresh meat, he’d personally stand to make a lot of money on the IPO. Maybe then he’d slow down a bit. Maybe then he’d finally take a vacation that doesn’t end with him scurrying home two days early to put out another fire and demonstrate his “dedication to the team.” Maybe then he’d finally figure out what his heart wants. Patrick flings his bags onto the king size bed in his executive suite in the Four Seasons with a sigh. It’s the most expensive hotel in the Financial District--even in Canadian dollars--and it’ll be his home for however long it takes him to secure this deal with Raine Incorporated. No more than a week, he promises himself. He never sleeps well on business trips. Especially business trips to New York City, a city he finds highly overrated. He desperately needs a drink. The hotel bar is desolate—it’s not quite noon on a scorching summer afternoon--when Patrick slides into a high chair at the bar and orders his customary whiskey. He is one swallow down when he feels rather than hears someone grunt his way into the chair next to him. Todd Phillips. The managing director here to “oversee” the deal, but who would, if given the chance, gladly throw Patrick under the bus if it all goes to shit. Why is every douchebag named Todd?, Patrick wonders not for the first time. Why are all Todds douchebags? What came first? The Todd before the douche or the douche before the Todd? The financial world is littered with them and their country club memberships and inherited Ivy League pedigrees. Big egos and tiny dicks. Every Todd should come with their own polo shirt emblazoned with that motto, Patrick thinks. “So Big P,” Todd claps his smarmy hand on Patrick’s shoulder, “You ready to have a good time in the Big Apple?” “Once again, it’s just Patrick.” Patrick brushes off Todd’s hand, barely hiding his disdain. It’s the same dance every deal. They’re supposed to be working together, but Patrick will do all the work while Todd drinks and plays golf in the name of “forging strong business connections.” “I’m not here to have a good time. I’m here to close a deal. Just having a drink before going over the models for this afternoon’s meeting. I still think I want to make the DCF curves a little more dynamic--” “Dude. You need to lighten up, Pat. I guarantee Mr. Raine does not need nor want dynamic curves from a financial model. I know that Excel gets you all hot and bothered, but maybe you should invest in a different kind of model this time.” Todd slides a glossy black business card across the bar. He has no shame, and Patrick doesn’t need to look at it to know what it is. Patrick regards Todd’s golden wedding band and not for the first time, feels sorry for whatever poor soul had actually agreed to marry him. “I’m not interested, Todd. I have a girlfriend.” But then he remembers that he doesn’t. Not right now, at least. It’s just habit to say he does. “So?” Todd scoffs, “I’ve got a wife and a kid back home. Hasn’t stopped me yet.” “Yes, I’m aware,” Patrick feels slick revulsion slide down the back of his throat. But his whiskey is now gone, and he can’t swallow it away without ordering another drink. He needs to keep his head clear. He’s here to do a job and get out. Suddenly, his mouth is desert dry. He signals the bartender. Todd drains his glass and smacks it down on the counter. “Listen, Brewer. This job will eat you alive if you don’t learn how to mix a little fun into it.” He picks up the card and slips it into the front pocket of Patrick’s blue button down. “Live a little.” He claps Patrick’s shoulder harder than strictly necessary and saunters out of the room. Patrick thinks that is maybe the smartest thing he has ever heard come out of Todd’s mouth. He feels the card burning against his chest, but he leaves it where it is. Live a little, he thinks to himself with a hint of bitterness. He wonders what that would be like.     *** “Well, Patrick, I’m impressed by your numbers. I can tell your reputation is well-earned.” Mr. Raine shakes his hand and Patrick feels relief course through his body. Their first meeting has gone well, but they still have a long way to go before closing the deal. He knows there are other companies vying for this chance. “Thank you, sir. You’ll be in good hands with us.” “You should come to our company gala tomorrow night. You can meet my family and some of the other execs.” Mr. Raine is looking at Patrick and Todd expectantly. Patrick glances up. It’s not unusual to be invited out to drinks after a meeting, but a company party? With the whole family? The whole family who needs to sign off on his company taking over their assets? This feels like a trap. Patrick gulps. “Thank you, Mr. Raine. We’d be honored.” “Bring a date. This is not strictly business.” “Oh, but my girlfriend is back in Toronto.” Except he doesn’t have a girlfriend. He keeps forgetting. Mr. Raine appraises Patrick with a cock of his head and Patrick feels suddenly like he’s skating on thin ice. “Surely a handsome man like you can find a date for the evening. I don’t like wallflowers.” Patrick tries to paste on his best smile, but he can feel the sweat starting to pool at the base of his neck. At the opposite end of the table, Todd is practically floating out of his chair with glee. “Oh, don’t worry about us, Edward. I’ve got this—" “I do...have one friend in the city,” Patrick interrupts. “I could invite him.” Him? Mr. Raine nods curtly. “I’ll send the invites. Looking forward to it. Patrick. Todd.” He leaves the room and Patrick falls back into his seat with a tremulous exhale. Patrick doesn’t have a single friend in the city. So why in the world did he say he does? And him? Why did he say his friend was a him? Todd cackles as he gathers up his computer and papers. “I hope you still have that card I gave you. I can’t wait to meet your ‘friend.’”     *** Back in his pristine hotel room, Patrick scrubs his face and wills his blurry eyes to focus. He fishes the card out of his discarded shirt, still cocooned in the top pocket, and sits down at his desk. He turns the card over. There is just a phone number and an address to a website. How modern. Patrick reaches for his computer and types in the URL for Ward and Associates. Ironic name for an escort service. But he knows Todd and his expensive tastes, so he knows this is a high-end operation. It’s going to cost him, but he has no intention of trolling Wall Street for someone off the street. Could you find a hooker on Wall Street? Patrick is sure you can, if you know where to look. He doesn’t know where to look. And he needs someone presentable, cultured, smooth. He needs someone used to rubbing elbows with rich New Yorkers. He needs a professional. He has no choice, he tells himself. This deal will be the making or the breaking of him. He runs the cost-benefit analysis in his head and decides the investment will be worth it. Ms. Ward certainly runs a professional operation. Patrick can search her extensive database of companions based on gender, physical features, language, sexual orientation….kinks. Patrick clicks on the men. He said ‘him’, he should find a him. Right? Maybe there is one who specializes in pretending to be longtime friends with straight Canadian businessmen. Patrick ignores the niggling voice in the back of his brain that had propelled him to blurt out ‘him’ in the first place. Patrick scrolls through image after image and then he sees him. His stomach flip-flops with an unsettling lurch—which, weird—but he knows instantly that he is the one. Dark, perfectly coiffed hair. Exuberant eyebrows to match a perfectly sculpted five o’clock shadow. Chocolate eyes and full lips. The eyes are sad and the smile forced, but Patrick sees tenderness there. Patrick sees promise. He clicks on the man’s name. David. He likes the way it sounds on his tongue, the way it changes shape into something new with each saying. He enters his request and clicks submit.     *** WEDNESDAY Patrick has a lot of work to do that day, but he finds the only thing he can think about is the imminent arrival of one David, professional escort, to his hotel room door. Patrick feels dread mingled with heady anticipation. He’s changed his clothes three times, finally settling on his most unoffensive charcoal gray suit. And then there’s a knock on the door and he opens it to reveal the most gorgeous man he’s ever seen up close, in person. Now he also feels butterflies. He doesn’t hate the feeling. “Patrick Brewer?” David’s voice is even better than Patrick has imagined. He only manages to nod as he steps aside to let him in. An entire kaleidoscope of butterflies is trying to explode out of his chest. He shuts the door with a soft click. “Hello. David…..?” He only now realizes he hasn’t been given David’s last name. “I’m sorry. I don’t know your last name.” “No last names,” David twirls around to face Patrick full on, appraising him with discerning eyes, one finger lifted. “That’s rule number one.” David is taller than him, Patrick realizes, and the thought shoots an unexpected sizzle up his spine. He’s wearing a black sweater with a ladder of white lines descending down his chest and dark jeans and what can only be described as a loincloth. He is broad in the shoulders but narrower in the waist with long, lean legs. He looks like a movie star, but Patrick sees an impish glint in David’s eye. Oh, Patrick thinks with delight, look at him. Patrick steps forward, acting more self-assured than he really feels. “Oh? And how many rules are there exactly?” “Depends,” David says flippantly. “How many kinks do you have?” “Oh. Not many.” Patrick admits, embarrassed. In fact, he doesn’t think he has any kinks at all. Sex is...well, sex is a chore most of the time, but he’s not about to admit that to a prostitute. An escort. A man like David. That isn’t what he was here for, after all. Patrick had said so in his online request. No sex necessary. But one look at David and Patrick wildly thinks that David could teach him a thing or two and also that he’d very much like to let him. Patrick gropes around for a new subject, not wanting to dwell on his kinks or lack thereof. “So...how long have you been in this line of work, David?” Patrick regrets the question as soon as it leaves his mouth. He might as well have asked him how old he was. “Nope. Sorry. Rule number two. No personal details. I am here to be whomever who want me to be for the night.” Patrick can’t help thinking that whoever this David really is, he would be worth the knowing. He’s already fascinated. Patrick rubs the back of his neck and exhales slowly. “Well, I need to share some personal details with you, don’t I? Or is that against your rules too?” “No. You can share whatever you like. So tell me about yourself.” David waves his hand in front of him as if setting the stage for the riveting saga of Patrick Brewer. “OK. So. Well, I’m here on business.” David tries to stifle a smile. “You don’t say.” Patrick cocks one irritated eyebrow at David who grins deliciously back. “This is not my first rodeo on Wall Street,” David admits. “You business majors have a distinct smell. Let me guess.” He pauses to look Patrick up and down, noting the way his ears have turned a rosy blush at the very tips. Precious. “Bond trader? Hedge fund manager?” Patrick guffaws. “Investment banker.” “I see.” David looks entirely too pleased with himself. “So Mr. Brewer, what services among my highly curated selection of skills can I interest you in tonight?” “Yes. Right.” Patrick clears his throat. Down to business; he can do that. “So I’m here to close a deal with a very important client. And he’s invited me and my colleague, Todd, to their company gala tonight and I was encouraged to bring a friend. Told. I was told to bring a friend.” “I see.” David’s face is unreadable. “I may have said I had friend in the city. I don’t know why I did that. I don’t know anyone in the city really. I’ve only ever been here on business.” “Well, you should definitely change that sometime. New York can be magical when you see more than the inside of a Four Seasons. But for tonight, we’re just...friends?” David seems a little disappointed. Did he not read the dossier? “Yeah. Yes. I mean, is that okay? I said my friend was a ‘him’ so I just figured….” “No, it’s fine.” David visibly re-inflates. “Luckily for you, my mother taught me how to put on a good show. I came prepared.” David taps the black leather bag he brought with him. Patrick hadn’t even noticed it. “Great. Thanks. This is….this is my first time doing this kind of thing.” “Oh, that’s obvious.” But David grins at him like he finds it endearing, like he thinks Patrick is the cutest puppy he’s ever seen in a pet store window. Patrick should probably feel embarrassed, but all he feels is relief. “So what party will be graced with my presence tonight?” “Uh...the invitation is on the desk. It’s at some woman’s house, I think?” David strolls over to look at the embossed invitation on the desk and reaches down a tentative hand to stroke the raised letters. “The Whitney. It’s not a woman’s house. It’s an art museum.” David is highly amused at Patrick’s ignorance. “Oh. Have you been before?” David says nothing, merely cocks an eyebrow at Patrick. “Sorry. I just thought you might be able to tell me what to expect. If you’d been.” David glances up at Patrick like he’s forgotten where he is. David smiles, but it’s a fake one. Patrick can already tell the difference. He’s always been a fast learner. “I’ve been before.” David looks back down at the invitation. “Oh, that’s good. I don’t actually know much about art. I only know the difference between Monet and Manet because of Ocean’s Eleven. Well, I know the difference between their names. I don’t think I actually know any of their art.” Is Patrick babbling? He thinks he might be babbling. “I, for one, am shocked.” “I find it hard to believe that much shocks you, David No Last Name,” Patrick teases, trying to recover his footing. He turns to the bed to pick up his red tie. It’s a power color, or so he’s been told by every executive he’s worked with. “So Mr. Raine said--” “Raine,” David interrupts. “Do you mean Edward Raine?” “Yeah.” Patrick admits. “You know who that is?” David nods, just once, like it hurts. “Yes, I do. Never met him personally, but I’m familiar with the Raine family and their…uh…businesses.” Patrick has underestimated David because of, well, because of how he makes his living. He promises himself not to do it again. “Oh. So you know his family’s company is worth billions. I’m negotiating a deal to buy out Mr. Raine’s business so we can take it public. I have to impress him tonight so that he picks my bank to do it. If I can negotiate this, it’ll mean a promotion, a big bonus. I’ll stand to make a lot of money with this IPO.” “How much money are we talking here? Profane or really offensive?” David’s smile has returned, but Patrick can see it’s still not trickling into his eyes. “Really offensive.” David nods to himself, like he’s making up his mind. He nods again, more forcefully this time, and looks up to Patrick, eyes wild and bright. “Got it. Impress the man, close the deal. I can do that. Just one more question.” “Of course,” Patrick replies warily and David flashes him another smile, a real one this time, that extends all the way to those dancing eyes. “Is that what you’re wearing tonight?”     *** Patrick had requested David arrive early in case they needed time to perfect their stories and create a fake backstory to make their friendship believable. He had not expected that his crash course in friendship with David, International Man of Mystery, would require a new wardrobe. Which is how he finds himself in a private dressing room at Bloomingdale's at four in the afternoon, a flurry of practiced hands pressing and prodding him into expensive new suits while David supervises from a sleek mid-century modern couch, sipping pink champagne. “Is this strictly necessary?” Patrick asks for the tenth time as a rather handsy sales associate smooths another shirt across his shoulders and down his back lingering just a little too long at his waist. “You cannot close this deal and get your PPO wearing a basic Brooks Brothers suit,” David assures him. “IPO,” Patrick corrects as he pulls on another pair of too long pants. “Initial public offering. And it’s worse than that.” “Worse than what?” “Worse than Brooks Brothers.” David closes one eye as if he could no longer look at Patrick with both. “Joseph A. Bank?” Patrick sucks in some air between his teeth before blurting out, “Men’s Wearhouse” David nearly drops his champagne flute. “Oh, dear god.” “On clearance,” Patrick adds, just because he can. He already likes flustering David. “And you wear these suits to business meetings? With actual people? Like people who can see you?” Patrick is fascinated by the vaudeville show dancing across David’s face. He is beginning to sense that David might be in the absolute wrong line of work. His face is simply too expressive; every thought telegraphing itself across his brow like a neon sign. He couldn’t contain his emotions if he tried; they practically burst through his hands, now wildly gesticulating in Patrick’s general direction, the lights dancing off wide silver rings. They are nice hands, Patrick’s thinks. Large hands, man’s hands, but still somehow delicate. Patrick wonders how they’d feel in his. “Yes, I do, David.” Patrick returns. David’s face is now a horror show. “And you’ve been successful. In business. Wearing these suits?” Patrick grins at David’s reflection as he stands in front of the three-way mirror, David’s face reflecting back at him. “Yes, David. I’m very successful.” “Ho…how?” David knits that beautifully expressive brow in confusion. Patrick shrugs one shoulder, his mouth working hard not to split wide open, “Well, I’m Canadian,” he says, as if that explains it. “Incorrect!” David leaps to his feet. Patrick is lapping up every bit of it. “I happen to know many people from Canada and they would never be caught dead in a sartorial wasteland like—“he gulps as if the words are painful coming out of his mouth,”—a Men’s Wearhouse.” “Well, I’m very good at what I do. And it’s never hindered me before.” Patrick has never actually given much thought to the clothes he wears, not the way that he can tell David clearly does. He works such long hours, practically lives in his suits—keeps spares in his office for the nights he just sleeps on his couch instead of going home—so he prizes comfort and durability over fit and fashion. But the shirt currently stretched across his back is light and supple, the pants like velvet down his legs. He also can’t deny they make his ass look great. If you’re into great looking asses. David gingerly sets his champagne on the glass table beside the couch and storms up to Patrick, eyes critical and searing. “Incorrect,” David repeats, brandishing the word like a sword. “Fashion communicates your place in the world. If you are worth doing business with, my dear Canadian friend, you must dress like you are.” David steps back to examine Patrick once again, head to toe. “I’m not sure Tom Ford is the right choice for him,” David addresses the room, “Skinny cut is not his friend unfortunately. He needs a fuller lapel and the pants are all wrong for his thighs.” Patrick feels a thrill at how commanding David is, how the sales assistants immediately stop and pay attention to him. Patrick is used to being the guy in charge, the one calling the shots, and it is strangely intoxicating to be bossed around by someone else….someone like David. David turns to look Patrick right in the eyes, “You do have nice thighs,” David says with a wink. “Thick like tree trunks.” But the way he rolls it from the back of his tongue through his lips makes it come out like thhhiiiiicccck and Patrick feels the room tilt slightly to the left. His cheeks are burning. He prays that David can’t tell, but also foolishly hopes that he can. David stops the handsy assistant, arms laden with discarded clothes. “I want to see some Armani, but last year’s collection if you have it. The patterns were better. Maybe Prada. He definitely needs at least one good black suit, but I also want to see some blue. Blue should be his signature color. And get some more ties while you’re at it.” As the assistant scurries away to satisfy David’s demands, David turns to Patrick, leveling him with a steely gaze and gesturing at his crotch. “Now, Mr. Brewer. We’re running out of time. Take off your pants.” Yes. Patrick definitely has a thing for being bossed around by someone like David.     *** In the end, Patrick opts for the two-piece Prada suit in bright blue, handing over his credit card in a daze. David throws yet another tie on the pile as the tailor pins up the pants, promising he’ll have the pants hemmed and delivered by 7:30 sharp so they can be fashionably late to the Whitney. David assures him that arriving on time simply isn’t done. David takes one look at Patrick’s face, reads the rising panic in his eyes, and grabs his hand as he leads him out of Bloomingdale’s and gently guides him into a hole-in-the-wall dim sum place in Chinatown a few blocks away that smells a little bit like heaven. “The food at these kinds of parties is always unfulfilling,” David says in a calm and measured voice as if he were reassuring a skittish animal. “I’d rather do my shame eating in private first.” And he primly places an entire dumpling in his mouth. Patrick is struggling to get the hang of his chopsticks; he’s only used them a handful of times with varying results, but David wields them deftly, snatching up even tiny grains of rice with ease. Patrick finally manages to get a dumpling precariously wedged between the wooden chopsticks, but his fingers slip and the dumpling goes soaring through the air. “Slippery little sucker,” Patrick mutters under his breath, pink with embarrassment. David tries—and fails—to hide an amused smile. He taps Patrick’s chopsticks with his own. “How’s it going over there?” Patrick tries to laugh but it comes out as more of a grunt. Maybe a snort. It’s not an attractive sound in either case. “I’m thinking these are torture devices meant to incapacitate the weak and unlearned. Can’t I just use a fork? I promise I’m good at that.” “No,” David says with a laugh, scooting the utensils out of Patrick’s reach. “Asian food doesn’t taste right if eaten with a fork.” David watches him silently for a moment, eyes warm and soft. Fond. Like he’s having a good time even though Patrick nearly took his eye out with a flying potsticker. “You’re holding on too tightly. You need to relax your hand a bit.” David reaches over and loosens Patrick’s grip and Patrick’s hand feel singed by electricity in the spots where David’s hand had touched his. “It’s a common mistake,” David says softly, and he’s not wrong. Patrick successfully steers a dumpling into his mouth this time. David nods his head as if proud of his student. “Nervous about tonight?” David asks, clicking his chopsticks together as he reaches for the last dumpling. “I’m mostly just nervous about how much I spent on that suit. I’ve never spent so much money on one item of clothing before.” “Two.” “What?” “Technically, it’s two items of clothing since a suit is comprised of both pants and a jacket.” Patrick stares at David like he would like nothing better than to throttle him. And in not in the fun sexy kind of way. “Not to mention the shirt and ties we picked out,” David continues. “I still really wish I had gotten you a new belt too. I just know you’re the type to own wrong things like braided belts.” Patrick cracks a sheepish smile, ducks his head a bit to avoid David’s eyes. “Oh God, you absolutely do!” “But David,” Patrick says with mock sincerity, “I got such a great deal on those braided belts at—” “Oh please, don’t say it.” David looks to the heavens as if in need of divine intervention. “—the Men’s Wearhouse.” “Oh, sweet Patrick,” David says, lowering his eyes to meet Patrick’s, “It seems I have come into your life at exactly the right moment. How have you possibly survived this long without me?” He means it to be flippant, careless, teasing. David means it to be a joke. But somehow it comes out serious, sure. Patrick can already notice the change in his tone and the shift in his eyes. What is it about David that so intrigues and enthralls him? Patrick replies softly, sure. “I don’t know, David. I honestly don’t know.” And he means it.     *** They abandon their dumplings and grab a taxi back to the hotel even though it’s less than a mile away from the restaurant. As soon as they return to the hotel room, Patrick showers quickly and then watches silently as David disappears into the bathroom with his black bag of mystery. Patrick paces the floor of his suite, waiting for the knock on his door that will signal the arrival of his dizzyingly expensive suit. He keeps checking the closed door of the bathroom, waiting for David to emerge. After 45 minutes, just when Patrick is sure David must have found some escape route out the bathroom, Patrick hears three curt knocks against his door. Relief floods through him as he grabs the proffered garment bag from the harried delivery man with a brief thank you. He’s just flinging a tie around his neck when he hears the bathroom door swoosh open and David emerge like a butterfly from his cocoon, trapped steam curling out around him. Patrick turns at the sound, his hands stilling around at his collar, breath whooshing out like he’s been punched in the gut. David is dressed in a well-fitted black suit with a starched white shirt and a skinny black tie. His hair is perfectly styled with not a strand out of place, four silver rings arranged like dominoes on his right hand. He looks like a Christmas present, Patrick thinks recklessly. He wants to open him up. David locks eyes on Patrick and smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. “It looks good,” David says softly, almost tenderly. “Blue was the right choice.” Patrick swallows and wills his voice to return. “I’ll never doubt you again, David. I feel…I feel good.” David shrugs with a roll of his eyes, a move he has practiced to perfection. “Prada has that effect on people.” Patrick attempts to knot his tie with his fumbling fingers, but then David is reaching to still his hands. “This is the wrong tie, friend,” David draws out the word friend, testing its ease on his tongue. “You need something with a little more contrast. It’ll make you stand out more. Tonight, you need to be noticed.” David ribbons the tie out of Patrick’s hands and selects a new one from the collection of ties on the bed and smiles shyly as he returns to throw it artfully around Patrick’s pink-tinged neck, deft hands knotting it in place. Patrick can see from the reflection in the mirror that the tie David has chosen is silver with bright splashes of green and blue and he thinks they look like a study in contrasts: David in black, all hard lines and searing cheekbones; Patrick in blue, all softened curves and cherub face. He wildly thinks they make a good matched set. David clears his throat brusquely and Patrick snaps to attention. “Rule number three. Are you listening, Patrick? This one might be the most important.” “Yes, David,” Patrick replies obediently as David tucks his collar into place. “No more braided belts.” David leans in slightly and Patrick catches a whiff of David’s cologne, something cedar and citrus but warm, inviting. He smells, Patrick thinks, strangely like home. David massages practiced fingers into Patrick’s stiff shoulders and Patrick laughs, can’t help himself. The tension skitters away as he focuses on the long strokes of David’s manicured hands. “Well, Mr. Brewer,” David proclaims, removing his hands and Patrick instantly feels their absence, “I think it’s time for us to go nail this PDF.” “IPO.” But Patrick shakes his head and laughs, giving into the joy that bubbles up within him at the endearing ridiculousness of his hired friend. David merely throws his hands up in the air, blowing out an exasperated sigh. “I cannot be expected to memorize every word you say.” But Patrick suspects David wants to, want to delight and impress him. Patrick throws on his jacket, and they head into the hallway, push the button for the elevator. Patrick turns to see David observing him with electric eyes. “In case I forget later,” David says with a smile as the elevator dings its arrival, “I had a really good time tonight.” Patrick beams, following David into the waiting carriage. “I bet you say that to all the boys.” “Oh no,” David promises as the doors slide shut. “Just the Canadian ones.”

The morning sun rays drifted amiably across the oak laden floors. Gently stirring Aziraphale from the book he was absorbed in. He stretched with a soft sigh, raising his arms above his head with a yawn whilst he watched the early flush of morning light.  Whilst gazing out the sun dappled window, his mind quickly became lost in thought as he curled deeper into the soft armchair, thinking back to the exchange between him and Crowley the previous night. Aziraphale was still coming to terms with the fact that he was going to a ball with someone like Crowley. Delight and nerves coursed through him at the simple thought, as well as a rather persistent blush across his cheeks.  His nerves were also heightened by Crowley’s promise to buy Aziraphale a suitable outfit. Despite Aziraphale’s reluctance and disagreement, he was beyond charmed by Crowley’s tender care towards him, trying to treat him… to “spoil” him in buying an outfit. At the time, Aziraphale had insisted it wasn’t necessary, but Crowley had been adamant in the fact he wanted to “spoil his angel” making Aziraphale blush furiously in response. He felt himself flushing once again at the thought, a dopey grin appearing across his face whilst he repeatedly checked the clock, eagerly awaiting for Crowley to arrive. ________ Although they’d been consistently meeting up, Crowley found himself jittery with nerves. In the afternoon they would be going shopping for Aziraphale. He’d arrived promptly at Aziraphale’s bookshop like always, joyful as ever to see Aziraphale whilst he knocked eagerly upon the door. He lounged against the doorway, hoping to be the image of handsome nonchalance.  “Crowley!!” Aziraphale had practically jumped on him with Crowley laughing fondly in return. Over the weeks, Aziraphale had slowly become less shy around him, and now was eager to embrace him at a moments notice. Giving him a tight hug as he ushered him into the shop, a gorgeous blush highlighting his cheeks. “I can't tell you how excited I am.” Aziraphale spoke happily, as he quickly grabbed a small wallet to take with him, Crowley intercepted him before he could slip the object away. “What do you think your doing?” Crowley asked with a smirk, watching as Aziraphales face formed confusion, “It's my treat today… remember, if you're accompanying me to the ball, I would love to at least indulge you.” “ Oh but Crowley I couldn't possibly let you. You’ve done so much for me!” Aziraphale said as his blond curls bobbed up and down. Trying to discern whether Crowley was joking. “Well it’s good you don’t have a choice in the matter then.” Crowley warned with a laugh, making sure Aziraphale had left the money behind as he slowly guided him outside, letting him lock the bookshop up before setting off together. The streets were bustling, a beautiful golden sunlight reflecting off shop windows as they strolled through the square. The weather couldn't have been more pleasant as they wandered around together.  “Oh look at that Crowley!” Aziraphale gasped at the fifth shop window in a row.  “Isn't that absolutely gorgeous my dear!” The window he was gazing at held an exquisite white suit behind the glass. A jacket clung to the manikin made of the finest white silk, with gorgeous trousers to match. The suits cuffs were pure gold, with sky blue buttons matching the ones on the front of the suit. A small v-neck at the collar meant stunning frills overflowed the front, beautifully embroidered with golden thread that looked like pure rays of sunlight, woven down the sides of the seams to match. The fabric had few layers, meaning it hung stylishly… perfectly for Aziraphale. Crowley's mouth practically watered at the thought of Aziraphale in the ensemble. He looked flawless in his day to day outfit… let alone something like this . It could have been tailored to the man… the sky blue buttons matching his eyes perfectly, golden embroidery suiting his hair to the thread. An idea began to form in Crowley’s head as he watched Azirapahel gaze longingly through the glass.  “Hey angel, how d’ you fancy a pastry?” He said with a sly grin to distract, luring and guiding the enraptured Aziraphale from the window.  They walked in comfort towards the small patisserie across the street. Aziraphale bubbling adorably about the possible pastries they could have.  The little striped awning was quaint above the little shop, and gave it an almost Parisian feel. Crowley opened the door for Aziraphale as they entered, making him blush handsomely with a shy smile at Crowley. As they walked up to the counter, Crowley kept his head down, surreptitiously pulling the hood of his cape up and avoiding all eye contact in hopes he wouldn't be recognised as royalty, he wasn't going to let anything destroy their perfect day.  The patisserie had a comfortable buzz whilst the customers marvelled at the spectacular pastry’s lining the cabinet shelves. Oozing cakes and flaky short crusts, velvety sponges and indulgent chocolate’s spread around profusely.  “Oh look at this one my dear! It looks utterly exquisite.” Azirapahle called over to him, a look of pure joy danced across his face as he gazed at the countless pastry’s… something that Crowley could watch all day.  “The macarons or the eclair’s? Oh, I do have a penchant for chocolate, but the raspberries look ever so tempting.” Aziraphale continued as he looked over to Crowley in distress, his beautiful features producing a genuine adorable pout due to his “penchant for chocolate.” This man can’t be real, he’s simply a dream come true. Crowley marvelled to himself as he joined Aziraphale at the counter taking his hand gently in his own as he soothed him. Aziraphale gazed at him, a delightful blush on his cheeks as he glanced at their hands twined between them, a small smile appearing on his lips. Crowley rubbed a small pattern with his thumb onto Aziraphale’s knuckle, reassuring and calm as he got his wallet out. Only letting go when he was addressed by the shopkeeper. “What would you like to order sir? The woman said politely from behind the counter. She had long black wavy hair, and a confidant manner around here, eyes firm and steady behind big rimmed glasses.  “Oh... u-uh I’m so sorry... I haven’t been able to make a decision-” Aziraphale began to stutter looking up at the red haired man worriedly, Crowley took his soft hand once again, giving it a squeeze before addressing the women. “A black coffee.” Crowley paused, as if in mock concentration. “The chocolate eclairs and the raspberry macarons please.” He shot Aziraphale a kind grin “Oh Crowley” Aziraphale sighed happily, beaming up at Crowley like he was his own ray of sunlight.  The women serving them gave Crowley a happy grin as she pointedly gestured at Aziraphale “Anything else for your boyfriend?” Aziraphale blushed intensely, a radiant cherry color gracing his cherubic cheeks as he gave Crowley a shy smile. Crowley grinned back devilishly at the blonde man “Your finest glass of wine please.”  He paid the bill and sauntered off, Aziraphale by his side as they sat together on a recluded table. Aziraphale’s posture prim and immaculate, and Crowley lounging casually in a slouch.  “You didn’t have to do that dearest, I... well, thank you” Aziraphale said softly, giving Crowley an irresistible smile. The word “dearest” echoed in Crowley’s mind making him flush behind his glasses.  “S’know problem angel, just want to make sure you’re happy” Crowley said quietly. Watching an even brighter grin appear on Aziraphale’s face. “You always do Crowley, never doubt that… I can only hope I make you feel half as good… I pray one day I can repay you.” Come to the ball as my date, grow old with me, just be by my side for the rest of my life. Crowley thoughts replied without hesitation.  “Angel you doubt yourself way too much. The fact you tolerate me makes me forever grateful-” Aziraphale tried to interrupt, but Crowley confidently continued “I need you to understand that I've never had a friend, a love… a companion. I’ve never liked anyone.” A small sniffle came from Aziraphale, who wore a raw, heartfelt expression.  They locked eyes with each other, as Crowley whispered. “I’ve never liked anyone but you.” The small moment was broken when the waitress arrived with the cakes, a regretful look on her face as she realised the moment she ruined. Mouthing a small “sorry” to Crowley who simply growled in return, however his anger immediately left him as his attention returned back to Aziraphale. Whenever Aziraphale ate it was always a delight for Crowley. Apart from their glasses of wine, it was the only time Aziraphale let himself be seen raw… probably even more so.  Aziraphale always savoured any pleasures, and when it was regarding food, he savoured every single bite. Rewarding Crowley with an indecent moan, or a small compliment towards the flavour palette. Crowley found it ever so endearing…. And ever so hot. The sounds alone got Crowley humid and flustered, but watching thick dobs of cream enter those plush rosy lips was practically a form of arousing torture.  Especially when a stray slither of cream would frame his lush mouth… a rather regular occurrence. Often followed by Aziraphale looking Crowley straight in the eye, exclaiming “how delicious” the cakes were, or “How thick and divine the cream was” Crowley tried to focus on his coffee, but eventually he gave up, slowly and gently bringing up his handkerchief to wipe a dob of creme from Aziraphales rosy lips, a furious blush crossing his face. Aziraphae looked slightly flustered, but also had the grace to where a slight smirk… this is going to be the death of me Crowley groaned internally, although he’d be lying if he said he didn't secretly love it. They talked comfortably for the remainder of the food.  As Aziraphale finished, Crowley excused himself from the table. With a rather lame excuse of “needing fresh air” “It’s alright my dear, you go on ahead.” Aziraphale gave him a smile as he brought out a small book to read whilst he waited. When Crowley had left the shop the young waitress came up to Aziraphale once more, giving him a warm smile.  “Are you two…” she did a little gesture with two fingers pointing together.  “Oh uh… well no” Aziraphale said sadly, gazing up at the waitress who gave him an incredulous look.  “What do you mean no. You’re both head over heels for each other!” She shot him an accusing glare “What type of friends hold hands to comfort one another??” She saw the sad look on Aziraphale’s face and sat down opposite him sticking her hand out.  “Anathema.” She stated as he gladly shook her hand replying “It’s Aziraphale.”  Her eyes lit up when she heard his name. “You’re the bookshop owner aren't you! Pleasure to finally meet you.” They exchanged a few words before silence fell upon them, Anathema giving Aziraphale a pointed look.  “He’s madly in love with you.. you know that right? ” Aziraphale looked at her, trying not to show the hope in his eyes. “You really think so?” The waitress looked at him like he’d said aliens exist. “I don’t think, I know. I’ve never seen someone so kind and compassionate… you better get your act together and ask him out, you’ve got nothing to lose. Take it from me, I think he wants this as bad as you.” She gave him a swift pat on the shoulder and excused herself to serve another table. Leaving Aziraphale feeling rather confused… and wildly hopeful.  “Hey angel!” He looked over to the door, seeing Crowley wave at him happily as he entered, poorly trying to conceal a large white bag behind his back   Aziraphale gave him a kind smile inspecting the hidden object “did you enjoy the ‘fresh air’ dear?”  “U-Oh Yes. Mm, very… nice air and all” Aziraphale gave a laugh at Crowley’s response, watching him still attempt to hide the cumbersome bag. Aziraphale indulged him in his mystery and began packing up his stuff. Leaning towards Crowley, he whispered with a smirk. “I know you weren't going out for fresh air my dear.“  “Yes I was.” Crowley replied adamantly, casting a glare round the shop. “It’s… humid in here.”  They left side by side laughing, the waitress quietly watching them leave as she sighed to herself. “The poor man doesn’t even know a royals in love with him.”

Nothing gets the heart racing as much as an actual race. Ruby's never had a serious race before. Of course she's taken all her races with her friends seriously but it was never a challenge for her. Never truly a race when she had always been the fastest because of her semblance. Except she isn't the fastest anymore. Sparks. That's what Ruby saw as she was once again tailing behind her adversary. She pushes herself to be faster but it's too late. They both reach the finish line and once again, she finished second in a race between only two competitors. "Aww, I thought I'd beat you for sure this time!" She whines as she lay sprawled on the floor from exhaustion. "I didn't." Harriet looks down on her with a victorious smirk. "But hey, it was a good what? Tenth run? Keep on practicing and you just might be able to keep up with me one of these days." "You're right! I just need to run a hundred more miles! Just you wait, I'll outrun you someday soon!" As usual, Ruby doesn't stay down for long as she then runs up to her partner, suddenly energized. "Weiss! Weiiiss! Did you see how close I was?" As the pumped up red raved to the coerced to listen white, the spectators have their own discussion. "Ha! The spirit of youth! And an energetic gem that one is!" Elm praises and stomps her foot. "She certainly will need that energy if she plans to run that mileage." Vine seconds with a nod. "Too bad she'll just be running circles forever." Marrow lets out a low pitying whistle. "Is she really ever gonna be fast enough to beat you?" "I doubt it," Harriet answers just as fast as her reflexes are. "But hey, it's good to have goals." "Hey! I heard that!" The protest surprisingly did not come from the redheaded subject of the matter. Instead, all heads turn to her aggravated white haired partner. "Wanna bet that Ruby can beat you in a race?" It sounds less like a challenge and more of a fact especially when paired with Weiss' smug grin. "Uh, Weiss?" Ruby speaks up, not quite as confident as her partner sounded. "If you haven't noticed, I've been sorta racing with Harriet for a week now and I'm… not exactly winning any of those races." Weiss sighs, only deflating just the slightest bit to address her partner with practiced patience. "I know, Ruby. I've been here the whole time." "Then why are you saying that in your 'I'm Weiss and I'm right' tone?" Ruby's poor impression did little to clear her confusion. Chin up, Weiss straightens her back and proudly declares, "Because I am right." Harriet laughs. "You sound like you got something interesting. Mind sharing with the rest of the class?" "Well if you insist." Eager to answer, Weiss continues, "It's simple really, the gist of it is—" "Ohhh, I get it now!" Ruby suddenly interrupts. She starts shaking her partner by the shoulders with barely contained excitement. "It's actually an 'I'm Weiss and I've got a plan' tone! " "Calm down, Ruby. Save your energy for when you beat her in the next race." Weiss forces her to stop by holding her down by the arm. "Hurry up with the program." Harriet rushes them, her foot already tapping, quick and impatient. "We don't have all day to watch you two skirt around each other." This comment recolors the red and white duo into just plain blushing red duo. "They're called combat skirts!" Ruby squeaks faster than she gives it thought. "We're combat skirting!" No one can make sense of what Ruby means by that, least of all, Ruby. Weiss on the other hand doesn't make any comment regarding such affairs. Instead she clears her throat and surreptitiously continues, "Right, so… I want you and Ruby to race one more time— but on one condition!" "Just say it already!" Marrow hollers, impatience in his wagging tail. "You two race on the condition that I get to assist her," Weiss proposes. She knows that this idea alone will get shot down if without proper explanation. It's a good thing that she's done her homework. Who says homework stops after school? Certainly not Weiss. While Ruby was busy honing her semblance against her trainer during this past week, Weiss had been there all throughout observing and taking notes. And what she noted was perhaps a different approach is necessary to beat against stacked up odds. "I'm not going to pull any dirty moves to hinder your speed but I'm not above boosting my partner's speed." She lays out all the cards, all rules transparent. Still, this sounds a bit one-sided and so she explains, "You said it yourself back in the mine. Ruby's semblance isn't speed, right?" Then lastly, the bargaining chip. The irresistible challenge. The ace up her sleeve against the Ace-op. "So where's the fun in beating someone at something you're essentially good at?" Silence descends upon them. Contemplation follows and fills the room as the challenge hangs in the air. "Actually, the verdict on my semblance is still out!" Ruby timidly chips in but is immediately hushed by her partner who just slaps her mouth shut. That minor interruption does little to break their concentration. "So what you're saying is that all this time, Ruby here has been playing with a handicap," Vine starts. "And you're offering to level the playing field, ha! Clever girl!" Elm finishes. Marrow scoffs. "Do you honestly think that Hare would—" "Sure, why not?" Harriet cuts right to the chase. "Wait, what?" Marrow does a double take. "Heh, if it gets me a good challenge then I don't see the harm." Harriet turns to her rival only in name apparently. "Sorry but these races were starting to feel like just running laps since the competition isn't that stiff." "Aww…" Ruby deflates as Weiss pats her consolingly. Harriet shrugs. "Besides, realistically speaking, it's more likely for her to take on missions with a partner rather than by herself so this will be like field training." That's actually a good point that Weiss did not think of. She realizes that she truly has more to learn in regards to being a huntress. "So I take it that you agree to the terms of this contest?" She presses. "No need to be so formal." Harriet doesn't formally accept but her already warming up speaks for itself. With all the confidence of a reigning champion she taunts them, "I like winning a good challenge." Not one to lose now that she's in this, Weiss counters, "Then I hope you like losing just as much, otherwise I'd worry for you." As the two engaged in a warmup battle of wits, Ruby practically vibrates in her excitement. "This is going to be so awesome!" Even better, this is going to be her fastest race yet. Fast. Ruby bursts into a flurry of rose petals. Just like all her previous runs, she follows the set path her body has already committed to memory. However unlike previously, this path is going to be slightly different. This is the path they're forging to victory. Faster. She hears the familiar swoosh of her partner's glyphs. She picks up speed with every glyph she passes. The air cuts harsher now, harsher than before. She accelerates at a speed only achievable with Weiss around. In the maelstrom of petals, she grins. She wonders if she feels this light because of the speed or the reason behind this acceleration. She sees the sparks again, still lagging behind yet again. But that's okay. They're just getting started. It only takes seconds, less than even, but it happens slowly for Ruby. She feels her momentum build up sooner than before. And before she knows it, she starts to see more than just sparks. To her side, she can vaguely see that she's now caught up with Harriet. Which is an amazing feat in itself because in all of her previous tries, she's never been this close, always eating the sparks left behind. But even this close, this isn't close enough. In fact, she doesn't want close, she wants far. She wants to go farther than ever before. She wants to be the one leaving petals left behind for once. And with her partner as her second wind, she thinks they can do just that. Five counts forward. Sharp left turn. A bit sloppy, Harriet inches closer. Ten counts forward. She gains another inch ahead. Sharp right turn. Better than the last, she's taken the lead. Almost there. She just needs to stay her fastest until the end of this track. But just like lightning, her rival suddenly picks up speed. Only twenty paces left. Ten paces left. They're butting heads again for the lead. Five paces left. Ruby can't even feel her body anymore. Four. She can't feel anything except for the petals, and the wind, and the speed. Three. Just one last burst, one last glyph, only one last pace. Two— And she finishes first. She finishes but she doesn't stop there. She goes off track, laughter mixing in with her petals. Weiss doesn't have enough time to predict her partner's next destination but it's not like she needs to. Ruby heads straight towards her direction until she barrels into Weiss. White blends with red as the flurry of petals spiral around the room in a victory lap. They do a couple more laps around the training room, laughter trailing in their wake. Eventually the whirlwind slows down to a halt and the petals dissolve to reveal two partners holding each other in triumphant bliss. Their foreheads are touching while their chests are still bursting with giggles. "That was super fast! Was anyone monitoring my time? Because I swear that's the fastest I've ever gone! I was like, whoosh! Ya know? Speaking of fast! Harriet sure was fast, huh? But I think that I was actually faster this time… I think. Was I? I couldn't tell. So what's the score? Did we win?" Her feet may have stopped but Ruby's mouth just starts running off. "Slow down, dolt. There's no race for fastest speech." Even as Weiss reprimands her, she can't quite get rid of the smile on her lips. Nor does she want to. Nothing could smudge the joy and fondness off of her smile as she so proudly confirms the victor. "And yes, you indeed won the foot race." She braces her ears for her partner to punctuate that victory with her usual high pitched squeal. However no sharp note follows. In its place is softness instead as Ruby simply smiles with certain tenderness. "No, we won!" Weiss blinks, suddenly remembering that this was a partnership effort. And then she laughs, because of course it's just like Ruby to share the glory. "That we did, didn't we?" Just like their embrace, this victory is theirs to be shared. "Not bad, kid." Harriet looks over the two, her rival in particular. "Not bad? She totally beat you at your game." Weiss pulls away, if only to deliver that barb, but keeps a firm hold on her partner's waist. "Who says I was going all out?" For someone who lost, Harriet's got a lot of wind left in her. "That was super fun!" Ruby bounces, keeping her balance by holding onto her partner's shoulder. "Can we do that again?" "Maybe another time." Harriet shakes her head with an amused smile. "You're gonna need to rest after that workout of ours." "I can rest super quick!" Ruby hurriedly suggests, ever eager. "That's not how speed semblances work." Harriet crosses her arms as a contemplating look falls across her face. "Speaking of semblances, I gotta admit. You're pretty fast… for someone without a speed semblance." The recurring mystery only brings back Ruby's confusion. "What do you mean? Are you sure it really isn't speed? I mean, I go zoom all the time. And I mean zooooom!" "Trust me. If that was a speed semb, you wouldn't have needed your partner here." Harriet juts her chin towards today's real MVP. "By the way, nice assist out there. It takes some serious skills to keep up with the pace." Suddenly humbled, Weiss nods back. "Thank you. Someone had to learn how to anticipate at that speed otherwise this dolt would have crashed into obstacles more often than she already does." "Hey! You didn't have to tell her that! You're embarrassing meeee!" Ruby pouts and pulls on the kicked puppy look but Weiss doesn't even chance her a glance. That's also another thing she's learned from having this dolt for a partner. She refuses to play victim to such devious tactics. "Woah! You guys were amazing!" Marrow jogs over to them. "I didn't think I'd see the day that Hare would lose in a race." "It was a lucky break," Harriet deflects. "Strange, I remember only Clover having the semblance of good fortune." Vine comments offhandedly. "Lucky break or a breakthrough of skill, that was superb! A mark of a good huntress is how well they do teamwork and you both more than proved that!" Elm lays down the praise thick. "Thank you! Oh, wow! Thank you so much!" Ruby glows with pride. "Thank you. It's good to see the fruits of our labor actually paying off." Weiss acquiesces with more self control but no less joy. "Don't think that this ends here." Harriet takes it a step further, still hot on their heels. "You just beat your personal record today, congrats. But now you gotta work harder on beating it again tomorrow." She dares them. Ruby and Weiss look at each other, a look of understanding passes between them. "We can do that." Ruby determinedly rises to the challenge. "You don't need to tell us something we're already going to do anyways." Weiss backs her up with just as much dedication. And when these two decide to do something, they don't just do it halfheartedly. "Alright, partner! Let's go and set a whole new record!" Just before Ruby could start running off again, her knees give out. If it wasn't for her partner's quick reflexes, she would have dropped face first on the floor. "Careful, you dolt! Your aura still hasn't recovered from all that racing. Remember that? The race you just finished not even five minutes ago?" Weiss chastises her just as much as she supports her by the shoulders and waist. "Ooohh, okay." Ruby slumps against her partner, exhaustion suddenly catching up to her. "New plan. Let's break that record later… Maybe after a five minute break?" "While I'm happy that you're finally listening to reason, do you have to take your break on me specifically? Do I look like a reclining chair to you?" Despite Weiss' complaints, she makes no move to pry herself from her partner's weight. "Mmmmcomfy…" Ruby leans further into the crook of Weiss' neck and sighs in content. Weiss' sigh comes out different, exasperated, but with just the slightest hint of fondness. "Alright… But only five minutes." She hears a noncommittal grunt which she interprets as agreement. Ruby's breaths gradually evens out. There's no one to outrun, no race to win, and no need to rush. And so she finally feels her heart slow down to a comfortable pace. Vaguely aware, she thinks she feels something soft and light briefly touch the top of her head. It leaves just as soon as it comes, but for some reason she's too tired to figure out, the action has her smiling. Winning the race is nice. Relaxing on her partner after they both had just won that race together is nice too. And for as fast as she had been, it's nice to take things slow too.

Jamie’s phone lights up with yet another call from “Dad” in the middle of gym time with the lads, which ought to be a fucking criminal penalty. He swipes to dismiss it, but Jan sees the screen first and looks at him with a raised eyebrow. “What does he want?” Jan asks, gentle as a fucking brick to the head as ever. “Just to shout at you?” “I don’t know, do I, because I didn’t answer.” He does know. This has been going on for over a week. His dad owes money to some people it’s a bad idea to owe money to. He doesn’t have the money. He wants Jamie to give it to him. And Jamie will, because he always does, but he doesn’t want to deal with this shit right now. He is at work, isn’t he? And maybe he wants to make his dad squirm a bit first. He’s only human. “You should block his number,” Jan says. “He doesn’t seem to be a positive part of your life.” Jamie grunts, probably sounding like Roy fucking Kent, because what is he supposed to do with that painfully obvious statement? Of course his dad isn’t a positive part of his life. Of course he should block the number. But he can’t, because it’s his fucking dad, and family means something, don’t it? He doesn’t get much done the rest of the training session. He’ll have to make up for it some other day. He checks his phone again before leaving and there’s another missed call, plus a text message. It says I am running out of patience with you being a moody little bitch Jamie. Well. That’s just fucking lovely. ** No more calls or texts the rest of that day, or up til training the next. Later, he’ll realize that should have worried him. At the time, it’s a relief. It’s a short training day, since they have a match coming up. A few of the lads are talking about getting together to watch something or play video games, but Jamie’s tired and wants to take some time with some nonspecific and absolutely not banned herbal remedies for his aches and pains. It is a good plan that he is very excited about. He gets home, he eats his nutritionist-approved meal, he sits for a few minutes scrolling through his phone, and just as he’s about to go upstairs and lie down with his remedies, there’s a knock at the door. It’s the modern fucking era, he’s got Ring, so he checks the app on his phone, and his stomach twists into a complicated series of knots as he sees that it’s Denbo and Bug standing there, jacket collars turned up, solid and unmoveable as stones. Jamie shuffles to the door and opens it a hand’s width. “What are you two doing here?” “Hello, Jamie,” Bug says. Denbo gives a wave and a particularly cold look. “Need to talk to you. It’s about your father.” “I know he needs money. He’s been on my fucking case about it.” He glances up and down the street as best he can from this angle. “He’s not here with you? He sent the two of you all the way down from Manchester?” “He’s being a bit cautious about leaving the house right now,” Denbo rumbles. “What with his own flesh and blood giving him shit instead of helping him out with his problem.” “Has he thought about not borrowing money from fucking loan sharks?” Jamie drags his hand through his hair. “Because that would help, I think.” Bug shifts his weight forward, and before Jamie quite realizes it, he’s got the toe of his heavy work boot jammed in the gap in the door. “We’re coming inside to discuss this, Jamie.” Fuck, fuck, fuck. “Look, I’ll transfer him the fucking money, all right? I’ll do it right now.” He fumbles for his phone, fucking stupid, because that moment of diverted attention is enough for them to push the door open and come inside. Bug closes the door behind them and throws the deadbolt, which sends Jamie’s heart into a rabbit-fast sprint that leaves him dizzy. “I said I’ll transfer him the money.” “That’s not good enough anymore.” Denbo unzips his jacket and produces that fucking crowbar, the one Jamie has seen move back and forth amongst the three men, their cars, their flats. He’s heard stories about it. Seen people threatened with it. He’s never seen it used but it’s been a near fucking thing, and now not only is his heart pounding but his breath is choking in his throat. “Your father,” Bug says, “would like to see an extra ten thousand on top of what he asked for, for his distress at you being a fucking ungrateful little twat.” He has the money. The problem isn’t the fucking money. “Look, could you two just… just sit down and put that fucking thing away, and I’ll do it, I’ll send him… all of that.” Denbo taps the crowbar against his hand. “Are you sorry for how you’ve acted?” Christ, he’s never been more sorry in his life. “Yes. I am.” “Won’t happen again, will it?” Denbo points the crowbar at him. “You do need both legs unbroken to play football, don’t you?” “You got insurance on them things?” Bug asks. “I heard the clubs do that now. Insure legs.” Jamie closes his eyes tightly. “It won’t happen again.” “Good lad.” Bug’s hand on his shoulder, steering him to sit down at the table. “Now, you do your little transfer, and don’t even think about trying to call anyone, understand? We’re going to watch what you do.” Right. Right. He pulls up his banking app and clicks around carefully. He knows his dad’s banking information is in the past transactions from the other times he paid off something or other… there. He types in the amount, hits the advance button, hits the confirmation button. Yes, he’s sure he wants to do this. He wants to keep his fucking legs whole. He doesn’t want to be cowering in front of these two men, like he did when he was a fucking child and they were laughing at him for being awkward and spotty and a virgin. “There,” he says, holding the phone up so they can see the Transfer approved screen. “It’ll take a little bit of time to go through since it’s a large amount, but he’ll have it probably tomorrow.” “Easy, wasn’t it, once you stopped being a little shit?” Bug takes the mobile and hands it to Denbo, who places it on the floor and smashes the crowbar down against it, one two three times, until it’s a shattered mess of glass and plastic instead of a phone at all. He doesn’t care. It’s fine. He can get another one. As soon as they’re gone, and he remembers how to breathe again, he’ll go get another one. It will be fine. He’ll call Keeley, have her recommend someone who can come in and fix the marks the crowbar left on the floor. She knows decorators who know contractors who do things like that. It will be all right. As soon as they’re gone. They’re still there, looking at him. Denbo glances at Bug and raises his eyebrows in a silent question. Bug nods, and Jamie’s stomach twists and aches again. “Now, there’s just one more thing we need to do, and that’s make sure you remember this,” Bug says, as Denbo circles around to stand behind Jamie’s chair. Jamie does not want him there, out of his line of sight. “I said it won’t happen again,” he tries, but Bug just shakes his head. “The problem, Jamie, is that nobody can believe you. You’re not trustworthy. You lie.” Denbo’s arm curves loosely around Jamie’s throat, elbow tucked under his chin. Bug takes Jamie’s wrist and places his left hand on the table, palm flat. “Please don’t do this,” Jamie whispers. “Aw, now. It’s all right. You don’t need your hands to play footy, do you? Course not.” Bug has the crowbar now, somehow. He taps the curved end of it against the back of Jamie’s hand. “Now. There are two ways we can do this. I can hit you with this, here, and break all the little bits of bone in your hand. End up with sort of a bag full of matches effect. Or I can just break a couple of your fingers. But you have to ask me nicely to get that one. You have to ask pretty. Can you do that?” Jamie closes his eyes. “Please, just break my fingers. Please, Bug. I’m asking you. I know you’re a… a decent man, and you’ve known me since I was—” “I knew you before you were born, you little piece of shit,” Bug says benevolently. “I remember when your bitch of a mum were pregnant with you. Big as a fucking house, she was. We all expected a big strong boy and instead the prince twat of twatland showed up.” Jamie drags in another breath. “Please. Please just break my fingers.” “What do you think?” Bug asks Denbo over Jamie’s head. “Was that pretty enough?” “Was all right,” comes the response, the arm around Jamie’s throat tightening just a fraction. “We need to get on with it anyway.” “True.” Bug puts the crowbar down on the table and picks up Jamie’s hand. He closes his fist around the middle and fourth fingers, and before Jamie has a chance to realize what’s going on, he’s twisting, as hard as he can. Pain shoots up Jamie’s arm like lightning, and Denbo cuts off his air before he can scream. The pop of the joints is horribly loud, making Bug grunt in satisfaction before he twists them back the other way for good measure. The index and fifth fingers don’t get left out; Bug yanks them backward toward Jamie’s wrist until they all hear the snaps, and then Jamie loses a few moments in a grayish haze. When he comes back to himself, they’re gone, leaving behind the crowbar marks on the floor, the shattered phone, and the mess of his fingers, which are twisted into shapes they shouldn’t be able to make, bloody from where the skin tore in places. He can’t move through the pain, can only sit there cradling his hand to his chest. His phone is wrecked, he thinks distantly. Can’t call an ambulance. Can’t call anyone for help. He can’t drive himself to A&E like this, either, steering the car one-handed won’t work. There’s nothing he can do but sit here, in his own house, which isn’t fucking safe, which will never be safe again. His iPad is in the other room. He can call for help from that. Just has to get on his feet without collapsing on the floor. Just has to walk across, what, four meters? Sit down on the couch. Wake the thing with his working hand. Find the FaceTime app. His head is swimming and he wants to vomit. Why he calls Keeley, he couldn’t say. It just happens. But when her voice comes through the speaker, a bright and cheery Hi, Jamie, he manages to take in a proper amount of air for the first time since he opened the door. “What d’you need?” she asks after a moment, when he’s silent. “Did you dial me by accident? Jamie?” “I… I need help,” he finally gets out, each word sticking and choking in his throat. “Can you come get me?” “What happened? What’s wrong?” Then, angled away from the phone, “Roy, get your keys, something’s wrong with Jamie.” Christ, he doesn’t want Roy here, doesn’t want his coach to see him like this. But he can’t possibly explain that to her. “Think I need to… hospital,” he manages, and she takes a sharp breath. “Where are you, love? We’re on our way.” Shouldn’t call me that, he thinks, since part of his brain refuses to participate in this shite anymore and is spinning off in the stratosphere. Going to make Roy angry and he might break my other fucking hand. “At home,” he says finally. “Please come.” “We’re coming. Don’t worry. We’ll be there as soon as we can.” ** He hears Roy’s voice first, coming up the walk. “Maybe I should stay out here and keep the car running.” “If he’s fallen, I can’t lift him, Roy.” “The fucking door’s open.” Their footsteps are inside the house now, loud on the flooring. Jamie knows he needs to sit up and call out to them, but everything feels very far away. “Oi! Tartt! Where are you?” “Smashed his phone… is that blood? On the table? Fuck. Jamie!” Right, okay. Breathe. Drag some air into his lungs so he can talk. “I’m in here.” “Jamie!” Keeley runs to him, eyes wide. “What happened? Did someone break in?” Jamie shakes his head. He can’t possibly explain what happened now, not when his head is swimming like this. “I need… I think…” “You need to go to A&E.” Roy’s hands are on him, lifting him up off the couch. “Keeley, get his keys, his wallet, if you see them. Easy, lad. Just keep breathing. We’ll take care of you.” “My hand.” He means be careful with it and don’t look at it and just a general that is what is wrong, what’s hurt, but he can only manage the two words. “I see that. It’s going to be all right.” Roy’s voice is tight and tense but steady, a coach’s voice. “You’re in shock, that’s why you feel so strange. We’ve got you. There’s a step here… good lad.” Jamie vaguely hears the front door closing—Keeley must be following them out—and feels the roughness of pavement under his feet as Roy moves him along. Then Keeley’s moving past them, rushing to open the car door. “You’ll have to step up, sorry…” The steady rumble of Roy’s voice shouldn’t be a comfort, but it’s at least something to orient himself by, and that is comforting. “There we are. Keeley, get a seatbelt on him? Ride back here with him?” “Yeah, course.” Her arm slips around his waist, warm and careful. “Do you know who did this, Jamie?” He can answer that just by nodding, thank god. “All right, good, we’ll call the police as soon as the doctors have helped you.” Calling the police on his father’s friends is just as bad as calling them on his father, in terms of the hell that will rain down on him for it. He shudders, and Keely holds him tighter. Roy’s monster of a car rides smoothly, that’s nice of it. Maybe he can tuck his head onto Keeley’s shoulder and breathe in the smell of her perfume and go to sleep. But Keeley won’t let him. “Stay awake, love, don’t pass out.” “Don’t,” he mumbles. Don’t call me that, don’t make Roy angry now. “Shh, shh. Don’t have to talk. Just stay awake.” She pets his hair, so carefully. “I think we’re almost there, right, Roy?” “Two blocks.” “It’s the hospital his sister works at, so he knows it like the back of his hand.” Pet, pet, pet. “They’ll give you some painkillers and then fix you up.” He hopes they give him something that will let him be unconscious. Not having to fight to think and breathe and exist for a while would be fucking ace. A&E is a blur of activity and nurses and questions being repeated in his face as if he’ll somehow magically gain the power to process and answer them. A dark-haired woman with Roy’s nose is there at one point, then gone again, and then finally there’s an IV in his arm pumping a warm fog into him and he can sleep. ** When he wakes up, Keeley is there, typing away on her phone. He watches her for a bit, content just to lie there, until she looks up and sees him. “Jamie!” She hurries to the side of the bed and cups his face in her hands. “Thank god.” “You didn’t have to wait here.” “Don’t be ridiculous.” She kisses his forehead, which—didn’t expect that, probably shouldn’t allow that. “Roy and I both stayed, he just stepped out to get some coffee.” “You really didn’t have to—” “Hush.” She sits down on the edge of the mattress and studies him closely. “Can you tell me what happened?” “Rather not.” He looks at his hand instead, or what should be his hand; it’s wrapped in so much gauze and tape he can’t properly tell. “What did they say about this?” “Dislocations, fractures. Everything’s back in joint and there are pins and splints in there. You’ll need surgery for the tendons and all but that will wait til the swelling goes down.” “Can I play?” She sighs. “Of course that’s what you ask. Roy asked the doctor that, too.” “Well?” “Technically you could but you would not enjoy how it felt to run around with it like that, and anyway the club won’t let you until you’ve had your surgery and healed.” He lifts his head and thumps it back against the pillow. “Fuck.” “What’s important is that you’re safe.” She touches his cheek, and he realizes her hand is shaking a little. “What happened, Jamie?” “He’s awake?” Roy comes in the door, and for possibly the first time Jamie is profoundly glad to see him. “Knew I should’ve bought a third coffee. How are you feeling, Tartt?” “Stoned.” Roy nods in approval. “Enjoy it.” “I am.” He grins at Roy despite himself. The drugs really are fucking lovely. “If you two are done, we were going to get into what happened.” Keeley gives them both an aggrieved look. “Jamie?” Fuck. Fine. “My dad’s mates dropped by to make a point.” They both stare at him, and he shrugs. Not much else he can say. “Your dad’s mates,” Roy echoes finally. “Your father had them do that to you?” “I don’t know if he meant this specifically. He sent them to talk to me.” He tries to rub his face with his good hand, but there’s a hospital thing stuck in the back of it. “Talk to you about what?” Keeley’s voice is higher than usual, which puts it quite off the scale. Jamie sighs. “My dad owed money to… people you shouldn’t borrow money from. He’d been asking me to help him out, and I was ignoring him, so he sent Denbo and Bug to collect.” “And you argued with them?” Roy asks. “No, I did exactly what they said. Transferred Dad the money and extra as an apology.” “Then why did they do that?” “So I don’t ignore him in the future.” He tries moving his thumb; that wasn’t broken, that should be able to work. Ah, yeah, little wiggle. Good. “Jesus fucking Christ.” Roy tilts his head and stares at the ceiling. “Please tell me you know that this is not normal or right behavior.” Jamie tries to laugh, but it comes out more like a painful cough. “Fucking obviously, mate. But it’s normal for him, innit? He wanted something from me and I acted like a brat instead of giving it over, so he put me back in line.” “He had his friends break your hand.” “It could’ve been worse.” He closes his eyes, suddenly exhausted. Talking is too much. “They brought a fucking crowbar with them to break my fucking legs if I kept being a shit about sending the money. Then I would really be in a mess, wouldn’t I? And the club, too. Though the club would get the insurance payout on my legs, I think, right? They own the policy? I don’t really understand how it works, honestly.” “Jamie.” Keeley sounds strange, and Jamie has to open his eyes again to see why. Oh. She’s crying. “Don’t cry,” he says, a little desperately. “Aw, Keeley. Don’t.” “It is… really, really terrible that this happened to you.” Her mascara is running in a terrible mess. Why aren’t there any tissues in this room? “And you’re so calm about it. Like it barely even matters.” “He is on drugs, babe.” Roy produces a napkin from his pocket and gives it to her. “But yeah, Tartt, this is… if you wanted to be upset about this, that would be a normal response.” “I’ll probably be upset later.” The drugs are making him too honest. “Usually that’s how it works, the first little bit after he does something I just feel numb and then I’m all upset for days, crawling out of my skin, end up doing something stupid to feel better.” Keeley nods, wiping the black gunk from below her eyes with firm strokes. “Well, this time we’ll help you so you don’t have to do that.” Roy is looking at him with narrowed eyes. “What stupid thing did you do after the match at Wembley?” Ah. Fuck. “I… got very drunk and nicked an entire crystal display thing from a club. Like a sculpture that was on one of the tables?” He shrugs as they both stare at him. “It’s in me guest bathroom now.” “Right,” Keeley says softly. “Well. We won’t let you do that again.” “It isn’t either of your job to look after me, you know.” Roy leans back to toss his coffee cup in the bin. “It’s volunteer work. Community service.” Keeley doesn’t say anything, just sits there looking utterly devastated, and Jamie can’t bear it. “Keeley. C’mon. Don’t look like that.” “I’m very upset,” she says quietly. “I’m very scared for you.” He doesn’t know how to respond to that. He just lies there, and after a minute she reaches out and takes hold of his good hand, rubbing her thumb carefully over his knuckles. “Thank you for coming to get me,” he says finally. “I was in such a state, and I didn’t know what to do, but I knew you would.” “Of course,” she says, tucking his hand carefully under her chin, held in both of hers. Roy doesn’t say anything, but that means he also doesn’t shout, and Jamie wonders about that until the drugs catch up with him and he falls back asleep. ** He agrees to go back to Roy and Keeley’s house when the hospital discharges him, both to keep Keeley from crying any more and also because he’s scared to go back to his own. He won’t admit that out loud, but he is, and he hates it. There’s an interview with the police, but he puts that out of his head as best he can as soon as it’s over. Sure, they can put a warrant out for Denbo and Bug, but those two are experts at avoiding the police, aren’t they, they won’t be picked up for who knows how long. Not worth thinking about. He’s got other things on his mind, mainly Roy and Keeley. Staying with them is fine; the guest room is fucking posh, the groceries are delivered and he can tack whatever he wants onto the list, and the painkillers make him sleep a lot anyway. He takes an Uber to the club to have the team doctors look at him, and then home again, not bothering either of them for a ride. The first two days they hardly cross paths at all, actually, except at dinner, where Keeley fusses over him and Roy watches them with an unreadable expression. Jamie is very careful not to be overly friendly with Keeley. Keeps the boundaries in place. He respects Roy and Keeley’s relationship and he’s not going to fuck that up. He starts cutting his painkiller dose after those first few days, not because the doctors say he can but because the last thing he needs is to get dependent on them. That means he’s up one morning and downstairs making coffee before Keeley even comes down to go to work. “Oh!” She looks at him in surprise, and he shrugs. “You’re up early.” “Only took half a pill before bed last night.” He holds up another mug. “Your usual?” “Yeah, please.” She leans on the counter, watching him. “Funny that you’re staying here but I think I’ve seen you less than I did before.” “Not feeling very social, I guess.” He adds the creamer and sugar and mixes it up the way she likes it. “Thank you for letting me stay, though, have I said that?” “You have, yeah.” She accepts the mug from him and touches his face with her free hand, rubbing her thumb along his jaw. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you want.” “Probably through the surgery, anyway? I’ll lose everything I’ve figured out how to do for myself so far while it’s healing.” “Absolutely.” She glances at the clock and groans. “Fuck. Got to drink this fast and get going. I’m going to be late.” He opens the cupboard again and produces a travel mug. “Pour it in here. Drive safe.” “Thank you!” She spills a bit when she pours it over, but he’s got a towel ready for that. “You’re a saint, Jamie. See you tonight!” He watches her go, knowing his smile is soppy and embarrassing, wipes down the counter, and turns to pick up his own mug, stopping halfway through the turn to jolt in alarm at the sight of Roy in the kitchen entryway. “Jesus Christ. How do you move so fucking quietly?” “Years of practice.” Roy nods at the coffee maker. “Mind if I?” “No, course not. It’s your kitchen, ain’t it?” Jamie shuffles to the side to make room for him. “You’re up early. Meetings?” “Actually it’s our off day.” Roy rubs his knuckles over his eyes. “Which means I have no idea why I’m up so early. Cruel joke by the universe, I guess.” Jamie nods slowly. “Think maybe you could do me a favor? After your coffee?” “Depends on what it is.” “Could you run me back to my place to get my car? There’s a few things I want to do today.” Roy raises an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t it be easier for me to drive you? It’s going to be fucking difficult for you to drive with your hand like that.” Jamie shrugs. “Don’t think you want to go on these errands with me, mate.” Roy stills for a moment, then turns to face him. “What are you planning, Tartt?” “It’s actually not anything stupid.” He thinks about that for a beat. “Not the bad kind of stupid, anyway. Not the kind you’re thinking of.” “How about you tell me the specifics and let me decide that.” Jamie sighs. Should’ve just lied. “Going to run up to Manchester, aren’t I.” “The fuck you are.” “I need to talk to my dad, Roy.” “After what he did?” “He didn’t do it!” Jamie exhales and puts his coffee mug down in the sink. “That’s one of the things I need to ask him. Why he couldn’t even fucking face me himself.” “Well, you’re not going alone.” Roy shakes his head and opens the cupboard again, taking out another travel mug. “Come on. Get your shoes.” “What?” Jamie stares at him. “You can’t.” “The fuck I can’t. Shoes. Hurry up. It’s a fucking four-hour drive and we’re listening to my music, not yours.” They compromise and listen to football podcasts instead, a series about old World Cups that Jamie is surprised to find as interesting as he does. Usually history is a giant blank to him, but the hosts do a good job of connecting the things that happened then to things going on in football now. It actually keeps him from thinking too much about what’s up ahead in Manchester. When they reach the outskirts of the city, Roy switches the podcast off and Jamie’s chest starts to tighten up. “Is there a plan here, Tartt?” “Figure he’s paid off the loan now, so he’ll be back at his flat. He was probably lying low before, but he should be home now. He won’t be… like he was at Wembley.” Explaining his father to someone else feels alien and wrong. These are things he doesn’t talk about. “At a match, when he’s been drinking with his mates like that, he’s up, he’s excited. After something like this, he’s been humbled, you know, embarrassed. It gets him low. He’ll be just sort of…” He trails off. “Cold. Mean.” Roy glances at him. “Meaner than at Wembley?” “Yeah.” Jamie shrugs. “Don’t worry, he won’t go for you.” “That’s not what I’m worried about, Jamie.” “I know, I know.” He sighs and picks up his phone, punching the name of his dad’s building into the GPS. “I’ll watch meself.” It’s an ugly building, but decently kept. Jamie leads Roy around the back, where the first-floor flats have doors that open out into the courtyard. His dad’s has a table by the door with an old plate acting as an ashtray, some empty beers on the ground, a big Man City flag slowly rotting on its hanger. Jamie knocks firmly on the door and then steps back, moving to shove his hands into his pockets before he remembers that his left hand won’t fit. It takes a minute before the door opens, and when it does he can tell right away that he was right about James’ mood. His eyes are sunken and dull, his hair a rumpled mess. He stares at the two of them for a moment, then spits into the grass. “What’re you doing here?” Jamie holds his bandaged hand up. “Thought you might want to see.” James looks at it with indifference. “Could’ve just done as you were asked.” “Did you pay the Russians back yet?” Roy looks back and forth between them. “The Russians?” “There’s no fucking Russians.” James shakes his head. “I paid Eddie and Bob, yes. A little extra for their trouble, and a bet on your Richmond match this weekend.” Jamie snorts. “To win or lose?” “Lose, with you out.” James rubs at his mouth. “Suppose you want to come in.” “No, this is fine.” Jamie presses his good hand against his thigh, trying to keep it from twitching or curling up in the end of his sleeve. “And if Eddie and Bob aren’t backed by the Russian fucking mafia these days, who are those big nasty blokes with Russian tattoos who hang round the shop?” “It’s none of your fucking business, is it?” “Other than that I’m the one paying them.” Jamie’s jaw fucking aches; he’s clenching his teeth between sentences like it’s what’s holding him together. “Look. I went to the police about Denbo and Bug. I’ve got cameras at my house, there’s video of them. Smart of you not to come, I don’t have anything on you, do I.” “You called the police on Denbo and Bug?” James’ eyes narrow. “They’re like fucking uncles to you, you ungrateful little bitch.” Jamie’s heart thumps painfully in his chest. “Well, Dad, the hospital wasn’t exactly going to believe I did this to meself, were they? They called the cops round without me even asking.” “All you had to say is that you had nothing to say. Thought I taught you that. Never say anything to the bloody police.” “Can we focus,” Roy cuts in, “on the part where it’s already been done, and you and your mates might want to find a hole to scuttle into or something?” James’ attention shifts to Roy like some kind of hungry animal tracking from one bit of prey to another. Except Roy doesn’t act like prey, does he? Roy stares right back at him. “What are you doing here, anyway?” James asks. “Little bitch needs someone to hold his hand, just to come talk to his own father?” “I gave him a lift. Since your mates broke his hand, which makes it a bit tricky to drive.” James shakes his head. “They could’ve done worse, you know. You should be grateful, Jamie.” This was a bad idea. Jamie had known it on some level, but he’s fucking stupid, and he’d done it anyway, and now here he is. Stuck. “Yeah, I know. They told me the worse options.” “Should’ve taken out your pretty fucking teeth, at least. Can’t believe you wasted money on—” “Stop, all right? Can you just stop?” Heat stings behind Jamie’s eyes, threatening, and he has to push it back with all his strength. “I’m here to tell you that they’ve got warrants out for them, and if you ask me for money for this shit again, I’m not giving it. I’ve had enough, d’you understand?” “You’ve had enough.” James looks him up and down with a sneer. “You wouldn’t be anywhere without me pushing you. You would’ve curled up and fucking died the first time things got difficult. Don’t think I don’t know you, Jamie. You never wanted to buckle down and work, you just wanted everything handed to you so you could run round with those fucking trash girls you always find, and dress yourself like some kind of clown, and give up the moment things get tough.” Jamie rocks back on his heels and takes a deep breath. “I’m not doing it anymore. Stop borrowing money from these people, because I’m not bailing you out again. All right?” “Abandoning your own father. The men who raised you like their own nephew. I knew since you were born that you were trash, Jamie, but I didn’t think you were this soulless.” Roy’s hand catches Jamie’s elbow, sending him starting forward before he catches himself. “Let’s go,” Roy says quietly. “I don’t think saying more is going to help.” Jamie lets Roy steer him around, move him back toward where they parked the car. James is still shouting behind them, a steady stream of speculation on sexual preference, things Jamie has or hasn’t done to get ahead, retribution that’s going to come if he doesn’t support his father. It all settles into a solid roar in Jamie’s head, no specific words standing out anymore. Roy gets him in the car, climbs into the driver’s seat, hits the lock button for all the doors. “What the fucking fuck was that?” Jamie shrugs, staring at his hands in his lap. A bit of tape is coming loose on his bandages. He takes hold of it and starts pulling, suddenly wanting to unravel all of it, to see the bruises and swelling and stitches, to press on them and feel the pain and know if any of it was real at all. “Hey, hey. None of that.” Roy catches his good hand and drags it away before he can get more than an inch of tape up. “Christ. Don’t do that. Let’s get out of here, yeah? You’ll breathe better with some space between us and him.” Jamie nods, the only thing he can manage, and Roy pulls out into the street, driving aimlessly until he comes across a carpark out of sight of James’ building and stops again. “You’re probably hungry,” Jamie says after a few moments of silence. “We should find you something.” “That’s the last fucking thing on my mind.” Roy turns in his seat, facing Jamie. “You know none of what he said was true.” Jamie shrugs, shakes his head, shrugs again. He doesn’t know anything right now. “You work incredibly hard.” Roy’s voice is low and steady, that coaching tone again, one that Jamie would turn toward even in his sleep. “That’s the least of what he said but I don’t even know how to touch the rest of it, so let me assure you on that point. You work hard. You don’t give up. I’m your coach, I was your teammate, I know that.” “Gave up on City.” Jamie stares out the window, cars moving past, rain threatening but not quite falling. “Went off to do the show instead, that was giving up. Quitting.” “That was an entirely different situation.” Roy sighs. “It was brave of you to do this.” “It was stupid.” “Brave and stupid.” Roy reaches over and taps him on the thigh. “Take the compliment, Tartt.” Jamie has to laugh, breathless and aching. “He’s mad I sold them out because they’re like my uncles. Some fucking uncles, yeah? Denbo used to pin me facedown on the couch and sit on me til I couldn’t breathe. Bug would sneak up and yank my trousers off so everyone could see me in my pants. Real lovely uncles. Can’t wait to have them round for Christmas.” “You never have to see them again. Not even in court, if you don’t want to.” “I can’t ever live in that house again. My fucking house. I own it. Can’t go back to it.” He’s surprised to find his eyes wet; didn’t notice when that started. He wipes at them. “Have to sell it and find a new place and deal with all of that.” “You can stay with me and Keeley for as long as you want.” Roy’s hand is still resting carefully on his thigh. Jamie looks down at it and blinks, sending tears down to land on Roy’s knuckles. “Because you feel sorry for me.” “Because I care about you, Tartt.” Jamie jerks his gaze up to Roy’s face. “What?” “You heard me. Don’t make me say it again.” Roy sighs and puts his hands back on the wheel. “Let’s get the fuck out of here, eh? Unless you want to drop in on your mum, too.” “Christ. Not after that. She’d come over here and firebomb the building or some fucking thing.” He rubs his eyes one more time and sits up. “Yeah, let’s get on the road.” “Have the GPS get me back to the M40.” Roy eases back into traffic, shaking his head. “What do you think, you might feel up to eating by the time we hit Stoke-on-Trent?” “Probably? Birmingham for sure.” Jamie taps at his phone until it starts rattling off instructions again. “Roy?” “Yeah?” “You really think he was wrong about all of it?” Roy nods, his jaw clenched in a line that could cut glass. “Absolutely.” ** Keeley is less than thrilled when they get home. Roy sends Jamie up the stairs and intercepts her, catching her shoulders in his hands and steering her back to the sofa. Obviously, Jamie stops on the stairs and listens in. “Where have you been?” she asks. “You haven’t answered my calls or texts all day.” “We went up to Manchester to see Jamie’s dad.” “You what?” “It was his idea. He wanted to talk to him. I went for moral support and to drive the car, because his hand doesn’t fucking work.” Keeley’s quiet for a minute, and Jamie can imagine her annoyance warring with curiosity. “How did it go?” “Oh, fucking awful. His dad said horrible shit and Jamie could barely get a word in, except he did tell him to fuck off and that he wasn’t bailing him out anymore. Proud of him for that.” “Shit.” Keeley sighs. “Is he all right?” “Think so. We had a nice lunch in Birmingham and when we got back near London he needed a pick-me-up so we went by his tattoo artist’s place and he got something else put on his arm.” “Is he supposed to have fresh tattoos when he’s going into surgery?” “Well, it’s all sterile, isn’t it? Surgery?” Jamie shuts his eyes and pictures the exasperated looks they must be giving each other. After a moment he can hear Roy planting a kiss on Keeley. “Did you get a matching tat?” she asks after a moment. “Fuck no. I just sat and watched. Too many needles.” “Hm. Well, I haven’t eaten yet, come help me put something together.” Jamie hurries the rest of the way up the stairs and along the hall to the guest room, closing the door behind him and throwing himself on the bed. It jolts both his bad hand and the fresh tattoo, and they both fucking hurt, but he probably deserves that. He rolls over on his back and looks at the tattoo, tucked away under its wrap for the next few hours. It’s an old-fashioned smiley face, but with a tongue poking out of its smile and X’s for eyes. Just a stupid bit of flash he picked out of the book, nothing custom or fancy. He’d figured it would be one where whenever he looks at it, it’ll remind him of standing up to his dad. Instead, looking at it now, he has a feeling it’s always going to remind him of Roy backing him up. He doesn’t fall asleep, but he zones out or something, because suddenly it’s quite dark out and Keeley is tapping on the door, asking if he wants anything. “Sorry,” he mutters, coming over to open the door. “Not sure what happened there, I was somewhere else.” She touches his arm carefully, like he might break, and maybe he might, he doesn’t fucking know. “Roy said it was a bit of a rough day for you.” “I should know better by now.” He looks down at his stupid bandaged hand. “I want very badly to unwrap this and punch the wall. Probably not a good idea, eh?” “Definitely not.” She takes his good hand and tugs him out into the hall. “Come have some tea. And you haven’t eaten, have you, not since lunch? You’ll feel better if you eat. I’ve got some frozen things, they’re not healthy but they’ll get something in you.” He doesn’t argue with her because it wouldn’t do any good, and maybe this hollow feeling in him is hunger after all. At least partially. Tea never does anything but it makes other people feel better to put it in front of him, so why not. He ought to be nice to Keeley, she’s always been nice to him, and anyway, he let his fucking dad talk badly about her earlier, he should apologize for that. “You’re not trash,” he blurts out when she seats him at the table. Keeley blinks at him. “I... know that. What’s making you bring it up?” “My dad, when he was going on about me, one of the things he said was that I run around with trash girls, and you—you don’t deserve that. I can’t think of any girls I’ve been with who deserve that, actually.” He scrubs angrily at his eyes before they can betray him and leak tears. “He’s such a fucking dick.” She nods and cups his face with her hand. “I think maybe you’re a little bit in shock again, yeah? Or at least not a good place in your head. Let’s get you fed and see if that helps.” She brings him a cup of tea, and puts some frozen starchy awful things in the microwave. He shouldn’t eat it, it’s going to make him sick, it’s going to throw all of his nutrition plans off, but sipping the tea has made his stomach realize how empty it is. “Where’s Roy?” he asks, pressing his good hand against his torso. “Over at his sister’s. She needed a hand with something.” “He was really nice today. Helping me with my dad. Driving me all that way. He didn’t have to do that.” “He likes you more than he’s willing to let on.” She brings the plate over and sets it in front of him. “Eat slowly.” He takes a first, careful bite. Awful. “He told me he cares about me. Roy did. Not my dad. He doesn’t care about me at all.” Keeley’s eyebrows dart upward. “Roy did?” “Mm. Said he’d never say it again, though.” He takes a few more bites and then pushes the plate away. “Sorry. I can’t...” “It’s all right. Keep at the tea, give it a minute. I’ll make you some toast, too, how’s that?” The toast is better. The part of his brain that’s always ticking away at his calorie count and protein metrics and carb levels and all that wank is shrieking in alarm, but he’ll fix it later. Right now he just wants to stop feeling like he’s going to vomit. Keeley coaxes him through three pieces of toast, a refill on his tea, and another few bites of the awful frozen thing before she seems satisfied. “Where are your painkillers? You need one of those, too.” “I don’t want them. And I shouldn’t let you take care of me.” He slumps in his seat, exhausted again. At least his stomach feels better. “It’ll make Roy angry.” “It won’t.” She taps the table in front of him. “Don’t move.” He follows instructions while she runs upstairs and comes back down again, holding his pill bottle up triumphantly. “Got it. Now, take this, and then you’re going to lie down and relax while it kicks in, and you’re going to stop frightening me quite so much, all right? Do we have a deal?” “Sorry.” He’s so bad at this. He washes the pill down with the last of his tea and blinks up at her. “Am I the trash one? He said that, too.” “Not at all. Don’t even think that.” She nods into the other room. “C’mon. Going to watch makeover shows. Got my mobile in case I need to call 999 for you.” “I’m all right.” He lets her lead him to the sofa. “Just... my head’s all mushy. And loud.” “Going to let it rest and be quiet now.” She gets settled with a pillow in her lap and nudges him around until he’s lying down with his head on it. “Nice quiet head. If you need anything I’ll get it for you. Don’t worry.” He tries not to worry, but it’s hard. There’s so much to worry about. But the painkillers help, and the smell of Keeley’s body wash, and how warm she is. All of those help lull him to sleep. ** Roy and Keeley drive him to the hospital for his surgery, even though he insists he can take an Uber. He doesn’t ask if they’re going to sit and wait through the whole thing, because it seems obvious that they won’t; he’s not anything to them, is he, there’s no reason to sit in a fucking hospital for hours while he gets his tendons stitched together and the pins in the bones checked and then gets tossed in a room for a while to come out from under the drugs. But when he’s properly clear-headed again, there they are, sitting in the recovery room watching him with bemused expressions on their faces. “What?” he asks, boosting himself up carefully against the pillows. “Shouldn’t you both be at work?” “You didn’t listen to anything we said this morning, did you?” Roy rolls his eyes. “Not surprising. Ring the nurse button, I want them to hurry up and clear you so we can go home.” “You can go! I’ll get an Uber!” “They won’t release you to an Uber,” Keeley says patiently. “They’ll want you to have someone to look after you tonight at least. And you already texted your agent and he told you no.” “I did? When?” “We stupidly gave you your phone when you first woke up.” Roy just looks pained now. “You texted him, Dani, and Beard before we got it away from you again.” Jamie closes his eyes. “What did I say to Beard?” “That you think he’s very smart and scary.” “He is.” “Yeah, that’s what he replied.” Roy taps his jacket pocket. “Don’t worry, I’ve got the phone right here, it’s secure.” “You can give it back now.” Jamie can feel how hot his face is and wishes he had anywhere to hide it. “I’m in control of myself now.” Keeley cocks her head. “You don’t want to know what you said to Dani?” Jamie shrugs. “I know the sort of stuff I say to Dani when I’m drunk, can’t be that different.” “Muchachos for life,” Roy says, like he’s memorized the texts. “And ‘you have beautiful hair.’” “He does, that’s true.” Keeley nods. “All right, well, press the button, Jamie, let’s get this moving. You know it’s going to take two or three hours anyway.” It doesn’t take quite as long, because the club has a fancy private surgeon’s office they contract with for this sort of thing—well. Not this specific sort of thing, but orthopedic injuries, anyway. They get Jamie discharged with a fresh prescription bottle and stack of instructions, an appointment for a week later, and instructions to do his physio fastidiously once he’s ready for it. “It’s a good thing you’re not an artist or musician,” the doctor says, “and lucky we don’t have to worry about knitting or needlepoint, because delicate little movements like that are probably right out for you. But general life things, signing your name, catching the ball if it’s coming at you, those will all be fine.” Jamie isn’t sure what to do with that—the assumption that he can’t possibly have anything artistic or delicate about him, because footballers don’t—so he just puts it out of his head, forgets he heard it. Roy and Keeley guide him out to the car and take him back to theirs, with one detour for carry-out. He’s still got too many drugs in his system to be hungry, but he picks at it to make them happy, sitting there at the nice little dining table in Keeley’s house. I should go home, he keeps thinking. I ought to go home. He doesn’t want to go home, though. His house is fucking… haunted, it’s diseased. He doesn’t have anywhere else to go, either, no option but to stay here. Imposing on teammates after a rowdy night out would be all right, but something like this… no. Keeley and Roy are the only people he can ever let see him like this, and he never wanted Roy to in the first place. Too late now, though. “You’re not eating.” He looks up at the sound of Keeley’s voice, and her eyes widen in alarm, which is his first clue that he’s crying. Just… sitting there like an idiot, quiet-crying, tears rolling down his face without a sound. He wipes at his face with his good hand, not accomplishing much. “Shit. Sorry.” “Don’t be sorry.” She grabs a pile of napkins and kneels down in front of him, dabbing at his face. “You’ve had a rough fucking week, Jamie. Not even a whole week. Just a few days.” “Not an excuse to cry.” “You don’t need an excuse. You can cry just because you want to. Or need to.” She cups his chin in her hands, and he hates it but loves it, too. It feels so nice and it’s so embarrassing and proof that he’s fucking weak and soft and useless. “I should go home,” he says, giving in to the cycling words in his head, because if he lets them get out maybe Keeley will know what to do with them. She shakes her head firmly, not letting go of his face. “Absolutely not.” “I’m such a piece of shit.” “You’re not.” She kisses his forehead, and he tries to pull away, but his body won’t move. It just sits there and keeps leaking tears out of its eyes. Roy comes into the kitchen and stops, staring at them. “What’s going on?” Jamie’s whole body goes numb with panic, but Keeley just stands up casually and turns to Roy. “Jamie’s not feeling well.” “Of course he’s fucking not, he’s coming off all that surgery shit. But why’s he crying?” “Just a bit overwhelmed.” Keeley nudges past Roy into the kitchen. “Can you make him some eggs and toast, babe? Might be easier for him to eat than the takeaway.” “Should’ve thought of that.” Roy grumbles to himself and starts fussing over the stove. Jamie still can’t move, panic and exhaustion and the strange fuzzy slowness of the drugs combining to make him helpless. He doesn’t understand why no one is angry with him. Roy should be angry with him, for letting Keeley kiss him, and looking at her too much, and being here in her house at all instead of back at his… He curls forward over himself and vomits on the floor. Luckily there’s not much to come up except water and the few bites of takeaway, but his body can’t seem to believe that’s the case, heaving and gagging painfully for what feels like ages. “Fuck,” he hears Roy say, and then Keeley’s kneeling in front of him again, this time with a towel, cleaning up the mess and telling him it’s all right. It’s not fucking all right. But no one else seems to know that. “Should we call the hospital?” Keeley asks. “I’ll call my sister and ask what she thinks. Let’s move him to the sofa first, though. On his side so he doesn’t choke.” Things go all blurry again for a while. He doesn’t have to come back into his head until a gentle hand is taking his wrist, and he opens his eyes to find the dark-haired woman with Roy’s nose from the hospital sitting by the sofa and taking his pulse. “Hello there,” she says when she’s finished. “Got a penlight here, just need to take a look at your pupils… very good. Track the light, now? Good… good… all right.” She gets to her feet and pats him on the shoulder, then turns her head to talk to someone out of Jamie’s line of sight. “He’s all right, just overdid it a bit, I think.” “He didn’t do anything,” comes Roy’s voice. “He moved from the bed to your car, rode home, came inside, tried to eat, you said? That’s a lot for post-surgery. I know it’s supposedly a minor one but bodies react differently. It’s still a trauma. Really they shouldn’t have discharged him so soon, but obviously keeping beds turning over is the most important thing.” The sarcasm in her voice at the end marks her even more clearly as a Kent. Jamie tries to sit up, only to get a hand flat on his chest pushing him back down. “You need to rest,” she says firmly. “I’d like to get you in a proper bed, but moving you up these stairs is tricky. Gorgeous design, nightmare with an incapacitated person.” “I’m fine.” Definitely not incapacitated. The fuck. She sighs. “Well, you’re welcome to try, but you’re not going to enjoy it when you fall down and can’t get yourself back up off the floor.” “We were going to try eggs and toast, before he got sick.” Keeley’s voice, somewhere nearby. “Should we go ahead with that or just give him some water?” “Try just the toast. Tea or water, or juice if you’ve got it. Just to get something in his system.” She brushes her hair off her face and pats Jamie’s shoulder. “Don’t try to help him upstairs until he’s significantly less pale, and stand him up slowly so he doesn’t pass out.” “Understood.” Roy sounds more obedient than Jamie has ever heard him. “Thank you for coming round.” “Of course. You know you only have to ask.” They all move off toward the kitchen, away from him, and Jamie closes his eyes and focuses on breathing. He can just drift for a while, and maybe they’ll forget about the toast and tea. Maybe they’ll forget about him entirely. They don’t. They make him eat, and drink. And it does make him feel better, a bit, to the point that he actually asks for the eggs, because his body is fucking aching for protein. It’s used to burning through things right quick and he hasn’t been giving it enough at all lately. Should probably ask Roy for help with that, but he’s still not sure Roy isn’t mad at him for letting Keeley kiss him before. Better to keep quiet. Roy is the one who helps him upstairs eventually, though, so Jamie has to suck it up and say something. “I’m sorry. I won’t let it happen again.” “What are you talking about, Tartt?” “With Keeley. Didn’t stop her from... touching my face, and kissing me, and all. Know I told you I respected your relationship, and I do. I’ll be better.” Roy sighs. “Jamie. I promise you, that is the last thing I am thinking about right now. It’s fine.” “It isn’t, though. I promised.” “I forgive you, all right? I accept your apology and I forgive you. Now. Into bed.” Roy guides him down onto the mattress and fusses over him for a minute, getting the blankets up to his chin. “Get some rest. Tomorrow’s goal is for you to not fucking space out and scare us even once. Fair?” “Not doing it on purpose,” Jamie mumbles, but he nods. He would also not like to go back to that fuzzy place where he can’t even think. He needs to get back in control of himself. Needs to get back to normal. “I know.” Roy brushes Jamie’s hair back off his forehead, so carefully and gently that Jamie wonders if he’s imagining it for a moment. “Go to sleep.” ** Jamie wakes up feeling considerably clearer in his head, but also in a lot of fucking pain in his hand. It’s a wash, really. He picks his way downstairs and finds Keeley on the sofa with her laptop and Roy at the table scowling at his phone. “I feel like I ask this a lot lately, but shouldn’t you both be at work?” “I’m leaving in ten minutes,” Roy says without looking up. “She’s working from home today to keep an eye on you.” “Before you say I don’t have to do it,” Keeley cuts in, “I am aware, but I chose to anyway.” Jamie can’t muster an argument to that, so he shuffles to the kitchen instead, making himself tea and a packet of oatmeal from the cabinet. Still bland, but a little more ambitious than toast. “Don’t forget your pills,” Roy says, squeezing past him to head for the door. “No point being in pain if you don’t have to be.” “Yeah.” The pills are sitting there on the counter, where someone must have left them when they got home from the hospital. Jamie can’t remember who. There are a lot of gaps in his memory of yesterday. He sits at the table with his breakfast, hunching over his own phone, not that there’s much coming up on it. Press release from the club that he had his surgery and it was successful. Six to eight weeks before he’ll be back on the pitch—he's going to make it back sooner than that, it’s just his fucking hand, after all. His off hand, even. A few tags on Twitter and Instagram, but nothing worth digging in on. A text from his mum asking him to please check in—fuck, she must have seen the press releases. Should’ve thought of that. Should’ve called her. He puts the phone down and rubs at his face with his good hand. She’s at work now anyway, he’ll deal with it later. “Jamie?” He starts, dropping his hand to the table. “Yeah?” “Come sit with me.” She pats the cushion next to her. “I’ve got a break between meetings. We can chat.” He makes his way warily to the sofa. “About what?” “You.” That makes him stop, still standing up. “What about me?” “Don’t need to look so scared.” She smiles at him and pats the cushion again. “Sit. I promise I’ll be nice to you.” That’s sort of the problem, she keeps being nice and he’s not pushing back enough, not keeping the boundaries. But he can’t say that to her—it's Keeley, she can’t help being wonderful, that’s why the boundaries are his job—so he sits down instead, turning to face her and tucking his feet up under himself. “It seemed like yesterday you didn’t really remember when you first came out of the anesthesia. Like with your phone, you didn’t know what you’d texted.” Jamie shrugs. “Still don’t remember any of that, no.” “All right. Well. You also said some things to me and Roy.” She raises an eyebrow. “Does that ring any bells?” Jamie shakes his head, feeling the blood drain out of his face. Fuck. What had he done? What had he said? She’s still smiling at him, that doesn’t give him any fucking clues. She laughs softly. “Well, first you asked if I’d sit on your face.” Fuck. Jamie flinches like she threw a punch. “And Roy kind of said oi, keep it together, mate, and you got all earnest and told him you wanted to suck his cock, too. You said you weren’t trying to steal me, you wanted to steal both of us and keep us forever.” Oh god. Oh god. Jamie gets back to his feet, trying to steady himself with his bad hand on the back of the sofa and having to jerk it away, which almost puts him flat over on his face. But he does catch his balance. He manages it. He’s on his feet, good, he can move now, he can find the door. “Jamie! What the fuck—” He has to get out of here. He just fucking... bolts, out the door and down the street. Thank god, somehow he kept his phone in his pocket. He doesn’t have any shoes on but he can order an Uber while he runs, choosing his pick-up site as two blocks away so he can put some more distance between himself and Keeley’s before he stops. He’s shaking all over when he stops, adrenaline and horror pounding through his veins, and people going about their business eye him suspiciously and move further away. Probably think he’s on drugs or something instead of just raw bloody panic. He fucked up. He fucked up. He said the things that were supposed to stay locked away as deep inside him as they could go, and now he’s lost them, just when they decided he was good enough to be nice to he’s lost them. He’s going to get cut from Richmond—of course they’ll keep Roy as a coach instead of him as a player, he’s known trouble and Roy is a god—and he’s never going to be able to see or speak to Keeley again. He’s going to have to go play in North America, because nobody in any of the English leagues wants him, that’s established fact, and nobody in the European leagues will after he’s tossed again. It’s over. Everything is over, and he did it to himself. He ruined it. The Uber pulls over and he gets in, mumbling thanks to the driver. He doesn’t even know what address he put in the app as his destination, he just—oh. Well. Apparently he requested to be taken home. And that’s what he fucking well deserves, isn’t it, so he falls back against the seat and lets the driver take him there. ** His house is chilly and gloomy, but the housecleaners have come round so at least it doesn’t smell bad. The bins have been taken out and the refrigerator is empty of anything perishable. He needs to set his tip rate higher the next time they come, they deserve it. He sits on the sofa, right where he was when Keeley and Roy came to his rescue. There are bloodstains on it; housecleaners must have considered that outside their remit, which is fair. He picks at one of the stains with his fingernails, once again fighting the urge to unwrap his bandages and just fucking punch something. There’s no one he can call this time if he does that. Need to stay sensible, Tartt. He pokes at the new tattoo, pressing on it until the pain makes his head buzz. Roy looking out for him. Fucking right. Got a few whole days of that before he fucked it up, didn’t he. Ruined everything. Despite his best intentions, he does go to the fuzzy place in his head for a while, just drifting until he’s pulled back by someone tapping on the door, and then the door opening and footsteps coming in. They’re footsteps in high heels, he knows that kind of clicking. He braces himself for it to be Keeley, trying to be silent and invisible so maybe she won’t notice him here. It’s gotten quite a bit darker since he sat down, maybe he can hide in the shadows. It’s not Keeley. “Hello, Mr. Tartt.” Jamie blinks a few times, but the person in front of him doesn’t change. “Ms. Welton. What, um. What are you doing here?” She puts her purse down on a chair and shrugs out of her coat, laying that down over it. “Oh, well, I’m sure you can figure it out if you put your mind to it.” “Keeley called you.” “She did. She was very upset.” Ms. Welton nods at the sofa. “May I sit?” “Oh. Of course.” He probably should offer her tea, or water, or something. He can’t possibly manage it. She sits down and crosses one knee over the other, folding her hands together over them. “Well. Mr. Tartt. May I call you Jamie?” “Sure. I mean. You own the club. You can call me whatever you want.” “That’s true.” She looks around the room. “Who did your decorating? They have a great eye.” “Ms. Welton...” Her eyes move back to him and he immediately shuts up. “I read the surgeon’s report and it said everything went very well. The club will have you back on the pitch soon.” “Yeah. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Hate not being able to train or play.” “That’s good. You’re very valuable to the club.” He shrugs at that; not like there’s anything to say. “As you know, Jamie, the club owns your contract, which means in essence it owns your body. Like a racehorse. And I own the club. Which means that you have to listen when I talk.” Jamie shifts in his seat, suddenly desperately uncomfortable. “I am listening.” “You are a valuable asset. That means you need to keep yourself in good form. Either take care of yourself or be taken care of. I don’t know exactly what happened between you and Keeley and Roy, she said it was private.” She lifts an eyebrow at that, and Jamie can hear what she doesn’t say—Keeley keeping something private from Ms. Welton is big and unusual. “But she was very worried that you wouldn’t take care of yourself properly on your own. I need your reassurance, which I will pass along to her, that you will in fact behave and keep up with things and not put your health at risk.” That’s a lot for Jamie to sort through, all delivered in an icy stern voice that makes his spine try to crawl out of his body. “I’m not going to, like. Hurt meself. Or anything.” “That’s the bare minimum, but good to hear.” Ms. Welton tucks a bit of hair behind her ear. “You’ll eat properly? Get enough sleep? Exercise within the doctors’ instructions? Take your pills as instructed? Go to your appointments?” He’d left the pills at Keeley’s. But he has leftovers from other injuries, and when he goes to the club to check in with the team doctors they’ll give him more if he asks. “Yeah, of course.” She nods. “And obviously you’ll stay away from your father and his associates.” Jamie flinches at that, pulling back against the sofa cushions. “That’s not your business.” “It is, due to the risk of injury, which is a risk to the club’s insurance policies.” “Right. Because I’m a racehorse.” His stomach hurts. He presses his good hand against it and nods quickly, hoping she’s about done. “I understand, Ms. Welton. I’ll behave. You can tell Keeley that.” She nods and gets to her feet. “Is there anything else you’d like me to tell her?” “Um.” Jamie presses harder at his stomach. “Tell her I... I need to think. I need some time to think.” She nods again, picking up her coat and purse. “Excellent. I’ll pass that along. You should eat something, you look absolutely peaky. I can order you something if you... no? All right. I’ll show myself out.” He listens to her click back to the front door, then the sound of it closing. He shuffles after her after a moment and activates the lock, which he must have forgotten to do earlier. Fucking hard to remember everything he has to do to be a proper person. But he’s promised he’ll take care of himself, and he has to do it now. Otherwise he’s not entirely sure Ms. Welton didn’t just threaten to have him put in a barn somewhere. He picks up his phone and finds his delivery app. Right. Get something decent sent around, then have some water. No pills, sitting alone in his house feeling like shit is a bad combination with pills. One step at a time. Be a fucking person, Tartt. Surely you can manage that. ** He orders groceries the next morning, dusts off his neglected home gym to use the elliptical and the bike—less impact to jar his hand, as he learned the hard way sprinting down the sidewalk yesterday—and goes to his appointment with the team doctors. They’re pleased with what they see and tell him to keep up the good work, so at least one group of people isn’t disappointed with him. The crowbar marks are still on the floor and there’s still blood on the table and the sofa, but he can work around those. He puts a towel down as a makeshift rug on the floor, a blanket down on the sofa, and a stack of random papers and magazines on the table. There. Doesn’t have to look at them, and maybe in good time he’ll forget they’re there. His bedroom is too big and too full of shadows, so he puts himself in his own guest room. If it reminds him of being in the guest room at Keeley’s, that’s his business and he’ll deny it if asked. And he calls his mum back, too. Takes his scolding like a good boy and lets her fuss over him and convinces her she doesn’t need to take time off and come down to London. Nice to know there’s one relationship he hasn’t ruined. He muddles along until he looks at his phone one morning and it informs him his one-week follow-up with the surgeon is in a few hours. Just enough time to work out, shower, and get himself in an Uber. He’s doing well at this taking care of himself thing. Nobody is going to yell at him or lock him in a barn. The nurse unwraps his hand for the scans and all, and he really gets to see how nasty it looks. The doctor assures him it’ll heal up better; he fucking hopes so, because nobody is ever going to want to be touched with that thing as it looks now. He’ll have to wear gloves for the rest of his life. “Tendons appear to be joining nicely,” the surgeon says, looking at the scan. “And the bones are just as we want them. You’re doing well.” Jamie forces a smile and a nod at everything the man says until he and the nurse step out and leave Jamie alone for a minute, at which point he doubles over and lets some tears run out of his eyes. Not proper crying, there’s no time for that, but... leaking, maybe. Like he did in front of Keeley after the surgery. Christ, only a week ago. When he steps out of the exam room to go home, he promptly trips over his own feet to find Roy sitting in the waiting room, a magazine open in his lap. Roy closes it very deliberately while Jamie catches himself, then stands. “Tartt,” he says, his voice the familiar growl that sends a sharp spark up Jamie’s spine, leaving him wanting to either do his best, bolt down the street, or brace himself for whatever Roy is going to do to him, knowing he can’t stop it and maybe doesn’t want to. “Roy.” His voice comes out wobbly. “What are you doing here?” “Looking for you.” The idiot is unspoken but very loud. “How did you know I would be here?” “I’m the one who put the fucking follow-up appointment in your fucking phone last week.” Roy points at the door back to the exam rooms. “We’re going to use one of your rooms for a minute.” The woman at the desk looks deeply alarmed. “I’m not sure—” “Thank you so very fucking much.” Roy grabs Jamie’s arm and drags him back through the door and into one of the rooms. He puts Jamie down in a chair and leans back against the exam bed. “So.” Jamie tries to summon up the anger to push back, tell him to fuck off, maybe even fight him. He knows he has it in him. He’s done it so many times. It’s what he’s good at, being a fucking prick, Roy’s the one who’s told him so a hundred times. But right now he’s got fucking nothing. He’s scraped-out and empty and he’s been using all of his energy to take care of himself and be good and make it to this fucking appointment. “I’m sorry for what I said.” That’s all he can manage. “What about being sorry for fucking taking off like the house was on fire?” Roy leans toward him, looming and furious. “Do you have any idea how much you scared Keeley, doing that?” “I had to do it, after she told me what I did. What I said. I couldn’t stay after that. It wouldn’t be right.” He wraps his arms around himself, both to steady himself and to try to protect his bad hand. “I promised I would be respectful and I wasn’t so I had to leave.” Roy tilts his head back and stares at the ceiling. “Jesus fucking Christ, Tartt. You idiot.” “I know, all right? I know I’m an idiot, and... and livestock according to Ms. Welton, and a trash worthless pussy according to my father. I understand that. I’m doing my best here and I’m sorry it isn’t good enough but nobody will tell me what the fuck I should be doing!” That gets Roy looking at him dead-on, at least. “When did Rebecca call you livestock?” “Fucking... she came over to my house, when I left yours and Keeley’s. Said the club owns me like a racehorse and she owns the club so I have to listen to her. It was very strange.” “Yeah, that’s fucking weird.” Roy puts his hand out and Jamie does his best not to flinch back. “I’m helping you up, Tartt.” “Why?” “So I can take you back to mine and Keeley’s and we can sort all of this out.” “I can’t—” “You said you want someone to tell you what the fuck you should be doing. I’m telling you. You should be coming with me so we can all sort this out instead of making assumptions and being fucking confused as hell.” “Well.” Jamie stares at him for a minute. “I am confused. You’ve got that right.” “So come on, then, you impossible wanker. Let me help you up.” And Jamie’s got no ideas for anything else to do, so he does. ** The one problem with Roy’s plan is that Keeley isn’t home yet. It’s just the two of them sitting at the table, not quite looking at each other. Jamie can’t help thinking about the other time they sat here like this, seething, putting Keeley in the middle of their mess. It doesn’t feel good, thinking about that. He wants things to be different now. He’s got a fucking tattoo that makes him think of Roy, things have to be different. “I guess I can trust you won’t tell anyone?” he asks, because the silence is unbearable. “Tell anyone what?” “That I’m bisexual.” It sounds stiff and awkward out loud. “I mean. You’ve met my dad. If it hits the tabs that I suck cock, he’ll come down here and finish the job, and you think I’m a prick but I don’t think you want that on your conscience.” Roy stares at him for a long moment and if Jamie didn’t know better, he’d think he saw actual hurt in Roy’s eyes. “Of course I won’t fucking tell anyone.” Jamie nods a little. “Thank you.” “You didn’t give me a chance to say, before, because you fucking ran away while I was still at work.” Roy drums his fingers on the table. “I like men, too. Never use the word bi because that’s, like, half and half, yeah? And I lean more toward women, with just once in a while men.” Jamie’s too stunned to point out that Roy’s definition doesn’t make all that much sense. “You do?” Roy shrugs. “So I wasn’t put out or anything by your offer.” There, that’s something he can zero in on, at least. “Well, not that part of it. The part that it was coming from me.” “Where did you get this idea that I’m just waiting for a chance to murder you over Keeley? She’s her own person, you know. You can’t steal her. She goes where she wants, with who she wants.” Jamie stares at him. “You said you would knock my teeth in for telling her I still loved her at the funeral. You headbutted me.” “But I got over that. I forgave you.” How is Roy acting like Jamie is the unreasonable one, here? “Well, I promised to be respectful, not to have... inappropriate fantasies about having both of you.” “Keeping both of us. Is what you said.” Roy’s eyes are pinning him in place, that flat dark stare. “Steal us both and then keep us.” “I was fucked up on drugs.” Jamie can’t look away from him even as he’s protesting. “We can all just forget I said it.” “If you meant that, you would’ve suggested it when Keeley told you what you said, instead of running away.” “What do you fucking want from me!” Roy breathes in and out very slowly. “Well. Let me just point out a few things. One: Keeley and I were both very happy to let you stay here as long as you wanted. We didn’t ask you to leave; you ran. Two: Neither of us were offended by your offer. She just wanted to ask if you meant it or if it was the drugs talking.” He spreads his hands open. “She said Rebecca told her that you said you needed time to think. Maybe factor those things in while you’re fucking thinking.” Jamie knows he’s not just staring but gawking, but he can’t seem to stop himself. “Don’t... don’t say things like that.” That gets him an eye-roll. “Think what you want.” The front door opens and Keeley steps in before Jamie can respond to that. She stops when she sees him, her eyes widening. “Hi... did you come to get your things? We haven’t touched them or anything.” “No,” Roy says. “I kidnapped him from the surgeon’s office. Come sit down, Keeley, you two need to talk. I’ll stand outside the front door so neither of you can pull a runner.” “There’s a back door,” Keeley points out, but she does sit, hugging her working-day bag to her chest. Roy kisses the top of her head, gives Jamie a look that involves too much eyebrow for him to translate, and walks out. “Is he really going to just stand in front of the house?” Jamie asks after a moment. “Because that’s going to scare the neighbors.” “They’re used to him by now.” Keeley hunches her shoulders, looking smaller and sadder than she ought to. “I’m sorry he dragged you over here, he shouldn’t have done that.” “It’s all right. I need to apologize to you anyway. I was a shit. I’m sorry.” “I don’t know what I did wrong. I was just trying to talk to you.” “I know, Keeley. I know that. Just. Sometimes I...” He shrugs helplessly. “It’s the fight or flight thing, yeah? Like on the animal shows.” “You’re not a cornered animal, Jamie.” “Well. No.” Jamie shifts in his seat, grabbing at the wrist on his bad side with his good hand. Anchoring himself. Keeping himself in his chair. “It’s... when I was younger, sometimes, something would happen where I wanted to be able to run, but the door was locked or someone was between me and the door and I couldn’t, like. Go. I was stuck. And now if I start to get feeling stuck or... cornered or whatever, and I can get to a door, I just kind of... run first and figure it out later.” She looks like she isn’t sure what to do with that. “And if I can’t get to a door, it sometimes turns into a fight instead. The whole... being a prick thing.” “Who did that to you when you were younger?” That’s Keeley, always cutting to the chase. He shrugs again. “My dad. His mates. Um, some of the older lads on the youth teams, sometimes, I was... not good at making friends. One of my coaches, but he didn’t last long.” She’s still staring at him like he’s speaking another language. “What happened to him?” “He pulled some shit with another kid on the team. It turns out that if you have a dad who gives a toss about you, he might round up some of his mates and show up at the coach’s house and tell him he better resign and move the fuck on out of town.” He looks down at his bad hand and starts picking at the bandages. “So that was good. Unfortunately I was still stuck with my dad.” “Jesus, Jamie.” She breathes out slowly. “Stop that, you need to keep your bandages on until the doctor takes them off.” “He said the tendons are reconnecting and the bones look good. Still on schedule to be able to play again.” He can’t look at her. “I’ll go get my things. Won’t bother you anymore.” “No.” Her voice catches and he realizes she’s crying, he made her cry again, with his stupid bullshit talking. “Not... not yet, all right?” “I’ve got to stop making you cry. I hate it.” “I’m not a fan, either, but I’m not angry at you. I’m angry at myself.” He blinks at her. “What? Why?” “We dated for... quite a while, Jamie. I never knew about any of this. I feel like all that time, did I ever even talk to you? Or did I just not listen? How did I not know about any of this?” “Because it’s fucking depressing and I didn’t want to bother you with it.” He puts his good hand on the table, wanting to touch her but not able to reach. “It’s my shit to deal with, not yours.” “We all have shit to deal with. In a relationship you help each other with it.” She sets her bag on the floor and leans forward, covering his hand with both of hers. “We really weren’t very good at it, were we?” “My fault. I wasn’t very good at... anything involving other people.” “I could have handled things differently.” She rubs her thumb slowly over his knuckles, staring down at their hands together on the table. “Is it all right if I have Roy come back in? Or do you need a few more minutes?” “Can I just ask one thing first?” “Course.” He leans in closer, making it a secret, even though there’s still a whole entryway and the door between them and Roy. “He keeps acting surprised that I think he wants to kill me. Does he actually... not want that anymore?” Her chin wobbles again, but she doesn’t cry. “Jamie, he likes you very much.” “Oh.” He falls back in his seat, not because he doesn’t want to be close to her but because... “Well, fuck, then I’ve been...” “It’s all right. He brought it on himself by not using his words.” She rubs at her face slowly, smearing the runny mascara under her eyes. “He doesn’t want to kill you. He doesn’t even want to headbutt you. He’s been out of his head with worry about you.” “Shit.” He puts his head down on the table. “I’m such a fucking cock, Keeley.” “Stop that.” Her hand settles on the back of his head, ruffling his hair gently. “I’m going to go get him. All right?” “Yeah. Okay.” He can’t sit up, though. He just stays there, flat on the table, while her footsteps move away and back again, with Roy’s heavier steps behind them. Then Roy’s voice asking, “What the fuck is wrong with him now?” “Overwhelmed,” Keeley says softly. “But it’s all right. We talked it out. Jamie, you want to go over to the sofa? More comfortable.” He shrugs. Moving seems like an awful lot of work. But then hands are slipping under his arms, lifting him up from his sprawl, half-carrying him over to the sofa. He lifts his head up to gawk at Roy. “Are you serious?” “Obviously,” Roy mutters, depositing him on his back. “See if you can pull yourself together. We’re not fighting, all right? Nobody is fighting.” Jamie nods, probably looking like a right twat, but it seems to reassure Roy, who gives him a nod in return before going back to the kitchen. Keeley starts talking in a low voice, interrupted by the sounds of the sink and the stove and the cabinets—they must be putting the kettle on. Jamie rolls onto his side so he’s staring into the weave of the fabric on the back of the couch instead of at the ceiling. Feels smaller. Safer. Roy rolls him over again when they come into the lounge, though, and then sits him up like a doll. “Have to sit up to drink so you don’t fucking choke,” Roy mutters. “Donkey.” The three of them sit in a row on the sofa like they’re waiting for a bus, sipping their tea and nobody fucking talking. Jamie hits the end of his tether quickly. “Are you not going to say anything?” “We already said all of it.” Roy shrugs. “Your turn.” “What am I supposed to say?” “You could answer the original question.” Jamie wants to throw his mug, but Keeley’s place is too nice for that. “I have absolutely no idea what the original question was.” “Well, I never actually asked it,” Keeley cuts in before Roy can start working himself up. “We didn’t get to it before you left that day.” “Fine.” Jamie looks at her and lifts his eyebrows. “Ask me.” She meets his eyes steadily. “Did you mean it? About stealing us both and keeping us?” Fuck. He could lie—he desperately wants to lie—but she’s looking at him like that and he knows Roy is looking at him, too, can feel those eyes boring into the side of his head. They’ll know if he lies, and even if they just shrug and let him leave again, all three of them will feel like shit. Jamie is tired of making other people feel like shit. He’s tired of feeling like shit himself, actually. So here’s the free-fucking-kick, not lying, answering the fucking question. “Yeah, I meant it. Can’t lie when you’re in that state, can you? I wanted to never leave this house. I wanted to… to do whatever both of you want, so you’ll keep me around. I’ll do anything you say. Be anything you tell me to. As long as you let me stay.” He knows he slipped up in there, stopped using the past tense, but fuck it, it’s out there now. Keeley’s looking at him with wide eyes, and Roy… Roy’s hand is catching him around the chin and turning his head so he’s looking into Roy’s eyes instead. “I’m not sure how many times we have to tell you that you can stay,” Roy says quietly. “I can get it printed on a fucking shirt if you like. But you don’t have to do anything in exchange. We’re not fucking selling the privilege of hanging around with us to the highest bidder. We don’t want a servant or a pet. We, as weird as it sounds, want you here. We want you.” It takes Jamie a minute to sift through that, because it’s a mixture of incredible things and fucking insults. “So…” He pulls away from Roy’s hand, so he can turn his head back and forth to look at both of them. “If I want you both… and you both want me…” Keeley nods. “Then what’s the problem?” “Yeah.” “That’s a good question.” “Did I lose us an entire week?” Roy actually laughs. “You did. Idiot.” “I panicked.” He’s not going to go through the whole closed-doors thing with Roy, not right now. Maybe he can get Keeley to explain it in private, so Jamie never has to acknowledge any of that again. “Maybe Rebecca’s right and you are a flighty fucking racehorse.” Keeley’s brow furrows. “What?” “Never mind.” Roy shakes his head. “Long story.” “Tell me later.” She looks at Jamie, her eyes wide and earnest. “What do you think?” “I don’t know,” Jamie says honestly. “I have no idea what to do now.” Roy answers before Keeley can. “You can take all the time you want.” “Just said that I already wasted a week.” “You need time, you take time. It’s better that way.” Roy shrugs. “Not like there’s a rush anyway, is there? Not a fucking trade deadline coming up or anything.” Jamie sneaks a look at Keeley and finds her looking back at him. They have a minute of mutual understanding—that her suggestion would have been to just go upstairs and see how it went, and also that Roy is probably right about taking their time. “Should at least have fingers that work again, I suppose.” He tries a wink at Keeley, and to his relief she grins back. “Saw my hand unwrapped at the surgeon’s office and it’s fucking disgusting, though. Just... a mess.” “It’ll get better.” Roy doesn’t sound like he’s taking arguments, so Jamie just shrugs and picks at the bandage until Keeley reaches over and puts her hand over it. “It’ll get better if you don’t unwrap it.” She taps his nose with her other hand, then gets to her feet. “I’m glad we sorted all that. I need to change out of these clothes. Be right back.” Jamie squirms in his seat once she’s gone, trying to work himself up enough to look directly at Roy. “Can I ask you something?” “Course.” Roy is collecting the empty tea mugs. “Go ahead.” “Keeley said you... like me now.” Roy rolls his eyes. “Obviously. I don’t open the door to messing around with people I don’t fucking like.” “Yeah, I get it, but when did that happen?” Roy stops, like he’s actually thinking about it. “I don’t think it was an all at once thing. Just a bunch of bits and pieces building up together.” He goes off into the kitchen with the mugs, leaving Jamie to wonder what the bits and pieces could have been. Keeley comes back downstairs looking much cozier and less worried. “Roy, are you cooking or are we ordering? And Jamie, are you staying?” Jamie hesitates, but nods. “Yeah, sure.” “Then let’s order in.” Roy reappears, wiping his hands off on a towel that he slings over his shoulder. “We only have enough in the kitchen to cook for two.” “I mean, I can go,” Jamie says. “If it’s easier for you that way.” “Ordering is fine,” Keeley says. “Thai?” She doesn’t actually wait for them to nod before starting to tap at her mobile, so that’s decided, anyway. Roy comes over to the couch while she’s busy with that, standing in front of Jamie and looking at him in that serious, considering way that means something’s about to happen. He’s going to make a decision and then follow it up without even a small pause to tell Jamie what the plan is. At least Jamie can recognize that now and brace himself. Or so he thought. There’s no way to brace himself for Roy placing his hands on the back of the sofa on either side of Jamie’s shoulders and leaning in to kiss him, slow and deep and extremely thorough. If his goal is to kiss Jamie brainless, it works. There’s no way he can keep useful thoughts in place after that. “Hmm.” Roy hums softly as he pulls back. “More passive than I expected.” “You sort of surprised me,” Jamie sputters. “Well, you’ll have to make it up to me when you’re done taking your time, won’t you?” He smirks at Jamie—fucking smirks—and goes back to the kitchen. Jamie stares after him, then over at where Keeley is frowning at her mobile by the window. Taking his time might actually kill him. He needs to put a limit on that. “What are you two doing tomorrow night?” he asks. “D’you have plans?” Keeley looks up with a smile, and Roy’s voice floats out of the kitchen without any hesitation at all. “We’re free unless you’re about to book us.” “Yeah, pencil me in.” This is like free-falling. His fingers go to the bandage automatically, but he stops himself before Keeley comes over and swats him again. “Here all right? Mine is still a little bit...” “Here is fine,” Keeley says, before he has to figure out how to end that sentence. “Roy probably isn’t ready for your bedroom décor.” “Is there a mirror on the ceiling?” Roy asks, reappearing again, a look of utter glee on his face. “There is, isn’t there?” Jamie flips them both off and flops over on his side on the couch, hiding his face against one of Keeley’s fuzzy pillows. Fuck, fuck. This feels nice again. He’s got to keep from fucking it up for another twenty-four hours. Not to mention getting himself threesome-ready. Fuck. He needs a wax and an eyebrow threading. And a haircut. He’s let himself go to shit since all this went on. ** The salon informs him that his aesthetician is off, and he doesn’t trust just anyone with hot wax and his sensitive bits, so Roy and Keeley are just going to have to cope with him being fuzzy. He books a massage, a body wrap, and a facial instead, as well as the haircut. Fuzzy with very soft skin. Before his appointments, he goes by the shops and gets fancy wine that he knows Keeley likes, expensive liquor that Roy will probably like, and ridiculous tiny pastries that he’s embarrassed to like as much as he does. Fuck it, though. He’s humiliated himself in front of Roy and Keeley enough at this point that having childish taste in pastry can’t hurt anything. He buys new underwear, too. That’s just good manners. It’s nice to get a massage that’s just for relaxation, not recovery or getting his body ready to play. He doesn’t stay relaxed for very long afterward, because his brain won’t stop whirring and he’s too fucking aware of the clock, but his skin feels amazing and his haircut is good. Hopefully that will be enough. (Enough for what? he thinks at himself irritably, but no answers come together. Enough to impress them, maybe. Which, fuck, if there are any two people in the world less impressed by Jamie Tartt than Roy and Keeley, they’re his parents.) He jitters around the house until it’s time to go over to theirs. He shaves and gets dressed, adds a spritz of cologne, and checks himself carefully in the mirror. He looks good. Eyebrows are messy but not as bad as they could be. If he keeps his left hand out of sight he can pretend everything is normal and this is his usual sort of hot date. Except it’s with people who already know him beyond what he looks like, and consider it a hobby to call him out on his bullshit. So nothing like his usual sort of hot date, really. This is probably a mistake. He shouldn’t do this. He should text them, say he changed his mind, then throw his phone in the toilet. His phone buzzes on the counter even as he thinks that. It’s a text from Roy. Can you bring bread Jamie stares at that for a minute. What kind of bread? Immediate response. Bread that you eat you twat. Jamie doesn’t know if he wants to grind his teeth or laugh out loud. I’ll get a fucking baguette, does that work? Perfect. Jamie tucks his phone in his pocket and goes to get his keys. Now he has to go. He’s bringing bread. ** Keeley is happy with the wine, and Roy seems honestly surprised and touched by the liquor. Jamie puts the pastries on the kitchen counter and hopes they’ll all be smashed enough by dessert not to make fun of him. Roy cooked, chicken with pasta and a salad. Jamie's worried for a minute, looking at the dishes on the table, but Roy dishes him out a larger portion of chicken without comment, and right, of course, he must still know the meal plan guidelines by heart. Keeley probably does too, come to think of it. Can’t get away with anything at this table. “We bought a thing of protein powder,” Keeley says, startling him into dropping his fork. “In case you need a smoothie or a shake in the morning. Or later tonight, for that matter. Roy’s very worried about you being hungry.” “He’s lost weight,” Roy mutters. “I can tell just looking at him.” “Just off my routine.” Jamie takes a slightly desperate gulp of wine, his head spinning at the idea of Roy in the middle of Tesco, worrying about Jamie being hungry. “And I’m not working out like I normally do, so it might just be muscle mass.” “Oh, believe me, I know why. Just have to manage it.” Roy pushes the basket of sliced baguette at him. “Have another.” Jamie does as he’s told, dipping it in the pasta sauce. Keeley gives him a little smile and he remembers the times they had dinner when she was modeling where he would eat all of her carbs and she would watch him on the verge of drooling. Fuck, they had been a mess, hadn’t they. Keeley tops up everyone’s wine. “How was training, Roy?” “Oh, it was shit. Ted wanted to try a new thing and they all suddenly forgot how to move their feet. I think some of them don’t know left from right.” “Colin doesn’t,” Jamie mumbles over his salad. “That explains a lot.” Roy gets up and goes to the kitchen, coming back with Jamie’s box of pastries. “Saw the name of the bakery on the box when you came in. Good choice.” This isn’t the kind of praise from Roy that matters, but it still makes Jamie feel warm inside. He finishes the last of his meal while Roy goes back for tiny plates to dish out the pastries. Keeley makes a happy squeak when she sees them. “Oh, Jamie, you still get the entremets!” Sure, maybe that’s what they’re called. He just asked the bakery for them pretty little pastry things that look like jewels or something. “They’re good,” he says with a shrug, not looking either of them in the eye, but they don’t say anything teasing. Roy just passes the plates around and they eat their dessert. Jamie feels awkward the moment he finishes washing down the last bite with his last swallow of wine. He’s not sure if he’s supposed to make the first move, or wait for one of them to. Are they going to have coffee next, like if they went out to dinner? More talking about nothing in particular? Fucking... watch telly? “That was lovely.” Keeley beams at them and gets to her feet. “Jamie, help me clear the table? Won’t make you do dishes but Roy cooked, so we should probably help.” “Yeah, course.” He gathers up plates, scrapes the last bits on each onto his own plate to keep them together, takes them to the kitchen for rinsing. Maybe he should just start washing them anyway—keep things tidy and buy himself a little extra time. Keeley puts the empty serving dish and salad bowl on the kitchen island and catches him by the wrist on his good side, gently drawing him away from the sink. “Doing all right? You look nervous.” “Just... it’s not my usual kind of hookup, is it? Two people. People I know. People who don’t find me all that impressive.” “People who like you,” she points out. “Do we get some points for that?” “I don’t know why you like me, but yeah.” “Now you’re fishing for compliments.” She squeezes his wrist and tugs him along, out of the kitchen and to the foot of the stairs. “Roy already went up, but if you’ve changed your mind, it’s fine, we’ll put a movie on.” “He already went up?” Jamie blinks at her. “Really?” “He’s excited.” She waggles her eyebrows. “And nervous, I think, just like you. I’m not nervous, for the record, I just wish you’d both get a move on.” At least he can laugh at that. “Cause you know you’re going to get yours first.” “Obviously.” She leans in and kisses him gently on the cheek. “It’s going to be fine, Jamie.” Keeley has her flaws, but she’s not a liar. “All right, all right. Lead the way.” ** Upstairs, Roy is sitting on the edge of the bed, his shirt off already but his trousers still on. He looks them both up and down as they come in, his gaze hot and appraising enough that Jamie shivers and promptly hits a half-chub. “All right, then,” Roy says, leaning back on his hands. “Kits off, c’mon.” Keeley rolls her eyes. “Such a romantic.” But she pops her top off over her head, slips her bra, and wiggles out of her leggings while Jamie’s still working on his outer layers. “Another strike against your ridiculous fucking outfits,” Roy says gleefully. “Can’t get naked fast enough.” He holds his hand out to Keeley and she goes to him, straddling his lap and kissing him properly. It’s fucking distracting and honestly slows Jamie down even more. He has to stop and look at his Roy tattoo when he gets his shirt off, too, because… fucking hell, if the him on that day had only known. By the time he’s stripped off, Keeley has Roy’s cock out of his trousers and is stroking him while she kisses him, both of them making rough, wet little noises that go straight to Jamie’s gut. He stands there and watches them, not entirely sure he hasn’t been forgotten about, until Roy breaks off the kiss and looks at him over the top of Keeley’s head, his gaze no longer hot but fucking… molten. Jamie puts his bandaged hand behind his back and Roy’s eyes narrow. “None of that. Get over here.” It’s hard to think with Roy looking at him like that, and the line of Keeley’s back all exposed while she’s kissing Roy’s neck. “How do you want me?” “Told you, you’re not here as our sex toy. We’re all doing this together.” Roy catches his hand when he gets close enough and pulls him up onto the bed too. “What do you want?” He wants to be touched. He wants weight on top of him, pinning him down, keeping him in his body so he can’t forget where he begins and ends. He wants to be inside Keeley, and he wants Roy inside him, he wants to be claimed and kept at the same time that he claims and keeps them. It’s all too much to say, almost too much to think. It makes his head spin. Better to start small. “Kiss me again.” Keeley eases off Roy’s lap so he can move in close, catching Jamie’s face in his hands and kissing him deep and rough. This time Jamie’s ready, so he kisses back, matching Roy’s intensity and earning a pleased groan. They fall down on the mattress on their sides, keeping up the kiss as long as they can until they break apart gasping. “Yeah,” Roy murmurs. “That’s more what I expected.” “You boys are lovely,” Keeley says, and Jamie looks up to find that she’s crawled over to kneel at their heads, looking down at them with a smirk. “But I believe I was promised I’d get mine first?” “Absolutely,” Roy growls, reaching for her, and she laughs as he moves her around like a doll, getting her down on her back with her legs splayed out. “You want to do the honors, Tartt?” Yeah, Jamie can do that. He moves between her pretty, pale thighs, going to put them over his shoulders and then stopping when he sees that ugly fucking bandage against her skin. “It’s all right,” Keeley says, soft and coaxing. “I don’t care about that. Just want you, Jamie.” He takes a deep breath and nods, leaning in to breathe in the smell of her before he opens her up with his good hand. Careful, careful, he knows how sensitive she is, knows how she’ll squirm and gasp when he touches her with his fingers and then with his tongue. A nice long, slow lick from bottom to top of that delicate pink skin, tease at her clit with the tip of his tongue, wait for her to wiggle in satisfaction before he steps up the intensity. He loves making her feel like this, loves her noises, loves how she tastes. A hand settles on the back of his head, too big to be Keeley’s and the angle is wrong anyway. Roy steadying him and stroking his hair, murmuring his approval of how Jamie’s making Keeley moan. Jamie feels the familiar flash of pride that always follows Roy’s approval and arches his back a bit. Roy takes the cue and runs his hand down Jamie’s back to his arse, giving a gentle squeeze before he turns his attention to Keeley’s mouth and tits, which are fairly irresistible, it’s true. Keeley bucks up off the bed and curses when she comes, and Jamie pulls back to catch his breath and wipe his mouth. His cock is throbbing and his stomach’s tight with pleasant heat, he wants to fuck her so badly it makes him dizzy, but he’s going to wait til he’s asked, because that’s just good manners, too. “Oi.” Roy produces a condom from somewhere—under the pillow? Do these two keep them there normally or was that part of preparing for Jamie?—and tosses it at him. “Don’t keep her waiting.” Keeley nods emphatically and all right, yes, that’s being asked. Jamie scrambles to get himself bagged and ready to go, then leans up for a quick kiss. Roy’s right there, lips red and spit-wet, and Jamie dares to grab a kiss from him, too, which turns into a minute of mouth-wrestling until Keeley grabs him by the dick and gets his attention back where it belongs. He’s fucking Keeley, but Roy’s hands are everywhere, teasing and touching, and he never stops talking. Roy Kent has a filthy fucking mouth above and beyond the swearing, it turns out. Some of the things he says would make Jamie blush if he wasn’t a bit busy with Keeley’s cunt, which is very exacting and demands precise attention. Keeley gets her fingers on herself and comes hot and tight around him, which sends him over as well. He stays there for a moment, feeling his pulse come back down to normal while she runs her fingers through his hair and tells him how fucking good he is, and it’s sort of a perfect moment, especially when Roy’s hands get in on the action again, too, all over his back and arse. Jamie eases out of Keeley and gets the condom off, ducking off into the loo for a moment to take care of that before he comes back ready to focus on Roy. The man in question is sprawled back against the pillows with Keeley kissing him and giving him what Jamie knows is a very good handjob, so Jamie lingers at the foot of the bed, waiting for instructions and enjoying the view. Roy breaks off the kiss and gestures at him, bringing Jamie crawling up the bed to kneel between their legs once they untangle them a bit to make room. “You good?” Jamie nods and leans in to kiss him, then her. “Can I touch you?” “Please.” Roy hesitates a beat, a blush rising in his face, which is kind of fucking hilarious given the things he was saying before. “Actually, I’d like it—if you want to, I mean, I want—” Keeley snorts and produces a bottle of lube from under the pillow, tossing it at Jamie. “Can you finger him out while I take care of him? He likes it.” “Fuck, yes.” Jamie scrambles to get his fingers slicked while Roy spreads his knees apart. Thank god it was his off hand that got broken. He can do this for Roy, and watch Roy’s face while he does it, and hear the sounds Roy might make. He’s allowed to be here and part of this and they want him to keep them. They said so. They said they want him to stay. Roy shouts when he comes, which Jamie wasn’t expecting, but Keeley shuts him up with kisses and Jamie eases his hand away, detouring back to the loo again for a couple of hand towels. “Stop running off,” Roy says when he gets back, dragging Jamie down between them and draping his chest across him to effectively pin him down. “Christ.” “Trying not to make a mess of your fucking bed,” Jamie says, then gasps as Keeley reaches down and gives his cock a squeeze. “Don’t have to go again, I’m just saying hello.” She plants a kiss at the base of it and then pulls the blanket up over all three of them. “Fuck, that was good.” “Mm.” Roy is all but purring. “Got a million other things I want to do with you both.” Jamie’s got his own rapidly expanding list, but he’s too tired to try to plot it all out right now. He closes his eyes and concentrates instead on Roy’s weight across his chest and the warmth of Keeley’s breath against his neck. It doesn’t take him long to doze off, tucked away between them. ** Keeley takes him to the appointment to get the bandages off and a simple tape and splint job to replace them. “See, you can have nice things when you don’t pick at it,” she says, running her thumb carefully over his knuckles, which are lumpy and never going to be the same but at least aren’t an alarming color anymore. “I just get nervous hands.” They’re not too bad right now. He takes Keeley’s hand with his good one and threads their fingers together. “The scars aren’t too ugly?” They’re hidden under the tape right now but she saw them while the nurse was working. “They’re just fine.” She rests her head on his shoulder. “What do you want to do after this? I cleared my day, I’m all yours.” “Lunch?” “Yes, I have to feed you, Roy was very clear.” She laughs softly. “Shopping after that? I think we both deserve shoes.” “Never say no to that.” He plays with her hand, watching their fingers against each other, just—liking that he can do this with her again. Or for the first time. He didn’t enjoy things like this before, he was too busy in his head wondering how it all looked from the outside. She opens her mouth to say something else, but his phone buzzes before she can get a word out. He pulls it out and his whole body jerks, just a raw jump of surprise, because it’s a text from “Dad.” When are you going to be back on the pitch, I need your team to win some matches so I can win some money. The thing is, that’s his father’s version of making peace. But he can’t take it normally when he’s sitting in the fucking surgeon’s office getting his hand repaired from something James and his mates did. “You haven’t blocked him yet?” Keeley asks. “Jamie.” “I can’t.” He shakes his head and shoves his phone back into his pocket. “He’s my dad.” “But Jamie—” “I know you lot want me to cut him off altogether, but I can’t. The next time he gets in debt with them he’s going to need me to bail him out and he has to be able to reach me for that.” She frowns. “You said you weren’t going to bail him out anymore.” “I know what I said. But I can’t actually let my fucking father get beat to death over a gambling debt, you know? I’m not… I’m not that kind of…” He drags in another breath and makes himself sit up straight as the nurse comes back in. “Are we almost done?” “Yes, Mr. Tartt. Here’s your notes on how to keep the splints and tape properly, and remember to make an appointment for a physio evaluation in the next week.” “I’ll do that at the club.” They’ll be fucking thrilled to have something to work on other than a knee or ankle, honestly. “Thank you. We can leave?” She nods and watches Keeley tuck the notes away in her purse. “Yes, you’re all done.” They’re quiet in the lift, and he honestly wishes he’d taken the stairs because right now the urge to bolt is near unbearable. Running some stairs might help cut it a bit. “At least now I understand why you never introduced me to him,” Keeley says when they reach the lobby. Jamie frowns. “What?” “Well, he’s so awful. You didn’t want me to see that, or for him to be awful at me too, right?” He has to snort. Jesus. “Keeley, he wouldn’t have been awful to you. Or to me, in front of you. He would have been funny, and fucking… charming. Everyone’s best mate. You would have loved him. And then whenever I complained about him you’d tell me I was being silly, that my father’s a great bloke, that I shouldn’t be so touchy about things.” She stops walking and looks at him. “It happened a lot?” “I never introduced him to any girls, but a few of my mates. And my coaches, when I were younger.” He shakes his head. “He’s very good at turning it on and off. Honestly that surprised me at the City match as much as anything. Had to be really fucking high on the win to not care about looking good in front of everyone.” She takes his arm and they start walking again, making their way out to the street and toward the little cluster of restaurants nearby. “I just don’t want him to be able to get to you all the time. It hurts you.” “It’s not so bad. I’m used to it.” “It is so bad, and you shouldn’t have to be.” She sighs. “But let’s not fight about it. Food, shoes, home for a nap?” “That sounds good.” He lets her tug him along for a few more steps. “Keeley?” “Yeah?” “Thanks for caring about it. It’s… it’s nice. That you and Roy do. Nobody ever did before.” “We care very much.” She squeezes his arm. “And if you do want to keep talking to him, we’ll be here for you. If you ever plan to see him, we’ll be there in person, and Roy will probably have a cricket bat.” Jamie huffs an almost-laugh. “He would, wouldn’t he.” “He absolutely would. He really hates your dad.” She stops between two restaurants and gestures with her free hand. “Pick one. We’re going to enjoy the rest of our day.” ** He can train again with his hand like this, as long as he takes care, and it’s a massive fucking relief to be out there. Even though he’s a grown adult who understands how things work, part of him is always afraid that if he’s gone for more than a few days the others will all forget about him and not want him back. No chance of that here; he gets cheers and slaps on the back, gentle shoves and even a hug or two before the gaffers yell at them to stop playing and start training. Dani passes to him even when that has nothing to do with the drill they’re running, until Roy moves them to opposite sides of the group to stop it. Roy. Jamie had been a little worried about this part, about training under Roy when he’d spent quite a few hours physically under Roy lately. Roy, on the other hand, doesn’t seem worried at all, and he certainly isn’t having any problems here on the pitch. Since Jamie is working his way back into things, he doesn’t get any shouts about doing better or putting more effort in, just reminders about his fundamentals. Even those are cursed about in the classic Roy Kent style, so situation normal. Afterward, Jamie lingers in the shower, enjoying the familiar smell and pounding pressure of the Nelson Road water. Doesn’t have to worry about keeping his hand dry, since he can just re-tape it after, so that’s a nice change too. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back, letting the water pound against his chest, then startles when he hears a familiar voice from the door. “Oi. No cameras here, Tartt. Don’t need to pose for them.” Roy’s smiling when Jamie looks over at him. “You checking in with the physios after this?” Jamie shakes his head. “Talked to them before. They’re going to have some stress balls and little rubber bands for me tomorrow.” “Good.” Roy watches him for another minute, then clears his throat and turns away. “Well. Get yourself dressed and out of here, no point sticking around all night.” “Wait.” Jamie turns the water off and wraps his towel around himself. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing.” That’s bullshit. “Roy…” Roy glances back at him, his expression softening a little. “Not here.” Oh. Right. “Yeah, okay. I’ll find you outside.” He doesn’t have to look very hard; Roy’s just leaning against his stupid giant car in the carpark, frowning at his mobile. Jamie jogs over to him, shaking out his bad hand, which he hasn’t bothered to tape up yet. Feels kind of nice letting air hit it. “You need to tape that,” Roy says. Great minds think alike and all, apparently. “I know. I will.” He holds it up for Roy to see, the long scars from fixing the tendons and the smaller ones that mark where the pins are. “Doesn’t look as scary anymore.” Roy catches it gently and turns it back and forth, studying the joints of Jamie’s fingers. “How much can you bend them?” “Barely.” Jamie demonstrates. “That’s why I get the balls and rubber bands.” Roy grunts and lowers his hand, still holding Jamie’s. “You coming back to our place or yours?” Jamie stares at him. “I… I thought I was staying with you.” “You are. I mean, if you want to be.” He runs his thumb across Jamie’s palm. “I know we have to keep a firm line between home and work. Wasn’t sure if you needed to… I don’t know. Go home first and then make that switch over.” “Oh!” Jamie ducks his head. “That’s what you were doing? A firm line?” “What did you think I was doing?” “Mostly ignoring me?” Roy looks confused and irritable and instead of being a bit scary it makes Jamie want to kiss him. “Well, you’re just getting back, you don’t need full coaching yet.” “I know, I know. I just wasn’t sure if I was allowed to talk to you either.” “Of course you can talk to me. Players can talk to their coaches.” “So I can only talk to you as a player?” He’s trying to follow this properly, he is, but it’s obviously something Roy has all plotted out in his head and Jamie is only catching glimpses of. “Not as… whatever we’re doing?” Roy squints at him. “At the club we need to just be coach and player, yes. I thought that was obvious.” Jamie shrugs. “I’m not great at obvious, am I? Never have been.” Roy’s expression softens a bit. “Fair enough. We’ll talk about it at home, figure out if you have questions.” “I do have questions. Like…” He gestures around them. “The carpark. Is that at the club or not? Because you’re holding my hand right now.” “That’s…” Roy trails off, blinking. “Fuck.” He doesn’t let go of Jamie’s hand, though. Not then, and not on the ride home, which Jamie convinces him that they can make together. ** They’re playing City in Manchester, and it’s got Jamie in more of a state than he wants to admit. It’s been months now; his hand is properly healed, and with the help of Keeley’s vitamin E cream the scars aren’t even that bad. The worst is the way his knuckles look, and the horrible sound they make when he cracks them. It makes Roy throw things—not at Jamie, just in general. He thinks he does a good job of not showing how weird he feels, but apparently not, because Dani and Isaac both pull him aside to ask if he’s okay in the week leading up to the match. Ted and Beard don’t say anything, but they stare at him all the time. Roy stares at him all the time, too, but that’s different. He’s gotten very good at understanding what Roy’s stares mean. He goes to talk to the physios after practice two days before match day, because his hand fucking aches and he wants them to do something about it. Sasha, one of the interns, frowns and shakes her head after examining it. “There’s no inflammation, Jamie. I can’t see anything wrong.” “But it hurts.” He cradles it against his chest like he did when it was bandaged. “Nerve damage maybe?” She shakes her head again. “That wouldn’t just spontaneously come up now. Try heat and then ice, see if that helps. You can take over-the-counter for it but I’m not giving you anything harder, okay?” “Yeah, it’s fine.” He hadn’t expected anything else, really. He thanks her and leaves to get dressed, thinking ahead to dinner and maybe getting Keeley to deep-condition his hair, or maybe he could paint her nails for her, something, anything so he doesn’t have to stop and sit and think. Roy is waiting for him in the changing room, which is strange. “Shouldn’t you be on your way home already?” Jamie asks, still clutching his hand to his chest. “We drove separate today.” “We need to talk.” Roy frowns. “What’s wrong with your hand?” “Sasha says nothing, but it hurts.” Jamie shakes it out and swaps his shorts out for joggers. “What do we need to talk about? Besides how I fucked up today, I already know about that.” “I want to give you the option of sitting out this match.” Jamie forgets how to breathe for a minute. Lungs go completely offline. “You what?” “We can put it in as illness. You won’t have to deal with the bullshit, your dad won’t get the satisfaction of knowing he’s bothering you, it would take a lot of pressure off.” “He would absolutely know he’s bothering me. He would know he won if he made it so I couldn’t fucking play.” How could Roy do this to him? “Tell me this wasn’t your idea. Tell me you know me better than to think I’d want that.” Roy puts his hands up like he’s trying to be soothing, but it just makes Jamie want to run or fight. “It wasn’t my idea. It was Ted’s idea. I know you want to play. We agreed you should know you have the option.” “I don’t fucking want the option!” Jamie kicks his bag, which didn’t fucking do anything to deserve it but it’s not like he’s going to kick Roy. “I want to do my job. I’m not a fucking baby. I don’t have to sit out because they all might be there watching. They can’t get to me on the pitch. They can’t fucking touch me when I’m playing. They can’t.” Now he’s breathing too hard, he can’t get control of it. “They can’t.” “Jamie. Jamie.” Roy is stepping toward him slowly, hands still out away from his body. “You’re right, they can’t touch you. You’ll be safe.” Jamie’s vision blurs and he realizes he’s fucking crying again, leaking from the eyes like he is a fucking baby. “All three of them will be there, too, you know that? Police never did find Denbo and Bug and by now they’re not looking anymore. Just a dead fucking... file in a drawer. They can go to football matches and drink at the pub and do whatever they want. And I might get pulled from the fucking match because of them. It’s not fucking fair.” Fuck, his lungs hurt, wheezing like this between words. “And my dad, he gets to… he gets to…” Roy’s arms are around him, strong and safe, and he crumples in them. “You’re right,” Roy says again, quietly. “It’s not fucking fair. I wish I could fix it. I would fix it for you in a minute if I could.” Jamie half-laughs and half-sobs. “Keeley said one time she thought you’d go after him with a cricket bat.” “I absolutely would. Any heavy object I could find. He’s not safe if I see him coming down the street, I’ll tell you that.” “I hate this. I hate it. They’re ruining this. And my hand fucking hurts.” Roy breathes in and out slowly, like he can steady Jamie’s breathing with his own. “I think that might be a fucking... psychological thing, yeah? Your brain’s hurting so it makes it some physical pain to get your attention.” “Well it’s fucking well got that.” He wipes his eyes against Roy’s shoulder. “Fuck.” “Think you needed to vent all that.” Roy sounding this gentle will never not be strange, but Jamie loves it with all his heart. “You’re scared, and you’re angry, and it’s a load of bullshit you’ve got to deal with, but better to have it all out in the open than festering in your guts.” “Maybe.” Jamie doesn’t fucking know psychologic things. He doesn’t care, either. He just looks at Roy, which he never does from this close, because if they’re this close they’re probably kissing, these days. “Can we go home?” “Absolutely. I’ll drive you, you’re in no state.” Jamie’s hand throbs and throbs on the drive, he can’t get away from it, and it drives words out of his mouth without benefit of thinking them through first. “I guess I do owe them one, though, don’t I? Should be kind of grateful?” “What are you talking about?” Roy scowls and hits the mute button on the radio. “You don’t owe them fuck-all.” “If they hadn’t fucked my hand I wouldn’t have called Keeley to help and we all wouldn’t have gotten together.” Jamie closes his eyes and curls his hands into fists in his lap. “So I owe them for us.” “Fuck no.” Roy Kent hitting a full roar inside the closed space of a car is a dangerous thing. “You are not getting us all tangled up with them in your head. I will not fucking allow it. We don’t owe them anything. We would have figured it out eventually.” Jamie breathes and breathes and breathes. “You think so?” “Yes.” Of course he doesn’t mean it, they both know it isn’t true, but it’s the kind of gentle lie that Jamie desperately wants to hold on to, so he will. He and Roy can hold on to it together, maybe bring Keeley in on it so they can all pretend to believe it together. Eventually they’ll write it right over the real history and forget about it, with any luck at all. ** Keeley comes to the City match, driving up to Manchester behind the bus, and books her own hotel room outside the team’s block. Jamie’s pretty sure that Ted and Beard are very aware that he and Roy will not be sleeping in their assigned rooms and that they also will be turning their backs to the fact. He can’t even feel bad about it; he’s going to need his people after the match and he would climb a fucking wall to get to them, much less take the lift down a few floors. The lads are all extra handsy in the changing room, patting his back and bumping his shoulders. He soaks up every touch, grateful for them and the fact that none of them ever try to use words when there’s a physical option. Dani grabs him and rests their foreheads together, so they’re breathing the same air, but still doesn’t say a word or make Jamie say one in return. Out on the pitch, under the lights, the crowd just a faceless roar from here. Thank god for that. This has always been the place where Jamie is safest. Whatever happens after the match is after the match, not here. On the pitch he’s untouchable. Not literally, as City reminds him as soon as the match starts. He’s fouled in what feels like the first fucking minute. But the hits that are part of the game are different from the ones that are a consequence of the game. He doesn’t give a shit about those, or sometimes even welcomes them, because they’re proof that he’s out here, he’s doing this. It’s a slog of a match. City scores first, then Richmond gets one back. Any strategy the gaffers put out quickly gets beaten back into just holding ground, eking out a few meters, and holding ground again. Jamie’s got bruises on bruises, and at least one set of bloody marks on his leg where someone dragged their boot over his calf. All that scratching and clawing and the match ends with that same one-one tie. They can hold their heads up leaving the pitch, unlike the five-one debacle at Wembley. His teammates slap his back and bump his shoulder again, different messages than before the match but the same language. Sorry that they didn’t win, but glad that he and they all kept their pride. “We’ll get ‘em next time, bruv,” Isaac says, and Jamie grunts in response, tapping fists with him as they make their way to the changing room. Out of their kits, quick shower, getting dressed. Security’s been told to turn everyone away from the room as a standing policy now, he doesn’t have to worry about that. He’s exhausted and a little bit floaty but not scared. Not really very scared at all. Fucking City. He can’t wait to curl up between Keeley and Roy and sleep. Just a short bus ride away, and whatever Roy orders from room service for a post-match meal. The other lads are talking in low voices about if it’s worth going out or not, but nobody asks him if he’s in the mood and he’s grateful for that. Roy catches up to him just as the team’s about to walk out to the bus. “Oi,” he says, grabbing Jamie’s arm and squeezing gently. “All right?” “Better.” They can’t hug here in front of everyone, but he lets himself lean a little bit for a moment. “My hand doesn’t hurt anymore, guess you were right about it being psychologic.” Roy grunts and lets go of him, patting his shoulder instead. “Good. I texted Keeley and she’s going to have dinner waiting for us. She’s already at the hotel.” “She’s quick.” Jamie rubs at his face and follows the lads out to the carpark, staying in step with Roy. When they stop at the end of the queue to board, he tilts his head back and looks up at the hazy sky and the lights of Manchester, breathing out slowly toward it like he could blow it all away. Roy frowns at him and Jamie shrugs before he can say anything. “I don’t like that I’m starting to hate where I come from.” “You don’t hate where you come from.” Roy’s voice is the one Jamie’s learned to trust more than he trusts his own whirling thoughts sometimes, the quiet but firm one. “You’re wary of it because it keeps fucking hurting you. But you don’t hate it. You know what’s good about it, too, you’ve haven’t forgotten those parts.” Jamie looks back at the stadium. “I wonder if they were even here.” Either a hand on the shoulder is innocent enough for Roy, or he’s giving up on discretion altogether for tonight. “Jamie. Don’t do that to yourself. Just get on the bus and let’s get back to the hotel.” “Right.” He gets himself on the bus and goes to the back to sit with Dani as usual, leaving Roy with the other gaffers. It’s fine. Just needs to get to the room and hide his face against Keeley, with Roy between them and the world, and he’ll be fine. “Good match, amigo,” Dani says softly, and Jamie leans into him, accepting a rough one-armed hug and Dani’s cheek rubbing against his hair. “We’ll get them next time,” he echoes Isaac, and rests his chin on Dani’s shoulder to watch whatever video he’s got going on his phone. Something with a big Australian bloke lifting a sheep over a fence. Weird things go on in Australia. At the hotel he has to go up to his proper room first, count to a hundred, and then get back in the lift and make his way to Keeley’s. She opens the door for him and pulls him directly into a hug, and she’s strong for such a tiny thing, clinging to him so tight he can hardly breathe. “You did so good,” she says. “Proud of you.” He nudges her backward step by step until they can fall into the bed. “Tired.” “Big crash after the last… fuck, two weeks you’ve been crawling out of your skin about this.” She cards her fingers gently through his hair. “I’ve got you.” “Don’t leave.” It comes out more desperate than he meant it to, but Keeley just nods and wraps her legs around his. “I’m right here. Just close your eyes and rest, babe.” He shakes his head. “Need to stay up and eat and let Roy fuss over me.” “In a minute.” God, her hands are so gentle, petting his head. “You can take a minute.” He takes probably ten minutes, until Roy knocks at the door and he has to let Keeley up to open it. He gets a hug from Roy, too, and kisses, and then they all sit and eat together on the bed, picnic-style, with the post-match report on the telly. “Are we messing around or going to sleep?” he asks when Roy gathers up the plates and stacks them on the room-service tray. Keeley snorts. “You can barely keep your eyes open, Jamie.” “Don’t need my eyes for pretty much anything we do.” He knows his way around both of their bodies by heart by now. Couldn’t draw a map, but he might be able to make some decent models out of clay. He’s a hands person, not an eyes person. “Sleep,” Roy says firmly. “If we wake up with enough time before the bus we’ll mess around then.” “I’ll hold you to that.” Morning sex is fucking great, and he is very tired. He lets Keeley pull him up to the pillows and get the blankets over the two of them while Roy puts the tray in the hall. Then they all have to shift around some more when Roy joins them and tries to tug the blankets his way instead of letting Keeley have as much as she wants, and Jamie passes out before that argument is actually settled but it’ll be fine, it always is. ** He dreams about walking around Manchester with Roy and Keeley, showing them the places that mattered to him. His dad and his mates don’t show up at all, just old friends and teachers and coaches and his mum. It ends up with the three of them sitting in the shitty little park near the estate where he first learned to kick a ball. They’re sitting on either side of him, close enough to touch, and he’s holding the stars in his hands.

“Are you alright?”   Penelope clutches the side of abdomen and huffs out a breath, almost scoffing at Josie’s concerned look. “What do you care?”   Josie steps back a bit, looking around the corner of the brick wall that Penelope’s leaning against - the corner that Josie had appeared from just a moment ago.   “You’re hurt,” Josie notes, and Penelope has to roll her eyes, has to stop herself from responding with a snarky 'No shit’.    “I’m fine,” she says instead. It’s not exactly a lie, nor is it exactly the truth. If anything, the physical pain is a pleasant distraction from what she’s feeling emotionally.    “I should get a teacher.” Josie takes another step back, looking like she’s about two seconds from running back around to the entrance of the school.    “Please,” Penelope quickly interjects, “don’t…”    She hopes that Josie can see the sincerity in her eyes, the pleading of not wanting anyone else to be involved in the situation.    Josie pauses for a second, then, she gives Penelope a small nod, walking closer once again. Penelope’s shoulders relax, only just realising how tense they had been.    There’s an attempt to slide down the wall, to let herself sit on the ground, but all Penelope can do is groan at dull pain before Josie’s at her side, holding her steady.    Penelope turns to look at her - Josie’s face much closer than expected - and she sees the mix of concern and questioning in her eyes and furrowed brow. Though, she’s somewhat grateful when Josie doesn’t mention anything about it, doesn’t pry, just helps Penelope down onto the floor.    Still, most likely because of the way that Josie’s looking down at her, Penelope feels an irritating need to reassure her. “Really, I’m fine. You should go back to class - can’t have the teacher missing their pet.”    Josie frowns a little, sighs as she moves to sit down next to Penelope, both of them leaning their backs against the wall and looking out onto the large field ahead of them.    After a moment of silence, from the corner of her eye she sees Josie turn to her - can practically feel the wheels turning, navigating an unfamiliar street.    “Why do you always say stuff like that?” Josie’s voice is soft, like anything louder will break whatever this calm they have fallen into is.    Penelope isn’t expecting the question, even though it’s hardly an absurd thought. Since the two of them first met almost a year ago, there had been numerous occasions where she would make some snarky remark or inappropriate joke. Just out of habit, almost out of necessity.    There was something about Josie that she just didn’t get. Whether it was the pure compassion that she gave everyone or the way that she would endlessly follow her sister around, always accommodating to her every need.    Either way, Penelope just didn’t know what to do around her. What she did know, however, was that it was amusing as hell to annoy her, falling back into the comfort zone of teasing and ruffling a feather or two.    More silence passes and there’s contemplation of whether she should give a genuine answer or leg it down the path of least resistance.    She decides to take a whole different route all together.    “My cousin… we were running with a tough crowd… you know how it is…” Penelope briefly looks over and remembers who she’s talking to. “Or maybe not. Anyway, her parents sent her back to their home country last month… and what can I say.” A small shrug. Eyes focused on unfocused hands. “She was my best friend... anyway, I got into some trouble afterwards with the people we were hanging around with. Then, yesterday, I basically told them to go fuck themselves and yeah… didn’t end well. They at least had the decency, or intelligence is maybe a better word, to not mess up my face…” Penelope chuckles, pulling her hands away from each other and hoping to find some stability from the ground next to her instead.    Josie’s silent for a short moment, then she turns her body towards Penelope. A hand reaches out to rest gently on top of hers.    “Penelope… I’m sorry… about your cousin, about those people who hurt you…” Josie sounds like she could cry and Penelope doesn’t want to face it - doesn’t want to face the one person who, for some reason, seems to care more about it than she does herself - has a strong feeling that any wall would crumble the moment she looks at Josie.    And all the snide comments that Penelope has made, all the flirty remarks to make Josie roll her eyes but blush anyway, all of that and Josie’s right next to her, comforting her, like it’s nothing, like it’s something that Penelope has ever felt before.    This. This is exactly what Penelope doesn’t get.   “Why?” is all Penelope ends up saying.    “Why what?” Josie’s brows furrow.   “You literally can’t stand me - that’s a direct quote - and I am the most irritating person you have ever met - another direct quote - yet… you’re here.” There are unspoken words which could follow, but there’s also an unusual sense of understanding that makes them so.    Josie just laughs, soft, and moves back against the wall again; her hand doesn’t do the same. And now that she’s been released from Josie’s gaze, Penelope finally turns to look at her.   “True.” Josie nods, a small smile on her face. “I have said those things… and I’ll probably go back to despising you as soon as we’re back inside. But I don’t know…” She shrugs, looking down at her lap, and hesitates for a moment, like she’s building up the courage to say something. “I feel like you’re the only one who pays attention to me.”   And it’s strange - or definitely something Penelope has never thought about - that Josie is so deprived of attention that she feels seen when someone so much as finds the time to playfully antagonise her.    But Josie, Penelope is slowly learning, is an open book enigma. No one has simply found the time or effort to turn to any pages other than what is currently on display.    So it might be this exact moment - the way that Josie looks out onto the field, her hand on Penelope’s, Penelope’s eyes on Josie - that sparks it all. If Penelope could pinpoint a date and time where it changes, where she knows that she can’t keep up this kind of relationship with Josie - that she doesn’t want to - then this might be it.    All she’s sure of is that Josie deserves more - deserves more than just the attention of someone who goes out of their way to piss her off.    And for that reason, she tells herself that she does this more for Josie’s sake than her own. It’s only a simple question, after all.    “Do you want to be friends?”   It sounds awkward coming from Penelope’s mouth, like a child on their first day of school, and she’s sure Josie feels it too.    “Oh.” Josie turns to her, their eyes finally meeting, and the surprise is evident. “I… I’d like that.”    “Cool,” is all Penelope says, like she hasn’t just thrown herself in the deep end. A cannonball that would quench whatever this moment is that they’ve just shared; extinguish the pilot light.    But there’s a fire in Josie, igniting the bitter cold that Penelope has endured for months. Something that motivates her to change lest she end up getting burnt.    And Penelope finds that she does want it. She does want the change.   //   She doesn’t make it.    Her best friend is in a hospital, lying on a gurney as the doctor calls time of death, and she doesn’t make it.    All she gets is the phone call, barely a few hours after the previous one, letting her know that they did everything they could but there was nothing that could’ve saved them.    No goodbyes are shared, not even an I’ll be there soon as Penelope scrambled to find the soonest flight, threw handfuls of clothing into a suitcase.    Josie comes home less than an hour later and finds her, curled up on the sofa in silent tears. And Penelope doesn’t have to say a word before Josie’s at her side, holding her tight - knows that the seat Penelope had booked for an hour's time will be empty.    There’s a child and that’s the worst part. Her cousin had just given birth months before and now there’s a child; faultless, yet now, parentless.    But Penelope’s so helpless to it all. On the other side of the globe. A passive receiver to news that she can’t change. A living vessel that is so powerless to the spatial and temporal constraints of this universe.    And Josie just holds her, whispers words of comfort and compassion and tenderness as she crumbles and falls, slips down a metaphorical brick wall. Just like every other time Penelope has been hurt. Josie is a ceaseless continuum when everything insists on changing.    It’s then that a vow is made; to Josie, to herself.    If there’s ever a moment that Penelope has the sheer ability to relieve another person of this pain, of this whole-body loss,   even if she loses a part of herself in the process,   there’s nothing in this world that would stop her from doing so.    //   A small bird perches itself on the windowsill of the room.    Penelope watches it. There’s a nice calm to it, the bird unwavering and unbothered even in the strong wind that’s ruffling its feathers. The ventilation of the hospital room alone is enough to make Penelope shiver, the thin gown hardly offering any protection.    Minutes pass and the bird remains, as if there doesn’t exist a whole sky - a whole world - for it to explore.    Penelope is pulled away at the sound of the door opening. She hadn’t expected the doctor to be back so soon, having just performed the CT scan and letting her know that it’ll take a while to get the results from the radiologist.    Her expectations are further sucker punched when she instead sees her ex-wife at the doorway, slightly breathless.    “Hey,” Penelope greets her softly, sitting herself up properly on the edge of the bed, and although she’s always more than happy to see her, she’s still curious. “What are you doing here?”    Josie looks a little dazed, her mouth opens but nothing comes out. She takes a few steps forward, closing the door behind her, but never breaks eye contact. “I… I don’t know, I just thought…” She shakes her head. “I don’t know, I just needed to see you.”   “Okay… did Hope put you up to this? To come check on me? Because I told her I was fine and that I’m just here for a check-up and that I haven’t been feeling any pain lately,” Penelope trails off when she sees the expression on Josie’s face - so familiar, but only ever present in their aching moments. She’s cautious when she speaks again, reaching out her hand to hold Josie’s, attentive to whatever it is inside her that looks like it’s about to break. “Hey… I’m right here. I’m alright.”   There’s a fluttering against the window and Penelope turns to it. The bird is gone, replaced with water droplets running down the glass. She turns back to Josie and it’s the same sight; droplets running down.    Penelope can barely get a word in - barely ask if she’s alright - before Josie’s holding her, pulling her into a trembling embrace as they sit next to each other on the bed. And there’s not much Penelope can do except reciprocate, give Josie whatever she needs right now, wait for answers later.    Perhaps her shoulder should hate the wetness, already sapped from the weight of the year and everything she’s been through. But it simply welcomes it, not knowing there had even been a drought.    When the breathing evens out, Josie’s head shakes slowly against Penelope’s shoulder. Then, almost a whisper, “I can’t…”    Penelope pulls away the slightest bit, so they can face each other. “Can’t what?”   Josie lets out a breath, eyes still glistening with unshed tears. “I can’t lose you.” Her head shakes once more. “Not again.”    Penelope brings her hands to gently rest around Josie’s face, her thumbs stroking gently. “I’m not going anywhere... I’m right here.”    Josie leans in the slightest bit and their foreheads rest against one another, settling in a balance that comes from years of practice. It’s almost too much to physically take in and Penelope has to close her eyes, savour the feeling of Josie’s arms around her waist, of Josie under her fingertips.    There’s a whisper, so soft it almost gets lost in the sound of Penelope’s own breath. “I love you.”   Penelope opens her eyes, pulls back slowly, needs the confirmation that her mind isn’t losing it’s grip on reality, that it isn’t hearing words that aren’t meant for her.    But Josie’s eyes are a testament to everything and more. Whatever it is that Penelope could ever be searching for, it’s right here.    And it’s the reason why it’s so easy for her to whisper back, “I love you too.”   Because it’s true. It always has been, and she would put her life savings on the chances that it always will be - though, it’s hardly a gamble.    But this - what they have between them - is. In the end, that’s what all relationships are, a gamble. A constant roll of dice that always has a chance of coming up short - in which a pair comes up with the lowest possible sum, a consensual losing game.    In which the synergistic nature of a pair of dice is lost. Penelope’s corporate mind would laugh at that.    Still, they risked it for over a decade, to the point where it didn’t even feel like a risk anymore. But every time, it was enough, more than enough. Until it wasn’t.    And that’s the reason. That’s the reason why when Josie leans in again, to close the gap between them, Penelope stops her.    Because if the situation has taught her anything, it’s that she can’t control herself when she’s with Josie. And although the likelihood of a similar circumstance occurring is lower than Challenger Deep, it’s still always going to be there; her recklessness, her selfishness, her impulsivities.    Even if she wants this - God, she wants this more than anything - the risk of ever hurting Josie again because of her own actions cause her to place any and all of her desires on the back burner, letting it incinerate in the flames.    There’s questioning in Josie’s eyes and Penelope needs to answer it, before any hurt can settle in.    “Josie, we…” Penelope pulls back, her hands sliding down to rest on Josie’s shoulders. “We should start again, from the beginning.”   “Oh.” Josie moves away as well, both their hands slipping down to meet each other in the middle. “Right, of course.”   Penelope sighs, knowing it’s not something Josie wants to hear - especially not after putting it all on the line like that - knowing that it’s not something she wants to say, an age-old cliché. “I just… think it’s what we need right now.” She gently squeezes the hands in hers - hopes that Josie knows that she only wants the best for them, that she’s trying hard not to be so reckless. “Some time to figure out what’s best for both of us.”   Josie nods, though she still looks a bit lost about Penelope’s inner conflict. Even so, she smiles, and Penelope almost gives in just at that. “All the way? The very beginning?”   Penelope lets out a small laugh. “Okay, maybe not that far. I think I like it a little better when you don’t hate me.”    Josie bites her lip, like she’s trying to tame her smile, but it’s all apparent in her eyes. “You already know I never did. I had the hugest crush on you.”   Penelope does know. Remembers how embarrassed Josie had been when she had made the admission soon after they first started dating, how she tried to cover her face but Penelope had pulled her hands away and kissed her.    She misses this - how easily they make each other smile, how comfortable everything is. Because, even though they had a strong romantic relationship, at the end of it all, what she truly missed was her best friend.    But it’ll be good. Sure, they’ve both had more than enough space from each other in the past year or so, but this is different. They’re in a good place and there’s still enough room for growth, for change.    Whether that means they’ll ever end up together again is beyond her. All she knows is that she needs to work on herself, work on being a better friend, before anything else.    Because Penelope knows that she could apologise a thousand times for doing what she did, but in the end she’d still do it again in a heartbeat. So where does that leave her. One’s instinctive nature is not something you can exactly move past.    And they’ve overcome numerous other issues in the past, but this is different. This was a storm that took a turn for the worst. That destroyed their home regardless of how hard Penelope had tried to board the windows. In her rashness, she’s the one who trapped them inside to take the impact of it all.    So, all she can do is try to fix it, try to learn from it. Clear the windows and let the sun shine in.    All she can do is say, “I know,” and let Josie’s head rest on her shoulder. 

"Looks like your buddy Spider-Man got a hero of his own last night, that was some rescue. Who is that guy?" Mr S was watching some of the footage from the TV station fire. A media helicopter had captured the whole rooftop episode on camera, even showing Deadpool resuscitating Spidey after he rescued him. "Yeah." Wade had watched the video ten times already and still couldn't tear his eyes away from the screen. The moment Spider-Man had stroked his face was etched in his mind. He had woken up that morning with his heart pounding and his groin throbbing. The whole encounter had left him feeling so confused. He knew he would never have been able to confess his feelings for Spidey if he hadn't been wearing his Deadpool suit. His personality and confidence completely changed the minute he put on the mask. It used to offer him an excuse so he could hide behind his alter ego and distance himself from the violence when he took the suit off. Now it seemed it enabled him to make a connection with the one person he had admired from afar for so long. But what about Peter?  Wade hadn't spoken to Peter since he went to his apartment and nobody answered. He could understand Spidey having to cancel their meeting because he was at the fire, but that didn't explain Peter's absence. Once again Wade felt confused. After what happened between them at the store he had felt certain things were moving forward. He thought Peter was interested in him, wanted him. There was probably a reasonable explanation for his absence or maybe he just didn't feel the same way as Wade. Maybe it was all just a bit of fun to him. I don't think he has serious feelings about me. It's probably for the best. Deep down Wade didn't want it to be that way. He did have feelings for Peter, honest feelings. His attraction to Spidey was connected to being Deadpool. He wanted the web shooter to see that he was a good guy. It was almost like a fantasy, not real like with Peter, but he still couldn't get it all out of his mind. That one moment between Deadpool and his hero had just seemed so natural. Was there more to it? I need to see him again. But first Wade needed to see Peter, ask him what happened. Find out if the previous afternoon had meant anything to him. He wasn't going to allow him into his heart if it was just a moment of madness. He needed to protect himself, his fragile mind. Not let anything disrupt his calm. He couldn't deal with heartbreak or mind games at that moment, things were confusing enough. Just ask him what he wants. Don't be afraid of the answer, you need to know. Wade wasn't the only one struggling with his feelings after the previous night's events. Peter had watched the footage of his rescue transfixed by Deadpool's actions. He couldn't get over how nice he'd acted, how kind and selfless. It didn't add up with what he knew about Deadpool. Also, the guy had disappeared, some thought he'd died, but others said he had left the city after killing a mob boss and had a target on his back. Peter hadn't believed that story as what he knew of Deadpool he didn't seemed scared of anybody. He'd also heard he was immortal, which could explain how he had walked through that fire to rescue Spider-Man.  Why now? He kept thinking back to Deadpool's confession of love for him, his seemingly heartfelt devotion. He just couldn't believe it. He had saved his life, there was no doubt about it. Watching the footage he could see just how bad things had been on the roof. If he hadn't shown up Spidey would have burnt to death. The smoke had overwhelmed him and he knew it was game over. Now he owed his life to what appeared to be a soft hearted Merc with a gruesome past. Clearly he wasn't the merciless killer from before. Peter felt strangely drawn to him. It was part attraction, part fascination. But what about Wade? Peter felt guilty for not contacting Wade about his absence the previous evening. He had imagined his face when he turned up and nobody was home. His sense of duty took over and he had rushed out. He could have left him a note, even if it had been a lie, at least he would have let him know.  He probably thinks I'm not serious about him. Peter was definitely serious about Wade. After their encounter in the back of the store he felt a much deeper attraction to him. He realised that while he was turned on by Wade's scars it was his gentle nature and the way he had touched him that caught him off-guard. Peter wanted to be closer to him, but he felt confused about Deadpool. He felt guilty, like he was somehow cheating on Wade, even though they weren't an item. He knew there was only one way to find out how he felt about the man who saved his life. I need to see him again. "But first I have an apology to make." As he walked into the bathroom Peter caught sight of his face in the mirror. He had a huge purple bruise on the side of his head and what looked like a black eye. The bruising continued all down his back and on his legs. It was much worse when he got back from the fire, but his healing factor had slowly started repairing the damage. His ribcage felt very tender, he suspected he may have cracked a few ribs. It wasn't surprising considering the trauma he put his body through. He needed to make up a story to explain his appearance. They're going to think I got jumped or something. Peter wrapped a towel round himself and went to sort his clothes out. His Spidey suit was strewn across the bedroom, it needed a few repairs but he would tend to it later. He rolled it up in a ball and dumped it on the floor. The room looked messy, his unruly bed sheets covered in grime and blood stains from his wounds. He needed to clean up. First he would shower and then talk to Wade, clear the air.  As he gathered up his clothes he heard a knock at the front door. Through the spy hole he could see it was Wade. Shit. I'm not ready. "Just hang on I'll be right there." He quickly put another towel round his shoulders so Wade wouldn't see the state of his body and opened the door. The minute he stood face to face with the big quiet man Peter felt his heart fill with warmth. He really did like him a lot. "Hey big guy. I was just getting ready to come and see you. Come in, we can talk." Peter could see the look of alarm in Wade's eyes at the state of his face.  "Peter?" Wade stood before him and lifted his hand towards the bruises. He felt a rage boiling up inside him.  What the fuck happened to him? "Oh yeah this, well erm...funny story...and also why I wasn't here last night. I had a bit of an accident on the subway. The driver had to make an emergency stop and a few people, me included, got hurt. We had to wait for the train to start up again and then at the next station there were medics checking everybody over and signing insurance forms and all that shit. By the time I got home it was gone eleven. I'm so sorry." Peter avoided eye contact and shifted about as he spoke.  "Okay." Wade didn't know if he believed him. The bruises looked bad. He supposed it could be true, but something about Peter's behaviour was telling him different. It wasn't his nature to pry, but if somebody was hurting him he needed to know. So I can introduce them to Deadpool. Uh oh no more soft Wade...welcome back buddy. Peter felt uncomfortable lying to Wade, but he couldn't tell him the truth about Spider-Man. Only his aunt and his childhood friend knew his identity. He had kept it a secret from everybody else. "Hey, the bruises will go in a few days, it's nothing really. Did you see Spider-Man on tv? Oh my go that crazy guy in the suit. I mean talk about irresponsible, walking through a burning building, but to almost get them both killed as well. He was lucky it turned out okay. Still, I suppose he did save his life, so Spidey's going to feel grateful." Peter had no idea why he was talking like this. It was almost as if he was trying to sound annoyed with Deadpool. Wade picked up on Peter's tone and for the first time a thought crossed his mind. Maybe his 'friendship' with Spider-Man is something more. Wade had never even considered this possibility. Perhaps he had an admiration for Spidey just like Wade did. It would certainly explain his somewhat jealous tone about Deadpool. "So, yeah, I'm going to get showered and maybe we could go out for a bite to eat or something. Sound good?" Peter thought it was best to change the subject. "Yes." Wade nodded and smiled. He watched Peter as he walked towards the bathroom, but he hesitated and went to pull the bedroom door shut instead. As he turned the towel around his shoulders slipped off and Wade saw the injuries on his back. Peter quickly rushed into the bathroom. Wade was shocked by what he saw. He got up and knocked on the bathroom door. At first there was no response and then he heard Peter turn the lock and open the door. Wade stepped inside and gently put his arms round the younger man. He wanted to comfort him, show him support for whatever ordeal he'd experienced. Peter liked being held by Wade, it felt safe and secure, like he would look after him, protect him, save him. Just like Deadpool did.  "Wade, it's not as bad as it looks I promise. I got thrown down the subway carriage. I was lucky I didn't break anything. Please don't be worried. Everything is fine." He could see Wade had tears in his eyes as he stroked his face. He reached up and kissed him softly. He wished he could just tell him the truth about his identity, because to see him so worried was unbearable. Wade leant his forehead on Peter's and sighed. He ran his hands lightly over his arms and rested them on the younger man's hips. He wanted to tell him how he felt, how special he was to him. He wanted to look after him. He had not felt that way for a long time. "Peter?" "Yes Wade?" "I really like you." Peter suddenly felt overwhelmed by his own confused feelings. He really did like Wade a lot, but he needed to understand what had happened between him and Deadpool, there was unfinished business there. He couldn't just ignore the Merc's confession of love for him. "Wade...I don't know what..." Peter stammered, but Wade cut him off. "No shhhh." He cupped the younger man's jaw and kissed him intently. He moved down and kissed his neck and collarbone, all the while gently caressing his arms with his strong hands. He kissed Peter's chest, seeking out his nipples, gently sucking and biting them. He wanted to make him feel good, take away his physical pain. His skin is so smooth, he's beautiful. Peter could feel the scarred lips grazing over his sensitive nipples, turning him on in the best possible way. He whimpered as he felt him go lower down, kissing his abdomen, lightly stroking his lower back. His touch was so delicate for such a big guy. Peter knew the towel wasn't hiding his semi, but he didn't want Wade to remove it because then he would see the other injuries on his legs.  Uh oh. Too late. Wade unhooked the towel with his thumbs and as it fell away he smoothed his hands round Peter's hips to his soft pert cheeks. He started massaging the flesh, but noticed the younger man was wincing. He looked down over his shoulder and saw the state of his legs. Wade let go and stepped back. He turned Peter round and stared at his body. He looked awful, like he'd been in a car crash or something. Did somebody attack him? I wish he'd tell me the truth. Peter grabbed the towel and covered himself up again as he walked out of the bathroom and headed for his bedroom. Wade tried to follow him, but Peter closed the door. The Merc leant his head against the panels and sighed deeply. He needed to talk to him, but he found it so hard to get the words out. If only he had his suit. He knocked on the door. "Wade, please don't worry about anything. I'm okay really. Maybe you should go. I'll see you later." Peter's voice sounded anxious, but not for the reasons Wade thought. No damn it he's not shutting me out. I want to know what really happened. He pushed open the door and found Peter sitting on his bed looking wide eyed. Wade saw the state of the bedding, all ruffled with blood stains on the sheets, and his heart sank. It looked like Peter hadn't slept there alone and as Wade stepped into the room and approached the side of the bed the young man stood up and stopped him. "No, please, I don't want you to come in. Please Wade, this is not how it seems, but I can't talk about it right now. Please believe me that everything is okay. I think it would be better if you left. We can talk later. I need some space okay?" Peter lightly pushed his hands against Wade's chest as the bigger man looked at him with a questioning expression. He can't come in.  He can't see the suit. "Peter, you are hurt." Wade didn't want to leave him. In his mind he could see himself strangling a faceless attacker, whoever had done this was going to pay. "Please, tell me." He carefully stroked Peter's face. "Wade, no, please just go. You're making me feel uncomfortable. Just trust me okay. It's nothing serious I promise." Despite craving those gentle caresses Peter stood his ground and Wade had no choice but to back off. He felt frustrated and angry that Peter was clearly lying to him. He ran down the stairs cursing under his breath, kicking the outside door as he left the building and marched back to his work. Peter felt awful. He'd seen the look of worry and fear in Wade's eyes and he knew that he wasn't buying the subway story. He was going to have to talk to him, explain in a better way. It occurred to him that he needed to seriously think about what he wanted. His feelings were all messed up since being rescued by Deadpool. He liked Wade, a lot, but he suspected the scarred man liked him just that bit more. I don't want to play with his heart. Back at home Wade was brooding. He kept thinking about the state of Peter's bed. It was clear to him that somebody else had been there and had inflicted these injuries on the younger man. He felt so enraged, he had no idea what to do with all his anger. He thought about staking out Peter's apartment and seeing who came and went. With a bit of luck he might see the guy and grab him before he could do any more damage.  Fuck him up. Wade, he's playing with your heart. Stealing kisses from you while he has another. But maybe he's scared, looking for a way out. Or maybe he just likes it rough Wadey baby.  Get the fuck out of my head. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ That night Wade suited up and climbed the rear fire escape up to Peter's place. He ran across the roof to the side of his apartment and quietly perched himself just above the kitchen window on the top tier of the other fire escape. He could see the light on, but there didn't seem to be any sign of life. Deadpool sat back against the railings and looked out over the adjacent buildings. The city looked pretty in the distance with all the lights. He'd missed this, the sights and sounds of the night. "Deadpool?" A voice broke his thoughts. He looked up towards the roof edge. Spidey's unmistakable mask peered down at him.  Oh hello. "Ehhm ha ha oh hey Spidey, yeah it's me. Just doing some friendly neighborhood stalking." He jumped to his feet and climbed back up on the roof. His heart pounded at the sight of Spider-Man's lithe form as he stood before him with folded arms.  "Why are you stalking my friend Peter?" Spidey tapped his foot as he waited for an answer. He sounded annoyed and Deadpool had to think quickly.  "Oh no I don't know your friend. I needed a good view of the building over there. I had a tip off about a guy I'm looking for, he's a douchebag." Deadpool moved round the web shooter, admiring him from all sides. "Soooo Spideyyyy how's tricks? Feeling better after I dragged your peachy butt out of that nasty old fire?"  Damn that suit looks good. "Yes thank you. I owe you my life so if there's anything I can do for you please tell me. I really am grateful." Peter observed Deadpool as he stood still and just seemed to stare at him. He felt a little uneasy, there was a charge coming off him, like electricity.  "Well....now you mention it Spidey." Deadpool moved closer until he was right in front of him. He reached over and took hold of his hand and raised it to his mouth, kissing it through his mask. "I've not stopped thinking about you. What do you say we rub together some spandex and leather and make sweet music Baby Boy?"  Spidey inhaled sharply as he felt Deadpool's closeness. His big frame looked so inviting, like he could wrap him up in his big arms and keep him safe. Just like Wade Oh. "Did you mean what you said? About feeling love for me? I need to know." Peter threw caution to the wind, as far as he was concerned it was now or never. Deadpool curved his arm round Spidey's waist and pulled the web shooter against him as he whispered in his ear. "Oh yeah my heart beats red and blue my little bug, all I want is to get you down on your knees and give you some sugar. I got a real nice shiny hard candy cane ready to play with. One lick of that and you really will be grateful."  Too much? "What? Is that what this is all about? You just want to have sex with me? I might have known it was too good to be true." Peter shoved Deadpool to the ground. Fuck! Yeah definitely too much. "Ohhh my special Spider no no please don't split us up now. We could really show this rooftop who's boss. Let me bend you over and worship that sexy ass. Oh boy, I've watched you for so many years and that suit is like a goddamned wet dream. Just once Baby Boy, just a little play-time between friends. Take pity on my Spidey shaped heart." Deadpool was on his knees raising his arms towards a horrified Spider-Man. "We are not friends. Yes, you saved me and I will never forget that, but this is insane. What was all that shit about love sparkles and how much you need me and how you would be broken hearted if I died? Did you mean any of it?" Peter felt like an idiot for believing someone like Deadpool could have any serious intentions. Judging by the many stories, not only was he a merciless killer, but he would fuck anything that moved....and then probably kill that too. Now here he was basically begging Spider-Man to let him have his wicked way.  Yet...there's something about him...I don't know what it is. "I'm sorry Spidey, I can't help it. You do something to me, you always have. I tried so often to get your attention, but you didn't even see me. I know I'm a fuck up and I can never live up to your standards, but the truth is yes I did mean what I said. I do genuinely feel love for you. I don't want a world without you in it. Knowing you are here in the same city as me makes me feel grateful. You are so special Spidey and I am just a dumb asshole who says all the wrong things." Deadpool sat holding his knees as he looked up at the web shooter. Peter reached over and squeezed Deadpool's shoulder. He realised he was trying to redeem himself and he had more than likely just got carried away. He squatted down beside him, but next thing he knew The Merc had pulled him onto his lap. Oh no...nope. "Gotcha, now let me snuggle Baby Boy, I promise I'll be good." He nuzzled into Spidey's neck as he held him in place. The web shooter didn't struggle. He had to admit to himself that it felt kind of nice sitting on Deadpool's big thighs. The sensation of him rubbing against his body gave him goosebumps. He felt his mask being lifted up at the back and then a pair of hot wet lips on his skin. His whole body melted into the Merc's touch.  Holy shit. Peter completely surrendered to Deadpool's roaming hands. When he felt him squeeze his nipples through his suit he let out a breathy moan. He straddled his legs, feeling The Merc getting harder against his ass as he leaned back into him. Deadpool was grinding his hips upwards, kissing and licking the back of Spidey's neck, whispering in between licks. "Mmm Baby Boy you are like all my dreams rolled into one. You have no idea how crazy you make me. I have wanted to hold you for so long. You are my hero...let me make you feel good." The Merc reached round and slipped his gloved hands inside Spidey's suit, searching for his manhood, hoping the web shooter felt just as turned on as he did. Oh yeah there it is....ohhh naughty Spidey...it's so hard. Spider-Man let out a loud gasp as he felt The Merc's large hand curl round his erection. He sat back against the big man and let his head fall onto Deadpool's broad shoulder. He breathed heavily, needing to feel his firm grasp. "Ah...oh my god...we can't do this...not here...oh it feels so good." Spidey whimpered as the gloved hand stroked him harder. "You want me to stop? It sounds like you're enjoying it...but I can stop." Deadpool breathed into the web shooter's ear, half teasingly. "Nobody can see us here, it's too dark...and Baby Boy half the fun is the risk of getting caught. Now....tell me...do you want me to carry on...or?" The Merc loosened his hold and stopped moving for a moment. "Oh what? No...oh please no don't stop now...it feels too good...keep going...I want it....I want you...I want...ahhh Wade.." Spidey swallowed hard at his mistake. Oh fuck. "What did you say?" Deadpool wasn't sure what he had just heard. Did he say Wade? No...why...how? "I said wait....I need to catch my breath, take it easy....just wait." Peter cringed at his slip up, but it seemed to snap him back to reality.  What am I doing? Is this really what I want? Some mindless groping in the middle of a rooftop with a loose cannon who seemingly has no shame? Fuck, fuck, fuck! I wish it didn't feel so good, but we have to stop. "Deadpool, I'm sorry....I can't do this. It feels amazing it really does and you are so...so hot, but it's not right. There is someone else...things have just started to get serious between us....It's not right if I do this." Spidey moved The Merc's hands away from his groin and lifted himself off the firm thighs. He felt a flash of regret at not being next to that big safe body anymore, but he knew this was the right decision. In that one moment of pleasure his subconscious had chosen who he really wanted. His desires could only truly be met by one man. Wade. Deadpool slumped forward and shook his head. He had been so close, finally connecting with the man of his dreams. He knew Wade wanted Peter and this would complicate matters, but he felt so much longing for Spider-Man this was like torture.  Who is this guy he's seeing? "Ah Spidey my heart is breaking right now, how can you love someone more than me? I saved your life. I would do anything for you. We could be so good together. Deadpool and Spider-Man....Team Red...all the way!" The Merc let out a giant sob as he knelt at Spidey's feet in a huge sulk. "He must be some special guy to have won your heart...who is he?" "Oh erm ...nobody...I mean yeah he's very special and we're close, but it's complicated. I....really like him...but there's stuff we need to sort out. Things are a little difficult right now and I don't need you messing with my head on top of everything else. He's a sweet guy and he should be treated nicely and I've not been giving him the care and respect he deserves. I need to make it up to him." Spidey rubbed his hands as he spoke. He realised Wade really was the one for him, but he didn't want to tell Deadpool in case he tried to harm him in some way. "We're close friends, that's all you need to know." Spidey wasn't giving any more away, but he didn't need to as Deadpool had already made the connection. It was so obvious it was staring him in the face. Of course it's him.  It's Peter. Holy shit pickles Wade won't like that one bit. "Okay Spidey whatever you say. I just want you to know I am always here for you and I would like nothing more than to fight some bad guys with you. Maybe we could hook up on a more professional level....you know like crime fighting buddies? Please consider it. Can I give you my number? Please say yes. Now I've found you I want to stay near you. Even if it means we can't be lovers....we could try being friends....pretty please with sprinkles on top?" Deadpool held his phone up to the web shooter to get his number. He wasn't going to let his hero slip through his fingers again.  Spidey sighed at the sheer desperation of Deadpool's tone. He wouldn't kick him while he was down and it couldn't do any harm having someone like him on standby when things got tough. And he did save my life...he is the closest thing I've got to an actual hero.  "Ok, here is my number, but I'm warning you, no bullshit, and no dick pics. If I see even an inch of your penis it's game over!" Spidey entered his number and handed the phone back. Deadpool snorted with laughter as he took it, making sure he stroked Spidey's hand in the process.  Just one last touch. "So, catch ya later Pool I've got to drop in on a friend. Don't get into any trouble....and well, thanks for everything...it really did feel good, but...well maybe in another place and time. I'm sorry, I hope you understand." The Merc nodded and waved as Spidey did a backflip and disappeared over the roof edge on to the fire escape. Three guesses who 'the friend' is....oh no...but that means...him? There's no way Spidey would hurt Peter...he's a good guy...or is he?  Ohhh shit. Now what do I do?  Wade....I'm so sorry. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The following morning Wade lay on his bed with a head full of questions. He knew things had gone too far between Deadpool and Spidey and he hated how his character was so different in the suit. It had been a blessing on many occasions, but sometimes he really didn't need Deadpool's untamed behaviour disrupting stuff. The worst part was that now a seed had been planted in Wade's mind about Spider-Man being somehow involved with Peter and the fear that he was responsible for his injuries. It can't be true, not Spidey, he's pure and good...he wouldn't hurt a fly. Deadpool has got it wrong, there's got to be a reasonable explanation. One thing Wade did know was that he wouldn't give up on Peter. He felt too much for him. His attraction to Spider-Man was all fuelled by Deadpool's desire for some kind of redemption in the web shooter's eyes, but it wasn't real. It was a fucked up fantasy dating back to a time when The Merc had been in a very dark and unwelcoming place and he had placed Spidey on a pedestal as somebody to live up to. Yes, he did have feelings for him, but they were not the same as the emotions he felt for Peter. The young man had got under his skin, crept into his soul.  Opened my heart. He jumped out of bed and decided he would go and see him. He had a few hours at lunch time when Tia would cover things at the store and as it was Saturday Peter would probably be at home. He needed to try and talk to him, speak up, tell him how he really felt, make him understand.  Show him....tell him...I don't just like him. I love him. Peter had spent the morning thinking about what he was going to say to Wade. He knew he would have to tell him about his double life at some point, but not until he knew for sure that they were serious about one another. He suspected Wade had deeper feelings for him and that made him happy. He wanted to see him and spend time with him. He turned him on, not just his scars and body, but the way he touched Peter, the way he hummed in his ear, his scent, his warmth. Peter needed it all. He felt a pang of guilt about letting Deadpool get his greedy hands on him, but he'd got caught up in the moment and he couldn't deny it had felt amazing, but then when it came down to it the one person in the forefront of his mind was still Wade.  I want his big scarred hands all over me. His body was healing nicely. There were still bruises on his legs, but the blemishes on his back were almost gone and the marks on his face had now faded to a yellowish hue. His ribs still hurt, cracked bones were always slow to mend, but his healing factor was working hard. He could tell his body was in repair mode as he always felt extra hungry. He'd already eaten two lots of breakfast and his belly was rumbling again. Peter looked round at his apartment, it looked messy, he needed to clean up. He'd still not tidied his bed up and he had to do some laundry. First he wanted more food.  Before he had a chance to prepare anything he heard knocking on his door. His belly tightened as the first person he thought of was Wade. He smiled as he saw his face through the spy hole.  Okay handsome, time to talk. "Hey Wade, I'm glad you've come over. I hated how we left things yesterday. I've not stopped thinking about it. You want some coffee?" Peter walked off into the kitchen as Wade hovered near the sofa.  As he stood there he scanned the room. He noticed the table had two empty plates and cutlery, as if two people had eaten breakfast together. He saw towels strewn over the chair and clothes in a heap, it all looked dishevelled, disorganized, like Peter had been preoccupied with something. Someone. Wade felt a stirring in his core, like a wave of anxiety hitting his consciousness. He felt an urge to look in the bedroom, to see if there was any evidence of another person. Of him. Spider-Man. "Wade? You okay? You look a little worried. Please don't feel uncomfortable. I'm so happy to see you, big guy." Peter looked at Wade with a soft expression and stroked his face. He moved in to kiss him, but The Merc stepped back. "Peter...no...I...need... I'm sorry" Wade marched over to the bedroom and flung the door open. The bed looked even messier than the previous day and there were clothes spread all round the room. It wasn't enough. He had got it wrong. "Wade what the hell are you doing? Why are you acting like this?" Peter pushed past him into the room and The Merc saw him kick something aside. He grabbed Peter's arm and moved him out of the way as he saw the one thing he didn't want to uncover. Oh no. Deadpool was right. Spidey's mask lay almost mockingly on the bedroom floor. As Wade looked further he saw half his suit at the end of the bed. It all fell into place. Peter and Spider-Man were an item and worse, his long time hero was clearly beating the shit out of his man. The Merc felt a deep sadness. Here he was about to bear his soul and the two people he had the most admiration for in this world had just stamped on his heart. "Why Peter?" Wade couldn't speak. All he wanted was to tell the younger man how he had fallen in love with him, but now it all felt wrong. He had misread everything. He felt tears forming as he stared at him. "I...I love you...but I can't...not him. He hurt you." Wade turned and ran from the apartment.  "No Wade, please....you've got it all wrong....shit!" Peter ran out the door but The Merc had sprinted down the stairs. He stood there with a horrible sinking feeling in his gut. He'd fucked up, all because he couldn't tell him the truth and now Wade had completely the wrong idea. The last thing he intended was for the big guy to think his hero was some kind of bully. He felt lost. Why is my life so screwed up? Peter shut the door and stood in his living room feeling dazed. His head hurt. His brain was overloaded, exhausted. The trauma of the past few days, dealing with the fires and the excess of emotions brought on by Wade and Deadpool and all the confusion in his mind was too much for the young man. He needed a break, some space to clear his head.  He switched off his phone and the tv, changed his sheets and crawled into bed. He thought some well-earned rest would help him heal quicker and give his mind some peace. He needed to have a serious talk with Wade, explain about his identity and put his mind at ease about his injuries. He didn't want to lose him.  He belongs with me. Hearing The Merc admit his love had come as a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. He liked the way he made him feel, his attentiveness and sensuality. Peter knew for an introverted guy like Wade it couldn't have been easy to say those words. All he wanted was to treat him right, make things better, but first he had to heal himself. Soon my scarred beauty, everything will be okay, I promise.   

The wire bristles and the hot water were starting to chap her hands. They were red and they stung, and she was holding them out of the soapy water, looking at the dry and cracked skin. The water was running down her arm, staining the sleeves of her sweater but her focus was locked. She spread her thumb out and watched the cracks split further and the tiny note of pain that registered. The little vulnerabilities that took her by surprise never ceased. “I’m not the only one you have to fix things with.” Kara froze, the present washing over her once more. She found herself in her kitchen, standing at the sink, the brush squeezed tightly in her grip. Her heart fluttered in her chest and she felt her breathing quicken. Things hadn’t automatically returned to normal when Kara returned to Earth-38. She threw herself back into her life with as much gusto as she could muster, not wanting to let anyone down again. She couldn’t truthfully say things were better, but she was handling them and dealing with them unlike before. She had confronted what she had been running from. There was still a prevailing darkness that seemed to cloud every day, but it was something she took note of and tried to venture through rather than falling into its depths. She forced a smile and turned. “You’re the most important.” “I actually think I might argue with that,” Lena said nonchalantly. Kara blanched, “How could you say that?” Lena eyed her over a coffee cup. “You don’t have to rate your family, Kara.” She dropped the brush into the sink, wiping her soapy hands against her pants. “But you are.” Lena raised an eyebrow and turned her attention to the lit tablet. She seemed unperturbed by the statement that was roiling in Kara’s mind. “Wait, wait, wait,” Kara shook her head, “How could you think that?” “Kara, I have no doubt that you love me.” Lena didn’t look up; it irked her. “It wasn’t supposed to be negative. I’m sorry I said it.” “No, I’m glad to know you don’t think I care about you,” Kara said, falling backward into the counter and gripping the edges. Lena eyed her again. “Okay, that was a bit much,” Kara admitted. “Yes.” “But, I still –“ “You love me and you would be very sad if I wasn’t around –“ “Devastated,” Kara said heavily to make sure Lena understood. Her entire life revolved around the woman sitting in front of her. It still struck her every day that she had a life with the most brilliant, wonderful, beautiful person she had ever met. She felt nauseous whenever she thought about how she had taken it for granted. The fear that that had come with that was overwhelming. Lena nodded. “Devasted.” Kara could tell there was more. She knew what Lena was getting at. It was just different; it wasn’t the same type of fear or devastation. It was life-altering, and a cloud of hopelessness swirled in Kara’s chest at the vague thought of it happening. Whether Kara wanted it to be true, didn’t change the fact that it was true. “But without her?” Kara’s shoulders slumped. “Momma!” They both looked to the doorway into the living room where Ethan stood, Lena’s purse emptied and fitted onto his head like a hat. This was where she was needed, where she was meant to be. Lena took another sip and then stood up to rid their son of their daughter’s antics. As she passed Kara, she gave her a sly look. “Not to mention she’s fucking pissed.”   Kara put it off. Even after Lena had brought it up, she waited. The waiting was only going to make it harder but there was a masochistic intention behind the waiting. She wanted it to be hard; it should be hard. She had been the cause and she earned any punishment that was allotted her. They deserved to be mad and vengeful and hate her and she deserved to sit silently and take it all. Her hands shook against her thighs as the elevator climbed to the higher floors of the DEO. She couldn’t remember the last time she was nervous enough to shake and could only pinpoint her first meeting with Cat Grant. In all of the years since, that could not possibly have been the last time; Alex could be just as terrifying as Ms. Grant. There was so much noise in her head; nothing had quieted since her return from her visit with Iris. It had been much needed for so many reasons, many of which she hadn’t even realized fully until she was there, with the wife of her best friend, a woman she considered one of her closest friends as well and found that they were practically strangers. It was an understatement to say that her unannounced arrival was a surprise to Iris. Kara quite literally bulldozed into the middle of the woman’s life for days. Iris welcomed her, gracious as always, even when she didn’t need to be. They talked about a lot of things and didn’t talk about a lot of other things. It was becoming quite clear that the lack of Barry Allen meant that Iris had been left mostly alone. She didn’t seem to blame anyone which she had every right to, but instead shrugged and said the thing that stunned Kara into silence, “Except for Lena, I guess.” When she finally got control of her vocal cords again a question fell from her mouth, “What?” Iris eyed her as if she wasn’t sure if she should keep going. “Lena. She calls me” – Iris chuckled – “bi-monthly like its scheduled.” Kara had had no idea that Lena had any sort of relationship with Iris. She hadn’t mentioned it, not even when Kara had said she was going to visit. “I’m sorry, Iris.” “That your wife is calling me?” Iris asked with amusement. “No,” Kara shook her head, “that I haven’t.” Iris smiled, knowing. “I knew what I was signing up for when I let Barry Allen put a ring on my finger. As did Lena when she married you. We are the wives of superheroes; that comes with sacrifice. It’s like a little club for two.” She added quickly, “With Felicity as an honorary member.” Kara had never really thought about it like that. Lena had always been so intricately involved in her life. They had met because of Supergirl, and she was always right there by her side, every step of the way. Yet, she was a civilian. That’s how she was classified by the DEO; it couldn’t be any clearer. No matter how much they were involved, Iris and Lena were separate from the world that the people surrounding them lived in. “Still…” Kara didn’t know how to finish. “No matter how much we all want to be together, everyone has their own jobs. Literally world saving jobs. And now, everyone has their own families and that’s priority, as it should be.” Iris set her hand on Kara’s arm. “It was completely different a decade ago. And no matter how much we might have wanted it to, it was never going to stay that way.” Iris had seemed so calm the entire time Kara was there. She couldn’t tell if it was a front or simply how Iris was. But she could see the little cracks. The sadness, grief, loneliness. And there was absolutely nothing Kara could do to fix it for her. The reason she had come to see Iris in the first place seemed so drastically egocentric compared to what the smiling woman in front of her was experiencing that Kara couldn’t even bring herself to speak about it. Iris didn’t need someone else to set their burden on her when she was already carrying her entire world alone. Kara couldn’t be another link in the chain dragging her down. She had been the weight in everyone’s lives for so long she didn’t even recognize herself. She was the light and the hope, that’s what everyone had called her for years. That’s what she needed to be. But it was hard when the shadows lurked and threatened to resurface if she were ever to become unguarded. “Kara?” Winn looked up flabbergasted as she cautiously entered the command center. She smiled sheepishly, “Hey, Winn.” “What are you doing here? Did you tell J’onn –“ “He knows.” Kara was certain he clocked her as soon as she set foot on the street below. “Right,” Winn nodded. “Winn, can you get me that -” Alex had been looking down, scrolling across a screen upon entering the room and froze when she addressed Winn and her eyes landed on Kara. Winn turned himself around in his chair with wide eyes. The keys of the keyboard started clicking throughout the quiet space. Alex set the tablet down on the desk, said, “Training rooms,” and turned on her heel back the way she had come.  Kara clutched the strap of her bag and hurried across the room, following her sister’s lead. The door slammed shut just as she reached it and she pulled it open, her shoes clanging against the iron stairs that lead into the cement room. The windows at the top of the walls let in the receding evening sunlight. Alex stood in the middle of the room, hands on her hips, waiting. Her face indiscernible, her lips thin, her jaw clenched. Alex gestured at her. “Jacket off. Let’s go.” “Uh…” Alex motioned again, getting into a ready stance. Kara dropped her bag and jacket on the floor. “Ger rid of the shoes too.” She kicked off her flats obediently, the cement cold against her bare feet. “Plant your feet.” Kara didn’t even have a moment to register the attack as Alex lunged forward, her foot sweeping out and cracking Kara in the knee. She cried out and fell to the side. Alex reached out a hand to help her up. “Anticipate.” Kara pushed her hand away and stood up of her own accord. “You didn’t even give me a chance.” Alex ignored her, ready to go again, her knees bent slightly, her hands up to protect her face. “Let’s go.” “You know I’m not here to train.” Alex’s eyes flickered to her bare feet, but she shook her head. “Come on.” Kara didn’t know what tactic was better: to put in some effort or to completely let Alex overtake her. The latter would happen no matter what she chose; her sister had always been a much better tactical fighter. She reached her arms up so that her shirt came untucked from her pants, allowing her arms more movement. Kara’s attempt to punch Alex in the nose pathetically failed as her sister easily sidestepped, parry her arm and then twisted it behind her back. Alex’s voice was clear in her ear. “Not good.” She pushed Kara away, who stumbled slightly, catching herself. “I’d rather talk than fight.” “You lost the right to pick the terms when you shut me out. Again.” Kara lunged, able to block one attack, before she saw Alex’s knuckles coming right for her face. There wasn’t anything she could except close her eyes and wait for the pain, the blood to run down her nose, and the stars to alight behind her eyes. All of a sudden, the entire left side of her face stung, and her head whipped to the right. She gasped and clutched at her cheek. “What the hell Alex?” “J’onn would be mad if I broke your jaw.” Kara opened and closed her mouth, stretching the skin, hoping to relieve some of the smarting. She glared at her sister, imagining the hand sized red mark that she knew was blossoming on her skin. “So, did slapping me make you feel better?” “I don’t want to break your jaw, Kara,” Alex said, exasperated. “But you shut your eyes so of course you were going to get hit.” “I was going to get hit anyway.” Alex turned her back and strode over to the screen on the wall, her fingers dancing over the surface. “Are we done training?” “I have to finish what I was doing before you showed up. This is my job.” Kara didn’t know if that was a yes or no, but her sister currently wasn’t trying to bludgeon her so she untensed. “Just so we’re clear, I’m not Lena. I don’t forgive you. I will not be forgiving you. But I will accept your apology when you give it to me.” Kara sighed. “I’m sorry.”  “Weak.” “Alex –“ “No.” Kara’s mouth snapped shut again. “That can’t be it. You can’t just decide that I matter to you again.” “You’ve always mattered.” Alex twisted on the spot, her eyes hard, the corners of her lips pulled down. “You have a great way of showing it.” “I’ve been –“ “Yeah, Kara, we all have.” “No,” Kara was shaking her head, adamantly, “You don’t –“ Alex let out a humorless laugh. “My literal job description is to protect the DEO’s main asset, which is you. Every. Single. Day. You deserted and I was here. I was here working on finding a solution so that Supergirl could get back to doing her job. Every. Single. Day. From the moment I step into the DEO to the middle of the night when I wake up thinking about it, I have been trying to figure it out. Not once did you offer assistance.” Alex threw her arms out wide, “All of this is about you, Kara!” It all boiled down to selfishness like it always had. Alex’s head fell into her hands, fingers rubbing at her temples. “We’ve all been working around the clock for you. And you don’t even give us the time of day. So yeah, I guess I slapped you because this whole time has been a massive slap in the face to us and you need a fucking wake up call. “You know what this feels like,” Alex added. She gritted her teeth, her jaw clenched hard together. “You abandoned me and made me feel like I was worthless.  And I’m not sure,” Alex’s voice broke but she ignored it, so Kara did too, “I’m not sure you realize how much I need you. We both know that you need me, that’s obvious. But I need you too. I always have. And then you go, and you desert me like nothing. I really didn’t think, out of everyone, that you were capable of that.” Kara wished she had stood in front of the mirror and rehearsed some long, impassioned speech. But she didn’t have anything to say in her defense, or anything that would make it better. She wished she could’ve taken back all the hurt she caused Alex throughout their lives, all of the pain her sister endured for her to be where she was. But they both knew that was impossible and she also knew Alex wouldn’t ask her to, that she wasn’t holding any of it against Kara. It was just a part of life she had accepted but that Kara couldn’t swallow. Alex looked away and wiped at her nose. “You can go now.” Kara didn’t even think about it. She looked down at her feet, wiggling her toes against the floor. “I’ve lost track of how long I’ve spent watching my life pass by. Not really looking at it; not really living it.” “What did I just say?” Kara clenched her fist. “Alex, I could die.” “We could all die,” Alex parried. “Yeah, yeah,” Kara quickly agreed, “but I mean, in forty years, I could die in my sleep one night. Gray hair and all.” “I hope that’s not how I go,” Alex said brusquely. “That’s never been a possibility for me.” Alex’s eyes darted up to Kara’s with apprehension. They all forgot. Kara too. “For a year I have grieved the loss of something that was a huge part of who I am. And in that year my kids have grown a year older, as have you and Lena and everyone. And for the first time, I have too.” “Your crinkle does look more deep set.” The failed attempt at levity hung heavy. “I know that the only solution is for me to get my powers back. I have to. I have to because I don’t feel like me without them. National City needs Supergirl. I want to be her. But it also means that as soon as I do, I know my future. It’s set in stone.” “Kara,” Alex’s head shook slightly, “we don’t know. We can’t know.” They all knew. “I have taken every person in my life for granted because I know they love me. At my worst. I treated you like shit but when I came knocking, you didn’t hesitate. None of you would because we’re family. And I’ve lived as if that was a supposed, unchangeable truth. But one day, there won’t be anyone left to answer.” An empty pit had taken up permanent residence next to her heart and it was filled with a tunnel of hopelessness that had no light at the end. She was breathing fine, but it felt like she couldn’t take in enough air. She bit at her lip, trying to staunch the tears she hadn’t yet let see the light of day. “The inevitability of my life is that one day, I lose everything. Again.” She couldn’t help the short, cynical laugh that erupted. “And because it all seemed so permanent, us in each other’s lives, I made choices that almost resulted in me losing you before our time was up.” The longevity of her life had never been something that bothered Kara. It was always there, a fact that existed in space but never grounded in how she lived and behaved. Everyone knew in theory, but for some reason, when it came to Kara, no one ever spoke about it. They talked and joked about her invulnerability, but they stopped short at her lack of mortality. “Alex,” she shook her head and her lip quivered, “I am so sorry. I am so sorry for pushing you away. For pretending like none of this affected anyone else except me.” Tears spilled. “I can’t lose you. I am so sorry for doing the thing to you that I’ve always feared the most.” Alex charged forward, wrapping her arms around Kara who’s tears immediately dampened the shoulder of her sister’s shirt. “You didn’t lose me.” “But one day I will.” Alex stepped back, holding Kara’s face in between her hands. Kara was sniffling at the onslaught of tears and a few streaks even ran down Alex’s cheeks. The sisters looked each other in the eye, neither knowing what to say. There wasn’t anything to say; the truth they had ignored for years was laid out in front of them. “And I almost did.” They clung to each other desperately. Alex leaned in and kissed Kara’s forehead. “You weren’t even close.”   Lena breathed. And she fell onto the couch. Streaky jumped up immediately, curling against her leg and letting Lena mindlessly pet her. She hadn’t breathed for so long. First Kara had disappeared and there was no finding stillness in that. Then, she came back, and Lena felt suffocated. It had been the first time in a long time that she gave Ethan a bath or kissed her kids as she put them to bed. Kara had taken over everything, even the things they should have been doing together. Lena wasn’t allowed to lift a finger. Kara was home all the time; she made a point to be. At first it had been nice to know she was making an effort to make up for her previous non-existence, but Lena had expected things to go back to normal at some point. But they didn’t and Lena thought she was going to go crazy. It felt like they were on a regiment from which Kara offered no leniency. And she was hesitant to put an end to it, but it was starting to bog her down. The memory of Kara leaving wasn’t a good one, but Lena didn’t need it gone, she just needed Kara to be present. She just needed a second to herself to breathe. Kara was up before Lena to start the coffee and feed Ethan. She prepped Lori’s lunch and double checked that her bookbag was fully packed for the day. She would fit in a short walk with Krypto before the sun came up or let him run out in the backyard. She corralled the kids into the car, sometimes dropping Lena at work, sometimes giving her a kiss as she rushed out the front door, always slightly harried. Then, she was home in the evening, leaving the office as soon as her eight hours were up, grabbed Lori from school, and took the reins. She started Lorelai on her homework, put dinner in the oven, and had a glass of wine poured and waiting for whenever Lena walked through the front door. She cleaned up. She ran the bath for the kids. She took Krypto out after dark, sometimes with Streaky trailing behind. And she pulled Lena away from her after hour work, which she was only doing in the first place because there was nothing left for her to take care of at home, wrapping her arms around her wife, leaving kisses all over her face, and then spooning her as she felt asleep. What began as an apology turned quickly into overbearingness when Kara didn’t relent. It wasn’t helpful for either of them. Kara might’ve stayed in bed next to her all night, but Lena knew she wasn’t sleeping.   She blinked her eyes at the red 2:00 on the clock next to the bed. She rolled over into Kara’s prone body. Lena looked at her. She was on her back, staring up at the ceiling, one arm slung above her head. Lena didn’t know when she had returned but it was after she had fallen asleep; she took that as a sign that Alex hadn’t shut her out. Lena didn’t break the nighttime silence immediately. Instead, she laid her hand over Kara’s stomach - which had once been hard as steel, rippling with muscle, but had recently begun to soften - and drew slow circles. One of Kara’s hands found its way to her hair, gently stroking. “Kara,” she began.” “I know.” Lena huffed and continued. “How was Alex?” “Oh,” Kara replied, having not known. “Pissed but better.” “You were there for a while.” They had left the DEO and walked the city, arm in arm, not really talking. She could feel Alex bristle at the closeness she hadn’t allowed for months but with each step she seemed to warm to Kara once more. There was no getting around it; Kara had destroyed part of her relationship with everyone she called family and it was going to take more than one conversation to try and rebuild that. But she’d already made the choice to try. “I’m sorry, I should’ve –“ “No, it’s a good thing.” “Oh.” “It is.” Lena pushed herself up a little bit so she could look at Kara. “All better?” “In a way,” Kara whispered. Lena couldn’t imagine a world in which Alex never came around. The Danvers sisters were such an inescapable force that it felt like the structure of the universe would break apart if they ever split. “Well, she is Alex.” Kara nodded, her gaze still on the ceiling. “This time it’s me.” Kara turned to look at her. She looked exhausted, a hint of fear in her eyes. Lena reached out and caressed her cheek. “You don’t have to do all of this.” “I do.” “No, Kara, we should be doing this together.” “I can only say sorry so many times.” Lena smiled softly. “I’m not asking for a perpetual apology.” Kara shifted and they ended up lying facing one another. “I will feel like I have to fix this for the rest of your life.” There was a macabre tone behind words that didn’t seem to fit together. Lena’s forehead scrunched up. “What does that mean?” “I - ” Kara sighed deeply, “Nothing.” Lena shook her head. “That’s guilt on both of us.” Kara tucked some hair behind Lena’s ear. Lena grabbed her hand, entwining it with her own and laying them between their chests. “This is what’s important. We’re together. You came back.” “I need you to know that I wasn’t leaving you.” “But you still left.” It had taken Lena by surprise, the words falling from her mouth. She had become so used to people leaving until Kara changed that. She hadn’t realized that it was a still a concern, a worry, especially when the one person who had promised never to, had reneged on that promise. Kara squeezed her hand. “You may not believe me anymore, I wouldn’t blame you, but I’m always going to be with you.” It was a little hard for Lena to swallow, even though she knew what Kara mean. But, it was hard to completely disbelieve when she saw how imploring Kara’s eyes were, the sincerity within them and the shared fear of losing each other. “Slow down,” was the only thing Lena could think of to say. “I can’t.” “You have to. For everyone’s sake.” “Lena, if I slow down, if I stop… It’s still there. I feel it every single moment of the day. I feel it creeping back. I don’t want to fall again.” Lena paused, her mind racing for answers. “Maybe you should see someone.” “I’ve thought about it,” Kara admitted. “But it’s not an option when the reason for it, is exactly what I have to keep secret.” “It’s not fair.” “One day.” “One day what?” “I won’t hide it anymore.” Lena brought their hands to her lips, leaving a kiss on Kara’s knuckles. “I’ve got you.” Kara leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Because you’re the strongest of us all.”

  Peter wasn’t sure how he ended up wrapped in baby blue robes with delicate golden blossom designs, but somehow he had. It made him stand out like an oriental doll. He was thankful that Norman hadn’t demanded full-length ones though. These just grazed the back of his calves as he walked arm in arm with his alpha up the steps to the town hall. “I wouldn’t worry about anyone here, Pete.” Norman smiled and kept his eyes fixed on the open front door. It was lit up and the gentle sound of string instruments drifted from the lobby. “No one would dare touch you.” And they wouldn’t. Any omega here- and Norman knew there would be a few- would clearly already be owned. Peter exhaled and turned his head to look up at the man. He was planning on sticking close to his side anyway. Attending a large event so soon unnerved him. It was only their first week together. As they reached the entrance he noticed how another suited alpha stopped dead in his conversation to gawk at him. He gave the man a polite smile and let himself be escorted inside. His eyes wandered across the open hall, scanning over the formally dressed guests, over the orchestra, over the gold-plated bar. The side doors were open and led out onto the back of the property. Peter had only seen it from the skyline, but he knew that the lush garden was well-kept and beautiful. It was something that only the royalty of New York got to see. Norman reached into his pocket and held out a card. Peter took it and inspected it quickly. He felt his throat go dry. It was a credit card. With his name on. “I’ll be putting your allowance on that weekly. You’re free to spend the million I’ve already given you of course, but I think it would be nice to continue to treat you.” The alpha paused, looking around the lobby. “It might teach you how to manage your money… which I understand the working class needs a good lesson in.” Peter raised an eyebrow as the bold assumption sank in. Annoyance twisted in his gut. The reason he didn’t have money was because only a couple of months ago he’d been a literal high school student. Sure, he’d had a couple of jobs but they’d barely paid for the necessities. His Aunt had been scraping the rent together and she’d been struggling since Ben’s death. It was hardly a case of money management but more of circumstance. Peter bit back his sharp response, telling himself that someone as wealthy as Norman Osborn just couldn’t understand or relate to their struggles. “Thank you.” “You can go shopping… or to the spa with your friends… or maybe…” The alpha’s head twisted around, clearly done with the conversation. Peter realized that he was searching for someone. “I told Harry to be here tonight. He better not have bailed on me again.” Peter shifted from one foot to the other and bit his lip. He scanned the room too trying to find the boy with slicked-back dark waves. The leathery scent was filling his nose again; a ghostly reminder of the effect that Harry had had on him the other day. He hadn’t seen him since. “Maybe you should call him.” “Good idea.” Norman fumbled for his phone and at the same time awkwardly handed his omega another payment card- his own. “You go and get the drinks. I’ll have an Old Fashioned. Large.” Alcohol. Great. Peter stalled, not sure if Norman had already forgotten his age, or if he just didn’t care. “But Norman, they won’t serve me-” “They will.” He cut Peter off and a smile twisted onto his face. He looked at the boy as though he was the stupidest creature on earth. “Just flutter your pretty little eyelashes and tell them who your alpha is if they dare ask. No one argues with an Osborn.” Peter took the card and swallowed. “Order yourself something fruity too.” The boy nodded mechanically and turned to walk towards the bar, squeezing the card between his fingers. He’d drunk before. The first time had been at MJ’s house pre-spider bite. They’d raided her stepfather’s liquor cabinet for ‘taste-testing’ and had both agreed that it was all awful. The second time had been with Wade. Not wanting to give his age away Peter had accepted a beer and had reluctantly swallowed the bitter drink. That had been the first and only time he’d accepted going into the merc’s apartment. Wade, as kind as he was, had been a little pushy. He’d probably thought it as a bonding activity and the cheesy rom-com musical that he’d put on was enough to give Peter a sign that he should be leaving. His swing had felt a little wobbly on the way home. That had been the night that he’d realized that Wade’s feelings for him ran deeper than playful flirting.   -   The bartender stared Peter down as he approached. “Hey. So my alpha says he wants something called an Old Fashioned- but make it really large.” The boy bit his lip, wondering if he should just order a coke. Norman probably wouldn’t like that. He wanted him to try to fit in. “And that I should get something fruity.” The bartender huffed in amusement and reached to grab a large whisky glass. He pulled a bottle of bourbon off the back wall. Peter's eyes locked onto it, remembering the bottle that Harry had sat with at their breakfast together. It seemed that father and son had similar tastes. “Okay ‘baby.’ What cocktails do you like?” The man smirked to himself and Peter realized that he was mocking him. Perhaps it wasn’t mean. It sounded like teasing but he felt ruffled by it anyway. “How about a Blue Lagoon to match those pretty robes?” “Um… yeah… sure.” He observed the bartender as he poured an ungodly amount of vodka with the rest of the mix before serving it into a highball glass. The shaved ice dusted the top like froth merging from the sea. “Let me guess… you’re Osborn’s new boy?” He wedged a slice of orange onto the side of the glass. “Yeah, I am.” A strange tension prickled at Peter’s neck. The stranger had hooked him with that sentence alone. He had a knowing smile on his face; a hint of a secret that Peter didn’t know and was afraid to ask.  “Just… watch yourself around him. I’ve heard he’s not as nice as he makes himself out to be. Especially towards his omegas.” Peter turned his head to search the crowd for Norman again. The man was still standing near the entrance. A volatile scowl scrunched at his face and he gestured angrily with his free hand as he shouted down the phone. It seemed like Harry was getting a mouthful. The omega turned his attention back to the bar. “Thanks… but so far he’s been really sweet to me.” Peter wouldn’t be naive to completely ignore the warning though. He thought back to how nasty Norman had been toward the omega he’d given the boot. “Oh, darling.” The man shook his head. “They always are at first.” He dropped a pink umbrella and straw into the glass and offered Peter the card machine without question.   -   “Ah. There you are. No problems I hope?” Norman beckoned Peter as he approached with the drinks. He stole the fancy-looking whiskey from him without wasting a second and brought it to his lips. Peter eyed the strange Asian man who was now standing with his alpha. He was dressed in a black suit and looked at least a decade younger. “No problems, no.” He forced a smile and quickly, not wanting to appear rude, greeted the newcomer. “Hi.” “Hello.” The man gave him a suave smile. “You won’t remember me but I placed a bid on you back at the auction house… but unfortunately there’s no competing with Norman or Stark when it comes to fresh omegas.” He joked jubilantly, sounding unoffended by Norman’s success. “Maybe I’ll get you next time.” Norman snorted. “If he continues to be the angel that he has been since he got here, you won’t be getting him at all.” Peter fiddled with his straw and then gave it a gentle suck, tasting the blue drink for the first time. It was good. Better than anything he’d tried before. Maybe he really would need alcohol if he were to continue kissing his alpha’s ass all night. He reached out to take Norman’s arm, knowing that he would like that. “That’s really nice of you, Sir… but I really like Norman… and if he offers me a second term I might have to consider it.” He hugged him closer and felt a wave of relief when Norman turned his head to fondly kiss his hair. The Asian man’s eyes darkened and his whole pleasant demeanor dropped at the sweet sight in front of him. Then he was laughing again. Peter felt his neck tingle and he looked around, searching for the invisible threat. Nothing. The maniacal chuckle just rang in his ears. “I wonder if your omega will be considered one of your ‘assets’ when I sue you? Who knows, I might get him along with your billions after what you did to me.” The man turned, and without even looking back, stormed out of the building. A rumble of thunder crashed overhead, deafening the music.   -   “I wouldn’t worry about Martin Li, Pete.” Norman settled into a plush couch in the corner of the room. The ice in his glass clattered and he rolled his eyes to himself. “He’s under the impression that Oscorp did something to him years ago. He’s a fucking loon.” Peter sank down next to his alpha and clasped his drink in both hands. Oscorp had done something to him too. He’d interned there on and off over the years. That’s how he’d gotten the damn spider bite. It wasn’t impossible that this strange man had been affected by them too. Norman fumbled in his pocket for something and then sidled closer, his hand hovering close to Peter’s drink, then he was waving at the door. “Oh good. Harry is here. Finally.”   Peter turned his attention away from Norman and his drink and instead swizzled his head to look at the entrance. “What the hell is he wearing!?” The man cursed and pulled himself to his feet. His face was red and his gaze steely as he observed his son’s attire. The older boy waved to a couple of people he recognized before heading over to greet them. “Evening, Father.” A smirk tugged at his lips as he took a seat in the adjacent armchair. “Thought I’d stop by before I go to a real party. It’s the weekend after all.” Long gone was the dark suit that he’d been wearing to intimidate Peter the other morning. He lounged in the chair, looking reminiscent of James Dean. His leather jacket hung open and his casual white t-shirt hugged his frame. Peter’s eyes scanned over him and he shifted in his seat and crossed his legs. Suddenly, he felt like the soft silk garments he was wearing were far too thin. Harry caught his gaze and raised his eyebrows. “You look nice today, Peter Parker. Very spruced up.” Norman’s jaw clenched at his cheekiness and swagger. “You’ve been drinking again.” “I actually haven’t tonight. I came on the bike and I intend to leave on it too.” Harry glanced at the blue concoction in Peter’s hand and flicked his eyes back to his father. “And you can hardly chastise me for it when you’re buying your sugar baby booze. Isn’t he younger than me?” The omega glanced down at his drink and stirred it with his straw. The strange powder that had been sprinkled on top mixed in with the ice and he took another unaware suck. “You come here dressed like a brat for all my acquaintances to see. Then you take off again to get drunk and high. If this continues, Harry, then I really will be forcing you into rehab again.” Norman placed his hands on his hips, looking like a schoolteacher who was giving a lecture. People were already starting to glance over thanks to his aggressive-sounding voice. “I’m not doing drugs, dad.” “Well you’re not doing anything constructive either, are you!?” The older alpha snapped. “I need a son that will step up. I need you to commit to learning how our business works! I need you to stop acting the fool all the damn time!” Peter had drained most of his drink. He didn’t know where else to put his face during this squabble, which was quickly becoming more and more heated. A low rumble echoed from Harry’s throat and he recognized it as a challenging growl. He was thinking about scrapping with his own father. Right here. Right now. He was out of control. “I’m going to go to the restroom!” The omega shot up, purposefully getting in between the two alphas to break their line of sight on each other. He’d prevented fights as Spider-Man. He’d even managed to break a few up. As he stepped forward, he suddenly felt dizzy. Harry seemed to calm instantly as his attention was snapped away. He watched as Peter swayed a little and reached out to offer his arm, thinking the other was going to trip. His eyes settled on the almost empty glass in his hand and plucked it from him and placed it down on the coffee table. The stuff they served here was strong and Peter clearly wasn’t a drinker. “Woah, careful Pete.” His smirk was back. “Harry? Why don’t you come with me?” Peter suggested, taking his arm. He was still trying to make the situation better. If he could get him away from Norman for a while it might calm them both down. “I don’t like going on my own.” Harry raised his eyebrow at his seemingly tipsy state. Okay. He’d bite. Only because he knew it would piss Norman off more than anything else right now. He turned to look at the older alpha and gave a little shrug. “Guess I'm taking Peter to the restroom." He paused and then landed the final blow. "You know, it’s a sad day when your omega likes me more than you.” Harry gave his father a cheeky wink before leading Peter across the hall by the arm, taking care to swerve him out of the way of upper-class socialites.      

‘Rich Lan-gege.’ That title. It means something. Something important. ‘You don’t look good.’ A small voice; an obvious realisation spoken aloud. Lan Wangji indeed doesn’t feel good. His limbs are heavy, his mind is hazy and his back… He grits his teeth, exhausted, and pushes through the pain. There is someone standing just next to his bed; a small person. He blinks, trying to clear his vision. ‘Oh,’ gasps the child. ‘Awake?’ Yes, he thinks, but doesn’t think he can say it out loud. He blinks again and focuses on the child, suddenly remembering that sunny day in Yiling, a chubby face of the child… Of the child… ‘Don’t worry,’ he mumbles with difficulty. And then, because he can’t think of anything else and he sees the distress clearly on the boy's face… ‘Don’t worry.’ The boy grasps the paper butterfly in his hands tightly. Lan Wangji blinks and focuses on it. It’s the toy he bought, was it right?... Wei Ying. The mental pain associated with this thought is so severe he loses his breath, winces, greets his teeth at an answering pain from his back. He can see his hands shaking on the ragged, grey blanket under him. It’s suddenly too much and so, so not enough. Wei Ying. Pictures of Wei Ying’s demise, the body laying on the ground, blood on the stone, smell of death, it all attacks him at once. He sobs because he can’t help it; he hides his face in the pillow, for a moment forgetting where he is and what he's doing, guilt flooding every part of his being… ‘Rich Lan-gege?’ There is a hand on his hand. He stops shaking, breaths slowly, painfully. Someone pushes something into his hand. ‘Take it,’ when he raises his head, A-Yuan – because that was the boy’s name, wasn’t it? – A-Yuan puts the butterfly in his hand. ‘For stren-strength. Grandma says it helps. So it must help. Should I go for help? They can make the hurt go away.’ Lan Wangji looks at this child, this small, innocent child trying so desperately to make it easier for him. He looks at the child - concerned, but safe - and forces himself to think about it. Wens are alive. Somehow, before dying, Wei Ying helped them; saved them. Wei Ying didn’t lose his mind and hasn’t killed them. He saved them. The realisation is both painful and makes him feel so much better at the same time. There are too many emotions in his mind already; his core is flickering deep inside him, a wounded, weak thing and he freezes in shock. When has it become so bad? He doesn’t remember it at all. A-Yuan visibly takes his silence as a confirmation. He turns to go to the door that Lan Wangji just spotted nearby; he thinks, suddenly, that it’s not enough. ‘A-Yuan.’ The boy stops and turns again, smiling and fidgeting. Lan Wangji forces his face to become a little more soft. The similarity between boy’s movements and Wei Ying mannerism are all too evident. ‘You are a good child. I will hold on to this…’ he raises the grass butterfly slightly, ‘and give it back to you when I am better?’ It’s hard to talk, but it is worth it when A-Yuan beams at him and looks at the toy in his hand. Then he nods, saying loudly and decisively: ‘Yhm!’ Lan Wangji lays down in the small, dark cabin in an unknown place, weak and vulnerable, but he can hold the grass butterfly in his hand and for a second, the world is not as dark. *** That’s the day. That must be the day. Wei Wuxian trashes on his small bed, trying to do anything, to escape, but chains hold tight. He screams, but it is a ragged, silent thing. He screams too much recently. His throat is raw from screaming; everything tastes like blood. His mind is hazy when someone takes his arm and says something. There is ringing in his ears and the more than familiar pain in his head; it is nothing, though, against the pain in his body. He thought he could take the pain. Yes, ache and scream, but take it. What Jin Guangyao decided to do was way worse. He didn’t stop with the traditional torture – which was, yeah, not the best, but still just the pain. No, he did something much more terrifying, at least for him. ‘Rude!’ he tries to silently scream when he manages to breathe again, small, painful gasps of air. Because it is rude to use his own tool against him. He is the master; no one else should use resentful energy on him. Yet they do. The funny thing is the resentment was reluctant to respond to them. If he was a tiny bit stronger, not starved and exhausted, he could probably just take it for himself. The resentment was eager to go to him, to serve him… … And that is exactly his doom. He screams again, letting it end with a sob. He has no shame here, in this small and damp cell somewhere underground. Yes, he has a history of lying and pretending to be better, of being tough on the surface. But it was only when he was working with somebody, for somebody, when he was protecting. Here, he is alone. There is no one to silently cry because of his pain. He doesn’t care for Jin Guangyao or his pals. Screaming helps. So he screams, sobs, even begs from time to time. He doesn’t care. He has nothing to prove. Deep, deep down he dreams of a reprieve; of death, cold and calm, but then he remembers where he is and what he is experiencing. He is being tortured with resentful energy, by resentful energy, laying in front of two people who were not only able to make him such a mess, but also sacrificed a few people to get him there. If they were willing to go that far, there was more, a lot more to unravel and the danger of it slips to Wei Wuxian’s bones. Yes, he will be dead; he is dead to the world already. It should not matter that he will leave this information behind. But somewhere there, married into the same sect that right now forces his wounds open again and again, was his beloved sister. Somewhere there is his brother, probably sitting and looking at lotus lake and trying to work it all out. Somewhere there is Lan Zhan, hurt because of him, whose sect was the righteous of them all. This knowledge could be used against them all. Resentful energy, curses, talismans. And so, he endures. What they settled with – what Jun Guangyao came up with when using the resentful energy on him directly didn’t exactly work – was to let him take it. Take a bit of it, a tiny piece of it – a bit that, against his own will, started working to cover his injuries. It hurts. It always hurts. It was relatively easy to endure it for a moment (later they ached all the time, but it was nowhere the pain of them closing). It became much more difficult when his captors decided to take it from him, to make the pain worse… and then repeat it. Multiple times. Great. He feels like ants were crawling under his skin; he is in too bad of a shape, he is completely useless. His mind wanders and even when someone orders him to look it is hard to gather thoughts. To look, to… ‘I know you can hear me. A question. When did you create the Stygian Tiger Seal?’ Easy, he thinks. In Burial Mounds. He must have said that much, because Jin Guangyao nods his head. ‘Was it hard?’ He thinks he is getting easy questions first. It’s almost like having fun. Yes, it was hard. And painful. Everything was hard and painful then. ‘Did you need to lose something to create it?’ What a weird, weird question. Lose something? Yes, he lost many things in his life, but… No. No, no, no. It is that question that manages to wake him. He gathers his resolve, grits his teeth and looks straight into Jin Guangyao’s face. ‘No,’ he answers. ‘Sorry, Jin Guangyao. To share this experience you would need to court me properly; it’s not enough to tie me to the bed.’ It is a few hours later when he breathes, deep and steady, trying to stop the room from spinning. He closes and opens his palms, determined. Today was scary, well too scary for his comfort. He needed to do something. He needed to do anything. And he was ready. Tortures provided him with a perfect amount of resentment to add to his small resources. It should be enough. It is, then, the day. He raises his finger and starts drawing. *** ‘I am sorry, Lan Wangji; we can’t let you see the actual place until we trust you.’ ‘Mhm.’ ‘Are you sure you are okay with that?’ ‘Mhm.’ He sits on the bed, blindfolded. His bed is a sturdy, but pleasant thing. He quite likes the roughness of his blankets, even if he can’t use them. His back is still healing; still bleeding quite badly and taking all his strength from him. She asks this question every day. They take good care of him, even if after this first confrontation with A-Yuan they don't let him see where he is. He knows he is in the cabin, but he knows nothing more. He doesn’t insist on knowing. He doesn’t oppose them. The best he could do for them was to trust them and let them do what they wanted to do. They, as he realises after some time, have saved his life. ‘We are not keeping you captive here. If you like to go, you can.’ They say it a lot, too. He nods again, trembling from a strain of sitting perfectly straight, fingers digging into the material of his tights. Someone takes his hand and he winces – the hand grabbing him disappears. ‘You should not grab him like that when he can’t see it, A-Yuan,’ gently scolds Wen Qing. ‘You should ask him for permission.’ ‘Yhm!’ Lan Wangji learnt to recognise and like this small, eager sound; the one that meant A-Yuan is going to do his best. He reaches to the side and raises a butterfly in his hand. ‘Not a problem, A-Yuan,’ he says quietly and softly. ‘Thanks for this.’ He can say A-Yuan smiles – he doesn’t know how, he just knows it. He tries to smile too, a weak, fragile thing, just as his whole being. He hears Wen Qing sighing and moving. ‘Leave us alone, will you, A-Yuan?’ she asks. ‘Your rich Lan-gege needs to have his bandages checked. Go find your grandma, okay?’ ‘Yes!’ He shakes more and more, but doesn’t change his position until Wen Qing comes to him and helps him to lay back on the bed. He feels her exposing his back – although the feeling was very uncomfortable after he regained consciousness, he got used to it. ‘Ah, Lan Wangji, Lan Wangji,’ she mutters. ‘What will we do with you…’ There is playfulness in her voice, though. She has a scent of resentful energy on herself, but not much, when she touches his skin. She is not using it on him, but doing – something, something else. ‘Could I…’ ‘Yes?’ She is attentive, that much is sure. He swallows. ‘Ask, what you…’ ‘Sure. I am making sure you’re not Qi-deviating, basically,’ she answers. ‘And that there is no infection in those wounds of yours. And that they are healing properly.’ ‘The resentful energy?’ She scolds, he is sure of it. ‘I am not using it on you,’ she answers. ‘Actually, I am not using it at all right now. Don’t worry, I am free of it. I just… helped someone… find something.’ ‘Find something.’ ‘I have this ability,’ Wen Qing is surprisingly talkative today. ‘To… feel the connection between things. That’s how I found you. That’s how I found Uncle Four’s lost comb.’ Lan Wangji thinks about it, sleepy and exhausted. Ability. Wen Qing was truly a demonic cultivator. He finds out he doesn’t really care. ‘Why did you help me?’ The silence suddenly becomes uncomfortable, a heavy, dark thing between them. Wen Qing falters. ‘I would not abandon you in time of need, Hanguang-jun,’ she says sternly. ‘You needed help. I provided it.’ ‘I could… I still can… Ruin you all.’ Wen Qing swallows. ‘I could, and still can, let you die,’ she answers. ‘We all make our choices.’ There is a loud intake of breath. ‘He… He was all about helping people. Yes, we went into hiding, but we still want to help. We do help now, fight with monsters and corpses around nearby towns when no one is looking. We want to contribute, you know? And you… You not only helped us in the past. You were dear to him. It… it makes me feel you won’t betray us.’ Lan Wangji stills. He feels his breath catching. Wen Qing grabs his hand and squeezes it. ‘It’s okay,’ she whispers. ‘If you are to go on, you need to live through it all. It’s normal, Lan Wangji. You will feel emotions, strong, nasty emotions. But we’ll live through it, okay? Together, for now, even if not in the most comfortable way.’ Lan Wangji tries to concentrate on his breathing. ‘I will not,’ he cracks weakly. ‘You will not… what?’ ‘I would never expose you.’ He suddenly feels it’s very important. ‘I know I swore. But it’s not because of that. It’s… Well…I would never expose you. You don’t need to fear me.’ He grabs his grass butterfly tighter. ‘I am glad, Hanguang-jun.’ There is a smile in Wen Qing’s voice. ‘Rest. We want you to get better as soon as possible, right?’ Yes. Hanguang-jun didn’t care fot ir earlier; he didn’t want to get better. There was no reason for him to get better. But with Wens who probably needed all the help they could get, who surely could use the help of a strong cultivator, even if blindfolded… He wants them to trust him. It’s a funny, small thing. Strange, as the world without Wei Ying always is. He feels tears in his eyes and even lets them flow; maybe for the first time in his life he realises he may need them and they may have a purpose. He knows Wen Qing is there until he falls asleep, making sure he is comfortable. *** ‘One… Two… Three…’ Wei Wuxian greets his teeth and tries again. The array is much more difficult to deal with than he initially supposed; it turns out to be written with much care and consideration. He sees a hint there – a hint of demonic cultivation magic he doesn’t know. A piece of knowledge borrowed from someone else, not from his manuscripts. A truly demonic array. But he is the grandmaster of demonic cultivation. No one can take his title from him. ‘You… will… listen… to… me.’ He is exhausted. He can hear them there, fighting to get to him, and he is on this side, trying to invite them in. It’s like reaching for a thing just outside your reach. ‘Come on, come on…’ It hurts, but agony is his friend. He reaches, he commands, and then, after the moment… The tame breaks. He screams. The wall of spirits breaks into the prison, ignores him immediately and sways away, past him, towards the corridor and whatever is beyond it. He sits on his cot and laughs, too weak to go there and witness it first-hand, but too high on resentment to really need to go there. He can’t see through walls, but spirits report to him; tell him where he is, how many people there are, how much they are all afraid. ‘Do your job,’ he says only because at this point he won’t be able to fight with that power and he can only let it be. He breaks his chain and stands, although his legs are barely able to hold his weight. He takes a step, one, second, third. The resentful tornado around him shifts; they do not assault him, not yet; they lend him their power while they demolish the prison, kill the prisoners and go wild. He choses a few of them almost with care. He whispers and asks them for help; choses those focused enough to remember his message and passionate enough to last long. He whispers and praises, promising the reward. Someone enters the prison. He can feel the shift in power, resentment shrieking, confused, and he knows. Another demonic cultivator; the one that hurt those people there. He brushes his hair out of his face and stands tall when a massive man comes through the door. Here it doesn’t matter who is stronger physically; all that matters is whose will is stronger. He raises his hands like a pianist. He knows what to do and so, he snarls. The man tilts his head and smiles. ‘It’s a pleasure,’ he says after a moment of silence. Wei Wuxian breathes in deep, laboured breaths. He is not okay and he doesn’t think he can survive this fight. But if he is going to die, so is the man in front of him. ‘It’s an absolute displeasure to me,’ he answers. ‘But you don’t leave me a choice.’ *** Lan Wangji meditates. He is sitting on the bench just outside his temporary room. Being allowed to sit there he actually considers an honour; he knew it wasn’t easy of Wens to let him go out. He works hard to earn their trust; even though there is little more for him to do than to eat his meals, meditate and be kind and considerate. He is still blindfolded, but sitting on the bench actually tells him a lot about the place he is in. He can hear inhabitants moving, working, laughing; he can feel the sun and chill air, the scent of wet ground and crisp smell of approaching winter. There is a forest around, he can hear it, and… ‘Hanguang-jun!’ A-Yuan. Lan Wangji manages not to flinch when the boy collides with him and apologises the next second. He has something in his hands, something warm and pleasant to touch, something… … something small, which heart beats at an alarming rate. ‘I found this! I found this!’ Lan Wangji carefully takes the bird from the boy's hands and pats it gently. It’s terrified; he shields it with his hands, suddenly feeling protectiveness enter his heart. ‘Brother! Brother, look what I found!’ ‘Careful, Wangji. You need to be very, very careful.’ ‘What happened?’ he asks quietly. ‘Where did you find it?’ ‘On the ground! I think her wing is broken, see?’ Lan Wangji stops the boy before he manages to touch the bird again. He can’t see, but he’s a very good cultivator and A-Yuan’s habits are a bit predictable. ‘You shouldn’t touch this wing. It must hurt… her?’ ‘Mhm! It’s a girl, I call her Beautiful.’ A-Yuan sounds very proud of himself. ‘Mhm.’ Lan Wangji considers it for a moment, then takes a piece of the blanket on his arms and buries his hands under it. ‘Could you go for Wen Qing? She will help us care for it. I will show you.’ ‘Mhm!’ When A-Yuan runs off, Lan Wangji stands up and goes into the cabin, carefully avoiding colliding with a door frame. He knows he usually shares it with other people, even if he doesn’t know their names; this time, he is alone. Moving still hurts, but he grits his teeth and endures, trying to move as careful as possible. He shakes a bit after reaching his bed but ignores it, too focused on making a little nest of his blanket and putting the bird in. He wants to take the blindfold off and look at it, but he forces himself to sit still and ignore the temptation. He listens to the sound it makes. He tilts his head, heart full of fond memories and pain, both physical and mental. Lan Wangji always found animals, smaller and bigger, hurt and abandoned. They cared for them with Lan Xichen. Of course pets were not allowed in Cloud Recess, but it was just to help them, so they weren’t technically pets – they later let them go. At the thought of his brother uncertainty fills Lan Wangji and he hates it. ‘Wangji? Do you have the bird?’ He nods, his hand still near the little, scared animal. Wan Qing gets closer and sighs. ‘It needs time and care indeed,’ she agrees. ‘I think we can make her a small place here, inside. After she’s fine we will let her go. Will you help care for it, A-Yuan?’ ‘Yes!’ Lan Wangji can’t help it; he smiles. His weak, depleted, hurting core for a moment seems stronger, more reliable, and then… He furrows his brew. Wen Qing moves anxiously too. ‘What’s that?’ Lan Wangji doesn’t know; he tries to stand, but fails miserably and falls on the bed. Wen Qing puts a hand on his arm. ‘Don’t try to stand,’ she says. ‘Stay here. I will take A-Yuan and the bird and then…’ Cold wind rushes in through the window, carrying with it a scent of danger. Lan Wangji swallows and nods. ‘Go,’ he whispers, redirecting his energy. ‘Something is approaching.’ *** ‘You are… A pain!’ Wei Wuxian collapses. It doesn’t matter. He draws with his own blood on the ground. The man takes a step back, shields himself with resentment. Wei Wuxian curses and ends his protection circle. The ghost trying to take control over him stops; he redirects it and strengthens. The man tries to grab him, still on the ground, but he escapes and throws a talisman, the one he managed to sneak from his opponent before. The man freezes, but before Wei Wuxian can grab a knife and bury it to the hilt in his chest, the man throws him to the ground again. He creates the strongest shield he can; his opponent tries to break it. They fight in complete darkness, sending and shielding from ghosts all the time. It’s like battling blindfolded or in the dark forest. Instincts and ideas are all that Wei Wuxian has; but it’s also all his opponent can use. It is a tough, but not a tragic situation. And so, he fights. Their fight is long and exhausting; maybe that’s the reason why, after actually burying the knife in his opponent's chest, Wei Wuxian can’t fight the charm that is thrown at him. Maybe that’s why he lets himself be pushed into the protection circle and shielded from demonic energy again. He laughs. He stands in the pool of his own blood and laughs in Jin Guangyao’s face, eyes still red, clutching at his chest. His wounds are opening again but he doesn’t care because he won, he won, he won… There is still enough resentment in him. He can’t die, he is not brave enough - Lan Zhan - but there is something else he can do. A different spell. One that he researched himself. He really wanted to rest anyway. ‘Good luck,’ he whispers directly into the man's face, gathering the last pieces of resentment in his system, weaving a complicated spell, the only one he can think of… ‘Good luck on getting any information from me now.’ He knows what to do. He lets the resentment do its job and then he’s falling, drowning in darkness, rapidly falling asleep to the scream of Jin Guangyao… ‘NO!’ *** Ghosts break in. Ghosts actually break in. Lan Wangji feels blind because of them, attacked and exposed. He is weaker because of his core; he shields himself but can do nothing – seem to be completely helpless – while they hiss above his head, screaming, confusing, scary… ‘Lan Wangji!’ Someone ran into the cabin. Lan Wangji tears off the blindfold, not really thinking about it. He can almost see the open door; almost, because when he tries to move, ghosts attack him again, drowning him in darkness. He takes his guqin out, trembling hands on strings, trying to endure shallow breathing because of resentment touching him, sending painful needles to his bones, endures and plays. There is a reason for that. Once, he would see no pattern, wouldn’t see it as a result, but he is not the same Wangji he was. So, he plays; he asks the question. ‘Why?’ The air stills; it becomes more breathable for a minute, when ghosts fight for dominance, hiss between themselves more than at him. He feels a hand on his arm but doesn’t dare to move it or to take a look at it. He waits. Finally, a guqin plays in darkness, a few sure notes: ‘We were sent.’ Thrills. If it wasn’t so painful, Lan Wangji would consider his resolve to communicate with spirits quite interesting. He realises he has a new-found respect for them; feels a bit like a ghost himself, plagued by guilt and grief, always an exceptional disciple, suddenly cast away and hidden somewhere when he couldn’t be find, wishing only to stay in this place forever and never go back to the world that hurt him. He hums and puts his fingers on strings again. ‘By whom?’ Ghosts rush – and there is a terrible sound, short, but high notes and strings break. Lan Wangji grabs the guqin, desperate, some strange emotions in his chest. It’s not hope – how could it be hope when there can be no hope? – but he instinctively knows there are not many people who would be able to turn his small hut into a living inferno. ‘Get Wei Huo!’ Someone squeezes his arm and lets go. He didn’t even realise someone was giving him spiritual energy until it’s gone and he can’t breathe again, surrounded by darkness. A song. Someone plays a dizi just next to him; it’s not very good, but it’s effective and ghosts back away a little. Wen Qing glances at him, playing softly, eyes open and intent. ‘Really,’ she mutters, making a short break. ‘What even is that?!’ Lan Wangji doesn’t know. He looks, quite stunned, when other demonic disciples run into the hut; a man with an eye-patch stands in front of them and bows low. ‘We protect habitants,’ he announces stiffly, formally and very fast. ‘We will assist you. Wei Huo is on her way.’ Wen Qing nods and Lwan Wangji wonders. It’s not the first time he has heard the Wens name themselves Wei; he never before, though, thought about it. And, again, it’s not the time. ‘Wen Qing,’ he says, desperate, tugging the woman by her arm. ‘They want to tell me something. Don’t banish them yet!’ Wen Qing still looks at the mass of resentment. ‘Of course we won’t,’ she answers after the moment, when Wei Feng takes over playing. ‘We don’t do that here. We talk to them first, almost always. But there… we need a specialist.’ A specialist turns out to be an elderly woman with a tattered blanket, slowly walking into the cabin with the expression of someone who had seen everything in their life and nothing can surprise them anymore. She just sighs looking at the dark mass of energy and sits down. Lan Wangji can’t hear them talk. He can just sit there, hurting, shielded by two demonic cultivators while she sits there with closed eyes and – supposedly – does her work. After a moment, though, everybody in the room stirs. Someone exclaims softly and Wen Qing grabs his arm again, this time tightly, almost tight enough to hurt. Wei Feng cries. There are tears in his eyes, but they look at each other and then they go to work. Lan Wanghi can almost feel the tension in the room while they all stop playing and just talk with ghosts in the air – although how and about what, he can’t tell. It’s awful. It’s infuriating. It’s intoxicating. Lan Wangji wants to be the part of this talk, a part of this experience; he feels he wants to know what is happening, he feels he should know that, he has a right to know that, so he stumbles to his knees, but there is nothing he can do. He waits; he looks at them being shocked and moved, trembling and crying, and asks himself what… Finally, when at least some resentment is cleared and some ghosts subdued someone kneels just next to him. It’s Wen Qing with her stern expression but gentle and kind eyes. She stops touching him and takes a deep breath. ‘Lan Wangji,’ she whispers, some stern, disbelieving notes in her voice. ‘I think you have a right to know. They came to you, after all.’ He looks. He doesn’t dare to breathe. Hope. ‘They insisted they were sent by the Yiling Patriarch,’ she says, although her voice trembles. ‘They insisted he was held hostage by the Jins. He wanted you to know they are making experiments with resentful energy.’ Lan Wangji can’t think. ‘Does it mean…’ he manages, stumbling over words, losing breath again. ‘Is he…’ Alive? How can he be alive? Was it possible that they were talking about the ghost? The spiritual cognition of the person? ‘Yes.’ It’s Wei Huo, a kind elderly woman, who helps him to stand. ‘Wei Wuxian is alive.’ Lan Wangji almost comes crushing down again. They help him, hold him and scold him for being too emotional – apparently it’s bad for his health if crying Wei Feng is to be trusted – but it’s all very kind and gentle. Fire. Fire in his mind and in his body. He looks at them and stands, determined, core suddenly strong and spirit eager. ‘What,’ he asks, ‘do we do?’

Chapter 20 Sanji came out of the bathroom and noticed his friends were up and groaned, “I am so sorry I woke you guys up” Sanji said apologetically “Nah, more the time to play Monster Hunter” Law said and the others agreed “Well, as you guys play, I’ll make some breakfast” Sanji said remembering what Law had in his refrigerator, “I’ll whip something up, if that’s ok with you. We’re using all your food” “It’s fine.” Law said, pouring coffee for everyone. Sanji helped serve the coffee and the others sat down and started playing “Spider?” Law asked “Spider!” Luffy said and Zoro smirked “Spider” “I hate you all” Sanji muttered as he was in the kitchen making food They played for a few more hours before Sanji, Zoro and Usopp decided to leave. Sanji and Zoro for obvious reasons and Usopp had to get ready for his shift at work muttering how glad he was for work for once in his life as he left with Sanji and Zoro. That left Luffy and Law alone together “So how did you like Chameleos?” Luffy asked as it was the last monster they defeated when they got Law’s hunter rank to 20. “That was a fun battle” Law said grinning. “It totally was, I like how it sticks out its tongue when we slay it” Luffy said “Doesn’t an Arzuros do the same thing?” Law questioned “Yes, but I’m talking about how it does it” Luffy said, mimicking the Chameleos sticking its tongue out when hunted. Law chuckled “Yeah, that’s great” Law said and they both sat on the couch and both of them looked to the TV and saw their games were still on “I am burned out playing” both said in unison and chuckled “Want to chill and watch anime for a little bit?” Luffy asked “That sounds great” Law said and they saved and turned off their games before returning to the main home screen of the TV and found CrunchyRoll. They turned on anime and watched until around 11am where Law gets a call of another emergency call from the hospital “Of course. I’ll be there within the hour” Law said hanging up and turned to Luffy, “Emergency call into work” “I understand” Luffy said, “Do you need help to get ready?” “I’m good” Law said and thought about it, “How about as I get ready you talk about the next monster I have to face at hunter rank 30?” Luffy grinned, “Ok!” As Law was getting ready, Luffy was trying his best to describe the next elder dragon without giving out too much. So big black huge wings “Is it Kushala Daora?” Law asked getting out of the bathroom “Dang it how did you know?” Luffy asked pouting “I did play Monster Hunter before, just not in the last 5-6 years” Law said smiling, “Pretty sure it's one of the few black winged elder dragons I know of” “You’re good” Luffy said, forcing himself to hold back from saying he’s perfect.  “Yeah? I still died to that damn Narwa” Law said “Sometimes those monsters get you. Their AI goes through the roof at times and are great at attacking and dodging and others they be like dumb” Luffy said and Law smiled “Yeah, I guess you’re right” Law said and Luffy hugged him before he was about to go “Have a good surgery” Luffy said “Sure, I’ll text you when I’m done” Law said, hugging him back. Both are getting used to this and this feeling of each other in everyday life. They were realizing how long their hug was and jumped back slightly and was slightly blushed “We’ll have a good day Luffy” Law said quickly leaving after Luffy said the same back At work, Law was confronted by Ikkaku about how it went yesterday but Law said he had a surgery to get to and that they would talk once they worked the same shift again on his normal work schedule. She pouted and groaned knowing their schedule of work don’t match up until next week. Unleeeess. She nodded and skipped happily away while happily humming a tune Law just watched after her with a look, “That’s never a good sign” After another ‘really dumb reason to be getting life saving surgery’ surgery was over, Law was confronted by a new doctor, one who was relatively new and looked up to his successors, and a happy grinning Ikkaku “Dr. Trafalgar, Dr. Ikkaku told me you’ve been overworked since you usually have to come in on your days off due to emergency surgeries. Since you have tomorrow’s shift, my day off and I have the day after tomorrow’s shift, your day off, I asked the boss if we could switch our schedules, so you have tomorrow off and I work and vice versa the next day. You just need to come with us to see the boss, so he can have your approval” he said grinning happily. “So, Dr. Ikkaku said that?” Law asked looking at her who had a sheepish grin on her face and turned back to the younger doctor, who was happy. Law closed his eyes at the poor boy, who didn’t know he played right into Ikkaku’s hands. Since they wouldn’t work together until late next week, she made it so the younger doctor felt bad for Law being ‘overworked’ to the point he offered to swap days off. The doctor’s shift was the same as Ikkaku’s. He couldn’t just disagree and make the boy feel like his time and effort wasn’t appreciated, so he nodded. “Of course, let’s go talk to the boss” “Really?” The young doctor asked happily “Of course, I really do appreciate the effort you took” Law said and walked off with the ecstatic younger doctor to talk to their boss. Law saw Ikkaku smirk and wave with her fingers. He got out his phone and sent a text to Ikkaku   7pm ‘New personal work rule for me, starting day after tomorrow, No talking personal life at work’ 7:03pm ‘What after my hard work??’ ‘I need to know how it went!’ ‘And about his brother you met whenever ago!’ ‘Don’t do this to me!!’ 7:05pm ‘Serves you right’   Law put his phone into his back pocket and once he officially got their shifts changed, he left to go home, he thought about the surgery and groaned. Since he had tomorrow off, he decided to text Luffy about needing a drink at the bar and if he wanted to join him. Before he got a response, he was stopped by another person “... Trafalgar Law” Law looked to him and his eyebrows furrowed, “... Aren’t you…?” The man sighed and nodded, “Yes, you might not remember my name, I’m Killer” “… What do you want?” Law asked and Killer sighed “I wanted to talk to you” “... Why?” “You might not want anything to do with me, but I wanted to see if you’d give me the chance to apologize” Law took a breath in. Maybe this will help him get over the last 5 years, “I was about to go to the bar, Luffy might join, but we can talk over some drinks” “...Ok” He said looking relieved that Law agreed to talk to him, “Thank you” Law was taken back by the statement. He didn’t know Killer but he didn’t think him as one to say ‘thank you’ unless it was in the sarcastic way like he said the night 5 years ago 'thanking' him for 'keeping Kid warm for him' . They were silently walking towards the bar and Law got a text from Luffy saying he will be there within the hour “Luffy said he’s coming within the hour” Law said  “Ah, ok. A friend of mine will pick me up from there later” Killer said texting his friend to pick him up in an hour. He smiled when he received a ‘good luck :)’ from him. Killer saw Law’s concern and tried to ease it. “It’s not Kid, I promise! It’s a friend from work. He’s… a lot kinder than Kid” Law heard the tone of his voice and had to ask. “How have you been?” Law asked out of curiosity. He’d wonder how Kid was treating his new soulmate and always wondered if it was him or Kid “… Not so good, you?” Law looked to the side not wanting to say he was doing better even before he met Kid but when Killer smiled “You don’t have to try to make me feel better about my own shitty times, I actually want to know since the day at the bar” Killer said being curious himself about the guy that he moved onto. He did seem like a great guy “It’s been going really great” Law said smiling. Luffy had helped him in so many ways. He’s finally beginning to slowly enjoy the things he liked to do. Helping unravel the bad habits that were because of the pain Kid had caused. “That’s good” Killer said and they made their way to the bar. Law and Killer walked into the local bar to see Corazon running it. He was washing the bar counter with a wet cloth and looked up to see Law “Oh, hey Law-Kun! I haven’t seen you in awhile!” He said happily with a smile when he realized who was with him. “What is he doing here?” he asked in a tone that wasn’t too welcoming but also holding back a lot of anger “Cora-San, it’s ok, he wanted to talk and I agreed” Law said with his hands out trying to calm Corazon down. “Besides, would Doflamingo like it if people complained about the lack of professionalism again?” “Ok. The last time I was the one who didn’t like how Doflamingo came into work one day only in his feathery pink shorts and his sunglasses. If he doesn’t like people complaining, he should be the one to act professional when he works” Cora-San said “You still never given me a picture of that” Law said and Cora-San looked at him with a look “Ah, yes, my habit of taking pictures of my brother in only feathery pink short booty shorts, I’ll send that picture right away” Corazon said in sarcasm and sighed when Law smirked, “Well sit down and talk, I’ll make you anything you want” he said, warily eyeing Killer, ready to jump in if needed. TBC

Keith’s POV He didn’t really understand why he was getting so mad. He didn’t understand why his heart pounded and filled his ears with a blinding sound. He couldn’t keep his eyes off Lance as he stood by himself. He knew he was feeling jealous, but he’d only ever felt this regarding people who were important to him. People like Shiro.   But Lance? His roommate who he just started having conversations with was yanking this anger out. Almost as if it was on a string that only Lance could touch. He couldn’t tell if he was upset because of how easy the conversation flew between the two boys, or if he was upset because Lance hadn't bothered to talk to him at all. After shooting he just sat on the ground by himself and he couldn’t bring himself to walk over and talk to him. Did he want to? Did he want Lance to talk to him?    He didn’t know.    “Next group!”    He looked towards his teacher, Rolo, and Lance walking to the table and he shoved past them, nearly bumping into Lance but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He grabbed the first knife, used the stance that Allura showed them, and threw it hard. It stuck to the wood but it was very off-center. Fuck, he narrowed his eyes, he wanted to scream. He wanted to punch something, he wanted to calm down.    He grabbed the next knife and switched it to the position he was used to, one he had developed while he threw knives in his parent's tree in their backyard. Almost to the center, he had to adjust to the weight of the knives here and he threw the next one, and then the next one and the next, each one either hitting around the center or the second circle. He didn’t realize he was out of knives until he reached down to grab the next knife and he grabbed air. He furrowed his eyes at the empty table and then at his circles. He could have done better but given his emotional state, he did pretty well.    “Well done Keith, have you done this before?” Allura’s soft British voice somehow cut through the pounding in his ears and he turned to face her. He tried to control his harsh breathing and he looked down at the floor, stupid eye contact .    “Yeah.”    She beamed from ear to ear, “that was wonderfully done, and fantastic job switching up the position to do what worked for you. I can imagine following my example is hard since you throw with your left hand.”    “I can throw with both,” he tried to bring his eyes to meet her but he couldn’t seem to hold it longer than 2 seconds.    She looked like a proud older sister and his chest felt tight, he never felt like he deserved these figures in his life. “Wow Keith, that is truly incredible, you should feel proud of yourself.” She looked like she wanted to touch his shoulder but refrained. Maybe she remembered the role she is currently filling, maybe she realized he stiffed when she raised her hand, maybe Shiro has given her the ‘he doesn’t touch strangers,’ talk. She opted for smiling again and continuing her walk down, calling for retrieval when she saw everyone was done.    He quickly walked forward, yanking the knives out a bit too harshly and borderline slammed them down on the table before turning to head towards the tracks. He knew he was coming off as a dick, he didn’t need to be moving so abrasive but he needed to get this anger under control, and running would do just that.   So he took off, pushing through the burn of his legs and the ache in his lungs. He was wearing a sports bra, knowing better than to exercise in a binder; yet his chest still felt tight as he ran. He knew he should stop, but he was on his last lap and he pushed to finish it. After he finished his last lap and moved to a walk, placing his hands on his head, his fingers intertwined and he just walked off to the side. He focused on his breathing, focused on the pain that throbbed with every breath, focused on how his ears started to clear from the heartbeat sound.    “Damn you sure can run when you want to,” Lance wheezed next to him and Keith felt himself shatter. He still didn’t know where his emotions sat but he didn’t want to risk having to calm himself down again. He pulled on his shirt, not liking how it started to stick to certain aspects of his body due to sweat.    “Maybe you’re just slow,” his voice held no emotion but it still stung in the air. Why am I doing this? He heard Lance stop from his walk, but he kept going.    “Sorry.” And that was all he heard before Lance walked off the track, walking to meet up with Hunk, Pidge, and Rolo.    Keith internally smacked himself and if he could fight himself in the astral plane he would. What is wrong with me? He exited the track and began the journey back to his dorm. He needed to get these clothes off him, he didn’t want to be aware of how his sweat-soaked shirt clings to his body. He didn’t want to be aware of anyone, just himself and a long hot shower.    The walk back to his dorm was uneventful but nobody talked to him and that’s all he wanted. He swung the dorm room open, slamming it shut, and twisted the lock. He untied his boots, sprayed them with shoe spray, and stacked them by the door. He didn’t really hurt, his body was used to that intensity, but the straps on his bra did dig into his shoulder and he rolled them around a couple of times, grabbing some fresh clothes and his red binder before heading into the bathroom. He pulled off his shirt and dropped it on the floor, his pants and socks following, and he stood. His purple eyes bore into himself as he looked in the mirror.   His muscles were slowly becoming defined, testosterone helping that. His face shape had changed over a couple of years, and the little weight he had was redistributed around his body. He had a slight happy trail becoming apparent, and his voice change was something only noticeable if you knew what he sounded like pre-hormone. He reached up and touched his hair, that was the only thing he wanted to keep, the length didn’t bother him and he actually thought he looked more masculine with it.    He looked at himself in the sports bra and fought back another scream and the urge to punch the glass he stared into. That was the one thing he needed to change, he had to change. Bottom surgery was on his list but he was content with the growth he had gotten over the two years. But his chest? That was something that needed to go. Yes he knew he was lucky because he was able to pass, he was lucky because his chest was small, but all that luckiness still didn’t erase the pain and discomfort he felt in his body.    He was about to peel off his sports bra and slid his boxers down but his phone sounded off from his pants pocket and he leaned down to dig it out. He honestly forgot that he even grabbed it, he was too blinded by his emotions to really remember his walk back to the dorm. He grabbed the phone, ugh the one time I don’t want to talk to him, but Shiro had his schedule memorized and knew when he was in class or not. And if he didn’t answer, what would be his excuse? ‘Yeah sorry, I didn’t answer. I was hanging out with all of my friends,’ he rolled his eyes and swiped up on the phone. “Hey Shiro”    “Hey buddy, I just ran into Allura on the way back from a class, she told me you did exceptionally. I knew you would kill it here,” You could hear the smile on Shiro's face and Keith nodded at the praise, feeling a bit awkward. He was comfortable around Shiro but he still felt weird regarding compliments from anyone.    “Th-thanks Shiro, sorry I’m trying to-” A knock on the bathroom door filled the room and he nearly dropped the phone.    “Hey Keith, just letting you know I’m back,” his roommate's voice boomed through the door and Keith felt even more anger bubble under his skin.    “O-okay,” Shiro was saying something on the other line but Keith couldn’t hear any of it. Suddenly every noise seemed louder, every sound echoed in his ears and he quickly hung up on Shiro, begging everything to stop. He couldn’t focus on any of his thoughts, everything hurt, the two pieces of clothing made his skin burn and he grabbed at his bra to take it off. He felt suffocated and he nearly screamed when it got caught up in his hair. Quick thoughts regarding cutting it off flashed in his mind but he was eventually able to tear it off his body.    His phone rang again and his head only spun more. I just need a minute please, he begged for anything that would listen and he grabbed his phone again, declined the call, and tore the hair tie out of his hair. He turned the lights off and stood in the dark. He focused on his breathing, and things finally began to calm down. He focused on his lungs and the feeling of breathing, his hands clenching and unclenching. He reminded himself to loosen his jaw and he rolled his head back.    He never understood why this happened, why sometimes everything was too loud. Why things would hurt when he got like this, and he frankly didn’t know how to stop it. But his peace met its end quickly when his phone rang yet again, he knew Shiro was just concerned but couldn’t he just wait for him to call him back? He reached for the phone, the vibrate mix with the ringtone sending pain up his arm and before he could rationalize any thoughts he threw it at the door.    The clank barely made him realize what he did, the only thing he noticed was his phone was quiet, and sitting in multiple pieces and there was a nice dent in the door. He sat on the floor, his emotions were everywhere and he knew he was going to be lectured by his mom for breaking yet another phone. He wrapped his arms around his chest and focused on his breathing again. He hated acting like this but he couldn’t stop himself, what is wrong with me?    A hesitant knock filled the room, enough to bring Keith out of his quiet oasis but not enough to raise his anger again. “Keith? Is everything okay?”    Keith couldn’t move, he couldn’t even bring himself to talk, his mouth opened and closed like a fish and he closed his eyes. Am I okay?    “Do you need me to come in? Are you okay?” Lance’s voice sounded a bit panicked and Keith forced the words out of his chest.    “No, I’ll be out in a bit,” he crawled over and picked up the pieces that broke from his phone, finding it quite difficult to complete in the dark. Once it was in a messy pile on the counter he rushed over to start the shower, sliding out of his boxers and stepping in.    --- Lance’s POV  He frowned at the door, he had no idea what that sound was but it scared him out of his skin. He rolled his sleeves up and sat on his bed. He was gross, sweat clinging to his skin and he swung his legs while he sat on the bed. He tried to stay occupied on his phone but his mind kept wandering back to his roommate. His chest felt tight, and he frowned again. He knew what it was like to suffer alone, behind closed doors with no one caring to check up on you. But he also didn’t want to push his roommate, something was clearly bothering him and as much as he wanted to help, he wanted to respect Keith’s boundaries more.    A knock filled the room and Lance stood to answer it, shaking his sleeves down as he took a couple of steps to the door. He snapped into a salute and stared forward, “Commander Shirogane,” he had seen him before but seeing him without Keith kicked him into cadet mode.    Shiro smiled, failing to reach his eyes, “at ease Cadet, and Lance, unless we’re in class or around another Commander you don’t have to do that.”  Lance nodded and stepped to the side, “Keith is in the shower, I think he’s having a moment so I was going to give him his space.” His eyes fell towards the ground and he sat back on his bed.    Shiro closed the door behind him and stood in the room, looking out of place without his shorter relative there. Lance twiddled his thumbs, the silence was uncomfortable and with him being his superior he felt even more uncomfortable. “You can take a seat if you want.”    Shiro looked at him, seeming to realize he wasn’t alone and he pulled out Keith’s desk chair and sat. “I apologize for coming over but I called Keith a couple of times and he didn’t pick up after he hung up on me and then my calls started going directly to voicemail so I….I just wanted to make sure he was okay.”    “Oh don’t sweat it, Hunk came over unannounced too so this is just payback for that,” he gave Shiro a toothy grin. “I heard a loud noise a bit ago, I asked if he was okay and he said he was fine. I don’t know what that sound was though.”    Shiro furrowed his eyebrows, “probably his phone, he’s gone through about 5 of them over the course of two years.”    Lance had to force his mouth closed and he tried to wipe the ‘what the fuck’ look off his face. “Well sometimes it just be like that,” he glanced over at his 4-year-old phone, a giant crack from the top right corner down to the bottom left and scratches covering the case. It still looked decent for its age, he wasn’t lucky enough to get a new phone like his siblings so he made do with the one he was given for his 14th birthday.    Shiro made a small snort and grabbed a red pen from Keith's desk and twirled it in his right hand. “He has some anger issues, and his phones are usually the brunt of his anger. I thought PT class would have calmed him down some.”    Lance gave a quiet laugh, “it sure tired me out. But Keith he was…wow he was amazing at knife throwing! And he and I raced at the start. I totally won but he did great. But towards the end, he got a bit upset. I’m not sure what happened.”    Shiro sighed, “his mind is an active place. I never know what he’s thinking about so I’ve given up guessing why he’s upset. I just wait for him to tell me.”    Lance wanted to pry more but he also wanted Keith to open up to him, not go the cheap way out through his brother. But he didn’t have to come up with a response because the bathroom door swung open and Keith stomped out; wearing black knee-length shorts and a gray baggy T-shirt. He held a very broken phone in his right hand and his gym clothes under his left arm. He stopped, not even looking in Lance’s direction, his eyes only on his brother, “Shiro.”    Shiro gave another half-smile, his eyes tired as if he had gone through this conversation a couple of times, but 5 but now 6 broken phones probably lead to very similar conversations. “Hey Keith, how was your shower?”    He ignored the older man's question and placed his clothes in his laundry basket and placed his broken phone on the desk in front of Shiro. “Lance, can you leave.”    Lance knew he wasn’t asking, so he scrammed off his bed, grabbed the first clothes his fingers touched, and shut the bathroom door, trying to warm up from that icy tone Keith just threw at him.    --- Keith’s POV He listened to his roommate move around the room and it was silent, except for the faint sound of the shower running. “Shiro, I'm not in the mood for a lecture. I know I fucked up.”    Shiro watched his brother sit on his bed and he glanced down at the very broken phone. “What happened?”    “I just got mad.”    Shiro fought back an eye roll, “I figured that much but what about?”    Keith shrugged.    “Is it because you don’t know or you don’t want to tell me right now?”    He laid down on his bed, “Lance made a friend at PT and I just got upset.”    Shiro hummed, relaxing a bit at his brother's openness. “Like jealousy?”    Keith paused, would it be jealousy? “I don’t know, I just got upset. I wanted him to talk to me but he didn’t. He makes friends so easily.” He closed his eyes, “but I also don’t know if I wanted Lance to talk to me. It’s all confusing.”    Neither of them talked for a bit, Keith wasn’t sure if Shiro was waiting for more information or he was just thinking about what he already said. After a couple of long minutes Shiro placed Keith’s pen down on the desk, “you’re going to tell mom you need a new phone. I’ve done it the past 3 times.”    Keith flopped back on the bed, “she’s gonna kill me. Do you want me to die?”    Shiro made a face that resembled a ‘you dug your grave now lay in it’ and he stood from where he sat. “Did you want to borrow my phone?”    Keith reluctantly nodded and grabbed his brother's phone, quickly typing in the password, he seriously needs to change this and he opened up the contacts app. His mother's number was one of the first ones and he sent a quick prayer to any gods above and hit dial. His mom was one of the nicest people you would ever meet, she was calm and patient and always waited to hear the full story before making any judgment.   Keith knew he gave her a hard time when he was placed at the Shiroganes, but he had gone through so many ‘this will be your forever home’ by the age of 10, when he turned 12 he just didn’t care about first impressions. Always knew he was on a time limit before he was given back because of his ‘attitude’ or his anger he never could ignore. Yet, she stuck with him, set every Sunday aside for him and her, sure they tended to do more feminine activities but after a year or so he really did love Sundays.    “Takashi, how are you?” Keith smiled at her voice, it was warm and full of love, she could make anyone feel at home.    “Hey, mom.”    “Oh! Keith, what a pleasant surprise. Takashi has been telling me how impressive you have been this week. He said you’ve really impressed the right people and he only expects praises regarding you. Oh how I miss you already, Sundays don't feel the same anymore.” Keith frowned at her ending statement, she sounded sad and so was he. He missed last Sunday due to travel and he wouldn’t get another Sunday with mom until the mid-term break.    They chatted for a couple of minutes before Shiro gave him the ‘cut to the chase’ look and he decided to get it over with. “So I um…well I…uh”    “You broke your phone?”    Keith dropped his head in defeat, of course, he should have guessed that she would know already. Mom did have a 6th sense for random things, she probably felt an alert in her head as soon as the phone hit the door. “Yeah.”    She was silent for a little bit and it made Keith feel uncomfortable so he began to pace the small room, Shiro watching his every step. “Well, you had this one longer than the others so I’m honestly impressed. Takashi will have to take you to the nearest store to get you a new one. Is the sim card still good?”    Keith mumbled a ‘hang on’ before laying out the broken pieces, finding the slot for his sim card still intact with the card inside. “Looks undamaged to me.”    “Okay, I’ll send Takashi the money for the replacement, when can you leave campus? Sundays only?”    “Yeah but Sh-Takashi can leave whenever he wants so am I really needed to go?” Shiro gave mumbled across the room about how if Keith was dragging him out on his day off he was dragging Keith with him.    Their mom must have heard what the older son said, “Keith you broke it so you get to sit through the process. Maybe it’ll help you not break the next one.”    “Okay mom, sorry but thank you again.”    “Of course my love, I miss you so much! When you get your new phone please give me a call, it’s hard having an empty nest at home, I miss my boys!” Keith smiled at his mother's words, unashamedly saying ‘I love you' to the older woman and he passed the phone to Shiro upon her request.    They talked for a minute or two before Shiro hung up. “That went better than expected.”    Keith hummed in response, “I thought she was going to freak like last time.”    “Maybe you not being home has made her more lenient,” Shiro walked closer to Keith who had taken Shiro's spot on the chair and extended his arms out. Once Keith reciprocated the hug Shiro placed his chin on his head, “sorry for my outburst and coming over here. I just worry about you and I want to make sure you know you have someone to go to.”     Keith nodded, “sorry for hanging up and not sending a text why, it seems so rational now that I calmed down but in those moments I can’t think.”    Shiro pulled away, leaving his right hand on Keith's shoulder. “Let's figure out a system on Sunday to work through these moments, so we’re both on the same page.”    “Okay, thanks, Shiro.”    Shiro smiled, a real smile this time and he withdrew his hand, checking his pockets for his belongings. “Are things better between you and Lance?”    Keith nodded, “I kinda um, told him I was gay last night. He took it well…I think?”    Shiro looked like he'd just seen aliens come from outer space, and he blinked a couple of times to reset his face. “Wow, that's a jump in the conversation. I’m proud of you though. But you didn’t tell him about..?”    Keith knew what he was asking and shook his head, “I’m not ready to be seen differently. He hasn’t slipped up once, and if he questions it he never has said anything.”    Shiro nodded, “are you going to tell him?”    “I don’t…I don’t know. It’s not like we’re going to date or anything.”    “Well, let me know if you need anything, and don’t forget you have a meeting with Dr. Thace regarding your prescription refill on Friday.” Shiro opened the door and turned to face his brother one more time, “and please apologize to Lance for earlier. Yes, you were in a moment but he didn’t deserve that.”    “I will, I’ll see you around.” Keith waved and the door was shut.    He wandered back to his desk, debating starting next week's homework but he knew he couldn't focus. He had an emotional day and being reminded of what he said to Lance sat in his stomach like a heavy rock. I really need to work on my outburst. Shiro was right, he had no valid reason to talk to Lance about how he did and the fact he did made him feel sick with guilt. He still didn’t know why he cared, he wasn’t close to Lance but he also trusted him. Sure Lance was a chatty person but at the end of the day, he felt like he could keep a secret like he was keeping one of his own.    The bathroom door slowly opened and Lance peaked into the room like a little kid seeing if their parents were awake before informing them of a project that they had known about for weeks due the next day. He noticed Keith sitting at his desk and they made eye contact briefly before Lance shut the door. Keith felt a frown on his face, did he scare Lance so much that he didn’t feel comfortable being in the same room as him? If he did he couldn’t blame Lance.    After a quick second, Lance opened the door again, fully clothed but his towel draped on his back, wrapping himself up in it like a cape. He looked like he wanted to say something but decided to head to his closet, searching through his clothes.    Keith was admittedly confused, he was wearing a shirt did he need another one? It wasn’t cold enough in the room to warrant needing to bundle up. “Hey... I’m sorry for how I spoke to you earlier.”    Lance froze briefly, pulling a red long sleeve down from its hangers. “Hey no worries, it happens to the best of us.” His voice sounded timid and he turned to face Keith, his eyes a bit puffy. Shit, I made him cry, he wasn’t sure why that realization made him want to pull Lance into an embrace but he pushed down the feeling rapidly.    He wanted to say more but Lance disappeared into the bathroom again, emerging after a quick minute with his previous shirt in hand and his new shirt on. Lance seemed to notice his roommate's confusion and hung his other shirt back up. “I don’t like to be cold when I sleep.”    Keith glanced at the clock, it wasn’t even 5 pm yet but he decided to just leave it alone. “I am sorry though.”    Lance waved his hand in the air as he sat on his bed, hugging his knees. “Seriously, don't sweat your mullet about it. You were upset I get it.”    “It doesn’t excuse it.” That was something Keith had learned over the years about his outburst. When he had to attend therapy when he was still in the system (and later while he was under the Shirogane care) he always said he couldn’t control his anger. He went through so many therapists but the last one he had looked him straight in the eyes and said ‘why does your lack of impulse excuse how you treat others?’ and Keith didn’t have an answer.   That was the turning point for him, that was when he started to learn how to take accountability for his actions, even if he didn’t want to. Shiro still had to remind him from time and time again though.   Lance stiffened at what he said like he was so used to being the punching bag that no one had ever said sorry. He glanced at Keith and looked back down at his bedding, “it’s okay.”    Keith wanted to do something to make it up to Lance, he didn’t even really understand where this drive to care for Lance was coming from but it was getting annoying. “Did you want to watch a show?”    Lance looked at him with wide eyes, his ocean blue eyes never-ending as they made eye contact. He seemed to realize that he was asked a question and he fumbled for an answer. “I uh, sure that would be cool. I can get my laptop.”    Keith smiled slightly, “we can watch that new Voltron show.”    Lance shrugged, “Hunks been all about that show I feel obligated to watch it,” he opened up a very tired-looking gray laptop and began to boot it up. “It’s kind of, I don't even know how to explain it. Hunk, Shay, and Pidge talk so fast.” He waved Keith over to his bed and sat with his back against the wall, his legs hanging off the bed slightly.    Shit, Keith didn’t think this far ahead and he slowly approached the blue bedding, hesitantly perching himself next to the tanner boy; not touching. This is fine, Shiro would be proud of me.    “Ready Mullet?” And Lance pressed play without waiting for a response.    ---   The clock finally hit 19:00 and their stomachs both rumbled at the same time. Oh right, food. Keith pulled himself away from his roommate. They started out not touching and that’s what Keith wanted. But as each episode passed he found himself closer and closer, until their arms touched. From there? It was a downhill spiral as their arms and legs snuggled up together and at one point Keith put his head on Lance’s shoulder while they mumbled about the shows.    Keith wouldn’t have called it cuddling but it was definitely something he had never done with anyone. Yeah, he hugged Shiro and his parents with no problem but resting his head on their shoulder during a TV show marathon? Yeah, he never did that.    He stood from the bed and smoothed his hair down, avoiding Lance’s gaze, he didn’t know how he felt about that. Say something he opened his mouth to speak but Lance shut his laptop and stood from the bed right next to him, stretching his arms up to the sky.    “Did you wanna get dinner with me? Or are you eating with Shiro?” He stepped around Keith and grabbed his cadet jacket. Uniforms were required every day but Sundays and Keith watched his roommate grab his pants and shoes before opening the bathroom door, pausing for an answer. He could hear Shiro encouraging him, fuck it. “Yeah, I’ll join.”    Lance grinned, a genuine wide grin and Keith felt his heart skip a beat. He already knew Lance was attractive but that smile? Yeah, he was going to save that to memory.    “Once we’re dressed we can head down.” The door closed and Keith felt his ears heat up. What is happening?! He grabbed his clothes and quickly got dressed, mastering the art of quick dressing years ago and Lance reentered the room, the grin still on his face. He grabbed his keys and held the main door open, “after you mullet.”    Keith rolled his eyes and exited the room, waiting for Lance to shut the door, “you need a nickname.”    Lance laughed beside him, keeping his eyes forward, “I have many nicknames, my friend.”    Keith scoffed, almost bringing his arm up to playfully shove Lance but refrained. “Like what?”    Lance hummed in thought as they reached the elevator, Lance making the decision for the both of them to use it after PT. “Well my newest one is ‘Sharpshooter’ but I’ve been called ‘The Tailor’ because I can thread the needle.”   Keith wasn’t entirely sure what he meant so he made a small ‘O’ with his mouth and waited for him to continue as the elevator moved down.    “I’ve been called pretty boy by some people and a couple of others that are more inside jokes.” The elevator beeped at their arrival and the doors opened, Lance stepping out first. Keith followed but his mind was running a mile a minute. Pretty boy? Huh. I think I could get behind that.  --- Lance’s POV Lance admittedly had a mini freak out in the bathroom after Keith told him to leave. He was trying to fight it, he wasn’t upset with Keith but his tone only resembled his parents and tears ended up escaping in the shower. It wasn’t bad enough that he needed to release the emotion (even those he knew the pouch was in the bedroom somewhere) but it was enough to jar him. If Keith noticed his puffy eyes outlined in red he didn’t say anything.    But the second time he was in the bathroom he almost screamed with happiness. He said yes! Holy shit he’s going to have dinner with me!!! He danced for a couple of moments to himself and glanced at himself in the mirror. Even he could see the genuine emotion on his face and he smiled again.    Watching the show with Keith was already huge progress and Lance had to remember to breathe when the other boy's head rested on his shoulder for about half an episode. Wait, do I like Keith? He paused briefly, only dressed in his pants and shoes. I can’t like him right? I’ve known him for like 4 days. He questioned his own thoughts as he slid his jacket off, maybe he was just attached to the physical affection. There was no way he had a crush on Keith Kogane.    As they got closer to the cafeteria Lance internally groaned. He didn’t even check his phone for any texts from Hunk and he should have asked him before asking Keith. He knew that having Keith sit at a table of 4 people he either didn’t know or barely knew wouldn’t fly well so he sucked in a breath as they turned towards the door.    His eyes immediately found Hunk’s and he went from looking happy to looking ecstatic, oh yeah he’s never going to replace me. His face shifted to confusion when he saw the slightly shorter boy next to him and he gave Lance a side nod, indicating he would text him later about it; a silent cue they had created over video chats years ago.    Lance gave him a small way and walked towards the buffet, Keith following close behind. They both began to place food on their plates, his stomach only getting angrier at the lack of food and he glanced back at his roommate. “We can just sit at a table by ourselves. I’m not going to make you sit with all of them.”    He saw Keith visibly relax some and he mumbled a small thank you and they both headed towards an empty table in the corner of the room. Lance could still see Hunk in his field of vision, who was giving him a small thumbs up from under his own table.    Keith and Lance ate in silence but more out of their bodies demanding food than they didn’t have anything to discuss. The food wasn’t bad at the Garrison (it was no home-cooked meal) but right now it tasted like a 5-star chef made it. “I think you would pilot the red lion.” Lance pushed his mac and cheese around his plate.    Keith chuckled slightly, Lance praying he could save that to memory, “why because I like the color red?”    Lance tapped his chin with his free hand, “well yes but also you seem hot-headed and a ‘shoot first ask questions later’ kinda guy.”    Keith didn’t argue and took a bite of his bread. “I don’t always have the best impulse control.”    Lance laughed, “well then you just need people in life to tell you when to slow down.”    “That’s why I have Shiro, he’s my personal ‘calm the hell down’ reminder.”    “Ah that’s Hunk for me, he always gets me to calm down and think before acting.” He sent a smile at his friend who was continuously sending him a smile or mouthing ‘you got this’ from across the room, Shay, Pidge, and Nyma sending their regards as well.    Keith reached for his cup, pausing to stare at the liquid in it, “is that why he came over the other day?”    Lance froze before forcing his head to nod, “yeah I can be pretty dumb at times.”    Keith nodded before finishing off his drink. “I...well if you need to ever chat about….well whatever I’m a better listener than a talker. But I can listen well.”    Lance swore he could see a bit of red on his roommate's ears and nodded. “Okay. Thanks.” He knew he wouldn’t ever tell Keith when he was struggling, hurting himself was something that was hard to bring up in conversation. But knowing that Keith was willing to let him open up put him at ease.    They finished their food, chatting about random things before heading back up to the room. “Did you want to keep watching?” and Lance nodded excitedly, nearly running the rest of the way to their dorm.    And that’s how they spent the last two hours of their night. Watching a show about flying cat robots and weird alien species, both dozing off slumped up against each other. 

  Ed let go of the accursed bird’s leg as soon as his weight settled on the ground, and he dropped to his knees to violently retch up breakfast on the dark floorboards, gold eye squinted tight, although Truth’s was uncovered and spinning in excitement.  He moaned in distress as he flopped to the side, curling in on himself as his insides twisted. He could barely even think straight with the pain rending his body in two, and his tongue twisted to force his mouth open as Truth took in the assumed ‘magic’ permeating the air. Ed shook on the ground panting like a dog as shouts rose down the hallway, and as the noise intensified the world went black. Harry stared in unabashed curiosity at the blond man twitching on the ground. The Order crowded around the man’s limp figure, and before Mrs. Weasley could hurry him and the other kids away he spotted a piece of paper clutched in the man’s gloved hand.  He pointed it out, and Moody glared narrow-eyed at the note before reaching forward to poke the man’s hand, prompting him to release the paper.  “‘Wizard Bastards,’” Moody read out, “ Awful handwriting, this one. ‘ If you are reading this then I am incapacitated. My name is Edward Elric. Albus Dumbledore contacted my superiors about someone to teach Alchemy, and here I am. You have too much magic shit for my system and I am probably going to be out for a while. Do not touch me or my stuff. I will wake up eventually. Sincerely, Major Edward Elric, Reserve Corps of Amestris, the Fullmetal Alchemist.”’   Hermione was at Grimmauld’s kitchen table when the new Alchemy professor stumbled in, looking like death warmed over. She looked up and he snapped his eye up to meet hers, startled. He wore an eyepatch, she noticed, and his movement was oddly stilted as he started toward the sink. “Hello?” she said, watching in confusion as he grunted in reply and turned the faucet on, abruptly thrusting his head under the stream of water and scrubbing at his face with his right hand.  She sat, stunned, as he dragged his hand through his long hair and shook his head like a wet dog, flipping the faucet off and wiping his hands on his long jacket.  “Hello? Professor Elric?” she tried again, and he sighed, turning to look at her and scratching his nose.  “ Ja, I am. Guten morgen, fräulein. ”  His speech was oddly slurred, she noticed, and he dragged his ‘m’ s in a way that made his thick German accent even more difficult to understand.  “Zorry for sbeech,” he says, “I only sdart Englisch last veek, und I learned from ein pook.” Hermione gapes at him, openmouthed, because the idea of anyone learning a language in a week just doesn’t make sense. “Book, you mean?” she asks blankly, and he scrunches his nose and nods.  “ Ja. Pook- book. Book. Book. Book is correct, ja?”  “Yes,” Hermione says, hunching over her coffee cup. “Book.” “Can vu help vith more vords?” he asked, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “Eef I am to teach, schtutents must hundersdand, ja?” “S-sure,” she answers, startled. “Happy to help.” He beams at her, and even though his smile is nice she can’t help but notice that his canines look awfully sharp. The next week is spent with the inhabitants of Grimmauld awkwardly learning to coexist with the strange feral housecat that is the new Alchemy professor.  Harry is still trying to get used to the marvel of being somewhere other than the Dursley’s for a summer, much less in this brand-new place getting ready for his fifth year of being targeted by murderers. He watches Elric closely for a couple days, because you don’t survive as Harry Potter for four whole years without a healthy dose of paranoia, but when it becomes apparent that the man takes no potions, murders no small animals, knows no memory charms, and has no Dark Mark, he’s inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt, although he’s fairly certain the professor is a werewolf. Not that that’s a bad thing! But his eyes are startlingly similar to Remus’, and his movements are just as stiff as the other man’s, and his temper… Well.  Harry’s about ninety percent certain that Hogwarts is about to get their second ever werewolf on faculty, which is great for increasing cultural awareness but not super fantastic regarding Elric’s lasting employment once Malfoy’s father got his nasty little yappy-dog teeth into that juicy piece of gossip.  Elric has been alternating between haunting the library and prowling around the house, pouncing on unsuspecting Order members to drag them back to his cave of a guest bedroom and questioning them about magic. He seemed to genuinely want to learn more, which made him and Hermione instant best buds, seeing as she was the only one who could keep up with his rapid-fire theory rants and heavy accent.  All and all, he seemed like a pretty nice guy. Eccentric, foreign, and maybe a slavering monster once a month, but nice. Ed pulled together the various stacks of notes that he’d compiled over the past two weeks about wizards and their magic, binding them all up in some twine he’d alchemized from a loose sock he found under the couch.  He’d been saving up reports to bring back to Mustang as soon as he could get ahold of that damn teleporter-bird, and a good chunk of it would probably be logistics on the kinds of limitations the wizards had. All Ed can say is that he would not enjoy going to war with these people.  Because while their tactics are shit and the people he’s been paraded past are apparently some big vigilante fighting force, their power, if used properly, is terrifying. He didn’t think they realized it, because they’d only ever been at war with each other, but a couple of the ‘spells’ described in the library here could take out an army if used properly.  (Ed remembered the horrible thing he’d come across rattling around in a desk drawer. He remembered being blindly curious, like he usually is, and pulling it open only to be greeted with a vision of the failed transmutation circle that had taken his brother’s body.  The voice of his little brother threading through his ears, crying plaintively as the thing in the circle raised its head because he’d locked Al’s soul into the thing instead of armour and he had to hold the creature with flesh slipping off its bones as it wailed in pain-) Lucky for good-old Amestris, the notoriously un-diplomatic Fullmetal Alchemist was available to play nice . Who is he kidding. This is already a disaster. It’s September first, and the Weasleys plus Sirius are all crowding around the platform saying their goodbyes.  Nobody notices that Edward’s nowhere to be seen until the train is pulling out of the station.  They assume he got on earlier, and are waving goodbye when a blond blur goes sprinting past them, weaving through the throgs of parents and takes a running leap off the edge of the platform just in time to catch the railing of the caboose as the Hogwarts Express speeds away from King’s Cross Station, swinging up and over the bars with his suitcase clutched in his right hand. Molly Weasley doesn’t know if she should be horrified or if she should have expected it.  

The next hours were a continuous chaos of news. The Minister was stepping down, announcing his retreat from the office looking haggard and drawn, while Head of the Department of Mysteries, Saul Croaker, was appointed as an interim Minister.  Just an hour later, Andromeda Tonks, the Mugwump, stepped down too, a grimly smiling Augusta Longbottom standing in the background, declaring that the full body of the Wizengamot would elect a new Mugwump at their next assembly.  He didn’t catch much of it, being buried balls deep into his marvellous little witch, her back pressed against the mouldy, tattered tapestries of the Grimmauld entrance hall, her little cries and his own groans spurring him on, like flashes of heat and lightning travelling between them. She was one of a kind really, with her masterful handling of Kingsley, showing that she was both powerful and unafraid to use her power. Almost like a Slytherin, she had put pressure on the Minister, forcing him to yield, not relenting until she had crushed him. It was damned impressive, and Voldemort couldn’t help it, it turned him on. Arousal churning in his body, it made him want to take her right away, to bend her body to his will, riding all that power of hers.  After they had stumbled inside, he had shoved her up against the wall, lifting her up by grabbing her arse.  With a sigh, she hooked her legs around his hips, grinding against him. Voldemort fumbled underneath her robes, and there they were, those damned knickers again, though he had to say, she had changed her style from cotton to silk and lace over the last weeks. Something more to his liking, at least.   “Are you begging to be punished?” he growled in her ear, his cock painfully hard, grinding against the offending scrap of clothing.  “”No,” she said smugly, slowly rolling her hips, the silk sliding sensuously against his shaft, “I’ll never beg you for anything. I don’t want this, remember?”  He snorted, freeing his cock with one hand before pushing her knickers aside. With a grunt, he aimed for her opening, shoving inside before she was fully wet, telling her: “I know you want it. You’re dripping for me in no time, like the wanton little thing you are. You’ll even take it like this, with no complaint, because you love being punished, isn’t that right, my witchling?”  “No, I don’t want… I wasn’t ready, you just took me without…!” she gasped angrily, wriggling, her hands pushing against his chest, stimulating his nipples, tickling him so well.   “Yes,” he hissed, bucking into her, his cock throbbing as her head bounced from the wall behind her, “because you’ll take it like a good little whore, my whore.”  She grimaced, but the flush on her face told him that she was aroused, just as much as the telltale slickness that had started to seep from her, clinging to his cock, her knickers dragging against her hard little nub at the front.   Voldemort mouthed the soft skin at her throat, licking her with long swipes of his tongue, making her gasp and squirm, before he bit down, almost breaking the thin layer of skin.  “Ow!” she yelped, but a shudder of pleasure went through her entire body, making his hips speed up. Pounding into her, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stave off his orgasm, but it didn’t matter. She could take that as her punishment too, not being allowed to come on his cock. With a groan, he let himself go, fire blazing through his body, his cock hardening even further.  “No wait, I haven’t…” she stuttered, panting as her body jolted by his every thrust, but he was gone, his balls contracting as light flashed behind his eyelids, like fireworks of dazzling green and gold, sending all he had into her as he groaned into her ear: “Witchling… my witchling…!”  His back arched, his thrusts growing weaker as he emptied himself, Voldemort panted, feeling slightly unsteady, leaning forward, pressing her into the wall.  “I didn’t get to come, you bastard,” the girl pouted, and he had to laugh.  “Did you deserve to come? Such a naughty little witch, insisting on her knickers,” he said breathlessly, nuzzling into her hair.  With a dissatisfied grunt, she wriggled away, and he slipped out of her, feeling the rush of his seed follow in the wake of his cock.  Turning her nose up, she walked across the hall, moving up the stairs. Her hips were swaying enticingly, and as she stopped on the first landing, the glance she sent him was more than coy, it was positively wicked. “Are you coming?”  Voldemort swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. She wanted more, didn’t she? And…. Fumbling in the pocket of his robes, he found the small flask that had become his constant companion over the last weeks. Taking a glug, he followed her upstairs, feeling the Stamina Potion invigorate his cock once more.  The girl entered the library, with him hot on her heels, and as she moved towards the sofa, he came up behind her, pushing her forward over the armrest.  She yelped as she fell, arms flailing, and he pushed her robes up, dragging down the now soaked and stained knickers, baring her swollen slit, shining with her own and his fluids.  With a grunt, he kicked her legs apart, sinking to his knees behind her, pulling her arse towards his mouth.  Carefully, he put his mouth to her hard little nub, letting his tongue roll over it, trying to avoid eating his own come oozing out of her red and abused hole.  “Ooooh,” she squealed, the sound half muffled as her head was pressed against the sofa seat, “stop, you bastard, stop!”  Voldemort chuckled, because he could feel the lust literally roll from her, he could almost taste it, like a intoxicating dark liquid, mingling with the salty sweetness from her sex. “When are you going to stop pretending,” he panted against her lips, suckling her hard clit into his mouth, lapping at her, “when are you going to admit that you want this?”  “Never,” she crooned, “never in a lifetime, because it’s you .”  The way her hips bucked in his grip was telling though, and as he sped up, his tongue flicking her clit like little slaps, she wailed, thrashing in his grip, coming undone for him.  He let her finish, seeing the tremors die out, before he rose, dragging her arse up, entering her brutally with a single thrust, sheathing himself to the hilt.  “Ah,” she choked out, grabbing hold of the sofa to steady herself, taking his thrusts limply, and Voldemort’s eyes were trained on her tight little arse and the way her slit parted for his cock as he ploughed into her. But it was as his gaze followed her small waist and how her shoulders and arms scrambled for a hold, finally landing on her flushed face, half turned to him, brown eyes dazed with satisfaction, almost drunk on pleasure, that Voldemort came undone.  He fell forward, collapsing over her back, hips pumping, filling her up for the second time, unable to even think as ecstasy raced through his entire body, blanking out his mind, leaving only the pulsing pleasure behind.        Xxxx   Later, they were both exhausted, both of them lying on the library sofa, dozing off, until an owl tapped at the window, demanding his presence at the Wizengamot in an hour.  He roused himself almost reluctantly, saying gruffly to his witchling: “Come. You’ve deserved this, seeing the fall out. This wouldn’t have happened today, if not for your impressive handling of the Minister.”  Her tired eyes were deep, dark pools of impenetrable thoughts, before she nodded. “Congratulations,” she said as she hoisted herself up from the sofa.  He cocked his head questioningly, before she expanded on her reasoning: “Your plotting has succeeded, hasn’t it? The Minister and the Mugwump down. I wonder what your next move is.”  A slow smile spread over his face - because she thought she had it all figured out, didn’t she? -  before he answered: “You’ll see, little witchling, you’ll see.”  With a small huff, she left the library, heading for her bathroom.  Standing up, Voldemort stretched out his arms, popping out knots and aches in his back and joints. His toes alighted from the carpet, floating up to the ceiling with an upward magical drift, and he braced his hands above his head, pushing against the roof, feeling his muscles and his magic fight for dominance until he relented. Feeling invigorated by the stretch, he drifted gently down, his toes again touching the carpet, before rolling back on his heels.  Well, now would be a good time for coffee, he thought, making his way downstairs to the kitchen.    Xxxx   “Lots of exciting news today, Miss Granger,” Snape’s portrait said airily, while he studiously avoided looking at her. He was rarely in his frame when she dressed, but this time, he apparently didn’t think it could wait.  “I daresay so,” she replied, her voice muffled by the fact that her head was buried in her drawer, trying to find a fresh pair of socks, hidden in a mountain of mostly unused knickers.  “Minerva is in cohorts with Augusta Longbottom, of course,” he continued, “and I must say, we’re both surprised by Kingsley and Andromeda in this matter. Very disappointing, unless they were… helped.” “I don’t know about that,” Hermione said, sitting down on her bed to pull on her socks, “But I think he was behind the set-up. Did you hear about the St. Mungo’s press conference? They had the idea for that Fertility potion from one of the patients at the Mind Ward - that is, your ward, you know - and they expressly stated that the patient in question was brilliant and knowledgeable.”  “If he was behind the solution, it’s guaranteed that he was behind the problem as well,” Snape said with a snort.  “Exactly. But I find it hard to believe he was behind the idea of this law,” she said, pulling a dress over her head. A nice green dress, one of the more elegant dresses she owned, the hem just above her knees, with half-length sleeves and a fairly modest neckline. And she would never ever admit that she chose this dress because Voldemort thought it looked good on her.  “True, it really isn’t something that he’d endorse,” Snape said thoughtfully. “Far from it, though it seems like he’s gotten a different view on matters after the Battle.”  His glance at her was pointed, and Hermione felt a small blush. Because… Had Voldemort changed his mind? He was claiming to be her soulmate, and she had never really seen him disparage Muggleborns, though he obviously wasn’t fond of Muggles, not to mention the fact that he really seemed to enjoy fucking her. But still…  Finally, she said, her voice very small: “I don’t know. I really don’t know.” In her gut, there was an acute sense of shame, because she should know this. She really should know if she was letting a man inside her body time and time again, one who might hate her, despise her and who might believe she was inferior to him.  Apparently, Snape picked up on all that, his Legilimency powers still frighteningly strong even in his portrait state, because his black eyes softened slightly. “Miss Granger… Believe me, he thinks everyone is inferior to himself. All the Purebloods, all the Half-bloods and certainly Muggleborns and Muggles. The only thing he truly respects is power, and in that regard, few witches surpass you.”  There was a sudden pricking behind her eyes, and not looking at Snape, she whispered: “Thank you.”  The portrait sighed. “He’s on the rise, Miss Granger, and so far, he’s taking you with him. The Dark Lord is… well, he is what he is, and but remember, he’s very adept at creating and playing games.”  “I know, and … I can’t find the Horcrux,” she muttered. “I’ve tried, it’s in his room, but…”  Snape’s deep dark eyes looked at her pensively, seemingly so human, it was hard to believe that he was made of oil paint and canvas.  He cleared his throat, his mellifluous voice oddly rusty as he said: “Sometimes… If you can’t beat them, join them, Miss Granger. You might do more from the inside than the outside in certain cases. I, for one, will not blame you. I know how it is. This time, it is you who must take up the task, but remember, there’s always a choice. You might choose to moderate his actions, or you might work to kill him. It’s your choice, but remember, no one will ever blame you for your choices as much as you’ll blame yourself.”  Xxxx   Methodically brewing, first grounding the beans from the Colombian mountains, heating the water with a precise care before pouring, letting it drip at the perfect rate over the ground coffee, even the resulting scent of toasted almonds and dark chocolate couldn’t quite soothe the unease he felt.  Voldemort felt the little phials almost burn in his pocket, like a reminder of a strange choice to be made.   There was a sound from above, a door slamming - the door to her room - before light steps were heard, heading downstairs, and he knew she’d be following the delicious scent of the fresh coffee, coming straight to the kitchen.  Almost reluctantly, he put his hand in the pocket, pulling out the other phial. Voldemort stared at the small vessel in his hands, tilting it slightly, his hand resting on the stopper.  The thick, red viscous fluid slid slowly over the clear glass surface of the phial, ruby red like lifeblood itself. If he did this, then there was no point of return. Swallowing, like there was something stuck in his throat, he made a decision.     Xxxx    She was no Legilimens, but even Hermione could feel that the mood in the Ministry was electric, excitement crackling all over, knowing that the Wizengamot was about to elect a new leader. People were gathering in small groups to talk, some furtively, others with a loud confidence, everyone glancing about to see who was talking to whom, and for how long.  Voldemort strode past everyone through the corridors, the antechamber and into the Great Assembly Hall, with her on his arm. The warmth from his body was a welcome source of heat in the cold underground air, and she suspected that even the people maintaining the temperature Charms in the Ministry were otherwise occupied today.  His dark robes billowed about his legs, and her dark grey silk robes, a silvery match to her green dress, swirled around her - and she knew, all eyes followed them. Voldemort strode across the floor to his ornate chair, not letting her arm go, and said: “Sit with me.”  “What? I can’t, I’m not a Member,” she said weakly, thrown by the question. “Muggleborns aren’t allowed…” “Special circumstances apply,” he said curtly, before a small smirk formed around his lips. He leaned in, whispering in her ear: “Besides, who do you think will challenge me ?”  At that, she couldn’t help laughing, partly because of his smug confidence, but also because it was true. Who in their right mind would dare to go up against him? He might be playing nice, but everyone knew what he was capable of doing.  Instead she replied: “Oh, I expect people in general wouldn’t do that. It would take a certain kind of courage, wouldn’t it?” The grin she sent him was toothy as she sat down beside him.  The chair  - the Gaunt chair - was surprisingly comfortable, though the carved snakes at the back felt as if they were slithering over her neck, caressing her skin, tongues flicking over her to taste. Voldemort leaned in, red eyes looking deeply into hers, as he muttered: “At least, it would take a special someone.”  And the warmth that shot through her was wrong, oh so wrong, because this was a threat, wasn’t it? He knew that she opposed him, and yet, the heat in his eyes felt much too good.    Xxxx   It felt right, sitting in this chair with the girl beside him. He wondered if she knew what this meant, but all the Pure-bloods and the Half-bloods would get the message. She probably had no idea as her upbringing was sadly lacking, and apparently, the Blood Traitor Weasleys and the other Order members hadn’t seen fit to educate her on the finer points of Wizarding etiquette. Then again, they’d all been busy twarthing him, so maybe he shouldn’t blame them too much. The thing was, he needed to tie her securely to him.  When Ruth and Gawain filed in, they both raised an eyebrow at seeing her in his chair, but they didn’t look half as surprised as Narcissa Malfoy and her son, the Bulstrodes, Augusta Longbottom and her grandson - plus the rest of the Wizengamot, really.   “I see,” Mrs. Longbottom said carefully as she sat down in her family seat beside them, nodding at them. “To be frank, I wasn’t expecting that, at least not yet.”  He put his arm around the little witch’s shoulder, before saying smoothly: “I’m undeserving.”  The little witch looked thoroughly confused, but Augusta snorted. “I tend to agree, Mr. Voldemort.” The old woman grinned at him, but her young grandson looked thoroughly shocked, hiding his sentiments rather poorly.  People were still milling about, until four sweating clerks came in, Levitating what seemed to be an enormously heavy stone urn, the kind that was usually seen in formal, posh gardens. Their wands were shaking, pointing at the urn to keep it afloat, and all four of them groaned as they finally could put it down in the middle of the round floor.   Then a silence fell, and all the Wizengamot Members and the throngs of visitors found their places. Voldemort felt like he was sitting on pins and needles - he knew the outcome, but still, this was exciting.  Augusta Longbottom rose, setting a Sonorous at her throat. “Witches and wizards, dear Members of the Wizengamot,” she began. “We’re gathered here today to vote for a new Mugwump, after the shameful going-ons that have been happening over the last weeks. I know most of you have already decided, talked, deliberated and even conspired,”  - there was a weak sniggering from the crowd at that - “but rest assured, your final vote will be anonymous as always. No one can and will ever know which name you write on your ballot. Quills at the ready, you have two minutes after the countdown starts!”  With a flourish from her wand, scraps of parchment fluttered out, landing in the lap of each and every Wizengamot member. The Longbottom woman waved her wand, and a large grandfather clock appeared beside the stone urn. “Now!” she shouted, and a loud ticking started, counting the seconds.  Voldemort looked at the piece of parchment in his lap, before Conjuring a nice Eagle feather quill. Quickly, he scribbled his choice, before fixating the ink with a drying spell and folding the parchment.  He wasn’t the first to send his parchment flying into the urn, because already there was a flurry of paper birds sailing through the air, before they all reached their target, taking a steep dive into the urn.  At the end of the countdown, the grandfather clock chimed, and the urn glowed briefly a dark coal red.  The entire Wizengamot was so quiet, you could hear a pin being dropped.  Slowly, the urn did its duty, processing the votes on the ballots, lights flickering within it as it counted. It was an ingenious piece of magic, he mused, because the spellwork on it was virtually indestructible. He had certainly tried, tested it thoroughly at his last takeover, thinking that it would be a useful tool for him, but no. The urn was not swayed, it gave the correct answer every time.  At last, it lit up, incandescent white light streaming upwards, and slowly, letters formed in the air above, spelling out the name of the new Mugwump.  There was a soft whoosh of breath around the room, and Voldemort couldn’t help grinning. It had worked. All his hard work had paid off, like he knew it would.    Xxxx    Hermione stared at the letters in disbelief  - that impossible name, how could people be so stupid, so incredibly mindless -  before she shook her head in disgust. Here he was, five months after the Battle of Hogwarts, and they elected him leader of the Wizarding Parliament. Well, if people wanted to be deceived this badly, there was nothing she could do about it.  Slowly, someone began clapping, and more and more people joined in, until the entire room was applauding the choice of Lord Voldemort as their new leader of the Wizengamot.  She peered up at the man beside her, and for once, everyone would be able to read his mood. He was pleased, no doubt about that, grinning like the madman he was.  Even Augusta Longbottom was applauding, though she seemed to want to hold her nose at the same time. Looking around, Hermione was slightly heartened by seeing that a fair number of people looked surprised, some even a little hesitant. Likely as not, some people would have been voting for him to hinder some other candidate that they really wouldn’t want to win, while others would have been convinced that he was a good choice. The question remained: How many had he coerced, blackmailed and Imperio’ed to achieve this?  Hermione gritted her teeth, but this - this frankly insane result of the voting - made her even more certain of what she had to do. She could no longer let him out of her sight. She needed to be there, at all times, making sure that he didn’t destroy the Wizarding world once again.  Beside her, Voldemort slowly rose to his feet, towering over her, before he briefly squeezed her shoulder. Entering the floor with a spring in his steps, black robes flowing about him, he took a stance to make a speech.  “Members of the Wizengamot, witches and wizards - friends - I am astounded to be here. Proud, but astounded. This … I never expected this, but your trust, your belief in me is heartwarming.”  At that, he held a hand over his heart, making a shallow bow, causing someone to cheer again: “Hear, hear!”  “I made it out of the hospital, but I wouldn’t have made any sense of our society if it wasn’t for my guardian, my soulmate.” His eyes landed on her, seemingly so sincere and warm, and she raised an eyebrow at the display of his acting abilities. He was good, no doubt about that.  There was a sigh and a whisper around the room, and Hermione felt her neck prickling, like everyone’s gaze had turned to herself. Instead, she sat still, her eyes trained on Voldemort. He stood tall, looking confident, but with a fine veneer of humility that he had managed to plaster on his face.  “With her guidance, I’ve come to understand the past, the present, and she’s even given me a few, exciting glimpses of the future.” That made her glare at him, because he was once again alluding to something more than a relationship, it was that non-existent pregnancy again, wasn’t it? His pretense that they were more than enemies that enjoyed fucking each other far too much.  She shook her head slightly in warning, making him flash a quick grin to her. “Moreover, through meetings, conversations, discussion and assemblies, you have all taught me about the needs of our society, the needs that we as politicians must meet. We must listen, and not abuse our power to impose laws that are unfair and unjust, and we must be fair in all our dealings, using the resources of our world for the best. Together with you, we will rebuild, rework and reunite the Wizarding world in Britain. I’m standing before you now, proud and humble to be your Mugwump, servant of all.”  “Yes!” Someone shouted, taking up a chant: “Voldemort! Voldemort! Voldemort!”  He was smiling, cameras were flashing, and Hermione almost wanted to cry. This was it: His victory, and how was she to stop him? This was the bloody apocalypse, the downfall of society, and she could do nothing about it. Maybe it was as Snape had said, maybe she could only hope to temper his actions. To achieve that, she needed a noose around his neck, though in the process, that noose would also be around her own. She needed to tie him securely to her.    Xxxx   There were greetings, plenty of them, people swarming him to congratulate him, but Hermione  kept quiet, though she kept up a polite smile on her face.  “Congratulations, on all of it,” Mrs. Bulstrode said, smiling at them. “I see you’re taking no chances, with the downfall of this silly law.”  “One needs to secure one’s assets,” Voldemort said with a wink, making the woman laugh.  “For sure, for sure, Lord Mugwump,” she said, before moving on.  Some people dared to shake his hand, while others said a polite congratulations.  Then Arthur came forward with a big grin, wife and his entire family in tow, apart from Ginny and Ron, and Hermione suspected that they were both at home, caring for Harry.   “Thank you so much for the repairs on the Burrow,” Arthur gushed, beaming at him, and that made her start. Surprised and fearful, she uttered her first words since his inauguration: “Did you do anything to their home?”    Apparently, he knew exactly what she was asking, and shook his head, squeezing her arm. “I merely did a little… strengthening on the foundations, shoring them up, so to speak.”  “His work did wonders for the creaking floorboards,” Molly said, smiling at them. “So much more quiet, it seems like another house, all of a sudden! But this …” - she waved her hand at the two of them, “this was… unexpected, but…”  Hermione furrowed her brows, because there was something odd about all this, like people expected them to be…  “Oh!” Arthur interrupted. ”I’ve got something for you, something important. Wait a moment, everyone must see this.”  He set a Sonorous to his throat, and said loudly, his voice reverberating much too loud from the walls, making everyone cover their ears for a moment: “EVERYONE!”   Arthur reddened, realising that he had effectively shouted into everyone’s ears, turning on his feet: “Oh, sorry about that, sorry. Well, you need to hear this. The current acting Minister, Mr. Croaker, has allowed me to bring our new Mugwump something he’s sorely missed, for sure. I present to you,” he turned back to Voldemort, pulling something out of his pocket: “Your wand. The original one.”  And beside her, Hermione could literally see Voldemort grow taller, as if he was standing on his toes. He paled, the mottling growing stronger, and said, his voice oddly shaky: “My… wand?”  “Yes, the one you got when you were eleven!” Arthur shouted, presenting the white Yew wand to him with a flourish of his hand. “Here it is, back where it belongs!”  The wand smacked into Voldemort’s hand, and for a brief moment, something heartfelt and honest, like true joy, flitted over his monstrous face.   Xxxx He was quiet for a moment, before he said: “Thank you.” He swished his wand expertly, feeling the familiar warmth and strength run through his magic, like greeting an old friend, and a starry darkness spread out from his wand, lighting the high ceiling like so many clusters of nebulas, making people gasp in awe. The Elder Wand had never served him like this, never accepted him, and Voldemort couldn’t understand why not. This, however, his old wand… Why had he ever given it up?  Though beside him, the little witch was projecting her thoughts as clear as the day, wondering how anyone could believe him to be an amnesiac, given his familiarity with his old wand. Voldemort almost wanted to laugh, but instead, he took her hand, asking - carefully moderating his request, mindful of them being in public: “My dear, please… Bring out your wand.”  Frowning, she slid her wand out of her wand holster, clutching her vine wand hard.  Tentatively, Voldemort touched her wand with his own. He wasn’t entirely sure about the effects, but given the compatibility between their wands, something should happen, shoring up everyone’s belief in their relationship. Well, he was elected Mugwump, but he still had to work to maintain his image as a reformed wizard. Having her by his side would help.    With an almighty bang, both wands lit up like fireworks, sending red sparks to the ceiling, showering the two of them with flaring red embers, though strangely enough, it didn’t burn.  The girl looked flabbergasted, but the Wizengamot cheered. And Voldemort - he knew he had just proven to anyone that they were compatible as soulmates. Those fools would believe they were soulmates, but only he and the little witch would know that something was lacking, something important, namely their wish to be soulmates.      And then he looked down at their wands, and his jaw fell. Voldemort uttered an expression that he’d rather be caught dead than using: “Bloody hell,” he whispered. 

The relief of finally seeing Luz in front of her is nearly enough to send Camila to her knees.  Her daughter is trembling, littered in scrapes with tears welling in her eyes. This is it, she thinks. She’s finally back for good. And then she recognizes that she’s not alone. She’s not just Luz, she’s Luz and four trembling children, all injured and soaked in rain. As hard as this nightmare has been and as bad as it is certain to get, this part is easy as breathing. She wraps her sobbing child in her arms and gestures for all of them to come home.  It’s also the only easy part.  “I don’t— I don’t know where to begin,” Luz sobs, her head collapsing back against down into her hands. “It’s all so bad.”  It took Camila around an hour to treat all five teens’ injuries, find them dry clothes, and get them to sit down and eat. Sweet Vee, bless her heart, went upstairs without complaint when Camila sent her. She has noidea what these kids have been through, and knowing how long it took Vee to get comfortable here, she doesn’t want to risk Vee or the others accidentally setting the other off. The kids, shellshocked and exhausted, sit quietly when Camila pulls Luz into the living room to try and get the full story.  That’s when she burst into tears.  Camila strokes her hand over her daughter’s back, slow to try and coax Luz’s heaving breaths to ease. Honestly, Camila has no idea where to begin either. “Are-- Are you safe?”  Luz’s entire body shakes with the cry that rips out of her. “WE are, but-- but Eda-- KING--”  She doesn’t know what else to do, so she just pulls her child into her chest. “Breathe, mija. Just-- Just breathe with me, yeah?”  Luz cries so hard that Camila worries she’s gonna make herself sick, but she has no idea how to make her stop. She frantically thinks over what Luz told her the last time they spoke. She’s staying in an owl house in the demon realm with an owl lady and a king— but how true is any of that? She swore she was safe. Scars and wounds are more common on these children than freckles. Vee’s story flashes in her mind; A monster behind a mask, an emperor, who tortures and experiments on children. Did they run back to Gravesfield to escape him? What had he done to them? What had he done to Luz ?! Camila catches a glimpse, just over Luz’s shoulder, of purple hair flitting behind the doorway. It feels like a lifeline. “Tell me about your friends,” she whispers into her hair.  Luz sniffles, leaning back to wipe at her eyes. “Uhm, well-- Three of them are friends I think? Well-- Yeah! Hunter is definitely a friend now. He’s kinda got a loooot of issues, but--” She begins rambling, and Camila’s heart swells. There she is.  “--he risked a lot to save my life and he’s really a good person even though he doesn’t know it, and, oh my gosh, Willow and Gus are the best . They’re both soooo powerful, and Gus is only twelve, but he’s the best illusionist-- Oh, they’re all witches! Sorry-- Okay, so, Gus is the short one with dark hair, he’s an illusions prodigy , and Willow has the green streak, and she’s literally the most powerful witch in our class and killer at Flyer Derby, and then Hunter’s the one with the blonde hair-- he’s a natural with palismen-- and Amity--”  “Is Amity… not a friend?” Camila asks. “You only said three friends before.”  Luz’s face flushes. “Well-- I mean, she-- She’smygirlfriend.”  “Girl-- Girlfriend?” Camila repeats, shellshocked. Luz makes this little squeaking noise, eyes wide and watching. It takes Camila a second to recognize that she is waiting for her reaction to her coming out.  “Oh, Luz, ” Camila whispers, holding her palm to her tear-soaked cheek. “You’re… You grew up so fast.” Tears well up in her eyes. “I’m sorry?” she tries, voice strangled.  Camila shakes her head. “No-- No, never apologize for that. Never. I’m so, so proud of you.”  Her beautiful, intelligent, stubborn, creative daughter crumbles in her hands. “I’m not-- I’m not enough, Mom. I couldn’t save everyone. Everyone’s dying and it’s all my fault.”  “You’re so hard on yourself,” Camila says, and then her dam’s breaking. Tears clog her own throat, and she pulls her child into her chest again. “You saved Vee, and you saved four of your friends! That’s more than most people do in their entire lifetimes, Luz. Whatever happened--”  “I had a family in the Boiling Isles, Mom,” Luz sobs. “Eda and King and Hooty and Lilith and-- and we were supposed to stick together no matter what. And I couldn’t do it and now the Collector is going to kill the entire place, and I can’t even get back because I don’t have any Titan’s Blood and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do .”  Camila feels a knife enter her heart. She always knew her kid was going to grow up eventually and make a whole life for herself, but she didn’t know she’d find a whole world without her. She didn’t know she’d do it at fourteen.  Her wonderful girl is growing so, so quickly out of being her daughter. She breathes through the aching of her heart. Luz is injured and so, so scared. She has to be here for her now, even if it’s for the last time.  “Family finds each other. Whatever is going on, I know you’re going to find your way back to them.”  Luz pulls back from her, eyes and nose stained red, but hope’s starting to bloom on her face again. “I promise you, Luz,” Camila says, because honestly, she’s convinced this kid can do anything. “You’re going to see them again.”  The thought scares Camila shitless, but it finally brings a smile back to Luz’s face.  And then Camila holds her, as long as Luz will let her, as the growing certainty that this might be the last time threatens to send her sobbing too.

It was obvious that Isabela had messed up. She had messed up greatly.   She barely slept that night, after she said such shameful things to Mirabel, her baby sister, the one she had sacrificed so much for. God… She had been so stupid.   But she was so tired…    She was so tired of lying, and of pretending, and she was so on edge every time she was asked if she was fine that she just hadn't been able to control herself.   It was as if the words just spilled out from her, as if a switch had been flipped, or as if a river's dam had been broken making the water flood everything around her.   But of course, none of that was enough of an excuse for what she'd done.    Her sister struggled so much every day, since she was so little, and all over the years she had just made everything worse. She had just made everything worse.   She had seen her sister cry herself to sleep while begging to have a gift, she had seen her get hurt while trying to help in the town in any way just so she'd be able to see her abuela's look of approval. She had seen Mirabel pass out from exhaustion more than once after she tried to do more than she was capable of just to be able to see her family proud of her.   And Isabela had just used her sister's biggest insecurity to insult her.   What kind of sister was she?   She had failed, she had failed Mirabel for so many years, everything she had done was for nothing, her sister wasn't better, and it was partially her fault, she was sure of that.   And the guilt was eating her inside.   Mirabel wasn't present at breakfast the next morning.   Dolores whispered something to Isabela and Mirabel's mother, Isabela sulking in her seat when she saw her mamá's gaze full of… Not anger, but disappointment.   She didn't dare to look her in the eye afterwards.   And she didn't feel like eating either, she felt like she was going to throw up.   But then her abuela quickly scolded her, telling her not to waste food and to sit up straight, and Isabela did as told even if she felt her stomach screaming at her not to continue eating.   Isabela saw from the corner of her eye how her mamá wanted to approach her, but her abuela was quicker, telling Julieta not to bother her because she had a lot of work to do today.   That was the first time she had been thankful for her abuela's interruptions.   Isabela could hear her mother's voice calling for her in the distance, but she pretended she didn't.   But her mom was just as stubborn as her, which meant she'd probably wait for her back at home even if it was late at night.   At least she'd have time to prepare for that.   After that, she felt like she was working on autopilot.   Everything was a blur.   She knows that she worked harder than usual and that people seemed to be happy.   But she also knew that her chest felt tight and that she felt nauseous.   "Isa?"   Isabela shook her head after Mariano's voice finally caught her attention. She took a shaky breath and finally looked at him.   "Are you okay?"   It felt like guilt continued to stack on top of more guilt, as Isabela felt herself flinch when she saw his worried expression and confused gaze.   But she just shook her head no.   Mariano panicked as soon as she saw Isabela's pained expression and tears pooling in her eyes.    "Uh… Wanna go somewhere quiet for a second?"   Isabela nodded as a response.   And so Mariano took her hand and quickly dragged her to a place where they wouldn't be seen. Isabela seemed a little scared at first, but she figured that with Mariano by her side, going inside an alley again wouldn't be dangerous.   "Okay, what happened? What's wrong?"   It was Mariano, so Isabela figured that it'd be fine to tell him, he was the only person she could talk to anyway.   Though maybe he would think she was a terrible person.   That wouldn't be wrong, however.   "I messed up…" She started. "I m-messed up so badly! I-I made my sister cry."   Mariano could see Isabela panicking, the girl grabbing her hair with too much strength as she tried not to cry.   Isabela felt like throwing up.   "She's been insecure about not having a gift for so long! And here I come, to make things worse! Her sister, how could I call myself her sister? A sister wouldn't do this... A sister would comfort her. I've treated her so badly over the years and now even my mom is disappointed and Dolores was right, I am evil, and I had no fucking right to-"   "ISABELA!"   The scream made Isabela close her eyes and flinch, and Mariano suddenly regretted it. However, Isabela was rambling, almost spiraling. She was pulling on her hair too hard and her breath was irregular. He just needed to make it stop somehow, and as nervous as he was himself, he didn't have a better idea than to scream.   "I-I'm sorry, it's okay… I just wanted you to listen to me, I'm so sorry." He quickly apologized, taking Isabela's hands and gently caressing them.   Isabela was now already crying.   "You're… You're not evil, Isabela." He tried to reassure her. "You regret what you did, and you recognize it wasn't right, someone who's evil wouldn't do that."   "But Mariano, I made my baby sister cry, I made her cry…" Isabela repeated those words over and over again.   "You made a mistake, said things you shouldn't have, but you can make this work, you can apologize, treat your sister better, you can work for it."   The girl shook her head frantically.   "And why would she forgive me?! What reason have I given her to forgive me?!"   Mariano gulped. She had never seen Isabela so nervous, not even when she revealed how she was feeling to him on the roof.   "You can make a reason!" He exclaimed. "You have time, you can make things work-"   "I don't think things will ever work." Isabela suddenly lowered her voice. "N-nothing will change, it never changes."   "It won't if you don't do anything about it."   "I can't do anything about it, you know it."   Mariano let out a sigh.   "I'm scared of what could happen if you don't do anything."   "I am too."   Yes, she was terrified. Things would just continue to get worse, she was sure of it, but even then, she knew she wasn't able to stop, not now, not ever. The consequences of doing that could be disastrous, she knew that, but even then, she was too scared to even think about finding a way to stop.   She didn't know how to stop either.   And even if she did, she'd prefer hitting rock bottom than to stop now just to start being a disappointment.   It probably wasn't good how she cared more about the image of how the family sees her changing than her own well-being.   But, it had been like that for too long.   "Isabela Madrigal!"   Both Isabela and Mariano turned their heads around quickly as soon as they heard the voice of Alma Madrigal.   It was then that Mariano saw Isabela's habits and reflexes in action for the first time. It was honestly kind of scary, the way Isabela's whole demeanor changed in less than a second as if a button was pushed inside her head that made her move involuntary, changing so many details and gestures Mariano had never even noticed.   He saw her lift her head slightly and put her hands behind her back. He saw her put on a smile that didn't reach her eyes, and subtly fix her dress. Everything was so… Controlled and practiced.   Alma looked at the two of them with her brow furrowed, the older woman not happy to find them alone in an alley.   Mariano remembered then that maybe he should stand up straight too.   "Isabela! What are you doing here? You still have work to do!"   Mariano noticed how Isabela stiffened and gulped as soon as her abuela spoke, like a deer caught in the headlights.   He never even imagined how afraid Isabela was of her grandmother.   "U-uh… He wanted to ask me a question so-" Her tone of voice was light, softer than what Mariano was used to. It was definitely fake, and yet, he noticed how her voice wavered.    And so he decided to help her.   He put on his best gentlemanly smile and spoke.   "Oh… I'm sorry señora Alma, I didn't want to distract Isabela from her work, but she looked a little sick, so I wanted to make sure she was doing well before she could go back to work. I worry a lot, you know? She works really hard, so I wanted to take care of her too since she does the same for me so frequently."   Alma was taken aback by his words, as she just blinked and stared at them for a few seconds before clearing her throat.   Mariano supposed that there was no reason for her to doubt his words, as he had never lied to her before, plus, Isabela looked… Not so good. She had bags under her eyes and her eyes were a bit puffy because of the crying.   And so, all abuela Alma could do was sigh.   "Alright, thanks for taking care of my granddaughter." She smiled a little bit. "But if she's feeling well now, the best would be for her to go back to work, we already have enough trouble with Mirabel skipping work today…"   Mariano took one of Isabela's hands right at that moment, intertwining their fingers together. He did such a thing because he saw the girl's hands shake as soon as her abuela talked about Mirabel.   "S-she skipped work…?"    Mariano hadn't expected her to ask, and yet she did. Isabela did care about her sister, Mariano already knew that, but it seems that Isabela herself seemed to doubt her own mind and thoughts a lot of the time.   Alma nodded, visibly annoyed.   "Julieta told me she was sick this morning, that it wasn't anything too serious, but that she should rest."   "Oh…" It's all Isabela said.   "Well, I'll get going, and I hope to see you in the plaza soon, okay Isa?" Despite trying to make her voice sound sweet, Alma still sounded stern.   "Y-yeah, I'll be there in a minute."   As soon as Alma left, Isabela's eyes widened and she tightly squeezed Mariano's hand, as if she needed to make sure he was still there.   "I… I did that… Mirabel didn't get out of bed today because of me! Oh, God… What have I done? What have I done?"   If an emotion could physically drown her, Isabela imagined she would be drowning in her own guilt at that exact moment.    She cursed and paced back and forth dragging Mariano with her thanks to their connected hands, the girl biting onto the nails of her free hand.   "Isa… It'll be fine, you can talk to her-"   "I CAN'T TALK TO HER!"   Isabela was breathing heavily, now adding a new bit of guilt to her infinite pile, for screaming at Mariano who just tried to her.   She just cried.   "I-I'm sorry… I'm sorry…"   Mariano just took her other hand, not wanting her to continue biting her nails.   "It's okay, I know you didn't mean to-"   "But I did! And I hate it… I don't mean many things, but I do them anyway! What difference does it make if I meant it or not?! It's like I can't control myself, and maybe that's because I am evil just like Dolores said. After all, someone who wasn't wouldn't do things like this even if they wanted to, so why do I?"   At this point, not even Mariano knew what to do or say. So he decided to just listen, a sad expression on his face.   "And I've tried! Believe me, I've tried, but all I end up doing is hurting people or pushing them away, even when I try my hardest!" Isabela let herself fall onto her knees, her head spinning. "I don't know what else to do… If trying isn't enough, then what is? And I know that I react badly because of the pressure perhaps, but that's not an excuse, but even then-"   Isabela felt herself struggling to breathe, her chest felt so tight too, and the want to throw up was still there, accompanying the quickened beat of her heart.   "I'm scared." And she genuinely looked scared, Mariano could see that. "I'm scared that I don't know how to be good, whatever that may mean. I'm scared that perhaps I'm just a bad person, that I can't act in any other way."   Mariano just sat on the floor next to her, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder.   "My sisters don't deserve someone like me, they're so… Good. And caring, and so gentle with people, and they actually mean it! I just… I fake everything, it's not the same, it will never be the same."   Isabela could feel herself struggling to breathe, the tears blurring her vision.   "Hey, Isa…? Take a deep breath, come on, breathe slowly."   Isabela tried to, even if it was hard due to her sobbing. She put a hand on her chest and tried to appease her racing heart, to no avail.   However, Mariano's soft voice and gentle words of reassurance helped her calm down, even if after a while. Isabela knew her abuela would be mad, but at that moment she didn't care. She just wanted to breathe and to stop feeling as if her heart would get out of her chest.   Thankfully Mariano was there, as the good friend he was.   "Maybe you should go home… No, you will go home, just tell your mamá you weren't feeling well."   Isabela gulped.   "She wanted to talk to me about Mirabel. Or well, I suppose it was about Mirabel."   Mariano helped Isabela get up.   "Well, maybe she can know… At least something."   "I have no excuses, and I know my mamá would never get too mad at me but- she'll ask so many questions and I don't know what to answer-"   "Hey, hey, look at me." Mariano gently lifted Isabela's chin so she could look up at him. "You'll be fine, you just said it, your mamá wouldn't get too mad, she'd understand. Try to not think about it too much, not everything you say or do has to be thought over a hundred times."   "I-I know… But it's hard."   "I know it is, but you have time, time to work on it."   He gave her a loving smile, the trademark Mariano smile Isabela was so used to seeing, and Isabela wanted to just hug him to death right then and there.   Whoever dated him later would be the luckiest girl in the world.    "Right… Time… Thank you."   "No worries, I'll be with you every step of the way, no matter how long."   "Why do you have to be so cheesy?"   "Come on, you know you love it." He grinned.   "Ew, no!" Isabela laughed right after that, however, as she was joking, and Mariano did the same.   "If anything happens, you can come to see me, alright?"   Isabela nodded, knowing he was probably the most worried after her mother, which was a lot, but that was just Mariano. He worried, with all his heart and might, and he cared, with everything he had. She was lucky to have him as a friend…   She, Isabela Madrigal, had managed to make friends with one of the best people she had ever met. It was kind of ironic.   "Of course, don't worry, I will"   That seemed like enough to make some of his worries disappear.   The way to Casita was spent in comfortable silence, Isabela still holding onto Mariano's hand as it gave her the comfort she needed at the moment. He was true to his word and walked her all the way home, like a true gentleman.   Isabela took a deep breath.   "You'll be okay…"   "I sure hope so."   Mariano gave their connected hands a last squeeze before letting go and walking away, waving goodbye until he was finally out of sight.   Casita opened the door before she even did anything else, and she took one step inside her home, praying to any god that might hear her, hoping she wouldn't find her mom or that she wouldn't hear her come home, maybe she would be too busy in town or-   "Isabela."   Her mother's voice, loving and yet firm, her gaze just as determined, made Isabela shiver.   "Mamá…"   And so she stood up straight, hands behind her back like always, head down in shame.   "We need to talk."   Now more than ever, she hoped that Mariano's words were true and that she'd really be fine.   Because Isabela wasn't sure if she could handle lying to her mother again.    

Loyalty and Limerence Part 3 Chapter 2 Menae   Crosshairs converged on a screeching, pale skinned monstrosity. Garrus pulled the trigger, and black blood sprayed through the air as the corpse fell to the ground. With a tired groan, he ducked back into cover and pulled out another heat sink, replacing the previous one. Poking his head back out, he peered through his scope, and a moment later, another horrific creature dropped to the ground, its head a mess of bloody pulp.   And above him, Palaven burned and his people died.   Gone was his initial panic of the Reaper’s arrival, replaced with weary resignation that all they’d done to prepare hadn’t been nearly enough. Palaven was almost entirely alone in the fight with no expectation of backup or assistance. Earth, for all he knew, had already fallen. Spirits only knew what had become of Thessia, Sur’Kesh, and the other homeworlds.   The dead bodies of the soldiers he’d taken with him to handle the brute terrorizing Victus’ flank lay in pools of their own blood somewhere in the general vicinity, most of them surrounding the gigantic thing’s corpse. They’d died honorable deaths as they’d taken the creature down, deaths that any turian would have been proud of. But that didn’t change the fact that they were dead, nonetheless.   Another husk landed between Garrus’ crosshairs, head exploding in a spray of blood, and another corpse fell dead to the ground. His own time hadn’t come quite yet, but as he faced wave after wave of creatures fit only for nightmares, it wasn’t a stretch to imagine dying here on the barren surface on Menae, alone.   As Palaven continued to burn above him.   He pulled the trigger. A marauder fell, and Garrus tried not to wonder who it might have been… before . He tried not to think about his father and Sol, wherever they were up on that burning planet. Up in that bright, fiery splotch that had been Cipritine’s beautiful, towering spires. Last he’d heard from them, his father had found Sol and they’d been making their way to a safehouse, but once he’d left for Menae, communication had gotten spotty. The Reapers were jamming signals, and they’d recently gotten a good hit on one of the communication towers, making it nearly impossible to get a hold of anyone at a distance.    Garrus found a moment of peace and let his eyes stray upwards toward the dark heavens above. Somewhere out there was Earth. Was it burning like Palaven? Were ships there exploding in the skies above? Were Reapers laying waste to their cities? Did swathes of humans lay dead at their feet? Somewhere on those distant battlefields, was there a body laying broken, sightless green eyes staring absently, her red hair splayed out around her, blood splattering her pale skin? Was there a bloody husk out there with an eerily familiar face?   Garrus shuddered and shook his head. Jane was fine, she was a fighter and she would be okay. He had to focus on keeping himself alive and doing what he could for his people. There was nothing he could do for Jane right now. The best thing he could do was not die. He had to return her dog tags, after all, and he couldn’t do that if he was dead. He loaded another heatsink and took a deep breath.   He shouldn’t be surprised that he was crouched here fighting for his life on Menae of all places. He’d been a part of the planning process, he’d known the High Command’s flight here was a possibility. But Garrus could vividly remember looking up at the moon as a child and dreaming, like most children, about what secrets it held. Many people speculated about its classified secrets, having been placed into the hands of the military from the very first moments of turian spaceflight. He’d never been stationed there during his time in service, but he’d seen the shocking leaked pictures of soldiers walking around without helmets. It hadn’t prepared him, though, for the strangeness of actually being there.   It made sense now , of course, given his hurried briefing upon arrival with the rest of the Hierarchy High Command after the beginning of the Reaper invasion. A series of underground tunnels snaked between the numerous military bases across Menae, and within them ran a network of powerful mass effect field generators, enough to create a small amount of atmosphere, just enough to breath while in some areas on the surface.    The Hierarchy’s plans to flank the enemy by launching an assault from Menae had been nearly laughable, but his opinion had initially been soundly ignored. The numbers the Reapers could muster and the sheer force of their firepower had shattered that plan before it had even begun. Additionally, Menae played a major role in the supply and refueling efforts for the turian fleets, and the Reapers made it clear from the beginning that they planned to cut that supply chain by bombarding the moon’s bases. Thankfully, the bases had been well protected enough to repel the initial attack, forcing the Reapers to deploy ground units in hopes of taking the bases the old fashioned way on foot.   So far, it seemed, the Hierarchy had been holding their own against the Reapers forces, but with the Reaper’s inexhaustible supply of patience and cannon fodder, it was only a matter of time until they ground the turian forces into the dust. Then, without the ability to easily resupply their fleets, well… Garrus didn’t want to think about it.   In the days following their arrival on Menae and failure of the initial plan, those around him had quickly begun turning to Garrus as some sort of expert due his experience fighting against the Reapers alongside Shepard. He had advice and insights to share, which seemed to be more than anyone else had to offer, and so he found himself quickly elevated to a position of power as some sort of “Expert Reaper Advisor”. He personally thought it was somewhat laughable. Him? An expert advisor ? He scoffed, brought his scope up, aimed, and fired. Another husk spun, fetid blood spraying into the air before it collapsed.   All of this, and Palaven still burned.   What had the plan been, anyway? He’d almost been beginning to feel confident in the days before the invasion, hadn’t he? It all seemed like a dream now, as though his life prior to the attack had vanished in a puff of smoke as he’d awoken to this new hellish reality. The turians were being ground down and there seemed nothing he could do about it. There was no plan other than to scramble and survive to the next day. He hadn’t heard anything from Shepard or Jane, and there was a part of him that felt like there was no hope for the galaxy without them, especially if each species continued on in the fight alone.   Garrus noticed the despair building and took hold of himself, ruthlessly squashing the feeling as he readjusted his rifle. Another group of husks scrambled toward him and he lined up the crosshairs, his finger tightening on the trigger-   The husk’s head exploded as a shot caught it between the eyes. Garrus’ eyes widened and his finger eased off the trigger, his shot still yet untaken. Was there another survivor nearby? He’d been under the impression that he was the only one left from the bunch that had broken off from Victus’ command. He focused in on his visor readout, but there didn’t appear to be anyone else left in his local comm channel.   Another shot rang out, a distant crack of a sniper rifle, and caught an oncoming marauder between the eyes. Focusing his attention, Garrus tried to estimate the angle of the shot and turned to scan a ridge behind him. There were plenty of large outcroppings and rocks that someone could be hiding behind in addition to a large communication dish.   His attention was ripped back with an ear piercing electric screech and he turned back to see a mob of husks scrambling up the hill toward him again. Cursing, Garrus brought his rifle up, but not as fast as whoever sat atop the ridge behind him. A shot rang out followed by another and then another, taking out three husks in quick succession. The rest of the horde, which he noted included a number of marauders and a few cannibals as well, seemed to notice the single sniper on the ridge and changed the focus of their attack as Garrus sat behind cover, seemingly forgotten.   The husks began lurching and leaping toward the ridge, their single minded bloodlust evident as they rushed to eliminate their attacker. The marauders and cannibals switched their aim, pelting the ridge with shots as they followed after the husks. Garrus watched for a moment longer until there was a slight lull in the gunshots. Looking up, he caught sight of movement as the shooter above took another two shots, and he spotted a quick flash of red.    Garrus pulled out his assault rifle and stood. He quickly took out the stragglers of the pack, glancing up as the shooter ducked out to line up and take another shot, catching a marauder in the throat. Garrus blinked in surprise. He was almost positive the sniper wasn’t turian, their knees bent the wrong way. In fact, if he didn’t know better, he’d almost say it was a human .   He quickly hurried toward a nearby outcropping and waited for the sniper to duck out again for another shot. As they did, Garrus’ chest lurched as his heart twisted painfully. It couldn’t be…    His rifle came up again, and he took out the two cannibals quickly before darting forward toward the safety of another outcropping. He quickly pulled up his omni-tool and navigated to their old private local comm channel.   “Jane?” Garrus asked hesitantly, but he already knew he had to be experiencing some sort of fever dream or hallucination. There was no way she was actually here on Menae, he knew it was impossible. His visor reported one other in the comm channel, but it had to be some sort of error.   “Well, if it isn’t Garrus Vakarian.” Came a familiar voice followed by a low chuckle, and his heart thudded hard in his chest as he felt his hope sore, “Taking your sweet ass time, don’t you think? Or were you just going to leave all the fun for me?” The last marauder’s head exploded as her shot took it between the eyes, its body skidding as it hit the ground.   Garrus let out a disbelieving bark of laughter, his exhaustion causing him to wonder if he should doubt the evidence before him. Could that really be Jane, his Jane ? Or was he dreaming? He supposed there was only one way to find out.   “ Last time, I believe it was you taking your sweet ass time to fight your way up to my sniper nest, if memory serves. Just thought I’d return the favor.” Garrus replied, savoring the snarky battlefield banter he’d missed so much. She laughed, and the sound was so sweet that he couldn’t stand it. He raised his rifle and hurried after the husks, taking them out as quickly as he could as they reached the bottom of the ridge.    Jane’s next shot took out a nearby husk, and Garrus aimed and fired at the two that had just reached the bottom of the ridge. Just a few remained, quickly scrabbling up the rocky incline toward where Jane crouched, her attention and aim having shifted to focus on something on the other side of the ridge. He made quick work of the last few husks as he scaled the incline, and before he knew it, he stood panting, exhausted, and out of breath before Jane Shepard.   Her focus was on something down below at the comm tower’s controls, and her rifle was at the ready as she gazed through the scope. Garrus stood there, a few yards away, gazing at her silently as he regained his breath. She remained where she was, however, acknowledging his presence with nothing more than a quick glance and a single finger held up as if to say ‘hold on just a moment.’    The gesture tickled a memory somewhere in the back of his head. She pulled the trigger, and the shot rang through the air like the crack of a whip. She looked up a moment later, a small, satisfied smile gracing her lips. Her head cocked to the side in the way it did when she was listening intently to her comm, and Garrus felt an instant wave of affection at the small, familiar gesture.   Jane stood suddenly, her rifle held casually, and turned to look at him with a grin on her face. His feet felt like they were glued to the ground, leaden and incapable of moving an inch. He couldn’t do anything other than stare at her, and spirits if she wasn’t the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He opened his mouth to say something, but had no idea what to say. So instead of saying something witty, romantic, or clever, as he’d always planned at their eventual reunion-   “Am I dreaming?” Garrus asked, his voice rasping, his mouth having gone dry. He swallowed and tried again, “Are you real? How are you here?” Jane raised an eyebrow at him before laughing.   “Really? Apart for six months, and the first thing you ask is-” She cut off as Garrus closed the distance between them without warning. She managed to lower her rifle out of the way just in time before his arms enveloped her in a tight hug. Her free arm came up to grip him tightly, and his face dropped into the crook of her neck, inhaling the scent of her deeply in hopes of convincing himself she was real . She had to be.   “I’ve missed you.” Garrus whispered hoarsely, struggling with the overwhelming relief he felt at seeing her there, holding her in his arms, knowing she wasn’t just another nameless casualty of war.   “I missed you, too, Garrus.” Jane murmured warmly, but pulled away a moment later, pressing a quick kiss to his mandible before bringing up her rifle again and kneeling as she braced herself against the nearby outcropping she’d been using as cover. Reality hit him like a slap to the face, and he realized they’d been standing out in the open atop a ridge in the middle of a war like fucking idiots . He crouched down next to her as she peered through her scope and took another shot.    Garrus followed her gaze, noticing the battle below. Biotic attacks erupted across the field, resulting in splatters of black blood from husks as they collapsed with awful screams. The communication tower in the middle of the open space seemed to be the center of the action, and he saw what seemed to be an asari clinging to a ladder on the side of it.    “Is that Liara?” He asked, pulling out his own sniper rifle and looking through the scope. He answered his own question quickly before she had the chance to affirm his suspicion. Searching the battle field, he found a marauder heading for the base of the tower.    “Yeah. I climbed up here to find a good vantage point, but then I got a little distracted when I noticed you down there all by yourself, in need of a knight in shining armor.”   Garrus snorted and he pulled the trigger, and the marauder’s head exploded as two shots caught it simultaneously. He looked away from his scope, glancing at Jane to see her smiling as she lined up her next shot. “I’m assuming Shepard is the one going nuts with the biotics down there?” Garrus asked as he looked back through his scope.   “You assume correct. It’s good to see he hasn’t gone completely soft sitting on his ass all this time on Earth.” Jane muttered before taking another shot as the more creatures advanced on the tower.   “Not that I’m complaining, but why are you guys here of all places? And how? What happened to Earth?” Garrus asked before taking another shot, catching a cannibal in the chest.   “We came to bring the Primarch to a war summit to discuss the war against the Reapers, but we were too late.” Jane explained quickly before the crack of her rifle sounded in their ears, and he did his best to unpack the information thrown at him.   “A war summit?” Garrus wondered aloud, feeling a sudden spark of hope. The spark dimmed again as he processed the last part, “What do you mean by ‘too late’?” Jane shot him a look he couldn’t decipher before answering.   “Fedorian is dead.” She stated quietly, and Garrus slowly released a long, tense breath as cold, numb, calm enveloped him. “His shuttle was shot down not long ago.”   “I see.” Was all Garrus could manage for a moment, but Jane continued taking shots as he gathered himself.   “We’re waiting to hear from your Command on Palaven about who the new Primarch is, but we have to get this comm tower functioning first.”   “Gotcha.” He took a deep breath, forcing down the dread creeping up. He should feel more, he decided, when informed that one of his people’s most important leaders was dead, but the cold numbness was threatening to catch up with him. He had to do something, he had to find a way to be useful, he had to-   “We’re okay here, Garrus. Liara almost has it fixed, she’s surprisingly apt with communication tech these days. You do what you need to do, these are your people.” He turned to Jane to see her watching him closely, her eyebrows drawn ever so slightly in concern.    “I need to get back to the base and speak to General Corinthus. Will you guys be fine without me?”   “Of course, this is child’s play. We’ll join you there as soon as we have the tower fixed up.” Jane stated firmly, and Garrus nodded as he moved to stand. He paused as her hand darted forward to grab the front of his armor, causing him to lurch forward toward her. Her lips crashed against his mouth plates in a firm, quick kiss, but she’d released him before he could even register what was happening.   By the time he’d righted himself, Jane had already returned her focus to the battlefield below. “Be careful.” She added without looking up from her scope.   “You, too.” Garrus replied before turning and hurrying along the ridge in the direction he knew the base to be in.    Maybe he was going crazy. Maybe Jane wasn’t there, maybe he’d imagined the entire exchange. But somehow he doubted it. He forced his eyes away from the planet above, aglow with the embers of war.   Palaven still burned, a harsh reminder of reality.    It wasn’t long until he was passing the barriers into Corinthus’ rudimentary command base, meeting the nods and tired greetings of his fellows as he beelined toward the General.   “Vakarain, sir. Good to see you in one piece.” Corinthus stated stiffly, giving him a salute as he approached, and Garrus nodded to him, motioning for him to relax. Spirits did that weird him out, even after a week of it.   “You as well. I just heard about Fedorian. What happened?” The other man shut his eyes and sighed before looking down at the data pad in his hand. Garrus recognized the other man’s pained expression, it was hard to find someone who hadn’t lost a friend at this point, and the war had only just begun.   “His shuttle was shot down as we were trying to get him off Menae. We can’t get a hold of Palaven Command yet, though.”   “I see. The comm tower?”   “Exactly. I’m hopeful it should be repaired soon, though. Commander Shepard and his team showed up a little while ago,” Corinthus continued, his expression displaying his own amazement, “I received communication from Palaven Command a day or two ago that the Council was sending him to extract the Primarch. He and his team are fixing the tower as we spe-”   Something pinged, and Corinthus looked down, his brow plates leaping in surprise. “Well, speak of the devil. Looks like they got the job done.” Garrus couldn’t help but smile wryly.    “They usually do.” He replied, unable to keep the fondness from his voice. Suddenly, Garrus could hear the faint buzz of Corinthus’ comm springing to life. The man listened intently, his mandibles flicking with pleasure.   “Much appreciated, Commander. I’ll contact Palaven Command.” He said, and a moment later, added, “Understood.”   The General’s attention focused on a nearby console, his fingers flitting through the display interface. He expected the other man to have the answer to their question, the name of the next Primarch, but after a few silent moments, Garrus shifted uneasily.   “So many damn dead. So, so many.” Corinthus sighed, his face suddenly haggard as he examined the readout before him. Suddenly he stopped, a screen popping up before him. “Victus. General Adrien Victus.” Garrus froze, surprise evident on his face as he turned to face the General completely. That had not been the name he’d been expecting to hear, but it filled him with an unexpected spark of hope.   “Huh. Primarch Victus. Now that would be something.” Victus, the man who had proved himself a clever tactician time and time again. Victus, the man who had stopped and listened, reviewing every bit of data he had on the Reapers. Victus, the man he owed his task force to, and thus much of the preparations he’d been able to accomplish before the invasion.    “Commander Shepard, come in.” Corinthus spoke into his comm as Garrus turned away and started toward the supply stores.  “I have information from Palaven Command. Please return ASAP.”  He was running low on just about everything, and he had a feeling things were about to get interesting, as they generally did when the Shepards were involved.   As he was sifting through the crates of rations and packs of heat sinks some minutes later, Garrus vaguely registered the subtle, telltale signs of his translator kicking in, and he knew what that meant. Quickly snagging up a few extra heat sinks and jamming them into his belt pouch, he pulled himself to his feet and grabbed his hastily cleaned rifle before turning. He could see a group standing in the General’s command shelter, and he couldn’t help but smile.    Damn if it wasn’t good to see Shepard again. He could hear voices hard edged with stress and tension, and he took a deep breath before approaching, his posture straight backed as he tried to appear more at ease than he felt.   “I’m on it, Shepard. We’ll find you the Primarch.” Garrus stated confidently as he stepped up into the shelter, and the Commander turned, his eyes widening as they landed on him.   “Garrus!” Shepard exclaimed, a surprised smile blooming across his face. Garrus noticed Corinthus jump slightly, turning to face him with a stiff back.   “Vakarian, sir. I didn’t see you return.” He nodded to the general, suddenly horribly embarrassed as he saw Shepard notice the exchange with interest. Just behind him, he noticed Jane staring with surprise as well, and heat began inching up his neck.   “At ease, General.” He hurried to say, and Corinthus relaxed somewhat, shooting a curious look between him and Shepard before turning and returning his focus to his console.    “Thank god you’re alive.” Shepard stepped forward as he offered his hand, but as Garrus took it, he was pulled into a tight hug. Shepard slapped him once or twice bracingly on the back before pulling away. Jane stepped up beside him, a small crooked smile on her lips as she offered him her hand as well. Garrus took it in his, placing his other hand over their entwined hands in a gesture that was surprisingly intimate. His words were meant for Shepard, but his eyes never left Jane’s, caught in her inescapable gravity.   “I’m hard to kill. You should know that.” He murmured, causing Jane’s smile to soften ever so slightly, an expression meant only for him. After a heartbeat, then both released each other’s hands, stepping back. Shepard glanced between them, slightly bemused, but decided not to comment.   “Good to see you again.” The Commander exclaimed, “I thought you’d be on Palaven.” His relief was nearly palpable, and Garrus felt a wave of affection and gratitude wash over him.   “If we lose this moon, we lose Palaven.” He stated firmly, but then he realized how he sounded, and a new upswell of embarrassment hit him, so he amended that with, “I’m the closest damn thing we have to an expert on Reaper forces,” He shrugged as Shepard stared at him. “So, I’m… advising.” Garrus finished somewhat lamely.    He looked away, unable to meet the man’s eye. Given the current situation, he couldn’t tell if Shepard approved of his attempts to prepare the turians for the Reapers or not. Had he let him down? Or was he happy with his work? Shepard must have noticed his slight discomfort, and so he turned, gesturing to his team. Garrus took a moment to register them, his eyes scanning their faces.   “James, this is Garrus Vakarian.” Shepard looked toward a large, strongly built human man who stood just off a bit, “He helped me stop the Collectors.” Shepard flashed Garrus a smile, adding, “He’s a hell of a soldier. Garrus, this is Lieutenant James Vega, he-”   “He was John’s jailer.” Jane interrupted, elbowing her brother in the side, causing the man to grumble. Vega rolled his eyes good naturedly with a half smile and a shrug.   “Lieutenant.” Garrus nodded to Vega, who returned the gesture stoically even as Jane chuckled. He extended his hand, which Vega took and shook firmly. As the other man shifted back, Garrus noticed someone behind him, and he smiled as his eyes met those of Liara T’Soni. “Good to see you, too, Liara.” What the current Shadow Broker was doing there, he didn’t know, but he wasn’t going to complain about seeing a friendly face.   Liara’s expression softened and she stepped forward slightly with a large smile, “Good to see you in one piece, Garrus.” As she shifted, he noticed one final person standing in the back whom he hadn’t registered before.   “Ashley.” Garrus blinked, taken aback by the woman’s unexpected presence. Ashley nodded to him, her expression hesitant and unsure, but cautiously open. Garrus looked back at Shepard and Jane, who both exchanged a glance, their faces neutral. “It’s been a while.” Garrus finished carefully, wondering how she’d ended back with Shepard after everything that had happened between them on Horizon.    “Vakarian.” She said evenly, nodding her head. Though she had a small smile on her face, her eyes looked distinctly unsure, and Garrus got the impression that she was remembering their last encounter as well. Deciding to move away from that topic, he looked back at Shepard.   “General Corinthus filled me in. We know who we’re after.” He stated confidently, and Corinthus looked over at the group    “Palaven Command tells me that the next Primarch is General Adrian Victus.”   “Victus?” Liara perked up, interest on her face as her thoughts raced, “His name’s crossed my desk.” They discussed the General a little, and Garrus found himself becoming more and more intrigued by the idea of seeing Victus as Primarch. Most Primarchs were fairly conservative – they rarely rocked the boat, preferring to keep the status quo as best they could. Perhaps it was just because Garrus wasn’t the best example of the ideal turian, but he was starting to feel Victus would be a good change of pace. Exactly what they needed in a war they wouldn’t be able to win by conventional means.   His thoughts were cut off as Shepard received a sudden distress call from Joker and the Normandy. There appeared to be something wrong with the ship, prompting Liara to hurry back to assist, but Garrus was happy to see that the four humans were sticking around to help find Victus. Even if it weren’t for this supposed war summit, the Hierarchy needed the guidance and stability that came with having someone at the helm. And he was happily willing to accept whatever assistance Shepard was willing to give.   An electric screech rent the air.   “Incoming Harvester, heading for the airfield!” Vega exclaimed as a giant beast swooped low over the base. Cries went up as everyone dropped what they were doing and reached for the nearest weapons. Garrus pulled out his rifle and aimed for the flying creature, managing only a few hits before it went out of range.   Before he knew it, Garrus found himself following after Shepard, Jane, Vega, and Ashley as they went to meet the waves of Reaper forces massing at the nearby airfield. It felt damn good to be fighting alongside Jane and Shepard again, he hadn’t realized exactly how much he’d missed it. It felt like a dance, achieving a level of synchronicity he never managed when fighting alongside his fellow turians. He could almost pretend they were back in the Collector base, which suddenly felt like nothing in comparison to what they faced now.   Garrus glanced up, his high instantly cooling as reality hit him square in the face.    Palaven burned, the skies above his home bright with the flames of war.   “Shepard, come in.” Corinthus’ voice broke over their comms, and Shepard paused to reply.   “Go ahead.”   “ Still trying to raise the Primarch – but we’ve got trouble back here at the main barricade.” There was a quick moment of silence before he added, “ If the Reapers breach it, we’re done.”   “On my way.” Shepard barked, turning and gesturing for the rest of them to follow. As they ran back through the base, Garrus directed them toward the barricade, behind which he could already hear the sounds of approaching Reaper forces. They positioned themselves along the top, and Shepard took the turret, mowing down husks nearly as fast as they appeared.   “Now this is what I’m talking about.” He laughed as he took out a few scaling the wall. “I need to get something like this installed in the shuttle.”   “Not sure how Cortez would feel about that, the thing already flies like a brick, no need to make it a lopsided brick.” Jane added dryly as she sniped a husk the moment it appeared around the corner.   “Eh, I’ll talk him ‘round.”   “ Okaaay , Mister Trigger Happy.” Jane snorted, and Garrus couldn’t help but grin, reveling in the familiar back and forth. For a few blissful minutes, he was completely transported. It was just them and the enemy, each husk that came between his crosshairs fell with a satisfying finality. With Shepard and Jane at his side, it no longer felt like a chore, it felt like a game, each kill a pleasure instead of a duty.   “Ha!” Garrus crowed after a particularly good shot, “Okay, come on! Who’s next?”   Beside him, Vega stood at the edge, mowing down the husks climbing a nearby cliff with a satisfied smirk. As the last one fell, he stepped back and began changing out his heat sink.   “Like fish in a barrel.” Vega quipped with a hint of pride in his voice, but Garrus couldn’t do more than raise a browplate in confusion.   “What?” He asked, perplexed, the phrase making no sense through his translator.   “Good Lord. ” Ashley muttered, and he could almost hear her eyes roll, though a quick glance revealed the crooked, amused smile on her lips.   “Old human saying!” Vega shot back in explanation, shouting to be heard over an explosion, “Like fish-” He repeated, slower than before, “-in a barrel.” It didn’t make any more sense than it did the first time, and Garrus made a note to himself to look it up when he had a chance. He couldn’t help but flash back to his old pals at C-Sec, he’d picked up so many interesting human idioms from them. How were Ridgefield and Lamont doing, anyway?    The barricade shook as something massive leapt down before them.   “Holy hell, what is that thing?” Vega yelled in revulsion as he brought his weapon up, staring down in horror at the snuffling, slavoring creature below.   “A brute.” Garrus sneered before bringing up his own rifle and opening fire. The beast didn’t even seem to feel the rounds as it charged forward.   “Shit,” Jane growled as she reached for a new heat sink, “How is it so hu-”   “Brace yourselves!” Shepard barked suddenly.   The brute hit the wall with tremendous force, shaking the barricade and causing them all to struggle to keep their footing. Shepard held fast to the turret, but Garrus watched in growing horror as Jane pitched forward, her free hand trying and failing to catch a hold.   “Jane!” Shepard cried out, and they both reached forward to grab her, but it was too little, too late. Garrus caught himself about to fall after her, his heart lodged in his throat as she hit the ground hard beside the brute.    As quickly as she could, Jane stumbled to her feet, turning to look up at the brute as it noticed her. It reared onto its hind legs, standing at its full height, sizing her up before beating its chest and lurching forward to roar in her face. She brought a hand up to cover her face as she was pelted with spittle, her omni-tool springing to life. The brute raised a massive clawed hand–   “Don’t you fucking dare!” The brute’s head was smashed down into the ground in a spray of dirt and rocks as Shepard landed on it, his fists alight with biotic energy. It screamed in pain and thrashed about, flinging the Commander off of it and sending him rolling to the side, and he came up with his shotgun at the ready.    Garrus raised his rifle but then paused before he could bring his scope to his eye, his heart hammering. Jane had disappeared, and it took him a moment to remember her tactical cloak before he could breathe properly again.   They all opened fire, and the brute roared in fury as a few rounds found soft flesh. It rounded angrily on Shepard, who’s anger seemed to match its own snarl for snarl. It opened its mouth to roar, which turned into a pained scream as a fiery incineration burst against its face and the air became infused with the smell of sizzling flesh. Garrus could see Jane a little ways off, visible now, her omni-tool out as she prepared another attack.   Garrus loaded up some armor piercing rounds before getting a few good hits in, his confidence returning in small, sure steps as the beast below began looking more and more haggard. Vega leapt down off the barricade, joining Shepard in his foolhardy full frontal assault, while Ashley remained up above beside Garrus, her assault rifle raining down death.   “Good to see your aim is as good as ever!” Ashley shouted over the brute’s angry roars, a satisfied smile gracing her face as she stopped to change out her heat sink. Garrus looked at her with amusement before switching to his assault rifle.    “The thing is huge, it’s hard not to hit it.” He muttered before returning his focus to the fight. They were getting close, a few more good hits and–   The thing roared again before swinging its fist out wide, catching Shepard hard in the chest with a hollow thud that seemed to reverberate through Garrus’ own ribcage. Shepard flew backwards, crashing to the ground hard, sending a cloud of dirt flying. Vega shot off a few rounds at it as it approached the Commander, but they bothered it as much as a couple of flies might have.    The brute lifted one gigantic fist to attack as Shepard struggled to his hands and knees, grasping at his chest plate as he groaned.   “Shepard, look out!” Garrus yelled, his eyes going wide as the fist came crashing down, and everything seeming to slow down to a crawl around him.   Putrid black blood sprayed into the air as the brute froze, its head impaled upon a glowing orange blade. Jane appeared, standing over her brother, her eyes narrowed, her face a mask of focused resolve as she shoved her fist further upwards, wedging her omni-blade deeper into the brute’s head with a sickening crunch. No one moved, watching transfixed as it seemed to shiver and twitch, its tired body struggling to understand what had happened to it.   Jane glared at it before wrenching her arm up and back with a shout, blood trailing through the air as she cleaved its head in two. Blood splattered across her and Shepard as the brute screamed and stumbled backwards, falling onto its side with a resounding thud . Jane gave her blade a flick before dismissing it and turned to offer a hand down to her brother. Chuckling shakily, he took it and she pulled him to his feet, and Garrus finally felt himself breathe.   “Nice one.” Shepard said as he glanced over at the brute, confirming it wasn’t moving.   “Thanks.” Jane replied, but then sneered as she wiped at a smudge on her cheek. “Coulda been cleaner, though.” Shepard turned to her, just as disgusting as she was, and shrugged with an amused smile.   “I suppose, maybe just a bit.”   “Shepard. Corinthus here.” The General’s voice broke over their comms, and Shepard’s smile faded.   “What’s the word on the Primarch?” He replied quickly, his eagerness thinly veiled.   “Still can’t get a stable comm link.” Was Corinthus’ only response, and Shepard sighed. Garrus turned to shoot Ashley a look before moving to join the others down below, and she followed behind him.   “Okay, I’m going on foot.” Shepard responded, his words tinged with resignation. “Shepard out.” As soon as Garrus approached, Shepard turned a hard eye on him, “Garrus, take me to the last place you saw Victus.”   Garrus nodded, and scanned the faces of the others. They all looked back at him with grim determination, ready to go, so he turned toward a nearby ravine and led the way. He didn’t even need to pull up his map, orientation not being difficult here due to one particular landmark.   Palaven loomed large above him. Impossible to miss. Impossible to ignore. Impossible to forget.   “How far?” Shepard asked, following close behind him.   “Should be pretty quick, unless we find trouble.” He replied, his weapon held at the ready.   “And we usually do.” Jane added from not far behind, her voice caught between weary and wry. They picked their way across the debris field, a quiet falling amongst them broken only by the distant sound of battle –  the thrum of the Reaper’s cannons reverberating in each of their bodies and the resulting explosions that shook the ground and demolished ships above them.   Vega seemed like a good kid, his heart was in the right place. It was hard to tell how green he was, but it seemed like he’d seen at least some amount of action. Every now and then, he’d comment on the battle going on in the skies above them. Another ship crumbled under Reaper fire before them, causing Vega to curse. He seemed shaken at the sight of the destruction around them.   Vega looked at him, seeming to notice his eyes drawn upward once again. Garrus pointed up at Palaven, right at Cipritine, “That blaze of orange – the big one – that’s where I was born.” The entire group paused for a moment, their eyes following his.   Palaven…   Garrus felt a firm hand pressed against his arm and he looked down to see Jane gazing up at him with understanding in her eyes. He felt a bit of the tension drain out of him at the feel of her touch, her silent support feeding his strength and determination.   “That’s rough.” Vega muttered, tearing his eyes away with a pained expression. Garrus couldn’t help but wonder how bad Earth had been when they’d left. They began moving forward again, Jane sticking close behind him as he led the way. “Still have family there?” Vega asked after a moment, and Garrus sighed wearily.   “My dad, a sister.” Was all he said, his thoughts drifting inwards as he spared a moment to worry for them. Spirits , he hoped they’d gotten to safety, maybe got transport off world. If they could get to the Citadel, then he could-   “Oh, Garrus, I’m so sorry.” Ashley murmured, and he looked back to see pain etched across her face. He remembered, suddenly, all her stories of her family. They’d been close, if memory served, and he spared a moment to wonder if they were okay.    “How bad is it?” Vega continued with his questions, nodding back toward the nearby planet alight with the evidence of war.   “Three million lost the first day, five the second.” He replied stonily, the numbers hitting him like a gut punch. In his mind, they represented the galaxy’s monumental failure to prepare for the Reapers. They pressed onwards, their conversation continuing, but Garrus barely registered the words coming out of his mouth as he tried desperately to avoid looking at the fires above.   They turned a corner and came face to face with a pack of husks standing over the dead bodies of a few soldiers. Garrus brought his weapon up, as did the others, and they made quick work for the creatures. They screamed angrily as their blood splattered the ground.   “Shit! I hate those things!” Vega hissed in disgust, “And New York is crawling with the creepy bastards!” Beside him, Garrus could hear Ashley tsk in disgust and Jane cursed vibrantly.   They continued on, stopping quickly to assist some injured soldiers, and then later on to check for survivors after a fighter crashed nearby. As they dropped down a ridge, Garrus realized they had to be getting close.    After a few more minutes, the topic of the war summit came up. Ashley and Jane began discussing the species that planned to participate, with Vega questioning the absence of some.   “The batarians took the first hit when the Reaper arrived. Not much left of them…” Garrus pointed out as neutrally as he could. “And the krogan have never forgiven us for the genophage.”   “Right.” Vega snorted, “Turians sterilized them.” There was a slight edge of judgment to his voice, and Garrus shrugged as he returned his focus to the path ahead of them.   “Salarians came up with it.” He said lightly by way of defense, not that it really mattered. Seemed like they had bigger fish to fry at the moment, and he’d had plenty of experiences butting heads over the topic back during his days on the SR1. He’d long since become disillusioned with the Hierarchy’s stance on the matter, in no small part due to Wrex.    “And the krogan hate them both for it.” Shepard added firmly, and Garrus felt his mandibles flick.   “So, they won’t be joining us.” He finished wryly. Jane made a sound as though to speak, but cut herself off. Shepard turned to look at her, an eyebrow lifted, mirroring Garrus’ own look of interest.   “Perhaps.” She finally said with a slight shrug, which only peaked his curiosity more.   “What does that mean?” Shepard prompted, his brows furrowing in concern.   “Nothing. Nothing firm, at least.” She continued reluctantly, each word seeming to be ripped from her. “I’ve just had a… bit of a side project in the works. We’ll see, I haven’t heard from my team since the invasion began, so it’s hard to say.”    They continued on in silence, and when it became clear she wasn’t going to elaborate, Shepard snorted.   “Fine, be enigmatic,” He stated with a roll of his eyes, “But I expect details when we get back to the Normandy.”   “We can talk about that later.” She replied without looking at him, her voice just as firm and unyielding as his, and for the first time Garrus really registered that Jane was not necessarily subject to her brother’s command. As a Spectre no longer undercover, she was truly a power unto herself. It was an odd and disorienting thought.   “If you can get the krogan on our side, that would be something. I’ve fought with one. They’re tough sons of bitches.” Vega added after a minute, and everyone seemed to nod in agreement.   “You can say that again.” Ashley murmured, Wrex clearly coming to mind. The conversation was cut short as two fireballs descended, crashing into the nearby garrison they’d been approaching. Moments later, they were met with the sound of gunfire.   “That sounds bad!” Vega announced, and they all broke into a run as they readied their weapons.   “Okay, double-time!” Shepard snapped as they all sprinted toward the sounds of screams and battle. “No Reaper’s taking this Primarch from me!”   “Right behind you!” Came Vega’s eager reply, and they broke into the encampment only to come face to face with utter chaos. Bursts of gunfire broke overhead as the turians fought back against the horde of undead creatures suddenly amongst them. Husks and marauders screeched as they raised claws and guns, attacking with rabid abandon and utter lack of fear. Nearby soldiers stumbled back, their own terrified screams interrupted only their gurgling death throes as they were overtaken.   Biotic energy shot up around Shepard’s body, and an instant later he was darting across the battlefield, smashing into a marauder with the force of a cannon, sending it flying backwards as its bones cracked. Vega and Ashley charged in after him, their weapons ablaze, their faces plastered with matching snarls as they ripped into the enemy.   Garrus and Jane both darted into cover before bringing their scopes up and taking aim, nearly in unison. It felt… right . Going into battle alongside her just felt right, like this was the way the universe was supposed to be. Jane and Garrus, Shepard and Vakarian. Side by side.   They tore into the enemy, Reaper forces falling left and right as they attempted to meet their attacks head on. Shot after satisfying shot found their way between marauder eyes, and it was clear that the tide was changing in Shepard’s favor.   More fireballs exploded throughout the encampment, and Garrus groaned as not one, but two brutes unfurled themselves from the flaming debris, roaring in fury as they registered the soldiers around them.   “Okay, hit them with everything we’ve got!” Garrus heard a familiar voice cry out, and moments later a volley of turret fire and a number of grenades rained down upon the brutes. He looked up to see General Adrian Victus standing amongst a number of turians atop one of the nearby barricades, his eyes narrowed with complete focus as he watched his men throw everything they had at the giant creatures.   Shepard’s team focused their attacks, working in concert with Victus’ troops to coral and harry the brutes. They both roared and beat their chests angrily, but the number of attacks coming at them from different angles seemed to confuse and unsettle the beasts, causing them to spin and thrash about.    Shepard carefully aimed a powerful shockwave, knocking one of the brutes off its feet, and a gesture from Victus had the turrets and soldiers focus fire in on its vulnerable underside, causing it to cry out in pain, its screeches cut short by a well aimed grenade.   Garrus loaded up his armor piercing rounds, getting a few good hits in on the remaining one. His shots were followed up by an incineration from Jane, which left a sizzling wound in its side as it howled in pain.    Turning, the brute leveled a furious snarl in their direction, and Garrus’ belly plummeted into his feet as it charged. It moved faster than something its size had any right to, and without thinking, Garrus pivoted and grabbed Jane, throwing them both out of the path of the brute as it smashed into the outcropping they’d been crouched behind, sending chunks of rock flying.   Something wreathed in biotic blue smashed into the brute’s back, pitching it forward, its head dragging through the dirt with the force of the blow. Garrus and Jane scrambled to their feet, looking up to see the biotic energy around Shepard dissipating as he stood atop the brute’s back, his shotgun aimed at the back of its head. His eyes were cold and his face set as he pulled the trigger, blighted black blood spraying across the rocky ground.   The beast shuddered, one of its limbs twitching before it fell completely still. Shepard waited a moment before taking a calming breath and leaping off the creature, stumbling slightly as he landed. Jane hurried over, putting an arm out to steady him and he nodded gratefully.   “You okay?” Shepard asked wearily, looking between them as Garrus approached, and they both nodded, the silence falling across the encampment becoming almost stifling. Shepard’s attention shifted off them as his eyes scanned the surroundings, “Where’s Victus?”   Garrus glanced about before pointing to the largest structure, where a dark plated turian with white Tridend colony markings stood watching them with a calculating expression. Garrus pointed him out to Shepard, who nodded and visibly steeled himself before approaching. His stride was confident – not a swagger, but strong and self assured in a way that came with having just won a decisive victory.   Both he and Jane followed after, and Garrus hoped that his presence might help give Shepard’s words more weight. He knew Victus to be a fair and clear minded man, but many turians had no cordial feelings toward humans. A bunch of them showing up out of nowhere while Palaven burned and turians died, well, he supposed that could mess with anyone’s equilibrium.    “General Victus?” Shepard called out, his voice that of The Commander – all business, no nonsense.   “Yes?” The General stood a little straighter as he stepped down the ramp and approached the group, Vega and Ashley having come to stand along with them.   “I’m Commander Shepard of the Normandy.” The light of recognition flashed in Victus’ eyes, and he holstered his assault rifle. His stance, however, was no less cautious.   “Ah, Commander. I know who you are. I can’t wait to find out what brings you out here.” Victus stated with a hint of sarcastic amusement. Despite that, he then turned to Garrus, a brow plate raised. “Vakarian. Where did you go?” The question wasn’t hostile or unfriendly, but he clearly expected an answer, regardless of Garrus’ rank.   Dammit, he was too tired for this shit. After everything that had happened in the last few hours, he just couldn’t anymore. As he shifted his weight to one side, he all but rolled his eyes as he replied, “Heavy Reaper unit on the right flank. I believe your exact words were-” He vaguely gestured in Victus’ direction, “‘Get that thing the hell off my men’.”   Victus’ mandibles flicked in a sign of slight amusement, though his face remained otherwise neutral as he shifted to clutch his hands behind his back, “Appreciated.” Garrus turned to Shepard, and nodded for him to continue.   “General, you’re needed off-planet. I’ve come to get you.” He explained, his voice a hair softer than before. Garrus couldn’t help but wonder if he was remembering the recent pain of having to leave behind his own planet as the Reapers decimated his people.   Victus’ expression morphed into one of astonished incredulity as he processed Shepard’s words. “It will take something beyond important for me to leave my men, or my turian brothers and sisters, in their fight.” Garrus could see the steel in the man’s backbone, as solid as his resolve. Nothing short of the full weight of the situation was going to make him move, and Garrus couldn’t see why Shepard wasn’t laying it all straight out.   “Fedorian was killed.” Garrus cut in bluntly, “You’re the new Primarch.” Shepard nodded before jumping in to explain further. But as Shepard explained the war summit, Garrus could see the slow, dawning realization washing over Victus. The Commander’s words seemed only half attended to as the new Primarch seemed to struggle with the weight of events quickly tumbling out of his control.   Shepard cut off, stepping aside as Victus’ focus shifted to the burning planet above them. The full weight of the responsibility entrusted to him seemed to land on his shoulders as he gazed upwards. Shepard moved to speak with him further, but Garrus stayed behind, giving them space to talk.   “What do you think? Is he the man for the job?” He turned to see Jane standing beside him, watching Victus with weighing eyes, her arms crossed.   “He pisses people off because he has the nerve to think outside the box and make the decisions they’re all too cowardly or conservative to make. He’s exactly who you want at the helm during times like this.” Garrus murmured as he watched the newest Primarch, haloed by the fires of his burning people.   “Good. He’s going to need to have balls to hold his own in this summit.” She snorted, turning her attention to scan the encampment, taking in the tired troops. They stood there for a moment before he looked back down at her.    “By the way, I like the addition.” Garrus’ hand came up to gesture to the newly added Spectre insignia on her armor’s shoulder guard, and she huffed a laugh.   “Thanks. All it’s done is make me a little more conspicuous.” She replied dryly, and they fell into a silence again.   “You know, without him down here, there’s a good chance we lose this moon.” Garrus finally pointed out somberly. Jane looked up at him with a hard glint, her eyebrows raised and her lips pursed.    “Without him up there, there’s a good chance we lose everything.” He nodded slowly, crossing his arms as his shoulders slumped. Ruthless calculus. How many would die so the rest might live?   His eyes were drawn inexorably upwards toward his dying planet.    Tearing his eyes away, they landed upon the nearby hulking, towering form of a Reaper as it slowly approached a base, their weapons doing nothing to prevent the inevitable. “Look at that!” Garrus exclaimed, sudden anger welling up as he gestured toward the behemoth. “And they want my opinion on how to stop it?” He took a few halting steps, watching as the Reaper’s leg crushed an entire barricade as though it were a child stepping on a sand castle. “Failed C-Sec officer, vigilante… And I’m their expert advisor?” He added heatedly, his self disgust and doubt seeping through.    Jane stepped up closer to him, her presence a soothing balm, but not enough to douse the flames licking at his insides.   “Do you really think we can win this, Jane?” Garrus asked quietly, trying to mask the sudden upswell of fear threatening to engulf him.   “ Yeah .” She snorted with a pained smile, but he could hear a raw vulnerability in her voice he wasn’t used to from her, “I don’t know, Garrus.” But then she looked up at him, her expression steel once again and her resolve hardened. “But we’re sure as hell going to give it our best shot.”   Garrus felt himself smile, his muscles loosening as he took a deep breath. He couldn’t smell anything other than the scorched scent of blood, death, and ozone, but he could still distinctly remember the smell that was quintessentially Jane Shepard. He longed to reacquaint himself with it, to let her voice wash over him like the sweetest music, to feel the soft brush of her skin against his, her lips, her gentle caresses–   “Well, for whatever it’s worth, I’m with you.” There was so much wrapped up in those words. He was with her, body, heart, and soul. Everything that he was, everything he could ever be, was hers to command. In that instant, as she turned and their eyes met, he wanted nothing more than to drown in her, to let his weary being find rest and respite in her embrace.    He was with her in every meaning of the words, for however long they had.   “You’re coming with us, too?” He could hear the hope in her voice, and the sound made his heart twist painfully, the feeling so sweet. In that moment, Garrus wasn’t sure there were words enough in his language to explain his feelings. So, he just nodded.   The smile that overtook her face was radiant, the first true warmth he’d felt in some time. Before he knew it, her arms were around his neck, pulling him close as he wrapped his own arms around her middle. Sighing, he knew a moment of peace as he savored the feeling of her in his arms again. He didn’t know how many moments they had left, but damn if he wasn’t going to appreciate the ones they did have.   After a few seconds, after an eternity, Jane pulled back, still grinning as she gave his arm a squeeze. Garrus smiled down at her, but looking up, his eyes locked with those of Victus. The other turian looked on with interested curiosity, his brow plate raised in question as he looked between him and Jane. Garrus felt heat creeping up his neck as he looked away.    And above him, Palaven burned and his people died.

      He lands knees first on the hard floor, just in front of St. Mungo’s. Jimin is in his arms, bathed in blood and passed out, and Jungkook’s hands shake and his body screams as he hauls him up the stairs to get Jimin the help he needs. Right at the hospital’s doors, there’s Namjoon waiting for him, and he’s too scared to even question how his cousin knew.    “Jungkook!”    Jungkook shakes his head, dropping to the floor with Jimin in his arms, right in front of the doors. “Help me, Hyung. He’s—he’s hurt. I don't know what to do.” Namjoon stares at him, and there’s something in his face as he looks at Jungkook, but he doesn’t say anything. He kneels, taking Jimin in his arms, and enters the hospital. There’s a number of nurses that meet him the moment he steps inside and Jungkook, more tired and drained than he has ever felt, quietly follows. He sees how they put Jimin on the stretcher that floats in; how the nurses walk by its side until they reach a room, and Jungkook can only follow them blindly, his heart in pieces, his mind jumbled. There are too many things he’s learned, too many things to think about, but right now he only wants to know that Jimin will be okay.    “Not so fast, Jungkook.” Namjoon stands right in front of him, and Jungkook only notices when he bumps head on with his cousin. “Do you have any idea the trouble you’re in? Is your brain not working? Are you not the slightest bit worried about what you just did? Are you not curious as to why I’m here?” The words flow, and Jungkook hears them, yet he’s unable to make any sense of them. “Jungkook!”    “He was—he was bleeding and I—I just wanted to get him help, Hyung. Hyung, I tried. But he—Jimin—he, they didn't work, it didn't work.”    “You are not allowed to apparate! I don’t care what happened! You’re so lucky I was at the Ministry when the alarm came and that I took your case right on! You can’t apparate just because you know how to! You could be expelled, Jungkook!” It’s a shock to see his cousin—who’s usually level headed around Jungkook—this enraged. Yet, Jungkook can’t really think about it too much. He doesn’t care. Jimin is hurt; Jimin could’ve died if Jungkook hadn’t done anything. So what if he’s expelled?    He spent his whole life seeing Jimin as the enemy. He spent years seeing him as a villain, thinking Jimin was capable of unthinkable things. Jungkook was blinded, and now, to think the real evil, the real people capable of things he couldn’t even imagine… are the ones in his own family.    He tries but doesn’t really know where to begin, “Junghyun—” His voice breaks and for the first time since he arrived at the hospital he really looks at Namjoon, finally really acknowledges anything other than what he just went through. His voice breaks, and Namjoon’s shoulders sag, his angered eyes quickly turn into a worried look towards Jungkook. “He—he cursed me,” Jungkook can’t help but clutch his chest, images of his brother’s smile while Jungkook writhed in pain flash through his mind, images of his brother hurting Jimin. “He used a crucio curse, Hyung. Hyung—” Jungkook’s eyes water, he feels so little, so little and betrayed. He takes a step forward, and Namjoon wastes no time and opens his arms.   “Jungkook, you’re scaring me, what do you mean? A crucio curse? How is that possible?”    “We were home. Jimin was there and Junghyun he—he just came at us, I—why?” Jungkook untangles himself from Namjoon just to look him right in the eyes. “Has he really hated me this much, all this time? He laughed, Hyung. He cast that crucio spell; he hurt me, he hurt Jimin, and he laughed through it all.”    Namjoon puts both hands on Jungkook’s shoulders. “Is this why you had to apparate?”  Jungkook looks at him with a blank expression “Jungkook, I understand how hard this must be. No one in their right mind would be walking normally after being attacked with a crucio curse, let alone by their own brother. I want to hug you. I want to protect you and take you away, but for me to do that I need to know every single thing that happened. There will be charges against you—you went against the law. I’m listening, and my heart is breaking, but for me to protect you, I need to stay focused.”   Jungkook understands, he does, now that he’s more calm. Now that Jimin is being treated, his mind is much clearer and he can understand Namjoon’s reasoning. It doesn’t help, though. He’d like to go to Jimin’s room, to stay with the Slytherin until he wakes up; to maybe hide in his room at Hogwarts and wait for Taehyung or Seokjin to cuddle him up. He wants anything but to relive what happened.    “He attacked me first. Then he attacked Jimin for getting in the way.” The words are mechanical, they almost sound rehearsed, he’s saying them but he’s fighting a battle inside of himself, trying to keep the images away. “Then he attacked me again, all—all I could feel was pain, every bit of my skin felt pain. I—Jimin, he—he didn’t take it well. I think, seeing the crucio curse, he—”   “God, his brother…” Namjoon whispers, and Jungkook knows his cousin must understand how horrible the situation had been for them both.    “He didn’t take well, seeing me like that. Seeing Junghyun doing—doing that to me.” Torturing me. “So, he apparated us out of there.”    “But you were in your land. In Jeon’s land.”    “That’s why he ended like that.” Jimin did that to save Jungkook, to end his pain, and all it did was hurt him in the process.    “But, you carry a potion for splinching, Jungkook. I made sure of that.” Namjoon frowns at him, and his tone almost sounds accusing. “Why did you not use that? Instead of recklessly breaking the law? Of risking a worse case of splinching, or getting splinched yourself!”   “It didn’t work!” He’s yelling now, and Namjoon steps back. “I did! He—he lied to me! All this time! It didn’t work! The potions, he’s—he’s cursed, or I don’t know!” Jungkook brushes his hair back with his hands, they feel sticky—it feels horrible—and when he brings them down, he notices his hands are tainted with blood, Jimin’s blood. The sight brings his world down again, and he can’t help the shaking that starts, the pain his heart feels. “Potions don’t work on him,” he says, more calmly. “I had to, Hyung. He would’ve died.” He doesn’t look at Namjoon, he only looks at his hands–bloodied and scratched. He notices his nails, the dirt and specks of blood under them, and he feels bile rise up his throat.    He can’t tell his own blood apart from Jimin’s. He can’t tell how much of it came from the scratches that formed while he was writhing in pain and how much came from Jimin’s wound. Namjoon takes his hands softly, probably taking notice of Jungkook’s turmoil. Jungkook blinks his tears away. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?” He pulls Jungkook along, and Jungkook goes, body and mind spent.    He knew how ambitious his family was. He was well aware of his brother’s greediness. But he never thought something like this would be possible. He never thought this was the way his brother felt about him. Something so dark that he was unbothered while hurting Jungkook. It’s more bittersweet than anything he has ever imagined. It hurts more than he ever thought possible. The crucio curse had his body writhing in pain, it had him paralyzed, feeling like a million different things were inflicting him pain. But nothing, nothing compared to watching his brother smile while it happened.   The way his heart shattered in that moment, the pain he felt then, it was different. Jungkook fears he lost something there, something he’s not sure he’ll ever get back.    “Wait here.” When Jungkook looks up, he’s at his fathers office in the hospital. For a moment he had forgotten his father was a doctor here. Inevitably, there’s a fear that takes place within him. Would he see that sinister smile on his father too? Does his father hate him too?   “Hyung, Hyung don’t leave me alone.” Namjoon turns on his way to the door, looking softly at Jungkook.    “Uncle will know what to do.”   “No! Hyung, please.”    “Why did I have to hear from a nurse that my son has come to visit!” A gleeful voice disrupts their conversation, and they both turn painfully slowly towards the door.    “Uncle—”   “Jungkook! It’s been so long since my son visited me at work!” His father approaches him, unknown to the turmoil Jungkook is going through, unknown to the unstoppable, and partly irrational, fear that brews within him. When his father leans in for a hug, Jungkook can’t help but jump back, body slamming into a tall file cabinet. There’s a silence that settles in the office, and his father looks at him with a pained expression. “Son, what’s wrong?”    “Uncle, let’s sit.” Namjoon intervenes. Jungkook’s father, though, perhaps too shocked by the events, starts scanning Jungkook from head to toe. Jungkook doesn’t meet his eyes, but he can feel the stare. His father always knew him best, but right now Jungkook doesn’t know what is real, what is not.    Who to trust, and who not to trust.    “Jungkook,” there’s anger in his father's tone, “what happened to you?” The phantom sensation of pain comes back, and he can’t help bathe in memories. He sees his brother grinning, and sees him enjoying Jungkook’s pain. It only just happened, yet Jungkook feels like it’s something he has been carrying for years—the pain. All he remembers is the pain. Jimin’s hurt—Jimin protecting him, then Jimin’s blood. His expression must’ve been alarming enough for his father to ignore him completely and fully turn to Namjoon.    “Namjoon.” The name is said with authority. His father has never been one to impose himself on others. He never raises his voice if not needed, he never demands blindly. Jungkook stares at his father, how mad he looks. He tries to talk, tries to say something, anything, but the words don’t come out.    His heart feels heavy, and he moves his gaze away. He had never noticed how much his father looked like Junghyun, no, how much Junghyun looked like his father. It feels bitter to notice now, and it doesn’t help with the groundless fear he feels right now.    “Junghyun, he—” Namjoon starts retelling the story, or at least the bits and pieces of what Jungkook had been able to tell him in the haste of it all. He sees their lips moving, sees the moments where his father looks back at him, the constant frown on his face, the worry that radiates off of him. Jungkook wants to say more, a part of him wants to scream; he wants his father to leave this office, to go help Jimin. Jungkook feels bile rise in his throat, feels the phantoms of pain all over his body. He feels out of it, shaken beyond anything he has ever felt.    Yet he knows he doesn’t need his fathers care. Not now. But Jimin does.    His mind stops running laps, and the uncomfortable thrumming through his body stops. He can gather himself enough to ask this of his father. When the elder Jeon approaches, Jungkook digs his nails into his palms, holding back the urge to step back, to run away. “Jimin,” he breathes, making his father stop halfway to him. Jungkook screws his eyes shut, breathing in and out, in and out.   “Son—” But Jungkook only shakes his head. He can’t have a conversation now with his father; he can’t face the aftermath of whatever just happened, not right now. He needs to know Jimin is okay, that he will be okay.    “Jimin. Help him. He—” He saved me, but the words won’t come out. “He needs your help, father.” Jungkook clears his throat, if even to the end Jimin braved it out, if even then there was nothing but courage, Jungkook can do it too. If Jimin, who has lost a lot throughout his life, who has braved pain better than anyone that Jungkook knows, if he, even through it all, can be brave and smile, then Jungkook can do it too. Despite the truths that have come to light, nothing matters but this.    Even if right now he feels like hiding, like he is nothing but a failure. He feels like he should be the one in Jimin’s shoes, like he should be the one on a hospital bed. Even when he feels like chips of his soul have withered away, he’ll be brave through it, if only for Jimin.    His father looks at him for a few moments more, eyes raking up and down Jungkook’s body. He knows he must look like a wreck—he feels it. He only braved one look at his hands but that was enough to see his bloodied fingernails and scratched arms. His father must be worried, but Jungkook can’t deal with it right now. He doesn’t want to worry or think about himself, not right now.    “I’ll help him. Stay here. It’s okay, son.” His father nods, more to himself than anything. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay.” He repeats, casting one last look at Jungkook before walking out of his office. Head low.    Jungkook stares at the opened door for what feels like eternity, he feels as if time is passing at a dangerously slow rate. Like it’s slipping by him. All the emotions he’s feeling have him shattered inside out, he can’t make out one from the other, can’t even figure out what he really is feeling.    “Jungkook. I need to contact Jimin’s parents. Will you be okay?” Will he? Will he be okay, is he expected to be? What will happen after this? Will his brother be held accountable or is he supposed to live as if nothing happened? What about Jimin? What about him and Jimin ? Is there anything to salvage? Is Jungkook ready to accept that one feeling that’s screaming at him, trying to overpower the thousand others inside of him?    Is love really able to bloom from the lie?    There’s too many questions and too many things to think about. Jungkook can’t bear thinking of even looking at himself. He feels dirty, afraid and ashamed. Even the once unbreakable dream of becoming the next Ravenclaw head feels like nothing more than a shattered past. Because if he wasn’t brave enough to save Jimin, if he wasn’t quick enough to stop his brother, to defend himself, is he really worth it in the end? He had always been proud of himself, proud of the power within his veins, but even that feels wrong now.    Because when it really mattered, he failed.    Perhaps realizing that Jungkook won’t bother answering, Namjoon steps out of the office, leaving Jungkook to himself. It doesn’t help calm the onslaught of thoughts in Jungkook’s mind. Is one after the other, one after the other, again and again. He decides to take a seat, to try and calm his racing heart, but it proves to be far more difficult than he thought. What will his mother do when she finds out? Will she side with his brother, even then? Does she even care about what Junghyun did to Jungkook? Will she care about the pain he went through?    His heart aches at the possibility of her being as frigid as Junghyun. Of her features turning to that gleeful smile that Junghyun wore while Jungkook writhed in pain. How does one move on from that? How does he move forward when his family is this way? What will happen now? His hands shake, only now remembering that he apparated to get out of there. His mind is jumbled, he is a Jeon, but he isn’t authorized to apparate, at all, not in his house and not by wizard law. He releases a shuddering breath at the implications of it. He can be expelled, he can lose his wand.    Yet, even with the utter fear that knowledge brings him, it pales in comparison to remembering Jimin’s pained expression. It doesn’t compare to the fear of watching Jimin close his eyes, overwhelmed with pain.    He must have been incredibly out of his mind, fear and thoughts cramming his every thought, because the next time he comes to, Namjoon is kneeling right in front of him, his hands pulling Jungkook’s apart. “Breathe, Kook, breathe. Yes, that’s right. You’re okay, it’s okay.” His cousin's words are warmth, a small lifeline that Jungkook holds onto with all his might. He concentrates on Namjoon’s calloused hands softly holding his own, and lets that ground him. “Jimin is okay. They used muggle medicine to put him to sleep, and are now working to mend his wounds with magic, no potions are being used. I contacted his parents and they’re on their way. Your dad talked to them too. We can leave now, Jungkook. Get you cleaned up and you can rest—”   Jungkook starts shaking his head before his cousin is finished, “I need to see Jimin. I need to stay here; I can’t leave.” What if Jimin wakes up? He’s not sure where they stand, what kind of line their lies blurred. He's not the only one that lied. Jimin was lying all along, and Jungkook has no idea what parts of their time together were real or not. He can’t risk being away and making it seem like he doesn’t care for Jimin or what he did for Jungkook. He knows maybe now might not be the time for them to talk about it all, but at least he knows they’re not the enemies they were.    He knows nothing will be as it was and for this new start, he wants to begin in a good way. He’s not sure about anything, but he’s sure that he wants to be there. Right by Jimin’s side.    “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Jungkook is ready to interrupt, but Namjoon only shakes his head. “Jimin’s parents are kind-hearted, but I think that even then it would not be wise to have the brother of the person who put their only remaining son in a hospital bed there with them.”    “Junghyun hurt me too. He—” there’s a lump in Jungkook’s throat and he feels his body go weak. Is this what he’ll deal with from now on? This paralyzing fear every time he remembers that moment?    “I know, Jungkook, but you need to understand. They may not be ready to face you. It was a Jeon that hurt Jimin— your brother hurt Jimin. I don’t think the whole chain of events will matter to them right now. Let’s wait until Jimin wakes up.” Namjoon stands, one of his hands tightly holding one of Jungkook’s.    “I don’t want to go…” Home. But is that his home? The place where his brother is too? Does his mother know already? Does she care?”    “We’re not going to your house.” Namjoon winces a bit, body tensed. “We need to go to The Ministry of Magic.” Jungkook stands up, wobbly legs almost failing him. “I won’t let your brother get away with this, and we need a case so they don’t expel you from Hogwarts.”    Jungkook can’t really bring himself to care. The fear of what comes next is there, yes, but more than fearing for whatever repercussions saving Jimin’s life bring him, he fears more for what will happen after Jimin wakes up. Can they be as they were? Now that the lies have fallen apart, will whatever they felt be real enough to have—something, anything? He lets Namjoon lead him out of the hospital, stays numb, right by Namjoon’s side as Namjoon grips his hand to apparate them to The Ministry. As the dark engulfs them Jungkook watches Jimin’s parents walking up the steps to St. Mungo’s entrance, he wishes they don’t hate him.    Now, after all these silly days with Jimin, the things Jimin showed him and made him realize, the things they went through together, he can almost taste the word for the weird things he had felt with Jimin. So, he wishes that they don’t hate him, and most of all, he wishes that Jimin doesn’t hate him. And he hopes, with all his heart, that Jimin had felt those weird things too.    .•*•.•*•.     The run throughout The Ministry had been nothing but bitter and unpleasant. Nothing like the possible future head of Ravenclaw being almost expelled. Almost, because then the conversation, or rather, discussion, had turned into how outrageous it was that the future head of Ravenclaw—Jungkook had fumed at the lack of doubt in the statement, at the confidence in his brother—had resorted to an unforgivable curse against a fellow future head.    The political aspects of it all sat like bile in Jungkook’s stomach. Halfway through, he had opted to ignore them all, he didn’t care enough for any of it, not at this moment anyways. He didn’t want to fight or discuss anymore, so he let his cousin do the talking, and only tuned in again when they declared his actions justified, and demanded a look into his memory to support his claims. Jungkook had shuddered throughout the whole process, only avoiding a full on panic attack because Namjoon was the one extracting the memory.    All he cared about was that he was free and that the investigation, like it should’ve from the start, will move towards his brother, who, conveniently, was nowhere to be found.    “Your mother was questioned, and apparently she knows nothing about where Junghyun is.” They’re on their way to the entrance of the Jeon house. Jungkook had not said a word but Namjoon had apparated them just outside of the estate, not directly in, even though he is an authorized person to apparate in and out of their lands. Jungkook was grateful, and tears threatened to spill out at the thoughtfulness of his cousin. Even when Jungkook had not said a word, Namjoon just knew, and that kind of comfort helped Jungkook ground himself even more.    They enter the house to find themselves right in front of Jeon Hae-joon. His mother jumped right up from the couch, eyes desperately scanning Jungkook. Is that worry in her eyes? “What did they tell you?” She’s wearing a dark navy blue dress, it has three buttons down the upper half and then a long skirt that stops at her shoes. This wasn’t what she was wearing when Jungkook was here earlier. “You’re not being expelled I suppose, you saved that boy's life.” There’s something almost arrogant in her tone, as if Jungkook did something trivial, nothing more than a favor, like what he did wasn’t something too important or vital.    “I believe Jungkook needs rest,” Namjoon says, hand on Jungkook’s back, trying to push him along. But his mother sighs, fingers touching her temples. Jungkook knows this look well, she’s annoyed, but it’s more than that. There’s something in her posture, she’s tense, and when she looks back at Jungkook there is worry in her eyes. It should appease him, make him feel better, but it’s hard. He’s been at the end of her coldness for too long, her worry now sits, mildly uncomfortable, within him. He just can’t believe she is worried about him. “All we need is to clear Junghyun’s name now.”    What?  Jungkook can’t help the way his lips part in a silent gasp, heart falling to the pit of his stomach at the words. He knew it, that doesn’t make it any better to be proven right though. “What was that boy doing here? This will be a huge conflict. I know that Park's mother won’t let this go quietly. Boys will fight, she must know that.” His mother has opted to walk from one end of the couch to the other. Worry practically drips off of her, but of course, it’s only Junghyun’s well being that matters to her, their reputations well being.    “Mother,” Jungkook says, the word comes out choked. He…he can’t say he didn’t expect this. A part of him was readying itself, constructing walls and walls full of armor to protect him from this disappointment, from this hurt again. But it didn’t work, it did nothing.He looks at his mother and feels coldness all over his body. He feels alone. Alone and broken.    “Do you know where Junghyun is, Aunt?” Namjoon asks, voice quiet and low. Jungkook can feel Namjoon’s arm tremble slightly, but his cousin doesn’t move it from where it lays on Jungkook’s back.    His mother gives Namjoon a look, more like a glare, and her eyes sharpen with every word she says next. “He is my son. Of course I do. But I won’t let him ruin his life just because of a mere mistake. He’ll stay where he is until I am able to figure this out.” Mistake. A mere mistake. Is that what they think happened? Jungkook knows it wasn’t, he has the phantom of pain, the memory of Junghyun’s smile as proof that it wasn’t a mistake. His brother enjoyed what he did.    “An unforgivable curse is not something that someone accidentally casts.” Namjoon’s words are clipped, anger laced in every letter.    “That snake Park shouldn’t have been on our property anyways. He must have done something.” Jungkook looks at his mother, at the way she keeps pacing, the way she holds her hands together. Is this what she believes or is this what Junghyun told her? Does she really not care about what happened, what Jungkook went through?    “What about me, mother?” Jungkook says, voice frail, he takes a step forward, detaching himself from Namjoon’s safe warmth and instantly missing it. “What did I do to deserve it?” The way his mother stops, the way her eyes become wide, her arms instantly falling to her sides confirms what Jungkook thought all along. Whatever his brother told her was not the truth. Or the whole story.  “Jimin is my friend.” Jimin was more, and it feels stupid, because they only had a few days together, but those few days were filled with things Jungkook had never felt, had never experienced. But he doesn’t need to explain details or say more, his mother doesn’t deserve to know that. She doesn’t deserve to know the feelings within him, after all, he’s not even sure she would care.     He will protect the feelings and memories he has with Jimin. Jimin made him name things that he was too much of a coward to acknowledge. It tears his heart apart to know that he noticed too late. He liked Jimin; he was attracted to Jimin, and he only just accepted it now, when all that has happened might as well leave him without even Jimin’s friendship.    “And that alone should have been enough for Junghyun to not hurt him.He didn’t hurt just Jimin.” Jungkook’s fists are clenched so hard by his sides that he feels them trembling. It's so painful to remember. The memory of Junghyun’s smile is like a thorn in his heart. The pain from the spell mixes with the anger that his mother spikes in him. “But he didn’t tell you that, did he? Too scared to lose mommy’s approval, which is stupid, because if he knew better he’d know you don’t care about me.”    “Jungkook—” His mother tries to approach and he lets her, but he feels venom all over his body. He needs to spit out the words.    “He used it on me. Again and again. Jimin begged him to stop. That snake begged him to stop, and he only laughed. Tell me, mother, do you care? Do you care to know about how he looked me in the eye and screamed crucio until I was writhing on the floor? Until there was no air in my lungs?” His mother is shaking her head, but Jungkook can’t see the expression on her face, his eyes too blurry with tears he had no idea had started to fall. “He smiled at me, while he did it, he smiled at me. He was enjoying my pain. Would you have enjoyed it, too?”    He feels the stinging first, feels his head whip to the side, and only when he brings his hand up to his cheek does he register that his mother slapped him. Hurt. Hurt again. It all hurts.    “Jungkook.” Namjoon says, worried, but Jungkook doesn’t turn back, he only looks at his mother, at her shaking hands and the tears in her eyes.     “Shut up. How dare you? Don’t you— ravens!” She shouts, eyes brimming with a fresh round of tears as she looks at Jungkook. “I never, never would’ve let one of my children go through something like that. I will not explain my decisions and choices to you, Jeon Jungkook. But don’t you ever think for one second that I do not care for my sons.”   “That’s just it, mother. You may care. But, could you choose?”   “Why do I need to? You’re both my sons. My family,” she says it in nothing more than a whisper. Jungkook knows this may not be easy, that perhaps a part of her does care, perhaps a part of her is a healthy caring mother. And a mother does not choose between her children.    But he doesn’t plan to let Junghyun go for what he did, he doesn’t plan on forgiving him. A foolish part of him thinks that if maybe it was only him, if only he had gotten hurt, only then—to save his family the pain and disgrace—would he forget about it. But for Jimin, Jimin who showed him loyalty and care better than his own family, for Jimin he will never forgive his brother.    “I do not plan to forgive him. And I will serve as a witness in his trial. You could choose to do the right thing, to tell him to give himself away to the aurors, tell us where he is.” Jeon Hae-joon isn’t crying anymore, there’s a hard expression on her face as Jungkook keeps talking, “Or you could help him, hide him, choose him, like you’ve always done.” Jungkook steps back, and in that moment something leaves him. Maybe the hope he always had that his mother was better than what he thought; the hope that maybe for once, he’d be the choice she’d make.    But she only keeps staring at him, no words, not a single reaction to anything he just said. So, he nods slowly and swallows down the pain, swallows the screams of rage he wishes to let out. He turns, avoiding looking Namjoon in the eyes just to keep himself together long enough for him to leave the house.    “Did you do all this because of tomorrow?” The question stops him just at the door, and he feels the weight of it in the pit of his stomach. “This is convenient, isn’t it? To have all this happen just before the ceremony. Did you want the Ravenclaw title that much? You say Jimin is your friend, but tell me Jungkook, is he? Or did you use him today, to get what you wanted? Like a true Jeon.” When he turns around to face his mother there’s a sickening smirk on her face. Namjoon’s body between them is what stops him from doing things he knows he’ll regret.    He can’t help the tears that well in his eyes, the way his body shakes. Because he did, even if they were both living in a lie, he did use Jimin. Not in the way his mother thinks—never that—but he did use him, and consequently ended up hurting Jimin. The reminder tears the last shreds of stability he had on his emotions.   “I don’t need to play dirty—” his voice is broken, the words nothing more than a raspy cry, “I never–” he shakes his head, “I don’t need to cheat my way to get the title. I will never stoop that low.” Being a Ravenclaw is much more than having wisdom, being part of any house comes with having honor as you carry its name. It holds even more meaning when you’re the family that bears its title. And his mother and brother were jeopardizing every bit of that meaning. “Whatever happened today, whatever happens to your son, it’s on you mother, on you and your ambitions”. He storms out, not even caring for more words or to see her face.    He feels Namjoon come up beside him, and it may be the events of the day, or the words he just said, but he wants nothing more but to rest, or perhaps to see Jimin. He voices as much. Namjoon only sighs, gently intertwining his hand with Jungkook’s. “I can’t take you to Jimin, not yet. You need rest, and there’s still much to do. Stay with me for now.” Jungkook nods, numb to whatever happens next. He succumbs to the whirl of nothingness that feels nauseating when you apparate, and holds onto Namjoon’s hand like a lifeline.    .•*•.•*•.   “They haven’t found him. And your father sent word yesterday that your mother hasn’t gone back to the house ever since the day you two talked.” It’s been a full week since that day, sometimes Jungkook still has nightmares of Jimin screaming his name, of the pain thrumming through his body, of his hands full of Jimin’s blood. He won’t go back to his house, and has invited Taehyung and Seokjin to mandatory sleepovers for two nights straight after not being able to get a wink of sleep the first few nights alone.    “How do you know all that?” He keeps his eyes on the window, watching students walk around Hogwarts freely, maybe going to class or to the quidditch game that starts today with the new season.   “Namjoon-Hyung told me.” Taehyung says, and Jungkook tears his gaze away from the window to subjectively raise his eyebrows at his best friend, Taehyung only shrugs, “You told me to start with something that I wanted and liked and to try it, so I did.”  He shrugs, and Jungkook has to remember to close his mouth as he gapes at Taehyung.    “You told him?”    “Now you won’t have anything to use against me.” Taehyung thinks that but Jungkook can already imagine a hundred things to use against him if he and his cousin become a couple.    “What did he say? What, wait, why didn’t you tell me?” He frowns, then glares at Taehyung.    “It happened just a few days ago and with all that happened...” Jungkook tries not to wince. “Just whatever, I told you now; that’s what matters. And I won’t say anything else yet—give me time Jeon.”    “Are you nervous? My cousin isn’t that cool.” He knows it’s a lie, Namjoon may be clumsy but he is the coolest person Jungkook knows, maybe after Jimin.    “I won’t say anything else.” Taehyung huffs, and struts towards Jungkook, he’s looking at him with a funny expression and Jungkook can’t help but curl a little into himself, afraid of whatever is running in Taehyung’s mind. “You know, I heard a rumor that a certain blonde was coming back today.” Taehyung nudges his shoulder with Jungkook’s, and Jungkook does his best to ignore it.    Ever since Sunday—which started out as his best birthday thanks to Jimin, then ended up being the worst thanks to his brother and mother—Jimin has been at St. Mungo’s, and Jungkook has not been able to see him. Namjoon made many promises, saying Jungkook would be able to see him as soon as all law processings ended, but no promises mattered when Jimin’s family didn’t want anyone around him. Jungkook understood, he really did, but it made no sense to his aching heart, not when he had so much to ask and say to Jimin. Not even his father being one of Jimin’s doctors helped his case, Jimin’s parents only let his father around the Slytherin because he was the best.    They were wary of the Jeon’s, and with good reason, Jungkook knows. But it didn’t help his anxiousness, it didn't help the need he had to see Jimin, to check with his own eyes that the blonde was okay. Jungkook feels a little more light at hearing the news that Jimin is back, but would Jimin want to see him? Seokjin had to peel a furious Yoongi away from Jungkook the first time he showed his face at The Great Hall, and since then he’s kept to his room, safe within his walls.    A part of him thought Jimin might react the same, and might want to hurt Jungkook too. But he knows better, he knows Jimin, because even if the days they spent together were based on a lie Jungkook knows part of themselves came to light, an honest and real part that they decided to share with each other. He knows Jimin would never hurt him, but a part of him shakes with fear. Because what if Jimin decided to accept Jungkook’s offer just to make fun of him, to use him for something too? That thought is worse than any nightmare he’s had. Because no matter how much he thinks about it, he has no answer for the most important questions of it all.    Why did Jimin lie? Why did he pretend all this time? What did he gain from faking that the potion had worked?    Jungkook hasn’t found an answer to it, and all the possibilities he’s come up with leave him feeling nauseous. Jimin is a Slytherin, he is cunning and smart, and Jungkook knows Jimin had moments where he was genuinely honest, but if he faked being under the influence of the amortentia, what else could he have faked? It eats at Jungkook, and it scares him enough to not want to face Jimin. Because as foolish as it is, he’s come to terms with one particular feeling, one that leaves him feeling too exposed against Jimin.    But it’s confusing too. If Jimin lied, what parts of it were truly real? Of their little charmed lie, what could really be love?    “That’s all you have to say?” Taehyung says, sounding unnecessarily offended. “Are you even planning to come to the Great Hall today?” Jungkook only answers with a shake of his head. Taehyung and Seokjin don’t know every detail of what happened. They know something happened, they know his brother hurt them, that Jimin got ‘caught in the crossfire’ of whatever rivalry the brothers have and Jungkook feels bad for it, but he can’t bring himself to tell the story, not after a dozen Auror’s made him repeat himself again and again.  He likes the safety of his room, for the quiet, for many reasons. He’ll stay here, away from the Great Hall, and the questioning gazes of the people, away from Min Yoongi who wants to beat him, and away from a certain blonde that makes him feel.    “I won’t bring you food. You can starve here,” Taehyung says with a huff before turning and slamming the door as he walks out. Jungkook can’t help but chuckle. Because if Taehyung doesn’t bring him food, someone will, or he’ll bribe a first year to bring him some. It’s an empty threat, and Taehyung knows it too.    He moves from the window to his bed, and like all these last days, he takes advantage of the light the day brings and takes a nap. This is what he’s become, for some reason, sleeping in the day is a tad better than sleeping at night.    He’s not sure how long he naps, and it takes him a second to shake off the sleep from his body and the too real and good to be true dreams out of his mind. When he finally comes to, Jin is coming through the door with a tray of food in hand.    “You brat,” he says as a way of greeting. “I understand missing lunch, but, dinner too?” He grumbles as he walks around the bed to put the tray of food on Jungkook’s nightstand, and Jungkook looks out the window to find that night really has fallen. Did he truly sleep that much? He must not be getting as much sleep as he thought, even with his friends staying with him.    “Thank you, Hyung.” He goes to his bathroom to rinse his mouth and when he comes back Jin is already chilling at the armchair by the window. “You’re not leaving?” Jungkook asks, taking the food and sitting by the windowsill.    “You only expect me to come at night then? Like a dirty secret? Oh what will the halls say when they hear Kim Seokjin stays only the night in the room of the Jeon's youngest.” Seokjin sighs dramatically, he even goes as far as putting the back of his hand to his forehead. Jungkook rolls his eyes, they both know no one would even start such a rumor. They’re often staying at each other’s rooms, Jungkook figures it’s something the three will do for as long as they can.    “You’re always so busy studying, even when you come at night you’re always the last one in. So, pardon me if it’s a wonder you came and stayed.” Seokjin usually comes to leave food for him, he says a few words and it’s back on his way the next second. The Gryffindor spends an insufferable amount of time studying, Jungkook doesn’t know how he does it.    “Well, my study partner was quite vocal today. Grumbling and cursing a certain doe-eyed Ravenclaw, I needed a break.” Jungkook stops halfway through his bite to look at Seokjin. But the older has his eyes closed, and a slight smirk adorns his face, he knows exactly what he’s doing—Jungkook does too.    “You were studying with Jimin?” He hates himself for giving in so easily, yet he can’t help it. It doesn’t help that he dreamt about Jimin again, and that he's worried sick about the blonde. The Slytherin supposedly arrived just today, shouldn’t he rest more? Why would he be studying? Most important of all, why was he cursing Jungkook? What things did he say? “What did he say? Should I hire a bodyguard? Maybe I should walk with an elf that is ready to give his life for me. Surely Jimin has an intent to harm me, or maybe not—maybe he’s opted for never seeing me again. Now that would be a favor for the both of us. I don’t think I can face him. So, what did he say? What does he plan?” Even if Jungkook is not sure that whatever the Slytherin said to Seokjin should be trusted, he wants to know.    He looks back at Seokjin to find the Gryffindor gaping at him, eyes wide. “Wow,” he says, staring at Jungkook as if he’s grown three heads, as if he was one of the great creatures they often hear about in class, “you have issues. Taehyung really wasn’t joking.” And as if said man was summoned, Jungkook’s door opens and Taehyung walks right in.    “See, Hyung?” Taehyung walks towards Jungkook’s bed, plopping himself in it and not even sparing Jungkook a quick glance. “I told you. He’s in denial.”   “Wait,” Jungkook says, “Is this an intervention?” He turns to Seokjin then, tone becoming a little bit clipped, “Were you lying then? Did you not study with Jimin? Did you even study at all?” Seokjin holds up a hand, and Jungkook feels the food he just ate start to become more like a poison he ingested, so he moves the leftovers away from himself and stands up to look at his friends.    “I did study and someone was definitely talking about you, but it was not Jimin. Jung Hoseok was studying with me, and he was going on and on about how disappointing you are, how ridiculous they were to let Jimin get close to you and how—this one’s my favorite—how Jimin refused to tell them anything until he talked to you. Then he went on saying how absurd that is because Jimin was in the hospital and it was your ‘little blue asshole’s fault!’—Hoseok's words, not mine,” Seokjin says, putting his hands up. “Anyways, I found it interesting and now even more since you believe Jimin actually wants nothing to do with you, when I’ve obviously heard otherwise.”    “You guys don’t understand.” Jungkook thinks maybe it’s time to tell them, that perhaps the truth of it all would help them understand why he’s so hesitant. He tries to think of a way to say the words, a way that doesn’t threaten to eat him alive as he retells the story, but it’s hard. Even the smallest thought about that day turns his insides to ice. “I lied to him. I tricked him and he was hurt because of it.”    “Is this about the amortentia?” Taehyung asks, frowning, he shakes his head as he sits, staring Jungkook down. “I helped you work that out. Believe me I’ve tried to forget that night and I’ve felt guilty, too. Of course I don’t think it compares to what you might feel but—“ he shakes his head again, “What I’m saying is that you shouldn’t beat yourself too hard because of that. I'm not sure what happened but you’re here and Jimin’s back, and healed, and from what we’ve heard he doesn’t want to kill you on sight. That must count for something.”    “I knew something was weird about you and Jimin. Amortentia, Jungkook? You could’ve been expelled!” Jungkook had forgotten for a second that Seokjin actually didn’t even know about the amortentia bit. His Hyung is staring at him like he committed the greatest offense known to wizards and in Seokjin’s terms, it might’ve as well be. Seokjin inches closer. “If you ever hide something like this from me I’m burning the blue silk sheets.”    Jungkook gasps, “Hyung!” He is genuinely alarmed for a second, then he settles. Hands instinctively straightening his sheets. “I was breaking the law, I couldn't go around telling everyone!”    “You told Taehyung! He helped you!    “Taehyung,” Jungkook starts, he looks so pointedly at Taehyung he’s sure he could burn him if he had that kind of power, “was sniffing—iterally —where he shouldn’t and found out! Then he insisted on helping!” Jungkook huffs, eyes almost rolling back.   “It was exhilarating, I don’t think I’d do it again though.”    “Yeah well, it’s not like it matters. I almost got expelled but it had nothing to do with the potion. The potion didn’t even work to start with.” Jungkook still remembers the moment he found out. Jimin’s words as the truth unraveled between them. Even now it is all too confusing to make any sense. Jungkook lied, but Jimin had known he was lying, so technically Jimin lied too. Jungkook knew very well what his intentions were, but he had no idea about Jimin’s. Why would Jimin pretend? Now that he really thinks about it, Jimin is a nerd. He stayed for advanced magic studies, and knows just about anything. The blonde must’ve known about the potion the moment Jungkook handed him the glass.    Jungkook was too lost in his mind to even register Taehyung was talking. He snaps back to himself to find Taehyung with a small crease between his eyebrows, “What do you mean? I’m no genius but I’m sure amortentia is like, the mother of all love potions. There’s no chance it wouldn't work.”    “Well—”   “He did it wrong then. Or he must be confused. I mean, I saw Jimin, he looked pretty in love.” Jin says, his face scrunching in thought.    “Well you see—” Jungkook is interrupted, again.    “He didn’t. Look, I thought Namjoon Hyung was in the room but he wasn’t. It was just me smelling the potion. It worked .”    “Namjoon?”  Seokjin gasps, and Taehyung gasps too, bringing a hand to his mouth. Jungkook watches them, a small headache forming. Seokjin hadn’t known about Taehyung's mega crush on his cousin. Well, guess that’s out there now. Jungkook feels bad, then he remembers they are here because they planned an intervention and it turns into indignation very quickly.    He decides to add to the fire. “They’re dating.” They aren’t. At least, Taehyung didn’t tell him that they’re dating but they’re talking, and talking leads to dating. It makes sense. “Taehyung was hiding it from me too.” That elicits a gasp from Taehyung and Seokjin whips his head so fast towards his best friend that Jungkook winces in his stead.    “We’re not dating!”    “How come I never knew about this!”    “Well it’s—it’s new! And I just told Jungkook today. And we are NOT dating. We’re just—” Taehyung shrugs, “Talking.” Jin seems to mull over the words and when he’s about to say something Taehyung raises a hand. “Hyung. I promise on my secret passages map that I will tell you all about it—” He glares at Jungkook. “Don’t let him trick us. He’s very smart about that, he’s trying to change the subject.”    Seokjin glares at Jungkook now too. “So, if the potion was done correctly. How come it didn’t work?” There’s a silence in the room while they wait for Jungkook’s answer. Jungkook does his best to calm his heart, he thinks happy thoughts, it’s almost as hard as trying to cast a patronus. After some painfully awkward minutes, he breathes out. Now or never.    “Jimin has this ability, or, well, curse, that makes it so that potions don’t work on him. He was faking it all the time. The potion never had any effect on him.” Jungkook plays with the hem of his shirt. “The past few days, he was…playing, acting. I don’t know why he did it or how I never noticed, but yeah, he was never under the amortentia’s influence.” For some reason it is hard to admit this to his friends. To tell them what really happened, or at least in regards to Jimin and him.    “Oh, wow.” Seokjin says. He seems shocked but not too surprised. “I’ve read about this, but it’s…rare. They don’t even teach students about it since it’s almost nonexistent. Some high class wizard families often have gifts, or curses, just abilities that most wizards would not have. But it is really random, it can skip generations and sometimes disappear altogether. It’s more of a myth than anything.”   “We’re wizards,” Taehyung grumbles.    “Yes, but even for us things like this are rare. I've only read a little, and it wasn't even from a reliable source. But it is possible, being able to become invisible, yielding fire like a dragon, having the gift of healing without casting magic,” Seokjin looks at Jungkook, “immunity to potions.” Jungkook is not at all surprised that Seokjin knows about this. Even for himself it was hard to come to terms with it, so it’s a relief he doesn’t need to convince his Hyung.    Taehyung whistles low, “You’re really unlucky.”    “Yeah.” Jungkook tries not to frown, unlucky doesn’t even begin to cover what he’s feeling as of late. “I don’t want to see Jimin because I don’t understand why he would do that. I’m mad that he lied and I know I did too, but he knew . He was aware that I was lying and I was pretty clear about why I was doing what I was doing. I have no idea about his intentions though.” Jungkook lets out a frustrated huff. “And after everything that happened, I’m not even sure it’s okay for us to be anything at all.”    “Woah, wait.” Jungkook freezes at Taehyung’s words, cursing himself at saying the last bit out loud.    “You’re actually—you actually like him!”    “What exactly happened?” Seokjin looks intently at Jungkook. “What happened that day?” More than curiosity there’s a certain kindness in Seokjin’s eyes. Perhaps his Hyung is aware of how hard this might be for Jungkook, it doesn’t matter, Jungkook appreciates it all the same. It’s hard, it takes some minutes, a few breaths and screwing his eyes shut until stars are floating behind his eyelids, but he finds the courage.    He tells them.    He starts with the story of Jimin’s brother. It is one of the things that eats at Jungkook the most, the kind of pain that old wounds brings, that’s one of the things Jimin must’ve felt when Jungkook was being attacked. He slowly approaches the big event, telling them how his brother found Jimin and him, how he used the curse. He tells them everything. How helpless he felt, Jimin protecting him until the end, everything up until the moment they landed on St. Mungo’s. When he’s almost finished, there’s a pain in his chest deep enough to feel like someone’s ripping his heart out. Seokjin is looking far away and there are tears in Taehyung’s eyes.    “Accio.” Jungkook whispers softly, voice tight. He opens his palm just in time for Jimin’s gift to land on it. The little Ravenclaw diadem sits perfectly on Jungkook’s hand, and without meaning to, his tears finally start to fall. “It’s stupid, because, I never cared for gifts or birthdays. But Jimin—“ he chokes up, “he’s stubborn, he gave me this and—at that moment I didn’t care about the ceremony, about my family, it was just us. For that moment I wanted to be honest, because I had never felt that, and I believed that I was—I was feeling all these things while it was all a lie.”    “You don’t like Jimin,” Seokjin says, Jungkook looks up from his gift. His friends are eyeing him, eyes shiny with their own tears. “You don’t like Jimin at all. You fell for him.” Taehyung looks from Seokjin to Jungkook, and he laughs. A real, wholehearted laugh.    “You’re in love with Park Jimin. All these years and you fell in love with him in three days.”    “It wasn't three days.”‘Jungkook complains, ears turning red. He sighs, “It’s stupid. I made a potion, I charmed us a lie so he would fall for me and all I did was fall for him instead. Now I’m too scared to confront him. I’m too scared because I don’t know anything. I don’t know what’s going on in his mind, why he did it all, why he wants to see me now. I know nothing and it’s driving me insane.”   “A Ravenclaw going insane because he doesn’t know something. It’s quite fitting,” Seokjin cheerfully adds.    “You could know,” Taehyung says softly, their tears are dried out, and Jungkook feels lighter. He knows his friends would’ve asked more things but he’s glad they didn’t. He’s glad they focused more on the Jimin situation of it all instead of focusing on his rocky family relations. “If you talked to Jimin you would know.”    “Yes.” Jungkook doesn’t miss a beat, he agrees completely. He’s had this battle with himself already. His brain is frantically telling him to run to Jimin, to go and learn the truth, and know his intentions. It wants all the answers. But his heart, Jungkook’s heart is frail, beating with the whispers of the small moments that passed between Jimin and him. It’s afraid, afraid that whatever answers he finds will shatter what’s left of it.    Perhaps when you live your life thinking you’ll never be able to feel, or thinking you won’t care about feeling, about love or relationships, you unknowingly leave yourself weak and unprepared for when they do come. Because sometimes love is like a cold: you forget you’re vulnerable to catch it, so you go out at the peak of winter because the promise of snow is too good to pass; you enjoy it, you enjoy the snow fights and the sled rides, and only when the cold hits two days later do you remember you should’ve protected yourself against it, or prepare yourself better for it.    Jungkook didn’t care for love or relationships so he never cared about protecting himself against all that it entailed. He never cared about knowing how to deal with it all: the feelings, the torment, the overthinking. He’s a kid learning to walk and he’s afraid he’ll reach the stairs without any knowledge of how to stop. He’s afraid of getting his heart broken, because he doesn’t know what he’ll do then. He barely even knows how to deal with the fact that he has a heart that cares, and that it beats whispering Park Jimin’s name.    He hates not knowing, but he’s more afraid—for once—of what truth he’ll find.    He meets Taehyung’s eyes, “I know my answers are with Jimin, but my fears are too.”    “Well shit, Romeo.” Taehyung throws his arms up, then promptly stands.  “One small love situation and you’re spewing poetry. Hell. Quite amazing to be honest.” Jungkook turns red, his neck all the way to his forehead feels warm.    “Think about it, Jungkook. It’s not like you can hide here forever. I—I won’t say I understand what you’re feeling, but I think that if it were me, knowing would at least calm a part of me. Also, you can’t avoid Jimin forever.”    “Watch me.”    “Yup. I guess the heartfelt moment is done. He’s back to being a stubborn brat.” Taehyung rolls his eyes, walking to the door. “Nice intervention, but I got a date. I’m quite bummed that I’ll have to say we have made no progress.”    “What?” Seokjin and Jungkook ask at the same time.    Taehyung smiles sheepishly, “What? You think it was my idea to have an intervention.” He pulls the door open and Namjoon, Jungkook’s very famous and now—newly nicknamed—traitor cousin, is standing with his head hung low, right in front of it. “I’m merely the muscle, he’s the brain of the operation.” Jungkook lets the words sink in. It’s bad enough that Taheyung did this but knowing it was actually his cousin’s idea is worse. On top of it all, it means that Namjoon was aware, up to some point, of Jungkook’s feelings for Jimin.    It embarrasses him to such an extent that he has to recite the list of Ravenclaw heads four times in his mind to keep himself from strangling Taehyung, or his Namjoon, or both. It takes a moment, but he smiles, he’s sure he must look insane because Taehyung winces, smiling a little bit weird.    “You two may be dating.” Namjoon’s head snaps up, eyes meeting Jungkook’s, and he can see the way his cheeks turn red. Oh, Jungkook will have so much fun with them. “And I might not have the leverage of telling Hyung about your crush, but I do have a good amount of stories about what exactly your crush on him made you do. Multiple times.” The Gryffindor common room is one of the most reddish places in Hogwarts. If for some absurd reason you ever need a red item, for anything, you just need to ask a Gryffindor and they’ll find it. Jungkook thinks that Taehyung might be a nice add-on to the common room. He goes so red at Jungkook's comment that it looks almost funny in contrast to his yellow sweater.    “You wouldn’t,” Taehyung gasps.    “What stories?” Namjoon asks.    Jungkook smiles, even if he never tells his cousin, he’s sure Namjoon will nag Taehyung about it until the end of days. After all, ravenclaw’s like to know things, preferably everything, and if Jungkook’s stubborn, so is his cousin. “Good luck, Tae-tor .” Jungkook swings his wand and the door to his room snaps shut. He can hear Namjoon asking Taehyung about the stories again, and Taehyung ushering them away. He chuckles a bit, then turns to find Seokjin amused looking at him.    “That last ‘Tae-tor’ bit was lame, but I’ll let it pass since everything else was spot on. I’ve never seen Taehyung go so red.” Jungkook laughs and flops back in his bed. He hears more than sees Seokjin get up and take the tray of food. “Think about talking to Jimin. I actually think you might be surprised,” he says softly. Jungkook sighs, burying his face in his pillow. He knows his Hyung means well, but Jungkook just doesn’t feel ready yet.    “You guys don’t need to sleepover tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He hears his door open and close, and turns to watch the ceiling. Maybe he just needs time. Everything Jungkook is feeling right now is new, he never expected to find himself in this situation. The fact that he accepted his feelings and then was dropped into such drastic events doesn’t help him come to terms with everything calmly either. He needs time. The more he thinks about it, the better the idea seems. Maybe with a little bit of time his fear will not be this vast, and that will help him think better, too. He can get his mind straight in a few more days and that will help to get better answers out of Jimin.    Time. He needs time. With that thought in mind, he gets ready for bed, and lets the memory of Jimin’s laugh lull him to sleep.    In his mind, everything is perfect as it is, no potions, no tricks, no lies. Just two boys who happened to fall in love with no pain or curses at all.    .•*•.•*•.   Whenever he sleeps while the day is still bright, he dreams of Jimin. It may be because the blinding brightness of the sun reminds him of Jimin’s smile, or because the strong rays of it remind him of the way Jimin’s hair shines. But it never fails, he always dreams of Jimin, and deep down he knows that’s one of the reasons he decides to stay in his room and take a nap during the day.    It shouldn’t matter though, because at night his dreams aren’t any better. Of course, at night he’s susceptible to nightmares too, his screams from that day follow him until he wakes up screaming in bed too. Jimin’s blood coating every bit of his hands until he wakes up feeling like his bed is drowning in it too. At night, his dreams can be both beautiful or treacherous.    Tonight, to his luck, he’s on the beautiful side of his dreams.    On good nights, he always dreams of Jimin giving him his birthday present, or of Jimin casting that warm flame between them. He knows they’re dreams because unlike in real life, in his dreams he’s calmer. He even dares to put his hand on the fire once Jimin lights it up, only to find the fire is cold. This time, though, he feels the warmth closer, and they’re not in the astronomy tower. Jimin is in his room, softly resting his body on one of Jungkook’s bedposts. He’s lighting a small flame, but it’s only on his index finger; it’s little, but it’s enough to light up Jimin’s features and part of his bed.    “I’m very hurt that my boyfriend was not at The Great Hall to greet me after I saved him,” Jimin says. There’s a small breeze that ruffles the hair covering his forehead, and Jungkook tries to remember if he left his window open before falling asleep. Maybe in his dreams he always lets it open. “Do you prefer to dream about me or would you care to acknowledge me now?” The words take longer than Jungkook would’ve liked to sink in, and when they do, he sits right up, blinking blearily and finally noticing that he’s been awake for a few minutes already, tiptoeing between reality and dreams.    “Jimin.”    “That’s Hyung, to you.” Jimin smiles, blindingly just as Jungkook remembers. His eyes are twinkling, bright and full of mischief.    Jungkook remembers Jimin’s first words, and before he can think about anything else he stumbles trying to sit up straighter, “We’re not boyfriends,” he says, more hurried than he intended. Clearing his throat, he gathers the courage to look Jimin in the eyes. “That was all a lie. I gave you a love potion.” He doesn’t know why he’s saying this, he’s certain this wasn’t the first thing he had planned on saying to Jimin once they finally met. But now that they’re here he feels the urge to protect his heart, to protect these newfound feelings.    Jimin hums, detaching himself from the bedpost and approaching Jungkook, there’s a glimmer in his eyes as he gently sits on Jungkook’s bed, his body mere inches from Jungkook’s. “But potions don’t work on me, love,” Jimin drawls and the word resonates in Jungkook’s brain. Love. Love. Love. “ My week at St. Mungo serves as proof.” He arches an eyebrow at Jungkook, looking at him in such a way that makes breathing a little hard.    “Does it matter? It was still all a lie.” The words are weak, because even as he says it he knows that not all of what they did together, what they said to each other, was a lie. He knows it. He has a heart beating at the same pace of Jimin’s breaths to prove it. But he doesn’t want to acknowledge it, not in front of Jimin, not first. Because he still doesn’t know the intentions behind Jimin’s lie. Why did Jimin do it? And, did Jimin end up like Jungkook? Having to deal with foolish feelings from a love that was conjured up by a lie?    “Come on, you little blue blood, use that wisdom for something,” Jimin taunts, and Jungkook feels him squeeze closer. “Do you really believe it was all a lie?” Jimin’s tone is soft, as if he were coaxing the answers out of a child. He shrugs. “I mean, I guess I did lie, so did you. But was it all a lie? I had a few days full of dreamy thoughts induced by medicine. The question was eating me alive.”    “Did you find an answer?” For Jungkook things are always straightforward, knowledge is a little bit more black and white because it’s all about learning and practicing. Having spent a few days with Jimin just showed him how untrue that becomes when applied to real life. Nothing is ever that bland or easy. It’s blurred. Blurred lines of feelings and so many little things. Nothing is made of just one thing; there’s a million little things that make up something. Jimin knows the world like that—in a kind of refreshing way—full of ideas that bend the lines and create swirls around them.    Jungkook feels like he knows the answer, but it’s silly to say it, because he only knows it now that Jimin is here.    Jimin’s smile is soft, so soft, his eyes are warm, the collar of his white button up is ruffled, his Slytherin tie messily tied around it. “Of course I did. I keep beating you at things like this. I guess Ravenclaw’s aren’t that smart after all.” He’s taunting Jungkook, Jungkook can see it in the slight glint of his eyes, the drawl of his voice, but he doesn’t care, not really. It’s Jimin, it’s what they do. “It was all a lie at first, I guess. Yoongi had warned me about it. He told me that the lines of real and not real would get blurred, but I wanted to prove him wrong.”   Jungkook, for once, does not feel too lost. He feels like he knows exactly what Jimin is getting at. It creates a certain excitement all over his body, in his heart. It fills him with anticipation, and perhaps he’s a little done with feeling scared, perhaps some of Jimin’s recklessness has passed onto him. He asks, “Did you?” He feels like the magical creatures professor dropped a dragon in his room. Suddenly it feels warm, too warm, but he lets it fuel him, lets the warm feed the fire he feels inside.    “What?” Jimin asks, eyes hooded as he looks at Jungkook.    The warmth burns, but Jungkook lets it, and he tugs on Jimin’s arm until Jimin is on top of him. He’s not sure what he’s doing, and his courage is quickly burning out, but he breathes in the moment anyways. Jimin’s thighs are bracketing his legs, one of Jimin’s arms is still tightly held by one of Jungkook’s hands and the other is softly laying on Jungkook’s chest. Jungkook feels on fire, and for a moment he’s paralyzed. Jimin is beautiful on top of him. “Did you prove him wrong?” he breathes out, chest rising and falling, trying to get oxygen to his lungs.    Jimin smirks a little, his hand travelling down from Jungkook’s chest to his stomach, Jungkook’s breath gets caught up in his throat. Jimin leans down, “I’m afraid I didn’t. I’m weak, whether you believe it or not.” He whispers, his eyes are capturing Jungkook’s, and for a moment he swears there’s light moving in them. Jimin is graceful in everything he does, in the way he moves and the way he touches Jungkook, the way he looks at Jungkook. Jungkook is sure Jimin could have the power to enchant him, no need of potions or spells at all.    Jungkook is out of his mind, drunk on Jimin’s closeness, the courage he had earlier has all but burned away, and all he can see is Jimin’s gaze and the flutter of his eyelashes. He can only feel Jimin, the weight of his body, the strength of his thighs, the softness of his hands. It shuts everything else out, he forgets they have a million things to talk about, a million things to perhaps clear up, but for once in his life, Jungkook can wait for answers. For this moment, he can wait to know all the bits and pieces of what happened. For now, only one answer, the one that will calm the fear in his heart, is the one that matters. “Kiss me?” he breathes. It sounds more like a plea than anything. He tightens his hold on Jimin's arm, and lets his other hand drift to Jimin’s waist.    He closes his eyes. The fear in his heart hits him like a bludger to the chest. He tries not to panic, not to let his mind go into overdrive. This. This is the thing he wanted to avoid, he knew meeting Jimin again would send all these confusing feelings into chaos. He tries to breathe, but it only ends as a choked gasp once Jimin leans in. Jimin brings his hand up again, trailing it to his chest ever so slowly. It doesn’t help calm his nerves, Jimin must feel the thunderous beat of his heart. There’s a roaring in his ears, it blends neatly with the sound of his beating heart, his breaths come short. Waiting. Waiting has never been his strong suit.    Just when he feels like he’ll combust, Jimin connects their lips. Everything becomes quiet, his heart skips a beat, and for a moment every thought jumps out the window. There’s only them, the places where Jimin’s body touches his own and the warm wetness of their lips. Jimin’s hand twists the front of Jungkook’s sweater, bunching it in his fist, pulling Jungkook up, incredibly close. It makes Jungkook’s mind come back to him at an almost crashing rate, his thoughts making him burn with images of Jimin. He tightens his hold on Jimin’s waist, eliciting a gasp from the older, Jungkook feels like he’s in free fall. Not a dangerous one, not at all, but an intentional free fall, like a playful game of quidditch. He feels as though he and Jimin are racing through the sky, going up and up, only to let themselves fall, to feel the mist of the clouds hitting their faces and the air rattle their hair, threatening to rip it from their scalps—free falling, only to pull themselves up just before meeting land.    Kissing Jimin is exhilarating. It’s enjoying the jump through the cold, even if the world thinks you’ll crash, only to be pulled back by warmth itself. It’s addicting, and he’s only had one taste.    “Jungkook,” Jimin says, breathy, breaking apart so they can catch their breaths. Jungkook opens his eyes only to have the breath knocked out of his chest. Jimin’s lips are red, his blouse is even more messy than it was when he came in, and his hair is hiding his eyes. Without thought, Jungkook brings a hand out and tucks a few strands behind Jimin’s ear. He retreats his hand slowly, his fingers leaving a trail from Jimin’s ear, tracing his jawline, down to the curve of his chin, his thumb softly touching Jimin’s bottom lip. He’s enchanted, through and through. “We should talk,” Jimin murmurs. But Jungkook doesn’t feel like talking anymore.    “What was that kiss to you?” he asks instead, his hand going back to Jimin’s waist. The hand that was holding Jimin’s arm moves lower, intertwining their fingers. Being with Jimin is a whiplash of emotions, fear, excitement and…love. He knows what he felt in that kiss, and even if he doesn’t care about anything else right now, he wants to be sure of this. He wants them to be sure of this.    Jimin smiles, “Perhaps not a blurred beginning, but a clear one.”    Maybe because it’s Jimin, maybe because his mind remembers more of the calmness he felt while being with Jimin than the supposed lies, but he feels at ease, so he tells Jimin, “I’m afraid this is all a lie too.”  They both had a cursed lie to tell each other, even if they both fell in love. It was confusing and hard to stay mad, but now, now that everything is half clear, that they’re here together, no lies and no potions in between it scares him to death. More than being hurt by Jimin, he’s scared of what it’ll do to his feelings for Jimin. Love, he’s come to learn, is another thing with blurred lines. Love has a blurred boundary with hate. If Jimin ever hurt him, he’s afraid of what his love could become. He’s not sure he could live with having to hate Jimin again.    For a moment, he thinks he’s said something wrong because Jimin goes still, then untangles their fingers and gets off of Jungkook. He sits by the end of the bed, back resting on one of Jungkook’s bedposts. Jungkook sits straighter, back to his bed rest. His hands feel empty, his body cold, he feels dizzy for a second. Jimin smiles softly and reassuringly at him, then blows a raspberry. “Well, this certainly is embarrassing.”    Jungkook feels bile coming up. He tries to regulate his breathing. “What, Jimin?” It comes out a bit harsh, but Jimin doesn’t seem to notice, or he simply doesn’t care. He just stares at the ceiling, and Jungkook follows his line of sight, only now does he notice how dark the room is. It must be the middle of the night and Jimin’s face is only barely visible, half obscured by the darkness and the other half a little more visible thanks to the faint light of the moon. It bothers Jungkook for some reason. Jimin has moved further away so it’s hard to read his expressions. “Can you move closer? I can’t see you well.” It’s an excuse at best, a half truth, he just needs to feel like Jimin isn’t going away.    Jimin sighs, there’s a bit of a ruffling sound and then: “Expecto patronum.” He must’ve taken his wand out, blue light, almost white, flares out of the top of his wand. It travels up, up, until it reaches the ceiling, materializing into a bunny. It jumps happily all over Jungkook’s ceiling. Jungkook watches it go, a small smile playing at his features without him noticing. He watches the bunny for a few seconds more, then looks down to Jimin only to find the Slytherin already looking at him. Thanks to the patronus jumping around, the room is much brighter, Jimin’s face shines under the light the bunny radiates. Jungkook is surprised to find he’s slightly red.    “It’s beautiful,” Jungkook says, talking about the bunny, but not taking his eyes away from Jimin. If possible, Jimin goes even redder.    “Since my brother, I haven’t been able to cast one. I could do the charm alright, but I could never get it to take form. It would just come out as regular light. A regular weak incorporeal patronus.” Jimin watches the bunny skip along Jungkook’s curtain railings. “One day, I was practicing again, and after a few tries, and after reading the charm a thousand more times, I was able to do it. I spent all night following the bunny along the gardens of my house, laughing as if it were a real pet. I fooled myself into thinking it was just the lack of practice, that perhaps I had forgotten what makes the spell, how to do a corporeal patronus. I knew it was a lie, an excuse I made for myself. I didn’t want to accept the memory I had used to create it. It felt like a betrayal to my brother. To myself.” Jimin looks at Jungkook and chuckles quietly to himself.    “What memory did you use, Hyung?”    “In my last year as a regular student, I wanted to enjoy things I wouldn’t be able to enjoy anymore. I knew I would be too busy in advanced studies, and the prospect of inheriting the Slytherin head title was looming too, so I did lots of reckless things that year. My last free year. There was this day that I wanted to play quidditch. Just a friendly match with friends. We planned it all out, only to find another group of friends had the same idea.” Jungkook feels a shiver run down his spine, he remembers that day too well. The rivalry between Jimin and him was always just there. They were from families that lived years hating each other. They were born to compete in every way, and spent most of their lives doing so. But they had never been really vocal or physical about it. Until that game. “I guess you remember that day too. Well, I’m not sure how you remember it, but it was probably one of the best days of my year.”    “Yeah. You beat my ass at quidditch and sent a bludger my way, multiple times,” Jungkook says, ashamed and wincing at the memory. It had been the first time he ever felt like he hated Jimin. His group had won, but it still felt like Jimin was the real winner thanks to all the great moves he did.    “Yeah, but it never hit you. You dodged every single one, even took a few of my friends out as you did. My favorite thing was that you laughed. While running from the bludgers, dodging them and wrecking my friends broom’s, while almost toppling face first into the floor, you laughed. After a while, I wasn’t even playing, I was just throwing them at you to watch you laugh as you played.”    “I knew it! I told Taehyung you were targeting me on purpose.”    Jimin laughs, “Yeah, to watch you laugh. I hadn’t had that much fun ever since—well, for a long time. I don’t know why, but watching you be so free, soaring through the field and laughing as you did, it became contagious at that moment. I spent all the match making you angry, then watching you laugh as you outran all my plays.” Jimin opens his palm and the bunny jumps from the top of the bedpost to it. “When you caught the snitch, you came flying at me, not even to your friends first. I was at the very top, almost at the edge of the clouds, and you flew to me, snitch in hand, and smiled. You didn’t laugh, or taunt, you smiled.”   “I was happy then,” Jungkook confesses. “For a moment I had forgotten about everything, and I was genuinely happy to have won against you. After all those quidditch tournaments. Then I remembered it wasn’t a tournament and that it was you I was smiling at, and I scowled, but you were already flying down, calling an end to the game.”    “Hmm. Well, I was happy then too. I don’t know if you ever noticed it or saw it that way, but it was the first time we had played without actual rivalry. Even if after that game you became more aggressive, it was after. Maybe it was because it was a friendly game, not a tournament, but during the game, you were just a guy showing off skills. It was the first time I saw a glimpse of just Jeon Jungkook, not Jeon Jungkook, son of Ravenclaw’s head and my sworn enemy.” Jimin rolls his eyes. “That day, when you smiled in the middle of the clouds, at the top of the field, I thought for the first time that things weren’t so bad.”    “But—”   “I gave the form to my patronus two days later. With that memory, the memory of your smile.” The bunny jumps from Jimin’s hand to Jungkook’s lap. Jungkook watches it, out of breath, heart so silent he concentrates to make sure it is even beating at all.    “Jimin.” He’s not sure he understands. This. This wasn’t something he was expecting at all. He never thought that before the amortentia Jimin had thought any good of him at all. Jungkook thought that, just like him, Jimin had always thought horribly about him. It strikes him like a bolt of lightning. He never appreciated Jimin for just Park Jimin, not until the potion.     “I lied—I faked being under the potion because it was a chance. After that game, I never saw you smile again. Of course, I’d see you laugh and smile with your friends, but never again like that day. I had a patronus with your smile as its light but I wasn’t able to glimpse that smile again. Never like that day, never directed at me, never genuine,” Jimin says, voice a bit loud. The bunny dissolves in Jungkook’s lap, the room drowning in darkness again. “It makes me mad—made me mad. I’ve always gotten what I wanted and something as easy as a smile was hard to get. Then you came to me for help, and I thought—just for a second—I thought I’d say yes. But I was stubborn, and vengeful and it made me angry that you’d come to me and be somewhat amiable, only then, only when you needed something.”    “I—I—” Jungkook is glad for the darkness now, because the words make him feel so bad he knows his eyes must be showing all the things that his voice can’t muster to say.    “Then you tried the potion. Even before you used it I knew. I could recognize the liquid, I could—” Jimin shakes his head. “I drank it, and played along. I told my friends and they told me I was insane, that I was better off telling on you, getting rid of you. But you hadn’t smiled at me yet. I was already playing along, so I figured, why not? Maybe just until I could see it again. Now that I say it, it sounds so stupid, I was so blind.”    “It’s not stupid. You—” But Jimin cuts him off again.    “I never saw it for what it was until Hyung told me off. He got so mad at me for talking about you. For complaining about your attitude. For playing along. He said I liked you, and I laughed at his face. I wanted to scream at him, I called him crazy. I didn’t like you. I couldn’t like you. I just wanted to see you smile. To see that bit of brightness again. Then he asked me what the potion smelled like and my whole lie, my whole world came crashing down.” Jimin whispers something, so low Jungkook can’t catch it, another bunny patronus bubbles out of his wand and goes jumping around Jungkook’s room. “I told him potions don’t work on me. That I smelled nothing, but I was lying. Potions don’t work on me, but I can still smell them, sense them, taste them. Even if those things are part of them. It’s only the primary effect, the long effect that does nothing to me. Those small things, I am able to discern.”    Jungkook gulps, “What did it smell like, Hyung? What—what scent did the potion bring up for you?”    “Don’t you know the answer already?” Jimin sighs. “I guess that, naturally, you want confirmation. It’s silly isn’t it? You lied to me, but I tricked you from the start, I even tricked myself. I lied to myself.” Jimin murmurs the last bit, more to himself than anything. He looks around Jungkook’s room. “Being here, it only makes me more sure. The potion smelled like you. A soft citrus scent, but not from the fruit, just—like the tree or leaf of the fruit itself, pure and untainted.”    There’s a part of Jungkook that’s so happy and elated, he feels he could run a mile. He could dare Jimin to a quidditch match and maybe win a thousand times. He could kiss Jimin senselessly. Hug him until all this talk is nothing but nonsense. Yet, there’s another part of him so shocked he feels he is barely breathing. So shocked, that the only words that come out are, “You liked me this whole time? This. Whole. Time? Like—before the potion?!”   “I just told you that. And don’t yell at me, I didn’t know!”    “You didn’t know you liked me?” The bunny jumps between them, and something else comes to Jungkook’s mind. “You say that for a Ravenclaw I’m slow but—how come you didn’t know until Yoongi-ssi asked you about the potion’s smell!? Your patronus is my smile, Jimin-Hyung. My smile!” he says, exasperated. He’s not entirely sure why, or where he's going with this, but it’s the first thought and feeling he registers, so he goes with it.    “It’s not your smile. It’s a bunny! A bunny because of your smile!”   “Why a bunny, anyways?” Jungkook asks, much lower and softer, he’s actually curious about it. He's been curious since Jimin first said it.    Jimin turns his face away. “You look like one,” he whispers. Then he clears his throat, “When you smile. You look like a bunny when you smile.” Jungkook is so surprised at the comment that it takes him a moment to process it. Jimin is still looking away and Jungkook can’t tell if it helps or not.    He’s sure his cheeks must be aflame. “I—I don’t!” It comes out weak. He knows he does, Taehyung has told him multiple times. Jungkook is half sure there’s a bunny hidden in his closet, one that Taehyung won for him in a muggle game machine with a claw. “I don’t think we can date,” he says under his breath, moving to get up.    “Because I think you look like a bunny?! Wait—date!?” Jimin is up now too, the bunny makes circles over their heads, jumping without tiring out.    “I—well.” Shit.    “So, you want to date?” Jimin asks, taking slow steps towards Jungkook. “I already laid all my secrets out. You still want me?”    “All?”    Jimin shrugs. “Maybe half, only boyfriends get the whole thing.” Jungkook feels like he’s in a tornado. It twirls and twirls, taking him to the top, then swirling him down to the very bottom, then up again. An endless tornado playing around with his heart, mind and soul.    This tornado is green, though, green and has Park Jimin written all over it.    “What secrets do you have, Jeon?” Jimin closes the space between them, arms looping around Jungkook’s neck. Jungkook feels warm all over again. Fire burning somewhere in him once again.    “I’m glad it wasn’t all a lie. I’m glad it wasn’t all the potion. I’m glad you like me. I—” He grabs Jimin by the waist, not because of courage, but to have something to hold on to. “I’m glad my lie ended up being true. Most of all, I’m glad that I fell for you, Park Jimin.”    “It’s Hyung,” Jimin jokes half-heartedly.   “I’m glad we like each other, Hyung.”    “Good then, love. Kiss me.” Love. Love. Love. It’s music to Jungkook’s ears. He smiles and without second thought, he kisses Jimin.    For all the cunning games the Slytherin played. For all the lies they brewed, for the times the Ravenclaw hated the snake, Jungkook is infinitely glad.    He’d do it a thousand times again. And again.    He’d do it all over again if it meant that at the end he’d have Jimin’s body close to his, forgetting the pains, the worries, and only remembering their names and the way their lips meet each other, learning a spell no one else may have a chance to learn.    He’d do it again. (Maybe, minus the quidditch tournament losses).  .•*•.•*•.     “What are you doing?” Jungkook asks for what feels like the hundredth time only to be ignored by Jimin once again. The Slytherin keeps pulling him along, snow crunching beneath their feet as they hurry off to who knows where. They’re off for winter break, and although Jungkook was dreading it, Jimin has made an exceptional effort for this break to be absolutely—well, exceptional. They had been backpacking across various countries. Apparently Jimin had a wide net of wizard friends and acquaintances all over the globe.    He doesn’t like to gloat about it, which honestly surprised Jungkook at first, but it made sense after a while. Jimin met most of these people at ceremonies and balls for him , being the Slytherin head and all. Not an heir, but the head. Last October, on Jimin’s birthday (where Jungkook tried to give a better gift than the one Jimin had given him, but failed), Jimin’s inheritance ceremony was done. Of course, they always knew it would happen, Jimin being an only son now, but it was still quite bittersweet. Jimin never cared for the title, which is quite ironic, because he’s perfect at his role.    “We are almost there.”    “Wher—” before he can bother to ask again, Jimin engulfs them in shadows, their insides twisting, breaths mingling and oxygen breaking out of their lungs. Jungkook clamps his mouth shut, bile threatening to come up and his heart stuttering.    Jimin’s apparating them, again.    It’s normal of course, something wizards do to get here and there. For Jungkook though, after the events last September, it’s hell. It’s funny, Jimin’s the one that was badly hurt yet he does it without fear or complaints. Jungkook, however, hates it now. Every time, it leaves him dizzy with images of blood in his mind. It breaks his heart all over again. It’s a bloody hell.    The moment they materialize again, Jimin’s on him. Hands on his shoulders, swiftly working their way up his neck, squeezing, letting go, then going up and up. Jimin holds his face gently, with so much care that Jungkook dares to open his eyes. Jimin smiles, thumb caressing under Jungkook’s glasses, then using the same hand to tug those glasses off. “You’re okay, see? We’re fine, love.” Jimin has never complained. He does his best to apparate less, or to make Jungkook’s experience as good as possible. He’s Jungkook’s light and anchor in more ways than one.    “You didn’t tell me.” Jungkook breathes, more whiny than anything.    “It’s better that way. The last few times I told you before doing it you just got more anxious. So, I went with the surprise route.” Jimin shrugs, stealing a kiss from Jungkook, “You’re even talking.” Jungkook shudders, images leaving his mind and becoming dust. He smiles at Jimin, he still feels anxious, but it’s not as bad as other times, it’s true.    “I think I need another kiss to, you know, make it feel better.” Jimin laughs, uncaring and free. His hands trail up, tangling in Jungkook’s hair until he’s pulling Jungkook closer, capturing their lips together. A shock of electricity goes through Jungkook, creating so much static that he feels he can fly. Jimin tugs on his hair harder and Jungkook’s hands fly up to Jimin’s waist, pulling him closer. Their bodies crash against each other, and they hiss through their kiss. The kiss grows harsher, Jungkook making an embarrassing sound at the back of his throat when Jimin bites his lip.    They break apart, warm breaths making puffs of air as they gasp to get oxygen back to their lungs. Jungkook never thought kissing could be this great, but Jimin—Jimin does everything better than most. It was foolish of him to think kissing would be any different. As if reading his thoughts, or perhaps just enjoying Jungkook’s dazed face, Jimin grins. “Kissed it better?” he asks, diving in to steal another peck. Jungkook’s smile breaks wide across his face, hands tightening on Jimin’s waist.    “Always.” He takes a step back, needing to leave Jimin’s warmth before he tackles him down just to kiss him senseless until the sunset turns dark. It’s happened before. So he breathes out, feeling the cold hit him tenfold. Once there’s more space between them, he flexes his hands, missing Jimin’s body beneath them. Addictive. He never thought love could be so addicting. Being with Jimin, since day one, has been like opening a dictionary. It’s as if he’s learning things and re-learning old ones. There are a million things he thought he knew, but Jimin, in more ways than one, has changed him. Jimin has made him forget, destroyed knowledge and then relearn it in ways that just…matter.    Jungkook is nothing but a jewel that has been through enough pressure and has been carefully—naturally, with the kindness Jimin provides—compressed over time to become better. It’s silly, most times he can’t believe he’s this man that has fallen in love and thinks of more things than just winning, and becoming more. Jungkook always thought of the future, what he’d do, what he wanted, and what he’d become. Not that that was bad, of course not, but sometimes thinking of the future too much makes you forget about the present. You forget about living promised todays just because of uncertain tomorrows.    Jimin has shown Jungkook how to live. How to enjoy todays and how to plan for present things they can enjoy. It’s silly, Jungkook had to go through so many things and processes to view life like this. Yet Jimin, even with the challenges he’s faced, has always been like this. Where Jungkook is, perhaps, inorganic, a jewel made after being thoroughly compressed, Jimin is a natural, born to shine in such a way.    Of course, Jungkook may never say these things out loud, but he knows by the shine in Jimin’s eyes, the kindness in his touch, that he does not need to. Jimin knows.    “I love you,” Jimin says, so naturally and out of nowhere, something Jungkook’s heard many times by now but still makes his heart beat like it’s running a mile. “I have a surprise.” Jimin turns around. Once Jungkook is met with his boyfriend’s back, he takes a moment to gather their surroundings. They’re in the town where most elite families live. Where they live. “Come on now,” Jimin urges, turning just a bit to extend his hand.    Jungkook shakily takes Jimin’s hand. “I’m not sure if I should say ‘I love you’ back. Where are we going?” he jokes, more serious than not. If they’re going to Jimin’s home, that’s okay, they’ve been there many times throughout their break. The last time they visited was after their trip to Paris. They spent a great time at the top of the tower with some wizard friends of Jimin’s. It also ended with them trying some herbs or something, which then prompted them to ravage most of their food. By the end of it, before moving to their next destination, Jimin had to apparate them home, where his mom repackaged them days of foods.   It took some time, but Jimin’s family accepted him with warm hugs and teacups. They’re amazing, just like Jimin said. Jungkook often watches his parents, the love they seem to have for each other, and secretly wishes for Jimin and his love to last that long. Strong and undeterred.    “Not to my house.” Jimin winces a little, a shaky smile appearing on his lips. “ But, worth it anyways.”    “You’re scaring me.”    “Close your eyes.”    “That’s not helping.”    “You’re impossible, Jeon. I guess we’re doing this the hard way. Forgive me, love.”    “What?” Before he can properly complain, Jimin kisses him. He goes completely relaxed, instantly turning to nothing in Jimin’s hold, and then tenses when Jimin apparates them. His whole body turns rigid, but Jimin holds him, close and closer, never letting go.    They land and Jungkook stumbles. He opens his eyes, gasping for breath, ready to curse Jimin. “You—” but his words die down. The grass, the stairs, the trees by the sides, he’d known this place with his eyes closed, the roses his father cut, and the air—the smell of home, but not home—it makes him want to run. “Jimin,” he breathes. “Why? Why—why are we here?” He’s gasping now, heart threatening to give out.    “Baby? Hey,” Jimin says, stepping in front of Jungkook. That sweet smile, those crescent eyes, Jungkook breathes in, out. “Breathe. Hey, I’m here. This—she’s not here. He isn’t either.” Jungkook does not need to ask who Jimin is talking about, he knows. They never utter their names. “Only Namjoon-ssi. Only your father.” Jimin shrugs. “And a couple of aurors.” He squints his eyes. “I think Seokjin-hyung and Taehyung, too.”    “What did you do?” Jungkook whispers, Jimin takes his hands, squeezing tight.    “I recall that a certain Ravenclaw thought he was smart enough to trick a certain Slytherin into falling in love.” Jungkook frowns, but Jimin only smiles, eyes looking up, as if the sky had their story written across it. He closes them, sighing dreamily. “This particular little blue blood, not so smart after all,” Jimin says, one eye opening as he eyes Jungkook down, “was tricked by the cunningness of the snake.” Jungkook does his best to not throw a fit. It’s been months and they’re happy, but their usual competitiveness comes to light every now and then. Jungkook is witty, smart and fast, but Jimin is too, and to his advantage, he’s damn good at being cunning, sometimes even dirty when it comes to winning.    Jungkook does his best not to sneer. “The Slytherin was quite a fool by the end of it all, I heard. A fool with a crush.” He smirks, a warm feeling taking over him when a slight tint of red makes it to Jimin’s cheeks, and he knows it’s not because of the cold.    “As I was saying, the Ravenclaw was tricked.” Jimin makes a face. “But in the end, so was the snake, by his own venom. They both lost, really, but their initial interests weren’t the same by the end, so in reality they won.” Jimin pulls Jungkook closer, their lips mere inches away. “They fell into traps of their own making and, depending on who tells the story, some might say they were fools. Of course, fools who lost. But the real story is much different. They both won in the end, something much more valuable than what they expected.” Jimin lets go of one of Jungkook’s hands, trailing his hand to Jungkook’s chest. He rests it there, as if feeling Jungkook’s heartbeat was the guide he needed to finish his tale. “The snake, of course, was more of a fool than he’d like to admit. He had gone into the lie not knowing what he really felt. So, even if things ended differently than what he expected, after some time he knew that deep down, what happened was what he wanted all along.”    “Jim—” It dawns on Jungkook, then, so hard it takes his breath away. They’ve talked about this many times before. Jimin always said that their lie, whatever charmed lie they conjured, even after all that, was not a loss for him. He just never knew that Jungkook was what Jimin always wanted. Jimin said that at the end, he’d won anyways, because he was able to see what was right in front of him, and able to walk away with it, hand in hand.    “The Ravenclaw, though he made it out with precious cargo,” Jimin smiles sheepishly, “and a love to last a lifetime, he didn’t win the price he was so eager to get. He never complained, content with the thing he’d gotten at the end. But the Slytherin, forever in debt to the blue blood, thanks to the happiness he had brought him, made sure to not let his dream go to waste.    “Since he had won greatly by the end of the quest, his love deserved the same, if not more.”    “Jimin.” Jungkook’s vision is blurry, eyes teary.    “I believe there’s a certain title we should add to your name, love.” Jimin smiles. “I have much to share, but it can all wait.” Jimin tugs him, hands clasped tightly with Jungkook’s, and kisses him, once, twice, drying tears away. Before Jungkook can even make sense of it all, Jimin is opening the door to the Jeon household. Jungkook is instantly greeted with the faces of his friends, his cousin, his father, and just like Jimin said, a couple of aurors.    “Welcome, son.” His father greets him warmly and Jimin lets go of him. Jungkook does his best to not miss him instantly even if he’s a few feet away. He hugs his father, the only person of his family who cared, who showed him true love. His mother had come back only to leave again, taking her things and fleeing, and his brother was still being chased by aurors. But even with that knowledge Jungkook couldn’t find it in himself to come back home. He’d visit his father at work, go to dinners with him at different places, never home.    “Father.” He says with a smile, coming back to himself. Hugs are given once more and Taehyung barrels into him with Seokjin following in tow, Namjoon gives a slight nod. It feels unreal, he looks at Jimin and he wishes he could make something out of the feeling that is bursting within him, burning him inside out like a firestorm spell. Jimin did this for him. He’s- he’s becoming the next head.    “Jeon Jungkook. Come forward.” The aurors have a basin between them, long robes obscuring most of their bodies. The basin glows bright. With the sunset hiding away and making everything dark, the basin looks almost ethereal. Jungkook catches a glance towards Jimin, and his boyfriend nods, urging him forward. Jungkook takes a few steps, and the aurors start chanting the lawful words. Jungkook feels giddy as he hears them. “To protect the legacy of the Ravenclaw household, loyal to knowledge and truth. Jeon Jungkook, do you, as the sole, worthy heir of this inheritance, accept to bear the Ravenclaw head title, until time and magic deem it so?”    There’s a moment of silence. He must accept before being tested, even if his brother is not here to battle him for the title. He must be tested so his magic can be categorized accordingly in the Jeon’s Ravenclaw history. He truly does not care. Jungkook knows his power is more than enough, especially thanks to Jimin’s lessons. But even then, he hesitates, because for some reason, he does not want to do it alone. Everyone waits with bated breath, but Jungkook only looks back. Jimin’s blonde hair, shining white, thanks to the light of the basin, his smile blinding Jungkook’s existence.    He extends his hand. “I accept, and I shall take the test with my partner.” There’s a small gasp, one he knows comes from his father, then his cousin lets out a cough, and his friends grin so hard they look strained. Jungkook only watches Jimin walk to him, gracefully and ethereally. The magic of the basin instantly recognizes him—Jimin went through this already after all—it makes him glow, a soft green aura, pure green light, radiating off of him. Jungkook had seen it at his ceremony too, but for some reason it looks even more ethereal here.    Jimin’s body is engulfed in green, as if green fire was burning within him. It turns brighter at his neck, shining almost white at his head. Once he steps by Jungkook’s side, it glows blindingly. A thin snake slithers across his neck, entertaining itself with the locket that glows against Jimin’s chest. The snake plays along it, then tangles itself in Jimin’s air, turning to a jeweled crown snake, then coming back to life to slither back to the locket, on and on it twines itself. It is the symbol of the Slytherin’s head. All symbols are magic itself, tangible only when they’re bestowed upon the next head, then becoming pure magic, intangible until the end.    Jimin takes Jungkook’s hand. The aurors in front of them seem to breathe out, nodding as they dip their hands in and out of the basin. The liquid is crystal blue, and it drips thick from their hands. They chant a spell and the liquid becomes alive, swirling across Jimin and Jungkook. They turn sideways toward the basin, holding their hands together, looking into each other’s eyes. The liquid keeps making turns around them, then slowly it creates a net where their hands are joined; it burns bright. Jungkook thinks for a moment that this is it, but then it only keeps getting brighter and brighter, so much so that it seems to have channeled the stars. Everyone but the aurors closes their eyes, a small burst of life shines, and Jungkook opens his to see himself shining blue.    His aura shines with the color of Ravenclaw, the net slowly drifts to the basin once again where it burns up, blue and green flames reach the ceiling. “Remarkable,” one of the aurors says. “Both powers are a fiery star alone, yet together they’re—” he shudders. “A galaxy” the other auror finishes for him. They signal for Jimin and Jungkook to face forward again. Jungkook, refusing to let go of Jimin, only lets go of one hand, keeping them intertwined together. They face forward, and Jungkook's heart starts beating fast enough that he’s sure the whole room can hear it.    Jimin squeezes his hand, always incredibly attuned to him. “Jeon Jungkook, with the gift of magic, the responsibility of power, the ministry and wizarding world recognize you as the rightful heir to the Ravenclaw head.” The aurors dip their hands in the basin once again, bringing out a diadem. Jungkook holds in a gasp; it’s beautiful, the blue gem shining bright enough to battle the sky.    Rowena Ravenclaw’s diadem.    The aurors both step forward, holding the diadem together. They approach slowly, Jungkook feels something, warmth or magic, radiating off of it. He steels himself, squeezing Jimin’s hand so tight he’s sure it must hurt. He closes his eyes, waiting. The diadem lands on his head with no weight at all, swift and light. Jungkook lets out a shuddering breath. Opening his eyes to see, finding it all blurred He’s sure tears must be falling down his cheeks.    “Jeon Jungkook, Ravenclaw’s head.”    His heart stutters. Blue light shines within and out, Jungkook is sure he must look like Jimin, only in blue and much less graceful. He turns to his boyfriend first, the one who, in more ways than one, made this possible, and smiles. He smiles so hard it hurts.    “You look beautiful,” Jimin says. They both do. Jimin is shining bright in his green, the snake slithering across him, then trails up to create a small snake that poses as a crown on the top of his head. Jungkook is shining blue, an aura that flickers between the color of the sky and the deep darkness of the ocean. The diadem sits like a blue flame on top of his head, glowing bright.    Enemies for generations. Enemies for centuries. Two families born to hate each other. Jungkook can’t help the laugh that escapes him. He pulls Jimin close, their auras, blue and green, tangling each other. The locket shining bright, the diadem battling it. Slytherin’s very own head, in love with Ravenclaw’s head. A match born from lies, a very charmed lie turned to love.    “I love you,” Jungkook whispers. “You’re absolutely sneaky, but I love you even more for it.”    “I told you I’m good at surprises. Unbeatable.” Jimin smirks. “I love you too, my love.”    As they kiss, Jungkook is sure that a raven takes life on top of him, diving down to play with the snake flowing through Jimin’s hair.     Who would’ve thought that trading a lie for love would turn out this way.      

  August’s heat slowly leaves Manberg with less and less humid nights. Slowly but surely, the streets are covered with heavy clouds, and its nights are filled with silence and the growing cold.    As summer leaves and the trees lose their colors, kids are picked up from school early. No parent is caught picking up their child past dark hours. The shops close early, and the city is dead.    In their homes, children cower under their blankets. With every gust of wind and every scratch of branches against the window, they curl up tighter and crane their necks.    Winter is almost here, and with it comes the vampires. Viscous, blood-sucking, flesh-eating revolting creatures roam the streets. Any stray person caught out in the streets after dark meets their fate quickly but not painlessly.    Some aren’t as cautious.    “The vanguard will protect me,” the fools proclaim, and they’re the ones who get swiped off their feet and are never seen again.    Most are smart. Most tuck their children in and check every window and every lock. Some are skeptics and don’t believe in the supernatural.    Some children never got to be tucked in at night. Some, the few, had a sword pushed into hands and were told to fight.    -   “I wonder if your admirers know you sleep until four in the afternoon.” Sapnap’s voice is light. He’s only teasing, and George nudges him with his elbow.    The three of them are checking the mailboxes just outside the dorms. Sapnap’s being loud, but it’s no matter. Vampire hunters as well as trainees tend to be nocturnal due to the monsters they fight.    On the first day of school - Dream had been eleven when he was snatched from his bed and was told he was going to protect the country, a noble cause which he should be proud of - they had forced him to stay up for three days straight with no sleep.    The school has long beaten sleepless nights into them. Dream’s lucky if he sleeps at all at night; he makes four hours of sleep work between days. Sleep comes to Sapnap easier. George, well, even more so, cue Sapnap’s teasing.    “Twelve hours,” he emphasizes. “You were out for twelve hours. What if I tell your fans about that?”    George ignores him. He huffs as he sorts through his mail. Most of the letters are from fans, but he’s looking for an address in particular. His hands grow more and more sweaty as he chases down his childhood home’s address.    Sapnap has a couple of letters too. He has admirers too, but not quite like how George does. “I think you’re jealous.”    “So jealous,” Sapnap says, rolling his eyes. “I don’t know why you bother keeping them.”    George tucks them into his bag. “I’m not gonna just toss them.”    “I do.” Dream opens his box and trashes the letters without looking at the addresses.    “Dream! What if something was important?”    Dream took them up in his arms and dunked them all in the trash. “I doubt it. Not like we have any bills.”    “What if your parents wrote to you?”    Sapnap’s a bit taken back by George’s sudden statement, but he stands by him. He offers his support. “You’ll never know if you give them the chance.”    “They won’t write to me,” Dream scoffs, voice light. “I’m not George, okay? I don’t need to keep my fan letters to feel better about myself.”    George glares harder at him. He’s not annoyed by the tease - it’s obviously a joke. Dream loves him and Sapnap, and if he means malicious intent, he would’ve known it. “Why’re you so quick to give up on them?”   “Not like they didn’t give up on me first,” Dream chirps. “Come on. George sleeping in already cost us the pizza. We’ll be lucky if they’re not out of the shitty fishsticks.”    Dream starts walking away. George half-considers digging the letters out of the trash, but Sapnap’s already pulling on his arm. “Let’s go eat. Maybe Dream will stop being such a dick after he eats.”    Dream, believe it or not, is a dick before and after he eats. Safe to say, though, most vampire hunters are dicks in general. They have a bit of a reputation.    Back home, old classmates send letters thanking them of what they do. Love letters are sent by people they’ve never even met.    Dream waits for letters from one person, and it’s neither of his parents. It’s someone who can’t write to him, so he doesn’t bother looking. Looking gives him that .01% hope of seeing a name that no longer is used.    He doesn’t care what people think of him. He’s here to kill monsters and shit.    “I bet I can fit more fishsticks in my mouth then you.”    You’re the only things worth protecting, the protege thinks, watching his two friends almost choke themselves to death.    “I won, right?” George asks, coughing weakly. There’s saliva coated fishsticks on the tray. Sapnap cringes, even as he struggles to chew the ones in his mouth.    Dream looks away from the sight. “If the contest was being disgusting, then sure! You won, George.”    “This is disgusting,” he complains. “I want something sweet.”    “Yeah,” Sapnap sighs, exhaling cooly. He rests his chin on his clenched fist. “I’m craving a biscuit… I hear there’s a good bakery nearby. Over by the creek?”    “Oh, yeah!” George pipes up. “I want a danish so bad… That sounds so good right now.”    “If the school finds out you’ve gone sneaking out for a biscuit, you’re dead meat.”    George cocks his head. “You say that like you’re not sneaking out with me.”    They exchanged glances. Sapnap sighs and nibbles on the stale roll on his plate.    “We’re not sneaking out for a pastry.”    “You always give in to me, Dream,” George says, and Dream can’t even refute. “Besides, you’re sick of it, too, aren’t you?”    Sick of everything surrounds them. Sick of stale, cold food on cafeteria tables, sick of teachers acting like his life is noble, sick of the world and shitty monsters and people who don’t deserve to be protected.    Overall, he’s sick of the life he could’ve had. It’s a nice dream - sharing an apartment with George and Sapnap. He aches for dishes piling up in the sink and takeout on the couch.    A life with you is what makes it all bearable, he tells himself. A nice dream, it is, but that’s all it ever is and all it ever will be.    “I am,” Dream agrees. “Although, I’m not risking it all for a biscuit.”    -   Tommy’s hand is wrapped up in Tubbo’s own. He’s tired, he can tell, from the way he slowly drags himself up the stairs. They cringe with every creak of the floorboards.    The captain’s sprawled out on the couch. There’s a file of papers on her chest, and her hand lazily trails off to the side.    “Just a sec,” Tubbo whispers, dropping Tommy’s hand. He tucks the file out of her hands and sets it down on the coffee table. Angry red letters read out CLASSIFIED, but Tubbo pays it no mind. He tugs the blanket over Puffy.    Years ago, Tubbo did the same thing for Tommy. He never saw him do it, but he’d drift off asleep in strange places and he’d awake with his well-used blanket around his shoulders. Nice to know old habits die hard, even if Tommy’s not the one he’s wrapping up anymore.    “Something wrong, Tommy?” They’re in the hallway, and Tommy feels unbearably soft for no reason at all. He grabs Tubbo’s hand in his and squeezes.    “Nothing at all, Tubso,” he says, and it almost isn’t a lie.   Tubbo bristles past the moment. “I got this new game, but I’m a little bad at it.” He retrieves his DS from under his pillow (he has to hide it there so Puffy doesn’t catch him playing on it when she leaves for work) and flips it open. They settle on the bed. Tubbo’s got them covered in the warm duvet, and they kick off their shoes.    “Can you beat this level for me?” Tubbo leans against Tommy. His toes poke at his legs, and Tubbo’s cold. The touch is welcome, albeit sending cold sparks down his leg. He grimaces but settles against Tubbo anyways. It’s a dumb game, and the level is easy to beat. Tubbo sighs sleepily and watches Tommy play with half-slitted eyes. “I would’ve made us dinner, but I didn’t want to wake Mom up.”    Tommy stiffened, jostling Tubbo.   “I have cheez-its,” Tubbo said, yawning. “There’s some on my nightstand. Grab ‘em for me?”    “When did you start calling Puffy ‘mom’?”    Tommy doesn’t move to grab the cheez-its. Tubbo shrugged. “I don’t know. Did I?”    “You did,” he confirmed. His chest tightened. “You called her mom. You said, ‘I didn’t want to wake Mom up.’”    He tried to play it off like it was nothing. “Oh, I didn’t even notice.”    Somehow, it’s so much worse that way. He wants to ask, dwell on when the hell did that happen, but Tubbo doesn’t seem to care. Tommy does, and he hates that it digs under his skin.   “I beat the level.” Tommy thrusts the DS back into his hands and bites down the ugly, rising emotions rising up from his stomach.    “Thanks.” Tubbo grips on his sleeve. He can barely keep his eyes open. “You can keep playing.”    “Are you tired, Tubbo?”    “No,” he whines, closing his eyes. He doesn’t even pretend to stay awake. “I’m up.” The blanket is pulled over them. Tommy’s sort of sat up, but he resorts to falling to the side to curl up around Tubbo.    “Go to bed, dickhead, if you’re tired.”    Tubbo whines once more. “No ‘cause you won’t stay if I do.”    It’s true. Tommy hates spending the night at Puffy’s, but it’s all because of her, not because of Tubbo.    He’s not sure why Puffy refuses to let him stay the nights. She’ll have him over for lunch, maybe dinner, but she’ll escort him “home” before it’s dark.    It’s funny how the adults pretend that they care until winter comes. They keep Tommy’s at arms reach when those too cold nights fall, and all of a sudden, everyone’s a stranger.    “Something’s just not right with that boy.”    “I’ll stay until you’ve fallen asleep,” Tommy promises, combing some of Tubbo’s messy brown curls out of the way.    “That’s the point, dumbass.” He kicks him harshly under the covers, and Tommy whimpers out a strangled ow! Tubbo cackles. “Stay the night.”    “Puffy’ll have my ass.”    “I’ll tell M-- her,” he corrected himself, not so swiftly, “I made you stay.”    “I’m not staying the whole night,” Tommy said, but he meant is less and less as Tubbo dug his nails into his arms.    They fall back into each other’s arms easily - like they did when they were kids. Like they never, ever stopped being kids, depending on the warmth of one another and blocking out the rest of the world.    Tommy has no intentions to fall asleep, but decisions are made for him. Tubbo is a shield, and Tommy’s no match for the warmth blanketing over him.    Sleep takes him by the neck, and his breathing grows labored against Tubbo’s neck.    -   Wilbur doesn’t mind the empty streets. In fact, he revels in it. The less people around, the better - Wilbur always says. He doesn’t mind people, not when they steer clear of him, and usually, mostly, they do.    Wilbur’s unsettling when he roams the streets. He’s a stranger, and when a poor soul looks his way, their skin grows prickly. No one takes kindly to Wilbur. Wilbur doesn’t take kindly to the rest of the world.    That was until he met the blond boy in the woods.    He was drawn to him with an unexplainable lure. At first, it was mere interest at first, but it grew and grew with each and every visit. He visited the diner almost every night. It was a quaint little thinking place. Wilbur rather adored the calm.   He liked the diner, but more than that, he liked the strange boy behind the counter.    -   Niki’s diner should start closing sooner. It’d make sense to close early, especially since no one dares step out at night. However, Niki does have certain regulars she depends on.    It’s mostly fools who think they stand a chance against vampires and also teachers and warriors from the vanguard.    One of them being Puffy, an old time friend of Niki’s. They were friends once long ago, and now they live in different time zones. She frequents her diner, but it’s always long after Niki’s gone home for the night. Some days she swings by before her shift, or she comes by on break. She’s usually asleep unless she’s out with Tubbo somewhere.    There’s other regulars, too. Most of the regulars come during the day to see Niki. Jack, even, gets friends from school.    It’s no question why Jack gets to work day shift, around people, and why Tommy gets booted to night shifts. Neither of them complain about it.    Tommy doesn’t mind. He likes the nights and the comfort the cold brings.    Lately, his nights have been brighter. There’s a nervousness that wasn’t there before. A discomfort, yes, but a welcome one.    When the door chimes, Tommy looks up in search of a familiar worn beanie.    -   Tonight, the door chimes above Wilbur’s head. Tonight’s colder than usual, so the heat is on high once he steps in. A harsh gust of heat hits his face, and he winces at it. “What’s my favorite greml-- who are you, and why are you bald?”    The man behind the counter is taken back. He’s wearing his work shirt with a bubbly blue jacket over it. Despite the sun being down, he’s wearing tinted lenses - red and blue. “Welcome to Niki’s dinner! What can I get started for you?”    Wilbur doesn’t approach the counter. He… he hadn’t been expecting this. “Where’s Tommy?”    “I’m sure I can make your order just as well as Tommy,” Jack says, keeping his voice pleasant. “How can I help you?”    “I don’t--” Wilbur shakes his head. He steps forward, finally, and leans against the counter. “Did something happen?”    “He’s got the night off.” Jack’s gritting his teeth. “His complaint box is over there.” He points to the two jars on the desk. One reads “tips” and the other reads “Tommy.”    “Tommy’s always here.”    Jack blinked. “Sir, are you gonna order?”    “I…” Wilbur sticks his hands into his pocket. “He’s okay, isn’t he?”    Jack seemed ready to pick up the phone and dial a certain three numbers. “He’s… fine. Is there a reason he shouldn’t be?”    Wilbur tightens his trench coat around him. “He barely eats anything and gets into fights with customers that could snap him in half.”    Jack slinks his hand back. “That’s Tommy,” he confirms, a wry smile slipping onto his face. “Are you… a friend of his?”    A friend of Tommy’s, Jack thinks, stars in his eyes. Oh, boy, Niki’s gonna freak when I tell her.    “He says I’m his favorite customer,” Wilbur says. “But it’s partially because I’m not a sweets person, so I don’t order much.”    Jack grinned. “Tommy’ll be back tomorrow. He always has wednesdays off.”    Jack’s not too sure what to make of the stranger. There’s a strange aura surrounding him that makes him quick to dislike him. Plus, if he’s a friend of Tommy’s… there’s no telling what he’s truly like.    Tommy doesn’t have friends. He has Tubbo, but that’s just different somehow. Tommy doesn’t make friends easily, especially not with customers.    The fact that a man in a trench coat and a beanie just rolled into the diner genuinely concerned for Tommy has caught Jack more off guard than he’d like to admit.    “You’re really a friend of Tommy’s?” The man turned to leave. Jack catches him as the door chimes.    He mulls it over. “I don’t know if I’d say we’re friends.” Jack nods, feeling more at ease the more he explains. Also, though, going against it, with every time his mouth opens, he has more questions for him. “I’m new to this town, and I don’t know people here yet.”   “Welcome to Manberg. I’m Jack.”    He raises his head. “Wilbur. A pleasure.”    “There’s a lot of good people in Manberg. Tommy’s… Tommy, but you should steer clear of him.”    “Oh?”    Jack shifts from one foot to the other. “There’s rumors, you know. About Tommy. Watch yourself around him.”    “I’m a grown man.”    I know, Jack thinks bitterly.    “I can take care of myself, especially if the threat is a sleep-deprived child.”    Despite talking shit about his co-worker, Jack wisens. “He’s barely a child. Picking trouble with Tommy won’t do you any good. Hell, simply hanging around him can properly mess you up if you’re not careful.”    “Is that a threat?”    “I didn’t mean it so. But if the shoe fits…” He leans against the counter. “I’d watch yourself, Wilbur. Tommy isn’t someone you need to be concerned with.” He kicks his foot against the wood. “We’re a small town. Everyone’s neighbors here.” He caught his gaze. “And word travels fast. Especially about strangers.”    Wilbur pursed his lips. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he offers. “Thank you, Jack.”    The door chimes, and the man is gone.    -   Tommy can’t feel his arm. He’s blinking himself awake from where he must’ve crashed in an odd position. The DS is still open, long drifted off to sleep (alike the two of them) but lays forgotten on the bedside. He’s curled around Tubbo protectively, and in the process, his arm’s been crushed.    It’s a fight to sit himself up, and as he does, a wave of nausea passes over him. He clasps a hand over his mouth to stifle any threat or rising bile, but nothing comes out. Instead, he lowers his hand to take in a needy inhale of breath.    He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He doesn’t even remember closing his eyes. One moment he was cudd-- hanging out with Tubbo and the next he was woke up in a weird position.    5:27   Fuck, he’s overstayed for too long. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and jumps off. Tubbo makes a soft sound in his sleep, but he rolls over, undeterred. Tommy stills, waiting for Tubbo to sleepily raise his head and scowl at him. He never does.    Tommy slinks out of the room.    He quietly pads down the stairs. The front door is in sight.    “If you’re coming down for breakfast, it’s not ready yet.”    Tommy freezes. His hand retracts from the railing. Of course Puffy heard him with her super sonic hearing or whatever the hell. Lady’s terrifying.    “God, my back’s killing me…” Puffy’s talking to him from the kitchen. He could make a break for it. She’d never even see him.    Tommy steps down the stairs and his hand is on the doorknob, but he gets caught at the smell.    He can’t place the smell, but it’s familiar. It makes him long for mornings he can’t even remember.    Puffy has a whisk in her hand, and there’s batter all over the counter. There’s a faint burning smell.    He could leave. He could book it.    The smoke rising from the stovetop convinces him to stay.    Puffy’s at an impasse, two bags in her hands. In her left, it’s m and m’s. In her right, it’s chocolate chips. She’s so deep in thought that she doesn’t seem to register the growing smoke behind her.    “Captain.”    Puffy doesn’t jolt at his presence. She does, however, widen her eyes in surprise. “Tommy,” she drawled, not sounding outright furious but not happy to see him either.    Puffy was good at concealing what she was thinking - no doubt, thanks to years on the force. She smiles pleasantly when she sees Tommy, but he knows she hates him.    He’s annoying. He’s loud and chaotic, and he causes trouble for those around him. His antics aren’t welcomed anywhere in this town, and it goes triple for around her child.    There’s something else. The look is only there for a second, but the glazed look is in Puffy’s eyes before she can mask it. For a mere second, he sees the widening spark before it dulls.    He sees it in Bad sometimes. In any adults in passing. In any poor soul caught in the midst of Tommy’s presence.    Fear. Pure, unbrittled, unmatched fear.    “I thought you were Tubbo.” She drops the bags on the counter. “Did he sneak you in?”    “I fell asleep on accident,” Tommy said. “I didn’t mean to. Tubbo told me to go.”    She hummed, not at all believing the lie. “I thought you learned to stop lying to me by now.”    “I’m not,” he replied cooly. “Tubbo’s an angel. He’d never lie.” At least, that part is true. “Your pancakes are on fire, by the way.”    “Huh?” She turned her head. “Oh. Oh, shit!”    He waits patiently as she puts out the fire. “Oh, damn, that smells like ass.” She dumps the burnt pancake into a bag. “Go throw that out, will you?”    Tommy glares at her. “I’m not your kid.”    There’s something sizzling. The room not only reeks, but now there’s sparks coming home from the stove. Puffy doesn’t seem to care, too busy trying to examine Tommy.    “Stop staring at me. Kinda rude, innit?”    Puffy gulps, her mouth suddenly gone dry. “A polite request? Toss it out before it wakes up Tubbo?”    “Let it wake him up.”    “It’s too early for that,” she says, dropping the bag on the counter. She tends to the burning behind her and dumps the eggs into the sink.    Really, it’s a wonder he didn’t wake up at the horrid smell. Puffy could’ve burnt down the house, and he would’ve slept through it.    “You’re up early.”    For a second, they speak like they do at the diner. There, it’s Tommy’s domain, and Puffy’s a customer. There, he at least holds some power over the captain, but here, he’s what the cat dragged in. The cat being Tubbo in this scenario and Tommy being the mangled bird.    “I’m actually late.” She pulls out a post-note and labels the sandwiches in front of her. “I packed his lunch, but breakfast is a mess.” She leaves some coins on the counter and a note that lunch’s in the fridge. “Pancakes aren’t my thing.”    “You’re really talented,” Tommy said, leaning over the kitchen island. The food, in fact, was burnt to hell and back. “It’s amazing how you managed to fuck up toast so badly.”    “Yeah, alright, smartass.” Puffy scoffs, throwing the remains in the trash. “At least I didn’t mess up the sandwiches.”    That is true. She’s packed five, and they all look edible. The food poisoning isn’t surface level.    “That’s a low bar you set. How did the adoption agency let you take Tubbo?” The from me gets caught in his throat.    “Background checks don’t include taste testing.” She sighs, pulling up her hair off her neck. She’s sweating a bit; most likely, it’s from the small fire. “I’m gonna start cooking lessons. Niki said she’d teach me a couple things.”    “She’ll be your only hope. If anyone can teach you, it’d have to be her.”    “I didn’t realize you were so fond of Niki.”    He glared at her. “That wasn’t a compliment to her. It was an insult to you. ”    She giggled softly to herself, and Tommy kicked at the ground. “Okay, okay…”    “Hey! I mean it! Don’t get any funny ideas!”    “I can keep a secret, it’s okay. Besides, it’s hard not to love Niki. She’s real kind. And hot, too.”    “That’s my boss!” Tommy covered his ears. “You-- no, Captain, please…!”    She laughed, louder this time. “You’re funny, Tommy.” She slid a sandwich across the counter. “You have work tonight, don’t you?” He nods. “Take this with you. Oh, and tell Niki I said ‘hello’ and to ‘go home’ if you see her.”    “I hope the hunters don’t eat you alive with you being late.”    “I was supposed to have the day off, but I got called in suddenly.”    The implications sent shudders down Tommy’s spine. Nothing good can come from this, but he bites the bullet and asks, “Why?”    She hesitates, torn between telling the truth and lying. Puffy dumps the pans into the sink and turns her back to Tommy.    He should go, but he wants to know. He needs to know.    “I know last night was an accident.” She’s impossibly stiff. “But don’t let it happen again.”    “What’s wrong? Was there--”    She turns. “I’ve got to go.” Her smile is forced. “I’ll see you at the diner, but Tommy… I better not see you here again past dark.”    She’s almost unrecognizable. It’s not the exhausted Puffy taking refuge in a coffee cup nor is it the overworked Puffy struggling to make ends meet for Tubbo. The being staring into Tommy’s soul is a killer.    Puffy tries her best. She works long, long nights; not easy nights either - they’re filled with danger and bloodshed. She comes home, exhausted, to cook and take care of Tubbo. She’s protective over him, already.    It’s why he likes her so much. Puffy would not only die for Tubbo, but she’d do so much more. She’s protective over Tubbo in the same way he is, and that’s how he recognizes the possessive look in her eyes.    She’s guarding him.    Tommy understands that.    He understands wanting to sink your claws deep into what you love and never let go. To cherish something and hide it from the rest of the world.    What Tommy just doesn’t understand is when he became the threat.    Since when did Tubbo need to be protected from him?    “I understand, Captain.” He doesn’t. Not fully. Maybe not ever. “I’ll see you around.”    “Take care,” she says, like she isn’t another adult who’s thrown him to the wolves.    Tommy can’t really blame her. Everyone turns their backs on him and pretends not to see it.    “Be safe going home,” they say, Niki says, Puffy says, Bad says, and they all know there’s no home. 

Jupiter: [7:02] SO HOW IS THE NEW PHONE FEELING FOR YOU?   Corsiva: [7:03] It is a bit strange admittedly. But I have enjoyed the many applications it has. This 'internet' for example, there is so much information. I can search for anything.   Jupiter: [7:03] HAVE YOU CHECKED OUT METUBE YET?   Corsiva: [7:03] I have! The videos are so high quality! I especially enjoy those cat videos you have sent me. They are quite cute. ] :)   Jupiter: [7:04] IS THAT A SUPPOSED TO BE YOU!!!!!!   Corsiva: [7:04] Yes! When you turn your face sideways, it looks similar to me. What with the horns. ] :D Now I am laughing!   Jupiter: [7:05] I CAN SEE THAT!!   Corsiva: [7:05] This is quite fun.   Jupiter: [7:05] I'M SO HAPPY YOU ARE ENJOYING IT   Corsiva: [7:05] I can even record videos! How amazing. Look.   Corsiva: [7:06] <Attached Video>   Jupiter: [7:06] SO THAT IS WHAT YOUR PIANO LOOKS LIKE YOU PLAY REALLY WELL!!   Corsiva: [7:06] My thanks. I was taught by my mother when I was younger.   Jupiter: [7:07] Can You Tell Me A Bit About Your Family? YOU DON'T HAVE TO OF COURSE   Corsiva: [7:07] Hmmm. There is not much to tell. My mother was a merchant, though she liked to call herself a researcher instead. Her name was Helvetica. My father was a hunter, whether it be land, sea, or sky. He was well known for being very strong. His name was Garamond. They passed when I turned into an adult.   Jupiter: [7:08] They Sounded Like Wonderful People   Corsiva: [7:08] They were. ] ¦ )   Jupiter: [7:08] Did You Have Any Siblings?   Corsiva: [7:09] Yes, I had a younger brother. But, he has also passed on.   Jupiter: [7:09] I'm Sorry To Hear That   Corsiva: [7:09] Thank you. Though it has been many years, his death hurts the most. I miss him greatly.   Corsiva: [7:12] What about you? Do you have any more family?   Jupiter: [7:12] I ONLY HAVE MY BROTHER BUT I CONSIDER THE SKELETONS FROM THE OTHER CLANS TO BE MY COUSINS!   Corsiva: [7:12] How many skeletons are there, if you don't mind me asking?   Jupiter: [7:13] IN TOTAL THERE ARE 10 SKELETONS 2 FROM EACH CLAN   Corsiva: [7:14] I'm surprised. ] :O It is good to see that the subspecies hasn't died out yet.   Jupiter: [7:14] ARE YOU REALLY THE LAST SKELETON IN YOUR UNDERGROUND?!   Corsiva: [7:14] Indeed, I am.   Jupiter: [7:14] I'VE ALWAYS BEEN CURIOUS ON WHY THERE WEREN'T ANYMORE SKELETONS IT SEEMS TO BE THE THEME FOR EVERY UNDERGROUND.   Corsiva: [7:15] I do not know what it was like in the other Undergrounds. But it is most likely that the skeleton subspecies were wiped out during The War of Humans and Monsters. As that is what happened in mine. We were already so sparse to begin with, but the fact that most skeleton monsters took up arms did not help.   Jupiter: [7:15] BUT WHY DID THEY???   Corsiva: [7:16] Because we were damn strong. We were generals, commanders, head healers, spies, and strategists. But because of these positions, we were more targeted. Besides the Royal family, of course. Goodness there were so many bounty posters on our heads, the amount of gold you could get from a pile of dust was ridiculous.   Jupiter: [7:16] …HOLY CRAP BUT THEN…HOW WOULD THE HUMANS IDENTIFY THE REMAINS?   Corsiva: [7:16] Mages were much more common back in the day. Most armies would use them to determine the leftover magic in the dust.   Jupiter: [7:17] …WELL MAGES SOUND ABSOLUTELY TERRIFYING   Corsiva: [7:17] Yes, most were. Though I remember that many also didn't agree with the war in the first place. …I'm still glad that I won't have to deal with them though. Fighting a mage is not fun. ] :/   Jupiter: [7:17] I CAN IMAGINE   Jupiter: [7:19] THE CONSTRUCTION FOR THE ARMOUR SECT SEEMS TO BE GOING WELL   Corsiva: [7:20] Yes, with the help of some of the scientists, the city is starting to become habitable for everyone. I am especially looking forward to the park with the Echo Flowers and the rivers from Waterfall.   Jupiter: [7:20] THERE'S A FEW PARKS WITH ECHO FLOWERS BUT I DON'T BELIEVE ANY WITH SUCH EXTENSIVE ADDITIONS?   Corsiva: [7:20] Yes, we intend for the soil to be transferred to the surface. See if we can include mushrooms, sea grass and crystals as well.   Jupiter: [7:20] IT SOUNDS VERY AMBITIOUS I CAN'T WAIT!!   Corsiva: [7:21] Me neither.   Jupiter: [7:21] WHAT ABOUT HOUSING? SHOULD YOU NOT BE OUT OF THE UNDERGROUND BY NOW??   Corsiva: [7:21] Ah…well. I just haven't found any places for myself.   Jupiter: [7:21] WHAT?! BUT AREN'T YOU CLOSE WITH YOUR KING? SHOULDN'T YOU TAKE PRIORITY?   Corsiva: [7:22] The citizens should be our first priority. I can just find a home later, even staying in the Underground for a while is fine.   Jupiter: [7:22] THAT IS NOT GOOD I THINK YOU ARE NOT TELLING ME SOMETHING   Corsiva: [7:22] … This is not really a conversation to be having through text.   Jupiter: [7:22] WE CAN DO A PHONE CALL INSTEAD OR A FEATURETIME CALL   Corsiva: [7:24] A..FeatureTime call?   Jupiter: [7:24] IT IS ESSENTIALLY A LIVE VIDEO SO WE CAN SEE EACH OTHER WHILE TALKING!   Corsiva: [7:24] Wow! ] :) How do we do that? Corsiva quickly swiped the green call button that had popped up, and jumped when she saw her reflection, eye-lights growing wider when the moving image of Jupiter greeted her from the tiny box. "HELLO!" He waved, it looked like he was in a bedroom, shelves of books and a computer in the background. "Oh my! It really is you!" She held her phone awkwardly, not knowing which angle to showcase her face from. "HOW HAVE YOU BEEN?" "Well, you should know, shouldn't you? We've only been texting for a while," she teased, watching as a copper orange spread across his zygomatic bones. "AND YOU'VE GOTTEN THE HANG OF IT QUITE FAST!" He grinned, adjusting the camera so it looked like he was behind his table. "That's thanks to a wonderful teacher." They laughed for a moment, before his eyes narrowed in seriousness, and she dreaded the question she knew was coming. "So…Why Don't You Have A Home Yet?" He murmured, watching the way she grimaced and glanced away. "I…..…" she trailed off. Her face fell, and she looked so sad then that Jupiter slightly regretting asking. Before she could answer, a thundering came from Jupiter's side of the call and she stiffened. An annoyed expression graced his features before the screen went black, leaving Corsiva to stare at her pitiful mirror image. She kept quiet, whatever was going on with Jupiter's end she doubted he needed unnecessary noise right now. She waited patiently, mind running on ways to word her situation—she couldn't exactly just say 'oh I'm lonely and don't want to live alone anymore,' it would be beyond pathetic. "SORRY ABOUT THAT!" He apologised, camera wobbling as he walked. "It's fine," she weakly smiled, twirling the pencil she was idly holding. "Jupiter…my living condition is a bit…complicated," she started, and his entire attention turned to her. "How So?" "I…have lived alone for many years now, the silence and emptiness that comes with it…I'm quite sick of it honestly," she lightly tapped the pencil on the top of her head. "I'm basically just delaying my home on the surface because…I haven't figured out what to do, I may just…live Underground instead," she hummed, oblivious to the horrified look he was giving her, "what's a few more years? At least now I can see the sun whenever I want—" "NO!" His shout startled her and her pencil snapped, the wood going everywhere. She blinked as he began to rant, pointing a finger at her as if she were a babybones getting scolded. "FROM WHAT YOU'VE TOLD ME, I CAN GUESS THAT YOU'VE LIVED A LONG LIFE. AFTER ALL THESE YEARS YOU SHOULD HAVE THE CHANCE TO DO WHAT YOU WANT! LIVE WHERE YOU WANT!" "Where would that be then?" She pointedly asked. "IF THE SILENCE BOTHERS YOU SO MUCH, WHY DON'T YOU JUST LIVE WITH SOMEONE? GET A ROOMMATE!" He suggested, smugly pushing up the glasses barely hanging on with tape. "And who would want an old monster like me? Most monsters in this metropolis are overflowing with gold, they're not desperate to have a roommate to share the rent." She growled, "that only leaves humans, and I'm not comfortable enough to be sharing quarters with one." They both went silent. Corsiva felt a little bad at how she had lashed out, he was only giving possible answers to her problem, though she did not see any fault in her reasoning. Jupiter cupped his chin in thought, and Corsiva had half a mind to just end the call there, but that would be incredibly immature. "…Why Don't You Live With Us?" She gaped at his words, finding no joke in his eye-lights. "Jupiter, you've told me that you live with nine others. Skeletons. They would not allow me to live with them." "And Why Not?" He crossed his arms in frustration, "We're In A Good Location With A Lot Of Space, And We're A Loud Bunch." She clenched her fist in vexation, "I can't do that to you Jupiter—" "LOOK! JUST LET ME HAVE A TALK WITH THE REST OF THE HOUSEHOLD!" He sighed, massaging his frontal bone, as if she was the one not understanding. "IF THEY AGREE, YOU CAN COME STAY WITH US." "What about rent? I can pay you as I would also need an extra room for my work," she tried to argue. "My possessions? Would I be able to bring in my piano and paintings?" He tilted his head in confusion, "YOUR WORK?" Had she never told Jupiter what she did? Her budding job was only just beginning, and she was in need of a way to get word out about her commissions. When she was introduced to the internet, the idea of having a 'website' seemed to be appealing, but she had no idea how to go about setting it up. Perhaps she would pay a visit to Alphys for help. She shook away her spiralling thoughts, focusing back into the conversation. "I'm a jeweller, Jupiter. I would require a workroom to make my pieces with the equipment I have." "WOW!" He gasped, hands clasped together, "YOU MAKE JEWELLERY FOR A LIVING?! CAN I SEE SOME?!" "Well, I don't have anything on hand right now, but I have some designs if you want?" His fervent nodding had her chuckling, and she flipped her phone to face the sketchbook. His 'oohs' and 'ahhs' as she turned pages, showing an array of intricate necklaces, rings, bracelets, earrings, brooches, and cufflinks, had her smile growing wider at his reactions. "THESE ARE AMAZING! I ESPECIALLY LIKED THE BONE-THEMED ONES!" She shook with laughter. "I do too!" As their voices faded into a pleasant silence, Corsiva contemplated Jupiter's offer. It was tempting, really tempting. A full house in a private location, not in any sects but near the homes of the Royal family, apparently quite a few monsters from other Clans had gathered together to live on such properties. But she couldn't force herself into these monster's way of life. She was a complete stranger despite being of the same subspecies, and she didn't want to cause any discomfort. (Even if she wanted to meet these skeletons so badly.) "I'll Bring It Up In A Family Meeting Alright? If They Agree, We Can Have An Interview To Handle The Details," Jupiter appealed. "If…they agree." They exchanged their goodbyes, and Corsiva flopped onto the couch, grabbing a pillow to muffle her groans. Was surface life supposed to be so complex? She wanted to rise with the sun and dance in the rain, buff out jewels and have drinks with her friends. Turning the TV on, she cuddled the pillow as she closed her eyes, listening mindlessly to the news reporter drone on about current events. A quick nap wouldn't hurt. Mars: [10:47] How do u make holy water?   Corsiva: [10:49] I believe that traditionally you would use blessed salt with the water. Though the water itself could already be blessed under the right circumstances, such as a special location or a ritual.   Mars: [10:49] U boil the hell out of it   Corsiva: [10:50] ….. I can't believe you've done this. ] :I   Mars: [10:50] Lol   Corsiva: [10:50] What. What is that?   Mars: [10:50] Lol   Corsiva: [10:51] Mars. I have no idea what you are saying.   Mars: [10:51] Lol   Corsiva: [10:51] This is terrible. I think I am being mocked.   Mars: [10:52] Lol   Corsiva: [10:52] I am going to burn my wine because of you.   Mars: [10:52] U can't burn wine   Corsiva: [10:53] Exactly.   Corsiva snorted as she read the text message, stirring the hot pot on the stove. The bottle of dry white wine sat on her kitchen countertop, only a cup or so empty, which was boiling in front of her. It was a mixture of honey and sage leaves she had chopped up finely, she would let it sit for around 10-15 minutes on heat to let the flavours infuse properly. She couldn't make alcohol herself, not like Fuegis, who was already an established vintner, distiller and brewer all rolled into one fiery man. Sunlight did stream into the Underground occasionally, but those areas were restricted for the growing of certain crops, such as the massive pit in the Ruins. (Further away from the Golden Flowers that seemed to cushion the fall of humans.) Though, that isn't to say that there weren't produce you could grow without the sun, the magic Underground more than made up for the plants' lack of sunlight. Take Fuegis' Ice Wine for example. He had a small field of frozen grapes he harvested from deep within Snowdin's forest, it was a staple whenever she got together with her friends on Gyftmas. She covered the pot with a lid to wait, looking at the time on the microwave to set an internal clock. Her phone buzzed with a message.   Mars: [10:54] U planning on getting drunk?   Corsiva: [10:54] My wine needs to rest for 24 hours before I can drink it. It goes well cold.   Mars: [10:55] Wow Without me?   She couldn't stop the laughter as it bubbled out from her, she may not be a wine person, but this wine was special. An old recipe from her father, she fondly remembers her parents drinking it together, sitting beside each other on the porch to watch her and her brother run around in the snow.   Corsiva: [10:56] I would be delighted for you to try it! Though, from your choices at Grillby's I assumed you weren't a wine person.   Mars: [10:57] Yeah i'm not It didn't look like u were either   Corsiva: [10:57] ] :) I am not, but this is one wine I like.   Mars: [10:57] Then i gues i shouldn't wine about it   Corsiva: [10:58] Ugh. That wasn't even clever. ] :(   Mars: [10:58] Lol   Corsiva: [10:58] Please don't start. I'm going to search on the internet what that is.   Mars: [10:59] Lol   Corsiva: [11:03] 'Laugh out loud'? So you find this funny huh? ] :|   Mars: [11:04] Lol   Corsiva: [11:04] Lol.   Mars: [11:05] Lmao   Corsiva: [11:05] What. What is that now? Why is there so much of this 'internet slang'???   Mars: [11:05] Lmao   Corsiva: [11:08] 'Laughing my ass off'??? We do not even have asses in the first place. Lmao.   Mars: [11:08] Now ur getting the hang of it   Corsiva: [11:09] Indeed, just like how I can still understand your messages with your grammar.   Mars: [11:09] Gd jb Wlcom to th sface   Corsiva: [11:10] …. I hate you. (I am joking of course.) ] :)   Corsiva didn't even have to look back at the microwave for the time, her phone already displaying it. Her wine was a golden colour at this point, but she delicately poured the cooling blend back into the bottle it came from, swirling it to mix and watching the colour turn a pale yellow from the see-through glass. Now she just had to let it stay in the refrigerator. This was sort of a celebratory drink for her, something nostalgic for her to sip on while she watched the colours of the world outside, pondering over her surprising freedom. She sat on the single stool at the counter, placing her face to feel the cool marble. Though the heat and cold didn't affect her, the relief she got from them made her feel better. She still couldn't believe it, honestly. She worried her days would turn back in time. Perhaps she would wake up in her bed to silence, or maybe on her couch reading the same book over and over again. (Or maybe she'd wake to dust slipping through her fingers as she blearily heard echoing laughter.)       She needed a smoke……

Ed would like to have said that his visits to Olivia’s apartment over the past few weeks were getting tedious, but the woman had a wicked tongue and despite the continual frustration that plagued his body when she was astride him he kept coming back for more. She tasted like the whiskey and chocolate they’d had earlier - it was a heady combination. They had graduated to full on over the clothes groping during their makeout sessions and it never ceased to amaze him that he was getting to second base with Olivia Benson on a regular basis. There was something so undeniably sweet about their encounters - their temperance lent it an innocent air and he was transported to his younger years when just making out with the prettiest girl he knew was enough for him. Of course, like his teenage self, it usually ended in him getting himself off in the shower later that night, but there was nothing to be done about the pace they held onto. Ed couldn’t say if it was him or her who was holding them back from going any further - she was still nursing a broken heart and he was still wary of getting involved period. Although, as her tongue wound its way down the side of his neck and her teeth nibbled at the base of his throat, he couldn’t help but believe that he would go wherever she led, consequences be damned. It really didn’t help that she wasn’t wearing a bra underneath her oversized sweatshirt, either. Even wearing no makeup, her hair in a loose ponytail and in a faded NYPD sweatshirt and leggings she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. As his hands roamed over the front of her body he felt the hard peaks of her nipples and he delighted in the warm moan that came from her when he rubbed his thumbs gently over them. Her hips instinctively ground against him and it was enough to bring about an answering groan from him. She was doing a pretty good job of getting him hard without really doing much of anything besides making soft sighs of pleasure. But then her hands were gently tugging his shirt out of his pants and once she reached exposed skin she gently scraped her fingernails over the faint hair covering the skin beneath his belly button, it forced a sharp intake of breath from him. This was why he stayed, and why he kept coming back - the slightest touches from her brought him such undeniable pleasure. She began to unbutton his shirt and he leaned back into her couch and watched the look of concentration as she worked the buttons out. “Why the hell are you wearing an undershirt?” she said in frustration when removing his shirt didn’t lead her to his naked torso. “Because it’s disgusting not to,” he answered as he leaned forward enough for her to tug it up and over his head. “Wear fewer clothes next time,” she said as her mouth moved down his body as far as she could reach while staying on top of him. Her hands weren’t idle either, she seemed to take real pleasure from scraping her nails along his skin and he grunted and thrust his hips up into her body when she raked her nails against his lower back. He tugged at her sweatshirt. “Can I?” he asked. “God, yes,” she said, leaning away from him and pulling it off. She was without a bra or camisole and his eyes feasted on the sight in front of him. The tone of her skin was a beautiful light copper and he was a little surprised to learn that it wasn’t from a tan, that was just the color of her skin. But her nipples were a dusty rose color and he weighed the feel of her breasts in his hands before leaning down and suckling one into his mouth. Even her skin tasted salty and sweet. One of her hands moved to the base of his skull and pulled him further into her - he took the encouragement and laved her breast with his tongue, alternating between love bites and sucking at her skin as his other hand began to pinch and pull at her other nipple. “Ed,” she sighed and he couldn’t help his smile. “That feels so fucking good.” He was surprised when she began unbuckling his jeans, though. “Is this okay?” she whispered into his ear as she reached her hand into his pants and ran a finger over the length of his cock. “Yes,” he strangled out, temperance be damned. He lifted his hips to help her bring his pants down enough to free him and while he continued to play with her breasts she began stroking him. It didn’t take long for her to get him completely hard and he had to pause because the sensation she was creating inside of him was taking over his brain. So he leaned back against the couch and let his head fall back as she stroked him quicker - it was not the best sensation since her hand was dry, but he wasn’t going to stop her. When she released him he had to fight back a groan of frustration, but he couldn’t help the smile on his face when she moved off him and knelt at his feet. There was a look of deep concentration on her face as she tugged his jeans and briefs off completely and then she leaned forward over him and he could feel her breath on his cock. He twitched in response and his pupils were blown wide with desire. It was with a sideways smirk that she made eye contact with him, reached for him with her hand and then leaned forward and licked his tip with her tongue. His breath was coming out harshly and he tried his hardest to steady his breathing. The fact that this was Olivia kneeling in front of him with her hand stroking him once more made the experience even more rewarding. Still looking him in the eyes she licked him from root to tip and before he could really react further she was taking inch after inch of him into her mouth. The feel of her wet mouth wrapped around him sent shockwaves of pleasure through him. Why the hell had they resisted this for so long? Why on earth had they denied themselves such pleasure? She pulled off him and once more her hand moved up and down his shaft now lubricated with her saliva. “Is this okay, Ed?” she asked in a husky voice. He didn’t trust his voice so he nodded his head. Then she lowered her mouth back down and began sucking him in earnest. Her hand and mouth worked together in time and his eyes were transfixed on the sight of his dick moving in and out of her. Liv pulled off him for a moment and said, “You can tug my hair if you want, just not too hard.” Then she was back on him. It felt like she was on a mission as her motions grew quicker and quicker, her head bobbing up and down his length - it was a treat to see her determination aimed at him. Her tongue was massaging him and he almost saw stars when she hollowed out her cheeks and gave a hard suck on him. He reached out to stroke the side of her face with his fingertips, she kissed the palm of his hand and he ran his thumb over her lips before running his hand over her hair and firmly grasping the back of her head, coaxing her down on him again. He held her like that for a long moment before letting her lift her head back up. “You’re too thick to deep throat,” she said, her voice hoarse. He didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing, but he wasn’t going to complain - not when she was so eager to please him. It didn’t take him long to begin to feel the surge of an orgasm rising up inside of him - maybe it was slightly embarrassing that it hadn’t taken him that long to get there, but she was so expert at this that he would blame it on her warm, wet mouth. “I’m gonna cum,” he said lowly. She just hummed around him and the vibrations it caused was enough for him to begin spurting inside of her mouth. She raised herself up until only the head of his cock was in her mouth but she continued to stroke him, milking him until he gave one last grunt and his head fell back against the couch as the last of his orgasm rode through him. She didn’t stop stroking him until he began to go soft in her hand and then she released him and sat back on her heels. “Fuck,” he said as his chest rose and fell heavily and it seemed to echo through the quiet of her apartment. After a long minute, while he got his bearings back, he finally looked back at her and said, “I want to taste you.” Her face had a look of surprise on it and he hated that - he hated that it seemed to shock her that he would want to return the favor. Hell, he was eager to return the favor. “You really don’t have to,” she said as she stood, she was still topless and he wanted her breasts in his mouth again. “I know I don’t have to, but I really, really want to,” he told her. At her look of hesitation he added, “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.” With a nod of her head she seemed to make up her mind. “How do you want me?” And didn’t he have a dozen answers to that question. “Switch places with me.” He considered having her to straddle his face, but her couch was too small to do that easily. Too bad, he wouldn’t mind being at her mercy. So she took his spot on the couch and he knelt at her feet and began to tug her leggings down. Fuck, he could smell her arousal already, he could see her pussy glistening with how wet she was. Instinct told him to just dive into her and lose himself in the taste and scent and feel of her, but he kind of wanted to play with her, too. With a look of determination he began by kissing his way up the inside of her thigh and when he reached the apex of her legs he left a little bite. “That gets you off, doesn’t it?” he asked as he breathed against her core. “You liked going down on me.” She hesitated for a moment, then like a dirty secret she whispered, “Yes.” After clearing her throat she added, “It’s a heady feeling. It might not seem like it, but I feel in control.” “That’s what you like, Olivia? You like being in control?” “Usually.” “And right now? Do you want to be in control right now?” For a long pause she looked at him thoughtfully before shaking her head. “No, I don’t want to . . . for right now.” His smile was feral and then he lifted her thighs so that they were draped over his shoulders and he tugged her to the edge of the couch to give him easier access. Her breasts rose and fell with her breathing and he reached up his hand to gently stroke the soft underside of one breast and her hand rose to clutch him to her. There was a fervent desire in the look she gave him and he couldn’t deny her her pleasure so he lowered his head between her thighs and licked the seam of her sex, letting his tongue softly dip inside of her, just enough for a small taste, just enough to make her catch her breath. Maintaining eye contact, like she had with him, he pushed two fingers slowly into her. Her body was soft and hot and she was like heated wet velvet wrapped around him. Part of him wanted to just pull her down onto his dick and fuck her senseless, but with a smile he thought that it would be much more fun to make her come apart on his tongue. With that in mind he pushed his fingers deeper inside of her, stretching them apart and letting his thumb slide through her folds until it pressed gently against her clit. Her hips rose involuntarily in a silent plea for more and he lowered his mouth back to her to begin nibbling his way through her wet folds. It could have been his imagination but something about her - something about her body and the sweet taste of her arousal felt different to him. Drinking her in was like tasting a fine wine and he couldn’t stop loving her with his tongue. “Ed, please,” she cried out and his name sounded like a desperate prayer falling from her mouth. It was impossible for him to deny her so he replaced his thumb with his tongue and began flicking the tip against the bud of her clit in earnest - occasionally alternating to flatten his tongue against her and lick her like an ice cream cone. Her hands pressed against his head and he gave in to her demands and his mouth tore through her like a tidal wave until she was cresting with the feeling and he heard her sharply call out his name before the rush of her orgasm almost drowned him and he ate his way through. He didn’t pull away until the trembling of her legs became too much and her hands shakily moved to run through her hair - her ponytail had almost come completely undone from the way she’d arched herself into the couch. With her hair falling in soft tendrils and her breasts heaving with each breath she looked absolutely charming. It was a sight he would not forget anytime soon. “Why the hell did we wait so long to do this?” she asked. Ed rested his chin against her thigh and licked his lips. “I’m gonna be honest - I still kind of don’t like you very much.” An easy laugh fell from her lips. “I don’t know,” she said, giving him a quick squeeze with her thighs. “I’m kind of warming up to you, myself.”

Leviathan are so fucking loud. Tendrils wrap around Dean’s arm and waist, hoisting him off the ground. Dean plunges his knife into its side, and as a ‘thank you’ it howls right into his ear and sends him flying through the air. Landing heavily, he both hears and feels the crack of his chest before his head slams into the ground, hard.  When Dean opens his eyes a moment later, he blearily watches as the leviathan starts to charge at him. From somewhere to Dean’s left, Castiel rushes it, knocking it off balance. It hisses, spitting black tar at Cas. Dean draws in a stuttered breath that cuts off into a soft groan. He feels like roadkill, pain radiating through his chest and down his back. Curling in on himself, Dean feels along his sides gently. At least two ribs are broken, and even more are badly bruised. Cas is going to need backup. Dean pushes himself to his feet, hoping his adrenaline is enough to dampen the pain of movement.  He doesn’t get very far.  Every step feels like he’s breaking his ribs all over again. He stumbles into a gnarled tree trunk a few yards away from where he landed and sinks down to his knees. His head and his ribs are both throbbing. When he runs a hand through his greasy hair, it comes back sticky and red. He must have hit something sharp when he landed. His gaze is pulled away from his bloody hand when hears the wet scream of a leviathan, but doesn’t see where it or Cas went.  They’ve been running for three days straight now, with barely any time to rest. He attempts to take a steady breath. He’s been through worse.  This is nothing, he thinks to himself, closing his eyes and willing his head to stop spinning.  You were in hell for 40 fucking years. Benny needs you. You can handle a couple bruised ribs. Cas needs you. Stop sitting on the ground like a sissy and fucking MOVE.  A hand on his shoulder snaps him out of his head. He whirls around, knife at the ready, and is met by a dirty trench coat and a concerned face.  “Dean,” Cas says, like his name holds some sacred meaning. Say it again. “Don’t scare me like that.” Despite the presence of danger still around them, Dean relaxes minutely into the firm press of Cas’ hand.  “You’re hurt.” Cas squeezes Dean’s bicep. His eyes start to glow.  How many times does he have to save your sorry ass before he fades to nothing?  They’ve had some close calls; having an angel on the team has been Dean’s literal saving grace more than he’d like to admit. But, Purgatory wasn’t built for angels. Every time he heals Dean, it takes Cas longer and longer to regain his full strength— if he even regains it. “Don’t—“ Dean grits out, swatting Cas’ hand away from his shoulder.  Cas sighs as the inhuman blue fades from his eyes. “Dean—“  “—You’ve wasted enough juice on healin’ me already. You know you can barely recharge here.” Dean glares at him.  Cas glances away, angry, but unable to argue.  Quietly, Castiel responds, “this is why I hid from you. My grace is powerful enough to draw out leviathan, but not powerful enough to help you.”  Cas looks more haggard than Dean’s ever seen him. His eyes are sunken and bruised, dirt smudging his cheeks and forehead. His sweat mussed hair curls around his face, blending into his thick beard.  Lick the dirt off his face.  Ew, what? The fuck is wrong with you. Dean tries not to think about Cas in the alternate timeline. A fallen angel turned drugged up hippie. A fiercely loyal, gruff, sexy, drugged up hippie. Dean tries not to think about how… dirty he was.  Maybe he’d be into it.  You’re not going to lick dirt off Cas’ face, you freak.  “Enough with that.” Dean’s head hurts too much to have this argument again. “We’re getting out of here. Benny knows the way— I’m getting us all out of here.”  A bloody scream rips through the air close by. An inhuman growl just familiar enough to be Benny follows shortly after. Dean starts struggling to his feet.  “We gotta—“ he grunts, an iron brand of pain rips through his chest, “—Benny’s in trouble.”  Cas grabs his arm and shoves him back to the ground. His ass hits the dirt with a thump and it rattles up his spine, causing a shout of pain to escape between his clenched teeth. Cas presses Dean to lean against the tree trunk, gentler. He runs a hand up and down Deans’ arm. “You’re in no condition to fight, Dean,” he says, a sense of finality in his voice. “Stay here.”  Castiel's eyes flick toward the distant sounds of brawling. As Cas stands, Dean's heart begins to hammer in his chest.  Not again.  “C—Cas.” He grabs onto Cas’ filthy coat. It’s covered in leviathan goo, and Dean wills the images of finding the coat in the river out of his head. Cas walking away from him into the water plays on a loop instead.  “I’m going to help Benny,” Cas explains. He says it like he’s trying to be soothing, but Dean can hear the urgency in his voice.  “You gotta come back.” Dean can’t seem to get his eyes to focus. Castiel’s face keeps drifting in and out of clarity. Blood is seeping into his ear as it runs down his head. He struggles to sit up.  “And you need to stay here.” Cas rests his shoulders back against the tree stump again, then moves his hands down to Dean's wrists, trying to ease them away from his clothes. Dean's grip on Cas’ coat tightens.  Not again, not again, not again— His heart keeps rattling away in his chest, and Dean can feel every pulse in his temples. He can’t tell if it’s his head or his heart, but something in him won’t let him take his hands off that damned coat. He feels like if he does, Cas will just drift away like smoke (God, he misses cigarettes).  “Plea—please don’t go.” The rough fabric in his hands starts slipping away. His chest burns. If he lets go of Cas now, he won’t ever see him again. Dean just feels it.  He feels like a fucking baby. Like as soon as Cas is out of his sight, he won’t exist. It must be his head. Frustrated and tired and in pain, he blindly grabs at the blurry beige wall of angel in front of him. Tears prick the corners of his eyes, one spilling down his face, leaving a wet streak on his dirt stained cheek.  Are you seriously crying right now? “Dean, it’s not safe for me to keep traveling with you.” Guilt leaks into the rough pitch of Cas’ voice. Cas moves a hand from Dean’s shoulder to rest along his jaw. His calloused thumb feels warm against Deans’ clammy skin. Cas wipes away the next tear that escapes the crow's feet of Dean’s eye. “I can’t—”  —do this without you, Dean’s brain wants to finish.  “—I won’t leave you behind,” he says instead.  “I’ll meet you at the portal. I’ll keep the leviathan away from you until then.”  Dean shakes his head, groaning from the throb of pain that ripples down his body.  Cas can’t do this to him. Not fucking again. “How will you know where it is? Cas, please.”  Stay. “Pray to me when you find it. I’ll be listening.”   As Cas starts to pull away, Dean lets out a whimper. It feels wrong. It all feels wrong. He hates himself for it but the pain feels worse without Cas’ hands on him, without something keeping his own fingers busy (really, what he wouldn’t do for a cigarette). Maybe Cas’ angelic presence alone is enough to passively heal him. Maybe he just ‘wuvs hugs’ a little too much.  Cas worries his bottom lip between his teeth. Glancing over his shoulder, he scans the tree line for any more oncoming enemies. Then, Cas shuffles closer to Dean, laying a comforting hand on his forearm. Dean lets out a soft sigh at the touch. Jury’s still out on angel juice or physical contact being Dean’s current drug of choice.  Suddenly, he has to squeeze his eyes shut as that patented Heavenly Blue Glow shines from Cas.  “Cas! I told you not to—” Dean’s protest dies in his throat when he’s still swirling in concussed dizziness. He sees something glimmering in Cas’ hand.  “Wuh—whatsat?”  Cas grabs Dean’s left palm. He slips a silver band onto Dean's ring finger. There’s an unnatural coolness to the ring that leaves a pleasant tingle on his skin. Almost like... the skin version of mouthwash. He swears he must be imagining it, but the throbbing in his head dulls, just a little. Holy shit. Is he—? “It’s a part of my grace. You could call it my ‘halo’.” Cas finger quotes (he’s fucking adorable). “It shouldn’t be enough to garner monstrous attention, but this way, a part of me will be with you.”  Dean blinks down at his hand. Flexing his fingers causes the meager sunlight of Purgatory to glint off the ring. It gleams with a slight hint of angel blue.  “I… I want a part of me to be with you. Is that okay?” HOLY SHIT.  “Ye—yeah. Christ, Cas, warn a guy.” Dean lets out a ghost of laughter, before grimacing from the pain it triggers in his chest. Fuck, this would be a much more touching moment if my bones weren’t on fire.  He runs his thumb over the band. Cas draws in a soft breath. Dean glances back up to Cas, eyebrows furrowed.  Playing with the ring, Dean watches Cas react again. “You can… feel that?”  Cas looks up from the ring on Dean's hand to meet his eyes. He still looks a little breathless when he answers, “yes.”  Oh.  Oh. Dean's heart starts fluttering. Like some kind of goddamn teenage girl. He doesn’t even know how else to describe it. Maybe it’s the snapped ribs? He definitely didn’t have this feeling last time he broke ribs. Yeah, fuck it, consider his heart a-flutter. He can blame it on the concussion.  “It won’t be able to heal you fully, but it should help your pain some,” Cas says as he stands. Dean brings his hands up to his chest, his girlish pitter-pattering heart, holding the ring instead of clinging to Cas (which means he’s still clinging to Cas, technically).  Does Cas even know what he’s asking for? What he’s proposing—that he is literally proposing?!  He grips the ring a little tighter; it stays comfortingly cool in his hands. The solid silver band clacks against the ring on his right hand. It was John’s wedding ring. He had given it to Dean when he was 10. Told him he’d grow into it.   Rings are usually exchanged. He should give one to Cas, but all he’s got are the ones he was wearing when they got their asses blasted here. The ring Dean wears on his thumb won’t fit Cas (probably. Cas does have big hands. Very big hands.), so it’s John’s wedding ring, or bust.   Wait, hold on. You were 10 in ‘89. That would have been the year Dad met Kate Milligan. OH, that fucking bastard— “Don’t move.” Cas starts to back away.  —FUCK. Focus, Winchester! Cas, the ring. Give Cas the ring!!  “Wait!” Dean rips the band off his right hand (ouch). He holds it out towards Cas.  Cas looks shocked, then flustered, then happy and sad. Dean remembers the word; melancholic. He looks melancholic.   “I mean, if—if you want it.”  Shit, is this not what’s happening? Do angels even know about proposals, marriage? They have to, right? Cas is a weird guy though, even by angel standards. Maybe he doesn’t know.  Castiel kneels back down. He takes the ring with shaking hands. He looks down at it, stunned, then looks back up to Dean.  “You want me to wear this?”  “Well, seems only fair.” Dean’s never wanted anything more in his entire life.  Cas hovers his ring finger next to the band.  “On my left hand?”  “‘Sa weddin’ ring, after all.” Dean nods. His head reminds him he’s still sitting pretty with a gash the size of Texas and blunt force trauma tickling his ribs. Stop moving so much, dumbass.   “You wore it on your right hand.”  Dean shrugs (a mistake). “Wasn’t meant for me.”  Dean swears he sees a blush peak through the grime built up on Cas’ skin. Cas opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again. He seems to choke on a sentence in his throat.  Oh God he doesn’t want it. Is it because it was Dad’s? Is that weird? It’s not that weird. People do shit like that all the time. Give each other family heirlooms. Does Cas think it’s weird? Maybe it’s because you gotta put it on him. That’s how this works, right? Is that how it works with two dudes? Is this even legal?  You’ve already been to Hell and you’re in fucking Purgatory, who cares?  He’s an angel, though. That’s like, double wrong— or maybe that cancels it out?  Fuck it.  “Here—just, c’mere.” Dean waves an impatient hand as Cas scoots closer. Dean grabs the ring and slides it home on Cas’ finger.  They both look down at their bloody, muddy, ring bearing fingers. Holy shit.  Dean looks back up at Cas' face. The pale, overcast sky brings out the blue of Cas’ eyes.  Kiss me.  Castiel stumbles in for a kiss.  Dean responds with a groan from the weight of Cas pressing onto his chest that melts into a moan when their lips align. It’s messy and desperate. Licks of pain branch from the crown of Dean’s head down his skull as he knocks it against the tree stump, tilting his chin up into the kiss. There’s too much teeth and he can’t tell if the taste of dirt and sweat and blood is coming from him or Cas (it’s both). It’s the best he’s felt in weeks. He lets out a breath as Castiel pulls away, eyes begging to stay closed. His lips feel too cold.  “Now—” Cas starts.  Kiss me again. God, kiss me again. Hold my hand. Hold all of me. It’s not enough. It won’t be enough. Lay on me. Push me into the ground like a fucking hydraulic press. Wait, that’d hurt my ribs— STOP. MOVING.  “—Sit, stay, pray. On it.” Dean gives Cas a thumbs up. Really? You just got engaged (I think) and you’re giving him a THUMBS UP? Seriously, man, what the fuck is wrong with you?  Castiel only gives him a soft smile (still melancholic— parting is such sweet sorrow, and all that) before disappearing with a chorus of flapping wings. Somewhere out of sight, the sounds of fighting quiet. Cas must have drawn the leviathan away from Benny.  “Okay,” Dean says to himself, still reeling. He runs a thumb over the ring again. It pulses a cool energy in response.  “Okay,” he says again.

The fold-down futon is hard and there is hardly enough room to hold Naruto's long limbs. He is not a fussy sleeper. But under Sakura's roof, sleep comes to him in restless waves. A couple hours after the sun has risen, ragged and weary, Naruto finally falls into a deep sleep. Thoughts of rejection and unrequited love fade and he's left with the peace of nothingness. He's roughly jostled awake. He doesn't know how long he's been asleep for, but by the harsh burning and stinging in his eyes, he estimates not very long. "Wake up," Sakura demands loudly, "I am leaving now and you need to go." Peeking out of one eye, he takes in her appearance. Even after a heavy night of drinking and without a smidge of makeup, she is as alluring as she was the night before. Her emerald eyes twinkle in the morning sunlight, and her dehydrated lips still beckon him. Her gaze drops to the lower portion of his body, and automatically his eyes follow as well. His eyes scrunch shut in embarrassment at his involuntary erection. With a smirk on her lips, one he doesn't believe to be scornful, she asks, "Always one thing on your mind, huh?" Sakura is still eyeing that area, when Naruto, with a light blush on his bronzed cheek, responds shyly, "Sorry…it's a natural reaction." To Naruto's relief, Sakura finally looks away and walks over to the small dining table to grab her purse. He uses the moment to collect himself, breathing in deeply and clearing his mind in an attempt to lower the mast in his pants. Standing up, he pulls the back of the futon back into an upright position and neatens his makeshift bed. He's thankful there is no drool on the fabric. He ignores the urge to void his bladder as Sakura seems to be in a rush to leave the apartment. He joins her at the front door. Knees bent, he looks upward as she's slipping her arms into the sleeves of a rose-coloured parka, "Where are you off to in such a hurry? Thought your finals were over." "Yeah, I'm done. But you got me wrecked last night." If memory serves him right, she was the one who was adamant to clear out the bar last night, much to the dismay of his hungry wallet, Gama-chan. "I head is fucking pounding and I'm ready to throw up. I'm going to the convenience store to get some pills." Sakura is bent over at the waist while she reaches down to pick up a pair of ankle boots. Her ass is directly in front of Naruto's face, the memories of her rejection last night stifles the hope that her actions are intentional. He licks his lips, but then looks away as he suggests, "I can get it for you. What do you usually use? Ibuprofen?" She turns around with the boots in her right hands, "Yeah? You sure?" Naruto nods his head in agreement, "Of course. It's the least I can do for supposedly getting you drunk." Sakura smiles in return, "You're right." She slips off the coats and returns the shoes to its original location. After tying the laces on his boots, Naruto removes his jacket from the hanger. After he has slipped it on, he checks the front pocket to confirm his wallet was still there as Sakura hadn't offered to pay for the painkillers she needed. Even knowing that last night's drinking must have put a dent on the money he needed to survive for the rest of the month, Naruto still decides to offer, "Do you want something to eat or drink. I can get you coffee and some pastries. Once the nausea passes, you'll need to get something in your system." Now seated on her futon, Sakura bites her bottom lip in contemplation, "Yeah, get me a large cappuccino and a few black sesame tarts from that café next to the convenience store, umm think it's called Tsuchi Café. You know it?" Naruto inserts his hands into a pair of gloves, "Yeah, I do." Of course, he knew it, it was a boujee little café that he couldn't afford to dine at. "Hurry back," Sakura calls out when Naruto steps out of her apartment. He dashes to the University shopping area. He's tempted to urinate at each passing tree, the only thing stopping him is fear of being arrested for public urination. Finally, he reaches the café. The barista behind the serving counter calls out to him as he hurries to the back of the establishment where the bathrooms are situated, "Hey! You have to buy something first." "Yeah, yeah. I'll be back in a minute." In less than five minutes he's back at the counter, drying his hands on the fabric on his pants, "Sorry, about that. Didn't want to create a puddle for you to clean up." Naruto chuckles awkwardly when the barista returns a look of disgust at his comment. "Right… umm, I'd like two cappuccinos and some," Naruto eyes searche the glass display counter for Sakura's request, "do you have any sesame tarts?" "We're out, but a fresh batch should be ready in about 20 minutes." Naruto doesn't want to disappoint Sakura, so he decides it may be best to wait, "I'll wait, but in the mean time, I'd like one small cappuccino and two of those croissants." "Apple-filled?" Naruto nods his head enthusiastically, already salivating at the thought of biting into the soft, sweet-filled pastry. After receiving his order, Naruto visits the convenience store to purchase the painkillers and he adds in a packet of OTC drugs to help with nausea. Feeling a bit stuffy, he wanders outside to breathe in the refreshing, cold morning air. Leaning back against a wall, Naruto nibbles on the pastry and sips the hot beverage. He is casually watching her university mates bustle by, when a familiar heavy voice grabs his attention, "It's just a coffee and a roll, not a big deal." Pushing his back off the wall, Naruto leans forward slightly, the majority of his body concealed by a large potted evergreen tree, to accurately confirm his suspicions that Sasuke is the owner of that heavy voice. A petite woman draped in a puffer jacket too big to be her own, stands a few feet in front of Sasuke, "Thank you. But you really didn't have to. You've already helped a lot." Her voice floats in the wind, chiming and barely audible. He tries to place her voice. He believes he's heard it before. He's wishes a heavy breeze would reveal her identity by blowing the hood of the jacket off her face. "I'm just trying to avoid being killed in my sleep by two long-haired lunatics," Sasuke sits on a nearby bench. The girl inches forward but doesn't join Sasuke on the bench. She ducks her head and moves her body away from a group of students who walk past the duo. Naruto finds her skittish behaviour amusing. It's unlike any other female he's seen around Sasuke. Curiosity compels him to continue eavesdropping. "Nii-san is not a lunatic, and neither is Itachi-nii," the girl quips back. "They would be, when their precious princess is found dead from starvation on the side of the road." Whoever the girl was, it was now apparent that she was close with Sasuke's brother. Close enough to call him brother. Naruto and Sasuke weren't as close as they were as teenagers, but he believes Itachi to be the same as he was when growing up – a man with few close, social connections. Now Naruto is nearly confident that this girl is someone from their hometown, Konoha. Someone he may know. "I am not going to die from missing one meal. I have enough," she pinches the side of the jacket to demonstrate that she's referring to her tummy and hips, "to keep me alive." "In all the right places," Sasuke murmurs loud enough for Naruto to hear, which means his female companion must have heard also, though she shows no sign of reaction. "Thank you again for last night…the ride back and this," the girl gestures to the food and drink in her hand. From the large coat on her shoulders, it was easy to figure out that she was doing the walk of shame. Which is not surprising, Naruto is sure this is a weekend past time for Sasuke. But what's surprising is that he took her home. From what he has heard, Karin who was Sasuke's only official girlfriend, was never invited to visit Itachi's apartment. So, why would he take a girl home who wasn't his girlfriend? "Come here," Sasuke curls his finger invitingly. The girl doesn't move from the spot she is in, "I really have to go. I need to start packing to catch the afternoon train." "You're so stubborn. Do you think I'm going to bite you?" Sasuke dumps a cup of tea into the trash along with the white paper bag that held whatever it was that he was eating. After dusting some crumbs off his jeans, he approaches the girl. He towers over her. This girl was tiny, again, unlike the girls Sasuke usually fucked. "No, it's just…" the girl sputters. Sasuke reaches into his jacket pocket to retrieve a cell phone, "Take this." "But this is yours." Sasuke shrugs his shoulders, "I destroyed yours, so it's only fair." "You didn't do it on purpose. I can't accept this, Sasuke," she pushes away his outstretched hand. Sasuke steps even closer to her to tuck the phone into the front jacket pocket. He searches his own pocket again to retrieve another cell phone, "Don't forget to take the sim out of this one." "You're being too generous." "Yeah. Consider it my good deed of the year. Maybe you'll put in a good word for me with Santa. You're a good little elf like that, right?" Sasuke says this in a lowered voice and straight face. If it were physically possible, Naruto's jaw would have dropped to the floor. Was Sasuke flirting? Sasuke the arrogant bastard whose motto was to never chase a woman. "Seriously though. I can easily replace it. You know I am not ashamed to beg Itachi for a little blessing," Sasuke continues, earning a pretty giggle from the girl. Sasuke smiles in return. A genuine, human smile. Other than when the bastard was high off his mind, Naruto can only remember seeing Sasuke smile around his mother or brother. Naruto is happy to see his friend with his guard down; acting in a manner one would expect a man of his age to act with a female of the opposite sex. Naruto feels a bit ashamed in his inadvertent snooping. He is about to turn around to return to the café, when Sakura whispers in his ear, "Who are we spying on?" "Move over, I wanna see. Is it Sai with another lady?" Sakura giggles conspiratorially and pushes Naruto back to take his place. Naruto's heart beats heavily in his chest. He is too tired to have to deal with a heartbroken, jealous Sakura. "Is that Sasuke-kun?" Sakura asks softly, "Is that girl with him? Why is she wearing his jacket?" Naruto reflexes get into action, he grabs Sakura's wrist a little roughly and tries to yank her back toward the entrance of the shopping plaza, "Ouch, that hurts." "Sorry, but let's just go," Naruto pleads. Sakura easily pries her hand out of Naruto's, "No, I want to know who she is." Naruto wonders what would change if Sakura knew the identity of the girl. Would Sakura be impulsive enough to accost her. He wants to believe the best, but experience tells him this situation can easily get out of hand. "What does it matter, Sakura. He deserves some privacy." "Privacy? I caught you snooping." Sakura rebuts, voice, fortunately, still low. "It was an accident and I was just about to leave. Come on, Sakura. Give him his space, pushing yourself on him isn't going to change his feelings," Naruto regrets his choice of words the moment it comes out of his mouth. "Fuck off, Naruto," Sakura's voice bellows and Naruto physically cowers. "What? Do you think you would have a chance if he were out of the picture?" Sakura voice drips with disgust. Naruto hears a small gasp from Sasuke's companion, followed by, "I should go." Drawn to the sound of that pretty voice, wanting to take shelter in that voice instead of the one that was just moments ago blaring in his ear, Naruto's eyes searches for the unknown female. In the haste of rushing away from Sasuke, the wind sweeps the hoody off of the girl's head. Thick black strands of hair shimmer under the light of the sun. Even at this angle, where he can only view a small fraction of her side profile, he recognizes her lilac eyes. There is only one girl he knows with eyes as sad and kind as those. Sakura's shoulders brush against Naruto's arm, as she strides toward Sasuke. Shell shocked by this discovery; Naruto doesn't try to stop Sakura. He just stares at the retreating back of Hinata. In the background, he can hear Sakura's saccharine tone, the one she reserves solely for Sasuke. The usual immediate jealous reaction doesn't appear. He's confused. Also, angry and hurt. Did Hinata spend the night at Sasuke's home? What happened between those two for her to return dressed in his clothing? He feels physically ill imagining Hinata using her pretty mouth to service Sasuke. Betrayal leaves him immobile. Was Sasuke doing this to once again prove to Naruto that he was better than him? Naruto thought their childhood rivalry was dead. Was Hinata just another girl enamored by Sasuke? From her previous actions, Naruto was convinced that she only had eyes for him. She was the only girl to lavish him with attention and care. He didn't want to lose that. But mostly, he didn't want to share it with anyone else. That feeling of dread accompanying rejection comes back tenfold. Worst than he felt with Sakura. Naruto is tired of feeling like second best. Tired of always being at the back of the line. Naruto needs answers. He turns to follow Hinata, when Sasuke calls out to him, "Yo! Ready for that financial econ exam?" Naruto had completely forgotten that exam was scheduled in a few hours. Slowly, he re-directs his attention to Sasuke and Sakura. Sasuke is trying his best to discreetly remove Sakura's finger from his jacket-clad bicep. "Nah, but I will be in a few hours," Maybe Sasuke will be a better source of information than Hinata. He stifles in the urge to break Sasuke's pretty-boy face, "Wanna head to the library?" Free of Sakura, Sasuke nods his head and gestures toward the path that leads to the library. Sakura frowns at being dismissed, turning her wrath on Naruto, "Aren't you going to get me what you promised?" Naruto fishes out a plastic bag with the drugs, "Your coffee and tarte are already paid for at Tsuchi's." Naruto smiles brightly, it's as fake as the fur on Sakura's boots, "Feel better, Sakura-chan."

Lila was very touchy feely and Marinette just went with it. It irked Alya a bit, seeing how Lila interacted with Marinette, the girl was practically all over Marinette and Marinette just let it happen. Hell, everyone just let it happen, the girls hardly batted an eye to the change, as if they didn't know that Marinette and Lila had issues before. It seemed only she, Adrien and even Chloé disliked what was going on and the way it progressed over the past few weeks. "I love sherbet.", Lila said as she hugged Marinette's arm just a little tighter. Marinette smiled lightly, "Really, you seem more like a vanilla or chocolate kind of person." Lila shrugged, she kept pace with Marinette, "I do like chocolate, I'm a bit iffy with vanilla though, there's nothing fun about it.", the brunette said casually with a coquettish smile beginning to curl her lips as she watched Marinette from the corner of her eye and saw her words go right over the girl's head. Oh innocent Marinette. The rest of the girls all uneventfully ate their frozen desserts, none having heard Lila and Marinette conversing at the counter. None but Alya. Alya was really regretting going on this outing with her friends. There's nothing fun about Vanilla, huh, Alya grimaces, she understood exactly what Lila's joke was, it was a rather adult one at that. Over the past few weeks, she doesn't think she's ever seen this side to Lila, she was never touchy feely before, maybe a handful of times with Adrien, but that was that and now, now she was doing it with Marinette but on a whole other level, accompanied by adult jokes that unfortunately flew right over Marinette's and their friend's heads. Perks of having a much older sister. Alya thought to herself. "Hey, so like, did you open the letter yet?", Mylene asked as she dipped her spoon into the ice cream that sat in her waffle cone. "Uh, no, I actually haven't.", Marinette answers as she and Lila both walk back towards the table with all the girls sitting, Lila carrying both their frozen treats. "Ooooh, open it Marinette!", Rose squealed as she practically jumped in her seat. Juleka and Alix both reach to place a hand over Rose's shoulders in an attempt to calm her down. Marinette blushed, she rolled her eyes, it was weird how fixated the girls became with her 'situation', it wasn't like they've successfully or fully translated either of the letter she got before, they partially got a translation from the first letter and that was because the practically begged Mrs. Bustier to help them out and from what their teacher translated, it was indeed a 'passionate' confession, it drove all the girls crazy. Except Marinette, because once again, romance wasn't in the cards for her, when and if her secret admirer came forwards, she would have to unfortunately turn them down, and she was beginning to fret over when that day may come. "Here.", Marinette said as she and Lila sat next to each other, the letter sliding to the center of the table. Rose reached out and took it before any of the other girls could grab it, "my turn to open it!", she squealed as she began to delicately open the letter, a gasp immediately escaping past her lips as her eyes caught familiar words. "What?", Marinette asked quickly, body tensing, the hand of her bad arm suddenly balling up. "It's in French!", Alix said from beside Rose, "Holy sh-" "ALIX!", Mylene scolded immediately before Alix could fully curse. "What's it say, what's it say?!", Alya said, actually glad for a distraction from the situation that currently had her in constant thought. "-your smile lifts my day, your beauty takes my breath away-", Rose squealed as she read that one line from somewhere on the page of delicately written words, "Oh Mari-", Rose lift a hand to fan herself. "Damn, Marinette, you became the Juliet to this man's Romeo.", Alix chimed in as she kept reading the letter. Juleka blushed slightly and whispered something along the lines of, "cute" Marinette felt her face burn with warmth, she felt her chest tightened ever so slightly, her hand sliding off the table as she placed it over her shaking knee, she gave her knee a nervous squeeze as anxiousness began to wash in. Dread and guilt slowly washing in but before she could begin to truly stress, a hand suddenly placed itself over her own, warm and soft. Marinette subtly dropped her gaze to see Lila's hand resting over her own, she felt the pad of Lila's thumb gently caressing over her white knuckles. She relaxed and released a soft breath, a breath she wasn't aware she had been holding. It grounded her, Lila's warm touch, grounded her. Marinette lifted her gaze to see Rose and the rest of the girls giggling over her letter. Alya on the other hand had been watching Marinette and Lila closely, wanting to gauge their reaction and from her observation so far, suspicion arose. Lila was persistent, this Marinette already knew, so it wasn't a surprise when Lila offered to help her start her Twitter page and also model her first piece. Marinette gave in, once they said goodbye to their classmates, her and Lila walked back to her home and immediately got to work. Marinette felt giddy, she felt out of breath and warm, she honestly didn't expect today to go this way, nope. Certainly not. Lila shot her a sly smile, emerald eyes gazed at her through long lashes as she stood in the middle of her bedroom, half naked. "U-Uh, I uh-", Marinette sheepishly cleared her throat, her measuring tape hanging in her grasp. Lila giggled softly, her hands placing themselves on her hips, she stood confidently in place, "Don't worry, I don't bite.", Lila winked playfully. Marinette sheepishly chuckled, her heart racing in her chest, her hands growing sweaty, fingers shaky. She slowly stepped towards Lila, trying very hard not to look at Lila in any kind of weird way, the last thing she wanted was to make the brunette feel uncomfortable. Lila's smile slowly dissipated, she let Marinette do her thing, she was used to this, standing around in just underwear, she was a model after all, many have seen her this way and many had failed to hide their 'excitement', the many were men, entitled men at that, they stared at her with want, lust and hunger, a hunger Lila knew existed in mostly men. At any chance they got, they'd touch her up, all under the guise of taking 'measurements' or 'double checking'. They'd stick around after her photo shoots were done to ask her if she wanted to join them for a 'nightcap', she knew that 99 percent of the time, it meant sex, plain and simple. She'd play dumb, say she needed to return to her agent because of how strict her boss was over her time and that she was left with little say, the men, although a bit upset they couldn't get her into their hotel room for a night, were forced to reluctantly accept her excuse. Lila, although disgusted, always played nice. You just never know when you may very well need people. In almost 3 years of modeling, she's learned one very important thing, pleasure and business usually came hand in hand, she would throw someone a bone every now and then, she'd get something worthwhile in return. It was what it was and like most models, she picked up a bit of a habit to 'cope', she drank every now and then, it was nothing new, nothing different, hell, most models she knew did coke, it was an ugly yet well known secret in the industry, if you weren't some big fashion icon or some hot shot designer, you most likely depended on coke and booze to get you through each job. Luckily for her, Gabriel found her, liking the way she carried herself and hired her, paying her handsomely, easily pushing her reputation up. She didn't have to worry so much about those men anymore, she didn't have to pour her drink out in secret and get another drink after leaving it unattended for a second. She didn't have to pose in provocative positions for a man's 'secret' collection. She made it, did what many models hoped and dreamed to achieve. Still, she can't really shake off her old ways. But she hopes to, one day. It's not exactly easy to forget the things she's seen, learned and done, her big break unfortunately didn't come before the industry left its mark on her body and mind. Although her experience with what she'd done to get a bit ahead of the others wasn't exactly as bad as it could have been, she wasn't forced after all, she could have backed out at any point but she didn't, she went through with it voluntarily, allowing an older man to sate his hunger for her body in some luxury hotel back it Rome all those months ago. It wasn't terrible per se, he was nice, he was handsome, but Lila knew that he was a monster, a wolf in sheep's clothing, preying on girls like her. After all, no normal man in his early 30s ever looked at a 15 year old girl and found her 'attractive'. It was wrong, in every way. But it was done and when it was, Lila realized she didn't feel the same again. "-Lila?", Marinette's voice came, pulling Lila out from her thoughts. Emerald eyes immediately meet concerned gentle sapphire. "I'm sorry, I spaced out.", Lila said, lips curling up. Marinette sheepishly returned Lila's smile, "I'm all done taking the measurements.", she said, cheeks still flushed pink. Lila nodded her head, eyes running over Marinette's face, she couldn't help but internally admit that Marinette was rather adorable, her naivety was actually a bit charming, her awkward and sheepish smile was cute, Marinette was a dope, in a good way. "Nice, do you need some money for the materials?", Lila asks as she steps back and turns around, kneeling down to collect her clothing. "No way, I can get it myself.", Marinette said. "But-", Lila slipped her shirt on, pants in her arms, she turned back to Marinette, wanting to offer some financial help, but she's quickly cut off. "No way, Lila, just having you model for me is enough, I mean…you're you, and I'm sure your time is very valuable.", Marinette said sheepishly. It was true, Lila's time was valuable, but for Marinette, it wasn't a sweat and she would get some clothes out of it, good looking clothes. "Still, Marinette, I think I should pay you, at least for the materials, I mean, think about it, you can get some very good stuff if you let me foot the bill.", Lila explained, she then began to slip her pants on, eyes meeting Marinette's own, wanting to coax the girl into accepting her offer. Marinette pouted slightly, "but-" "Think of it as your first sale, I'll buy it from you. Typically when buying from a designer, you pay for the materials and the designer's time.", Lila said, raising a finger to stop Marinette from speaking. "Let me do this, Marinette, please.", Lila said sincerely. Marinette hummed, hesitant, "But…I'm not a 'designer' designer…", she shrugged her shoulders, she didn't think her stuff was worth buying, she was an amateur after all. Lila immediately shook her head, she stepped towards Marinette and reached out, finger pointing, she drew closer and closer to the girl until her index finger lightly pressed against Marinette's chest, "No, you are a designer, Marinette, you're pouring your heart and time into each and everyone of your designs. You're worth it, don't sell yourself short. Ever.", Lila suddenly spoke firmly, wanting to make Marinette value herself a little more, her time was just as valuable as hers, as anyone else's. Little by little these past few weeks, Lila's fears for Marinette grew, Marinette and her had more in common than she thought. Marinette seemed to have an issue with self worth, an issues Lila knew all too well and in an industry she's worked in, she knows, Marinette would break if she didn't straighten up her attitude. It was a game of cat and mouse 99 percent of the time and in that game, not many mice could get away. "Leaving?", Sabine spoke as both Marinette and Lila finally came down from Marinette's room. Both girls nodded. "Yeah, I'm expected home by a certain time.", Lila said warmly, shooting Marinette's mother a warm smile. Sabine pouted slightly, "Oh, I was hoping you'd stay for dinner, you've been coming around quite often, almost as often as Alya, I was hoping to get to know you better." Lila chuckled and felt her own cheeks burn ever so slightly, she was good with parents, this much she knew, so she wasn't worried about Marinette's parents at all. "Next time, definitely.", Lila said kindly. Sabine's lips curled into a smile as she nodded her head. "Next time.", with that she turned and walked back to the pot that was currently sitting over the fire on the stove. Marinette felt her hands grow uncomfortable clammy, she sighed softly, "I'll be back, just walking her out.", she said as she and Lila began to walk towards the stairs. Sabine hummed in acknowledgment. "She's nice.", Lila said as soon as they descended down the stairs. "She likes when I have friends over, likes feeding them too.", Marinette chuckled softly. Lila snorted slightly. "It must be a mom thing.", she said softly as she reached the bottom step and began to make her way towards the exit door of the bakery. Marinette walked behind Lila, "Yeah.", she said quietly. Both girls eventually making it to the glass door, the lock was engaged, Marinette stepped around Lila to unlock the bolt, "There.", Marinette whispered under her breath. Lila hummed, eyes on Marinette's form the entire time, a smile curling her lips. She couldn't help but think that spending time with Marinette was kind of nice, the girl was kind and dopey, like a puppy. Lila had to admit that she found it cute, utterly so. "Alright uh, so um, I was thinking, maybe you can go with me to the fabrics place so we can look at the stuff together. If you want of course.", Marinette said, turning to Lila as she stepped back from the door to give Lila the space she needed to walk out. Her eyes averting Lila's piercing gaze. Lila couldn't help but soften her gaze, if she had any doubt of Marinette's sexuality before today, they were totally gone now, she was sure Marinette played for both teams at this point. Certainly, without a doubt, Marinette had to be attracted to her, her behavior these past few days alone showed her enough evidence to come to this conclusion. All that was left to do, was push Marinette a little more. Lila shrugged her shoulders, her smile returning at full force, she stepped closer to Marinette, closing the gap between them, she lifted a hand and placed it on the side of Marinette's face, making the girl look at her, "I'd love to, text me the deets?", she said softly before leaning forwards, lips slightly puckered and eyes closing, she purposely avoided Marinette's lips at the last second, turning her head ever so slightly to press a firm, full kiss against the corner of Marinette's lips. Marinette tensed and froze immediately. Lila smiled as she pulled away, not sparing Marinette another look before finally taking her leave, "Good night.", she said as she left. Leaving Marinette frozen in place.

The truth is—Naruto might not get it, but he knows that his friendship with Sasuke has its own shape. It contains its own form, perhaps a little mangled and misshapen, grown from wretched land but nonetheless germinated from love. Naruto thinks he doesn’t know love in any other way; sacrifice, compensation, acknowledgement. He’s never had a frame of reference for anything but the intensity he always feels around Sasuke, and if that’s not what friendship is, he doesn’t have the language to name it. It’s okay, he thinks to himself. He’s grateful for what he knows. Even if he doesn’t know the fuck they’re doing now. He’s sure Sakura will tell him he’s being an idiot. Perhaps more idiotic than he was when he was 13 years old and decided he’d dedicate his life to chasing after Sasuke, but well— —it’s hard to think about Sakura when Sasuke’s got two fingers inside of him and a mouth on his thigh. Oh, and Naruto is in Oiroke no Jutsu. It was, unsurprisingly enough, Naruto’s bad idea. But it was Sasuke’s bad decision to agree that gets them here. When it comes down to it, Sasuke is quiet and focused like he always is. And like he always is—Naruto babbles. “You know, I was wondering whether I should get new panties. It just felt polite, yanno, but I wasn’t sure and I wanted to ask whether there’s etiquette around this, but I wasn’t sure who to ask.” Naruto is glad for his long hair in this form. It hides the redness that burns at his ears. “But it’s just you— heh— so, um, I hope you’re okay with these. They’re the only panties I have.” Sasuke continues to stare at him. His face is blank. If it weren’t for the flush that creeps up his neck and the loose hand slung around Naruto’s waist, he would think Sasuke was handling this whole kerfuffle much better than he was. It turns out, though, that there’s not really an optimal way to handle sitting on your best friend’s lap, dressed only in a dingy pair of panties and a bra that’s too small for his chest, and in a jutsu that he came up with when he was young and craving attention. Naruto still craves attention now, but this— he’s never used the henge for this purpose. For sex. To be fair, he hasn’t used anything for this purpose. Ever. Because he’s never had sex before. And neither has Sasuke, which only brings them back to the present. When Sasuke continues to stare stoically in silence, Naruto blathers on. “Sure, it’s not sexy! I know! But— but—I thought that, maybe...” Naruto falters, loses courage with his train of thought. “Anyway, I even put on mascara and lipgloss. It’s been awhile since I put on makeup with the—” He waves his hand in the air in an expansive gesture that vaguely refers to war and saving the nation and chasing after Sasuke in a death mission. Blowing each other’s arms off. “Mine were all gloopy, y’know, from our genin days. I had to buy new ones, but then I got stopped by Yuu-chan, and she’s already 12 now. Do you remember Yuu-chan?” A brief pause. Two seconds in, Naruto opens his mouth to keep rambling and snaps it shut again when he sees the nearly imperceptible twitch on Sasuke’s face. “Idiot,” Sasuke intones blandly. His expression betrays his voice when his eyes flit down briefly before they drag towards the side. The flush on his neck crawls slightly higher. Aside from his acquiescence, it’s the first concrete sign that Sasuke might be into this harebrained plot that Naruto suggested. He wonders if it’s his current body, the sight of his breasts and the thick plushness of his thighs spread on either side of Sasuke’s legs, and whether he’d react this way at all if Naruto was out of the henge. It makes him feel a little funny to think about though, so he tries not to dwell. Still, Sasuke’s reaction, as minute as it were, is a reminder that they’re really doing this. They’re going to have sex. Years of training and survival, with all the horrors and traumas of the war and everything in between, and they’re going to fuck. Practice, as Naruto had called it when he first pitched the idea. Naruto can’t help but feel a little warmer. He has to resist the urge to squirm, to ask something stupid like whether Sasuke thinks he’s pretty like this. It pulls him into silence for a few moments as he fidgets with the bedsheets instead of studying Sasuke’s face, one that Sasuke doesn’t seem inclined to break. There has to be a better way to transition into— well, action. They’ve made it this far haven’t they? But nothing feels adequate, and Naruto’s brain shorts out in between finding the right words to say hey, should we test out my pussy now? and will I ruin the prosthetic if it gets covered in cum. As if sensing his unease, Sasuke’s hand tightens on his waist. By no means is it a tight grip, but Naruto’s always found himself hyperconscious of everything Sasuke does, even when it was derived from a petty childhood rivalry, and it’s enough for him to gather his courage. Naruto swallows down his hesitation and his fingers—one hand bare, the other bandaged—skirt down to the hem of his panties, just short of where Sasuke’s hand is warm against his bare skin. Their fingers don’t touch, but Naruto swears he can feel a tingle of electricity tracing up and down his spine as if they did. “Well, then,” Naruto says, more glib than he feels. “Ready?” Sasuke’s response doesn’t come immediately. When it does, it’s with more surety than Naruto had expected. “Yeah.” It was easier to wait for Sasuke to show up at his apartment through the window for their predetermined meeting time, wearing nothing but lingerie he doesn’t normally wear—not for a lack of wanting, but they’re not standardized combat-wear—than it is to try and take them off. At least when he was waiting, Naruto could distract himself from his nerves by watering his plants, cleaning his kunai, and posing sexily in front of his bathroom mirror. He focuses on the warmth of Sasuke’s body, the heat that emanates through the layers of his clothes, but it only makes his stomach twist more “Okay,” Naruto announces, more to himself than Sasuke. Talking to himself is reassuring, comforting. “Okay. It’ll be just like when we’re in the onsen together. You’ve seen me naked. I’ve seen you naked. It’s basically the same thing.” Naruto swallows. “Just, uh, except we’ll be— um— doing that...” “Idiot,” Sasuke cuts in. His eyes are sharp, sweeping over Naruto’s face. “We don’t actually have to do this.” Not if you don’t want to, not if you have to talk yourself into it, Naruto hears it unspoken, filling in the gaps between Sasuke’s words. They didn’t talk about their plan in great lengths, if only because it took them months of dancing around Naruto’s suggestion until—well—he doesn’t know what made Sasuke bring it back up again in the end, but he did, and now he’s sitting naked on his lap with boobs and a vagina. That’s the thing. Naruto does want. He wants Sasuke to want, and maybe Sasuke does, but Naruto isn’t sure if it’s in the same way that he wants; in the way where his heart and stomach churn whenever he looks at Sasuke, and not in an altogether unpleasant manner. Luckily, Naruto’s known for his bravado as much as he is for his unpredictability. Rather than responding, he rises up to his knees and yanks down the panties with one unceremonious motion before he can lose his nerves—and, for his efforts, he loses his balance instead as he tries to maneuver them off his legs. He tumbles forward. A small yelp escapes from his throat when Sasuke’s arm wraps around his waist to steady him as Naruto’s hands land on Sasuke’s shoulders as he braces himself. His chest presses against Sasuke, and for the first time, he notices just how much more clothed Sasuke is in comparison to himself. The realization sends a tingle of warmth up Naruto’s spine. To his horror, he can feel his face burning with embarrassment. Sasuke makes a noise under his throat. “Don’t kill yourself before we even start.” His hand is searing on Naruto’s bare skin. Just a few inches lower, and he’d be touching Naruto’s... “Hey!” Naruto shouts, because it’s easier to fall back on his defense mechanisms than it is to focus on how this is affecting him. He wiggles a little, still pressed against Sasuke’s chest, and kicks off the underwear from where it’s dangling from one leg. “You haven’t even helped! How are you supposed to practice if you’re sitting there about as good as a log from the Body Replacement Technique?” “You’re sitting on top of me. I have one arm.” Sasuke intones. “What can I do right now?” Naruto splutters indignantly. “Well— well— you could...take off this bra for me! Bastard, do you even know how to take one off? You should learn now before you find a girlfriend—” Naruto ignores the twinge that gives him and forges onwards. “—who breaks up with your ass because you couldn’t even figure out how to undress her.” Sasuke does something with his face—a constipated look that reminds Naruto of when they were kids—and that should not send his stomach fluttering the way it does. Even worse, he starts to slide his hand up with a slow, sweeping motion, the calluses on his fingers dragging across the smooth skin of Naruto’s back until they land on the clasp of his bra. “I’m not looking to date some girl,” Sasuke says. What do you mean by that, Naruto wants to ask. Who would count as some girl to you?, he wants to say out loud. But he knows he won’t hear the answer he wants, not when Sasuke had mentioned that he had been thinking of marriage and kids, and that’s what set this whole thing off anyway. Naruto knows that there’s no room for him in that picture. He’s saved from asking and making a fool of himself when Sasuke starts to fiddle with the clasp. Another burst of heat pools in his belly at the look of concentration on Sasuke’s face, his hand tugging on the strap with purpose. Naruto hasn’t settled his weight back on his lap yet, but there’s a growing warmth between his legs that tempts him. It worsens as anticipation trickles through him. They’re finally getting somewhere. Naruto shivers and waits. And waits— Until the look of concentration on Sasuke’s face is mired with a miniscule frown that tugs at his lips. He’s still working on the bra. “Seriously?” Naruto jerks back and laughs loudly, he can’t help it. Uchiha Sasuke, defeated by three clasps on a thin strap of cloth. “I was joking, but you really don’t know how to unhook a bra?” Sasuke scowls. “Stop moving, I almost got it.” Naruto shakes with laughter. He grins, the hilarity of the situation easing his trepidation. “Bastard, I’ll just show you. We’ll never get to the good part if we spend the whole time playing with the bra.” He doesn’t bother to wait for Sasuke’s response before he pushes himself off of Sasuke, still on his knees, and turns around so that he’s facing away from Sasuke. Naruto crawls forward to give him some space. Behind him, he hears a strange choking noise from Sasuke. Frowning, Naruto cranes his head to look at him. “What’s wrong, bastard?” Sasuke’s head snaps up. Inexplicably, his face is red and for some reason, he looks irritated. “Shut up. Weren’t you going to show me something?” Naruto scowls. “Geez. What’s with you?” He harrumphs dramatically, turning his nose in the air, before he faces forward again. “Okay, watch me carefully. I’ll only show you once!” Silence. Sasuke doesn’t respond, which isn’t a surprise. Maybe he’s still choking on nothing. “It’s easy with one hand,” Naruto continues, magnanimously. “Just place your fingers here, on either side of the hooks—” Fabric shifts behind him. “I can’t see anything,” Sasuke murmurs, and then Naruto can feel the gentle sweep of his hand as he brushes Naruto’s long hair to the side. His fingers graze along Naruto’s back, leaving tingles across his skin. The light touch makes Naruto’s breath hitch, and he squeezes his bandaged hand when Sasuke brushes his hair until it’s draped over Naruto’s shoulder. The bed creaks when Sasuke leans back again. Mission complete. Naruto lets out a slow breath. It does nothing to calm his racing heart. “R-Right.” He clears his throat. “So, uh, as I was saying, just— your fingers go like this, and then you can just squeeze.” Pinching the bra strap between his fingers, he gathers the material between his hands until he feels the hooks unclasp. Naruto catches the bra by its cups by instinct. “Like this! See, easy.” Naruto’s sure his face is still red. He tries to buy himself some time to quell his pounding heart by disrobing entirely. He moves to slide the falling bra straps from his shoulders, but only unloops one side before Sasuke’s hand lands on his other shoulder. Sasuke hooks one finger underneath his bra strap and tugs it down his shoulder. This time, he’s certain that Sasuke doesn’t miss the hitch in his breath. “Finally helping, huh?” Naruto blusters, but he can’t stop himself from shivering when Sasuke stays quiet, the hushed sound of their dual breathing filling the room. He wonders if he imagines the tenderness in Sasuke’s touch as he slides Naruto’s bra off, and drops it onto Naruto’s bedroom floor. He never thought he could have this, even before Sasuke came home. The laughter, the touches. Not like this. But he doesn’t really have it, does he? Not in the way he really wants. “How should we...?” There’s an edge to Sasuke’s voice that catches Naruto’s attention. It’s only because he knows him as well as he does, even with the years that have gone by, that he registers the note of—something. Not quite excitement, but something a little weighted. Naruto bites his lip. Sasuke’s voice alone is enough to revive his own simmering arousal. He tries to think through their next course of action, but it makes him nervous, so he goes with his gut impulse instead. “Maybe we can— explore—?” Naruto turns to face Sasuke, but his heart feels as if it’s about to burst as soon as he looks at him, so he turns back around. “Like this! Um, I can show you where to touch...” Naruto may be a virgin, but he’s never been afraid of a little self-experimentation—and that encompasses either bodies he feels comfortable in, which gives him a bit of a leg-up on Sasuke. As far as he gathered from one of the painful and brief preliminary conversations they had about this, Sasuke’s—well—Sasuke’s repressed. He got the sense that there wasn’t a lot of time or capacity for enjoyment. It’s one of the things that twinges in Naruto's heart whenever he thinks about it. Not the fact that Sasuke wasn’t out there stripping his dick in the woods with Team Taka around—whatever—but that so much of his life was lived without indulgences, and most base desires suppressed. In his opinion, Sasuke has always deserved more than he's given himself. “You’re thinking more than usual today,” says Sasuke. It’s his way of asking for Naruto’s thoughts, an invitation to share. Naruto can never help the way his chest blossoms with warmth whenever he’s around Sasuke. “I’m nervous,” he confesses. Maybe it’s easier, now that they’re not looking at each other. “Why?” He doesn’t respond at first. “Dunno,” Naruto says at last. There’s a thousand reasons he can think of, but he doesn’t know if he wants to say any of them and potentially ruin their friendship again. He goes for an easy one instead: “Dunno what I’m doing, really. I’ve never— you know— either.” Sasuke goes quiet, and Naruto resists the urge to turn back to gauge his face. Then, he shifts forward and pulls Naruto back until Naruto can feel the press of Sasuke’s warm, broad chest to his back. The scratchy material of his shirt tickles his bare skin. “Let’s start like this. You won’t have to look at me like this.” Naruto swallows heavily. He wouldn't mind looking at Sasuke. “Okay,” he whispers instead. His eyes drop down, studying his own body—as foreign as it is familiar—with its curves and plushness, and the contrast of his nudity with Sasuke’s attire. It should look strange or at least feel strange, but it doesn’t. He swallows again, and finally sits back down on Sasuke’s lap instead of hovering on his knees. Naruto brings his knees up and plants his feet flat on the bed. His face burns with embarrassment again, an uncharacteristic shyness he doesn’t usually have with his body, and he curls his knees together so that he’s less exposed. “Good?” he asks Sasuke. Sasuke breathes out slowly. If it weren’t for their proximity, Naruto isn’t sure he’d notice. “Mm.” And because it made him feel better when Sasuke took the lead, controlled their pace, he reaches behind him to grab Sasuke’s hand. Naruto guides his hand forward until it hovers right above Naruto’s body. “Can you...?” The first touch makes him gasp. It’s nearly proprietary—Sasuke rests his hand right on Naruto’s sternum, over his heartbeat—until it’s not. Sasuke waits a beat, as if Naruto will protest, and then slides his hand down until he’s cupping his breast. Naruto’s brain shorts out. It takes him everything in his power not to flinch or arch into the touch, which is just embarrassing because Sasuke isn’t even doing anything but just— holding him. All he can focus on is the warmth that sears through his skin, the weight of Sasuke’s palm, the stiffness he can feel underneath him where he sits atop of Sasuke. If it’s possible, Sasuke’s holding himself even more still than Naruto. His hand trembles slightly, belying his nervousness. “You run warmer than I expected,” Naruto blurts out, because his mouth always moves faster than his brain. Sasuke huffs out a breath, and he relaxes a little. “And what were you expecting?” “Something as frigid as your personality,” Naruto retorts, because he’s not going to confess how often he’s thought about holding Sasuke’s hand under the stars. “It’s a Uchiha thing.” Sasuke squeezes his breast a little. “You know— fire and all that. We run warmer.” Naruto can’t help the little oh sound he makes. If he had any brain power left, he’d make another snarky remark just to rile Sasuke up a little since it seems to help them both relax. As it is, his last remaining brain cell dies a slow death when Sasuke experimentally rolls his nipple between his thumb and forefinger. His hips buck. Sasuke does it again, this time more deliberately. He thumbs at his nipple until the soft flesh prickles with goosebumps. Naruto slaps his right hand—the bandaged hand—over his mouth to stop the moan that’s building in his chest from escaping, the nipple slowly perking at the attention. The contrast of Sasuke’s long, pale, slender fingers on his tanned skin leaves him aching between his thighs. He can’t drag his eyes away. His hips squirm as Sasuke keeps going, keeps playing with his nipple until it’s peaked and flushed, and then cups his tit in one hand. His sounds are muffled, but not silent. Sasuke doesn’t say anything, but Naruto has a sense that he’s watching him, studying him carefully, learning his reactions to discern what feels good to Naruto and what doesn’t. Briefly, he wonders whether Sasuke’s activated his Sharingan, whether he’s committing the sight of him writhing on his lap to memory—but the thought makes him ache more and his eyes glaze over when Sasuke slides his hand to his other breast and tugs on the nipple. “Oh,” Naruto squeaks out a little. It earns him a soft noise from Sasuke as he shifts underneath Naruto. He realizes belatedly that he’s been grinding against Sasuke with slow movements, moving his hips against the growing bulge in Sasuke’s pants with little breathy sounds. That’s the whole point—for them to enjoy this together—but the shock from Sasuke’s evident arousal sends another thrilling heat down Naruto’s spine. He gasps, rocks his hips, grinding against Sasuke’s lap. Sasuke pinches his nipple again, making Naruto jerk and cry out. His legs lift slightly as Sasuke tugs and pulls, thumb rolling over the sensitive bud, a shiver running through his body at the simulation on his chest. Whenever Naruto’s played with his own nipples, it never felt like this; each touch sends tingles that radiate from where Sasuke’s hand is on him. It feels good, so fucking good, and Naruto’s back arches into the sensation. It does nothing to relieve the growing ache between his legs though. His eyes flutter shut when Sasuke tugs harder, cupping and squeezing his breast, and Naruto trails his non-bandaged hand down between his legs— Even if Naruto’s eyes were open, he doubts he would’ve caught the rapid movement of Sasuke’s hand when it darts to wrap around Naruto’s wrist, halting him in his tracks. He peels Naruto’s hand away. “Let me,” Sasuke says, and splays his hand across Naruto’s belly. His voice is low, a little husky. “Weren’t you complaining about doing all the work?” He elbows Sasuke in the ribs, if only to hide how turned on he is. Sasuke doesn’t even react, just sinks his hand lower—but not quite where Naruto wants it. Naruto doesn’t know whether he’s waiting for permission, teasing him, or just unsure of what to do next. Regardless, he’s never been the type to take Sasuke’s challenges without a fight. “Bastard,” Naruto says, then grabs Sasuke’s hand and guides it between his legs where he’s hot and sensitive and slick. If he had been unsure whether or not Sasuke was as into this as he was, he has little doubts now. He’s so warm and solid underneath Naruto, the hard line of his cock poking into his back. It’s overwhelming, and Naruto grinds against him as Sasuke slides his hands down his legs, back up again, squeezing at his thighs. He’s so, so careful when his hands drift up again and oh, Naruto aches deep inside himself where he wants Sasuke to be. Sasuke clearly has no idea what he’s doing, but it’s okay, Naruto barely does either. Just the singular touch of him, fingers gliding along Naruto’s wet folds, is nearly electrifying enough. But he can tell there’s a note of trepidation and Naruto tries to help him along. He guides Sasuke’s hand again. The ache between his thighs is getting worse. Naruto repositions Sasuke’s hand—Sasuke lets him—until his thumb is against his clit. “Sasuke,” Naruto breathes out, and relishes in the sharp inhale he hears and feels behind him. Sasuke’s always been a quick study, but even then his movements are still hesitant and clumsy. It takes some more guidance with Naruto’s hand on his; he doesn’t let go as he teaches Sasuke to rub his clit with slow circles. There’s an incredible heat starting to build in his stomach, and he moves his hips with it. Naruto lets out a soft moan at how good it feels. Behind him, Sasuke’s breath quickens before it slows. Deliberately and intentionally; his training with breathing control instinctively kicking in. It makes the pleasure curling in Naruto’s stomach burn hotter, with the knowledge that Sasuke is feeling just as much as Naruto is. Sasuke moves his finger faster, defter. His thumb presses mercilessly against his clit. Naruto gasps. His other hand grabs onto the bed sheet, clenching the soft linens with a tight grip. He feels himself go breathless as he bucks against Sasuke’s hand. They’re rocking against each other now, and he wonders if Sasuke has noticed the way he has started to grind against Naruto’s back. He must—because he shudders just as second later. Sasuke presses his face against Naruto’s shoulder. “How...how do I...” Two fingers slide along his folds. Naruto has a brief moment of embarrassment with how wet he’s become, when they’ve barely even done anything, but the insistent press of Sasuke’s dick against his back helps override the shame. It takes him another second, his brain addled from arousal, to understand what Sasuke’s asking. Naruto squeezes his thighs, squirming on top of Sasuke’s lap, before he takes control of Sasuke’s hand again. “Here, here—” He’s not sure who shudders—him or Sasuke—as Sasuke works his middle finger into his slick cunt. “Fuck,” Naruto hisses. He rolls his hips. “Wait, like this—” Naruto repositions Sasuke’s thumb until he’s rubbing over his clit again. Sasuke presses a soft kiss against the skin of his shoulder. It’s gentle, more gentle than Naruto had ever expected of him, a sharp contrast from how he starts to rub the pad of his finger over his clit over and over again. His middle finger pushes in and out of him with slow, careful movements. Barely managing to keep his legs up, Naruto shivers and rocks back subconsciously, moaning as he is slowly stretched. It feels good—Sasuke probably doesn’t know how much it feels good—and where he’s trying to be careful starts to feel more like a maddening tease. “Sasuke,” he moans out again. He flushes, blood rushing to his face as the pleasure swarms him. “Fuck.” He answers Naruto with another kiss, and then another. They never talked about kissing or even the affection that comes with sexual intimacy, and Naruto hadn’t dared to let himself expect it; they’re just friends after all. And as friends, they're more used to destructive fights than tender touches. But in that moment, nothing feels more right. Sasuke suckles at the skin of his shoulder, trailing up with wet, open-mouthed kisses until he bites at the juncture of his neck and then soothes the sting with a flick of a tongue. “Bastard,” Naruto chokes out. He doesn’t know how to make his mouth stop running, even as he cants his hips forward and tries to take more of Sasuke’s finger in. “Oh, oh.” “Another?” Naruto nods rapidly, making himself nearly dizzy with the movement. It draws a laugh from Sasuke—a tiny huff of a noise—and he nuzzles into Naruto’s neck. He drags his nose along Naruto’s shoulder like he’s sniffing him. Maybe it should be weird, but it ignites something soft and sweet inside of Naruto, like he wants to melt all over. Sasuke’s busy slipping another finger inside of him. There’s a small pinch of pain that Naruto ignores. Barely anything at all. Easily forgotten, anyway, when Sasuke finds his rhythm again, driving his fingers in and out as Naruto’s muscles squeeze around him. This time, Sasuke knows to keep his thumb on his clit. Naruto doesn’t think he’s ever been this wet before, nor this turned on. There’s no way he hasn’t soaked through Sasuke’s pants, but Sasuke doesn’t seem to care—or even notice, still grinding his hard dick against Naruto. Not that Naruto can really think at this point. He focuses on nothing but the relentless drag of Sasuke’s fingers inside of him. His breath hitches in his throat as he plants his feet on the bed to drive himself further onto his fingers, one hand braced against the bed to keep his balance. Sasuke’s breathing is slightly uneven now. The sound of soft panting, heavier than before, fill Naruto’s ear as Sasuke tries to drive his fingers deeper, faster, harder. “Naruto,” he whispers against Naruto’s sweaty temple, a quiet prayer of a name. A reverence held in the syllables. That, more than anything, nearly gets him. He can’t help it—he looks back—didn’t even realize he was stopping himself from looking back until he lets go and does it. Sasuke gazes at him, open and hungry in a way that should be foreign. Instead, Naruto lets out a sob, his back arching with it. The sensations knife down his stomach, the solidity of Sasuke underneath him, around him, inside him, a presence that grounds him, electrifies him. Afterwards, he’ll be embarrassed of the noises coming from his mouth, but he’s never been quiet even if he tried—too many years spent trying to be heard—and the sounds are high-pitched and breathy and loud. He thinks he could come like this. His eyes squeeze shut. Naruto really thinks he could—just with two of Sasuke’s fingers fucking inside of him. Except Sasuke stops. His fingers still inside of Naruto. The movement stops so suddenly that Naruto lets out a sob, immediately rocking back again and again to gain that friction back. “Wait,” Sasuke says, and has to clear his throat. “Um.” The nervous tone in his voice is enough to disperse some of the cloud of arousal clinging to Naruto’s mind. He forces himself to stop moving, but can’t help but clench desperately around Sasuke’s fingers. “What?” he says breathlessly, eyes blinking open again. “Can I...” Sasuke sounds even more nervous. “Can I use my mouth? Is that...something...?” He sounds mortified by his question, and so, so embarrassed that it makes Naruto feel endeared, somehow, and fond. “You want to?” Naruto tries to hold back his surprise. His stomach roils with heat and want, though, at the thought of it—of Sasuke between his thighs, his mouth on him. Again, he clenches needily around Sasuke’s fingers. “Yeah.” Sasuke’s voice comes out rough, but a little more determined. “How should we—?” Sasuke slowly withdraws his fingers, and Naruto whines a little at the loss. “I thought it might be easier like this—” He tugs at Naruto’s waist until he gets the idea and turns around, once again facing Sasuke. The sight of Sasuke sends another bolt of arousal through Naruto. His face is flushed, even more than before, and his lips are bitten red as if he’s had his teeth clamped down on his bottom lip the entire time. It’s the least composed that Naruto has seen him and that’s saying something—they’ve both been with each other during their worst states after all. Sasuke tugs on Naruto again. This time, he shuffles down towards the foot of the bed by a couple of inches, and then he slowly reclines until he’s laying on his back. His hand slides from Naruto’s waist to squeeze his thigh as he moves. “Like this.” “Oh— you want me to— oh—” Naruto turns red. He can’t believe it. Sasuke wants him to sit on his face. He hadn’t even known that was an option. It makes sense—it’s easier for Sasuke and he doesn’t have to balance himself with one arm, but it still feels too obscene. Yet, that only makes it hotter. “Fuck.” He can see a pleased expression flash across Sasuke’s face. “Well?” Naruto opens his mouth for a retort, but for once, he decides it’s not worth it. He’d rather climb on top of Sasuke’s face—and so that’s what he does. There’s no graceful way for him to do it, his legs suddenly feeling too long, too clumsy. Naruto’s self-conscious of the way his nipples are stiff and sensitive, of how wet he is, of how his arms suddenly feel awkward at his side. His face heats up hotter and spreads down his chest as he inches up until he’s hovering over Sasuke, his thighs shaking on either side of his head. Growing up the way they do—with their bodies raised as weapons first and foremost before they are people, rarely soft and nurturing and alive—there is little room for modesty. Naruto has weaponized his own body better than most, even among other shinobis, and has always felt a sort of comfort in exposing his skin even when he felt discomfort in his own skin. This is different. Here, in his tiny bedroom, with his legs spread for the most important friend in his life, Naruto has never felt more exposed and self-conscious. There’s something about this angle, the primal look in Sasuke’s eyes as he holds Naruto’s gaze, that makes him feel vulnerable. Sasuke slides his arm up to squeeze at Naruto’s waist. He doesn’t look away, his eyes dark and hungry with something unfathomable. Smoothing his hand down, he palms at Naruto’s right thigh. He tugs. “Wait!” Sasuke immediately stops and quirks an eyebrow at Naruto. It’d be funny to see Sasuke emote in this position, but mostly Naruto burns brighter with embarrassment. “What if I—” Naruto flails a little. “What if I squish you? Can you— what if you can’t breathe? Oh god, what if I break your neck and we have to explain to Sakura-chan that I killed you because I said we should lose our virginities together and then used Oiroke no Jutsu, and then—” “Relax.” Sasuke’s mouth curls up into a smile. It’s that, more than anything, that stops Naruto’s babble. “You have never been able to kill me, idiot.” Naruto hates the way the pejorative lands like a term of affection. He hates the way it sends a swarm of flutters through his stomach. “Well, I could,” he mutters, his mouth working into a pout. “Probably,” Sasuke agrees easily, as if the thought pleases him—the fact that Naruto could. If he ever wanted to, he would be powerful enough. “Now.” Sasuke tugs at his thigh again. This time, Naruto lets himself get pulled. He straddles Sasuke’s face, his arms awkwardly pulled into his sides because he doesn’t know what else to do with them. At first, it mostly just feels strange. With Naruto sitting on his face, Sasuke just gets to it—or, at least, he tries. He can feel as Sasuke sticks his tongue out and carefully tastes him, an uncertainty radiating from the slow, deliberate flicks of his tongue. Even though it’s a little weird, Naruto shudders and clenches his hands into fists. But it gets hot fast. Fingers digging into the plush meat of his thigh, Sasuke pulls Naruto’s hips closer to his face. He breathes in deeply, nose buried between Naruto’s folds, and promptly slides his tongue across his clit. Naruto whimpers. With that, Sasuke removes his hand from Naruto’s thigh and reaches up, his hands spreading Naruto open. He flicks his tongue out and traces little circles around his clit, just like how Naruto taught him earlier with his fingers. It feels so fucking good, Naruto jolts and shudders. His nails bite into the skin of his palms. His body tingles with teasing sparks of pleasure as Sasuke nuzzles his cheek into the sticky mess on Naruto’s inner thighs, his tongue lapping at the heat and softness of his pussy. Desperation starts to build inside of him again with every swipe of Sasuke’s tongue, until he starts to roll his hips, grinding against Sasuke’s face. Naruto gets lost in the pleasurable sensations on his cunt. He can imagine how he looks to Sasuke, swollen with need and wet with desire, unable to stop himself from the moans that escape from him, bone-deep and wanton. “Sasuke,” Naruto cries out, and bites down on his bottom lip to stop more noises from escaping. He’s a mess of adrenaline and arousal. He writhes, blinking through tears when Sasuke slips his tongue inside and licks around his slick cunt. He has no idea when he moved his hands, but he faintly realizes that he has his fingers buried in Sasuke’s hair. Unable to help himself, he pulls at the dark strands, tugging at every lap of Sasuke’s tongue, whining loudly when he takes his clit between his lips and sucks on the sensitive little nub. His legs tremble and clamp down around Sasuke’s head. Everything feels like too much. Sasuke laps at his hole again, nuzzling and kissing every part of his cunt like it’s an altar worth worshiping. Naruto whimpers again as Sasuke licks all the way inside of him, pointing his tongue. There’s no muffling his sounds now; high-pitched and overwhelming, his voice starting out as a breathless gasp until it evolves to a full-out moan. He hears soft gasps and groans, and it takes a moment to realize that they’re coming from Sasuke. As if Naruto’s the best thing he’s tasted, as if he could keep eating Naruto out forever and ever, he moans against Naruto. His nose bumps into Naruto’s clit and he squeaks, but then it only makes Sasuke let out a muffled groan that should be sinful. His fingers dig into Sasuke’s scalp so hard, it must hurt, but it only seems to spur Sasuke on. “Oh, oh,” Naruto gasps. His toes point, curling. Sasuke keeps going—he suckles at his clit, flicks his tongue against the hard nub of it, and then he’s sinking two fingers inside of him. Naruto’s back arches, his hands pulling at Sasuke’s hair. He nearly screams when Sasuke angles his fingers just right and rubs at him. His thighs are shaking. Naruto tightens and flutters around Sasuke’s fingers, hardly able to breathe with how hard he’s trembling and moaning. It had to have been an accident because Sasuke doesn’t do it again, more focused now on stroking his walls with his fingers and kissing his pussy sweetly. Naruto knows he’ll throw a fit over it later when he’s no longer high on pleasure or embarrassed by his own wantonness—fucking Uchihas and natural talent—but right now, he’s busy moaning with his mouth hanging open. The tension keeps gathering. Naruto arches his spine. Sasuke rubs inside him with his fingers. He licks him wide open, pressing back each time Naruto’s muscles clench tight around him. He thrusts his tongue, deep and slick. Pleasure thrums through Naruto’s entire being until he’s nearly sobbing with it. He’s wet everywhere, even his thighs. Sasuke keeps going. He nuzzles him again and then suckles his clit, sending sparks of pleasure jolting through Naruto. It’s not practiced, his movements sloppy and obscene. But maybe that’s what makes it hotter, sets Naruto off—they’re clumsy at this, and yet he’s never been more turned on. And then—maybe it’s another accident, Naruto doesn’t know, but Sasuke lightly scrapes his teeth against the overstimulated nerves, then soothes it over with his tongue. Naruto’s voice hitches from somewhere deep inside his chest. The sounds he’s making are nearly unrecognizable to himself, driving out of him like he can’t hold them back. He moans and moans, the electricity building and building. His muscles clench and he scrubs his hand through Sasuke’s hair, hips and thighs shaking as he tightens and flutters around Sasuke’s fingers, his tongue. It feels so good, it’s fucking blissful. He gushes when he comes. Naruto squeezes down around Sasuke’s fingers in a series of spasms, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as his orgasm crashes through his whole body, white-hot and electrifying. His legs slide against the bed, falling forward toward the mattress. He lets out a pitched cry as Sasuke slides his fingers out with an obscene noise, flipping them both over against his soiled bed. There’s a split second for Naruto to see Sasuke’s face, messy with Naruto’s slick and a wet sheen over his chin and swollen lips, right before Sasuke—against all odds and expectations—pulls him into a kiss. It’s his second kiss, Naruto thinks, head still spinning. His second kiss—and yet he’s only ever kissed one person in his life. He doesn’t know if there’s another person in this world he wants to kiss. Naruto feels wrecked and sticky, absolutely a mess. He can taste himself on Sasuke’s tongue, it’s filthy and so fucking hot. He’s not entirely sure his brain is working as his hand reaches for Sasuke’s, their fingers tangling together as he opens his mouth for the kiss. “Can I— Can I—?” Sasuke pulls away and grinds against him, fumbling with the fastenings on his pants, hips stuttering, and Naruto gets it. Naruto’s shivering and still sensitive, but he wants Sasuke to feel good too—wants to set out and finish what they intended to do in the first place. His legs tremble and shake as he spreads them apart. There’s no way to hide how badly Naruto wants this, how desperately he wants to feel Sasuke’s cock inside of him. They prepared condoms, stolen from the hospital after Naruto’s last training session with Kakashi, but neither of them think about it now. Sasuke pulls his pants down to his thighs but doesn't bother undressing properly. He's so hard, it must hurt. His cock leaks with precum, flushed purple at the tip, and he fumbles towards Naruto as he slips between his legs once more. Pride surges inside of Naruto—unbidden and inappropriate. He can’t help it. He did that. Sasuke is the most unraveled that he’s seen in a long time, and he is the cause of that. His legs shake with effort as he tries to hook one leg around Sasuke, splaying himself wider. His other hand reaches between his legs. With his fingers, he spreads himself open. “Sasuke,” he murmurs, breath shaky. He’s ready to take Sasuke in. Naruto wants to feel himself stretched around Sasuke’s cock, eased open around his length. Sasuke’s eyes flash up, dark and hot. He fumbles with his dick, his hand wrapped loosely around the shaft, and he presses the head of it against Naruto’s cunt. There’s a tinge of desperation to Sasuke that makes Naruto shudder. The delicious pressure has Naruto shivering, hot and heavy, and he moans at the slight friction. Sasuke grinds against him at first, as if he can’t help it, sliding against Naruto’s sensitive folds in a clumsy, rutting motion. His cock catches against his hole where he’s still slick and open from Sasuke’s fingers. And then Sasuke comes. He shudders once, a groan escaping his mouth before he stifles it, and presses his face against Naruto’s neck as he spills messily against Naruto’s thighs, his cunt, and the bed. His skin feels hot. Naruto’s shocked at first, but his arms come up and wrap around Sasuke on instinct. There’s a part of him that’s disappointed. He wanted Sasuke inside of him. But more than anything—it’s hot. Sasuke wanted him so much that he came, practically untouched. His hand rubs up and down Sasuke’s back in a soothing motion. “Fuck,” Sasuke says, once he catches his breath. He jolts away from Naruto. For a brief moment, Naruto worries that this is it—Sasuke’s disgusted with how they’ve trespassed all boundaries and sanity of their friendship—but his eyes catch the blush decorated on Sasuke’s cheeks and the embarrassment in his eyes. Naruto can’t help it. He laughs and laughs, and dispels the jutsu to return to his usual body. “Guess we dragged it out too long, huh?” There’s a moment of silence. Sasuke’s eyes dip down, his gaze nearly a caress as he sweeps over Naruto’s body, still flushed from his orgasm and splayed open. He doesn’t seem put-off by Naruto’s change in form—and he wonders—he aches as he wonders whether Sasuke would be interested in him still even without the tits and pussy. “Shut up,” Sasuke snaps at him. He rolls his eyes, pride evidently wounded, always more childish whenever he’s around Naruto. “Next time, I’ll—” His mouth snaps shut, his eyes dark when they land on Naruto. Naruto’s stomach flutters. He nods, dipping his chin, as he meets Sasuke’s stare. Something flares inside of him, something hot and wondrous. It feels like anticipation, it feels like excitement—and it makes his heart hurt. It also makes his heart sing. “Next time,” Naruto repeats. A question. Sasuke doesn’t look away. “...Next time.” A promise.

•°³⁶° •Moving On ✵───────── Jeongguk's mind buzzed as he ran through the hallways of the hospital, head turning side to side in confusion trying to find the emergency room. The hospital was fairly void of people since it was almost ten in the night. His heart hammered in his chest, fear clouded his mind and he was at the brink of tearing up. It had taken him about twenty minutes to drive to the hospital. After he heard the news, he had been dumbfounded. He was confused but then he was panicking, never having been in this kind of situation. He had thrown on a pair of jeans and quickly driven to the nearest hospital, where Aria was hospitalized, at full speed. As he ran through the almost empty hallways, panic fuelling his every step and every pump of his heart, he realized one thing. Jeongguk was scared. He was scared of what will happen. He had no clue what was happening and everything seemed to be crashing down on him all at once. He was vulnerable, standing in front of a conflict that he had no means of getting out of. And he was angry that he was the one who caused it. He caused the biggest fucked up situation he could ever have caused and it was not only sucking out his own and Jieun's happiness, but also his daughter's and his one true love's. His daughter's life was at stake all because of him. All because he couldn't fucking control himself. Jeongguk halted at the sign that read Emergency Room and looked around. He saw Jieun sitting in front of the room, her head in her hands. Jeongguk took a deep breath and started walking towards her. Jieun looked up as Jeongguk approached her. "Oh, Jeongguk!" Jieun said, standing up. Her hair was a mess and tears stained both cheeks. She was usually a neat and tidy person. But now, she looked absolutely wrecked. Jeongguk wrapped his arms around her, letting her weep into his shoulder. "Jieun" Jeongguk whispered. He could feel the sob threatening to escape his own throat. "How...where is she?" "She's still in there. They had brought her here like ten minutes ago and..." Jieun let out another painful sob. "They're still treating her" "Wh..what did the doctors say?" "I just got here, Gguk" Jieun said, sniffling. "They didn't say anything yet" "Oh" Jeongguk held Jieun like that for a while, one hand securely wrapped around her waist and the other stroking her hair. There were no thoughts crossing his mind as he hugged his wife. Instead, he was shaking with fear. He wanted to shout and scream and sob but no. He felt numb...as if it's all a nightmare. "Our baby..." Jieun sobbed. "She'll be alright, wouldn't she?" Jeongguk shook his head. "Yes," He let out, but barely. A tear trailed down his cheek and then another. Then another, until he was a crying mess himself. Of course, his daughter would be alright. Of course, she'll wake up. Jeongguk didn't want to think about anything else. It's simply not possible. Jeongguk and his wife sat on the rows of metal chairs that were deserted except for another person or two who were dozing off. Jieun rested her head against Jeongguk's shoulder and sniffled from time to time. Jeongguk didn't know how long they stayed like that. Jeongguk was lost in thought the whole time and Jieun didn't attempt to make conversation either. She kept sniffling and new tears made their way down her cheek every once in a while. Other than the occasional squeeze Jeongguk gave her as she held his hand, there was nothing. The doctor finally came out, a couple of nurses rushing out behind him. Jeongguk and Jieun stood up in an instant as they saw the lady doctor. "Are you the patient's parents?" she asked. "Yes," Jeongguk answered. "How is she?" "She's okay" Jeongguk and Jieun sighed in relief. Jeongguk could finally breathe after what felt like hours. It was as if a huge weight was lifted off his shoulders. The doctor continued, "The vehicle had hit her quite hard. So there are a lot of bruises and one of her ribs is broken. And her left arm is also broken. Her ankle was sprained. There were some cuts in various parts of her body. We treated her. She's unconscious. There's a chance she might go into a coma...but that's if worse comes to worst" "But she'll be okay?" Jieun asked. "Most probably. Hopefully, she won't go into a coma. She will have to stay in the hospital for a few weeks even after she wakes up, though" The doctor said. "Oh thank you so much," Jieun said. "Of course" She smiled. "You can go see her" "Thank you, doctor," Jeongguk said. The doctor smiled at him. "You might want to check in with the reception desk and supply them with some documents," she said and started walking away. Jieun rushed at the moment she left. Jeongguk followed her. Jeongguk's heart sank the moment she saw Aria on the hospital bed. There were bandages all over her body and she wore a white hospital gown. Her face was swollen and there were bandages on her forehead too. Jieun let out a sob the moment she saw Aria. Jeongguk caught her before he sank into her knees. The nurse that stood next to Aria rushed off quickly out of the room after injecting her with some liquid, leaving Jeongguk and Jieun with Aria.  "My baby" Jieun sobbed. "My baby" she whispered continuously like a chant as she let out heart-wrenching sobs. "At least she's alright, hmm?" Jeongguk said as his wife sobbed in his arms. "She's going to be alright" "Yeah," Jieun said. Jeongguk's heart ached. He had never seen his daughter in such a severe condition. She had only been hospitalized a couple of times when she was younger. But never like this. And Jeongguk still couldn't fathom what was happening. His mind was still buzzing with confusion as if this wasn't reality. There was a pulse oximeter attached to her hand and a constant beep came out of it, indicating her pulse. There was an IV line attached to her arm and an oxygen mask on her face. The sight itself horrified Jeongguk. Can his daughter not breathe by herself? Jieun held Aria's hand as she wiped the tears that seemed to fall out of her eyes like a waterfall. Jeongguk ran his hands through his hair in frustration. He couldn't help but blame the incident on his actions. The consequences of cheating had become more severe than he had ever imagined. Jeongguk headed out of the room and slumped down on a chair. He couldn't bear to watch his daughter in such a condition. It hurt him like crazy. He tugged at his raven locks in frustration, fresh tears gathering up in his eyes and the need to let out a sob becoming stronger by every passing minute. His life was crumbling down in front of him and he was suffocating under the weight of a destiny he couldn't control. He couldn't imagine something happening to his little girl. He had sacrificed most of his life for her and if something happens to her... Jeongguk let out an exasperated sigh. Jieun came out of the room after a few minutes and sat next to Jeongguk. She took his hands in hers. "The nurse told me to stay outside," Jieun said, her voice heavy with worry. "They're still treating her I think. And it's the emergency room after all. They're keeping her in there until she regains consciousness" Jeongguk nodded. "She'll be up soon," Jeongguk told her. But it sounded like he was trying to convince himself that, more than to Jieun. They stayed like that for a few more minutes, both of them lost in their thoughts. "You should go home. Get yourself changed and rest up a little. You must be tired" Jeongguk said after a while. "I'm okay," Jieun said. "You should go. I'll stay. Will call you if something happens" Jeongguk said. "Besides she won't probably regain consciousness so soon, I think" Jieun sighed. "How can I do anything when she's suffering like that?" a sob escaped her throat. "I can't..." "Please, Jieun" Jeongguk said. "It won't take thirty minutes, hmm? Go, now. It's fine. Just put some comfortable clothes on. You're still in your work clothes and you've been wearing them for like fifteen hours now" Jieun sniffled. After an hour or so, Jeongguk was able to convince Jieun to go home and get a change. She only went because the doctor said that they can't visit Aria until morning. Jeongguk leaned back on the metal chair and let out a sigh. The hospital was deserted except for a couple of nurses who wandered by every once in a while. Jeongguk didn't know when or how he dozed off. He woke up when Jieun sat next to him, having returned after a bath and change of clothes. She put her head on his shoulder and took his hand in hers. He welcomed her warmth, the comfort. This was his daughter’s mother. They had raised her together. So Jeongguk sighed, feeling himself relax a little in her presence. And he passed out soon as exhaust crashed down on his body. "You sure about this place?" Taehyung looked up from his phone to see Jimin standing on the edge of his bed, his face scrunched with worry. "Yeah," Taehyung said, mouth filled with the bread of the sandwich Jimin had made him that morning. "Jieun told me about it" "I don't know, man" Jimin muttered. "That lady sounds kinda sus" Taehyung chuckled. "She was really nice. Besides I trust Jieun" "The irony oh lord! You helped her husband cheat on her you bitchass! Talk about trust" "That's not the point!" "You can stay here for like two months, Taehyung. You have money, right?" "Yeah but I'll be able to save up for tuition if I stay in that place" Taehyung said, gulping down the last piece of bread. "Don't worry. If she's a psychotic bitch I'll kung fu kick her ass down the stairs" Jimin scoffed. "You don't even know Kung Fu" "Just don't worry, okay? I'll be fine. You need to stop thinking everyone who offers help is sus. You have some serious trust issues for real" Jimin let out a sigh as Taehyung stood up. He took his small suitcase and bag filled with books and smiled at Jimin. "I have some of my clothes at Jeongguk's place...I don't know if I could even go there after he basically kicked me out yesterday" Taehyung said. "He's a dick," Jimin said, following Taehyung outside. "He's not, Jimin. I mean I understand him. He can't choose his lover over his daughter" Jimin rolled his eyes. "You're too nice, Tae" It was Taehyung's chance to roll his eyes. "We're done. I'm going to get over him. Forget about the first-ever person who I fell in love with. I'm going to move on" Taehyung felt like choking up uttering those words. Jimin wrapped his arms around him. "I know. You're strong enough for that. Just don't go back to him, okay?" "Okay," Taehyung whispered. "I'm going to change his class too. I'm going to take Professor Hudson's class instead" "The old dude who teaches History of Arts? I heard he was boring so most people take Mr. Jeon's class" "Yeah, but I have to. So I won't meet him at all" "Okay, good" Jimin said. "The next semester is starting the week after the next. Get ready" "I will," Taehyung said and bid goodbye to Jimin. By the time he reached Mrs. Hooper's apartment, it was almost midday. He rang the bell and the old woman opened the door, greeting him with a bright smile. "Oh hello!" She said, eyes crinkling at the edges as she waved him inside. "Come on in! I swept your room and all is ready. You just need to unpack" "Oh, Mrs. Hooper you didn't have to!" Taehyung said. "Nonsense! I have nothing much to do in this house. I'll make you some lunch, then?" "No ma'am! I'm fine, really. I'll grab some lunch-" "I'm making you lunch. I'll be making for myself so I can make for you too" Mrs. Hooper said. "You eat chicken, right?" "Yes, ma'am. Thank you" Taehyung watched her walk towards the kitchen with a grin, feeling thankful. He started making his way upstairs and found his room. He closed the door behind him and before he could start overthinking or possibly start thinking about Jeongguk, he started unpacking. The last thing he wanted at that moment was another breakdown because of his former lover. Jeongguk sat in the hospital cafeteria as he munched on a burger. He looked out of the window, seeing kids playing around in the small play area of the hospital. Jieun sat in front of him. She stared blankly at her untouched burger, lost in thought. There were bags under her eyes. She looked stressed out. It's the second day since Aria was admitted to the hospital. The day after she was admitted, both of them stayed in the hospital, hoping she would wake up any time soon. But she hadn't. Jieun and Jeongguk took turns and went home to rest up a bit. But neither of them had slept. Other than a couple of hours at night when they stayed outside the ER, they hadn't slept. Jieun hadn't eaten anything. Jeongguk had made her drink some hot beverages, which she gulped down with distaste. Even now, Jeongguk had forced her to come to grab something to eat. "Eat, please?" Jeongguk said. Jieun snapped back to reality. She nodded and hesitantly took a bite. Jeongguk watched her as she slowly munched on it. Neither of them had gone to work the previous day and even on this day, they decided to stay in the hospital. Jeongguk himself had no appetite and the burger tasted like sand in his mouth. But he was starving. "Did you tell Taehyung?" Jieun asked out of nowhere. Jeongguk almost choked on his burger. "W-What?" "Did you tell Taehyung about what happened to Aria?" Jieun asked. "No," Jeongguk said, confused. "Why tell him ?" "Aren't they friends?" "Um...I guess?" "You should tell him. Call him" Jeongguk gulped. He had been able to avoid the topic of Taehyung for more than twenty-four hours and the last thing he wanted to do was hear his voice. He'll have another breakdown for sure. It hurt to leave him. But he had promised himself that he won't go back to that boy. It'll ruin them both of he did. "I can't..." Jeongguk mumbled. "You tell him" "Jeongguk don't be childish. You're more close to him than me. He’s your friend" "He doesn't need to know" Jieun sighed. "Jeongguk...I didn't tell you but..." Jeongguk looked up at his wife. Jieun thought for a moment and continued. "I don't know this for sure. But I think there's something going on with Taehyung and Aria" Jeongguk narrowed his eyes at that. "I think Aria likes him but I don't think Taehyung feels the same way. Besides, he told me he was gay" "He said that?" Jeongguk asked. Taehyung was bisexual. "Yeah. When I asked him to stay away from Aria" "You asked him that?" Jeongguk asked, aghast. "Yeah. They can't be together," Jieun said. "He's much older and Aria is only sixteen! I mean I love Taehyung but he just can't..." "Yeah I know. He doesn't feel the same way" "I thought so. I was quite nervous about him staying here so I found him a place to stay too. I started looking into it the days he came to stay with us, just because you told me to. And I told him about this place one of my friends' sons stayed. It just got vacant" "Thank you," Jeongguk said, feeling relieved that Taehyung doesn't have to go looking for places again. Jieun nodded and took another bite from her burger. "You should go home after this," She said. "You didn't go last night" "I'm okay," Jeongguk said. He could barely sleep the previous night. "I'll stay and you go home. We need her insurance documents so bring them too" Jieun said. "Oh," Jeongguk said. "Okay then" Maybe he could use an hour or two of sleep. And a good bath. "The documents are in our room. You know where we keep certificates and stuff? I think it was there. If not there, probably in my study. You know that drawer? Probably in there. It can’t be on the bottom of the drawer, though. It's filled with old case notes. So look in the upper drawers" "The one in the corner? The one you never use?" Jeongguk said. "Yeah. That one" "What's in that drawer? Looks like a pile of trash inside it" "It's just my documents, okay?" Jieun said, a glint of a smile appearing on her lips. But it soon faded away. "I keep old documents there, that's all. Mostly case files" "Okay. I'll get it" Jeongguk said. By the time Jeongguk reached home, it was almost midday. It felt like he had permanently resided in the hospital and walking into his own home felt alien. He took a long bath, feeling himself calm down as hot water drops trickled down his body. Afterwards, he lay in bed a little, lost in thought. His stray thoughts found Taehyung. And all of a sudden his mind was overflowing with thoughts of him and tears had gathered up in his eyes. He wondered how he was doing. Jeongguk hadn't met him in days. And he surely hurt Taehyung the other day when he asked the boy to leave. He regretted it. But he doubted if he had a better choice. He longed to hear his voice. He longed to be in his presence. Jeongguk knew Taehyung's presence would bring him comfort. With a single word from him, all his worries would fade away. Jeongguk was madly in love with him. He missed Taehyung like crazy. And it had only been two days. Even though his mind had been occupied with thoughts and worries of Aria, he longed to be with Taehyung. Only Taehyung could make him feel better. It hurt him immensely to let go of Taehyung. And the realization that he had already cut ties with him and would never be able to hold Taehyung or kiss his soft lips and just hear him whisper sweet nothings to him, made his heart ache uncontrollably. But he knew what he did was right. Even though it wasn't the best for himself, it was the best he could do for the people around him. It's the best for Taehyung. Taehyung would be better off without him. He would be able to fall in love with someone who is available. Someone who would give up their whole world for him. Jeongguk's whole world was his daughter. And his daughter isn't someone he could just give up. The other baby on the way was the other main reason he couldn't give up what he built most of his life. Taehyung was just the right person at the wrong time. He curled up on his bed hoping to get some sleep. But sleep seemed nowhere close as he waited, eyes closed shut. His whole body was tensed and his heart was heavy with worry. And sadness, now that Taehyung had occupied his mind. He just lay there awake and lost in thought again. Since falling asleep seemed useless, he got up, got dressed in jeans and a t-shirt to get back to the hospital. He started searching for the documents. After about twenty minutes of scanning through the drawers of their room, he still couldn't find it. He walked downstairs towards the study. He couldn't help the empty feeling that overwhelmed his whole body as he saw Taehyung's room, right in front of the study. He ignored it and stepped into the study. He started searching in the abandoned drawers belonging to Jieun. As she said, it was filled with old case files. He started searching the drawer with documents filled to the brim. He scanned each and everyone, hoping to see find one with Aria's insurance documents. Finally, he found one with her birth certificate and some other documents. He pulled it out from the drawer and two other documents fell with it. He scanned the document in his hand and found the insurance card and some other sheets of paper inside the file. He happily took them out and put the file back inside. He placed the papers on the desk and reached for the files that fell on the ground. He didn't pay any mind to the files, thinking they were some more law-related files. But just as he was about to put them inside, some papers fell from the file and scattered all over the ground. Jeongguk cursed to himself and bent down to pick them up and put them back inside when something peculiar caught his attention. The papers were blank. All of them. He shrugged and started picking up the pile when he saw a printed sheet of paper amidst the blank papers. A single sheet. Jeongguk narrowed his eyes as he took the sheet in his hands. He wondered if he should be doing this. He wondered if it was right to look through this. The drawer consisted of Jieun's things. And Jeongguk never went through her stuff. There had never been a need to nor was he intrusive like that. Besides, everything was law-related and Jeongguk had no business in that. However, Jeongguk couldn't help the curiosity that tugged his mind to look at the sheet of paper. The paper contained a graph and Aria Jeon. He scanned over the letters in the document and... What the actual fuck...

Hermione stormed through the door to the meeting room and tossed a thick envelope onto the table, skewing the papers underneath. Moody, the lone occupant of the room, looked up at her with slight indignation. She merely raised her eyebrows before he sighed and reached for it. That was one of the few advantages of this seemingly endless war. There was hardly a need for words when they knew each other well enough that a shake of the head or a furrow of brows could tell them all they needed to know. It was quicker, and in times like these speed was of the utmost importance. Some days it seemed speaking wasn’t necessary at all. She waited patiently for him to read the letter through twice. That was the thing about Moody, given no strict time restraints he liked to be thorough. Which meant he needed to go through everything more than once. So to occupy her time, she perused through the papers on the table she did not recognize. Free time was not a luxury anymore. She couldn’t waste any second sitting there and waiting. There was always something to be done. “Well?” she asked without looking up from the strategy document. She knew by his shifting that he was ready to discuss. “Another Death Eater spy could come in handy. Snape has always been reliable, but who knows what else we could learn, especially since we know this one sees the frontlines of battle frequently.” “It’s a lead worth looking into, at least.” she agreed, flipping the page. “But what if it’s a trap?” Silence. She knew better than to repeat herself. “Always a risk, but a risk worth taking at this point. I assume you agree, or else the letter would never have made it to the table.” Finished reading through the document, she picked up a quill and began to make her edits. Ron was an amazing strategist, but sometimes he had difficulty working with their new battle set up. It was something they would need to discuss at the meeting tomorrow. “You want to go.” It wasn’t a question. Maybe they knew each other too well. “Considering the Death Eater, I am clearly the best option.” She laid the quill down, folding her arms across her chest as she looked to his eyes. Moody shook his head. “You are unbinded.” “As are you.” “As someone who was never bound, my strength has been unaffected. Unlike you, who has recently lost their partner to the killing curse and is therefore weaker than she was before the binding.” Hermione took a slow breath in order to reel in her anger. If she wanted to do this then she needed to keep a level head. “I am one of the Order’s strongest duelists.” “You were, and then your partner died and now you are asking to be put into a dangerous position knowing you are vulnerable.” “Perhaps you’d rather send Ron,” she snapped. “Or maybe Pansy? I’m sure he wouldn’t think that was a trap.” “You know very well how important it is that we keep the Slytherin members protected and out of risk as much as possible.” Moody stood then, hands on the table. “Exactly my point. And seeing as Harry is too valuable, that puts his partner out as well. Who’s left now that you think could salvage this chance?” Moody merely shook his head. “We’ll bring this to the meeting tomorrow.” Hermione let out a huff of breath and stood, heading towards the door. She knew a dismissal when she heard it, and she was taking the tabling of this discussion as a win. --- “Malfoy wants to become a double agent?” Ron’s voice climbed an octave with each word. “It seems legitimate, he even sent us a slew of useful information to show he was serious,” Hermione tossed the envelope over to the lead strategist. “Snape was even able to verify it all.” She then turned to answer the onslaught of questions she knew would be coming. “What if it’s a trap?” Harry asked, fiddling with his glasses nervously. “Then we plan accordingly,” she answered, looking towards Ron, who was already in deep discussion with Kingsley and Moody about which disenchantments would work best. “He wants to meet one on one with a high up Order member,” Hermione continued on, knowing Ron would be listening in as he planned. “Which means that anyone in this house would do. Clearly, Theo and Pansy are out, as they are thought to be dead and we can’t put them at risk for this. Harry and Luna are out for the obvious. Any Weasley would be a poor choice due to their history.” “So who does that leave?” Ginny sat beside Harry, a protective hand on his shoulder. “I’d like to volunteer myself.” Logically, she was the best person for this task. She knew how hard she needed to work to convince her best friend of that though. “Hermione, you can’t.” Harry looked her in the eyes for the first time since Hannah died. Honestly, you’d think it was his partner who had perished, the way he’d been acting. But Luna sat there beside him, largely unscathed from the previous battle. Hermione tried not to feel bitter. “Harry, I understand where all objections are coming from, really I do. But I’ve thought this through since receiving the letter yesterday, and I can’t think of anyone else that would be better suited.” “We need to bind you first—” he began, but Hermione shook her head. “I will not take anyone that I am less compatible with than Hannah.” Part of her knew she was being stubborn. Hannah Abott and herself had a decent compatibility, and she had been excited to use the spell she had spent the past three years developing with the help of Luna, Harry and Snape. Nothing had prepared her, however, for the feel of actually being binded. Her magic felt whole, even though she’d never felt like anything had been missing in the first place. Their first battle together, Hermione could practically feel it sizzling beneath her skin. Never had she felt such power, never had she been so sure in the field. It was euphoric. She tried not to remember what her death had felt like. “If we have our A team behind me, at least at first, then there should be no reason to worry.” Hermione felt adamant about this. She knew this was her mission to take on. Ginny tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “And what about when Malfoy asks for a smaller audience?” Damn Ginny. She was too smart for her own good. “I am prepared for the consequences of that. If he kills me, then at least I am unbinded.” True, this meant she wasn't as strong, but it also meant the Order was losing a weaker link than if they sent someone who was bound. “And if he chooses to try and capture you?” Ginny asked, chin in the air. “I am a skilled Occlumens and have been captured and Crucio’d enough to know they will never get anything out of me.” To this, there was only a silent nod of heads. As a Muggleborn, Dean and herself had seemed to be the focus of all Death Eater captures. This made them skilled in the art of torture and escape. Eventually, after the first few times, they became experienced enough fighters to evade. She rubbed her index finger over the scar Bellatrix had gifted her with all those nights ago in Malfoy Manor. She refused to glamour it; refused to hide it under long sleeves. To her, it was a reminder and every glance at it only strengthened her resolve that the war could only end in one manner. After all, it wasn’t the only word she had carved on her. “Hermione’s right,” Fred eventually broke the silence. “If Malfoy were to see any of us there, he would probably flee on sight.” “All in favor of Hermione Granger meeting with the Death Eater turned spy?” Kingsley spoke for the first time, more apt to watch than voice his opinion unless he found it necessary. There was a flourish as wands raised in the air and people cast their votes, after a moment a bright light shifted to form the words yes. Hermione smiled. “The meeting is later this evening.” she said, clearing the table to make room for new parchment. “We need to make a plan.” --- Hermione stood by what she could only assume was an abandoned cabin in the woods. It looked like at one point it had been nice, but years of no one living in it had allowed it to fall into disarray. She didn’t need to look behind and to her right to know there was a group of her friends disenchanted, holding their wands at the ready, even though she hadn’t heard them apparate in. Something about the war made her keenly aware of other people’s presence, even if there was no reason she should know. For this reason, she knew Malfoy would know as well. A small pop behind and to her left sent goosebumps up her arms and she knew it was him. Order members didn’t give off such a foreboding presence. Only Dark Magic would do that. She refused to turn around and meet him halfway. She wouldn’t be intimidated. “Merlin, can you send the press away? If I wanted to Avada you, then I would have done that on the Hogsmeade battle a few weeks ago.” She still refused to turn, but she made a sharp gesture with her head. She felt the presence of her safety net vanish and she relaxed a bit. Without an audience she really felt like she could work this through. “Malfoy.” “Granger.” His words were clipped, but they didn’t seem to hold the malice they had back in their Hogwarts years. Neither moved for a moment, but eventually Malfoy sighed and she heard crunching leaves under his shoes as he walked towards her. “Always a pissing contest with you Gryffindors, isn’t it?” he bit, walking past her to stand by the stairs of the cabin. She refused the bait. “What can you offer the Order?” He rounded on her, a few feet away. He was taller than she remembered. Much older than she felt a 21 year old should look, though she knew the same could be said for most of the Order members. “A spy. Clearly you need one, if the way the tides have been the past few years are any indication.” He crossed his arms and smirked. He was confident. Or so, he wanted her to believe. She so badly wanted to snap at him and crack his fragile exterior, but something told her it wouldn’t be as easy to do as it was in their schooldays. “While an informant could be beneficial, it’s not what we solely desire.” Malfoy barked out a laugh. “You think you’re in a position to bargain?” “Tell me, Malfoy, how many Death Eaters were lost in the last battle?” His smirk dropped into an unreadable mask. She itched to see a sneer, to know she’d gotten through and made him mad, but this would have to do for now. “Why would you choose now to switch sides?” The answer was obvious, but she needed him to know that she was the one with the power here. Still, he remained silent. Hermione let a devilish smile cross her face. “Then I think we are in agreement that I, as one of the Leaders of the Order, have the power to set our terms.” His face scrunched into one of disgust. “You can pretend all you want, but we both know how desperate you are for the information I have as a high up Death Eater.” It seemed that he was unaware of Snape’s loyalties and she thanked the gods for that, but she couldn’t deny that he had a point there. Malfoy had been steadily climbing ranks and, as Severus had now found himself as an important brewer and caster for Voldemort, he no longer saw the frontlines like Malfoy did. Between the two of them, they would almost be able to fully put together Voldemort’s plans. “But you’re more desperate for your life.” Hermione, over the years, had learned the art of manipulation. Pretending to be weak had gotten her out of many captures. Acting scared and confused had allowed her to best more than one Death Eater. She quickly vowed to make this one of her skills. Draco however, was a master himself. “And you’d give up yours in order to save the rest of the world.” Yes, yes she would. But they were getting off task. “We need fighters. I assume you’re not shite at dueling?” He scoffed. “Would you like a demonstration?” She would, but now was not the time. “You will continue with your Death Eater duties,” she listed, beginning to circle him slowly. “You will report to us any information.” She paused and glared. “Any.” He gave a roll of his eyes but nodded anyways. “In addition, you will come train with us in our hybrid program to prepare for the next battle, which you will be fighting with the Order on.” “You’ve gone mad, have you?” Malfoy’s voice had raised and Hermione fought the urge to flinch. She had checked and this place was properly warded. No one would be able to find them. “We’ve seen what you can do, and your ability to climb past Death Eaters who have been loyal since before you were born merely testifies to it. We need firepower like that.” Malfoy ran his fingers through his hair. “And how do you suggest we accomplish any of this? Once I fight with the Order, the others will see it and I won’t be able to go back. You’ll have lost your spy.” Hermione released a breath and prayed he couldn’t see the shaking of her hands. “The next battle will be the last.” She tried to meet his eyes, but they were glued to his boots. She continued on. “We’ll need to draw up a schedule. You’ll need to come to our location, where you’ll make an Unbreakable Vow and learn more about what our program has in store. We can discuss the rest afterwards.” Malfoy’s brow furrowed. “Why can’t we talk about it now?” Hermione knew he would ask that, and also knew he would be resistant to come with her without any additional information. Unfortunately, this is what the council had agreed was the extent they could mention without the Unbreakable Vow being set into place. Snape had confirmed last week that Voldemort remained ignorant to their experiment. The longer that remained true, the more of a chance they had of winning. If Malfoy refused to come, then at least she hadn’t given anything vital. “It’s top secret. You will get nothing more from me unless you agree to apparate with me and make the Vow.” “What if I get there and decide I don’t want to do it?” She shrugged. “Then we’ll kill you.” “Some light side you are,” Malfoy muttered. She could feel her cheeks tinging with pink as her anger flared. “This is war, Malfoy. Do you expect us to spare you simply because we’re fighting for the Light?” He sneered. “You can walk around with the facade of being a war lord all you want, Granger.” He walked forward until he was just a few inches away. Hermione refused to step back. “But we both know this fight will kill you emotionally, even if your body still breathes.” She wouldn’t react. Not now. He didn’t even know the half of it. “Are you coming, or not?” He paused, before grabbing onto her outstretched arm. “Not like you’re giving me much of a choice.” She apparated before he could change his mind. --- They appeared right inside the door of Grimmauld Place. At first the Order wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to bring Malfoy to headquarters, but after a bit of back and forth they agreed that if they felt any suspicions, they would merely not allow him to leave. Now that he was here, he was under their mercy. Malfoy stayed silent as they climbed never ending stairs, up until they reached the rooftop, which seemed to expand far beyond the actual set of apartments. It was enchanted to be large enough to simulate battle. Hermione glanced around until she found Harry and Luna fighting against Lavender and Bill, spells and shields flying faster than was visible to the eye. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Draco’s eyebrows raised. She bit back a smirk. “Harry,” she called out their approach, lest a rogue spell come at them. Harry stopped casting, which caught Luna’s attention and they both waved on approach. Hermione smiled at the synchronicity of the movements. The two bid goodbye to the other bound pair and stopped to onceover Malfoy. “You look tired,” Luna noted at Malfoy. Hermione shook her head, never quite aware of her awkwardness until there were new people around. He nodded once in her direction. “Lovegood.” He looked at Harry. “Potter.” “Malfoy,” Harry nodded back. Hermione looked between the pair. “We’ll need to do the vow now, if possible. I need to get back down.” Harry nodded and pulled out his wand as Hermione extended her hand. Malfoy hesitated. “You won’t be babysitting me?” Hermione shook her head. “Harry and Luna are more than capable of taking it from here.” She offered no more information, and it seemed he knew better than to ask. His large palm encompassed hers, but Hermione stood straight and listened as the man she had thought of as an enemy swore to protect the Order, to never give away their secrets and to always fight to take down Voldemort and Death Eaters alike. When it was over, her palm was tingling and she fought the urge to wipe it on her jumper. She glanced again at Harry and Luna, who seemed to be silently communicating. Feeling eyes on them, they looked over. She raised her eyebrow, and they both shot her a thumbs up. She nodded and left without another word.

Shen Qingqiu returned to Qing Jing Peak often as he was still a peak lord, but he always came back home to the hut he shared with Luo Binghe and Liu Qingge after. On the odd occasion he would bring Luo Binghe and Liu Qingge along for company as he did his Peak Lord duties and check ups on his disciples. The aforementioned disciples always welcomed their Shizun happily, even after all that had happened. Liu Qingge was treated with great respect, although the clear question of why he was also with their shizun was plain to see in their eyes. Luo Binghe was still regarded suspiciously all across Cang Qiong Mountain, but on the off chance that he did accompany Shen Qingqiu to Qing Jing Peak, the disciples could be considered amicable towards him. This time, a rare event happened, that of Luo Binghe being the one to initiate wanting to return to Qing Jing Peak just to visit and not to accompany Shen Qingqiu for Peak Lord reasons. His reasoning was just him feeling nostalgic for his old disciple days. Liu Qingge wasn’t as interested in visiting Qing Jing Peak casually, opting to go find a monster to fight instead. Despite how Liu Qingge put up an act insisting he was no hopeless fool in love, he really did enjoy being at his husbands’ side. How could he not? He’d never been loved nor loved in return so unconditionally before. Still, in the end, Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu left for Qing Jing Peak, Luo Binghe packing a very delicious meal for them to eat as a picnic, while also lovingly making one for Liu Qingge. He handed the lunch to Liu Qingge on his way out, along with a kiss that made Liu Qingge blush and bat his face away like a cat. With Luo Binghe’s face successfully batted away, Shen Qingqiu replaced him and kissed Liu Qingge sweetly on the lips, whispering that they should all go monster hunting sometime soon, a glint in his eyes to study and see more monsters close up. Liu Qingge huffed, but perhaps the past year of marriage had softened him too much because it came out ridiculously fond. Spring on Qing Jing Peak was especially lovely, the bamboo stalks waving in the breeze painted a pretty picture as leaves drifted around Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu. Since it was such a nice day and Luo Binghe had insisted on a picnic earlier, they headed further into the bamboo grove until they reached a small clearing to set up at. Shen Qingqiu watched with slightly wide eyes as he watched Luo Binghe pull out a pillow for Shen Qingqiu to sit on. Wow...he really liked making him feel like royalty, huh? Not like Shen Qingqiu was complaining. There was another pillow that Luo Binghe brought along and he placed it beside where Shen Qingqiu was sitting. However, Luo Binghe did not sit on it, instead he walked over to Shen Qingqiu and proceeded to drape himself over his back like a blanket. Shen Qingqiu huffed a quiet laugh, he didn’t know what the cause of Luo Binghe’s sudden stickiness was that he’d want to kneel behind Shen Qingqiu just to hug him. It surely couldn’t be that comfortable. “Binghe,” Shen Qingqiu chastised softly, receiving a quiet hum in his ear in response, “there’s a perfectly good pillow for you to sit on, what are you clinging onto this husband for?” Luo Binghe glanced over at the pillow in question, a slight frown coming to his face. “That pillow isn’t for this husband,” Luo Binghe said, glancing around as his frown deepened. He laughed a little, realizing his mistake. “This disciple brought it for his shishu, placing it out without thinking.” Shen Qingqiu’s eyes widened and he softened a little. “Well, Binghe is very kind for considering his shishu when he isn’t here.” Luo Binghe tightened his hold on Shen Qingqiu as they both fell into a thoughtful silence. Their thoughts were a matching feeling of wishing Liu Qingge was there with them. While Luo Binghe reached out an arm to get some of the dishes he prepared for Shen Qingqiu, they received an audience. The Qing Jing Peak disciples were fiercely loyal and protective over their Shizun, it was only natural that they’d want to double check to make sure he truly meant his words--his words being that he was happy at Luo Binghe’s side. This ‘affirmation of Shen Qingqiu’s words’ as they called it, apparently involved spying on Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe on their picnic. Apart from seeing Luo Binghe hand feeding Shen Qingqiu in an embarrassing display of unknowing PDA, nothing was really that odd. Everything was checking out so far and Ning Yingying, who was leading the pack of disciples, was debating rounding them up and sending them back with oaths to never speak of this again. But then an unexpected visitor showed up that had all the disciples tensing up and trying to hide themselves even better, the stakes at being caught having risen rapidly. Liu Qingge walked through the bamboo field, his usual confident walk not faltering once at the sight of Luo Binghe draped over Shen Qingqiu. Shen Qingqiu perked up, swallowing his last bite quickly. “Liu-shidi! You’re here,” Shen Qingqiu greeted and Luo Binghe smiled brightly from where he tilted his head to look at Liu Qingge, his cheek smushed against Shen Qingqiu’s shoulder and giving him a cute look. “I finished killing the monster early and decided to drop by,” Liu Qingge said casually like he hadn’t been alone for two minutes before turning around and speed walking after his husbands. Liu Qingge neared closer and jutted his chin out to gesture at Luo Binghe. “What's up with him?” “Nothing is the matter, Binghe just wants attention is all,” Shen Qingqiu answered with a light laugh, a hand coming up to ruffle Luo Binghe’s curls, making him preen under the attention. Liu Qingge raised an eyebrow at this. “Attention? Then how about we fight, that’ll get him distracted.” Shen Qingqiu’s eyes widened at Liu Qingge moving to draw his sword and point it at Luo Binghe. Why is that always his solution? Swords weren’t the answer to everything--but they sure were in Liu Qingge’s book. Luo Binghe looked at the hand Liu Qingge had placed on the hilt of Cheng Luan with half lidded eyes. Luo Binghe yawned, nuzzling into Shen Qingqiu’s shoulder. “Lifes not all about fighting, Liu-shishu. This disciple only wishes to rest right now.” Liu Qingge frowned but relented, his hand dropping back to his side as he made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. The Qing Jing Peak disciples were shocked when Liu Qingge entered the scene and didn’t immediately attack. They were surprised when Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu were shameless enough to not even bother to separate at Liu Qingge’s sudden appearance. They were completely scandalized when Liu Qingge proceeded to sit on that pillow right next to the lovey dovey couple like he belonged there. The disciples were so sure they were going to witness a legendary fight between Luo Binghe and Liu Qingge when he showed up. Instead they were met with the opposite. Did...did he really just sit right beside the lovey dovey couple? They’d get breaking it up but joining them?! Wouldn’t that be awkward? Back in the actual situation, Shen Qingqiu was still smiling at Liu Qingge as he sat next to them. “Would Liu-shidi like some tea after his fight?” Liu Qingge let out a short hum in agreement, spreading his legs out to be more comfy. Shen Qingqiu turned his head to see Luo Binghe was barely keeping his eyes open as he fought sleep off. Shen Qingqiu nudged Luo Binghe’s face with his shoulder, urging him to get up. “Binghe, move please. This teacher has to prepare tea for your shishu.” Luo Binghe made a whine of protest at Shen Qingqiu dismissing him. His eyes wandered to the side where Liu Qingge was sitting and his protest died in his throat. As Shen Qingqiu shuffled away on his knees to pour tea, Luo Binghe dramatically collapsed without him to lean on. He fell to the side, in Liu Qingge’s direction, landing his head right in his unsuspecting lap. “Hey!” Liu Qingge yelled out in surprise as Luo Binghe nestled his head into Liu Qingge’s lap, a happy sigh leaving his lips. Shen Qingqiu glanced back at his outburst and a smile settled on his face at the sight he was met with. He resumed pouring tea while Liu Qingge sighed in defeat, shoulders becoming relaxed as he raised a hand slightly to place in Luo Binghe’s hair. Luo Binghe tilted his head a bit to make Liu Qingge have better access to his hair, making him scoff lightly. Liu Qingge still began carding his fingers through Luo Binghe’s curls, finding the action quite soothing and a good time consumer. Luo Binghe’s smile stretched from ear to ear under Liu Qingge’s attention, he was practically purring in his lap. Shen Qingqiu turned around and scooted closer to Liu Qingge, carefully holding a cup of tea in both hands. “Careful, it's still hot. Be mindful as to not spill it on Binghe.” Shen Qingqiu blew on the tea before gently passing the cup to Liu Qingge. “I’m not going to spill the tea,” Liu Qingge muttered as he took the cup, glancing down at Luo Binghe whose eyes were blissfully shut. Shen Qingqiu nodded before returning to his spot, situating himself around Luo Binghe and ending up with his lower half on his lap. Liu Qingge’s face adopted an unamused expression over how Luo Binghe was casually lifted and spread out over both his husbands in this position--Liu Qingge supporting his head while Shen Qingqiu held up his lower half. “Spoiled brat…” Liu Qingge said under his breath, but there was no bite behind his words. Luo Binghe just pressed his head further into his lap in response, like he was fully agreeing and happy with what he said. Liu Qingge couldn’t be bothered to retaliate to that, instead continuing to pet Luo Binghe’s head while he took a sip of his tea. “Does Liu-shidi like the tea? It's a new brew,” Shen Qingqiu asked, his fan coming up to leisurely fan himself, though it was lowered enough to not hide his expression which Liu Qingge was thankful for. Liu Qingge took another drink, finding that it tasted no different from every other tea from Qing Jing Peak. He was still okay with the taste in the end. “...Mm, yeah, it's alright.” Shen Qingqiu smiled, his fanning motion coming to a stop. He snapped his fan close with a satisfying click before leaning towards Liu Qingge. Liu Qingge’s eyes widened as Shen Qingqiu kissed him on the lips, tilting his head a little to deepen the kiss. Liu Qingge made a muffled noise of surprise as Shen Qingqiu’s tongue darted out and licked his bottom lip, tasting the aftertaste of the tea and the sweetness of the tiny cakes Luo Binghe had made for them. Luo Binghe cracked open one eye at Liu Qingge’s noise, that eye curving into an amused crescent at the sight above him. Shen Qingqiu pulled away from Liu Qingge, leaving him chasing after his lips but Shen Qingqiu flipped open that damn fan again, covering his content smile. Liu Qingge narrowed his eyes at the fan that was keeping him away, sitting back with a huff, pretending as if it didn’t matter. Luo Binghe was still watching them both with an intrigued look, suddenly a lot less sleepy. Liu Qingge cleared his throat, taking another sip of his tea to help. “What was that for?” Not that Liu Qingge was complaining over getting kissed out of nowhere by Shen Qingqiu, but it wasn’t quite something that he did often. Shen Qingqiu shrugged, still covering his coy smile from sight, but the light in his eyes gave it away. “Am I not allowed to?” Liu Qingge stared at Shen Qingqiu for an added moment, heart beat doubling in his chest as he felt his cheeks warm. Liu Qingge swiftly looked away with a huff, gripping his cup hard enough to almost shatter it. Being married made Liu Qingge feel so vulnerable, it was both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time, sometimes he could hardly look his husbands in the eyes before the sensation of falling overcame him and he’d have to look away. It helped sometimes to know he wasn’t alone in the feeling, that Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu were going through it right there with him. Shen Qingqiu let out a small laugh--not meanly, just happy--causing Liu Qingge to blush even more. Luo Binghe perked up at the sound and fixed Shen Qingqiu with puppy dog eyes. “Where's this husband's kiss, Shizun?” Luo Binghe asked, the waterworks already starting up and making the demon lord look quite pathetic as he asked for a kiss. Liu Qingge got over his previous embarrassment to deliver Luo Binghe’s crocodile tears a flat look. Shen Qingqiu started hushing Luo Binghe, closing his fan as he stretched out an arm to pat Luo Binghe on the head. Shen Qingqiu couldn’t really move much more than to pet Luo Binghe’s head. With the way Luo Binghe was a heavy weight on his legs, he wasn’t able to physically bend over and kiss him. Unless, of course, Shen Qingqiu got up all over again just to crawl over to him, but he had just sat down and gotten comfortable. Shen Qingqiu leaned back, hand returning and opening his fan again to use as a shield against the tears in Luo Binghe’s eyes at him not kissing him. “Binghe, this husband is old as shit and cannot move,” Shen Qingqiu said pointblank, and Liu Qingge snorted briefly in laughter. Luo Binghe only widened the puppy dog eyes, wiggling his head in Liu Qingge’s lap and making his hair more fluffy in an attempt to entice him. Shen Qingqiu glanced up, meeting Liu Qingge’s quietly amused look with his own helpless one. Liu Qingge shrugged, a silent exchange of “help, please” and “I’m not helping out here” passing between them. Shen Qingqiu’s fanning increased as he looked back down at Luo Binghe. “...this teacher will make up for it later,” Shen Qingqiu compromised, a hand petting Luo Binghe on the head again. Luo Binghe brightened up at the promise of more future kisses, the tears gathered in his eyes gone like magic. Then his eyes swept from Shen Qingqiu and landed on Liu Qingge. Liu Qingge frowned at the expectant look in his eyes. What? What did he want now? Luo Binghe batted his eyes innocently at Liu Qingge. Liu Qingge finally connected the dots. Of course, Luo Binghe was asking both husbands for a kiss. “Spoiled,” Liu Qingge reiterated through gritted teeth. A sneaky grin slipped its way onto Luo Binghe’s face that caused Liu Qingge’s temper to flare. Liu Qingge lurched forward, neck craning down to catch Luo Binghe’s mouth with his own and wipe that smirk off his face. Luo Binghe made a pleased sound that had Liu Qingge furrowing his brow more, teeth catching on Luo Binghe’s bottom lip and choosing to bite hard enough to draw blood. If anything that just made Luo Binghe even happier, judging by the sound he made. Shen Qingqiu was even affected by it and he covered most of his face with his fan, eyes peeking over it to continue watching with a ruffled look. Liu Qingge got more violent with the kiss, Luo Binghe matching his pace with equal ferocity. Eventually, Shen Qingqiu seemed to have reached his limit because he placed a hand between Liu Qingge’s shoulder blades. “Liu-shidi, please be more gentle with my disciple,” Shen Qingqiu advised. Liu Qingge opened one of the eyes he had screwed shut as he attempted to kiss the life out of Luo Binghe. He glanced at Shen Qingqiu, an eyebrow raised in confusion. This was nothing compared to how most of his and Luo Binghe’s exchanges went. Their sparring sessions usually ended up in an entirely different direction most times, why was Shen Qingqiu suddenly holding him back? “Just a reminder we are visiting Qing Jing Peak--in public.” Shen Qingqiu gave him a pointed look that made Liu Qingge’s ears burn. Shen Qingqiu continued with little waves of his fan as he looked around the bamboo forest around them. “My disciples could come walking by at any time, so it’d be best if we didn’t go too far…” Liu Qingge blinked twice and hesitantly pulled away from Luo Binghe. He looked down at Luo Binghe whose eyes fluttered open, a bright shade of red as he panted slightly against Liu Qingge’s lips. Liu Qingge sat properly, back straight as he cleared his throat. “Right...I knew that.” Luo Binghe pouted at Liu Qingge so suddenly leaving and thumped his head back in his lap, staring up at the passing clouds overhead, but not daring to disobey his shizun’s wishes. Shen Qingqiu sighed, feeling bad at having to have put a stop to their fun. He fanned himself before scooting closer to Liu Qingge until his shoulders were brushing against him. “So, how did Liu-shidi’s hunt go?” Liu Qingge’s right eye twitched and he crossed his arms. “Fine.” Shen Qingqiu stared at Liu Qingge, his gaze feeling like it was seeing right through him. “That's...good? What was the monster?” “Fire tailed python,” Liu Qingge said the first monster off the top of his head. “Wow, one was really so near? That’s weird.” “Why is that weird?” Liu Qingge demanded. He knew full well that he had fought some previously around Cang Qiong. “It's just they typically migrate in the spring, going north and leaving here.” And Shen Qingqiu’s endless knowledge on monsters struck once again. “...oh.” Luo Binghe smiled in amusement, shutting his eyes as he went back to his peaceful state from before Shen Qingqiu decided to suddenly stick his tongue down Liu Qingge’s throat. “...Qingge, if you wanted to come you could have just said so. You were always invited from the beginning.” Liu Qingge flushed, tightening the arms across his chest even more as he looked away. At Liu Qingge being a wall as usual when it came to talking feelings, Shen Qingqiu let it drop. Along with letting the subject drop, Shen Qingqiu let his head drop. With a soft plop, Shen Qingqiu rested his head on Liu Qingge’s shoulder, eyes already closed contentedly. Liu Qingge tensed up at the sudden contact because for some reason he always got surprised despite how long they’ve been together. He relaxed shortly after and then accepted his role of not moving a muscle for the next couple hours as to not wake his husbands--because, yes, Luo Binghe had also dozed off at one point. Liu Qingge sat motionless for a few minutes of his husbands’ steady breathing before a hand slowly moved to be placed on the hilt of his sword at his side. Liu Qingge looked into the suspiciously silent bamboo forest with narrowed eyes. “Come out,” Liu Qingge commanded, voice still sharp despite the softness to keep from waking Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu. There was silence and then a small group of disciples in green and white robes stepped out from behind clusters of bamboo, looking cowed and unsure as they refused to meet Liu Qingge’s eye. All disciples were embarrassed to the point of having red cheeks and looking like they’d rather be elsewhere, apart from the apparent leader who walked cautiously, but had a glint in her eyes like she had done nothing bad. The group of Qing Jing disciples stopped a distance away from Liu Qingge, not daring to get too close. The leader of the group, a girl that Liu Qingge recognized as one of Shen Qingqiu’s disciples he was close to and mentioned sometimes, stepped a few feet closer. He racked his brain a bit before finding a name he hoped was the right one. “Ning Yingying, are you aware of what you are doing?” Liu Qingge demanded, addressing the leader specifically. Ning Yingying did not flinch under the pressure and just stood straighter. “This disciple was only concerned for the safety and wellbeing of her shizun,” Ning Yingying reported, a fire in her eyes that told Liu Qingge she meant her words. So...it was that kind of situation. Liu Qingge narrowed his eyes, glancing to the side to see Shen Qingqiu’s resting face pressed against his shoulder, strands of hair fallen loose and framing his face. Liu Qingge thought that maybe, if he was in the same situation as Ning Yingying, he would’ve done the same. Liu Qingge glanced back, covering up whatever warmth he was feeling with a cold look at the disciples. “If any of you so much as say a word about what you’ve seen today…” Liu Qingge trailed off, the threat dying in his throat. What was even the point? All of Cang Qiong seemed to already know by now...who was Liu Qingge even kidding? Liu Qingge sighed to himself, maybe it was about time he found a new fight. Stop running and just admit to his marriage, fighting anyone who dared oppose. Liu Qingge waved his hand dismissively at the disciples. “Whatever. Just go and think twice before spying on other people's marriages.” Several of the disciples' mouths dropped open at his words, other disciples wisely took his dismissal and took off practically leaving smoke trails behind them in their hurry. Ning Yingying smiled, a bubbly youthful look on her. She bowed respectfully to Liu Qingge. “This disciple thanks Liu-shishu for his mercy,” Ning Yingying said and lifted her head from her bow, a light in her eyes that Liu Qingge did not miss, “Liu-shishu also does not need to worry any longer over us disciples intervening in his relationships. We’ll take Liu-shishu’s advice.” Liu Qingge blinked. Did he just receive permission to be in a relationship from Shen Qingqiu’s disciple? He wasn’t looking for a blessing from Ning Yingying but ended up with one anyway. Liu Qingge narrowed his eyes at her to get her to leave. Ning Yingying took the hint and left, shooing the awestricken disciples away as she went. Liu Qingge was left alone with his husbands in the bamboo clearing feeling oddly relieved. Honestly, he just came clean about his relationship and the other counterparts weren’t even awake for it, Liu Qingge felt quite cheated. As he was fuming in silence, he suddenly felt a sudden kiss be placed on his cheek. Liu Qingge startled and looked over to find Shen Qingqiu awake and looking at him with an overwhelmingly fond slant to his eyes. Liu Qingge blinked and then felt one of his hands being squeezed. Liu Qingge looked down to find Luo Binghe awake as well, one of Liu Qingge’s hands brought up to his lips where he pressed a tender kiss to his palm. Liu Qingge’s eyes widened and he pulled his hand away from Luo Binghe in surprise, but Luo Binghe had a strong grip on his hand and he raised it to his cheek to nuzzle against it. “Binghe!” Liu Qingge flushed and Luo Binghe glanced up at him with a terribly fond look mixed with pure amusement. Liu Qingge frowned, glancing again to Shen Qingqiu who looked quite proud where his chin dug into his shoulder. Liu Qingge’s eyes narrowed to slits and a disgruntled look settled on his face. “You two were awake for that, weren’t you?” Shen Qingqiu hummed in agreement, placing light kisses along Liu Qingge’s jaw that momentarily distracted him from the situation on hand. Luo Binghe didn’t say anything, just continued holding tightly onto Liu Qingge’s hand. Liu Qingge sighed, anger dissipating as his shoulders slumped forward slightly. Maybe he should be the one taking the nap this time. “How about we head home?” Shen Qingqiu asked like he read his mind. Liu Qingge glanced between his husbands looking at him with genuine love in their eyes. Liu Qingge blinked, feeling overwhelmed as that same fuzzy feeling filled him up. He really did have two loving husbands, the realization of how lucky he had gotten hitting Liu Qingge like the hilt of a sword to his stomach, knocking the breath out of him. Liu Qingge’s face flushed and he looked away, adopting the same annoyed expression he always wore. Though the pink to his cheeks told Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu all that they needed to know. Liu Qingge spoke after a moment, attempting to sound neutral and uncaring, but instead it came out sounding like a confession, “...Let's go home.”

Chapter 20   The very next morning, Khánh awoke with a pleasant soreness in areas of her anatomy she had never felt before in her life. Memories of yesterday’s confession and sweet hours of lovemaking brought a silly grin to her face. She walked into the kitchen with a slight bounce in her steps. Elrond was sitting at the little breakfast table, but the Elf did not eat. His expression was lost and stressed. Khánh smiled and greeted him more cheerily than she usually would have. “Good morning, Elrond.” He turned to her with a start; peculiar for a Firstborn given their advanced hearing. “Khánh,” He spoke crisply, his expression severe. Her bright face faltered at his somber countenance. Did Elrond know about her and Fëanor? If he did, she wondered how he would react to the news. “I have to say, I am a little…surprised by what I heard just now to put it lightly, Khánh.” “What did you hear about?” His sharp eyes pierced into her, and she flinched back. Elrond had never directed such a gaze at her like that prior. She must have offended him, somehow. “You are a young, Edain woman who does not know much of the world,” He began slowly. What brought this on all of the sudden? “Do you think me such a naïve child, Elrond?” Khánh asked, annoyed. “Not at all,” He replied, easily – boring onto her. “I had thought you a composed, level-headed, adult woman who would not fall for the charms of Fëanor. Until now.” She froze – stricken. He nodded. “Yes, I knew. I had my doubts ever since you arrived at Formenos. Your relationship with him had a certain spark anyone could see. I should have intervened from the beginning and sent you back home. But I was optimistic. Hoping I only had unfounded suspicions until the Master came to me this morning…announcing you two intended to be married.” “You look down upon me, Elrond. You think me unsuited for a high Firstborn like Fëanor just like the others and would rather him marry Elvinia. You have always made your preference known.” Elrond grew angry in a split second. “Had he married Elvinia, the strength of her lineage might have had the power to sway the Valar into getting rid of her,” He spoke. “You are still too inexperienced to understand; fancying yourself in love with an Eldar man like Fëanor who is much too old and secular for you.” Khánh stared at him with wide eyes. “Who is her?” He was quiet and simply gave her a disappointed look. “There is still much for you to learn, my girl. This is the one bond I will not give my blessings to.” oOo “Won’t be ‘blessing’ this wedding?” Fëanor snorted, derisively and tightened his hold on Khánh against him. The two were on his couch in one of the relaxation rooms of the castle. She had just finished relaying to him the tense conversation she had with Elrond that morning. It truly made her uncertain of herself and their relationship. She was slightly wary of what was to come. “You will do well to not listen to him, my love. That foolish child of Macalaurë had always been too repressed and fearful for his own health,” He kissed her temple, soundly. “What you and I have is only real and true.” “You think so?” Khánh murmured against his neck. “I certainly know so,” He corrected, standing up – pulling her along with him. “Now then; we must create a new wardrobe for you. Not that I do not find your old, mortal garments and the frocks Nemiriel provided for you utterly charming, of course. But you must have properly-fitted, Elven gowns for a High Queen of the Noldor.” She sputtered and protested, but he was not listening. “I do not usually care for such social propriety, but I want you to experience and attain all the luxury in the world.” They left the castle and went into the barn. Fëanor hoisted her up on his black stallion whom he simply called ‘Beast.’ And then he leaped up to sit himself behind her – taking the reins. “You are ridiculous, my lord,” Khánh spoke, exasperatedly. “Yes. Proud of it too,” He said – replying close behind her. “I desire to spoil you rotten; have you meet all the Kings and Queens of Arda. Decorate you in pearls and gold – and when you tire of all that, I shall take you on a great, blood-curling adventure you have never dreamed of. And you, Khánh, will love every moment of it.”   “I think these diamond earrings will look best on your new bride,” Arwen insisted, holding up the sparkling jewelry to Khánh’s right ear. “No, no. Most definitely not,” She quickly refuted and opted for the simple pearl necklace. “Just this for the special day will do.” Both the Queen of Gondor and Fëanor shared a look with each other. The two made a striking, gorgeous duo; similar coloring only opposite genders. “Well, she knows herself best better than we do,” He shrugged as Arwen rolled her eyes. “You are besotted.” The three of them were at a royal tailor shop set up in the White City for Elves and aristocrats to buy their attire. He had thoroughly convinced her to go on the long, three-day, shopping trip. Whilst Fëanor does have an eye for beauty, he figured it would be apt to have some female influence in this area for Khánh. When Elessar and Arwen had heard the shocking news of Fëanor and Khánh together, Elessar immediately was wary. Khánh had seen it on his face, and she was sure Fëanor perceived it too but pretended not to.Arwen had looked conflicted although her happiness for the couple won out. Unlike many within her immediate family, the Gondorian Queen had no personal qualms against her great-great-uncle. And whatever she knew of his past that Khánh did not, she did not say. Arwen took the both of them for gown fittings – observation on Feanor’s part. “Six nightshifts and eight-day dresses for my bride to be, as you will. These varying shades of green and olive are becoming on her complexion,” Fëanor told the seamstress. Later, Khánh would tell the same seamstress to reduce the number of items to three nightshifts and four dresses instead. Fëanor was not amused but reluctantly went along with it. Khánh knew he would rebel in secret later and see to it that her closet was overly stocked. The trip had ended on a happy note. After the dress shopping was complete, Arwen bid them farewell. oOo Khánh dreamt of fire that night. She was laying in her own bed and felt a burning heat in front of her face. Blearily opening her eyes, she saw a female shadow holding a torch before her. The female shadow had six more limbs at her side other than her other two arms. The figure then evaporated into the darkness.When Khánh woke up the next morning, the pearl necklace and wedding gown was nothing but a pile of ruined soot on the floor. Horrified and distraught, she searched desperately for Fëanor.Remembering that he had gone on a trip before early dawn (he told her the night before that he had an errand to run in Tirion,) she waited for hours on end in the blazing Laurelin sun, long into the afternoon. When the sight of Feanor’s Beast showed up in the distance, Khánh immediately jumped up in relief.She hastily ran to him once he got closer to the castle on his horse. Fëanor was both quizzical and amused by her frantic reactions. “What is this? Miss me already, have you?” He teased and smoothed back her hair gently. She nodded. “Fëanor…” She started. “I have to show you something. Come quickly.” His smile promptly faded and his ink brows lowered. “What is it, Khánh?” Back in her bed-chamber, she displayed for him the burned-down, wedding materials from last night as well as the dream of a woman holding blazing fire. He grew cold and silent at the horrid sight.His grey eyes became stormy as he stared hard at the wrecked remains of her once beautiful, bridal gown Arwen had helped her choose. Grabbing the soiled dress and shattered, pearl necklace, he insisted on discarding it. Those gifts from him for their special day meeting such a fate, broke Khánh’s heart, but she accepted it. Next, Fëanor informed Elrond of what happened. Both seemed to be aware of the real specifics of what came about in Khánh’s room the other night but would not tell her. “Hear me this, Elrond. I will make Khánh my wife even if I have to kill every last man in Arda or so help me.” Khánh shuddered at the promising growl. There were more angry murmurs, but she was not permitted to hear the rest.It was a tantalizingly addicting, but frightening feeling to be possessed by a fiery man she was dearly in love with. If she allowed it, she could let herself get lost in his fierce consummation of her being. Elrond, on his part, had only looked apprehensively grim with the increasing days. He acceded to Feanor’s demands, however.A new, wedding attire and the finest of jewels had been sent to her door soon enough. A single, mithril ring was given to her made by Fëanor himself in his forge. He also made the same, but larger-sized band for himself to wear. “These are just the courting rings in Eldar culture,” He told her, proudly. “I have made a golden set of rings for us as well – but those will be revealed on our day of marriage, Khánh.” oOo That night when they both laid together in his vast bed, Khánh confronted him in the hours of dusk. “Fëanor,” She said quietly. “I do not think the laughing madwoman in this house is the laundry maid. An entirely different…thing altogether.” He wrapped an arm around her waist, and their naked bodies pressed against each other – warm and intimate. “Who do you think she is, Khánh?” He replied, barely a whisper. “I think the laughing woman and the woman of my dreams are the same,” She explained. He was quiet. But then he said: “Do not be ridiculous, Khánh. Those haunting women are not real. Do you hear yourself? They are only in your nightmares because you are terrified.” “Why do you keep doubting me?” She demanded, and he laughed. “Because, my love, if those monsters were here, you and I would not be together at this moment. You must believe and have trust in our love. Do you not trust me, Khánh?” She gave him a look, and he returned a guileless one. Putting a hand to his high cheek – taking in his severe handsomeness, she sighed.   “I do, my lord.”   Names and Translations Eldar/Firstborn – Elves Edain/Secondborn – Mortals Macalaurë – Maglor Elessar – Aragorn

  XXVIII.     It was somewhere between waking up all the guests in the south wing (who were not happy, for anyone who cared to know) to move to the west wing and waiting tiredly in Zelda’s study that she finally apologized for giving Link a black eye. After accommodations had been made and rooms made empty for the arriving Sheikah, Zelda properly greeted Jalin despite being in just a white nightdress and purple cloak. But the Queen really never cared about appearances and Jalin looked one part surprised and one part satisfied with how unlike royalty she was.   As they sat in the quiet of her dim study, she finally hugged Link and let out a sigh of relief it felt like she’d been holding in since they left for the desert.   “I am so glad you are okay,” she said quietly, after he had filled her in on most of the specifics he could with Jalin sitting right there. Link determined he would keep the new information he had gained about Kalyh to himself for the time being; although Jalin hadn’t explicitly told him not to share the story, it was implied somehow during their conversation in the field.   Soft hands held Link’s face, drawing his thoughts away from Kalyh as Zelda finished healing his bruise with a gentle expression.   “You will be happy to know you’ve missed little excitement…well, aside from the terrible Nether monsters descending upon Hyrule.”   “I was worried they would attack the castle,” Link said with a grim nod.   “It’s hard to plan for a war when something is being burned by acid or set on fire by giant, rotting wolves,” she conceded with a bemused expression. “I was able to decipher the message and my premonition was, unfortunately, the same...the full moon is only two weeks away, Link.”   “I was hoping we were wrong,” he mumbled, rubbing at his face and feeling terribly exhausted.   “The Goddesses are adamant we know about this one event…I do not know, however, if they intend for us to change it or prepare for it.”   The consideration made Link’s blood run cold; was Zelda actually considering the possibility that the premonition had to pass? He couldn’t accept that. While Link knew she was always methodical about interpreting premonitions, prepared for all possibilities and outcomes, he felt a spike of anger that she wasn’t as obstinate about it not happening as he was.   Before Link could argue with her, noise came from the closet and Sheik emerged half-covered in blood. Horror gripped Link as he leapt to his feet and met the Sheikah halfway out of the closet before gripping his shoulders and demanding what had happened.   “I am fine, Link,” Sheik assured him, eyes smiling a bit in relief as the Congruence shivering between them. And upon closer investigation Link noticed the blood looked thicker and smelled like rot.“Baltas. Had to wrestle a few. They seem to really like me.”   There was sound approaching from farther back in the closet and Sheik took the moment to whisper, “I’m glad you erased the message – I had forgotten about it. If they had seen it…”   Link gave a nod to Sheik’s grim look of understanding.   Kalyh then appeared beside them, her hand glued to the hilt of her sword, looking around much like a wild animal. She spotted Jalin with a bit of relief but immediately went still as Zelda approached them.   “Welcome back to Hyrule, Kalyh,” she said calmly in, thankfully, a voice that was not completely Queen-like but formal enough. “It is an honor to meet you and a honor to have you and your people here.”   Kalyh gave her a wide-eyed stare as Zelda gave a low, respectful bow, as though she was convinced she was hallucinating. Watching the Sheikah look so bewildered almost made Link laugh as she seemed to determine if she was going to be offended or accepting.   There was no way Kalyh was going to be polite or return the gesture. This was Kalyh. This was the woman who held fast to the grudges of her people, to the long hatred towards the Royal Family.   But then she did.   “Thank you for allowing us refuge here, Queen Zelda,” Kalyh replied after stretch of uncertain silence, bowing back just enough to be considered decent.   The rest of the Order filled the closet and Link couldn’t help but find the entire thing very silly. The last of the Sheikah race was standing in the closet of Zelda’s study and that was the point he began to realize just how exhausted he really was. Also, his hand was still on Sheik’s arm.   Sleep. Link needed sleep.   Everything following that was the part of being under Zelda’s command that Link had a hard time tolerating. He needed to help coordinate room assignments and food and water and two completely separate rooms for their gear and supplies – having Sheikah armor and weapons suddenly appear in the castle’s armory would raise a lot of questions. It wasn’t until dawn that everyone managed to get settled in and quiet.   And Link didn’t know what to do with himself after that.   He wasn’t injured save a few minor scrapes but his body ached to the degree that even sitting was too much. He bathed, found clean clothes, devoured food, drank an obscene amount of water…but when Link went to his bed, he could only lay down for five minutes before he was back up.   It was too bright, even despite the drapes blocking the sun from his eyes. Maids and other loud-voiced people bustled down the halls outside his room and it all felt just too ridiculous.   Didn’t they know what was coming? How could they carry on their lives with all the terrible things that had been happening? Weren’t they having nightmares or constantly at the cusp of anxiety attacks over the horrors and…?   No. They weren’t. They had no idea what had happened in the past month. They didn’t know what was coming. They didn’t have to think about the things that had happened because, to them, nothing had happened. There were no nightmares or meltdowns for them if left to the mercy of their own thoughts for too long.   Link couldn’t imagine the bliss of such ignorance.   A few more minutes of fruitless effort to sleep and he shuffled to the library because he had no idea where to find a place any quieter. It really shouldn’t have surprised him to find Sheik was already there with his nose in a book.   Red eyes appraised him from the couch and, if Link had not been so impossibly tired, maybe he would’ve cared more about the affection that was now permanently affixed to that gaze. Well, he did care. But he also wanted quiet and Sheik being there was definitely an enormous bonus.   “Link, you should –”   But Link held up a hand to quiet him and tiredly crossed the room to the window. He shut it and pulled the drapes closed, earning a sigh from Sheik as most of the light was taken from the room. Unable to even offer an apology, Link slumped onto the other end of the couch and leaned back with a tired sigh. He had finally found silence.   Well, almost.   “Some people need light to read,” Sheik commented.   “Some people need quiet to sleep,” Link replied. The Congruence was slow and warm between them, luring him closer to unconsciousness.   Here they were, back on the couch in the library where everything had started in the first place. Now that they had returned and were (mostly) safe, true exhaustion set in and Link finally felt the tension he’d been carrying for a month unravel just a little.   “You could order the maids out your particular hallway,” Sheik offered after the distinct sound of a book snapping shut.   “I don’t like throwing my weight around like you do.”   “What else is weight for?”   Link snorted. It could be a month ago. It could be a normal day before Evanna and Foursky and Vaspra and the Nether. Link could have been up all night doing something stupid and taken refuge in the library to block out the loud castle. It was just him taking over the couch, disturbing Sheik’s reading, and poking fun.   “Are you going to let me sleep or not?” Link groaned, pretending to be annoyed but really loving every little nudge. Even without touching, Congruence was tangible and comforting.   “Well, I suppose so, considering you are kicking me out,” Sheik said with a hint of amusement. Weight started to leave the couch and without thinking, Link reached out and grabbed the Sheikah’s arm.   “Don’t leave,” was all he could manage as their bond flared at contact. His brain was too sleep-addled to feel embarrassed or apologize. Because now Link knew how Sheik felt and clinging a bit on the eve of war wasn’t necessarily out-of-line anymore. Because Link had known, somewhere in his slow mind, that Sheik would be in the library with the same thought as him: get away from all these normal people with their normal lives.   Link, in some ways, had counted on it. Because, no matter which way he spun it, he knew he would only find sleep that morning if Sheik was beside him.   “Just…stay?” For a moment Link felt like it was post-war all over again and he needed someone to keep him tethered to reality. But then he knew he had every right to the request; war was coming and they had to eventually contend with everything between. But right now he wasn’t asking for anything more, anything less – just a living, breathing Sheikah beside him.   Sheik’s eyes were deep red and full of warm emotion and Link could feel all sorts of things that weren’t being said leak through their connection. There was an openness there that Link hadn’t had a chance to fully appreciate.   Link knew – if they survived the war in one piece – there was no way he could walk away from what he was staring at. Only on pain of death, which had more meanings than just that one.   “Of course,” was all Sheik said, sitting back down.   And for a very tired and very distressed moment, Link felt like he should say something. He didn’t know what – and honestly what words could possibly surmise and equate to everything that had happened between them? Just like his walk through the field with Jalin, Link didn’t know what to do or say or think. He just knew they cared about each other and they were bonded. Permanently.   Sheik still hadn’t really asked him what the book had said and Link didn’t know if he wanted to tell him. Because he didn’t want the truth about Congruence to change what they were, to cast yet another shadow of doom over an already gray future.   Bonded.   Soulmates.   Congruent.   If one subject of Congruence dies, the other dies as well.   Link felt as though if he said the words out loud, they would break the silence of the room, break the calm, break him. He wanted to check out for a few hours, be just as blissfully unaware as the maids and butlers.   So Link bit his tongue and reached down to lace their fingers together, the energy it caused shooting down his arm and clouding his mind in a delicious way. Long, warm fingers twined around his without hesitation. Link closed his eyes to the caress of Congruence and the sense of comfort and security he only seemed to find anymore with Sheik.   --   Link was woken up a little after noon by the last person he wanted to see: Duchess Morsa.   “The Queen requested your presence in the map room, Guardsman,” she said in a terrible sing-song voice that could’ve woken him from death. She was perched next to him on the couch far, too close for his liking as he jumped back into the waking world. “You shouldn’t sleep so late into the day! When did you go to bed? And why are you sleeping in the library?”   It took every fiber in his being to not snap at her; Link had no time for her questions and no patience to play escort.   “Uh, long night,” he mumbled back, struggling to his feet and checking for his weapons, which were no longer on his person. “Where are my…?”   Morsa grinned like he had said something funny and pointed to the table by the now open window. “You don’t even know where you put your own equipment? How much did you drink, Guardsman?”   Link bit back the groan of irritation her comment brought on. Maybe it was time to start to visiting that habit now that he was back in the castle and stuck with her. Link had been so wiped he hadn’t even woken up when Sheik must have rid him of the uncomfortable gear at some point during the morning. And he worked incredibly hard to keep the ideas that summoned out of his head while in her presence.   “How was the desert?” Morsa pressed, now lounged on the couch as though he were there to entertain her.   “Hot,” was all Link said, trying to get his equipment back on as fast as he could so he could excuse himself from the room.   Morsa giggled at him. “I wish I could’ve seen it. My father won’t let me go to the desert. He doesn’t trust the Gerudo.”   A flash of sadness passed through him as he realized that it was entirely possible no one knew about the massacre of the Gerudo. Zelda was probably aware – she kept good intelligence in even the worst of times – but he doubted the information would be shared with the rest of the castle just yet. And the inherit racism too many Hylians held towards the Gerudo would leave the tragedy without the respect it deserved.   “Trust me,” Link assured her. “You don’t want to see the desert.”   He bowed quickly, excusing himself before Morsa could demand an escort, and made his way to the map room. Dealing with the Duchess was more aggravating than he could imagine now with the war only two weeks away. And she was far too nosy; he would need to warn Zelda that the girl would inevitably try to find out why the south wing was blocked off to everyone but the three of them.   As he made his way through the winding corridors he knew so well, Link could finally sense what he assumed Sheik had felt all along – there was something there in the castle that wasn’t entirely Hylian. It shifted around, too foggy to pin down to one area. It made him uneasy as he crossed the silent and dark throne room to the door beyond it.   Zelda, Sheik, and Kalyh were already inside, eyes flickering to him as he shut the heavy door behind him.   “The Hero has awakened,” Zelda teased softly. But Link could see the terrible stress forming lines on her forehead. Her hair was pulled back and out of her face which was bare and tired-looking. He wondered if Zelda had slept at all. Even despite the rest he had gotten, Link felt slow and exhausted as he took his seat on her other side, across from Sheik and Kalyh. Stacks of parchment and maps and inventories were scattered around the table in a mess that stressed Link out just looking at it. “You look like you barely slept, Link.”   He waved her off, rubbing his face to wake himself up more, and taking the cup of coffee Zelda offered him. Link took the moment to study the paperwork that was in front of him – it was an entire registry on every garrison of the Royal army, updated just that morning.   This was his army.   Link pushed away the image of his premonition with a shake of his head.   “I assume they’ve gotten you up to speed on everything?” Link asked Zelda, moving the papers to the side; he’d deal with that much later.   Zelda nodded. “And we have reached some agreements about the Order’s life for the next two weeks. We will use the old enclosed arena so they can get out and train. We will have to be very careful about getting people to and from that location. I want a complete lock down on the Order’s presence here. If anyone finds out I will have to wipe their memory – I normally avoid such things but we can’t risk anymore leaks of information.”   “Of course.”   “We’re still discussing what involvement Kalyh should have in the war,” Zelda continued. “And we seem relatively divided on that subject.”   It wouldn’t take a genius to figure that Zelda and Sheik didn’t want her there and Kalyh was demanding to be involved. Link wondered how far Zelda would push her authority considering Kalyh would have to abide by the laws of Hyrule now that her people were given asylum at the castle.   “Your armies will leave the castle undefended,” Kalyh chimed in, her voice just barely controlled. “If I stay here it leaves Foursky the perfect opportunity to capture me.”   “Capture you?” Link couldn’t help but ask with a smirk. “I’d love to see him attempt that.”   Kalyh gave a snort of laughter but smiled darkly. “Unfortunately, up against that much Vaspra…it would not be much of a fight. It would be like one against an army.”   Of course, she was right. Right about all of it, in fact. Link voiced this and earned a frown from both Queen and Sheikah. But he knew they saw the logic, too. The castle would be vulnerable. They knew nothing about Foursky’s army so there would be no telling if he would send a small group to break its walls while they were away on the battlefield.   Neatly changing the subject, however, Zelda said, “Kalyh estimates his army to be at five thousand as of six months ago. We have to assume it has grown since then…but this is the only number we have to work with. As of now, we have seven thousand. I am considering enacting a draft so that number may increase.”   “Against Vaspra, though…it might as well be one thousand,” Link countered. “This could end up being a slaughter. Perhaps we shouldn’t send everyone out at once.”   Zelda nodded. “I have considered that as well. We will speak with the cabinet and decide.”   “There is also a chance that he may try and barter with us for the words,” Sheik spoke up. Link glanced over at his companion, suddenly realizing his unconscious avoidance. The moment they made eye contact, the Congruence pressed back into his mind and distracted him for a full second.   “Yes, but let me make this clear as day: we are not bartering our allies,” Zelda said in a hard voice. Kalyh blinked in surprise at this, clearly not expecting such protection from someone Link was sure she still considered somewhat an enemy. “In fact, I would prefer no barters even though bloodshed is not high on my list either. We need some sort of advantage.”   “Could always stop by the Nether again and pick up some more Vaspra,” Link suggested humorlessly.   Sheik threw Link an unamused look and said, “Speaking of the Nether…have there been any reports of Void Walkers about?”   Zelda shook her head, interest obviously piqued by the inquiry. “Nothing. I tried doing some research on them as well but there is no record of them ever being seen in Hyrule. I wonder if they are not able to cross over. What do you think?” she asked Link. “You are the only one who has had direct contact with one, other than Sheik.”   Link furrowed his brows thoughtfully. “The one I spoke with only said the Goddesses banished them to the Nether because the recycling process was so destructive that it didn’t belong in the living world. Perhaps the Void Walkers are banned from returning through a tear. The other creatures there were made that way by the Void Walkers so that is probably why we’re only seeing Vog and the like.”   Zelda seemed satisfied enough with this. “Well, aside from those things and the budget and training – which Link and I will go over later – we’re only left with one thing to discuss: how much Vaspra do we have and how much will it take to seal the Nether with Foursky and Evanna in it?”   A quiet fell over the table and Link frowned. Kalyh shifted uneasily next to Sheik and he wondered if Kalyh was going to forfeit her Vaspra.   He seriously doubted it.   “We have four pounds,” Zelda continued, glancing at a stray piece of parchment beneath her. “And six ounces.”   “Will that be enough?” Link pressed.   “Will it?” Zelda redirected the question to Kalyh whose face was hard and stressed. “You’re the only one at this table who has used it, Kalyh.”   “I’m not sure,” she muttered, staring at the table in concentration. “Using Hexa on a human life takes a handful of Vaspra, sometimes more if they are powerful magic users. I’ve used it with large area spells like explosions and remote capture. Those sorts of spells take hardly any at all. I could guess and say four pounds would be enough…but I’m honestly not sure. Either way, we have to find the hole first.”   “Wait, how do you know?” Link asked in surprise.   “Foursky knows everything there is to know about the Nether. I read it in one of his accounts of the place. The tear in the Nether is a physical hole. It is much different than the passage you and Ra went through – that one is held open by the magic of Death Mountain and acts as a one-way door. When someone returns, it opens a tear. When Foursky returned from the Nether he created a hole in Termina. He used Vaspra to collect the Nether creatures and shove them back in, sealing it. But he did not notate how much Vaspra it took,” she explained.   “So, someone returning from the Nether causes the tear…We have to find the hole,” Link surmised. “How do we do that? Follow the sounds of Bloodbacks and Vog?”   “That is not the problem,” Zelda assured him. “We know where the hole is.”   “Where?” they all seemed to ask in unison.   “Lon Lon Ranch.”   Before Link could go storming off to Lon Lon Ranch, Zelda assured him that the entire living population of the farm had been safely relocated to Kakariko. The Ranch was completely blocked off by barricades, and a terrible and powerful aura surrounding it kept any curious thrill-seeker from getting near it. The Nether monsters also were a great deterrent. Despite the armed perimeter Zelda had set up around it, some monsters still managed to make it through.   The meeting ended there; the new Captain of the first garrison pulled Zelda away for a discrepancy in the armory. And there really hadn’t been much left to say. They knew where the hole was, they wouldn’t know exactly how much Vaspra they needed, and it was still a bit undecided if Kalyh would be joining them on the battlefield. Link was sure he would be called again for another meeting to discuss the budget and training for their troops, which he wasn’t excited about.   Goddesses, he had to get seven thousand men ready for war. And he knew they would enact a draft to all villages and towns of Hyrule. The more men they could get, the better.   They scattered after that. Link headed for the active training grounds to observe the first garrison; he and Zelda hadn’t had a chance to discuss what their statements to any of the men would be but at least going out there would make him feel a little less overwhelmed by the impending battle.   And, somehow, that was where he lost himself for the rest of the day, doing something he hadn’t gotten to do since he was inducted as High Royal Guardsman: train his men.   In spar after spar, he found a mindless rhythm that calmed him. Form after form, he stopped thinking about all the horrors that cluttered his head and only focused on the clang of iron. The men of the first garrison were understandably the best, most seasoned of fighters. Many of them had long-served the Royal Family since the King’s rule and they kept him on his toes.   And then he visited the next few garrisons, wandering from training ground to training ground, allowing himself to be pulled into whatever the Captains were working on with little fight.   Link could pretend he was just the General, checking in on his troops and assessing their skill. And the faces of the soldiers weren’t a blur to him like he thought they would be. With each one, he memorized the story attached. He took account of their jokes and their laughs, the power of their swings and the twist of each muscle. He learned which ones had children and which ones had just left home.   Some had graying beards and gave him uncertain looks – there were many older Hylians that had mixed feelings on the Hero of Time being their General at only age twenty. Others were just as young as – if not younger than – Link and looked at him with a high respect he didn’t know what to do with. It was a strangely mixed response but the challenge of gaining respect with all of them was enough to keep him occupied for the next seven days, in fact.   In between drills with the garrisons and long, stuffy meetings with Zelda and her cabinet, Link was practically running to spar with the men. Four days after their return to the castle, Zelda finally made the public statement of possible war to the people. She finally revealed what had happened to the Gerudo and announced a memorial to be held for them at the banquet before the march to war.   In a graceful way Link would never understand, Zelda had managed to word everything delicately enough to keep most civilians calm.   The garrisons, however, were given the brunt of the inevitability of a battle with skilled magic users and the potential that they may be possessed by a spell. The men all took it with hard, confident faces, clearly standing by the oaths they took the day they became soldiers:   Do not desert the Crown no matter the danger. Pride swelled in Link’s chest when many of them said something along the lines of, “I’d love to see that tyrant try!” when he stressed the part about Hexam.   Link’s time with the troops kept him on a constant rotation of sleep, breakfast, training, lunch, training, dinner, sleep, and then repeat. He saw Zelda, Sheik, and Kalyh in the morning, but after that they separated.   Sheik would go with Kalyh to the enclosed arena almost a mile from the castle and pointedly out of the way, assisting with their own sort of training. According to Sheik, while the Order was incredibly skilled in subterfuge, they knew nothing of open warfare and needed as much training as the Royal armies did. Link saw Zelda in their meetings but other than that his attention was mostly focused on his duties as General.   Even in his exhausted state at the end of every day, it was hard to sleep; sleep only yielded more images he couldn’t bear. As much as Link wanted to barricade himself in the library and sleep, he tried to find rest in his bare room. Because running to the library made him feel like a child. Link knew that was where Sheik was and, in the past week, any contact he had had with the Sheikah clouded his mind.   The tension between them was nearly tangible and enough to catch the attention of Zelda on the eighth morning after Sheik had left with Kalyh for the day.   “So, what is going on with you and Sheik?” she asked, halfway between the parchment to her right and throwing Link a glance to her left. Her eyes were crystal clear and keen, making Link want to shift uncomfortably; it was very hard to lie to her even on his best days.   Link shook his head, knowing he was about to lie miserably. “Nothing. Why?”   “Well,” Zelda told him with a knowing sound to her voice as she pushed away the document and gave him her full attention, “it’s odd you say that. Especially considering the very noticeable connection you both acquired since arriving from Vrika, not to mention the fact that both of your auras now look identical.”   Lying to Zelda was impossible. Especially when one considered she could see their auras were the same, a side-effect of Congruence he hadn’t even been aware of – and it didn’t even surprise him at this point. There was no way Link could explain that away and he wasn’t even sure why he wanted to.   Congruence felt so personal. Link didn’t know if he wanted anyone to know about it.   “It’s complicated,” was the answer he decided on, knowing it was complete horse shit and Zelda would inform him of that.   “Which is the fodder you would throw anyone else asking the question. But I am not anyone else and, as your superior, I am asking you a direct question,” Zelda recited carefully, her authoritative Queen-voice making Link want to let out a groan. More and more she was using this card on him to wheedle out information. Why did he even try?   Begrudgingly, he explained most of what had happened and then, finally, what he had learned about Congruence. Zelda seemed at least familiar with the subject…but clearly unfamiliar with the death clause. Her eyes went wide, eyebrows shooting up, and the quill she had been spinning between her fingers went still.   “That can’t be right,” she whispered.   “I wish it wasn’t,” Link sighed, having already accepted what Zelda was now struggling to believe.   “Can you please bring me this book? Now?” Zelda said, a tension to her voice Link didn’t like.   Uh oh.   “Um,” he muttered, “I sort of threw it out the window in Vrika.”   She gave him a disbelieving look and pressed her palm to her forehead. “Link. You’re ridiculous. Have I ever told you how ridiculous you are?”   “Many times,” Link replied.   “We need to make sure there’s nothing else about Congruence in there. You need to go back through the Portal and get it,” Zelda insisted with a frown. “There’s nothing about Congruence in the prophecy and if the premonition really comes to pass…”   “I know,” Link groaned. “I didn’t think about that dumb book. But I read the whole chapter…I didn’t see anything else about it.”   “But if it was a book about magical bonds, it may have some advice on how to sever them or…I don’t know, Link. But we can’t risk not knowing.”   The moment she mentioned severing it, everything in his body jolted. Sever the Congruence? The chapter clearly stated that wasn’t an option. And why in the name of the Goddesses would he want to? Congruence was like a drug to him. It was a connection with Sheik he wouldn’t want let go of, even if prophecy depended on it.   But Link knew she was right. He had been so foolish to throw the book like that. With everything that had been going on it had never crossed his mind to go back and get it before they returned to Hyrule. Luckily he wouldn’t have to cross entire desert to get it…but he would have to return to Vrika and face the possibility of Nether creatures attacking him.   Link agreed to go back, departing for Kakariko before noon.   “You’ll take Sheik of course,” Zelda commented.   Link had been deciding on that since their conversation and his decision was motivated by fear more than he had expected.   He didn’t want Sheik to leave the castle, to travel back to Vrika, to be anywhere near danger. Because darkness was closing in fast and every day Link felt more and more fearful of losing him. The thought of Sheik leaving the protection of the castle twisted his stomach painfully, gave him an anxiety he didn’t know how to quell.   “Actually…no,” Link replied, feeling out of place even saying it.   She gave him a befuddled look. “You and Sheik rarely go anywhere without each other. What’s going on?”   Link shook his head dismissively and opted for a half-truth. “Nothing, Zelda. It’s just better logistically. He needs to stay with Kalyh and help her train the Order. We’re sidetracked enough because of my idiocy. It will just be a quick two-day trip. It’s not like I’m crossing the desert again.”   “You know he will follow you,” she reasoned.   “That’s why you’re not going to tell him. Cover for me,” Link insisted.   Zelda gave a very tired groan. “Link, trying to keep something from Sheik is like trying to hold water in my hands for a day. He will find out and he will get angry, not just with you, but with me as well.”   Link gave her an incredulous look. “You’re the Queen of Hyrule, Zelda. And you’re worried about the wrath of your bodyguard?”   She held up a finger. “The wrath of a super-powered Sheikah, actually.”   Link rubbed at his face, his lack of sleep ebbing at his patience. “Just try your best. Can you do that for me? I’ll do what I can to be back before he even knows I left.”   Her blue eyes gave him a long, exasperated glare. They sat in the silence of her dining hall for a long minute, then she sighed and nodded. “I am not covering you when he asks why I kept it from him. I am going to tell him that you begged me. That is all on you, Link.”   Link waved an impatient hand as he got up from the table. “Yeah, yeah, I know. By that point I’ll probably already be in Vrika. Just don’t let him come after me.”   Zelda gave a bark of laughter. “Like I’ve ever been able to stop either of you from leaving.”   But there was nothing else for it. Link just had to trust that Sheik would be too preoccupied with training the Order with Kalyh to notice Link’s absence. And it wasn’t like they had crossed paths much in the past week anyway. They saw each other at dinner and breakfast but during the day they were in completely different places. And, unconsciously, Link had almost found himself avoiding Sheik.   The Congruence clouded his head. It made him want to say and do things he didn’t know if he was ready for. They had an army to raise and both of them couldn’t just leave the castle now with everything spiraling towards war.   Link remembered all too well what had happened in the beginning when they both left the castle sans Guardsman and Bodyguard like morons. It had been a risk going to the desert and a miracle they returned to find everything still intact.   He wouldn’t risk that again.   Link shook his head to clear his thoughts and excused himself to pack his gear for the next two days. Everyone in the castle had become an even more annoying flurry of activity as even the maids began to help with the preparation of war. They sat in a line in the armory, quickly polishing swords and shields, checking for imperfections to note to the blacksmiths.   A sense of urgency tied his stomach in knots; Link was leaving on the eve of war. No matter what he assured himself of, he couldn’t shake his anxiety. What if something happened while he was gone? What if something happened to Sheik and he wasn’t there to help?   But they needed that book. They needed to fully understand Congruence. They needed to add this variable into their growing equation for war.   Epona had long since returned to the stables, knowing well to abandon her wait in the fields with Kronos. The appearance of Nether creatures had probably scared them back as well. She nickered irritably at him as he knotted her cinch in a motion quicker than he meant to. Kronos stomped in the stall next to her and Link kept expecting to see Sheik any moment, ready to saddle up and accompany him.   It was the first time in nearly three years Link was leaving the castle without Sheik.   He left at noon, Zelda stopping by between meetings to kiss him on the cheek and give him a tight hug.   “Don’t be stupid, okay?” she asked in a soft voice.   “Oh, Zelda, I’m never stupid.”   Her elbow met his side and he couldn’t help but smile. Well, at least this wasn’t any different. Zelda always had her habit of teasing him before he left for any journey. It was a comfortable goodbye they had built over the years to dispel the worry and he felt a little less sick because of it.   He left the castle walls, then Castle Town Market, and then started his trek east towards Death Mountain.   ***  

The taxi rutted and rattled its way through the night-glow of a vibrantly edgy London, the city alive and tasting of barbed wire and anticipation. The cabbie showed not the slightest interest in his strange passengers, each studiously avoiding so much as a glance in the other's direction. John kept his eyes fixed on the window - even though in this light, he could hardly be able to see what lay beyond the glass - whereas Sherlock had whipped out his phone and was tapping away at the screen, head bent, attention focussed and narrow..  This is not going to plan, thought Sherlock. John is meant to be flustered by now. Adorably, predictably, nervously flustered. But he isn't! What does that mean? He hummed to himself as he pondered this inconsistency. Need more data! He spared a glance at his flatmate on the opposite side of the cab. It was dark, the other man was barely visible, but as they passed each streetlamp, the glitter on his left cheek would catch the light in a binary, on-off kind of rhythm. It was almost hypnotic in its regularity. That glitter... "John?" His voice was curious, his gaze narrow and cat-like, inquisitive.  "Yes Sherlock?" "Is that.. is that - glitter on your face? Some kind of highlighter? "Oh - it's not just on my face. Actually it's a body rub," John said, with a slight, shy smile. His left hand stroked lazy circles on his pectorals, dipping lower towards the waistband of his trousers, at once seductive and suggestive. Sherlock's mind skipped like an old LP as the needle jumped. Oh God, he thought, as his heart frantically picked up the pace. Where else has he rubbed it? "You put a glitter-rub on your body? Where?" Sherlock's voice seemed sharp, almost strident, and he wished fervently that John would stop stroking himself like that.  John smiled, a predatory smile. "Everywhere!" Sherlock barely avoided stuttering as he answered, "But - why on earth put it places people won't see? That's.. that's hardly sanitary!"  "Oh," John teased, "why, you never know when your t-shirt might ride up, show a bit of skin," he said sultrily, toying with the hem of the garment in a most alarming fashion! "And it is a gay club. Who knows, I may be forced to take off my top.. just to, well, blend in after all." Sherlock privately thought he must be hallucinating again. John didn't, he wasn't - was he? No, he wasn't - flirting was he? Nooooooo. Pull yourself together William Sherlock Scott Holmes!  Silence spread through the taxi for a couple of seconds, as Sherlock digested the beautiful idea of John Watson dancing bare-chested and shining with glitter before he resolutely shook the image from his addled brain. Masking his confusion, his damned arousal, he made his face do that impassive thing he perfected long ago and asked the question that was burning brightest in the forefront of his mind. "But, John, why do you have a tub of, ah, glitter-body-rub in your room? It's not something you would have need of and just happen to have lying about the place, surely?" "Oh," John answered nonchalantly, in his everyday matter-of-fact voice. "That's easy. One of my exes left it behind one time, and since things, ahh, ended before I could return it, I just kept it. Rather liked the taste of it, truth be told. Shame to bin it, really." "Taste?" Sherlock gulped.   "Yes, tastes like honey. Really nice honey, actually." For one long, horrible moment, Sherlock forgot to breathe. Honey! Tastes. Like. Honey. Oh for the love of God! Of all things.. Honey?  He shuddered with the sudden rush of heat and all but moaned out loud. Oh, I love honey!   He had the maddening sensation that he was losing control of his conscious thoughts. He didn't mean to. He didn't! But he simply could not prevent himself from imagining exactly where else the rub might have been - well - rubbed, by John's own compact fingers! Oh, he longed to taste it! Sherlock's mind diverted precious processing power to the thought of John's golden skin smelling and tasting like honey. His previously inactive imagination roared into life and unhelpfully threw a moving image onto his internal projection screen. He could actually see it, see his lips exploring the delicious planes of John's honey-scented skin, see himself drizzling golden honey - real honey, from his precious store of home-sealed jars that John was forbidden to so touch - right into John's navel, a slick and glutinous trail running like liquid fire from his hand to John. The image was so real, so sensuous, he imagined the sounds John would make at the long slow slide of it on his skin, pooling there and overflowing, running down and down towards the forbidden nirvana of his groin, and Sherlock's tongue following, lapping, sucking - oh he had to stop this, now! *** John watched as Sherlock frowned and seemed to get lost somewhere on another plane. He knew that his consulting idiot often got 'stuck' on a thought and found it hard to jump track again. John could see he was getting obsessed with the idea of the glitter-rub (which was in fact John's, and not left-over from one of his affairs. Honestly, John thought, when did I ever bring girls back to Baker Street, I know better than that!) Still, he had to move this along, he could tell that Sherlock was getting caught up in this little detail like he does sometimes, and that he wouldn't leave it alone, he would pick and pick at it, until he had ferreted out the truth. It's too soon for it all to spill out now, before we even get to the club. Best deflect, then.  "So," John said, "where did you get the khol? Oh - I know, you probably have it as one of your disguise-props. For cases I mean." "No. Not a prop!" Sherlock almost-shouted, sounding more than a touch defensive to John's ears. Of course, the doctor was practised enough, after long years, to pick out the different flavours of 5-year-old that sometimes appeared when Sherlock was in a strop. "I go to nightclubs. I dance. On occasion!" came the unmistakably indignant, even haughty, tones of a consulting detective who was so obviously hiding a particularly vulnerable spot.  "No you don't!" retorted John, knowing full well that this was the best way to make his flatmate forget all about the glitter - for now! "Yes I do! Well. I mean I could. If I wanted to! Obviously, John!"   Objective achieved, the doctor knew better than to reply. Sherlock's resulting huff lasted the remainder of the way to the club. John was thankful for small mercies and kept his gaze on the window, where he could study the gorgeous profile of his beloved in reflection, while the object of his attentions remained unaware, lost in internal monologues and a sense-memory of honey on his tongue. 

Dean didn’t know how long they’d been resting, only that his entire body ached pleasantly once they parted. He rode on a high for an hour; it could only last so long though, and when he crashed he burned. The fight was big, both screaming at the other, teetering on the edge of violence but neither making a move beyond shouts of anger. Dean had started it by taking his frustrations out on Castiel again, making backhanded comments that made the angel bristle. The angel knew he’d need to try something new; thus, when Sam returned it was to a mostly-quiet bunker and a silent Castiel, watching television from the couch. Sam looked around the room. “Where’s Dean?” The angel glanced up at him. “He’s in his room.” Sam waited, but Cas didn’t continue. “That’s weird. I thought he’d be out here with you.” Cas smirked. “He would be, but he’s in - ah - time out.” “What?” Sam blurted out. He looked from Castiel’s face to the door of Dean’s room, eyes wide. Castiel shrugged. “He’s acting like a child, so he’s receiving a child’s punishment. He’s in time out. My other methods of reasoning with him weren't what you could call successful. I think it's cabin fever or adolescent hormones; possibly some mix of the two." Cas sighed, leaning back into the couch. "We argued, and it wasn't pleasant. I vastly prefer him post-coitus.” "P-post-coitus?" Sam stuttered, choking on the words. Dean. Plus Castiel. Plus coitus. No, actually, this wasn't an equation that Sam wanted the answer to right now. He startled for one second at the knocking coming from Dean’s bedroom door. Cas shifted, sitting up in his seat to regard the door with amusement. "An hour; far longer than I expected. Especially seeing as I removed all of the electronics from the room. Not much of a punishment if he enjoys it." A secretive smirk crossed his face as he remembered Dean's earlier spanking. Sam blanched slightly at the sly look on the angel's face. "Dude, I don't want to know." He was interrupted by Dean's bedroom door opening; his brother stuck his teenaged head out and managed to look appropriately chastised. He batted his eyelashes at Castiel. "Can I come out now?" Cas nodded in answer, a small smile quirking his lips; Sam was surprised to see Dean beeline directly for the angel, curling up in his lap. The look Cas shot the hunter suggested that perhaps his time would be better spent elsewhere, in search of a counter-spell. "I'll be down in the library; found some books last run-through that might have some answers," Sam said, backing out of the room slowly. “Holler if you need me?” Sam couldn't make out Dean's muttered answer, as it was spoken into the angel's chest; Cas just nodded, his attention entirely on the teen in his lap and his smile fond. Later, when Sam checked in on them again, their positions had changed only slightly; Castiel's legs had come up to rest on the couch and curled around Dean's body while he held the teen. Apparently, the angel had decided that Dean wasn't at risk for another temper tantrum, as at some point he'd switched the channel over. By now, Sam knew the intro music for Dr. Sexy, MD by heart. The two of them made an unusually adorable image, and Sam had to remind himself not to smirk at them as he spoke. "There’s a few things I’ve gotta check out in town, but I’ll be back before dinner, alright?" "Sure thing," Dean said, raising his head up in acknowledgement of his brother. He waved goodbye as Sam left; mentally, he was already preparing dinner. Moving to sit up, he made it about halfway before Castiel stopped him, pulling him closer to his own body. Sam was safely gone now, so Dean reached down and took one of Cas' hands, kissing the knuckles. "You know, sometimes I miss having your mark on my arm." Castiel's return smile had just a hint of predatory possessiveness to it. He wrapped his right arm around his charge, gripping his shoulder tight and coming close to lick at Dean's neck. "You miss having my mark?" The hunter grabbed Cas' arm, eyes closing; he felt dangerously breathless as the angel licked at the pulse point beneath his ear, and only just managed to get out, "I could always get a tattoo." Castiel, mouth still pressed to the skin of Dean's neck, made a low sound of agreement. He dragged his thumb along Dean's upper arm, murmuring, "That could be nice. We could pay a visit to a tattoo parlor when you're physically closer to your age again." Nodding, Dean curled up closer to the angel, sighing in contentment as the angel began pressing kisses to his skin. "I like the idea," Castiel muttered, tracing kisses up and down his jugular. "Of my mark on you, willingly taken." Dean squirmed slightly as Cas began nibbling at his ear, before he pulled back. "I gotta get started on dinner." "There's time," Cas pointed out, pressing a kiss to the juncture of Dean's shoulder and neck; the hunter's skin broke out in goosebumps even as he struggled to escape. In a maneuver that Dean impressed even himself with, he twisted out of the angel's grip, coming to stand before him with his hands on his hips. "The burgers gotta thaw and I'm gonna surprise Sammy with a salad. You just - wait here, alright?" Cas looked disappointed, and hoping to soothe his angel, Dean leaned in. He pressed his lips to Castiel's, dodging another attempt to pull him back into his lap. "After dinner. And can we maybe try not mentally scarring Sam? The kid's gonna have a therapy bill that'd make Paul McCartney shit a brick." Cas frowned. "I don't understand. Humans have been intimate with each other since the dawn of time; how would our own intimacy scar your brother?" Dean rolled his eyes. "Just trust me on this, Sam doesn't want to see me naked." He leered at Cas. "Or know that your cock is bigger than his." The angel arched an eyebrow, choosing (for the moment) not to comment on the size of his vessel's penis. Accepting that Dean would not be cuddling with him any longer, he leaned back into the couch. "I'll be here if you need my assistance." Dean nodded; he gave Cas his trademarked shit-eating grin before disappearing into the kitchen. Castiel was an angel, billions of years old, and yet the minutes while Dean was in the kitchen passed slowly. He found himself growing restless the longer he wasn't in contact with the other man; it was one thing when he'd placed the teenager in time out, but quite another when he was within reach and not being punished. He stood, abandoning the television to play yet another, "Toddlers & Tiaras," rerun. When he arrived in the kitchen, it was to find that the meat was already thawing in the sink, and the salad was ready and covered in a bowl. At the center of the kitchen stood Dean, looking down at the apple pie the two of them had baked earlier. The teen's tongue darted out, sending a brief shiver of want down the angel's spine, licking a path across his plush lips. Castiel caught himself, instead focusing on the fact that Dean was currently working at cutting a slice of the pie: the very pie that had been taken from him as punishment. Striding toward the teen, Cas caught him right as he was raising a forkful of pie to his lips, wrapping an arm around his charge's waist. "Is this or isn't this the pie that I told you not to eat?" Dean tensed, lips wrapped around the tines of the fork; his eyes went wide as he stared straight ahead. Cas couldn't see the hunter's face clearly, but he could tell exactly what he was thinking. The teen swallowed hard and set the fork down, twisting in Castiel's hold. "That was this morning. I - I thought I could have some now." "I told you that you couldn't have any today. Not even for dessert." Castiel paused, considering. "Plus, you'll spoil your dinner." "But it's pie!" Dean said, like that somehow forgave his transgression. Castiel raised an eyebrow, a wicked smile coming over his face. With no warning, he slapped Dean's still-tender ass, drawing the smallest of noises from the teenager. Dean jumped, gripping the counter so hard Castiel thought he might have left small, half-moon impressions where his fingernails were. Pain stirred as the teen tried hard not to whimper again; he didn’t want Cas to stop because he thought it was too much. He gasped lightly, trying to get his breathing under control. "Sorry. I can put it away if you want." He chewed on his bottom lip before glancing over his shoulder: the angel was paying attention to Dean's jean-clad ass rather than his face. Castiel reached around to the teen's front, undoing the button and zipper before sliding the pants down. Taking his time, Castiel lowered himself behind Dean, hands roaming over the youths’ form as he placed gentle kisses along the hunters’ body. Eventually he found himself squatting behind Dean, taking in the view of his freckled ass cheeks with a fond smile. Moving his attention upwards for a moment, the angel pressed his lips to the base of Dean's spine; the kiss made the hunter shiver, his skin breaking out in goosebumps. "I suppose you could have some pie," Castiel said, his breath ghosting over Dean's ass. "It's only fair, as I'll be having dessert before dinner, too." Unceremoniously, Cas pushed the panties down and out of the way before making his way to Dean's much-abused hole, licking and kissing as he spread the teen's asscheeks for greater access. The teen clung to the counter, helplessly shivering; the urge to protest was there, but how could he even consider functioning? Castiel's tongue, licking carefully along the rim of his hole, robbed him of any semblance of coherent speech. He could feel Cas' tongue, sliding inside of him centimeter by centimeter; could feel the angel's thumbs on either side of his entrance, holding the teen open for his own perusal. And Dean knew, instinctively, that he still tasted and smelled like sex, and Cas was drinking it up. A shift in the other man’s balance was the only warning Dean had before there was suddenly six foot of sex-haired angel draped over him, pressing their lips together; he could taste himself on Cas' tongue and it pulled a groan out of him. The teen opened his mouth wider, dragging his tongue along Castiel's and breathing in deep through his nose, taking in every taste, every smell that made up his angel. Cas slid his hand down Dean's ass, slipping two fingers into his hole. Dean gasped, breaking the kiss and breathing hard, panting short, hot breaths against the angel's collarbone. The next noise the hunter let out was broken and high-pitched; Castiel smirked in response, sucking lightly on the teens’ bottom lip. His free hand moved toward the table, taking a small bit of the pie and dragging it along his lips; the angel watched hungrily as Dean moaned in response. "Taste it," he urged. Dean had little say in the matter; once his mouth opened, the pie filling pushed past his lips, forcing him to suck on Castiel's fingers through every moan and whine. Cas has been here before, knows all the spots to make Dean shudder; all the buttons to push to make him quake in place. The angel can play him like a fine-tuned instrument, and Dean's never been more thankful for it than right now. It has him thrusting his hips forward, rutting into the empty air, so close to coming except Cas - damn him - keeps dragging him back from the edge. And there - that bastard is cheating, an invisible ring of angel mojo forming around the base of his cock, pressing in and holding off his orgasm. "Cas," Dean sobbed, as the angel pulled his fingers from the teen's mouth. He pressed back with his hips, fucking himself down on Castiel's fingers while his own gripped the counter hard. Cas shoved the pie to the side, out of the way, leaning over to kiss one clothed shoulder; he wished he could taste the freckled skin beneath the shirt, but he knew he'd get there soon enough. "Keep still, Dean. Have you ever known me to leave a job unfinished?" Cas moved back behind him, pulling his cock out as he went; within seconds the blunt head was nudging against his hole, magic easing the way and slicking Dean up as Cas slid his length inside. The angel pushed, leaving Dean bent over the hard surface in front of him and feeling like his skin was too tight, like he was too full; food, kitchen implements, and cleaning supplies went scattering out of the way as Cas began to move, dragging Dean's form with him. He moaned, breathless words of praise falling from his lips, all aimed at the angel behind him. "Cas, oh fuck, Cas, yes!" Castiel was pleased; he leaned forward, kissing along Dean's shoulder and neck, where he sucked another mark onto the hunter's skin. He gripped Dean's hips tight, his own hips thrusting at a pace that left the young hunter breathless; on a whim, the angel bit down on the skin in front of him (gently for him; probably a touch too hard for the human in his charge). He prodded the now-bruised skin with his tongue, tasting as much of the teen as he could without drawing blood. He relished every taste, sound, touch; this was theirs, just between the two of them, and no one could steal it away. He'd just had that thought when he heard the bunker door open; it wasn't loud, and Dean was still lost in pleasure, his head thrown back against Castiel's shoulder. The angel paused slightly, torn between saving Sam the display or focusing on Dean. Dean won out - Dean always won out - and he continued thrusting, one hand reaching out to stroke at the hunter’s cock enthusiastically. He thumbed the head, experimentally, and relished the noise that the teen made in response. “Dean!” The sound Sam made was a mix of surprise and disgust; both Castiel and Dean stilled, turning to face him. His brother looked stricken; Cas, however, looked like the cat that got the canary. Sam made a face. He was stuck in that weird spot where he alternately wanted to cross his arms defensively and put his hands on his hips in anger. He settled with clenching his fists and blurting out, "In the kitchen? Seriously? We cook here, guys!" Cas pulled out, turning to face the younger Winchester while cocking an eyebrow. Oh god, cock. Sam averted his eyes. Don't think of the word cock. Or dick. Or anything even remotely phallic. He let his eyes settle on a bowl of salad. "We didn't make a mess," Cas said, a smirk beginning to bloom across his lips. "Neither of us has reached climax yet." “Cas!” Dean let out a pained groan; folding his arms on the counter, he buried his face in them theatrically. Sam reluctantly allowed his gaze to turn back to the angel, who was standing before him, dick out and, uh, extra happy. And then Sam sighed, because this was his life. "You know what? If you two can't be considerate enough to lock yourself in your room for this, I'm not gonna be considerate either. I'll be in the living room. When you two are done being assholes, we can talk about what I found interviewing the one contact." With that, the youngest Winchester threw his hands up, absolving himself of responsibility and turning to exit the kitchen - to get anywhere that wasn't the place his brother and an angel of the lord weren't fucking like rabbits. Dean groaned and looked over his shoulder, toward Cas. "Should we go to my room?" Castiel smiled, wicked and seductive, as he moved back in behind the hunter again. He leaned down, his breath ghosting against the shell of Dean's ear. "He left us the kitchen. It would be a shame to waste a gift like that." The angel chuckled as he lined himself up, pushing back into Dean slowly. "You ass," Dean mewled, arching his back. Cas rolled his hips and the hunter's toes curled. "I'm starting to think you just like freaking him out." Castiel made a considering grunt, in time with a thrust that made Dean moan and shudder. "It's a possibility," he admitted. "He'll have to get used to it in any case." The angel leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the side of Dean's jaw. "I doubt a return to your normal form will change the fact that I love you, nor that I want my hands on you as often as possible." This was murmured into Dean's ear, quietly, before the angel's lips drifted away to press a string of kisses down the hunter's jaw, neck, and shoulder. Dean bit his lip, moaning as he pushed back with his hips, meeting Cas' thrusts. He gasped as the angel reached down, taking his cock in hand and stroking it firmly. "I want you to come, Dean," Cas said, his voice low and hot against the hunter's ear. That, coupled with a few accurately-placed thrusts of Cas' cock, were enough to push Dean head-on into his orgasm, come splattering on his feet, the floor, and the cabinet as his back bowed and his mouth opened in a silent scream. He spasmed violently, muscles twitching, and he dragged Cas with him, pushing the angel off the edge; the knowledge that he was now full of the angel's come was enough to make Dean's entire body twitch one last time before he slumped over the counter, spent. They were still for several moments, Dean's come cooling on his feet, their hearts slowing down to something close to normal. The hunter tried to pull himself back together, his breath short, racing; it was a while before he was able to look over his shoulder at his angel and ask the question that was on his mind, that had been bugging him for days. "So, what you said," Dean said, face flushing. "When I'm, you know. Back to normal. You'll still be interested?" Cas stared at his charge, his expression guileless. "Dean, I went billions of years obeying Heaven's directives and I gave all of that up for you. I doubt that I'll ever be able to lose interest in you," he said, his voice honest and loving, with a note of finality at the end. Dean smiled, twisting in place to press a kiss to the corner of Castiel's mouth. "Good," he said.

The local headlines the next morning were incredibly infuriating. BIKE CRONY GETS SLASHED IN GANG’S OWN TURF The newspapers would kill their own editor if it meant for a good story, these days. Will audibly growled, the dogs on his floor raising their maws in confusion, tilting their heads to the side. Winston whimpered, near the fireplace. Will furiously crushed the paper into a ball in his hands, the sharp sound of the crumpling paper sending the dogs into a nervous skittish. It was only after Will had thrown the paper furiously into the trashcan, and flopped back down on his bed, that the dogs stopped their padding and woofing around the small room. Will sighed, and stretched. He had to get to work now, before the festering anxiety and anger of The Forensics spread over him, too. Already, he could feel the waves of anxiety rippling off of Jack every time he saw him, mixed with irritation, and a heartbreaking dab of loneliness. He missed his Trainee desperately. But there was nothing that anyone could do now that would bring her back. Quantico was located about 35 miles from Wolf Trap, about 50 minutes. The bar that Will met Jack in was about 30 minutes from his home, lying near the edge of The Forensics’ territory. He’d start a little bit northeast from there, closer to Baltimore, but not in either of the cities, or even in Wolf Trap. Will grabbed his leather jacket, sliding into his boots. It only took a few minutes to lace up, strap on his helmet, and pull out of the driveway on his slick sage bike.       Now that it was established that The Forensics were on the edge of their own territory, it meant that he could skirt around the idea of what the rest of their turf looked like. He rode towards Baltimore, heading a bit north instead of northeast. It was very possible, and likely, that the gang that killed Miriam was a bordering neighbor of The Forensics. Unfortunately, Gang turfs were not states, with wavering outskirts, odd sizes and shapes, and spots of no-man’s-land where three or more gangs would meet at a point. It was like cutting the corners off of a puzzle, and then fitting it together again. The end result was a messy, loosely-knitted society all over the United States, and The Forensics had several neighboring gangs that caught Will’s eye. Will pulled up to the curb of a club, spotted between Wolf Trap and Baltimore. The neon signs were all a fluorescent blue, flickering and buzzing. Removing his helmet, and glancing wearily around, Will stalked inside. The floors were polished black, giving a faded over reflection. The inside of the bar held the same fluorescent blue glow as the signs on the outside had, the same kinds of lights rimmed the edge of the room, black lights highlighting gorgeous tattoo designs on the far wall. There were a few men in leather jackets sitting at the bar, The Celtics spreading their backs. Will took a seat a few chairs away, grimacing on the idea of bringing up a rival club with these men. Will pushed some money over the bar, quietly mumbling, “Just a beer, whatever’s cold.” When his drink arrived, Will was still staring down at the black countertop. Taking the chilled drink between his leather-gripped fingers, he took the chance to steal a glance sideways at the men sitting just a few chairs away. An electric green gaze was staring back his way. Will jerked lightly, his drink coming down from his lips. The eyes in question belonged to a thin, lithe man, of pale skin and long, black hair. He had bags under his eyes, a beer between his fingers, and patches of green matched flashes of green here and there on his outfit; a man who enjoyed the open road, but came from the city, came from style. A few strands of inky black hair hung in his face, lightly wavy from the day’s events. “Hey there, Wolf,” the stranger mumbled, his voice airy and tired, as he lifted his forefinger and middle finger from the beer he was holding in greeting. It was a greeting commonly given to bikers on the road, both hands on the bar, lifting the left hand’s forefinger and middle finger lazily. It was a greeting of a simple, “What’s up?” and was mostly out of courtesy than anything. Will did the same, lifting his forefinger and middle finger from the beer in his left hand, turning slightly towards the group. The other two men at the bar were looked over now, their faces neutral, and, thankfully, unaggressive. “Hey,” was all that Will could manage out, taking a deep sip of alcohol to avoid having to say more in greeting to the strangers. “I ain’t never seen you ‘round here, before. What’cha doin’ here, Wolf?” the man beside the black-haired biker asked. Half of his head was shaved, tattoos covering the side of his skull where the hair was trimmed short. Brown hair was combed over on the other side, a shaggy punk appearance that might have been more popular when Nirvana was still playing. It wasn’t what Will would do with his appearance, but it wasn’t bad. “Checking out the local groups,” Will started. When his explanation was followed with silence by the others, he added quickly, “for a friend.” “Someone lookin’ to belong to a group?” the shaved man asked, continuing on the conversation while the other two men swigged from their drinks. “Nah,” Will shook his head lazily, looking down at the bartop instead of their eyes, “He’s one of The Forensics.” Everything was quiet, then. “Heard they just had a new member killed,” the inky, lithe man closest to Will mumbled, swigging again from his drink. There was an air of uncomfort. “They did.” “And why are you lookin’ around here, then?” It was the last man who spoke, this time, the third one down. He was a muscled man, his jacket was tight against him, and his brown hair ruffled from his helmet. He was wearing a bandanna around his neck. Will was starting to get nervous, “He just wanted me to see what the other groups had to say about it, mostly.” “More like, ‘He just wanted me to see what the other groups had to do with it’,” the last man grumbled in agitation, “The Forensics don’t even use their turf. Fuckin’ pussies.” “Hey,” the inky-haired man snapped, tired eyes flicking to the other, “chill it. If it was a threat, they’d send one of their own. Ain’t that right, Wolf?” Will gulped, his fingers itching. He had had about enough of talking, his eyes were firmly planted on the bartop now, fingers dancing the edge of his bottle, other hand fiddling against the barstool. The long-haired biker and the thick bandanna-boy were watching each other with warning in their eyes. Electric tension spiked the air. “Anyways,” the inky man spoke, his voice cool, and slick once more, “we ain’t got nothin’ to do with it. Celtics ain’t too big, and besides, we don’t wander into some other gang’s turf, especially if we’re thinkin’ of murder.” Will was suddenly reminded of how uneasy the whole situation was. “Try Heaven’s Wolves.” Will’s head snapped up, repeating the name, “Heaven’s Wolves?” “Yeah,” the middle man spoke again, his tattooed skull tipping back as he finished off his beer, “they don’t border with The Forensics, but that’s a perfect cover-up. They’re north.” The inky man nodded at his tattooed friend, tapping his hand against the counter, “If they didn’t do it, they may know the gang who did.” Will listened carefully, nodding as the more specific directions to the Heaven’s Wolves bar were relayed to him.       It was long into the night when Will pulled up to the grungy, dusty bar. He thought that the Celtics had been in a shifty place, this was even moreso. The windows were smudged, the lights flickering, and Will felt uneasy as he stepped off of his bike, holding his helmet beneath his arm. He wasn’t surprised that Heaven’s Wolves would know if someone killed Miriam. Giving a light gulp, he steeled himself, and pushed the door open. Will practically had to force himself to sit in the bar. The room was dimly lit, smelled of cigarette smoke, and had grungy posters hanging on the walls. “Lone Wolf.” Will grimaced as he heard his patch being called, forcing himself to turn his head at the incredibly soft voice. A woman stood before him, clad in leather, boots rising up to her knee. President was patched across the left side of her jacket, and Will felt himself almost groan. He had been hoping for a simple member, or, better yet, a new member, to get his information from. The woman before him had hypnotic, pale grey eyes, and her hair was dyed a bright red, brushed back into a spiky, messy ponytail. She looked sharp, sharper than the men he had encountered at the bar before this. “Whatcha’ doin’ in the Heaven’s Wolves bar?” Her tone was cold, and her body language was colder. Some of the other Heaven’s Wolves members turned their heads from around the bar, staring at their President. Will could practically feel his skin burning in the embarrassment and worry. Slowly, the girl sunk down into the barstool next to him, while a few other Heaven’s Wolves got up and stood not too far behind. Will could practically see the predatory nature of her sharp gaze. “Looking around,” Will paused, adjusting his eyes to the rows of alcohol behind the counter, “for a friend.” “A friend, huh?” She even sounded like she came from the northeast, her accent was steely and sharp, she may have grown up in New York, “Whatcha’ lookin’ around for?” “For anyone who knows anything about The Forensics member that was killed.” The immediate area around them went silent. Will only stared forward, willing his face to not give away his sputtering heart. He was vaguely aware of a few of Heaven’s Wolves staring him down with daggers in their eyes. “And you ‘mmediately thought it’d be a Heaven’s Wolf to go slashin’ throats, huh?” Will didn’t need to look over, he knew the woman’s teeth were bared. These were the dark side of Gangs in the Northeast, the ones that took offence to every foot set in their turf. Will hadn’t even bought a drink yet, and already he was half aware of his own willingness to go. The amount of aggression that filled the room was suffocating. Will was sputtering for an answer now, stumbling over his own words, “No-No that’s not it. I was told, by some bikers- Fuck.” A sharp laugh echoed from somewhere behind him, “It wasn’t none of those slimy Chesapeake Rippers, was it?” Will’s heart stilled. The name was so very familiar, when spoken out loud. He turned his head, eyeing the man behind him that the voice had come from, “The who?” “Chesapeake Rippers,” the President finished for him, her voice low with a growl, “fuckin’ nasty fuckers. What’s worse is that they’re Goddamn everywhere, they’re practically rats.” Will turned his gaze back to the woman. He wasn’t aware of his own pounding pulse, now. “Where can I find them?”       Will looked up with unease. This was it, this was the place. It was late, now, nearing midnight, and Will was tired. His journey had began as the sun had started to go down. Now, it might even be too late to get what little information he thought he could, from this place. For all he knew, the Rippers had gone home. Somehow, he doubted it. The biking scene always enjoyed the night thoroughly, and, in a city like Baltimore, where the history ran deep and the alcohol deeper, it was common for bars to stay open until 8 AM, and then re-open no later than 4 PM. Somehow, Will thought that this might be one of those places. Still, Will didn’t expect to find much. It was Midnight, he was about an hour and a half from home, and sleep tugged on his eyelids. He slid from his bike, pondering the thought of a hotel room, and slid into the bar. This bar was much classier than the last few he had been to, including his own. The concrete floors were uncracked, and polished. The walls were white, and on the far wall there was the intricate black painting of a snake, painted directly to the wall itself, twisting and curving from ceiling to floor. There were wooden countertops, and the overall warmth of wood filled the room, the color of amber echoed around the bar from the lights set behind and under the counter. Overall, the place felt light, with a city-modern touch; where a place looked and felt clean, but due to its location had to throw back on costs a little bit. It was charming. But, it was empty, save for the rustling of bottles somewhere in the back. Will groaned, dragging his feet to the middle of the bar, taking a rough seat. He set his helmet up on the polished wood, staring at the bottle of liquor that he had the option to order. A heavy drink sounded good, but if he was going to make it to a hotel, or home, even, he’d have to keep his drinking light. The swinging doors from the back swung on their hinges, and a young man strode from the back, carrying a box of stacked alcohol and supplies. Upon seeing Will, he hurriedly sat the box down, shuffling to the counter, “My sincere apologies! I didn’t hear you come in, if I had I would have come out immediately.” Will nodded a tired nod, fiddling with his wallet, “I just need a drink. A beer,” he slid the approximate amount upon the counter, waiting for change as the bartender shuffled down a few seats, reaching under his counter, presumably where he had fridges lined up with chilled alcohol. Will didn’t hear the door swing gently open behind him, but he did hear it close. It was another patron, or an employee. It was too late for the Chesapeake Rippers to be out, he had missed his chance tonight. He didn’t raise his head when a customer sat down a few seats down from him, leaving exactly one barstool between them. “Ah, don’t bother,” came the sound of an unfamiliar voice, as the bartender reached for Will’s money, “take this.” Will raised his head at the sound of it, the smooth, foreign accent flooding over his ears. Blinking, he glanced up and to the side with tired eyes, looking the stranger up and down. Leather clung to his body, snug, but not too tight. A helmet, nearly matching his own, sat upon the countertop, the dark visor brought down. Slim hands were wrapped in neat leather, the stitching almost invisible on the seams, and in those slim hands was a classy wallet, holding an impressive amount of bills. The stranger was sliding a few of the bills out, before pushing them lightly against the wood countertop, “For his, and I would appreciate a Grand Mariner Cointreau.” Will wasn’t surprised. Though the alcohol wasn’t the most expensive in the world, it was nicer than a simple beer, and more expensive than most drinks commonly found at almost every bar. The leather gloves folded the wallet neatly, before sliding it into a back pocket. From this angle, Will couldn’t see much of the back or front of his jacket, just his shoulder. Somehow, he found it in himself to chuckle, lightly, “Buying drinks for strange biker men?” Will grumbled out, nodding thanks to the bartender as his gloved hand gripped the neck of his bottle. “You looked as if you could use a nice drink without worrying about fiddling with change,” the strange man answered, there was a hint of a light tease on his tongue. Will closed his eyes and smirked, “Ah, I look that bad, don’t I?” A low hum of consideration echoed from beside him, “Not necessarily bad, just tired.” “Damn straight,” Will sighed softly, taking a long, low swig of his drink, “Thank you, by the way.” “Not a problem, anytime,” the stranger murmured back, and for some reason Will found himself compelled to take him seriously. Glancing over, Will mulled over the features of the man. European, for sure. Maybe that explained the money. Eyes of amber as deep as the best whiskey half closed as he sipped from his drink. Will blinked, almost wishing he could compliment the near stranger on his appearance. He was an incredibly handsome man. Will turned towards him, slowly putting down his beer, and reaching a hand over. It was nice to find some calm company, tonight. He was actually longing for it. In between the fear of the Motorcycle gangs he had encountered, and the anxiety that he felt on Jack whenever they spoke, this was a pleasant change, “Will Graham,” Will announced lightly, watching the other man’s reaction. The opposite man blinked, set down his drink, and slid a gloved hand into his own, “Hannibal Lecter. It’s a pleasure,” their hands lingered for an appropriate amount of time, before the men slid back to their drinks. Will glanced back over, leaning onto the bar with his elbows, to make sure he had seen and read the man’s jacket correctly. President lay patched on Hannibal's left chest.

“Bug spray?” He rifles through the tasteful purple and blue polka dotted suitcase, locating the can. “Check,” he says, but then he pauses. “Wait, why do we need bug spray? It’s only March.” Leslie stops folding her (really, it’s his) red and blue flannel. “Mosquitos are huge and dangerous, Ben. They are a force to be reckoned with.” He eyes her before shrugging, returning his attention to the four bottles of Extra Cola Sugar Delight at the bottom of the bag, buried beneath her clothes. Good lord, was she actually trying to hide them? “What’re these doing in here, honey?” “Quit going through my stuff, Wyatt,” she says, teetering on the edge of seriousness. Ben’s eyebrows rise. “Um, this is a joint suitcase, as in my stuff is in here too. Why are you smuggling soda to Donna’s cabin? Hold on, are you and Ann doing that thing again?” “Whatever do you mean, dear sir?” “Oh, you know what I mean. That thing where you hole yourselves up in a room and drink soda and eat chocolate til you puke and talk about your lives? You know, you could do that without the junk food overload,” he points out. Leslie rolls her eyes, and Ben takes the opportunity to lightly, gently shove his wife on top of their bed, squishing her closer to him and holding her to his chest. She doesn’t struggle; she just lies there contently, stroking his shirt. “I need this, babe.” “Did I do something wrong?” “What? No. You’re perfect, as usual. Ann’s trying to get pregnant, and I want her to know that we're still super tight, and she can talk to me about anything, especially since me and you hang out nonstop.” He nods, smiling a bit. “I get it, love. I know how important your female friends are to you.” “But we’re still boning in the hot tub, right?” “Of course.” ~ Donna’s third cabin is seriously off the chain, and Ben’s incredibly happy it’s in Pawnee and not Alaska or Washington or California. This trip was originally set up by Chris to be filled with teambuilding exercises to get the Parks Department back on their game (which they were never really off it in the first place, but it has been a bit of a struggle with Leslie working as a City Councilwoman), but everyone quickly shot down that idea. Now, they’re relaxing around a fire outside, enjoying this pre-spring night. Ben and his lovely wife are sharing a double camping chair, snuggled beneath a quilt that smells like cinnamon and home, her head on his shoulder as he entwines their fingers together. There’s gusts of freezing wind that rocks through them every few minutes, but the sky’s clear, and there are stars everywhere, and the freshness he breathes in makes him feel so lucky, so happy to be alive. “Time for ghost stories!” Andy shouts enthusiastically. “Me first! Okay, so, once upon a time, there was this girl... No, wait, a boy... And he had these fangs, you see,” he rambles, sticking his fingers beneath his own teeth to mimic said fangs. “They were big and sharp and pointy, and it made all of the other vampires jealous. They were all, like, ‘dude, how did your fangs get to be so huge?’ And the boy responded with, ‘Dude, all you gotta do is practice,' and then...” But, thankfully, Tom stops him from the madness. “Dawgs, it’s cold out here. Let’s go inside and get cozy.” Leslie shrugs from beside him. “I dunno. It’s really nice out tonight.” “Well, I’m freezing,” Ann says. She’s in a different chair beside Leslie, and Ben gulps. He doesn’t want to lose his wife right now. He wants to settle down and spread out in the chair, her nuzzled on his chest as they stare into the crisp wilderness together. Leslie works so hard most nights, and it leaves him feeling like he barely sees her, even though she’s usually right next to him, poking away on her laptop while pecking his skin every chance she gets. “I’m going in. Anyone else coming?” And she gestures right to Leslie. But Leslie snuggles against him even more. “I’ll be right up. I promise.” Ann grins briefly before heading off with everyone else. Andy carries April while Ron, Chris, and Jerry retrieve some of the folding chairs. Tom and Ann venture off together, chatting and then arguing a few seconds later, and Donna shakes her head from behind them, undoubtedly Tweeting the whole thing. It’s just Ben and Leslie out here beneath the stars. It’s wonderful. Leslie hooks her arm with his, and he kisses her hair. The fresh air does wonders for the staleness that accompanies heavily-affiliated office positions, and he’s so incredibly in love with this woman. It’s still hard for him to wrap his mind around the fact that they’re married, and he comes home to her and vice versa every single night; he wouldn’t have it any other way. “I love you,” he whispers. She cuddles harder. “I love you too.” ~ Leslie’s a little damp and sticky when she crawls into the magnificently luxurious bed (seriously, the mattress is delightful and has to be crazily expensive, so expensive Ben doesn’t even want to know the true cost). He breathes in sharply before settling back down against the fluffiest pillows in the universe. He fell asleep lamely around ten on Leslie’s lap while everyone was playing charades, drifting off between sounds of Andy yelling frantically and Ron proclaiming that this activity was horrifyingly dumb, but his wife had stayed entirely still, carding her fingers through his hair and leaning down to plant kisses on his forehead. “Hi, babydoll,” he mumbles, rolling over to face her. “How was girl time?” “It was ‘kay,” is all the response he gets. Leslie wraps her arms around him and smushes her cheek against his chest. But, for real, she is wet and sticky, and Ben gently gets up, clicking on the lamp to rummage through their suitcase. The bottles of cola are now gone, as well as the eighteen pack of Hershey’s bars and four bags of marshmallows he found before they left home. Her hair’s wild and crazy, and there are smudges of chocolate on her cheek and lips. She’s perfect. Too perfect. “Do you wanna take a bath?” he whispers, running his fingers through her hair. She shakes her head, and she’s almost to adorable to move, but he lifts her anyway. Something tells him that it wasn’t just soda and chocolate that Leslie and Ann consumed; it seemed more like copious amounts of alcohol. His wife murmurs and groans, but she doesn’t try to move from her current position. “No. Hot tub,” she says instead. “You wanna go to the hot tub for a bath? It’s 2:30 in the morning, honey.” “Not for that,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows. “I still owe you from earlier.” “Oh,” Ben says, eyes growing wide. “Yeah yeah yeah. Let’s do that instead.” ~ “Coffee?” he offers. “And I made you some waffles and bacon.” He sets the tray down on her lap, and Leslie only scowls instead of showing her appreciation. Ben chuckles and lies next to her, grabbing her left hand as she takes bites of the already cut up delicacy. She munches on her food without so much as a word, and that’s how he how confirms the suspicion of a hangover. That, and she tried to jump him approximately eight times while he slept (he immediately agreed seven out of the eight occasions, but it was already daylight out when he reluctantly told her that he needed some sleep; she had pouted and whined, but she soon followed). Everyone else has already left, seeing as it’s now past four in the afternoon, and Donna told him to just have Leslie return the key to the house tomorrow. Hopefully she’ll be up to moving by tomorrow. Soon, she’s finished eating, and he places the tray on the dresser. The instant he gets back in bed, his wife wiggles closer, and he covers her up with the exceptionally cozy comforter. “Get some more rest, love,” he whispers, kissing her softly.

Javert recoiled. His lips parted but he said nothing; a look of wariness, of suspicion, darkened his face. He took a halting step forward on his wounded feet and peered at Madeleine’s wrists. He snarled, almost to himself: “What does this mean?” His answer ready, Madeleine tilted up his face. He had had a long time to think: first on the icy slope above the town while he fought the storm to bring Javert's inert body home, and again today throughout his long vigil at Javert’s bedside. Now that it was too late to turn back he was not sorry, and only a little frightened. “You can see for yourself. You can see I am telling the truth.” “Those are the marks of manacles,” Javert said, frowning. His gaze kept shifting from one wrist to the other, and then to Madeleine’s face. “How can this be. Those marks were years in the making. You--" He choked a little, and said, "You are Monsieur le maire.” “I was twenty-seven years of age when they put the chains on me.” He spoke the words gently. He remembered the terrible day in the jail-yard, five days after his sentencing - the day the wagons pulled up outside the doors of the holding cells and the convicted men were herded out to begin their journey. A new tenderness came over him as he remembered. His soft compassion embraced the memory of not just the young man he had been, but all those who had been present in the yard: the groaning, teeming mass of chained unfortunates cursing and cringing as cudgel-blows fell among them; the guards, tight-lipped, who swung their clubs and shouted orders, the smith who struck the blow at his neck and sealed his fate. He had cried out when the reverberations from the hammer shook his bones, and then collapsed in sobs, clutching the iron collar. "I knew-- I believed-- that I was walking alone into Hell, with no one to know and no one to care, and no hope of return. I did not think that I could live through it.” He wanted to reach back now, to that young man, and tell him the beautiful secret he had not then understood: that God walked beside him, no matter how black his fate. A flicker showed in Javert's eyes, but there was no change in his cold frown. He seemed wary, as if suspecting that a trick was being played at his expense. After a long moment, he said in a guttural grunt: “Let me see your ankles.” He had dropped the "Monsieur," Madeleine noted. Madeleine remained on one knee but brought the other foot out in front of him so Javert could see it. He did not need to pull up the leg of M. Chorin's trousers. They stopped well above his ankle. Javert’s breathing had become audible, a little ragged, and signs of mental disturbance were evident. There was a flashing wildness coming over him, a dangerous look. He said, “Take off your shirt.” Madeleine obeyed - though he found it hard, once again, to work the buttons with his burning fingers. Javert watched him, unmoving. Finally Madeleine peeled the shirt open. He eased himself out of the sleeves. He was afraid but there was a rising excitement, a wild hot lightness surging through him. He had been fourteen when he touched a girl’s breast for the first time, down in the long autumn grasses behind the cottage, terrified that someone would see – and it had felt like this; the same breathless terror, the same transporting joy. He closed his eyes and let it take him over. He knew what Javert would want from him, and he was eager to give it. He did not wait for the next command, but turned himself slowly to display his back. He could feel Javert’s hot gaze. He bent his head and waited in all humility, willing Javert to take what he needed: to take whatever solace that he could, in what he saw there. Soon, he knew, he and Javert would be ripped apart. This moment of revelation was all they would ever have, and it would have to sustain Madeleine through all the years to follow. He had no illusions about what would come next. Javert would claim his vengeance. Magritte would arrive with the summons and armed men at his back. Then he would suffer all the faces of the townsfolk turning away from him, the trial, and last the iron collar again around his neck. Despite his fear, he felt unburdened, as if - for the first time - he could embrace the life that stretched before him. It was a wonderful thing he had been granted: the chance to sink so that Javert could rise. Feeling Javert's silent gaze on his naked skin, he stretched out his arms to the sides, palms upward. The irons would be heavier than he remembered because his strength was less than it had once been. But his soul would be like this, now and always: light as silk. “You have worn chains,” said Javert, uncertainly. "You as well." Then came a heavy shuffling of feet, and the groan of wood. Madeleine turned to see, remaining on his knees in the posture of a penitent. Javert had returned to the bed and now sat on the edge of the stuffed pallet. He was looking not at Madeleine but at the wall. Or rather, through it. “They whipped you,” he muttered. His eyes were fierce and faraway. “Sometimes,” said Madeleine. It was not easy to speak of. "Sometimes-- sometimes it was a rod of wood; thin, and as long as a man’s arm.” How well he remembered. “A cudgel, often. Their bare fists, or whatever was at hand. A wooden beam, once. The butt of their rifles." He put his red smarting hand up to shadow his eyes. “Yes,” muttered Javert. His tone changed as he looked back at Madeleine, and in a harsh, angry tone uttered: “But you. You were strong. You did not falter. You did not scream.” His lip curled as he spoke. “I did,” said Madeleine. "No. You would not." “I screamed. Believe this.” Javert considered, silent still, his gaze upon the floor. “What else,” he muttered. Suddenly his face contorted as if from a sob, though his eyes were dry. “What else did they make you do?” Mornings the guards would come, beating the planks to rouse the prisoners, unlocking their ankle-irons to allow them to rise, putting them on the neck-chain to be herded out into the foul salt air. He would stand quiet at the side of his plank, bending his neck to let the chain pass easier through the side-ring of his collar. “March, you vermin!” would come the order, and he would shuffle forward as he was bid. “What else?" he said, tasting a moment of sharp bitterness. "Whatever they wanted.” Unexpectedly, Javert snorted and began to curse. “This is disgraceful,” he spat. Perplexed, Madeleine looked up. Javert was scowling. “So. It transpires that I was right in my suspicions. I knew what you were from the beginning.” Madeleine, though his heart sped suddenly, remained on his knees. He was careful to bow his head once more in an attitude of humility, for this was the important moment. This was the moment he would surrender to his true purpose. Quietly he said, “And what was that?” “What we discussed the night the smugglers landed. You have known war, after all.” Again he swore. “Only the worst of men deserve such treatment as they gave you! Those foreign devils have no honor - to treat an officer of France in such a way. As if you were a common cur, no better than a criminal.” Madeleine, stunned, opened his mouth to reply but nothing came to him. Finally he said, “But no-- I was not--” But Javert did not hear him. His moment of rage had passed, and had seemingly taken with it whatever remained of his diminished strength. Now once again he appeared withdrawn, drooping dejectedly and staring at his damaged hands. “What else,” he said. “Tell me--” The words came reluctantly, as if he could not bear to speak them, nor will himself to hold them back. “Did they--" He drew a deep breath. "Did they--?” Both men regarded each other. For a moment both were quiet. It was a silence heavy with dark knowledge. In the one man's gaze there was a question; in the other's, a weighted understanding. After a long pause, Madeleine gave the smallest of nods. It was hard for him to speak, but Javert waited like the most patient of men. And so at last he cleared his throat. “They wagered on me," he muttered. He had suffered years of degradations, but it was this incident that came first to his mind. It had been a murky evening, and weeks of rain had left the grounds deep in mud. This was long after Javert had left Toulon, in the late years when discipline among the guards had seemed to fall apart, and they were drunk as often as not, and the prisoners might go two days without food simply because no one thought of feeding them. As was usual, many of the guards were carousing near the front gate. A detachment of convicts, Madeleine among them, was at work clearing rocks from the east field. “They were drunk, and they had me brought to them. Also a horse and wagon.” He was the strongest; he had always been the strongest. That’s why they picked him for their amusements more than any of the others. But he was no longer twenty-seven and the bagne was grinding him down; he could feel his strength waning day by day. If he were a horse he could look forward to one day being put to pasture or freed by a well-placed bullet - but as a convict, he understood he would be worked until he died. “The cart-horse was led off,” he said. “It was me they wanted.” He could smell it still, the worn leather; and hear the loose laughter of the guards. He had stood still while they cinched the harness straps around him. “They marked a line at my feet. Five hundred paces on, they marked another. One of the guards climbed up into the wagon. Whip at his belt.” He swallowed. “The wet ground slowed me only a little; I pulled the distance with ease. When I had reached the end, they had me turn. Another guard climbed up alongside the first. To increase the weight.” The second guard, Cambert, had yelled ‘Trottes!’- and even before the lash struck, he had jumped forward like any obedient beast, drawing laughter and jeers from the guards. They had followed, egging him on. “When I reached the start line, they had me turn again. And a third guard mounted.” “You let them do that.” said Javert. He was staring straight ahead. “I—had no choice.” But it sounded false and he shook his head. “I no longer thought like a man. If there were choices before me, I did not see them as free men do. I only did as I was told.” He looked at Javert helplessly. He could not explain it any better than that, not even to himself. He had hated, but he had obeyed as if he had no will. “The other guards watched,” Javert said, his gaze faraway. “You were an amusement for them.” “A sport,” Madeleine said tightly. “Yes. A moment’s entertainment.” “How many lengths did you pull?” Madeleine wished he did not remember. “Thirteen,” he whispered. With each successive length and each new guard mounting, the traces had dug deeper into his welted flesh. Blood and sweat ran together. On the thirteenth length, one of the wagon's rear wheels sank in a rut in the wet grey earth. The guards called him obscene names and lash bit across his shoulders; he cried out and threw himself forward. At last the wheels groaned and again began to turn. “And when the fourteenth man mounted,” said Javert, through his teeth. Madeleine chewed his lip pensively and did not answer. He did not want to say more. But after a little silence, Javert said again, fierce and urgent: “The fourteenth man.” Madeleine was back on that field, struggling against the weight of the cart, straining in agony while the guards laughed and cursed him. Must he speak of this? “I-- I strained against the load. The cart moved only a little; a quarter-turn of the wheels.” He shook his head. “Even with the whip, I could go no farther. A few men cheered – I supposed they were the ones who had wagered on thirteen. But most of the others had bet I would last longer. They laid into me with riding crops, shouting." He trembled. "I tried," he muttered. "I gave everything I had. I tried, but I fell and could not rise.” Staring at his bare feet, he lapsed into silence once again. Javert continued to regard him steadily. And he found suddenly that he wished to say the rest, to say it all - because if there were ever a man who could be told, it was this man beside him. So he went on, in a flat voice. “And they pissed on me.” Javert moaned, deep in his throat. And the two men looked at each other for a long moment, in silence. Until both of them looked down.

Namjoon closed his laptop with a sigh, feeling a migraine coming on just from today's work. That particular day was more headache-inducing than the others, since the company was going to have a comeback soon with one of its groups and his song was going to be the title.   Closing his eyes wearily, he leaned back on his office chair, taking deep breaths to make the pain subside a little. He has long given up on aspirin when he started working at the young age of twenty-one, and would never take any pain reliever unless the pain was too much to handle. Namjoon turned a 180 degree and opened his eyes, seeing the bright Seoul night lights twinkle beautifully. There was one thing he liked about being a main music producer: he could request the hell out of any office he wanted as long as it brought ‘inspiration’ and ‘new ideas’. Sure, he had to climb his way up, like any other industry, but nearly ten years in, he had established a brand and reputation for himself, and it wasn’t going away anytime soon. Relaxing despite himself, he settled more comfortably, letting the quiet atmosphere fill his senses. A soft buzz interrupted his moment of peace, however. Revolving around to face his desk, Namjoon stared at his phone. Blinking. A new text message has come through. Leaning forward to get his phone, he flipped it open to see an unidentified number as the message sender. His handsome face wrinkled a bit, as Namjoon frowned and opened his messaging app, reading the message through. Namjoon exhaled loudly, flipping his phone shut. With deliberate and unhurried care, he packed up his things, laptop, speakers, mixing equipment, and his smartphone. Arranging all of them neatly in his bag, he grabbed his wallet and outer coat and stood up, flinging the coat over his shoulders as he exited his office, giving a curt nod to the few others who greeted him he passed by. As he walked through the corridor, another office opened and Min Yoongi strolled out, with a large tumbler at hand. It was the worst timing ever, they were supposed to be working overtime and meeting the other man would arouse suspicion. It was way too early for either of them to go home. They stopped at the same time, and a heavy, awkward air settled between them. Don’t get Namjoon wrong, as artists they respected each other a hell of a lot, and they always worked together to produce the best tracks possible, but the rising eyebrow was so deeply and completely judgmental Namjoon felt heat crawling to his ears. “Hey.” Yoongi paused, and it was so loaded Namjoon felt he was carrying bricks. “Going home already?” “… Yeah. I have a… situation, at home.” The damning silence lasted for a few seconds. “Don’t worry hyung, I’ll meet the deadline for the song. I just… I need to go back, I left the stove burning and I need to make sure I have a house to go home to.” The bullshit detector screeched loudly in Namjoon’s ears, and Yoongi made a face, like he also heard it. “Really.” The eyebrow was still up. “Well, wouldn’t want another incident to happen again. Like it did the last ten times.” The blush had spread down his neck now and Namjoon didn’t dare look the older in the eye. It was so heavy, the gaze on him, and Yoongi didn’t have an ounce of pity, keeping him pinned and squirming. Finally the gaze shifted away, and Namjoon almost collapsed to his knees. “Just make sure the completed track’s up to standard. You’ve gotten the kids’ remarks, right?” “I have.” Namjoon answered, quick and verging on desperation. “Yeah, the kids made their input, I’ll incorporate them at home.” “Hm.” Yoongi pursed his lips and finally stepped aside, and Namjoon keenly felt like he had passed a trial. “Drive carefully. Don’t want to land another ticket for destruction of property. Keep your headlights and blinkers on.” Namjoon nodded quickly, legs tensed. He was going to fucking marathon his way the elevator and win a gold, dammit. Anything to escape Min Yoongi. He was already stepping into the elevator, the doors closing, when Yoongi made a small, casual remark. “Say hi to hyung for me.” Namjoon winced horribly, stopped in his tracks, breath unable to leave his lungs. The shame and guilt that crawled throughout his body was so visceral he felt nauseous. He pressed a hand against the cold, metal wall, trying to breathe. His head won’t stop spinning. The company knew. Well, the people who needed to know knew. This was the entertainment industry, for fuck’s sake, everyone had dirt on anyone. It was only a matter of keeping in a secret to the general public, to sidetrack the media hounding for a juicy scoop. Dating ‘scandals’ had nothing on him. The elevator opened at the basement. Namjoon, breathing a little easier, got his car keys and went to the parking lot, where his black sedan was waiting for him. Unlocking the car's security features, Namjoon got in, placing his bag and coat on the passenger seat. Debating for a second, he decided to place his phone on top of the passenger seat as well, before seating himself and turning on the ignition. The quiet purr of the engine calmed him, and he expertly maneuvered himself out of the lot and into the road. As a driver, he was usually overly cautious and alert, following every rule on the road, since he got into so much accidents the government was close to tagging him as  a ‘danger to the streets’ after his seventh car accident. But strangely, he found his mind wandering that night, taking sharp turns and speeding a bit more than usual. It was at least one hour to his destination, but he surprised himself by cutting back into half the time, killing the engine as he arrived in a modest-looking apartment complex on the other side of the city. He didn’t crash either, and that was a small blessing. Getting out of his car, Namjoon entered the building, unmindful of the people who are taking a second glance at him. Riding the elevator to the second to the top floor, he walked towards a door on the far end on the building with slightly measured steps. Namjoon arrived in front of a wooden door, and he raised his hand to knock. He stopped, hesitant, for a second, before doing three soft raps on the door. The door opened a little while later, revealing a tall person with shoulders as broad as the ocean, full, pink, kissable lips. He had honey-brown hair and a soft smile, which slightly widened when he saw the person on the other side of his door. "You came." It was a statement. It was also a little scolding, but overall pleased by Namjoon’s presence. “I thought you had overtime today.” Namjoon simply stared at the man before him, always a little dazed when seeing him, because Jesus Christ he’s beautiful. Namjoon could stare at him forever. “Uh, you said you were only free today, so I came by.” He said after a moment. The other tilted his head slightly, still with a smile, before stepping aside and letting him into the small apartment. It was a studio-type abode, with the place looking like a well-oiled battleship. Clean and dust-free, with everything in its place, not one object out of place. Paintings of unknown painters were plastered on the walls, as well as a couple of framed posters of Namjooon’s albums. His awards were arranged on the shelf by year, and deeper still, photos of them, hung around their bedroom. Namjoon gave the older man an affectionate glance as he saw the state of their room. “You cleaned today? It was a little messy a couple of days ago.” "I can’t clean well when you’re here, you always mess everything up." The older said as a way of explanation, perfect lips shaped in a pout. It made Namjoon want to kiss that pout off him and did, felt the other man chuckle deeply against his mouth. No more was said until Namjoon heard the resounding click of a door being locked shut. But instead of feeling trapped, he felt freedom as he had never felt before, for the little studio, amidst its small, cramped state, has the warmth and feel of a home, something Namjoon lacked whenever he would return to his house… and to his wife who was probably waiting for him at this moment. Namjoon had more than once offered to buy a new, more spacious apartment for them, but the other man always declined, saying that he would feel too much like a kept man. “Have you eaten? I’m sorry, I only have leftovers, but if you’re willing to wait another hour I can cook you something.” The other man was already taking an apron off the wall hook. Namjoon quickly held the older man’s hand to stop him, thumb running over the warmed metal on his thin, pale ring finger. “I’m not that hungry.” He answered, somewhat truthful. He led the other into their bedroom instead, closing the door behind them. “I’m feeling up to something tonight, but I have a schedule to keep.” “Is that so?” The other man asked, amused. "I really have to work tonight." Namjoon murmured, noting that a pair of hands cupped his face lightly, before going upward and slowly taking off his spectacles. The world instantly blurred, but the image in front of him was as clear as day. “Someone is waiting back at my house.” "I know." The other male said simply. "… You also know that I have a wife." Namjoon continued, tone blasé. The other paid this no heed, as he stood in front of the earlier bespectacled male, loosening the other man's shirt and slowly pulling it up, hot hands pressing against his stomach. "How could I not? I was the best man, remember?" The tone in which the other man said it was bemused, almost sarcastic, but not bitter. "And you also know that she's waiting for me right now." Namjoon voice remained cool and neutral, which betrayed nothing of what he was feeling at this particular moment as the other man was literally stripping him of his clothes. The older man pressed his hands against Namjoon’s bare chest to slide around his neck, pulling him close. "I've been waiting for you to come home, husband.” The male murmured said against his lips, his warm breath ghosting against Namjoon’s bare skin. "I missed you so much. Welcome home." "I’m home, Jin." It was Namjoon who answered this time, letting his rein on his self-control slacken. He immediately pulled the smaller man into a passionate, breath-taking kiss, letting his desire cloud his common sense. He felt the other man kiss back with feverish fervor, feeling the long, slender fingers bury itself in his hair. His hands wandered everywhere, to his neck, to the broad shoulders, to the lean waist and finally, still lower, letting no space come between their heated bodies. Namjoon knew that he was some work to do and his wife was waiting for him. But as he stared at those almond-shaped eyes, hazy and clouded with need and lust and love… He found himself not giving a damn at all. Kim Seokjin was, by all means, a person with a sense of right and wrong. He knew when to draw the line when it came to certain things that could potentially harm or hurt his family, friends and loved ones. He knew that it wasn't right to kill someone, he knew that it's right to help people when they were in distress, and followed the laws of society accordingly. However, falling in love tended to blur the lines between right and wrong. Rationality can become insanity in an instant, and even the most logical of people would be able to do the most ridiculous things, just because they were simply in love. So when he came to his best friend's wedding and congratulated the newlywed couple while covertly lacing the groom's fingers in his own during the reception, he felt no guilt, no regret. Simply because he was in love with the wedding's groom. And when he was in the veranda, exchanging deep, flavorful kisses with the said man, risking everything in a few stolen moments with the man he loved, he felt elated, joyful, even though his lover now belonged to another woman. It helped that the groom, Kim Namjoon, was also in love with him. As he thought about it now, being another man's mistress was the last thing he wanted in his life. His future was supposed to be set, being a trainee, debuting as an idol, working in the entertainment industry, dating when he wasn't that popular and marrying in his thirties, maybe later. But fate worked in mysterious, sometimes unpredictable ways, and now here he was, a Culinary Arts graduate, working as a sous chef in a restaurant in Gangnam, a ring in his finger though he was never married, idly stirring his drink as he waited in a small, quaint café for his beloved, who was just returning from work. Being the 'other woman' was, at times, stressful, dangerous even, but it was the risk factor that made it so exhilarating, the unspeakable taboo of it titillating, and the challenge of it intoxicating. There was just something about being the hidden lover that made it so appealing to him, and Jin wasn't the type of person to be a homewrecker. He knew how important families were, especially with such high stakes like this, that you had everything to lose if you lost. Truthfully, it wasn't the best life he could have, but it was the life he wanted. He never thought that being his co-trainee-turned-lover's mistress would make his life so different, to feel that he was defying the norm so exciting. He and Namjoon had always been close; it lessened the suspicion that something inappropriate might be going on, and the fact that they're both male let people simply assume that they were just too close to be separated, and even having a wife wasn't going to ruin their relationship. Jin chuckled. If only they knew. Namjoon came home to him about three to four times a week, frequent enough to make him feel that he was the wife and Namjoon's wife his mistress. He was amused to find out that Namjoon kept more clothes in their house than at his wife's, and that he attended to Namjoon's needs like a wife would made him think that, yes, he was certainly the spouse now, something that he teased Namjoon about countless times. "I'll go to my mistress now, hyung." That would always be Namjoon's parting words, playing along with him, and Jin would always give him a kiss, murmuring back his own line, "But make sure to always come back to me, husband." He did. Namjoon always did. Their domestic life was quiet but fulfilling, as they talked about their work and their everyday lives like a normal couple would. Namjoon even talked about his wife openly, hiding nothing from him, something that Jin loved and appreciated about him, as they would sit down on the couch, Namjoon's head in his lap, fingering the bleached blond locks as he ran his fingers through Namjoon's hair. Namjoon's marriage was arranged, as he came from a very strict, traditional family who allowed him to pursue his dreams on that single condition. Namjoon, in particular, didn't want it at all, having found his true love early on, and would rather be disowned than marry a girl whom he knew he would just hurt with his infidelity. But knowing the Kim family well and fearing for his lover's future, Jin didn't allow him to choose between him and his family, supporting the engagement completely, though it pained him deeply inside to do so. Namjoon's arranged marriage was the major conflict in their relationship, and had caused more heartbreaks for the both of them than the whole time they've been together. "Why are you always pushing me away!? I won't allow myself to marry someone when you're going to be hurt from it! Why are you forcing me to marry someone I don't love?!" "You don't understand! I won't let you choose between me and your family! Think about your future! If you choose me, your future would be ruined!" "I couldn't care less, Jin! You're the most important person to me! I won't throw you away that easily!" "But you have to! This is reality, Namjoon! Do you really think that your family will accept me if they learn about the truth?! If anything, they're going to blame me for turning you into like this! I don't want to hurt you if that happens!" "But you're already hurting me! Why are you running away?! I thought we decided to fight through this together!" "It's different this time! I don't want to see you walk that aisle, but we have no choice! Your family will hate you, and I don't want you to feel guilty of it! Please understand! I'm doing this because I love you so much that I never want you to regret loving me in return!” At that time, they fought every day, almost escalating to physical violence, hurt each other's feelings to the point that they both just wanted to end it all. They wanted to forgive, to forget, to return to that time when they're both happy and content, but they can't bear to take back the words they said, stubbornly holding on to their pride, both convinced that they were both right and the other wrong. Jin could never remember a time wherein he cried himself to sleep except at those times, sick of lying to himself and to his lover, regretting the words he said, wanting nothing but to be taken away to some faraway place wherein he could live peacefully with his beloved forevermore. But reality was cruel. Jin agreed to the engagement, not that he had a choice in the matter, and to add salt to the wound, Jin was asked to be the best man, a position he accepted gracefully, not noticing the painful look in Namjoon's eyes. It was a stalemate that lasted until the night of Namjoon's engagement party, which was done in a classic 5-star hotel. Naturally, Jin was invited. And, unable to bear the extreme loneliness and hurt he felt from always fighting about the matter with his lover, he settled the score with a compromise that had been lingering in his mind for some time, but had never thought about seriously at that point. What would it feel like to become a man's mistress? As expected, Namjoon quickly rejected the idea at first, the sheer disbelief on his face making Jin laugh for the first time in quite a while. "Why not? It's a win-win situation for us." He could never forget how Namjoon looked at that time. "Absolutely not. You will not degrade yourself to that level, Jin. I won't allow it." Namjoon sounded so serious that time, Jin remembered with a smile. "You're the man I love, if anything, you're the one I'm supposed to be marrying, not her." Namjoon had refused the idea, not because it was ethically and morally wrong to cheat on your lawfully-wedded wife, but because it entailed an illicit, forbidden relationship with the person he loved. Granted, Jin didn't like the sneaking around idea at first, but the idea of being Namjoon's mis– no, he used the term lover now because Namjoon didn't like it, sounded more and more appealing to him each second. If anything, it would keep his life from being a bore. It would keep their relationship going, while keeping Namjoon in good terms with his family. It was going to be a hard task, but most men keep mistresses anyway, so why should Namjoon be any different? Jin didn't like thought of sharing Namjoon with anyone else, but as long as he had Namjoon’s heart, he could be satisfied. They lied on the soft bed, feeling completely and thoroughly sated. Beside Namjoon, Jin was sleeping soundly, his silken hair splayed against his lover's chest as he breathed slowly, am arm curved around the taller man's waist. Warm breath passed through parted lips, warming upunclothed skin, and Namjoon looked at the ceiling, his fingers combing through the other's sweat-drenched hair. They should stop this. They knew he should, he must, for his life—their lives—would be destroyed the moment someone found out about this secret. And yet, even as they tried to defy their bodies and their hearts, he would always come back, craving for the kisses, the touches, the feeling of utter completion they always felt whenever they are together. It was something he had never felt for a long time, and now that they got their first taste, they also knew that they were never letting go. But at what price? Namjoon looked at the man sleeping beside him in contentment. As if sensing the other's distress, the other woke up, an unfocused smile settling on his features as he rubbed his eyes, still feeling half-asleep. Even that simple gesture made Namjoon’s heart melt at the sight. "Good…" He paused to check the time. 3:18 am. "Morning." Jin turned to look at him, his eyes bright despite the look of drowsiness. "You didn't return back? Namjoon, you’re cutting it close." Namjoon shook his head as a negative. How could he, when Jin was literally sleeping on top of him? "You wife will be very worried about you." Jin said plainly. No tone. No emotion. Just statement of facts. Namjoon tried to work himself up to at least feel a bit guilty for deceiving his wife like this, but all he felt was complete, bone-bled satisfaction. "You want me to leave, babe?" Namjoon queried, feeling, despite himself, a bit hurt at the implication. Jin looked thoughtful for a while, before shaking his head slowly. "Just checking." He leaned forward and placed a soft peck on Namjoon’s lips. "What will you tell her?" "That I passed out at the office. It’s close to comeback season for my boys." "That again? Will she buy it?" "I've proven enough times that I can. Also, Yoongi-hyung… he’ll cover for us. He saw me leave." "Ah, yes." Like him, Jin also winced at the mention of their mutual friend. “I’ll send him some kimchi as thanks. You two always work too hard, especially you, husband.” Jin said, always concerned, and Namjoon had to try and wipe off the silly grin on his face. “Don’t worry, I’m fine. I always eat on time and I’ll try to rest earlier.” "You better, or I’m keeping you here until you’re healthy.” Jin said, teasing, snuggling closer. "I'm surprised, though. You actually came." "Why wouldn't I?" "Like you said, you’re going to have a comeback soon. I thought Yoongi was going to hold you hostage in your office until the track’s finished. I was afraid that I would have to do a search and rescue operation." Jin rolled on top of him, his weight a warm blanket over Namjoon’s sweat-tinged skin. Namjoon grimaced at the thought. Yoongi, for all he preached about not giving a fuck about what anyone else thought, was surprisingly a man with principles. He cussed Namjoon out of an inch of his life the one time they got both drunk and Namjoon finally came clean. He heard swears that wasn’t appropriate for a 19+ broadcast and then some, calling him with every name in the book, some Namjoon didn’t even know existed. Just divorce her already, Joon-ah. Yoongi had muttered, more than three sheets to the wind, giving Namjoon a stink-eye. She deserves more than an asshole like you. And what the fuck are you doing, dragging our Jin-hyung with your depravity? He doesn’t deserve to be a homewrecker and you’re just a goddamned philandering bastard, you shitty, fucking, cock-sucking son of a— Hyung’s good at that, Namjoon meekly interjected and Yoongi had set off on a tangent again. Namjoon grimaced. A divorce wasn’t as good as it seemed to be. First of all, he needed a reason, and ‘living unhappily married’ wouldn’t fly with his parents. They would demand a reason why, and Namjoon would need to lie out of his ass in a way that wouldn’t put his lover in the spotlight. His wife was the perfect Korean standard: beautiful, listening to her husband, keeping house. That already would be a reason why it would be hard to ask for them to separate. Namjoon had, many times until now, considered coming out of the proverbial closet, but the love for his parents and his deathly fear of losing them always stopped them. They were all he had in the world. They only wanted the best for him, but they were so bent on the old generation laws. Intolerance and bigotry casually ran in their family, and the one time he asked a different, more open idea, it ended with a caning. After that, Namjoon didn’t dare ask anymore. In the end, everything had a compromise. And Kim Namjoon had always been a pragmatic person. At the best, Yoongi tolerated it. Because he saw how sickeningly, how deeply in love Namjoon was and how besotted Namjoon’s lover was in return. Every track Namjoon made was a dedication to his lover, the unspoken-of but still present muse. His songs were always hits, when that happened, and Yoongi had to begrudgingly admit that Namjoon’s relationship, as fucked up as it was, was mutual and with adult consent. While the extra work made Namjoon slightly happier because that would mean that he would be away from his house for a while, it also irked him because it brought him more migraines than he had usually anticipated. And if ever Yoongi did try and took him ‘hostage’, there was no doubt in his mind that his lover would indeed do a 'search and rescue operation', as constantly worried as he was. (It happened once. Jin was angry. Even Yoongi had cowered in fear of his life—and family jewels—and Namjoon had fallen in love again so hard he produced new title song in one night. It became a massive success.) Namjoon sighed in reply, unknowingly tightening his hold on the other. "What’s bothering you, Joonie?" Jin asked him softly.  Namjoon considered brushing it off, but by the look on the older man's face, it was clear that any of his 'I'm fine's would definitely not take him off the hook. Sometimes it scared him on just how much they are attuned to each other's feelings. "I love you. That's all." He answered quietly. The other was rather taken aback by this sudden confession, but gave a real smile. "I love you too." Namjoon kissed his forehead and they fell into companionable silence, treasuring these moments before the time would come and they would be forced apart again. Close to 4 in the morning, Namjoon got up and redressed, heading for the door, but not before giving the other a sweet, lingering kiss that both of them would remember for a while. "Jin?" Jin didn't realize that he had closed his eyes in nostalgic remembrance, and had opened them again to look at his obviously worried lover. "What's wrong?" Jin sighed, smiling slightly. "Nothing, husband. Just thinking how far we got through." He reached for Namjoon’s ringed hand and laced their fingers together. "And to think that you've switched your wedding ring at the last moment." "Well, I wasn't marrying her." Namjooon rolled his eyes slightly, pulling their joined hands up and pressing it to his lips. "The only person I would marry is you." Jin chuckled, toying with the silver ring that nestled proudly on his lover's finger. "Does she even realize that the ring you're wearing doesn’t have her name on it?" "I always wear it, so she wouldn't have the chance to know." Namjoon leaned forward slightly, pausing just before touching Jin’s lips, before whispering. "And I never intend for her to find out until death do us part." And as he received the sweet kiss from his wonderful partner, Jin couldn't help but smile in triumph. Because the wedding ring Namjoon wore, when looked at the inner side, didn't have Namjoon’s wife's first name on it, as was expected. Instead, what was engraved was a pair of familiar hangul, one that was very much familiar with the both of them. 석진 And it was, in their own way, metaphorically flipping off the universe for thinking their love wouldn't have a happy ending. "I'll be back." Namjoon whispered softly, and then, he was gone. Jin watched him until he closed the bedroom and apartment door and settled back in the covers again, covered by Namjoon’s scent, and he smiled. He was sleeping well tonight. Climbing back into his car in the middle of the night, Namjoon drove slowly back to his own house, remembering those moments before, when he was in the throes of passion with a person who frequently haunted his sleeping and waking dreams. The streets were deserted, and he wasn’t in danger of smacking on a random pavement, but Namjoon still drove as slowly as possible. What they had was wrong, forbidden, looked down by society. He knew that. But the most forbidden of all fruits taste the sweetest of them all. At this rate, Namjoon might as well be damning himself to hell. It was his fault. Jin’s too. They knew well what they were doing. When fate decided to bring them together in one company, in one class, as co-trainees, Namjoon knew the moment that Jin opened his eyes and showed him a color deeper darker than the warmest chocolate, he was already swept away. And he wasn’t guilty. They weren’t guilty. Not one damn bit. So immersed with him and his thoughts he realized in time that he was already close to his house. Steering his car in the basement parking lot, Namjoon travelled up the elevator, walked up to the front door and, with his code, opened the door quietly, careful not to disturb anyone who was sleeping. Walking as silently as possible, he passed the kitchen and the dining room, and arrived at the den, where he saw that the lamp was lit. Ah, she was awake. "Welcome home, Namjoon-ssi." Standing there was his wife, very beautiful and almost alluring as the sky lightened up. She was wearing a silk nightdress, her long, usually braided hair now come loosely in waves. "I'm back, Noona." Namjoon managed to greet her with the same tone he used every day, respectable, but distant. He could have said 'I'm home,' but every time he would try, the words escape him as if it was a horrible thing to say. They say that home is where the heart is, and now, as he stared impassively at his wife, feeling nothing despite the fact that she looked quite voluptuous in her nightgown, Namjoon believed in that saying wholeheartedly. With a sudden pang, he suddenly missed the scent of vanilla and body wash that accompanied Jin wherever he went. "You arrived quite late today, Namjoon-ssi." She was awaiting an explanation, the implication clearly stated behind her sentence. Namjoon valued honesty in all the things in the world, but now, lying to his own wife seemed to come as naturally as breathing air. Yes, he was aware of how much of a hypocrite he was being, but he didn’t care. "Yoongi-hyung wanted to finish our title track for the boys’ comeback as soon as possible. I fell asleep during work.” It wasn't a lie. Not really. Since Yoongi did ask him to do it. He just… took a quick detour, that's all. A long detour. "I'm sorry if I wasn't able to come home early, I drove as quickly as I can." Was not telling the complete truth lying? Lying by omission? But truth, as Namjoon found out, was very subjective. He had his truths, and she wasn’t going to share any of it. "… I see." Namjoon, usually, was more perspective, than others. He could see the underlying suspicion in her eyes. "If Yoongi-ssi is the reason of your overtime, then I will have no objection. But, please tell him that it is unhealthy for my husband to stay for so long in the company." "I appreciate your concern, Noona. He promised me that it is only for a few days, and after that, I'll be able to return to my normal schedule again, when the comeback’s done." He flinched internally as he saw the pain in her features. No matter how hard she tried, she could never make him call her by her name. Or Yeobo. Or Jagiya. Not when it was reserved for someone else. "Thank goodness for that. Are you coming to bed, Namjoon?" "Maybe later." It wasn't an outright rejection, but they both knew well enough to understand that he won't sleep with her. Not tonight. Not ever. She loved him, Namjoon knew that. Ever since she knew that Namjoon was to be her fiancée, she loved him. But Namjoon couldn’t take the risk, acted so distant and cold towards her, so much that the suspicion was there. That there might be another woman. But they both also knew that Namjoon was raised to be a righteous man, moral, and would never risk the reputation of his family like that. That thought honestly comforted her and made her believe that he only acted this way around her because he was pressured to an early marriage. Twenty-one was still a very young age to be shackled to someone for the rest of his life. They both knew that, and so she tried to be the perfect wife, being pretty, doing things close to perfection, avoiding flirting with other males… just to take one step closer to melt the ice block that was her husband. And she failed, yet again. Namjoon entered his bedroom, noting the presence of his wife already sleeping in their bed. He laid down, waiting for the sun to come out so he could dress and go to work early, not feeling tired despite the fact that he had done various… activities hours ago. He turned to the side and looked at her, her wavy, long hair spilling on the white pillowcase like an angel's halo. Any normal blooded man would be crazy not to jump at this golden opportunity with such a beauty. But she could never inspire in him the same passion and desire he felt whenever he was with… His lover. His mistress. His real wife. But Namjoon would never degrade his dignity by calling him in that way, even if Jin sometimes called himself that. With another sigh, Namjoon laid on his back, watching the shadows of the night change slowly into morning. He found himself, again, wishing that the person lying next to him wasn't this woman that he was just forced to marry, but the person whose bed he had shared with just moments ago. I’ll see you again soon, wife.

Julian felt the tremor run through him and smiled. This time, when he took Geralt into his mouth, he kept going til the head was nudging at the back of his throat, savoring the filthy, wordless groan that got in response. He settled into a rhythm, tantalizingly slow, until several minutes later he felt Geralt's hands on his head tighten their grip just slightly, as though he wanted to push him down and was restraining himself. "Julian," he breathed, a note of pleading Julian knew he'd never admit to in his voice. Smiling inwardly, Julian drew back and lapped teasingly at his slit, moaning wantonly at the salt-sweet taste of the slick fluid welling there. Geralt shuddered and Julian could feel the tension in his hips as he stopped himself from bucking forward into the touch. "So," Julian said, "how true are the rumors?" "What - ah - what rumors?" Julian flicked his tongue over the ridge on the underside of Geralt’s cock, grinning to himself as it made the witcher stumble over his words. "Witcher stamina. If I let you come down my throat, will you still be able to fuck me afterwards?" Julian nuzzled down Geralt’s shaft to lavish attention on his balls while he waited for a reply, looking up coquettishly from under his lashes as he did. "Fuck, Julian," Geralt growled, though there was a hint of breathiness belying the gruff tone. "You're even more of a tease than I thought you would be. Yes." "Oh good," Julian whispered, tucking away his conflicting reactions to the idea that Geralt had ever thought about what he'd be like in bed, for later examination. "Then, my dear witcher, I believe I'm going to do just that, if it's all right with you." "Yes. Please." Julian had to bite back his own helpless gasp at the sound of that word, in that rough voice - at the sound of Geralt, asking, almost pleading. "Say my name when you come," Julian ordered. "Scream it. I want to hear it." He didn't wait for Geralt's agreement before practically diving back onto his cock. Only this time he didn't stop with the head of it nudging the back of his throat. He looked up, locked eyes with the witcher, and kept going until his nose was pressed into Geralt's belly, lips wrapped snugly around the base of his cock and the head of it buried in the tight passage of his throat. Geralt made a strangled sound, hands clutching tightly at Julian's hair. His hips rocked forward despite his best efforts to remain still. Julian gave him only a moment to savor it before he began to move again. He set a fast, almost brutal pace this time, fucking his throat onto Geralt's cock over and over, holding eye contact as he did so. Geralt stared back, eyes wide and pupils blown so huge there was only the thinnest ring of gold surrounding them, lips parted as he panted for breath. Desperate sounds, almost pained, escaped him with each downward stroke of Julian's head. "Julian," he gasped. "Fuck! I'm close, Julian, I'm - going to -" His voice broke, his hands dragged Julian's head down til he was fully sheathed in his throat and held him there. Julian swallowed around him, throat muscles squeezing tightly around his cock, and that was it. Geralt threw back his head and howled, shaking, as he came. "Julian!" Julian swallowed every drop as Geralt spent into his throat, almost overcome with his own pleasure at the sight, the sound, the feeling of having the witcher come apart for him like that. He wrapped a hand around his own cock, achingly hard, and squeezed tightly to push himself back from the brink. At last Geralt eased back, withdrawing. His iron grip on Julian's head gentled, cradling rather than holding. He slid a hand down to cup Julian's cheek and ran his thumb over Julian's swollen, spit- and seed-slicked lower lip. "Fuck," he rasped, staring down almost adoringly. "You're magnificent, Julian. Incredible." "Ooh." Julian shivered. His voice was rough as he said, "Careful, Geralt. I'm already dangerously close after watching you come like that. And," he added, slowly getting to his feet, "I'm afraid I'm very much set on coming with your glorious cock in my arse, so do me a favor and don't sing my praises just yet, hm?" Without waiting for an answer he carelessly let the robe fall from his shoulders and went to the bed, beckoning Geralt to follow. Which he did, of course, pressing himself to Julian's back and wrapping his arms around his waist. He nuzzled Julian's neck, scenting him with a pleased sigh. Julian only laughed and subtly rocked his hips back to feel Geralt's cock, which had only half-flagged after his orgasm, already rising back to full hardness where it was pressed against him. "Well, Wolf?" he asked. "What do I smell like, hm?" "Pleasure," Geralt growled against his skin. "Anticipation." His voice managed to drop even lower somehow. "Lust." "Accurate," Julian agreed, and turned in his arms, kissing him. Geralt licked into his mouth in slow, languid sweeps, humming appreciation as he tasted himself on Julian's tongue. When they broke apart a minute or two later, Julian let his lips trail back along Geralt's jaw until he was nipping at his earlobe. "Now," he whispered, "you can have me however you like. But if you're open to suggestions, I'd very much like to ride you." The full-body shiver that rippled through Geralt at that suggested that he was, in fact, entirely amenable to Julian's suggestion. Julian chuckled, laying a stinging trail of kisses interspersed with sharp nips down the side of Geralt's neck. "I'll take that as a yes," he said, and drew back to nudge him gently. "Go, then. On your back." Geralt did as he asked without a word or hesitation, which was quite possibly the sexiest thing he could've done just then. Julian paused before following him, looking over the collection of vials on the bedside table. He had a few he normally used, but they were all scented and he feared they might be a bit too strong for a witcher's enhanced senses. Finally locating the unscented oil he sought, he plucked it from the table and turned back to the bed. Geralt was waiting, one hand propped behind his head, watching Julian through half-closed eyes. His other hand was wrapped around his cock, and he stroked himself languidly as he waited. Julian groaned, looking down at him as he stood beside the bed. "Do you have any idea how gorgeous you are?" he demanded. "I should commission the greatest painter on the Continent to immortalize you on canvas, just exactly like this." Geralt twitched slightly at that, but Julian thought perhaps it wasn't entirely displeasure fueling the reaction. He decided to test his theory. "You should see yourself," he continued. "Lying there like temptation incarnate." The shudder that went through Geralt was tiny, half-suppressed, but definitely there. "Waiting for me just as I asked, so beautiful, so good." Geralt groaned quietly at that, hips pressing up and thrusting into his own hand. "Jas - Julian," he said, half warning and half plea. "I'm here, darling," he murmured as he joined Geralt on the bed. He swung a leg over and settled himself astride Geralt's thighs, which were as taut and toned and perfect as the rest of him. Pouring a generous measure of oil into his cupped palm, he said, "Let me?" and nudged Geralt's hand away. Geralt let go of his cock with a tiny nod, still inexplicably obedient to Julian's direction. But Julian hadn't expected Geralt to take the vial of oil from him as he began to slick that glorious cock up. He watched, only half-attending to his own task, as Geralt brought his other hand down and uncorked the vial again. He coated his fingers in the oil and set the vial aside, then reached for Julian. "Let me?" he echoed. Julian's breath caught. "You needn't, you know," he said. "I'm already -" Geralt looked up at him and licked his lips. "Even so," he said. "I want to." And gods, how could he deny Geralt anything when the man was looking at him like that and asking for what he wanted so simply and directly? Feeling his heart thump in his chest, Julian nodded and let go of Geralt's cock, shifted forward til he was straddling his waist and Geralt could reach between his legs. The pads of two blunt, calloused fingers circled his entrance teasingly. Julian whimpered and rocked his hips back against them. Geralt laughed. "Eager?" Julian nodded. "Yes," he breathed. "Geralt -" Whatever he'd been about to say - he wasn't even sure himself what it would have been - vanished as those two fingers pushed into him. "Ah," he gasped, eyes fluttering closed. He pressed back against the pleasurable intrusion, wanting to feel it even deeper. "Oh, Geralt," he panted, "fuck. Your hands…" Geralt chuckled again, low and satisfied. "What about them, Julian?" Geralt's free hand slid up Julian's spine, coaxing him down til he was pressed against Geralt chest-to-chest. His cock was trapped between their bellies; he could feel Geralt's sliding against his cleft with each rock of his hips. He whined wordlessly. Without waiting for a proper answer, Geralt crooked his fingers and pressed against that spot inside Julian with unerring accuracy. Sparks shot along Julian's nerves and he cried out. His back arched, or tried to, but Geralt had a hand pressed between his shoulder blades and kept him pinned easily, unable to squirm or writhe. He could only lie there helplessly and take it, hands clutching the sheets as Geralt did it again, then again. "Nngh, fuck, Geralt, please!" Julian gasped. The witcher gave a pleased hum beneath him and it rumbled through him, vibrated into his very bones, making everything a thousand times worse. Julian bucked uselessly against Geralt's restraining grip. "Please, Geralt," he groaned. He let his head fall forward, licking mindlessly across the broad planes of Geralt's chest, tasting the salt of his sweat. "Please." "What do you want?" Geralt asked. His hand slid up from Julian's back into his hair, gripping a fistful and dragging Julian's head up to look at him. "Tell me. Say it." It started as a demand but ended as a plea. "Fuck me, Geralt," Julian moaned. His blue eyes were hazy with lust as he stared down at Geralt's face. "Please, fuck me. I want it. Want you. Need it, need your cock inside me, please, please…" The sound that tore itself out of Geralt's throat was barely human. Feral. He yanked Julian down and captured his mouth in a brutal, messy kiss, biting his lip. Julian shook in Geralt's arms, whimpering, as he pressed in with a third finger. "Please," he chanted between kisses, over and over. "Please, please…please…" At last Geralt took pity on him, withdrawing his fingers and releasing his grip on Julian's hair. He gripped Julian's hips and positioned him where he wanted him. Julian reached back and took him in hand, lined him up and began to slowly sink down, tossing his head back, mouth falling open in a soundless cry. Geralt shuddered as his cock breached Julian's hole for the first time. "Gods, Julian," he said through gritted teeth. "You're so fucking tight." "And…you're…" Jaskier seemed to lose his words for a moment as he slid the last couple of inches to take Geralt in him to the hilt. "Fuck, you're huge." A sly smile quirked Geralt's lips as he watched Julian adjust to the feeling of fullness. "I bet you say that to everyone," he said, then caught his breath when Julian rolled his hips a little, experimentally, sending a pulse of pleasure through him. "Yeah," Julian admitted, grinning down at the witcher spread out beneath him. He leaned forward and braced his hands on Geralt's unfairly broad shoulders, then rose up a few inches and dropped back down. The friction of the movement punched a groan from both their chests. "But this time I mean it." Geralt started to laugh, then gasped when Julian moved again. His hands tightened on Julian's hips, hard enough to bruise for an instant before he forced himself to gentle his grip. "Sorry," he said, "didn't mean to. No marks. I know." But Julian just fixed him with a darkly smoldering stare and ground down onto Geralt as though he could somehow take him even deeper. He sat back and placed his hands over Geralt's, gripping hard over them. "Don't you dare hold back on me now," he demanded. "But -" Julian growled, leaned down and bit Geralt's lower lip hard. The coppery scent and taste of blood blossomed between them, and Geralt's hands spasmed tightly around Julian's hips as he bucked upward involuntarily into that tight heat. "I said," he hissed, blue eyes burning, and bit along Geralt's jaw to his throat. "Don't. You. Dare." "Fuck, Julian," Geralt gasped. Drawing back and giving him a tiny, feral smile, Julian brought his hands back to Geralt's chest and began to move in earnest. He rose up and slid back down again and again, settling into a rhythm guided by Geralt's hands. Julian made a show of it, of course - he was still a performer, after all, just of a more intimate kind than before. He arched as Geralt thrust up into him, showing off the sinuous curve of his spine; he let his head fall back to draw attention to the pale line of his throat. And all the while Geralt's hands never left his hips, digging in finger-shaped bruises on the tender skin. He rode the witcher til his thighs shook. Liquid heat pooled low in his belly, those glorious sparks zinging along his nerves as each stroke pressed just perfectly against his prostate. And then a large, calloused hand wrapped around his cock, catching the slick precome he'd been steadily leaking onto Geralt's belly and smoothing it down along his shaft to ease the slide as the hand began to stroke him. Julian began to shake, overcome by the combined pleasure of Geralt's cock inside him and his hand on him. "Ah, gods," he gasped. His eyes fluttered shut but he forced them open again, not wanting to miss even a single second of the delightful tableau beneath him. "Geralt, I - I'm close, it's too much, I'm gonna -" Geralt bared his teeth and growled, low and insistent. He twisted his wrist at the top of each stroke, letting his palm swipe over the dusky head of Julian's prick. His golden gaze burned into Julian as he said, "Do it, Julian. Come for me. Come on me, c'mon, that's it, just -" The almost guttural rasp of Geralt's voice, combined with those filthy, wonderful words, shoved Julian over the edge all at once. His spine bowed and he leaned back, hands reaching to brace himself against Geralt's thighs, and came so hard he saw stars, screaming Geralt's name as his spend painted the witcher's chest and throat. Beneath him, the tight clutch of his body and the spasms around Geralt's cock had him two breaths from following. "Julian," he groaned, "I -" "In me," Julian demanded breathlessly. He rolled his hips, grinding down onto Geralt's cock. "In me, in me, darling, fuck, come in me." Geralt snapped his hips up once, twice more and cried out his name, every muscle drawn taut as the pleasure blazed and burned its way through him. Julian shuddered at the feeling of it, Geralt's cock pulsing and filling him, hot and wet. "Yes," he said, "Like that, just like that, so good, so good for me, Geralt." The witcher outright whimpered at that, hips jerking involuntarily as if to fuck the last of his release deeper into Julian's body before they both fell still, gasping for breath. A faint smile touched Julian’s lips as he gazed down at Geralt, taking in the sight of him languid and sated. Gold eyes half-closed, streaks of pearly fluid decorating that broad chest. The indolence combined with the mess created a wonderfully debauched sight and Julian sighed happily. “I was wrong,” he murmured. “This is the sight that should be immortalized in art.” Geralt’s eyes widened and he let out an unexpected laugh, summoning a matching chuckle to Julian’s lips. "I'm a mess," Geralt pointed out wryly. "That's what you'd see committed to canvas?" "Oh, yes," Julian breathed. "This kind of mess is the good kind. Well worth remembering." He cocked his head, a devilish light sparkling in his eyes. "Though I suppose if you insist on getting cleaned up…" Bending down, he swiped his tongue over Geralt's skin. He lapped up some of his own come, feeling rather than hearing the quietly appreciative sound Geralt made at that. Only instead of making a show of swallowing it down himself, Julian leaned over further and kissed him. Geralt met his kiss eagerly, licking the spend from his tongue with a sound of wanton delight. His cock, still buried in Julian's arse, twitched noticeably. "Ooh," Julian purred. He drew back and did it again, getting the same lovely reaction. "Like that, do you? Tasting me like that?" With a low growl, Geralt's hips rolled beneath him, making Julian gasp. "Ah, darling," he said breathlessly, "Not sure I'm quite ready for that again so quickly. But," he rushed onward before Geralt could apologize for it, "if you've got another one in you, perhaps…" He rose up, letting out a small sound of loss as their bodies parted, and settled beside Geralt in the bed, propped up on one elbow. The witcher raised an eyebrow, as if to say, well? "Touch yourself," Julian instructed, voice low and breathy. He leaned over as if to kiss Geralt, but hovered there just a hair's breadth away and murmured against his lips. "I want to watch you bring yourself off. Put on a show for me, darling." Geralt whined deep in his throat, but did as Julian asked. He wrapped one hand around his prick, still slick with oil and his own come, and started to stroke himself. Julian rewarded him with a kiss for a moment before sitting back so he could watch, as he'd said he wanted to. "Perfect," he said. "Yes, sweetness, just like that." Julian reached out and trailed his fingertips over Geralt's chest, tracing around a nipple. Geralt's breath caught slightly at that, and with a wicked little smirk Julian pinched his nipple, making him groan and buck upward into his own hand. "You like that, hm?" It wasn't really a question. "So lovely and sensitive for me." He did it again, leaning down to suck hard on the other nipple at the same time. It pulled a delightfully tortured sound from Geralt's chest, his hand speeding up as he worked his cock. "Perfect," Julian said, "just perfect." Geralt squirmed at that. Julian watched, delighted, as his other hand trailed down to cup his balls for a moment before sliding further back and pressing against the sensitive spot just behind them. He hissed sharply, shoving his head back into the pillow, back arching and eyes fluttering closed. "Beautiful," Julian said. "Oh, Geralt, you're so beautiful like this." His lips quirked as he savored the sound, half-objection, half-pleasure, his words drew from the other man. "Want some oil?" Geralt's eyes flew open and stared up at him. Julian nodded toward where his hand was still disappearing between his thighs and gave him a sly, knowing smile. Geralt bit his lip for a moment, then replied, "Yes. Please." His voice barely sounded like him, the rough baritone gone tight and strained with pleasure. Julian got the oil and helped slick his fingers for him, then watched avidly the way Geralt's face changed when he pressed a finger into himself. Chiseled jaw gone slack, lips parted and panting for breath, he looked desperate and needy in a way Julian had never seen before. "Julian," he breathed, "please. I need...more. Your voice. Please." Julian cocked his head and smiled. "You want me to talk to you while you get yourself off for me, is that it?" "Yes. Please." Geralt shuddered as he worked a second finger in, savoring the stretch of it, the feeling of additional fullness. How could Julian ignore such a polite request? Besides, he thought, it was immensely satisfying to look down at the witcher, working his cock and fingering himself, hanging on Julian's every word as he did. "You're gonna be thinking of me next time you do this, aren't you?" he murmured, leaning down and nipping at Geralt's jaw. "Alone in your bedroll in some lonely campsite, you'll jerk that magnificent cock, remembering this. Imagining me there, thinking of all the filthy things I could whisper in your ear, just like this. Won't you?" "Yes," he gasped. His hand moved faster. "You'll finger your tight little hole like this, too. Maybe you'll imagine it's my fingers inside you, working you open, getting you ready to take my cock. Would you like that?" "Nngh, fuck. Yes." "Mmm, good boy. So good." Geralt let out a strangled groan at that, hips jerking sharply. "And you'll come screaming my name again, won't you?" "Yes!" He sounded almost close to tears, movements growing erratic as his pleasure spiraled out of control. "Show me," Julian whispered. Geralt arched off the bed with the force of his climax, cock pulsing as he came, hot and messy, adding his spend to the mess already coating his chest. "Julian!" The word was torn from him in an agony of pleasure. It shouldn't be that good, some distant part of him thought dizzily. The third orgasm of the evening, only by the touch of his own hands. It was almost distressingly good. But Julian's voice, that fucking voice, filth and beauty all at once - fuck. It didn't matter how bad of an idea this had been, it was worth it for that alone. He didn't notice Julian getting up and leaving the bed. By the time he was in full possession of his faculties again, Julian had already returned, damp cloth in hand. The feeling of Julian gently swiping the cloth over Geralt's skin was disquietingly familiar, calling up echoes of the way Jaskier used to tend to him after a fight but placing that association into this very different context. Once Geralt was cleaned up he reluctantly stood and began to don his clothes. Julian, wrapped once more in the silk robe he'd been wearing before, sat silently on the bed and watched as pale skin and scars disappeared behind layers of black again. At last, clean and clothed, Geralt turned and faced Julian again. Gold eyes roamed across Julian's face as though searching for something, though Geralt couldn't have said what he was looking for even if he'd found it. He opened his mouth to speak, but had no idea what to say, and then Julian beat him to it. A slight smile crossed Julian's face, but it was tinged with darkness and had sharp, almost cruel edges. "See you around, Geralt." The memory of the last time he'd heard those words lanced through him and left him bleeding. Accepting the dismissal, Geralt took one last look at Jaskier - Julian - and nodded once in acknowledgement of a blow well-struck. It took all his willpower not to turn and look back as he closed the door behind him.

The sudden stillness hit them all with the force of a high fall. Some people staggered back from the doors, while others sat down right where they were, overcome by the fact that they were alive. Mostly alive: looking around, Wu Xie realized that there were only six mercenaries now. They had lost one more to the zombie horde and he hadn't even seen him fall. One of the other men was crying, tears making soundless dirty track down his cheeks. It was possible that a younger Wu Xie would have cared. Zhang Qiling had already moved further into the room, switching focus instantly from one potential source of danger to another. At the other side of the doors, Huli sagged against the stone, head fallen back and breath coming hard. He looked up when Wu Xie stopped beside him. He was filthy – brown-black not-quite-blood caked all up one arm and his face smudged with smoke – but when he met Wu Xie’s eyes there was weary triumph in his own. He took the offered hand and let himself be tugged to his feet, but pulled away as Pangzi buffeted into Wu Xie from behind. “Shit, Tianzhen, look at this.” Pangzi’s words were accompanied by a low whistle and an insistent smacking against his arm. Wu Xie turned and got his first full view of the final resting place of the Jade Prince. They stood inside the cupped hand of a lotus. It took Wu Xie a moment to adjust to the tremendous scale of it, for the entire room – some twenty meters from side to side, and perfectly round – was carved in the shape of a half-open flower. The walls were built of layered petals, each twice the height of a man, but perfectly sculpted. This room was not the dull grey-brown stone of the cave system, nor was it bright with enamel and paint. All of it – from the walls to the floor to the raised platform where the coffin rested – was white stone, pure and cold as snow. Only over their heads did the color change, where the stone was painted shaded blue and spangled with stars: a night sky, caught here below the earth. The loveliness of it froze his breath in his lungs. Not so the others; as the post-battle daze began to fade, he began to hear murmurs and cursing from the mercenaries around him. But it was not the lotus, or even the prince’s coffin that was attracting their attention: it was the treasure. Around the central plinth, spreading like a pool, the pristine whiteness was broken by the glitter of gold and jewels and the rich gleam of enamel and jade. If there had been any order to it initially, there was none now; it was like a thief's hoard, heaped and piled, spilling across the stone from half-open trunks and age-shattered wrappings. There were jewels, carvings, weapons, scrolls – and gold, so much gold that the room glittered with the reflected sun-scatter as it caught their lights. It was no wonder that the prince's enemies had wanted to conquer his country; if this represented the small portion that the princess had been able to save, the full wealth must have been rich indeed. From this pool of riches, the central platform rose like an island, the coffin atop it a fortress for the treasure within. The plinth was curved on three sides like the rounded center of the flower, but on the side facing the door the white stone had been fashioned into wide, shallow steps. The coffin was white, too, with the rich greasy gleam of the finest jade, though the lid was faintly hued with green. High above the coffin, suspended from massive chains that were strung from petal to petal overhead, a great bronze bell hung like a tarnished sun. Wu Xie reached out to touch the stone of the petal nearest him, half expecting to feel the deeper chill of ice. This close he could see that what he had taken for slight texturing in the petals was actually reliefs, carved in teardrop panels at the center of each petal. The harsh directional glare of their flashlights gleamed wetly off the polished stone and made it hard to see the details, but on his petal he made out prancing horses and ranks of swordsmen: a battle scene, then, and this whole chamber a story that bloomed around them. Pangzi, less mesmerized, was casually wiping the blade of his shovel against the leg of his pants, though there was already so much filth there that it was unlikely he achieved anything beyond an exchange of particles. Most of the mercenaries were still in a knot by the doors, but Wu Xie could see Zhang Qiling already partway around the room, unable to rest until he was sure of his surroundings. He also heard footsteps – not Zhang Qiling’s soundless stride, but quick and loud – and turned to see Gao Bai walking straight forward towards the coffin. Sheer annoyance was what finally broke the spell for Wu Xie. He strode forward and grabbed Gao Bai by the arm: not the wisest move, perhaps, to judge by the sudden sounds from the mercenaries behind him, and by the snakelike way that Gao Bai whipped around to confront him, but at least the damned idiot stopped. Wu Xie released his hold and stepped back, hands raised, but he let his opinion show clearly on his face. “With all the traps we’ve faced so far, do you really think that you can just walk up and take what you want?” He didn’t even try for patience. From the corner of his eye he was aware of Zhang Qiling pausing partway through his careful circuit of the walls and Pangzi tucking his shovel back in his pack to keep his hands free. Without looking away from Gao Bai’s angry face, he said, “Huli, what do you hear?” Huli, a weary ghost in his shadow, crouched and hit the stone with one fisted hand. It made a dull thump, hardly louder than a footstep; Wu Xie heard nothing strange, but Huli tilted his head in that way that Wu Xie was beginning to know so well, eyes shut in focus. He’d lost his glasses sometime in the fight; there was a faint red smear leading from a shallow gouge at the bridge of his nose. Another couple of thumps, another listening moment, and he rose to gesture at the paving stones around the platform. "It's hollow underneath – all the way around. You'll need to jump the first two tiles to the bottom step." "Trap?" Wu Xie asked, purely for Gao Bai’s benefit, and Huli nodded. Wu Xie breathed out slowly, tightly, to keep from saying anything more antagonistic and just looked at Gao Bai with a raised eyebrow. Pangzi, coming up behind Huli, gave him a thump on the shoulder that made him jump and duck away with a glare. "Not bad, little zombie," he said, unfazed by this reaction. He paused to eyeball the distance, then with a running start and a heave and a grunt he leapt across the rows of tiles to land heavily at the base of the stairs. Gao Bai was not the kind of man to admit when he had been wrong – would, Wu Xie thought, sooner die. But he visibly swallowed his anger and said, with a tightness that matched Wu Xie’s own, “Then please, Mr. Wu, be my guest,” and gestured towards the coffin. Wu Xie leapt the tiles easily, catching Pangzi’s outstretched hand as he landed. If the trap was at the base of the steps, the steps themselves were likely to be safe enough. And they were; without issue, they walked in footsteps made two thousand years ago, and found themselves in the presence of the jade prince. The green lid of the coffin was not green, but translucent, formed from one massive slab of rock-crystal, carved with elaborate scrolling at head and foot but with the top polished smooth, the vague impurities of the stone only adding to the ice-like effect. It had only appeared green from a distance because it caught the color from something that glowed within – not the sickly green of the statues outside, but a bright, fresh green that made Wu Xie think of springtime. Feeling like an interloper – which, after all, he was – Wu Xie stepped closer to the coffin and peered through the crystal. A fine layer of dust fogged the top, but the clarity of the material could not conceal any trap; Wu Xie did not hesitate to rub his sleeve over the top to reveal what lay beneath. Whatever had killed him, it had not marred his face. That was his first thought; his second was that the prince had been beautiful. The man in the murals had been beautiful, too, but artistic license was not a modern invention. There had been no lie here, though; his face was proud and strong, sculpted by a master hand that caught dignity in the curve of a cheekbone and grace in the arch of a brow. He could have been sleeping, not dead; whether it was a magic of the coffin or the jade, he looked as he must have looked when he was laid in it millennia before. A sword rested at one side, a fan at the other. He was jeweled and robed in brilliant red; the coffin, lined with beaten gold, caught and reflected the color like flame. Only at his chest did the fire falter – or alter, changing from crimson to green with the living glow of the jade held cupped in his hands. With all of the descriptions, Wu Xie had somehow been expecting that the heart of jade would be that: a heart, some semblance of the organ that no longer beat in the prince’s chest. Instead, what he held was a flat disc, no bigger than both his hands together. After all the fantastic, almost ostentatious decoration of the tomb, what lay at the heart of it was hardly ornamented at all, carved only with a simple, perfect spiral. He looked at the jade, thought of the legend, of the beating heart of a princess, and wondered what had gone wrong, that the ritual had never been completed. Betrayal? Attack? Or just someone terrified of the kind of love that would drag someone back from death? Gao Bai had joined them now on the plinth; unhampered by such philosophical musings, he leaned forward to peer through the stone. “The heart of jade,” he murmured raptly, barely even glancing at the prince, eyes only for what he held. “It truly exists!” He stared at it a moment longer, then looked up at Wu Xie, fingers splayed acquisitively against the crystal of the lid. “Well, are there traps?” he demanded, and Wu Xie didn’t even bother resisting the urge to roll his eyes. To disturb that timeless sleep was a desecration – no question about it – but Wu Xie had done much worse things in his life than this. “Pangzi?” Working on opposite sides, they ran their flashlights along the seam where base met lid, squinting into the tiny gap between. The trigger was on Wu Xie’s side when they found it – a fine wire, coiled and ready to react, but easy enough to tape into place with a bit of adhesive bandage from his medkit. Some ancient devices defied modern technology – others, not so much. Gao Bai was impatient at his elbow, but before they lifted the lid Wu Xie paused, just for a moment, to snap a photograph through the crystal. He did not know if it would come out – they often didn’t in places like this – but knowing what was likely to come next he could not help but try. I will raise a toast to you when I can, he thought, resting his hand on the lid. To you and your princess both, wherever your souls are now. But this must be done and we, at least, are still among the living. He glanced briefly to the side, to where Huli still waited, silent, and where Zhang Qiling, equally silent, still prowled. Then, with a nod to Pangzi, he hooked his fingers under the protruding lip, waited until Pangzi was in matching place on the other side, and heaved. With the first breaking of the seal, a rush of air came out, sweet with the faint memory of spices but with none of the cloying reek of death. It faded almost instantly; by the time the gap had widened to a handspan, then two, the scent was already gone to memory. The lid was enormously heavy, but slid with comparative ease on the polished smoothness of the jade below. With one last heave they had it up and over, thudding down in a barely controlled fall to rest leaning against the side of the coffin. Even as Wu Xie turned back, panting with the effort, the prince’s body was already changing. It started slowly – the bloom fading from his cheeks, the lustrous hair beginning to dull – then faster and faster, a spreading exponential blight. As they watched, the smooth skin collapsed, shrinking over the bones, eyesockets caving in and lips curling away from teeth like ivory. It was two thousand years of decay happening in the space of a breath. Within seconds the beautiful prince of legend was gone, reduced to a desiccated thing that was no more or less than the remnant of any human. Wu Xie had expected it, but Gao Bai had not, and he recoiled, throwing one arm over his mouth and nose as if this decay was something he could catch, as if the inevitability of time was not already carved into the marrow of his bones. Pangzi gave Gao Bai a withering glare and muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath that Wu Xie ignored as he bent over the coffin, running the light of his torch along the edges and corners and then around where the corpse rested on its golden bed. He did not inspect the body itself; though he had known traps to be hidden inside of corpses, he could not see the princess allowing such desecration of her lover, especially not if she expected him to rise again. The visual inspection was followed with a tactile one as he pulled his pocketknife out and ran the blade lightly along the same path. He gave a hiss of satisfaction when needles suddenly shot out of the stone to stab futilely at the steel. It was a simple matter to snap the exposed needles off; with Pangzi duplicating his actions at the other end of the coffin, they soon had the hazard cleared. By the time they had finished and deemed the coffin safe, Gao Bai had recovered from his shock. Hands braced on the cold stone, Wu Xie took one last moment to breathe before he gave him the nod, a tiny pause like a prayer. He had to hold back a snort at the theatricality of the man as Gao Bai stepped up to the coffin and shook out his sleeves, like a conjurer about to perform a trick. He bowed, once, hands together – more honor than Wu Xie had anticipated from him – before he reached inside. Wu Xie half expected him to scrabble greedily, but instead it was almost reverent, the way he uncurled the desiccated fingers from the stone and slid the jade free. As it slipped from hands that had held their lover’s heart safe for two thousand years, Wu Xie almost thought he saw it pulse once – fade, then brighten – but it could just have been a trick of the light. Gao Bai held it aloft, grinning triumphantly, the green light turning his face into an eerie caricature of itself, his skull suddenly prominent and the bones of his hands lit from behind by the jade. Wu Xie let his gaze slide away from that green-lit face – past Pangzi, waiting at the other end of the coffin – and around the chamber. Huli still stood near the foot of the stairs, watching them with dark, unreadable eyes; he had made no move to join them up at the coffin, but neither had he been distracted by the treasure. The mercenaries definitely were; Johann still watched Gao Bai closely, but most had holstered their guns or swung them back over their shoulders and were beginning to spread out across the chamber, scattered by the lure of gem and gleam of gold. As Wu Xie watched, one bent to pick up a red jade necklace that hung from his fingers like captive flame. A little to one side, Zhang Qiling stood. His eyes were not on Wu Xie, but Wu Xie knew that he was aware of his every breath, just as he was aware of every human and object in that chamber. Against the white, he was a still point of darkness. Wu Xie smiled. "Xiaoge," was all he said. It was enough. Three things happened then: Pangzi, moving with that startling speed that no one ever expected from such a big man, dove for Gao Bai and the jade. Wu Xie took the steps of the bier in one great leap and as he landed, staggering, caught Huli around the shoulders and bore him to the ground, sheltering him with his body. And Zhang Qiling was unleashed. One second. The mercenary nearest him died instantly, neck snapped with one twist of Zhang Qiling's hands. Three seconds. Even as the man collapsed, his fingers tightened on the trigger of his gun, one last spasm from a body that did not yet know it was dead. The staccato ping of bullets off stone and metal was abruptly muted by flesh as Zhang Qiling slung him sideways so that the line of fire raked across another man on the far side of the chamber. He cried out as the first bullet hit, but had stopped screaming before the last. Seven seconds. Letting the body in his hands drop, Zhang Qiling caught up the falling gun and vaulted over the corpse to bring the stock down on a third mercenary's head. The man dropped with a caved-in skull, as Zhang Qiling threw the bloodied gun aside. Thirteen seconds. The mercenaries who were further away were beginning to react now, bullet fire sparking across the chamber. Zhang Qiling bent briefly as he ran; even as he kicked off of the head of a statue he slung what he had caught up from the pile of treasure and another mercenary collapsed, the disc of a brass gong buried in her chest. He twisted himself mid-air and landed in an impossible full-body kick that sent the fifth mercenary flying back into a stand of bronze-tipped spears where he hung, impaled. Twenty-one seconds. Wu Xie heard a too-familiar, too-close noise and raised his head to see Johann standing over him, gun raised. He felt Huli flinch under him at the sound, curling tighter, but Wu Xie looked into the face of death and felt no fear. Twenty-three seconds. It happened in a spray of hot red droplets, scattering across Wu Xie’s face as the mercenary staggered under the force of the blade that suddenly burst through his chest. They both stared at it, but only Johann moved, raising shaking fingers to brush the steel for one incredulous second before his hand fell and he fell with it. As he collapsed, Wu Xie's gaze shifted past him to Zhang Qiling, poised by the stand of spears, one arm still outflung. He did not hurry, but walked across the chamber and crouched to jerk his sword from the corpse's ribcage. Thirty seconds. Zhang Qiling met Wu Xie's eyes, his own as black as pitch. He paused, briefly, and reached to wipe the blood from Wu Xie's cheek with a gentle thumb. Then he straightened and turned to face the coffin, sword still in his hand. There was a breathless pause. Hands shoved furiously at Wu Xie; Huli, underneath him, demanding to be freed. Wu Xie scrambled off and up, but didn’t have a chance to offer him a hand before he surged to his feet. Huli was breathing hard and fast, the tension that had slid from Zhang Qiling's shoulders finding a home in his. His eyes tracked from Johann to the other fallen mercenaries, from the bloody sword to the wielder's face. Standing there, Zhang Qiling was calm in the same way the eye of a hurricane is calm; Wu Xie saw Huli drawn in by that storm, unable to look away. Past them, on the dais, Gao Bai was half-fallen, one hand clutching at the coffin to keep him upright, his bangs clumped in disarray across his brow. It looked like Pangzi had gotten a good punch in: “alive” did not mean “unharmed”, after all. Pangzi, grinning savagely, stood just out of Gao Bai's reach, hip propped against the coffin, the jade held loosely in one hand. It was not Pangzi that Gao Bai was staring at, though, but Zhang Qiling: Zhang Qiling, and the knowledge that all this time death had been hovering at his shoulder. Everything that Wu Xie had felt in the past week was written across Gao Bai’s face, every ounce of fear and fury and frustration returned and redoubled until he had no ability to conceal it from them. He looked like a creature at bay. Wu Xie saw it and rejoiced: a cruel, bitter joy that burned like poison in his chest. “Mr. Gao,” Wu Xie said, and he smiled – grinned – licked his teeth to savor the taste of it. “It seems like we should talk.” Gao Bai pulled himself up slowly, eyes now darting from Wu Xie to Zhang Qiling’s blade to the jade in Pangzi’s hands. He didn’t even glance at Huli. His hands twitched, as if he wanted to grab for it again, but he made no move beyond that, nor did he speak. In the green-tinted light his face looked half-dead. Pangzi leaned back against the coffin casually, holding the jade up and rubbing a thumb across it, as if he were evaluating it for sale in the market. “Ayyy, this is a pretty good piece, Tianzhen,” he said. “Probably worth a lot in the right hands.” Wu Xie was very aware of Huli next to him, silent but so tense that it was a wonder his bones didn’t crack with the strain of it. He himself felt loose, relaxed, the building strain of the past week bled from his bones by Zhang Qiling’s sword. The reek of death filled his lungs when he breathed. He spoke easily. “Worth a lot? What do you think it’s worth, Pangzi? A million yuan? Two million?” Pangzi frowned – pulled the jade in to squint at it more closely – held it out again at arm’s length to catch the light. Even more than Wu Xie, he enjoyed a good bit of theatre, and this one had been a long time coming. “Oh, more than that, for sure. What do you think it’s worth, Xiaoge?” Zhang Qiling’s black-eyed gaze did not leave Gao Bai’s face. There was none of Pangzi’s cheerfully vindicative posturing about him; he was vengeance carved and given breath. When he spoke, his voice was ocean-deep. “A life.” Gao Bai’s face had changed from deathly white to furious red as they talked across him, wounded pride giving him the impetus that courage did not. Now he snapped, “Enough!” His voice was not unsteady; Wu Xie would give him credit for that. “You’ve made your point. What do you want?” Wu Xie’s smile deepened. It was a smile that invited all the little fish to come play, mindless of the crocodile’s jaws. "A bargain, Mr. Gao. As fair as the one I was given. A life is what you offered me, correct? Then I think that's what we'll demand, as well. We leave the tomb together. You get the jade. And we get Huli." Huli did react at that, eyes finally jerking away from Zhang Qiling to focus on Wu Xie. His lips were slightly parted; Wu Xie could see the way his ribcage heaved with his breaths, as if he’d been running for his life. Huli stared, as Gao Bai said in furious disbelief, "I already promised you the antidote!" Wu Xie forced himself to look away from the raw shock of Huli’s face, from the terrible tangle of emotion that was going on behind those eyes, and meet Gao Bai’s gaze. "Not the antidote. Huli. You disable your control, you hand over that bracelet, and you go back to your family and tell them that Huli is ours now. Any link with the Gao family is severed: you are never to come after him, or even breathe his name again." Whatever Gao Bai had expected, it was not this. He looked past Wu Xie and Zhang Qiling for the first time to the person standing between them. "Huli?" Behind the fear and fury, he sounded honestly baffled. "But... why?" Wu Xie had had a hard enough time having this conversation with the two people he loved most in this life; he was not having it here, now - not with Huli staring at him as if his world was being remapped before his eyes. "That's our business, not yours. Huli, for the jade." Gaao Bai gaped a moment longer, at him and Huli and the others, until abruptly he laughed. It was almost a relaxed laugh, casual, until suddenly he darted a hand into his coat. When he pulled it out again it held something that glittered in the light: the vial, poised to throw. “If you want to make a deal, we’ll make a deal – but I get the jade, now, or I’ll destroy this, and you with it.” Wu Xie went perfectly still, feeling that stillness mirrored in Zhang Qiling and Pangzi, because with everything they had been through this day this was the moment of greatest danger. He was very aware of the silver gleam of the bracelet still on Gao Bai’s wrist. But the words of denial were trapped on his tongue; this was not his secret to share, but Huli’s, and he would not betray him. It was in that suspended moment that Huli spoke. Even as they had frozen, he had thawed, shock and bewilderment melting into something new. As he raised his head, the entire angle of his body changed, growing straighter, stronger, tension transitioning to disdain. His voice was cold contempt. "You really are an idiot." Wu Xie saw that he was smiling, the same vicious smile that Wu Xie could feel on his own lips. Gao Bai stared at Huli, at first in apparent shocked incredulity, and then – and Wu Xie could see the exact moment realization hit – with sudden savage fury. His fingers tightened on the vial. "You treacherous little snake," he breathed, low and venomous. The noise that Huli made was harsh and unlovely, the bastard child of a laugh. "It's not treachery." He spoke softly, but it cut the air like a knife. There was a light in his eyes that Wu Xie had never seen there before, as if sudden certainty burned like a flame inside him. "I was never loyal. Things can't be loyal." Wu Xie saw Gao Bai’s knuckles go white, just before hurled the vial at Huli. Anger made his aim untrue; it shattered at Huli’s feet in a scintillant burst of glass and droplets. "What else are you? What value do you have beyond what the family made?” He charged furiously down the steps, making Pangzi stand up sharply, but just as Wu Xie had a heart-attack moment where he thought he had forgotten the trap he drew up at the last second and the last step. “We created you and this is how you repay us?" "You destroyed me!" That was wrenched from Huli's throat, raw enough to hurt. He panted hard, two deep, ragged breaths, before he regained control. With control, the smile returned, true and false in equal measure, poison-sweet. "But look at you now. It took you years, but in just a few days, they've got you crawling." Gao Bai's looked from him to Wu Xie and his face twisted. He laughed disbelievingly. "You think they will be better masters? A few kind words and you think they care?" He stared at Huli. "That's it, isn't it? After all the family's investment, they've ruined you. Fuck, I ought to end you right now, to save them the trouble." His hand rested on the bracelet as he spoke. Wu Xie's breath drew in sharply, and he felt Zhang Qiling gather in like a stormcloud beside him. Huli's eyes tracked the movement as well, but he did not tense – he laughed. When he raised his eyes back to Gao Bai's his smile had widened, all arrogance and sharpened teeth. Wu Xie did not know how there had ever been a time when he had let Huli slip his notice; he was incandescent. "Do it! Go on, do it!" There was no hesitance in him now, but fierce, scornful pride; the words were spat into Gao Bai's face. The sharp gesture he made was imperious – towards Wu Xie, towards Zhang Qiling. "Do you have any idea how much they want to kill you? His blood is seething with it! Right now the only thing standing between you and death is me, so kill me, and I'll drag you with me to hell." Wu Xie's heart pounded in his throat. It was as if the two of them were in a separate moment in time, one that stretched endlessly between them, while on the outside the Triangle could only watch and wait. Huli's gaze did not flicker. It was Gao Bai who finally looked away – looked at Zhang Qiling, and the bloody gleam of his sword. With that shift the breathless moment shattered like glass. Suddenly they could all move again. Gao Bai's hand fell away from the bracelet as he took a little step back, the expression on his face ugly. But they had won; Wu Xie could see that, had felt and witnessed defeat enough times to recognize how it wrapped the shoulders and lay heavy on the skin. They had won. Huli had won – and Wu Xie hadn't been so attuned to Huli, he wouldn't have seen the almost imperceptible shiver that ran through his body from head to foot as Gao Bai looked away, the only indication that he had felt anything weaker than fury or scorn. But if Wu Xie hadn't been so attuned to Huli... if Pangzi hadn't been so focused Gao Bai... if Zhang Qiling had not been constantly calculating the shifting spaces between the five of them, or if there had been breath or heartbeat for Huli to hear... if any of these things had been different, surely one of them would have had enough warning to react before Johann's corpse reached up and pulled Zhang Qiling down. Johann was very definitely dead. There was a gaping hole in his chest and his jaw and eyes were slack and empty, but the mockery of life that drove his flesh gave it the strength to knock Zhang Qiling to the ground. In an instant he had kicked the flailing corpse off and regained his feet in an attack that drove the dead man backwards, and a moment later the head went flying and the body fell – but that moment was all that Gao Bai needed. Wu Xie, halfway-turned towards the struggle, saw only a blur of motion out of the corner of his eye as Gao Bai leapt from the dais. He heard Pangzi’s startled yell in the same instant he felt the ice-sharp prickle of steel against his neck, cutting across his scar. He didn't know if Gao Bai was trying to kill him or hold him hostage – didn't even have time to draw breath or react – because before the knife could sink further Huli was there, lunging into Gao Bai from the side, driving him back and away from Wu Xie. It happened in an instant - in the space of time it took Johann’s headless body to fall. Huli had his fingers tight around Gao Bai’s wrist, the tendons standing out like cords as he struggled for control of the knife. He fought with the feverish strength of a lifetime's rage, but Gao Bai had fury on his side, too, fury and wounded pride, and he was the bigger man. He wrenched his arm from Huli’s grip, steel flashing, but Huli got his feet braced, dove under the blade in one desperate shove and threw him back, staggering. And then it was too late. Gao Bai fell without a sound as the paving stones gave way beneath his weight. Huli would have fallen, too, had Wu Xie not reached him just in time to grab the swinging edge of his jacket and yank him backwards, to stumble to his knees at the edge of the void. There was no chance to catch Gao Bai. The moment stretched endlessly, unalterably. Gao Bai fell, and all around him the air was filled with a glittering firework of gold and jade and treasure that fell with him. Then, with a suddenness that snapped time back into flow, his plummet was arrested and he screamed – a horrible, wet, broken noise – as vast stone spikes slammed through him at ribs and neck and leg. Gao Bai hung transfixed in midair, writhing like a pinned beetle. His hands came up to scrabble helplessly – convulsively – at the red-smeared stone protruding from his chest. His lips worked, but it was not words that came out but blood, vomited with the last unspent air from shattered lungs, a brilliant crimson rush that bloomed and dripped down chin and cheek. He gave one convulsion, heaving against the stone as if to free himself, then relaxed, blankness drifted like clouds across the surface of his eyes. His hands fell away. His wide-splayed limbs twitched spasmodically – once, twice – then stilled. Gao Bai was dead. It was as if they all were frozen. There was no movement, no shift of light. The only sound was the faint jingle of metal as treasure shifted and slid into the emptiness of the pit below. That, and the smallest, punched-out exhalation from Huli where he knelt. Gao Bai was dead. Huli was still on his knees at the edge of the pit. He was the first of them to move, and when he lifted his head it was not fear or pain that showed on his face but relief, as though he had been laboring long under a burden finally lifted. For an eyeblink moment that stretched forever he stared up at Wu Xie, and Wu Xie stared back at him. Then suddenly he surged to his feet, stumbling them both away from the edge, and gripped Wu Xie's arms. His hold was strong enough to hurt, fingers digging into muscle as he shook him. "My name was Liu Sang!" There was desperation in his voice, but something euphoric as well. "Liu Sang! Remember it!" Another violent shake, while he stared into Wu Xie's eyes looking for something past the yawning empty shock. Perhaps he found it, because a noise escaped him, half gasp, half groan, as if it had been hooked and yanked from his lungs unbidden. He released his hold on Wu Xie’s arms, but only so that he could use both hands on the back of his head to pull him in and kiss him. It was not a good kiss. It was harsh and frantic and absolutely unskilled, with no care for the awkwardness of teeth or noses. The lips that pressed against Wu Xie's were roughly chapped and tasted of nothing but dust and smoke. His arms were a vise around Wu Xie's shoulders, and the angles of his bones were sharp enough to hurt as he pulled himself against Wu Xie's body with the strength of a starving man. It was one of the best kisses of Wu Xie's life. Then it was over, Huli dropping his arms and stepping back. His chest heaved, and his lips looked as bruised as Wu Xie's felt. He turned to Zhang Qiling, then, taking three steps towards him, and dazedly Wu Xie thought he was going to kiss him, too, but on the fourth step he faltered and fell to his knees, his outstretched hand snagging on his sleeve instead. As Zhang Qiling's arm fell through his grasp, Huli's grip tightened, catching on his wrist, his fingers, until somehow he crossed the last distance to clasp that captured hand against his brow. The light caught them in profile: a stolen moment of grace. There was something naked and appallingly young about Zhang Qiling's expression as he looked down at the man at his feet. Huli was shaking, but it was only when his fingers loosened and he folded that Wu Xie realized it was not tears, or even laughter, but faint tremors that were beginning to wrack his body. Zhang Qiling caught him as he fell. A moment later Wu Xie was there, too, crashing to his knees beside them. Above them, Pangzi was still frozen at the top of the steps, his incoherent noises of shock stumbling into alarm. "Huli?" Wu Xie gasped, reaching out to touch him uselessly, shoulder and chest and the curve of his cheek, as if he could brush away whatever was happening, smooth out the tremors that were worsening under his touch. Huli's neck arched painfully, head pressed back against Zhang Qiling's chest. As the spasm eased, he sought Zhang Qiling's gaze where he bent above him, a wordless communication that made Zhang Qiling's hand curl closer on his shoulder. He was shuddering now, so hard that it made his teeth chatter. The hand not trapped against Zhang Qiling's chest groped uselessly; when Wu Xie caught it in his own Huli's fingers tightened around his hard enough to bruise. I just don't want to die. "Huli! Tell me what you need!" Wu Xie could hear the desperation in his own voice, the frantic surety that this could be fixed, that the knowledge to undo this was inside Huli's mind, that if he could only tell them what to do they could stop this, make it better. "Huli! Liu Sang!" His eyes had fallen shut, but at that he opened them again, vast and dark. What lay in their depths was not betrayal or fear but weary, exultant relief. The rapt weight of his gaze pinned Wu Xie like a lance. His breath dragged into his lungs, painfully harsh, but he wore the ghost of a smile, as if Wu Xie had saved him, not failed him utterly. “Worth it,” he whispered; more than anything else, he sounded surprised. Then he exhaled a tiny sigh, turned his face against Zhang Qiling's chest, and did not breathe again.

The moment your alarm drags you to consciousness Saturday morning, your brain begins replaying everything that happened the night before. You let your eyes close again, savoring the memory of Javier’s body pressing into you, sturdy and sure. It had taken you ages to fall asleep after that, your thoughts entirely occupied by the man just on the other side of your bedroom wall. Was he doing the same thing as you? Lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, willing tomorrow night to come? You groan in frustrated longing, remembering Javi’s feverish grasp, the hot eagerness of his mouth as he kissed you. Your thighs rub together restlessly, and you pray there’s enough to do at work to keep your mind occupied. The unnatural whiteness of the hospital surroundings only just manages to keep your daydreams at bay. You curse past you for being kind enough to take over one of the newer nurse’s shifts. The only upside is that it’s short- you get home around noon and consider what to do with the long stretch of day between you and “tonight”. You know you’ll need a nap before then, but that still leaves you with plenty of free time. Idly your gaze wanders to the kitchen. It catches on the bowl of fruit sitting on the counter, the bright pop of yellow peeking over the rim...and you smile. -- Balancing the plate you’re holding in one hand, you knock on Javier’s door. Your heart flutters with nerves. It’s only half past eight, but you were driving yourself crazy just sitting watching the clock in your apartment.  The door opens, and something else flutters low in your belly. Words fail you at the sight of Javi in one of his short-sleeved button-downs. He must know what it does, you think absently. The effect he has. The pale color offsetting his tan skin, ever on display by those top two open buttons. Sleeves just the right length to accentuate the curvature of his arm muscles. You gather your senses, only then realizing that Javier has been just as silent as you. You glance up to find his brown eyes sweeping over you, looking just as enchanted as he had last night, despite that today’s is a much more casual sundress. Tingles suffuse your body at his attention.  Finally he meets your gaze, breaking into a warm smile. “Vecinita,” he greets, eyes crinkling. You’re struck by how different this meeting is from your first one at his door. The genuine pleasure you hear in his low voice now; relief, even, as if he feared you’d change your mind about tonight. Now when he looks you over it’s with far more knowing, an appreciation of what he alone is privy to. “Javi.” You return his smile, bashful and giddy all at once. Hastily he steps back, gesturing for you to come in. “Please-” Your shoulder nearly brushes his chest as you pass; you long to reach out and touch, but the plate in your hands prevents you from doing so. Javier locks the door while you linger in the entryway. “I made you something,” you say, watching him approach. “Oh yeah?” You can see his curiosity burning bright. Instead of plastic wrap, you’d covered this creation with a plastic bowl. Javi may have smelled you baking earlier, but he had no way of knowing for sure what you’d brought him. “Mhmm. You want to know what it is?” You try hard to suppress your smile. Javier stands in front of you now, an intrigued, hungry glint in his eye at the prospect of such a mysterious surprise. His gaze flickers between your face and the dish. “I would love to,” he murmurs. You extend the plate towards him. “Hold this for me?” you request. Javi obliges, carefully replacing your hands with his own. You feel a tiny thrill upon touching his skin again. With a small flourish, you lift the bowl away to reveal a perfectly shaped bundt cake, draped in a yellow-flecked white glaze. “It’s lemon drizzle cake,” you explain, shy again. “You said you liked it, and I...wanted to make you something.” Javier’s expression goes quite indecipherable. He lifts the dish to his nose and inhales deeply. “Bella,” he sighs, eyes closed in contentment. Beautiful.  When he opens them again, his eyes are softer than you’ve ever seen them, like melting chocolate all over your heart. “Have some with me.” “Right now?” You’re surprised, but Javi can be so unpredictable sometimes you suppose you shouldn’t be. He cocks an eyebrow as he lowers the cake from his face. “Did you have other plans?” He smirks meaningfully. You flush hot at his insinuation, the reminder that you did, in fact, theoretically have other plans with Javi tonight besides eating cake. You swallow despite your suddenly dry mouth. “Nope,” you respond innocently. After a brief dance around his kitchen, involving many light, tentative touches and stolen glances, you’re seated at his table with a slice of cake and a splash of whiskey each. You hold your breath as he takes a bite. And releases a drawn-out moan of satisfaction. It’s so like the noises he made while you kissed him that your fork falls slack in your hand. You’re hypnotized by the movements of his jaw, his throat- more echoes of last night, his show of eating the dessert you had fed him. You pull in a slow, deep breath, willing yourself to stay focused. Once you both recover from that first bite, you make conversation. Slowly at first, but eventually you fall into a familiar rhythm, and you’re relieved as it feels like any other night with Javi. Or at least it would, if you weren’t constantly being distracted by his mouth. You stare as he licks a sip of whiskey off his lips, remembering the sight of them kiss-swollen the night before. You just know he’s exaggerating his motions to torture you. Long after you’ve both finished your cake, he slumps back against his chair, wrung out with laughter at a silly story you’ve just told. You love seeing him like this, so relaxed, free of all the tension he usually carries with him. Grinning, Javier swallows the last mouthful of whiskey in his glass before sighing deeply. “Thank you for this, Vecinita. It...means a lot to me.” He stares at the glass in hands as he speaks, but when he glances up, you can see how much it takes for him to vocalize. You smile softly. “Of course, Javier.” Suddenly needing something to do, you busily scoop up the plates and head to the kitchen with them.  “Whoa, hey, what do you think you’re doing?” Javi calls your name as he comes after you, obviously not intending to allow you to do any cleaning. You had only planned to drop the plates in the sink, but Javi’s immediate protest upon suspecting otherwise is adorably endearing. “Just tidying up a bit.” You turn, not expecting him to be so close, only to find him nearly pressing you into the countertop. Your breath catches. Is your dance finally coming to an end? Javier looks just as surprised to find himself so close to you. His eyes are impossibly round and soulful beneath his sweeping fringe, and you immediately ache to hold him again, to run your fingers through its softness. He swallows, but reaches out, skimming a hand gently down your arm. “Preciosa,” Javi whispers in that way he has, his voice a husk of a sound. He clears his throat before continuing. “Did you want to stay for awhile? Tonight?” You bite your lip, that ache focusing into something sharper, sweeter. “That’s why I invited myself over.” You take a small step closer to him, all but closing the distance between you. Javi gives a small, knowing quirk of his lips in response. “Is it, now.” He shifts the slightest bit nearer, a mere ripple of motion, angling his head down toward you.  Your eyebrows raise, expression turning sly. “Were you there when I kissed you last night?” And now you’ve said it, the first time either of you have mentioned the previous evening outright. His smirk broadens. “I was,” he drawls, his face so close to yours you can taste the sweet lemon and whiskey on his breath. “Maybe you need a reminder.” Seduction radiates from him in an inescapable aura. You had noticed this effect in passing, back when Javi wasn’t actually trying with you. But he was trying now, and all of that energy is directed solely at you, with nothing else around to detract. Javier surrounds you, drawing you in with all the urgency of the ocean washing against a cliff face- knowing that sooner or later, it would crumble. Holding his gaze, you tip your chin up.  The moment shimmers. Javi’s lips suspend just above yours- and then they fall, and he’s kissing you like he can no longer remember if he's supposed to be the sea or the stone. His mouth moves urgently at first but you welcome it, holding him tightly, holding him steady. He doesn’t wait to sweep his tongue into your mouth, and you can’t hold back a muffled sound of pleasure at his enthusiasm. His arms encircle you, and Javi releases a soft sigh as you embrace him in return. His frenzied grasp gradually calms, although the surging heat of him doesn’t abate, desire searing through you with every brush of his skin. He kisses you languidly, thoroughly, taking you apart with his mouth on yours. Your limbs threaten to give way to the tide of his intentions. But you have plans of your own tonight. It’s your turn to taste him, and although you’re reluctant to break the kiss, your mouth is eager to follow the line of his jaw like your eyes have been doing all evening. Javi lolls his head to the side to allow you full access, and you revel at his huffing breaths as you lightly suck at various spots down his neck and chest. It is immensely satisfying to feel him jolt as you trace your tongue along his clavicle- finally some payback for the perpetual taunting of his open collars. But Javier is never one to be idle. Despite his stuttering under your attention, his hands flit over your body, stroking and caressing reverently, aimlessly. He is just gathering the courage to sweep his thumbs around your breasts when your hold shifts to his lapels, intent on freeing the rest of the buttons. Javi’s breathless laugh is sinfully low in your ear as his hands fall from your chest, more than happy to let you have your way. They land on your hips, and just like the night before, your loose skirt bunches up in his fists. Only this time he gathers it deliberately, working it gradually up your thighs. When he reaches bare flesh he groans, and you shudder, your mouth leaving his neck. “Vecinita,” Javi mumbles hoarsely. “Wanted to touch you for so long.” He kneads at your waist beneath your dress. To have finally arrived here is overwhelming, your thoughts hazy with the need to touch and be touched.  “Me too.” You exhale the words as you smooth your hands along his ribs.  Time seems to grind to a halt as you take in the revelation of each other’s skin. Eventually, you pull back to look at each other. For once, you think, you are perfectly in sync. You meet his gaze with a burning, steady certainty, and find Javier searching your face for that very thing. When he finds it, his brown eyes churn dark as molasses, thick and sweet as the molten arousal in your core. “Should we...continue this somewhere else?” you suggest. Third time’s the charm, you think wryly, remembering the previous two propositions from Javi you’d had to reject. The corner of his mouth curves up, and you know he’s thinking the same thing. “Thought you’d never ask,” he quips, dropping a kiss to your cheek. You separate only for him to take your hand. The next thing you know you’re standing in Javier’s bedroom, fidgeting slightly as he flicks on a lamp and closes the curtains. Your nerves evaporate, however, as he turns back to you and you get your first clear glimpse of his bare chest between the fluttering halves of his shirt.  Javi doesn’t miss your stare or your stance, and pauses halfway across the room. The lamplight glows on his smooth skin as he shrugs the shirt off completely, letting it fall to the floor. Fuck, he is broad. Strong, you can tell (you’ve felt), if not obviously toned. You bite your lip, unable to suppress a grin as he makes his way back to you. “Something funny?” He raises an eyebrow as he pulls you back into his arms.  Temporarily distracted, you hum in enjoyment of the breadth of Javi’s bare flesh molding to you. “No,” you remember to answer. You run your hands over his biceps and shoulders, down the muscles framing his spine and hips. Pressing a kiss to his jaw, you giggle as a blush heats your face. “You’re just...hot, Javi.”  He leans back to look at you, lips tilting as he struggles to restrain a smile himself. “You think I’m hot, huh?” He shakes his head. “I’m supposed to be making you hot,” he muses. His hands trail up to your shoulders, toying with the thin straps of your sundress. Javier meets your eye as he draws them down.  Abruptly you’re lost for words again. “Mission accomplished,” you breathe, following him willingly as he tugs on them, walking backwards toward the bed. Javi monitors carefully for any sign of hesitation, but it’s hard to focus on your face when you’re standing between his thighs, your chest level with his chin as you help him push down your dress. “Oh, preciosa.” Javi’s breathing quickens at every new inch of you that’s revealed to him. He tips forward as if pulled on a string, inhaling hungrily as his nose presses into your belly. You squirm at the wet heat of his mouth on your skin. His wide hands hold you in place, and each kiss is like another drop into the pooling slick between your thighs. You thread your fingers into his hair for balance, a bit of your impatience slipping out in a whine. Javier looks up at the sound, a hint of a smile on his face. A reassuring echo of everything you’re feeling: relief and excitement to be here with each other, lingering disbelief that it’s truly happening. He winds both hands into the remains of your dress, poised to push it the rest of the way off you. “May I?” he asks. Voice rough, trying to disguise the plea in it.  You eagerly consent, and it falls at your feet. Javi’s hands rove over you again, squeezing shamelessly at your thighs and ass, but you squirm where you stand, needing more. Gently you push at his shoulders, placing one knee on the bed to communicate your intentions. He scrambles backwards to comply. The bed pitches beneath you as you arrange yourselves, until finally you pin him down, surging over him in a heated kiss. You both moan as your bare skin meets.  You want to spend forever here. Elongate this moment, spend small eternities teasing out every sound and twitch of pleasure that can be put toward each other’s undoing. But not yet. Later, both of you will insist on it- but tonight, your needs are baser, your movements only as slow as you can bear after yearning apart for so long. The chafe of Javier’s jeans distracts you. Your brow furrows in a frown as you fumble with the belt buckle while still mostly lying on top of him. Your efforts frustrated, you switch to palming him through the denim- and delight in the choked sounds he makes as he bucks into your hand. Javi grumbles wordlessly, nipping at your neck as he rolls you partway over. This angle is more convenient for you, but any plans you had are forgotten almost immediately as his fingers graze your panties.  One work-roughened hand glides deliberately along your lower abdomen, fingertips stroking questioningly at the elastic in the juncture of your thigh. You bite your lip as he waits for a response.  “Please,” you whisper. Javi wastes no time stretching your underwear to the side so he can dip his fingers into your folds. “Fuck, Vecinita.” His voice is a low groan as he feels how wet you are. You keen at the sensation, one hand gripping his shoulder and the other fisted in the sheets. Your eyes flutter shut, but Javier watches raptly, committing every second to memory. He intends to learn every tiny detail of what brings you pleasure, that he may do so as often as you’ll let him.  Javi rasps your name in wonderment as he eases one finger into you. Draped over you the way he is, the sound sinks into you with the same thick potency as the next digit he adds, and your hips arch into his hand. Your breaths come short and quick. It’s too much- you are surrounded by Javier, the smell of his sheets and the weight of his hip, his thigh pinning one of your legs. You force your eyelids to open. But the sight of the man above you proves to be your undoing. You’ve wanted this for so long, yet your imagination had never captured the look on Javier’s face- his steady scrutiny of your body’s every response, the fervent determination with which he undertakes everything he cares about. He locks eyes with you as he presses the heel of his hand against your clit. Just like that, all the muscles in your lower body lock down tight as the building pressure roils to a peak. Your eyes widening is all the warning Javi gets before you come, quaking apart beneath him, your head thrown back in ecstasy. He thinks you might say his name between heaving gasps (but next time he’ll make sure of it). Javier prolongs your bliss as long as he can, knowing that it’s partially to buy himself some time. He’s closer to the edge than he’d like to admit, just from getting you off- but who can blame him, when you say his name like that? “Javier,” you manage again, resting your hand on his wrist to stop him. He halts immediately, withdrawing his fingers as your eyes slowly open and focus. Biting your lip, you give him a glowing grin he’s never seen before, bright and mischievous, and pull him down into a kiss.  He’s not expecting the strength of your enthusiasm; he falls into you with a soft grunt before he has a chance to prop himself up. But you don’t mind in the slightest, curving and molding yourself around the shape of him, and he thrusts reflexively, automatically seeking relief in the cradle of your hips. He’s never hated clothing more in his life as his jeans dull the sensation he craves. But your thoughts seem to be aligned as, with a sound he’d swear was a growl, you roll yourself over him, sitting up and fiddling determinedly with his belt buckle. You don’t ask, but you don’t have to- Javi is already lifting his hips to help you wrestle them down. You don’t hurry as you climb back up to his lap. You run your hands appreciatively over the well-toned thighs that you hadn’t let yourself ogle before, pressing a kiss to one familiar scar. Licking your lips at the impressive swell in his boxers, nerves and desire tangle in your throat as you seat yourself carefully over him.  But it seems like Javier is done being careful, because he yanks you forward by the hips so his cock is nestled firmly against your sex. A high-pitched sound squeaks out of you at the feeling, the overwhelming heat of him; the two thin layers of fabric between you might as well be nothing. You note with no small amount of pride that you’re not the only one with a damp patch, before Javi is urging you down to his mouth. “Sorry,” he breathes, looking almost pained. “Don’t be,” you tell him, the words barely recognizable against the urgent slant of his lips. You grind down into him and his hips lurch upward; if you hadn’t swallowed it, you think the sound he made might have been a shout. Javi’s hands coast up your ribs and his fingers dig into the band of your bra. “Vecinita, can I-?” “Yes.” You’re very nearly panting, skin tingling in anticipation of his touch. He unclasps it easily and relishes in the unbroken expanse of skin beneath his palms. You sit up slightly to toss your bra away and Javi immediately brings his hands to your breasts, thumbing your nipples and watching the way your mouth opens in a soundless plea.  Your vision blurs with pleasure. Javi’s ardent exploration of your body spreads electricity through your lower belly, and you squirm atop him, running your hands over his chest in attempt to return the feeling. Javi delights in your reactions, his own need momentarily forgotten while he admires you. You’re so damn beautiful- brilliant and animated, a sheen of sweat on your skin that he is shamelessly proud to be the cause of.  His focus stumbles as you pinch the waistband of his boxers between your fingers. “Javi.” Your breath hitches. “Can we..?” You bite your lip, and if you looked any more fucking perfect he wouldn’t be able to breathe. As it is Javier can only nod, his pulse racing, hands already moving. You scramble off him to do the same. As soon as his underwear is gone he’s reaching for you again, despite feeling an unfamiliar flicker of self-consciousness under your searing gaze. But it vanishes as soon as he sees the want burning there, the same reverent gratitude he feels every time he opens his door to your shy smile. He lets himself take you in. He had touched you earlier, but it was another thing entirely to see you baring yourself, glistening thighs parting for him as he slides back toward you like a magnet. Your bodies and hands collide, hot breaths mingling as you eagerly yet tenderly explore newly-revealed skin. What little air there is between you trembles. When you wrap your hand around him, Javi lets out the sexiest sound you’ve heard from him yet. It’s difficult to keep yourself quiet when you feel him shudder, when his desperation is clear in the way his hands tighten on you. Slowly you enjoy the velvety drag of him, once, twice, until he speaks. “I’m not going to last if you keep doing that, preciosa.” Javier's voice is a gravelly confession. This is the most disheveled you’ve ever seen him. His hair mussed from your fingers, eyes a little wild and more black than brown. It occurs to you that you’ve never felt this safe or unself-conscious in bed with someone, and suddenly you’re fighting a smile. You’re having fun. You want to do this again. You haven’t even done it yet and you’re already thinking about the next time, all the next times you want to have with him. Something of your thoughts must show on your face, because Javi’s expression softens. He leans forward to kiss you, and it’s more subdued this time, a quiet promise. You release your grip on his cock. “Do you, um. have protection?” The live current of anticipation thrums between you again. “Yeah.” Javi rolls onto his back and rummages in the nightstand.  You follow him, perching on his lap again as he returns to facing you. He pauses with a condom in hand, eyebrows raising. “Is this okay?” you check. You wouldn’t be surprised if he normally preferred to be more in control during sex. He nods. “You wanna do the honors?” Javi extends the condom to you. “I think you just want me to touch you again,” you tease, taking and ripping open the foil. His gaze fixes on where you delicately unroll the latex over him. “You have no idea, Vecinita,” he says lowly. Your stomach bottoms out at the raw hunger on his face. In the half-light Javier is a vision, all coppery skin over taut muscles. Everything in him holding itself back from surging up to finally take what he’s craved for so long. His hands skate up your thighs, but there they wait, letting you take the reins. You rise to your knees, carefully positioning yourself over him.  There’s no resistance whatsoever as you lower yourself onto him. Just the breathtaking deliverance from weeks worth of pining; that holy first moment when all you can do is feel. Feel the thick, insistent length of his cock and the delicious stretch as you accommodate it. Feel him grip your thighs tightly to enough to bruise, and the way it only heightens the bliss radiating through you, loosening your joints and setting your senses afloat. But the guttural sound Javi makes and the stunted surge of his hips into yours keeps you tethered, and you intend to be present for every second of this. “Javi,” you breathe, your muscles trembling as you slowly begin to move.  You brace your hands on his abdomen. You watch each other as you create a rhythm together, lips parted in silent pants. He murmurs your name in return. One hand reaches up as high as it can, caressing your arm, your shoulder- settling on your breast, fingers rolling your nipple until you jolt. Javi’s eyes flutter as he feels you clench around him. When he meets your gaze again his other hand curves around to squeeze your ass, encouraging you, silently pleading for more. So you start moving in earnest, rising and falling atop him steadily. Each time he fills you anew is like the first time, shockwaves of pleasure overlapping in a ceaseless flow. Javi’s hands never relent, always stroking or grabbing at some part of you. His husky grunts spur you on with every thrust. You can see him struggling to keep his eyes open, trying and failing not to be consumed by the sensations washing through you both. On a particularly deep plunge you linger, bearing down on his lap and his cock. Javi’s head tips back, a long groan dragging from his throat. You bend down and seal your lips to his neck, teeth scraping a mark as it vibrates with his resulting swear. Javi wraps his arms around you, one hand directing your mouth to his. You let his kiss guide you until you're both sitting upright, and this, you think, is what you both need. This breathless closeness, your desire clear in the way your limbs encircle each other. The fill of him shifts at this angle and you chase it, your fingers digging into his shoulders for balance. Javier holds you tight to him, grinding his hips up into you like he can’t get deep enough and you approve, desperate sounds catching high-pitched in your throat. “Vecinita, fuck- you feel so much better than my dreams,” he grits the admittance into the hollow beneath your ear, the heat of his mouth startling you when he sucks at the sensitive skin. You gasp your agreement, words lost beneath the bliss that’s coursing through your veins and coiling in your belly. Your movement is limited with how firmly Javi clutches you to him, but you cant your hips back and forth, gripping the damp hair at the nape of his neck. A strangled sound escapes him and he thrusts up into you, setting a new rhythm. You let him, using your own strength to grasp his face in both hands for a kiss, but it’s impossible to concentrate on his mouth when the tilt of his hips is catching on your clit the way it is. His skin is slick with sweat and yours is too, but you keep your forehead pressed against his.  “Javier-” Your moans trip over his own needy sounds, open mouths colliding in half-conscious efforts. Javi forces his vision to focus, wanting to remember what you look like when you sound like this, but christ if he wasn’t struggling not to come before. He gapes at the almost-pained furrow in your brow and as your walls contract around his cock in the same way they did around his fingers earlier, he realizes you’re close, too. “Preciosa, please.” His voice is all rasp and ruin as his movements speed up, begging you to make the fall with him. The bare need in his eyes and the strain in his body are the last push and abruptly everything in you seizes up- before releasing, spasms of pleasure rocketing up and down your spine. Javi’s own climax hits him a second later, his shudders prolonging the high pulsing through you, his bunching muscles sparking shivery aftershocks. Gradually you both still, your heaving breaths calming, fingers loosening where they’ve indented the other’s skin. You peek at him as best you can from where your foreheads still touch. Javi looks back at you, his brown eyes dazed and soft.  “Hi,” you murmur shyly.  A laugh rasps out of him and he kisses you, his movements lazy and unhurried. Your lips follow his automatically as he pulls back, and Javier smiles- a touch pridefully- at the dreamy look on your face.  “You alright there, Vecinita?” He’s aware of the niggling craving for a smoke, but more powerful is the urge to remain in your arms, to wrap you up in him so thoroughly you’ll never be without that sweet smile. “Mmmhm.” You lean forward to nestle your face in his neck. Javi’s eyes drift shut at the absent press of your lips, and then- “Did you say you dreamed about me?” -they stretch wide in alarm. Had he said that? Fuck.  “Uhh.” Javi stalls, licking his lips nervously.  You sit back up and examine his face, curious when he doesn’t answer immediately. “You did!” you accuse, eyes alight with delighted surprise. But your movement reminds you of where you’re sitting, and you wince involuntarily. “Wait, tell me in a minute,” you request. Carefully you hold the condom in place as you rise from Javier’s lap. “Ah.” He grimaces in understanding and swivels to sit with his feet on the floor while he removes it. The first hints of awkward uncertainty needle at you, but they disappear as Javi rolls back over and immediately pulls you down into his arms. You giggle at his dramatic collapse, happily tucking yourself against his broad frame. You let peace settle for a moment before speaking.  “Soo…those dreams?” Javier sighs deeply, resigned to his embarrassment. “Just once,” he mumbles. “Maybe twice.” The first had been the chocolate-inspired wet dream. The second he remembered only faintly, an impression of your softness surrounding him in blissful languor all that remained after his alarm had shattered it. Fantasies don’t count, he decides. Those he’d bring up in another conversation. Your eyes gleam with fondness when he risks a glance down at you. “You’ll have to tell me about them later,” you declare drowsily. His flustered scowl melts away as you tip your chin up to kiss his jaw, snuggling yourself more heavily into him. “Tired already?” Javi’s characteristic smirk reappears, albeit with more tenderness than it usually has. You crack one eye open. “You’re not?” Javier chuckles, a rich sound that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Your eyes open fully, your heart beating faster as he carefully rolls you onto your back, settling himself between your thighs in a way that already feels familiar. “Oh, no, preciosa,” he purrs. His lips skim your collarbone, and you would squirm if his weight weren’t sinking into you in all the right places. His voice drawls low in your ear. “You may not have work tonight, but I have lots of plans. All of them involving you, me, and this bed.” Your mouth goes dry at his words, at the slow, insistent shimmy of his bare hips into yours. Your shaky inhale is drowned out by his approving growl.  Javi’s tongue traces the plush curve of your breast, but there he pauses. His eyebrows raise, hunger momentarily fading as he wordlessly asks you if he can continue. Your eyes are wide but you nod, a promising smile curling your lips. You’re not sure who’s more pleased by your answer.

Camp indeed was in their future. They got a few more quiet, tense hours in before the sun began its path to the western horizon and Link pulled them off the road into a small cluster of trees. As the sky got darker the red lights overhead grew more visible against the sky, seeming to pulsate against the backdrop of the stars. Looking at them sent a shiver down Time’s spine. The group silently set about getting camp running. A small fire crackled merrily to life beneath Sky’s hands while the others placed their bedrolls around the small clearing. It did not escape Time’s notice that Link did not set up a bedroll. Instead he made his way up beside Sky and tapped at his Sheika magic thing. A pot and ladle appeared in his hands and Link began making quick use of them. Ingredients flowed out of the rectangle and into the pot, and soon there was a rich, savoury aroma of stew wafting around the camp. “What’re you making?” asked Wind, peering into the pot and one finger diving into the stew. There was a quick jerky movement from Link as he raised his spoon to smack Wind on the back of the wrist and then stopped midway, sloshing some stew over the side of the pot and into the flames. Wind stuck his finger into his mouth, eyes lighting up and a grin spreading across his face. A warning glance from Time sent Wind scurrying away before he could dip his finger back in.  After a short while Link produced some bowls and mugs and began ladling out his stew. He offered the first one to Legend timidly, eyes skittering away from Legend’s as he took the bowl with a nod. When he went to take a bite, Legend’s eyes lit up in a way they only did for delicious meals, mostly Malon’s home cooking as far as Time had seen. When everyone had a bowl in hand the usual campfire chatter started up, although still somewhat subdued. Sky and Hyrule were discussing a blue and white flower one of them had picked up along the way and whether or not it had any magical properties they could make use of. Hyrule just wanted to eat it but Sky was arguing for trying to brew it into an elixir. Wind, Warriors, and Four were each taking care of their weapons and talking about cool items they had seen in shops and not had enough rupees to buy.  Their guide, however, sat by himself away from the fire, quietly eating his stew with his head down. Time watched from across the fire as Twilight slowly made his way beside Link, sitting in silence while the two ate their stew before starting a conversation Time couldn’t hear. Or, couldn’t hear Twilight’s part of it. For the most part Link didn’t seem to keen on responding, his hands staying around his bowl in his lap as he listened to Twilight. Time was so focussed on watching Link he nearly jumped when Legend sat down next to him with a huff. He could almost count down to how long it would be before Legend said something. Five… four… three… two.. “Hey, can I talk to you for a second?” said Legend as he toed at the dirt. Time put his empty bowl down and turned to him. Legend was worrying at the sleeves of his tunic, not quite looking at Time. Instead he stared absently into the fire. “What’s on your mind, Legend.” “This afternoon, the kid… He pushed me out of the way when Warriors attacked. He could’ve used me as a shield, or just let me go, but he pushed me out of the way,” said Legend slowly. Time waited. Whatever was running through Legend’s mind he was taking the time to think before he spoke, not a practice common to his usual sharp speech. “Why though? He was threatening me a moment before over nothing. I guess I was being a bit of a dick, but so was he! Not explaining himself in words when I don’t understand sign. Ugh. Still, he had the opportunity to use me as a shield, but he didn’t. He tried to save me instead. Why, Time? I don’t get it.” Time sighed. In the distance an owl hooted. Not for the first time he wished he had someone else to turn to as the emotional leader of the group. Warriors and Twilight could handle leading them through battle and over land, but everyone always came to him when their emotions became overwhelming. “It’s hard to say for sure. None of us really know what’s going on in anyone else’s head. But if I had my guess, when he grabbed you it wasn’t an attack, more of an instinctual reaction. You scared him, Legend. Take a look at this world, the Calamity over Hyrule Castle. We don’t know what this world is like, or how the people here will react, same as when I first travelled to your world,” said Time. Legend nodded, though the tension was still present in his shoulders. “Do you think, maybe, you could teach me a bit of sign? If I’m going to call him out for being a dick it should be in his own language, right?” said Legend, his usual cadence creeping back into his voice. Time felt a smile tugging at his lips. “Of course. Wash up and we’ll get started,” said Time with a grin. This would be good fun for him, and he knew Legend was the sort to follow through on whatever he set his mind to. Who knows, he may start teaching the rest of them as this continued. After an hour of getting Legend started with the alphabet and the rest being entertained by some kind of hand slapping game Wind brought up the group turned in to their bedrolls. To Time’s surprise, Link volunteered to take watch. Gathering a bow and sword out of his device Link turned and headed into the trees, only signing a quick “patrol” back at him. Time watched him disappear into the darkness. To Time’s left Twilight also watched him go. “Think he’s just going to leave us behind here?” asked Twilight quietly. “Somehow, I don’t think so. Get some sleep, Pup. Morning seems to come early here.” Twilight laughed quietly. “’Night, Old Man.” Soon the soft sound of snoring filled the night. Yet Time lay awake, staring up at the stars. Overhead a shooting star whizzed by, winking out to the south. There was something keeping Time awake that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. The ground was hard and unforgiving, but no more so than any other night they had camped out. All his boys were soundly sleeping around him. His sword was close at hand, all his masks still safe in his bag, there were none of the usual worries keeping him awake. With a sigh Time rolled over for what felt like the hundredth time when his ears caught a sound. It was faint, far off in the distance and not loud enough to rouse any of his sleeping companions, but it was unmistakably the sound of two blades meeting. Time threw off his blankets and reached for his sword. Foregoing the time it would take to put on his armour he nudged Twilight awake. “Stay here, Pup. Something’s going on over there and I’m going to take a look. I’ll yell for help if I need it, be ready to wake the others,” Time whispered. Twilight nodded once, reaching for his own sword and sitting up in his bedroll. Satisfied Twilight was at the ready, Time crept out into the trees. Without his armour, Time could move fairly quietly and took a moment to be proud of how little presence he had as he snuck up on the fight. It wasn’t long before Time found what he was looking for. A pack of moblins and bokoblins had set up some kind of camp full of wooden platforms lit by a few torches and a campfire. There was a commotion at the centre of their camp. Time strained his eyes in the dark, trying to see what they were attacking when a light from one of the torches caught the fight. a swish of a cloak and the hylian-sized sword and shield. Link. What in Hylia’s name was he thinking? Time watched as Link dodged a sword as long as he was tall before moving in close to a moblin and slashing as high as he could reach. When the moblin raised a leg to simply kick Link away Time jumped in with a shout, knowing Twilight would hear now that he was awake. Using the Biggorn sword’s weight, Time spun and slashed at the moblin, knocking it off balance and sending it sprawling. Link looked at Time with wide, surprised eyes for half a second before turning to parry a bokoblin with a club in hand. There was no time to say anything as the moblin picked itself back up and roared. It swung down at time with its huge sword and a snarl. Time raised his sword to parry and immediately regretted it. The monster had thrown its whole weight behind the swing, and the effort of parrying it sent pins and needles up Time’s arm. With a grunt he shoved the blade away and went on the offensive. His strikes were hard and as fast as he could make with the biggorn sword. The real challenge was not letting the moblin get between him and Link. The moblin seemed fixated on keeping the two of them apart. And it wasn’t alone. A bokoblin had joined it, trying to jab at him with a spear whenever he took a step towards Link. The other monsters were closing in around them, forming a snarling barrier between Time and the way back to camp. At last Time saw his opening as the moblin thrust his sword in an attempt to skewer him. Time used his sword to shove the giant blade away before pivoting and stabbing the moblin through. With a final roar the monster collapsed bonelessly to the ground and disappeared in a puff of dark smoke. “Time!” Twilight shouted as he emerged from the woods with the others in tow. There was a collective war cry as the other heroes drew their weapons and joined the fray. A wave of relief washed over Time even as he dodged a blow from the bokoblin. Now with support, Time could focus on finding Link again. He had been backed up under one of the wooden platforms by a pair of moblins, one dark, even in the firelight, and one a mottled white and grey. Time dodged another attack from the bokoblin, this time answering it with one of his own. The bokoblin was sent flying straight into Warrior’s waiting blade. “Got it!” shouted Warriors over the noise of battle. “Thanks!” Around Time the battle surged and fell away like a wave. Wind was his usual brazen self, throwing himself blade-first at any enemy he could see. Legend was making great use of his magic rod. Sky and Hyrule were tag-teaming a moblin, one distracting while the other rushed in and landed a hit. For was laughing and the reason soon became apparent when a small explosion lit up the area and several bokoblins. He had apparently found some kind of explosive and was chucking it at the enemies. In the chaos it was hard to tell where Twilight had ended up until a bokoblin cried out and disappeared right behind Time and Twilight stepped through the black smoke with a wolfish grin before moving on to the next target. Then, across the battlefield, there was the screeching sound of metal on metal, followed by shattering sound. Time looked to see Link, still faced with his two moblins with a broken sword. There was little more than a hilt left. Time started towards Link at a sprint. He wasn’t going to let their guide get killed even if he did start a foolish fight. Time’s heart pounded as he ran. The mottled moblin raised a club the size of a pony and began swinging it down. Link bought himself a moment as he threw the broken hilt square in the moblin’s face but it wasn’t going to be enough. Time wasn’t going to get there in time. But as the moblin hesitated Link’s hand went to his device and in a flash of blue pulled out another sword. Another familiar sword. At the same time there was an anguished cry from Sky somewhere in the fight. Link thrust forward, dodging the club and a swipe from the black moblin and stabbing the mottled one through. It fell with a snarl just as Time got there and rammed his sword into the black one. It too vanished in a puff of dark smoke. For a moment the two of them took a moment to breathe, panting in the torchlight. In the brief reprieve Time could see that yes, it was in fact the Master Sword Link had in his hand, and that it was glowing faintly in the dim light. There was the answer to the question of if this was the right Link for this Hyrule. The Master Sword was a dead giveaway. Turning back to the fight, Time just caught Warriors dispatching the last of the bokoblins. Doing a quick sweep, none of the heroes were worse for wear. Hyrule had a growing bruise on his jaw from a lucky hit but other than that everyone was unharmed. Sky was frantically looking around on his hands and knees in the grass, and Time knew exactly what for. “I can’t have just dropped her! Where did she go?” muttered Sky as Time and Link approached. Wind and Twilight were also searching the area, though with far less enthusiasm. Mostly they were toeing through the grass and bushes around the edges of the monsters’ camp. “Everyone okay?” asked Time as he and Link approached. “Oh, peachy. Love being woken up in the middle of the night to fight,” said Legend, sarcasm being swallowed by a jaw-cracking yawn at the end. “We’re fine, Time,” said Hyrule as he came up to him and Link. “Where did you all come from? I thought you’d be asleep,” signed Link. He gave Time and Hyrule curious looks, seemingly nonchalant about the whole just finished fighting for his life thing. “I was trying to sleep when I heard the sounds of a fight,” said Time. “I was clearing the road. You’re armed, but I didn’t know you were capable fighters,” replied Link with a shrug. “It was going to make tomorrow easier to get them out of the way now.” Time felt a very specific emotion overtake him. The same emotion that came up when Hyrule ate some unknown flora or Wind decided to see just how high of a cliff he could jump into water from. It was a mix of frustration and acceptance that boiled down into the feeling of being ‘done’. Time was just about to impart to Link how foolish of an idea he had when Sky caught notice of the sword now strapped to Link’s back. “Fi!” came Sky’s shout and suddenly he was up beside Link. “May I have her back, please?” Link simply looked at Sky confused, before looking to Time and Hyrule. “What is he talking about?” Hyrule’s eyes lit up when he saw the hilt of the Master Sword peeking over Link’s shoulder. “How’d you get it? You were way over there,” asked Hyrule. Link still looked between them, not understanding. “The sword, Link. We’re talking about the Master Sword,” said Time, gesturing to it. Link took out the Master Sword, the soft glow lighting his hands where he held it. That drew the attention of the others like nothing else. They all gathered in close to stare. Sky reached out to take the sword, as he would after lending it to any of the rest, but Link drew back. The hand that had been balancing the blade closed around it and a bead of blood dripped along the sword’s sharp edge. Twilight raised his hands and spoke softly. “It’s alright, we’re not going to take it. Usually Sky here hangs on to the Master Sword, but you can hold on to it right now. I think we’ve got some things to talk about, huh Time.” Time met Twilight’s glance with a nod. “Yes, we should have a talk. But not here, not now. Let’s get back to camp and sleep what few hours are left until the morning. We can talk when we’ve rested.” He led the way back and had the sneaking suspicion that if Twilight and Sky hadn’t been bringing up the rear with Link their newest hero would have vanished into his Hyrule, never to be seen again. As it was, coming back to camp and trying to get everyone into their beds was tense and quiet. Warriors quietly offered to take watch while they slept, though Time had a feeling it was more about making sure Link didn’t try to leave. None of them got much sleep, and none of them looked rested in the morning. But Link was still there, and that counted for something. Without a word they all clustered around Time, shoving Link to the front and centre. Once they were all comfortable Time began. It wasn’t the first time he had to make this speech and not sound like a crazed madman. In fact, he was quite proud of the fact that he managed to sound less and less like a madman every time. Link asked no questions while Time told him about all their different Hyrules and the different timelines they had all been dragged through or about the constants of being named Link, the princess named Zelda, and for most of them the Master Sword. Time went on to explain that each of the people around Link had been on their own journey and saved their own Hyrules. Through it all Link said nothing but Time could feel the tension radiating off him. The look in his eyes became harder, like Link was walling himself up inside his head the longer Time talked. Link had sat with the Master Sword resting in his lap, and while Time talked his knuckles turned white where he gripped it. Thankfully the sword was resting in its sheath or Time had no doubt he would have cut himself deeply. “… so, in conclusion, we’d like you to join us and help get rid of the shadow that’s plaguing all our worlds. Oh, and Sky’ll need the sword back. The spirit in the sword speaks to him, and she’ll give you your nickname,” finished Time with what he thought was an encouraging smile. The others turned to Link, waiting on his response. For a long moment Link was silent, staring down at the sword in his hands before passing it reluctantly to Sky who took it and immediately shut his eyes, no doubt communicating with Fi. He took a deep breath and started to sign back to Time. “I can’t travel with you,” signed Link. “I’m not a hero.” “You have the Master Sword, that’s usually a sign that you are the Link we’re looking for,” said Twilight. “The hero you’re looking for died a hundred years ago. I have the sword only because of duty. Hyrule isn’t saved. Not even close,” signed Link. As he signed his movements got bigger and more exaggerated. If he was speaking Time was sure his voice would be reaching a yell. “Then we’ll help you, as long as we’re in this Hyrule, and whenever we come back to it,” said Time. “Yeah!” agreed Hyrule. “We’ll help get this place sorted out.” “Besides, it’s not like any of us have much of a choice. We are bound to Hylia’s will, and she is the one who has brought us together. Wherever she demands we must go,” said Warriors, folding his arms and frowning into his scarf. Link looked towards Hyrule Castle. It wasn’t visible through the trees but Time knew that’s where his gaze lay. With a sigh Link turned back to the group. “If it’s the Godess’ will,” he signed. Time knew Link was not happy about being forced into this by Hylia. He couldn’t imagine leaving home behind when it was in such a state. Not that Time really knew what passed for peaceful in this Hyrule. As long as Link would help them, and they could help him, that’s what mattered. “Oh, I have it,” said Sky suddenly, eyes flying open and landing on Link. “Your name.” “And!” said wild excitedly. Link gestured for Sky to continue. “It’s nice to meet you, Hero of the Wild,” said Sky with a smile, holding out his hand. Link took the offered hand cautiously and accepted the handshake with a small smile of his own. One by one the group welcomed him in with his title. It would have been a nice moment, but Time felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. Wild. The hero of the Wild. By the Goddess he hoped he wouldn’t live up to that name, or he would be returning to Malon with grey hair.   EPILOGUE: The air was lighter the next few days of travel, now with those in the group who knew sign trying to engage in conversation with Wild and those who didn’t joining Time and Legend for lessons. They were still heading for the Shrine of Resurrection, as no one had suggested an alternate destination and Legend and Four were curious to see it. They had just emerged from the treeline and gotten their first close up view of the Great Plateau when Wild suddenly stopped, staring up at it. “What is it?” asked Twilight, concerned. “I forgot,” signed Wild. “Forgot what?” “There isn’t a way up to the Plateau for you guys.” “WHAT?”

Hours passed, dreadfully slow. All of them consumed in silence, their conversation fading as the day waned. The sunset, what little he could see, was glorious-mockingly so. A hue of colors amalgamating together, painting the streets in vibrant tones. A breath of beauty they could see, but not quite hold, nor relish in given their situation.   The city had grown quiet.   The rancorous din that had nearly drowned them out earlier had faded. Now it was silent, unnervingly so. A sure indication the city was still locked down. Folks sequestered away for their own safety. For their protection. The irony of it all. They'd be a hell of a lot safer if the lot of them were gone, rather than trapped here. Waiting....   He could still see patrol groups ambling by. Arthur spying groups of them wandering along, though languorously so. As though they were keeping up appearances, but not really looking. They had to be exhausted.   He knew he was. Adrenaline long faded into weariness, having to fight the fatigue that was settling in his bones. Opting to keep watch despite the offer to sleep. He was far to jittery for that, though the option was not waved by others. Each of them slumbering at times, grasping whatever moments they could.   Charles had taken up a mantle next to Lenny, a watchful eye on him while the kid slept. The bleeding they had gotten under control, but even so his face was drawn. Pain etched into his features even while he slept. There wasn't much they were able to do about that. Not until they left this dismal place.   Bill had pointedly avoided him since their latest spat, something he was all too grateful for, though Javier had come shuffling up to him about an hour ago, muttering a weak apology for all that had transpired. Much as he hadn't wanted to, Arthur had grudgingly forgiven him. Trying to remind himself that out of the group, Javier had been the only one to hold back.   It was about all that was said, voices dying down as time flitted by. Now those colors faded, street lamps glowing in a fog that had slowly crept in. A promising sign, something that gave him a twinge of hope. It would only improve their chances, he was sure.   He cleared his throat, straightening as he pulled away the from window. “Right then-” voice fading, words faltering as he tried to grasp them. This was not something he was used to; rallying the others, spinning false hopes. Wishing, for one desperate moment, that Dutch was here. Dutch would have known what to say-what to do.   Surprisingly, it was John who stepped in. The man filling in that broken gap with words of his own.   “You got a plan?”   The man had hardly left his side-though he had fallen into quietude some time ago, giving him the much needed respite to try and get his thoughts in order. Not enough time, apparently; they were still loose and slippery-incomplete. He turned towards the rest of the group just then, finding several of them awake, watching. Waiting. All of them lost and confused, unsure of what to do.   He let out a sigh, hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Reckon we oughta move here soon. Find our way out when it's dark.”   “Where we gonna go?” John wondered. The question hanging in the air. A question he didn't have an answer for-away from the city for sure, but after? There was no telling where Grimshaw may have taken everyone. There'd be nothing at Shady Belle for them, and it wasn't really an option to begin with – Micah would happily tote the law there, deliver them all with a bow tied up neat. Rhodes, as well, was out of the question; hell any town was, seeing all trouble they had done stirred up.   Best bet was to lay low, find somewhere off the beaten path. The idea there, faint, lingering. A shiver traveling down his spine as he thought it over. Much as he hated it, it might be just what they needed. He couldn't say for sure, but what he did know was that they had to move, and move quick if any of them wanted to get out of here alive.   “I reckon we split up,” he said finally, mulling over his thoughts. “Go our different ways; we can regroup by the river, outside of Lagras. We'll have all them gators to deal with, some nightfolk at worst-but I don't think Pinkertons will be so willing to follow us into the swamps.”   Not many people were keen on that idea. Hell, he'd talk to the locals there before, the folk all but confirming they hardly ever got visitors. Most folk did well to avoid the marshy land, the reaches of the law rarely stretching out that far.   “Split up?” Bill questions, pushing to his feet, “Are you out of your goddamned mind? We’ll be sitting ducks!”   Arthur huffed in frustration, “Calm down, I know what I’m doing! We split up, we draw less attention.”   They always split up after a job; sometimes going off in pairs, sometimes alone. It was easier to confuse the law that way. This was no different. One lonely man out on the trail was less noticeable, less of a threat, than a group of them. Bill was right- a single man was more easily caught by the law, for sure, but that counted on the assumption that the law was looking for a single man. In this case, they were looking for a group; the sole reason why they couldn't venture out together. They'd have to go, have to hope they could all make it.   Even then, one man caught can be sprung from jail within a day. If all of them were caught, or killed, there’d be no hope.   And maybe the law might chase their own tail a bit, think them just another patrol. Whatever the justification, Arthur felt as though this was their only choice. He held Bill's gaze, watching the man open and close his mouth, as though attempting to spring an argument forward. Though when none came he clamped it shut, turning away, quiet. Arthur took the opportunity to look at the rest of them. Gauging their reactions. Confident to see no other qualms.   It was decided then.   It certainly hadn’t been an easy debate for any of them, but one they needed to have. The hard choices were made: Charles would stay with Lenny, and Javier would offer them cover. A measure of defense, just in case. John and Bill would follow at a distance, in case any of the first group needed to fall back or if they needed backup.   Arthur and Sadie were going to take up the rear. They’d leave a fair span behind the rest; enough to pull the attention of any straggling lawmen away from the others, if need be. Even with everything planned and discussed, they waited. Hesitant. Unwilling. None of them feeling capable of taking the first step towards the inevitable. There was a lot that could go wrong. They’d discussed that too, but they didn’t have to. Everyone was well aware of the precarious situation they’d found themselves in. Some quietly made plans with others—messages to deliver if something should go awry, actions to take on their behalf if something should happen, the kind of morbid planning only done in hushed whispers.   Time moved slowly, the light fading until the streets were shrouded in inky darkness.   Then they moved.   They roused Lenny from his restless sleep, the kid weak and still overcome with pain, even as Charles shouldered his weight. He kept his discomfort quiet though, ever the soldier. Javier checked in one final time, reassuring that everyone knew the plan, before taking the first steps out of that cramped room. Charles and Lenny followed. The rest waited, fear caught in their throat, for something. Anything. A sign that things had gone wrong, that they’d been caught or walked into a trap, but none came.   Arthur hated this feeling. This anxiety. Every edging second of silence was precious. He counted each one until some slight hint of confidence returned to him. Finally he ushered Bill and John out as well, again waiting. Again listening. They’d follow the same path, the same routine.   Minutes drifted by painfully before he nudged Sadie out as well, following behind, offering one final glance over the apartment. He was steps behind her as they ventured out, carefully picking their way down the stairs.   The air of Saint Denis was thick, still drowned out in fog. An eerie glow from the lampposts marking the streets. He could see faint shapes disappearing into the alleys, but none seemed any the wiser. Feeling a bit of hope surging, feeling as though they were making progress. His breath, heavy in his chest as he bolted across the street, hair on the back of his neck prickling. Feeling all too much like he had been seen.   But there were nothing; no shouts, no alarms, no indication they had been spotted. Sadie pressing flat against the wall, Arthur following suit. A quiet glance shared between them, a nod of the head before they moved on. Pushing their way forward, keeping close the walls. Working their way around the corner.   Coming to a pause. Arthur's hand falling on her shoulder, drawing her back into the shadows as a group of lawmen went by. Idle conversation reaching their ears, guns resting easily in their hands. Entirely unaware that the very folk they were looking for were currently flitting about the streets at this very moment, mere steps away.   His heart was pounding. Reverberating off his ribs, his breaths tight in his chest as they waited. Too conspicuous in these eerily empty streets. Too visible. They’d surely be spotted at any moment.   Sadie clicked her tongue. Arthur chased away those thoughts, nervous hands reaching up to fiddle with his hat. Arm wiping away the sweat collecting just under the rim.   They kept moving. Pushing ever north. Each beat of silence emboldening them. Dissolving fear. They had traversed a few blocks now. Pausing at each street corner, taking care of their surroundings. Ahead, the outline of the cemetery, a faint, luminous glow. Beyond that, he knew, were the fields. Then swamps. Safety. He almost laughed at the thought of considering the swamps a safe haven, but they surely would find shelter there. Before then, though, an empty expanse. There would be no hiding- they'd have to run and run hard.   Assuming they made it that far. A worry for later. Feet heavy against cobblestone, sounding far too loud in the quiet of the night. Crouched low and shuffling, edging their way around the desolate graveyard. The openness of the land before them was daunting.   “You go on,” he whispered, giving her a nudge. “I'll cover you.”   “And who's gonna cover you?” she hissed back.   Sadie never did like taking orders; she had fought and bit back at every suggestion Dutch or the others had made. Had just nearly taken Pearson on when the man had needled her wrong. Arthur the only fool who had indulged her whims. Seems like she had grown in the time he was gone, had become more aggressive. More determined. She was stubborn and strong willed in just the way that tended to drive Arthur up the wall. He was usually happy to indulge her though, fool that he was, recognizing that same bullheaded will in himself. And maybe, just maybe, it was entertaining as hell to watch her go toe to toe with the others.   Still, he really did wish she’d listen this time.   “If you make it, I figure I ain’t gonna need cover! We ain’t got time to argue, just get!” She didn’t like that answer, he could tell, but her lips stayed pursed tight. He nudged her again, “Go on, now! Keep your head down.”   It took a second for her to seem convinced, and another for her to get on her way. Arthur was thankful, just then, that she’d dressed in muted tones, as opposed to the flashy colors she seemed to prefer. The blues and browns she donned blended easily into the night as she scurried across fields, so much so that even Arthur could hardly keep track of her.   He held his breath, waiting. Listening. The night remained quiet, though, and still as death. Maybe luck was on their side for once. Yet that hope fled away in the next moment. Gunfire tearing down the street, sharp whistles and calls tearing through the tranquility of the night. Arthur starting, gun tight in his hands as he searched frantically for the source.   Not here.   Further in the city.   A curse muttered as he moved. One of the others must have been spotted. Gunfire ripe and drawing more attention. Scattered shapes in the fog as he ran. Hoping he'd be overlooked as an adversary, considered an associate instead. Tailing the few lawmen he'd caught up to, doing his best to keep his distance while still pressing forward.   What he planned on doing, he wasn't sure. There were but a handful of bullets left in his chamber, enough for a distraction, or a few well placed shots, but nowhere enough to handle this horde that converged. He could count a dozen, perhaps more. Unfavorable for sure, but he would be damned if he did nothing. Arthur came to a stop as the law called for their surrender, seeing them just then.   John and Bill.   Of course it would be them fools.   Pinned up against a wall, guns raised as they were slowly encroached upon. He could see the hesitation there, the consideration no doubt stewing in their minds. Arrested now they could be saved later. Shot down...not so much. He watched as John lowered his weapon, still gripped tight in his hold. Watched as the man nudged Bill to follow his suit. In a few, short moments, they'd be arrested.   He took the chance. The opportunity. His last bullets spent taking down the men who were the closest to the pair. Dropping them where they stood, Arthur hollering at them to move. Counting on the distraction to give them precious seconds-seconds they could use. All the better to see the rest of the lawmen flinch and turn his way.   “Ain't you got anything better to do, you damn fools,” he sneered, backing up a step. Nervous eyes watching as the pair fled. The group, realizing just then what was taking place. Several peeled off after the two men. The rest...the rest came for him.   Arthur turned and ran, leading the rest of them away. The alleyways his sanctuary, narrow and winding. His lungs burned, a stitch in his side he did his best to ignore. Teeth gritting as he jumped, hands grasping the brick wall as he hurdled himself over. Landing with a wince, stumbling a bit. Chastising himself, knowing he had to keep moving. The pain in his leg, flaring just then, making it all the worse.   He was limping now, cantering down the alleyway. Out into an open area adorned with tables-a cafe perhaps. He wasn't sure, wasn't about to stop and look. Arthur stumbled up the stairs, hands landing on a gated door. Swearing as it held fast, bolted down tight. He had no gun, no bullets to cut through the lock.   Echos bounced in the air around him, voices drawing near. His escape not as seamless as he had hoped. Arthur hopped over the railing, wincing once more as his leg buckled under him. Somehow he drew himself up. Somehow he was able to get himself to keep going. To push through the pain. Either suffer a little now-or be gunned down the moment they saw him. The choice was easy to make.   He dodged under and archway, moving towards another alley. Another escape. Swearing as his route was suddenly cut off, lawmen appearing from the other direction. He turned, stumbling back the way he came, breath tight in his chest.   Up another set of stairs, hidden behind a trellis of ivy. Skidding to a stop to see another dead end. Nothing more than row of doors, apartments sequestered away from the streets of the city. His hands fell to one, a rough shove in hopes it would give. The promise of sanctuary a mere breadth away. His heart still pounding in his ears-or perhaps those were the footsteps. Arthur pushing away from the door as they rounded the corner, limping back with his hands raised. There was a snarl on the man's face, shouting for his surrender.   “Alright,” he breathed, his voice nothing more than a whisper, the plead thin. “Alright-just don't shoot.”   “I ought to put a bullet right in your head,” the lawman cursed at him, drawing near. “I won't though-too easy for the likes of you. You'll hang, be sure of that.”   Of that, he was most certain. Knowing this was no regular courtyard row, no simple scuffle. He'd be lucky if that was all that happened. The fear residing in him, though he did his best to banish it. To chase it away as he was cuffed. Dragged roughly back out into the streets, all but marched back to the jail.   A thin whisper of hope in him, seeing that he was alone. The jail empty, the cold cell embracing him-relishing in that solitude.   Because it meant the other had made it.   Long as they weren't shot dead-but Arthur reckoned he'd hear about it if they were. Instead he was met with gruff snarls and grumbles as he was left alone. Arthur letting out a sigh, sinking down onto the cot behind him. Unsure of what to do, knowing there was little he could do, other than wait.   It wouldn't take long for the others to realize he was gone.   They would come back for him..wouldn't they?   The doubt, raw and fierce inside of him. Trying to convince himself that they would. But the truth of the matter was that they hadn't before; and they might not risk it again.   Coming back, after all, was surely suicide.   No...even if they did learn what happened, he doubted they would. They already held their doubts about him, and he knew their brief reunion had done little to remedy that.   In fact, they might consider this a solution to their problems.   Hadn't they done that once, already?        

"Excuse me for not wanting to start an inter-species incident. And yes. That's what would have happened. You think people are fragile, I could have killed most of the monsters I met back there with a single hit. I had to tone myself down just to make sure that my hits didn't outright kill them. And I was fighting with a stick. An actual stick. So yes, Jason. I did not fight them. Or, at least, I didn't hit back" Tim explains, gesturing and drawing attention to the various bandages, bruises and new scars on his body. "I just got very good at dodging" Tim glared at his family. Jason just smirked at him, seemingly uncaring. Tim just sighed. He was too tired for this. He just wanted to sleep. He wanted to be able to walk away without worrying about dying and coming back again. Cass stepped forward. “You are… tired.” Tim raised his eyebrow sardonically at her. “Yes Cass. I haven’t slept in a… long time.” It felt like months with all the resets. Cass shook her head, eyebrows knit. “No. You are tired, here.” And she stepped over to him and tapped over his heart. “You hurt… everywhere.” Damian scoffed. “Dealing with pathetic creatures was too much for you, Drake? We should have expected it. I, of course, am unsurprised by your incompetence.” Tim just shook his head once more. How could they understand? He wouldn’t want them to understand if they had that option anyway. Nobody should know the pain of being ripped apart, crushed, or the many other ways that he had reset. Tim turned his back on his family and walked out the door. As he limped out, he saw Kon and Bart standing with Sans, chatting cheerfully. Good. Sans reminded him of Bart in a way. Cheerful… but hiding incredible strength and danger under it all. Cassie called out from where she stood next to Wonder Woman, who was speaking to Toriel. “Red! Go to the infirmary!” She scowled at him. “Who knows what injuries you are hiding under all that…” She mumbled grumpily, walking over to pick him up in a bridal carry before walking to the infirmary. While normally Tim would feel indignant at this treatment, he just lay there. He leaned his head on her shoulder and closed his eyes. “Love you too Cassie.” He murmured, exhaustion overwhelming him. He felt Cassie tense in surprise underneath him. “Uh, love you too Tim. Are you okay?” Tim nodded, still with his eyes closed. “Kon! Come look at the idiot for me!” Cassie shouted towards Kon. “Whassup? Is he hiding injuries again?” Kon said with a laugh, before looking Tim up and down. Kon’s face went white as he looked. Tim just watched, his eyes barely open as he laid in Cassie's arms, completely limp. “Tim, T-Tim, what happened?” Kon asked softly, horrified, his voice shaky. Cassie tensed again, and rushed to put him down in the Watchtower Infirmary. “What is it Kon?” Cassie asked sharply, looking Tim’s body up and down trying to see what he was seeing. Kon just shook his head, still staring wide-eyed at Tim. Bart rushed through the doorway. “Something happen? Whassup Tim, did’ja lose another organ?” Bart said, barely understandable with how fast he was speaking. He sped walked around the bed Tim laid in, causing a slight draft. Tim smiled softly. “I’m okay now, guys.” He murmured. He didn’t fight Cassie as she started stripping his armor. Kon shook his head. “No, NO. Why do you look like every bone in your body has been shattered and put back together again? Why… Why can’t I see the scars? It’s all internal. How?” Kon sounded horrified and shaky. Tim just closed his eyes and shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about it right now. I’m tired.” And for the first time in a very long time, he felt safe. The moment he closed his eyes, he fell asleep even with Cassie and Bart freaking out around him. ________________________________________________________________ “Kon, what do you mean?” Cassie asked, scared, as she started pulling off armor. The only severe injury she could see was Tim’s leg. There was a gaping wound in the upper thigh. It didn’t look like a wound caused by anything she knew. Kon sounded hysterical. “Exactly that, Cassie! He looks like he’s been tortured and killed a million times over! I’ve seen less on a dead body!” He continually looked at Tim’s body, seemingly trying to see. Bart whizzed around Tim. “But he looks fine! How does that make sense? He just has a bunch of bruises and scrapes, aside from his leg. Did he look like this before?” Bart asked worriedly, looking back and forth between Tim and the other two. Cassie was trying to stitch together Tim’s leg. Despite the pain he must be in, he hadn’t even flinched at her actions. The painkiller was good, but not that good. And this was Tim. Kon finally looked away from Tim. “I don’t know Bart! He didn’t look like this before but there isn’t any explanation for this! It’s completely healed over but there is so many scars!” And Kon sounded like he was going to cry. Bart was shaking. Then he zipped out of the room in a blur, and less than a second later came back, this time with Sans. Bart pushed the skeleton down into a seat before pacing in front of him as he spoke. “What happened to Red? What could have caused all of this? What happened underground?!” Kon just watched. Cassie didn’t even look, quickly cleaning all the scrapes and scratches covering Tim’s body. All caused by unknown weapons. Unrecognizable. In his deep voice, Sans spoke. “He is strong. I don’t know how determined most humans are, but he has so much determination.” Bart stopped. “What does that even mean?! What does DETERMINATION have to do with anything?!” Bart snapped. Sans stared at them, serious for the first time since they had met him. “It is said that a human’s determination can bring them back from the brink of failure. Is that not true?” They just stood there. What does that even mean? Sans stood slowly and started walking out. “He saved my people. But he really only wanted to come home. The look in his eye… that was really the only thing keeping him moving. If he had made the wrong choices, he would be d e a d. But he chose to save the beings that only hurt him. His determination brought him this far, but really, what is determination without love?” And with that confusing statement, Sans left. ________________________________________________________________ The moment they were able, they dragged Zatanna in. She tried to argue, until she saw how pale they were. “What is it?” She snapped. She had been working with Constantine and the monsters. “Please! We just need to know if Tim is okay!” Cassie cried. Zatanna frowned. “Is he injured badly?” She didn’t understand why they would bring her for that, however. Cassie chewed her lip. “Well, yes, but no. Is there, something magical on him?” Her wide, scared eyes stared up at Zatanna. Zatanna nodded slowly. “Allow me to scan him then.” She turned to Tim, who lay passed out on the infirmary bed. She scanned him slowly, thoroughly, before cocking her head and frowning slightly. “What is this?” She murmured before scanning him once more. As she finished, she turned to the fidgeting children who waited next to their friend. “He has a magical residue… it appears to be the same magic connected to the previous barrier locking the underground. I am… confused, by what the purpose appears to be.” Her brows knit as she looked at Tim. Or rather, the aura. “It is gone now, but going by the residue of it, it was connected to the barrier and faded with it. It connected with something… inside of him. Helped him to… keep going? I am not sure I understand.” And she truly didn’t. This was something unlike anything she had ever seen before. “As long as he wanted to keep going, he could. No injuries could have held him back. This is incredibly powerful.” Bart cocked his head in confusion. “So like, he got stronger? That doesn’t make sense though!” Zatanna shook her head, still frowning. “No, it took him back. Back to before.” A splitting pain went through her head as she continued to study the aura. She gasped and grabbed her head. “I don’t think I can study it any more. That is all I can tell from it. It shouldn’t affect him anymore, I don’t think.” She said through gritted teeth. The magic was strong, and it did not like being studied, they had noticed. ________________________________________________________________ The Core Four stuck together. When the Bat Family came in to check on Tim, Bart had hissed at them to stay quiet if they wanted to stay. When Tim finally awoke, almost a full day later, it was Kon and Dick who were sitting there with him. He sat up slowly, wincing at his sore muscles. Kon noticed immediately, and rushed to him. “Tim! Are you okay?!” He asked frantically. Dick’s eyes echoed the question. Tim nodded slowly. He didn’t speak, just appreciating being there with his loved ones again. “Tim, the magic… what did it do to you?” Kon asked in a horrified tone. Tim tensed. “Did it have a lasting affect then? I wasn’t certain. I had hoped…” He murmured. Dick flinched. “Magic? What are you talking about?” He demanded as he grabbed Tim’s hand. Tim stared at where Dick held him. He slowly turned his gaze to Dick’s face. “Dick. What happens when you die?” He asked softly, a tear escaping his eyes. Dick looked at his younger brother, horrified. Tim looked so… defeated. Covered in scrapes and bruises, the bags under his eyes were only emphasized by how pale his face was. Dick shook his head. “It’s okay Baby Bird! You aren’t dead!” He tried to smile encouragingly at him, but felt to shaky. Kon just seemed to collapse. “So that’s what it meant… we were hoping...” He whispered, his eyes sad as he looked at Tim. Tim opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by the door opening. “Timbers!” The rest of the family came in, along with Cassie and Bart. Dick interrupted them. “What? That’s what what means Kon?” He asked, worriedly. “Why are you asking me about death Babybird?” Cassie and Bart went pale and sat next to Kon, staring at Tim in realization. Jason just laughed mockingly. “You? You wanted to know about death kid? Ya shoulda asked someone who's actually been there then!” Jason shook his head mockingly at Tim. Tim, who had been watching his friends sadly, turned to Jason. “Maybe I wanted to get it from someone who has never died, Jason.” Tim said blankly. Damian scoffed. “You are pathetic, Drake. Worrying about death is pointless for one such as you, you would never be able to keep yourself alive.” He sniffed, looking down his nose at Tim. “Oh shut up, brat.” Tim growled out. Damian growled back at him. “You should have done us a favor and stayed down there Drake. At least I died for the mission, you just disappear whenever it is convenient for you without even telling us! Despite us believing otherwise, you came back, sadly, living.” They had thought he was dead. How funny. They thought Tim had died. Tim started laughing at that thought. Death, would it ever stick with him? “I died, I died so many times, to come back to this. Was it worth it?” He laughed and laughed, gasping for breath and blinking through the tears. Dick gasped in horror. Bruce stepped forward then. “Red Robin. Explain.” He rumbled demandingly. Tim didn’t even look at him as the tears streamed down his face. He fell back in the bed, staring at the ceiling. “I guess we were all supposed to die at some point, B. We all came back, but hey.” Jason growled. “That isn’t funny brat! Don’t even joke about that!” But Tim just laughed again. Mocking. “Joke, Jason? What a funny joke. Spending weeks upon weeks trying to survive in a whole different world. So DETERMINED to make it home. Is it worth it? Huh? When this is the reception I get?” He smiled bitterly at Jason. Jason flinched. In one motion, Tim slid out of bed and stood tall. Every mark on his body shining like a beacon. Scars across his body, all over, completely healed but there were so many more than they remembered being there. “I died. Over. And over. And OVER.” He shook his head. “I don’t know how. I don’t know WHY. But I’m still here. I saved almost all of them. All the people underground. But I wish… I wish I had never had to make that choice.” Tears streamed down Tim’s face, but he didn’t wipe them away. Kon, Cassie and Bart stood behind him, showing their support as they glared at the Bats. But the Bats were shocked. Jason and Damian were pale and horrified. Bruce was shaking his head in disbelief. Dick was crying. Cass just watched, sadness in her gaze. Tim stared at them all through tears. “I did it… but I don’t know if I have anymore determination to face brothers who hate me, and family who are supposed to support but never do.” They all flinched, and was that regret that flashed in their faces? Tim didn’t know. “Being down there really made me think about things. And when I got back, I had hoped for you to prove my thoughts wrong. Seeing the love that Sans showed Papyrus, the love Asriel…” And Tim looked down, choking slightly. “I had hoped… that I had something like that here. But the first thing, the first thing you say to me when I see you. Isn’t a sign of concern. It isn’t ‘are you okay?’ it isn’t even a hello!” Tim shouted, his voice cracking. “You mock me, you abuse me, and I am done. When I die next, it is going to be real and I won’t waste the time I’ve been given on people who only hurt me.” And at that, Tim turned away from the stunned Bat Family. Cassie grabbed onto him and hugged him as tightly as she could without hurting him. It was only then that Tim saw the tears running down his friends' faces. Kon reached over and hugged them both, and Bart leaped on top of them, causing them to land in the bed. “Tim! Tim I’m so sorry, we, we didn’t mean it like that!” It was Dick who recovered first. “Of course we love you!” And at that, Tim just stopped. “Go away.” Bruce stepped over to the bed. “Tim, we didn’t-” “GO.” Tim said harshly. Kon pulled away from the hug and stood menacingly. He glared at the Bats. “You heard him. GO. We don’t want you here.” Jason was the one who moved first after that. He reached to Bruce and grabbed his arm. “Jason, what-” “Bruce. Now isn’t the time… he, it doesn’t matter right now.” Jason glared at Bruce, but it was offset by the tears on his face. “Listen to them. Now isn’t the time.” Bruce tried to pull away. “No! This isn’t right!” But Cass grabbed on as well and yanked him to the door. She grabbed ahold of Dick as well and pushed him out the door, even as they protested. Damian went without arguing, his face curiously blank. Before she closed the door, Cass turned to look at Tim sadly. “Little brother… Sorry. Love… you have. They love, they don’t know how to show. I love, I show. Please, believe.” She smiled at him, a tear running down her face as well. She motioned to his friends now. “They, love you. They, support. Thank you.” She faced Kon for the last two words. And then she walked out. Kon turned back to the other three. Cassie was murmuring softly to Tim, reassuring him that they loved him. Bart was crying and going between looking relieved and angry. Kon went over and hugged them all. “Tim. I am SO GLAD that you made it out. Thank you, thank you for not giving up.” He felt his throat closing up as he spoke. “We love you so, so much. Please, never doubt that.” Cassie whispered hoarsely to him. Tim lay limply in their hold. “I know. Thank you guys. You are the only ones… the only ones who have never given up on me.” He choked out, before reaching out and hugging them back. “Thank you for supporting me, guys.”

Isabela was expecting many things.   She expected her mamá to be mad at her, to make her talk, or to scold her, all the things a mother would say to a child that had insulted her sister in such a way.   Isabela expected something, a kind of punishment, even harsh words because she thought that she deserved it, that she didn't deserve the usual warmth and kindness that she knew her mother would probably give her, as loving as she was.   For once, she hoped to get as much pain as she had inflicted, because maybe if she did, she'd finally feel some of the seemingly infinite guilt that clawed at her heart disappear. Even if just a little bit, that would be enough.   Perhaps being treated harshly it's what she needed, and what she deserved, because what had she done to deserve the opposite? Isabela couldn't see, nor understand why she was so loved and cared for, and overall protected like she was by her family. What had she done to deserve that? Could she even think of one reason?   No, she couldn't think of any.   And yet here she was, her mom holding her face so gently and kissing her on the forehead, just to take her hand and silently drag her to the kitchen.   Isabela didn't protest, she just let herself be dragged.   Julieta gestured for her to sit on one of the chairs, Isabela doing exactly that without uttering a single word. After that, she pulled one of the chairs and sat right in front of her daughter, taking both of her hands as soon as she did.   Isabela kept her head down, too embarrassed to even look up at her mamá.   Julieta examined Isabela's hands carefully, definitely taking note of her ruined nails, and giving her a worried glance that Isabela tried to ignore.   After that, she let out a sigh.   "Can you look at me, Isa?" Julieta desperately tried to connect gazes with her daughter, frowning when she saw she was purposely avoiding looking at her. "Please?" She ended up pleading.   And so, with a lot of effort, Isabela finally looked up at her mother, feeling like a little child under her gaze.   "I know what you said to Mirabel, Dolores told me." She started, her thumbs now caressing Isabela's hands. "I won't say what you already know."   Isabela felt tears pooling in her eyes, and she desperately tried to contain them, not wanting to break down in front of her once again, but it was hard.   And so, Julieta continued to speak, knowing that Isabela probably would try to avoid talking as much as she could.   "You feel guilty, I know you do, because you care about your sister, probably even more than anyone else." She assured. "Which is why I won't scold you, because it's obvious that you didn't want to say that, because you know it was wrong."   For a moment, Isabela wanted to talk. She wanted to tell her mamá how much she regretted it all and how nothing would change the fact that she had hurt her little sister more than anyone else.   But she did not. If she did, she was sure that everything would just spill out of her without her having any type of control.   "I suppose you also know that you need to say sorry... "   Isabela quickly nodded.   Julieta's lips curled into a small smile right then and there. She was at least happy to know that Isabela regretted what she did and that she genuinely wanted to fix things. That was a good sign and a good place to start.   But even then, there was still something else she needed to discuss with her.    It had been a while since she had nightmares, but the memory of them was still quite present in her mind. It was hard to not remember when the dreams were about her daughter getting… No, of her daughter hurting herself until she couldn't anymore.   And what Dolores told her that morning after Isabela had left, was enough confirmation that there was something bigger, hidden in the deepest crevices of Isabela's mind and heart.   .   .   .   .   .   When her daughter had avoided her gaze after breakfast, and she had called for her just to get no response, Dolores approached with wide eyes and her brow furrowed, speaking in that hushed tone of voice of hers.   "Uh… Tía?" Dolores started. "There is something else I think I should tell you." Her oldest niece avoided her gaze, definitely nervous.   Julieta gave Dolores her full attention then, making her follow her to the kitchen so they wouldn't talk in the middle of the patio. When they were already in the kitchen and made sure the whole family had gone out(except for Mirabel), Julieta made a gesture to tell her to continue what she was saying.   "So uh, I didn't want to tell you this before, I was a-a little angry…?" She seemed a little embarrassed to admit it. "But I don't think this is something I should keep to myself, it could be too dangerous." Dolores was fidgeting now, with her fingers.   Julieta nodded hesitantly, signaling that she understood, and most importantly, that she wasn't judging her for getting angry at Isabela.   "What do you need to tell me, corazón?"   Dolores took a deep breath.   "There's no easy way to say it, though it's not the first time I hear something like this… I-In general I mean!" She started to get nervous. "I mean, I never heard Isabela say something like it before until she fought with Mirabel, but I did hear it in town sometimes and it was scary but still-" Dolores started to ramble, suddenly letting out a squeak when she noticed she had started talking about a different topic. "S-sorry…" She cleared her throat.   Julieta just let out a small chuckle, not mad at all. She had noticed that Dolores was one to ramble quite a bit, especially when she got nervous or just felt like she needed to explain something. As soon as she started talking it was hard to stop her, and she understood why. All those secrets must be hard to keep. But even then, the girl used to do the same before she got her gift. She could talk for hours and hours about one specific thing and continue to ramble unless she herself noticed or someone else stopped her. It wasn't something any of the other children did, but it was just a part of Dolores, they had all gotten used to it.   And now here she was, trying to stop herself from rambling again.   But it was hard not to, especially because she really didn't want to be the one to say this to her tía. She wanted to give countless explanations or maybe even change the topic, but she knew that she couldn't, Isabela could be actually in danger, and as much as she was angry at her for what she had said to her prima Mirabel, she knew that she couldn't put her in such danger just because she held a grudge. That wouldn't be correct.   It was a bit overwhelming to even look her aunt in the eye, and so she avoided it at all costs, just as she did with most people. At the same time, both her hands ended up grabbing at her skirt, feeling a bit of comfort because of the soft fabric it was made of.   She wouldn't ramble anymore or say things that didn't matter, she had to tell her, just get it out of her system.   "Isabela, she…" It was hard to even start speaking about it, but she pushed through. "S-she told Mirabel after she insisted on knowing if something was going on, something about not knowing what she was doing, and then, uh…" Another squeak escaped her lips, almost involuntarily, as she just knew this was something she shouldn't have even heard, and she wasn't even sure if saying it was the best option. But even then, she knew it was too late not to say it now. "She said that she wanted to k-kill herself."   Dolores felt like a huge weight was taken off her shoulders as soon as she said those words, the girl sighing in relief and putting her hands over her ears as a sort of reflex. It just felt nice to do so, it had become a habit.    She was glad that she did that right after, however, because the sound of her tía Julieta letting out a terrified gasp and putting her hands over her mouth would've probably been too much if she hadn't heard it muffled.   Dolores saw her aunt stagger, and so she quickly took hold of one of her aunt's arms and helped her sit down on one of the chairs, a worried expression on her face.   And she felt it right now, the urge to explain herself and say sorry, it was almost an itch, a feeling so uncomfortable she knew she wouldn't get rid of it unless she did exactly that.   "I-I'm sorry, I don't know if I should've said it, but I was really worried and since you're her mother I felt like you should know? Maybe I was too nosy, or did I say it too harshly? I-I can't control how my tone comes across since I whisper all the time, o-or maybe I just can't in general, I don't know-"   Julieta took Dolores' hands, the young girl feeling how they were trembling. She gulped. Right at that moment having to touch her aunt's hands was a bit overwhelming for her, but she figured this was how she was seeking comfort. Dolores told herself that she could handle it, just for a little bit.   "I-it's fine Dolores, you did well telling me." Her voice was almost a whisper, and Dolores could hear it breaking a little. "I… I will speak with Isa."   "I'm sorry tía…"   "No, don't apologize, it's not your fault." She weakly said, her eyes now looking somewhere else, almost as if her mind was also in another place. "It's mine."   Tears pooled in the woman's eyes, and she let out a shaky sigh.   "I'm her mother, I should've noticed earlier, it's all my fault…"   .   .   .   .   .   And because it was her fault, she needed to be the one to fix it, or even just start fixing it.   All the dreams made sense now, all the imagery of Isabela hurting herself was perhaps a warning, a warning that no one could hurt Isabela more than she could hurt herself.   Maybe it also meant that Julieta was running out of time.   She hoped that was wrong.   "Why won't you tell me what's going on, mi amor?"   Isabela stiffened at that moment, her hands starting to shake slightly, that guilty feeling inside her chest growing even more when she saw her mother choke back tears.   "Dolores told me that you said that you want to… That you want to…" Julieta took a deep breath. "To k-kill yourself?"    It had been incredibly hard to say such words as if they physically hurt her to hear them coming out of her mouth. Saying them created a knot in her throat that made it harder to breathe, but she knew it was something she just couldn't avoid.   The images of Isabela doing exactly what Dolores had told her she wanted to do haunted her mind. She just couldn't imagine what she would do if her daughter really decided to do such a thing. Julieta would never forgive herself.   Isabela suddenly found it hard to breathe.   Julieta noticed, and she did her best to keep her grounded, holding her hands tightly.   Isabela quickly shook her head, even though her reaction most definitely had confirmed what her mother was saying.   "Isabela please, just tell me…" Tears started to fall from her eyes, running down her cheeks. She just couldn't stay calm when discussing such a thing. "I-I don't- I don't know what made you want to do something like that, but I want to help you. I'm your mother, and I love you so much… Te amo tanto. Please, Isabela, don't lie to me. Don't lie to me anymore."   Great, now Isabela was crying again.   She regretted saying what she said at the time. It was obvious that Dolores would hear her, and she had been so foolish to believe that she would talk to her first. After what happened with Mirabel, her cousin had avoided her all the time, of course, she would tell someone else.   And now her mamá was worried to no end, probably terrified, and that was her fault, that was all Isabela's fault.   She had fucked up, immensely.   How was she supposed to explain to her mother, someone who loved her with all her heart and soul, that she had thought about ending her life more than once? How was she supposed to tell her that she just couldn't imagine a future for herself, or that she didn't have any actual goals to achieve? How was she supposed to explain that sometimes she felt like she would rather die than continue to follow her abuela's wishes?   How? How was she supposed to find a way to say such things without making her mother cry her heart out?   Isabela, not thinking clearly at that moment, pulled away from her mother's grip, pushed the chair aside clumsily, and got on her knees, her hands now clasped together.   "I-I'm sorry mami, I'm really sorry, please don't cry…" Isabela begged in between sobs, so embarrassed by the fact that her mom had found this out in one of the worst ways possible. "I won't do it, I promise, please… I'm so sorry…"   Julieta just cried even harder when she saw her daughter begging for forgiveness. What forgiveness? She didn't have to apologize for something like this, why was that her first instinct?   "No no… Don't apologize mi amor, please get up, don't say sorry." Julieta quickly took Isabela's hands and pulled her up so she would stand, not wanting to see her humiliating herself in such a way. "Please don't say sorry, it's my fault please, it's my fault."   Isabela didn't want to get up, but she let her mamá help her, shaking her head frantically.   "No! It's not your fault, please don't blame yourself…"   "I want to help you Isabela, please tell me what's on your mind, I can't help you if you don't let me, please don't suffer all by yourself like this…."   Her mother held her face so gently, kissing her cheeks once, twice, thrice, kissing the tears away, caressing her hair with such love and care, as if she was afraid of not seeing her again. No… She was really afraid of that, Isabela knew, and it broke her heart.   "I-I will… I will tell you but promise you won't say anything, I don't want to cause problems."   Julieta nodded, even if she was frowning.   "You would never cause problems by sharing what bothers you, don't say anything like that ever again." Her voice became firm while saying that. "I know this must be hard for you, but I'll listen for as long as you need me to, we can take breaks, do it in more than one night, whatever you want, it's your call."   Isabela couldn't have a better mother.   "Your father… He has been really worried too, so, would it be okay for him to be there too? Maybe… On another occasion?"   She hesitated for a second, but Isabela knew that her papá would kill just to see her smile and have fun again, he was just that caring and considerate. He deserves the truth too.   And so, she nodded.   "Mamá, actually-"   "Isabela! There you are!"   Her words were interrupted by the angry voice of someone going into the kitchen, someone that made Isabela instantly cower under her gaze and every ounce of courage she had mustered up disappear.   It was her abuela Alma, who looked at her with an angry expression.   She ignored her puffy eyes and the remnants of tears on her cheeks. She was just angry, and nothing else seemed to matter to her, not even when it was obvious that her daughter, Julieta, had been crying too.   "I was looking for you almost all day! You said you were going to get back to work, so where were you?!"   Isabela felt like crying all over again, but she just looked at the floor in shame, her mother was surprised by not only her daughter's reaction but also by the way Alma was speaking.   Julieta, though scared, as she had always been of her mother, decided to speak up, just this once.   "Mamá, Isabela wasn't feeling well at all, that's why she came back home-"   "I was talking to Isabela, don't interrupt me."   Julieta cowered under her mother's firm gaze too.    "I-I'm sorry abuela, Mariano got too worried and brought me home-"   "Don't blame that poor boy for your irresponsible actions." She scolded. "Mr. García didn't get the flowers he needed for his celebration, and you left many kids waiting for you for hours! I had to give so many excuses and apologies, what is wrong with you?!"   Isabela felt like getting on her knees once again.    She just lowered her head even more, knowing there wasn't anything she could say that could appease her anger right now.   "Mamá, please, she's had enough for today-"   "I'm just reminding her of her duties, there are many things planned for next week! I even spoke to Señora Guzmán about the possible engagement of Mariano and Isabela in the future. Isabela, you should treat that boy well, he's important to the future of our family."   Julieta noticed how Isabela tensed up as soon as Alma mentioned the engagement. She also noticed how she was nervously fidgeting with her fingers, not even daring to slightly lift her head.   "I-I will, abuela…"   Alma finally smiled, and Julieta was furious. She only smiled when Isabela agreed to obey her.    And yet, Julieta was too afraid to say anything against it. She had always been.   And that just made her feel like she was failing as a mother, now more than ever.   "I expect no other incident like this to happen ever again, alright?"   She waited until Isabela shamefully nodded, and just then, she started to leave.   Isabela let out a sob when the door to her abuela's room finally closed and then took a deep breath to stop herself from crying even more.   "Isa, it's fine, don't listen to what she-"   "I want to sleep, mami." It's all she said, her voice breaking.    Julieta just hugged her, extremely worried.   "But… Weren't we going to talk?" She tentatively asked, stroking her daughter's hair.   Isabela returned the hug quickly, arms wrapping tightly around her mother's body.   "Uh… Can it be tomorrow?"   Julieta let out a sigh, but she ended up nodding, not wanting to pressure Isabela any further. It was obvious that she had an extremely hard day, and her abuela had just made everything worse.   "Promise me we will talk tomorrow?" And yet, she still felt extremely worried. She hoped her daughter wouldn't try to avoid her all over again.   "I promise." She whispered, and that was enough for Julieta to feel a little bit better, even if she knew she probably would have trouble sleeping that night.   "Alright, go to sleep, okay mi amor? I'll see if I can convince your abuela to let you sleep in."    Isabela let out a small chuckle.   "You know she won't let you…"   "Well, you won't know until you try." Julieta jokingly poked her daughter's nose, making her complain a little. "Now go, I'll make your favorite for lunch tomorrow."   Isabela was given a kiss on the forehead as a good night and was finally let out of her mother's strong embrace, the girl hurriedly walked towards her room and closed the door behind her as soon as she got in.   Now, all alone, Julieta was sure of two things.   First, Isabela wasn't fine, at all. Things were worse than she had imagined, and there was probably a lot to work on.   And second, she had to speak with her mother, because the way she was treating and speaking to Isabela only seemed to be making things worse.   Yes, she had always been too scared to stand up to her mamá, even when she scolded her brother Bruno for predicting things he didn't have control over, or when she forced Pepa to smile so her clouds wouldn't bother the town, even when the girl was very obviously breaking apart.   She had failed as a sister before, and she knew that, she had always known that.   But this time, she wasn't going to fail as a mother too.    

Guns jabbed painfully at their backs as the boys stumbled blindly along the dark corridor. Within the first few steps, Jimin had already tripped on stray furniture and stumbled into Yoongi. Namjoon had also staggered blindly into Hoseok after a particularly rough gun jab, scaring poor Hoseok half to death. Sure, the threat of guns and darkness were terrifying at first, but Namjoon could feel his patience dwindling. His brothers were being treated like criminals, Jungkook was stuck god knows where with their mentally unhinged manager, and Namjoon honestly wasn’t even sure if the gunmen knew where they were going anymore. He felt utterly helpless in their situation. With guns at their backs there would be no way to escape uninjured - at least not all of them, so that wasn’t an option. It also dawned on him that he wouldn’t know which way to run even if the corridors weren’t pitch dark. Utterly helpless. Namjoon sighed running a hand over his face, pinching the tension point in the corner of his eyes. Hearing the footsteps halt, Namjoon caught himself just before stumbling onto Hoseok yet again. Namjoon strained his eyes to inspect their surroundings. They had reached an elevator with what seemed to be an expensive looking rug in front of it. He could make out a sort of hispanic design, with lots of reds, yellows and blues. Namjoon couldn’t be totally sure, but he was almost certain it wasn’t the same elevator they had gotten off of when they had first arrived earlier. Namjoon felt the all too familiar grip of fear encase his heart. Seems like they weren’t walking in circles after all. ~ Jungkook came to as he felt his body being hauled like a rag doll over the manager’s shoulder. Nausea and dizziness flooded him as his poor head tried to orientate the new position. It was kinda hard though considering his surroundings were covered in darkness. In his daze, Jungkook felt an extreme amount of sweat dripping from his forehead. Oh wait, that’s right it wasn’t sweat. His stomach coiled, simultaneously disgusted by the sticky substance and terrified of the situation they were in. That he was in. This was bad. Really, really bad. Where were the other managers? They had come to the hotel with them, they had to have realised something was wrong by now right? Whispers pulled him out of his reverie. Jungkook heard the manager speaking to someone on the phone in hushed whispers. The manager must have assumed he was still unconscious. “They’re dead? Good you’ve done incredibly well. There should be no more interruptions then. I will bring the boy down now and we will start preparations.” Jungkook’s heart stopped. Who was dead? His hyungs? He couldn’t breathe. Is that what the manager meant when he said he would have fun with them? That they would hunt them down like animals? Jungkook had never felt so alone, so helpless. What if no-one ever found him? His eyes welled and the surge of panic he had been suppressing hijacked his body. He really couldn’t breathe. Jungkook gasped desperately, trying to fill his lungs with anything, but nothing was working. His vision started to blur and he felt himself start to lose consciousness yet again. His body hit the ground hard. Jungkook wasn’t sure if he’d been dropped or he’d struggled out of the managers grasp. But before he could react, he felt a stinging pain across his cheek - the shock of the slap ironically pulling him out of his panicked state. He found himself breathing heavily, his vision slowly coming into focus once more. The manager leant down yet again, reaching under his arms to haul him up and Jungkook hastily pushed him away with more force than he thought he could actually muster. Jungkook felt his panic immediately replaced by raw fury. The manager yelped in surprise as he lost his balance and fell, not expecting this level of defiance from the boy who was unconscious not five minutes ago. Jungkook scrambled to his feet, almost losing his balance as he stood shakily for the first time since the ordeal had begun - trying to look more stable than he was feeling. “My hyungs - what have you done to them?!” Jungkook screamed, searching desperately in the darkness for something to protect himself with. Or to attack the manager with? He wasn’t sure. He grabbed the nearby chair with ferocity, the only thing in his immediate line of sight. Sure it wouldn’t hurt the other much, but it sure as hell would slow him down a bit. But more than anything, he felt in control. He wasn’t weak, he wasn’t helpless. He was the golden maknae for gods sake. The manager laughed and laughed and laughed. Jungkook’s eyes widened in shock. Anger mixing with deep denial. Did that mean they? No…they couldn’t be… Jungkook’s mind reeled with emotions he didn’t have the capacity to currently process. With so many conflicting thoughts in his mind, Jungkook didn’t know what to do next. Luckily, he didn’t have to. One thought rang out the loudest. This wasn’t a game to them. He was really going to die if he didn’t get out. That’s when the adrenaline took over. ~ Namjoon grunted as blinding light assaulted his senses. He and the group were being forced into the small elevator along with the gunmen. It was a squeeze, but with a few harsh tugs and pulls they all fit. Even the guns. Namjoon took note that this elevator looked exactly like the one they had arrived in on the inside. The same number of floors, even the same carpet. He couldn’t understand. The elevator they had arrived in was much closer. Why would they not have just taken them down in that instead? Namjoon’s gut clenched uncomfortably, knowing he was missing something. One of the gunmen pulled a key from his pocket and proceeded to unlock the emergency kit on the wall, designed for elevator engineers in the event of emergency. Namjoon had never seen the panel up close, which - in hindsight - was probably a good thing. The panel opened without delay and Namjoon saw numbers within the panel. The buttons heavily resembled those to the floor numbers on the main panel. Were they to other floors that were not on the main panel? Namjoon’s eyes widened. This had all been planned from the start. If they got taken to a level no one could find, how would anyone find them? Also, how did they hijack an entire hotel without police becoming involved? He felt the elevator start moving, and in his panicked state considered pressing the buttons on the main panel to give them more time. But, he realised even if he did, they would only be postponing the inevitable. With the henchmen heavily armed, they wouldn’t get very far even if everything did work in their favour. Namjoon’s pulse began to beat heavier in his ears with every floor that they passed. He couldn’t tell if they were going up or down anymore. The silence was deafening. All of the members had huddled together in a sort of protective pact. Not that there was a whole lot of room to do anything else. The elevator dinged sooner than expected, suggesting they had reached their intended destination. As the door opened they were met with dull lighting and a concrete room that seemed like more like a prison than the floor of a prestigious hotel. There were no windows and only one lightbulb suspended by faulty looking wiring from the ceiling. There were seven beds, and an off room with a squeaky wooden door that had a rusty looking shower and toilet. Namjoon felt claustrophobic. They had to be underground. It was several degrees colder down here than it had been on their previous level. But it was also encased in concrete, not drywall - so maybe that was why. Namjoon was quickly getting sick of trying to find answers to his questions and finding himself stuck with yet more questions. It was defeating, and he was normally a pretty observant guy. The smart one. That’s what they called him in interviews. The logical one. The one with an IQ of 148. Namjoon wondered what they’d call him after this? If, in fact, there was an after. ~ Jungkook swung the chair at the manager’s head, feeling a sick sense of pleasure course through him as the other cried out in pain. The chair was pretty heavy, so Jungkook was sure he had done at least some damage. Not waiting for a further response, Jungkook ran. Ran like he’d never run before. He didn’t know where he was going, but he had to get out - a strategy that worked for about five minutes initially; but after a while he couldn’t tell where he’d been and where he hadn’t. Why was this hotel floor so damn huge? Or maybe he was just overthinking the size in the darkness. Cold sweat ran over him and his hands tingled at the impending fear of being caught. He was wasting time! Namjoon was usually the clear-headed logical one, not him. Jungkook begged his mind to work, slipping his hands into his pockets and sliding down the wall, doing his best to remain invisible and inconspicuous as long as possible. As his hands sank deeper into his pockets, his fingertips met cold metal. Cold, rectangular metal… His phone! It was still in his pocket! He unlocked it, wincing at the brightness, and saw miraculously the V-Live was still going. His eyes caught sight of the viewers - over 20 million people were still active in the stream. He knew they couldn’t see him in the darkness, but they obviously could hear what was going on as the messages in the chat were asking questions regarding what the manager had done to Jungkook based off of what they had heard. His detective ARMYs were hard at work. They were begging him to check in with them. 20 million people actively trying to help him and here he was all alone, running for his life. It felt like some sort of cosmic joke. Jungkook knew he didn’t have long before the manager would find him. The floor was big and that chair must have hurt, but this obviously wasn’t his first rodeo, and Jungkook doubted he’d be down for very long. Addressing the chat, he told the ARMYs the situation - hoping, no praying - they could still hear him in his hushed whispers. He gave the address of the hotel, the name of the manager and the number of the floor he was on. He decided to leave out the part about his hyungs being dead, but he figured this was still the best way he currently had to get help. He prayed it would be enough, that he could hide long enough until the police arrived. He saw the chat light up with messages, signifying that they could hear him and Jungkook felt relief flooded his senses in a way like never before. There were messages upon messages of support and joy at hearing Jungkook’s voice after so long. Some said they thought he had been killed after all the harsh bangs and clashes, others were complaining that they were unable to reach the police on his behalf due to the fact they had backed up the call centre from the sheer number of calls. Jungkook smiled, even though they couldn’t see him. He was so grateful to them all. They had saved his life, this time in a literal sense. Who would’ve thought when he started the Live tonight this is where it would end up. Those hours in his room with his hyungs seemed like a lifetime ago. He still couldn’t believe that that would be the last time he would ever get to see them. Tears welled up in his eyes with guilt and regret. He’d been such a brat. Why didn’t he appreciate his time with them when he’d had the chance? If this really was all some kind of cosmic joke, it was a cruel one. And he sure as hell wasn’t laughing. Jungkook forced himself out of his thoughts, thanking the ARMYs in a low whisper, insisting that he would touch base again once he had found a safe place to hide. He struggled to ignore the messages asking about the rest of the group. Heaving a sigh, he decided to keep the chat running just in case, placing his phone back into his pocket. The darkness felt surprisingly foreign to him again after his phone light had abated it for those few short-lived minutes and Jungkook felt around blindly trying to find the doorway to a room. A place to hide. One of them had to be unlocked right? His hand felt along the wall until he met the hard wood of a door. Bingo. He fumbled around for the door knob and tried to pull on it. No use, it was locked. Onto the next one then. Jungkook tried eight different doors but all of them were locked. He considered trying to find the elevator instead, but figured it would be too risky. That’s probably exactly where the manager assumed he would go. He could be walking right into his hands. Plus, he had given the fans his level location. The police would be looking for him here. Unfortunately, so would the psycho manager. Jungkook decided to continue. One more door. There was one more door he could try. And…yes! It was unlocked. Jungkook’s heart leapt with excitement. He peered into the room allowing his eyes a few seconds to adjust and he saw the outline of what looked like people sleeping inside. Jungkook crawled on his hands and knees into the room, getting closer to the sleeping people, a little surprised that they didn’t even stir. Did they even know what was going on? The danger they were in? Jungkook didn’t know whether to wake them or not. Part of him wanted to wake them to warn them, but he also was worried that they would panic at his presence, potentially getting all five of them killed. No, he would wait for the police. That was the safest option. Deciding to make himself as scarce and invisible as possible, Jungkook crawled carefully toward the nearby window. He rested his back gently against the curtain and finally got a good look at the group in front of him. His eyes had begun to adjust to the darkness again and he was able to make out their features much better now than before. He noticed the man closest to him had a very distinct pair of glasses. Jungkook smiled, they looked almost identical to one of their managers. He wondered where they were, if they were safe. Wait a minute…the man’s t-shirt. Jungkook’s eye caught the logo. He had seen it before. It had to be a coincidence. His manager- No. It can’t be. Jungkook proceeded to crawl back towards the bed as gently as possible. As he neared the side of it, he felt a sickening warmth seep up the knee of his jeans. Jungkook cringed internally, nausea creeping up his throat again. It was warm and thick. Leaning his hand against the bed to anchor himself, he attempted to lift his knee to peer closer at the substance - praying it wasn’t what he thought it was. Attempting to catch the faint light from the window he lifted his knee higher, sliding his hand further down the bed. Jungkook froze as his hand met the same warm substance. A lot of it. It was dark, thick and smelt like iron. There was no question. Blood. It was definitely blood. Throwing caution to the wind, his adrenaline took over once again. He hurriedly proceeded to check the pulse of the first man. Nothing. The second…also nothing. He felt a sob rise in his throat as he checked the third and fourth, already knowing the answer. Oh no, oh no, oh no. He peered at their faces a little closer; terrified at having seen not one - but four dead bodies for the first time, but also hoping, praying that he was wrong about who they were. His heart sunk even further in his chest when he came to the realisation that he was right. Of course he was. His other managers. All four of them. They were dead.

“Would you prefer a girl or a boy?” Liv asked as they sat across from each other on her couch. They had yet to put their clothes back on and he was enjoying the view she was giving him. “And don’t say you don’t care either way. Everybody has a preference.” He shrugged his shoulders and ran his hand down the smooth skin of her calf. “I’m supposed to want a boy, right? All men want boys to inherit their baseball card collections and teach how to fish - is that the right answer?” Her eyes were dark and heavy lidded as she looked back at him; she was still riding the high of her orgasm. “Is a boy what you want?” “I’ve always thought,” he began, deciding to be completely honest with her, “that it would be nice to lose my heart to a daughter.” The smile she graced him with held something enigmatic and soft and he remembered too late that she had grown up without a father. He hoped that there had been someone who had cherished her in her youth. An uncle, a grandfather. He hoped that some man had seen her and spoiled her rotten and given in to her every whim. But, with sadness, he thought that that probably had not been the case. “What about you? A girl that you can teach to throw a right hook or would you want a mama’s boy? I can kind of see you reading stories and singing lullabies to a mop haired little boy.” A desperate longing came over her face and he knew she would be happy with any scenario that happened. “A healthy baby - that’s what all parents say. You just want a healthy baby.” “Nuh uh,” he argued as he gently squeezed her leg for emphasis. “You made me answer. It’s your turn.” “With girls,” she sighed, “there’s so much to worry about. Keeping them safe and making sure they can take care of themselves. Girls have to be strong, but soft. Kind, yet not take shit from anyone. Independent, but caring.” She shook her head. “You don’t have to worry as much about boys.” “That’s not true.” He ran his fingertips up her thigh and began to draw circles over her hip bone. “Boys need to be raised to be gentlemen. Stoic, but sensitive enough to not be an asshole.” She snorted at that and gave him a side eye. He continued unperturbed, “Considerate of those lower on the totem pole, but strong enough that they don’t get dicked around by those higher.” He rested his chin on her knee and took a moment to marvel at just how beautiful she was like this. Not just her naked body, but he enjoyed seeing her relaxed, thoughtful. He would bet good money that she had a wonderful heart that would match her face - a dangerous combination for a man like him. “If anything your job should tell you just how important it is to raise sons to become good men.” “Boy or girl, it’s a huge responsibility.” “Yes,” he agreed. And then slowly, reluctantly he moved his hands off her body and began to sit up. Something about the entire conversation made him sad and he wasn’t sure he wanted to be around her with this feeling heavy in his heart. “I should go, it’s getting late.” She sat up and for the first time she seemed smaller to him, delicate and in need of a pair of arms to hold her. She hadn’t ever looked like that to him before, not even when she’d been crying over Stabler. Olivia had always looked like a pillar made of granite stone, beautiful and intractable. This image of her right now - he felt that pain echo his own and he wondered, for the first time, what it would be like to love this woman. “You can stay the night,” she finally said, like he suspected she would. “You don’t have to leave.” With his pants in one hand and his shirt in the other he hesitated for a long time, staring at her until she looked away under his direct gaze. She was lonely. She was probably as lonely as he was. What was waiting for him at home? A cold bed and echoing silence. He wasn’t scared of the silence that surrounded his personal life, but with a sudden realization he could see why he kept coming back to her for more. Olivia was drawing him in slowly, subtly - and he didn’t know if he wanted to fight it or give in. He was fooling himself if he allowed himself to believe this was anything to her but rebound sex. She would move on from Stabler eventually and when that happened this, whatever this was, would be over. But what was one night? What was wrong with holding someone in your arms as you fell asleep and for a little while, just for a few hours, feeling the steady beat of a heart lying next to yours? “You don’t have to,” she said when the silence became unbearable. “I want to,” he replied immediately. “I want to a little too much.” When she looked at him he realized how much he loved brown eyes. Large and dark brown eyes that held hidden depths he was desperate to explore. “I want you to stay, but I won’t be upset if you leave.” Said like a true twenty-first century woman. How many men stay the night? he wanted to ask her. But there was no way he could without sounding like a judgemental asshole. Did Stabler stay the night? It was a petty thought and he knew he should be above it. Besides, he already knew the answer. Married men don’t stay the night. They take a shower and leave - go home to their wives and children and have family dinners and help their kids with homework. “I’ll stay,” he said, as if it was inevitable, and maybe it was. He would stay just to prove to himself and her that he was nothing like Stabler. Ed’s father had once taken him kayaking. He had been young, maybe five or six, and it had been a peaceful ride down a slow river. Until they’d taken the wrong path and the water had steadily moved them faster and faster until they’d fallen down a waterfall. It probably was not as high as his memory made it seem, but he had been terrified. Over the rush of water he could hear his father yelling at him to hold on and don’t let go. But the rush, the rush of sailing over that water and landing in a giant splash - being consumed by the water and getting soaked to the bone - it had felt wonderful, too. That was Olivia. She felt like a wrong turn that was somehow turning into an exhilarating rush, but he had yet to find out if she was terrifying or wonderful. Probably she was both. They lay in her bed together for a long time, neither of them able to fall asleep. His body was pressed to her back and his arm was looped around her waist, as if he were trying to keep her in place, trying to hold her steady against him. He could feel the heavy beat of her heart and the longer the night went on the harder it pressed into his skin. At some point they did fall asleep, though, and when Ed woke up it was to find Olivia still in his arms, her head resting on his chest and her breathing soft. He stayed like that until the alarm went off, breaking reality back in. But all that day he felt the memory of her body pressed against his and he couldn’t fight the way it made his heart beat a little bit harder and a little bit faster.

Keith’s POV Keith woke up in pain shooting up his back and neck and grimacing as he began to sit up from where he was slumped against his roommate. Wait, his roommate? He forced himself to sit all the way up, ignoring how his muscles screamed at the sudden movement and stared wide-eyed at the soft snoring boy. He could feel his heart in his ears and slid off the bed as quietly as he could, landing softly on the ground.    I fell asleep next to Lance?! He ran his hands through his hair, attempting to control his breathing. He had never shared a bed with someone let alone fell asleep on them. Lance remained unbothered, his head still slumped to the side, his laptop discarded by his feet, almost off the bed. Keith hesitantly grabbed the laptop, quietly shutting it before placing it on its owner's desk.   He tiptoed over to his hamper and grabbed his clothes from last night and shuffled into the bathroom. He took off his uniform jacket, gritting his teeth at his shoulders. His entire chest hurt from being compressed for longer than recommended and he fought back a groan as he began to peel it off his body. His ribs ached and his shoulders screamed with relief as the fabric was removed. He slid his shirt on and slipped off his pants, deciding to just wear his boxers, and exited the room, quickly hanging up his binder before turning towards his bed. It was just after 3 am and Lance was still borderline upright against the wall, his uniform beginning to look wrinkled and Keith decided he needed to move him.    So in the dark of the room, he walked back over to his roommate, reaching out hesitant to grab his left arm. He waited for Lance to shoot his eyes open and scream at him for touching him, but his eyes remained closed and his breathing was even. He closed his eyes before pulling on his roommate's arm, his body sliding down so he was laying on his left side. He lifted his head up slightly and shimmied a pillow under his head before heading back to his hamper, grabbing his jacket to lay across him. Maybe Lance wasn’t cold but Keith could only sleep with blankets on so maybe Lance needed to be covered too.    Keith was impressed that Lance stayed asleep through the movement and he retreated to his own bed, he willed his eyes closed. His mind ran a mile a minute, not only had he gone from not borderline hating his roommate to sleeping on his shoulder in a course of under a week; he didn’t hate it. He knew he hated physical contact from anyone that he wasn’t close to, hell it took his foster mom about 10 months before she could brush his hair and give him a hug. But with Lance, it felt natural to him. He was always hyper-aware of his body and how he was taking up space in the room that was so distracted and comfortable to the point he fell asleep on his arm; that was a whole new level. Keith tossed and turned for a bit, he was tired and his back still hurt from his time slumped against the wall and he tried to stretch it out the best he could while laying down. Did he notice? If he did, why didn’t he say anything? Keith kept his eyes shut and fought back a sigh. He didn’t know what to think or how to act, who initiated what? Did Keith make Lance so uncomfortable he couldn’t tell him to get off him?    He stared up at the ceiling, the only sounds being a hum from the wall from some pipe and very soft breathing from his roommate. He let his eyes fall shut again after reading 4:12 am on the clock on his desk and pulled the red blankets around his body; Forcing sleep to take him.    --- Lance’s POV  Lance woke up to his phone buzzing somewhere in his bed. He groggily reached around his bed, not noticing how he wasn’t under his bedsheets. Damn it, where is it?! He rubbed his eyes quickly and finally found his phone, silencing it as soon as he could. He sighed and scratched his head, finally taking note of his surroundings. First, he was still in his uniform, second, a jacket was placed on his, but given he was wearing his own jacket this wasn’t his. Third, he wasn’t in his bedsheets, fourth his roommate was still sleeping in his own bed, and finally, his arm stung.    What happened? He stood from his bed, stretching out his stiff muscles, trying to remember how last night ended. Okay, retrace your steps, what happened? He made his way to get new underclothes, knowing he needed to wear his uniform again anyways. I came home from class, took a shower, watched a show with Keith, ate dinner….with Keith, and came back to watch more of that show with…..Keith. He couldn’t remember putting his laptop away or getting ready for bed, but given his state of sleeping in his uniform, he figured he didn’t actually go to bed.    He began to slide off his pants and jacket, taking off his shirt and boxers in the process to put new ones on. He glanced down at his left arm, noticing more dry blood surrounding the lower cuts by his wrist. Upon further inspection it didn’t appear that he scratched himself, just seemed like they were reopened by pressure. He shook his head and rinsed off his wrist, sucking in a pained breath as the water attacked the fresh injury.    Lance was someone that unfortunately healed very slowly. His skin was delicate so along with cuts he bruised very easily and they would sit on his skin for over a week. Even if his cuts were older, they still needed to be treated as if they were fresh for about a week and a half. Another pathetic thing about Lance.    He finished getting dressed and brushed his teeth, rubbing some lotion on his face, using his fingertips to gently tap his face to wake himself up. He rubbed his eyes again and attempted to unwrinkle his uniform and he exited the bathroom, still surprised to see his roommate sleeping under a pile of blankets. Should I wake him up? He wasn’t sure, so he reached over and grabbed the discarded jacket on the bed, gently placing it at the foot of his roommate's bed. He glanced at his roommate's face, he couldn’t see much due to his hair flopping over him, but from what Lance could see, he looked peaceful. A blush formed on Lance’s face, reaching the tips of his ears at the realization of last night. Lance didn’t just eat dinner and watch a show with his roommate, he cuddled him. Sure it wasn’t spooning or the traditional sense but they still cuddled. Lance quickly grabbed his things for the day and raced out the door. He attempted not to slam the door as he yanked out his phone, quickly telling Hunk he needed to talk to him asap.    Hunk replied with an on my way and a smiley face and Lance raced down the hallways. His heart was pounding, but for once not out of pain or anxiety but because he was flustered. He wouldn’t say he had a crush on Keith, too early for that but Lance knew an attractive man when he saw one. He made it to the cafeteria before Hunk and sat down at their usual table, his foot tapping rapidly on the floor.    Okay, think Lance. What do we like about him? He’s got pretty eyes, and his hair is soft and even with a mullet, he pulls it off. His body is also…wow. Lance hadn’t seen Keith shirtless or anything but he had seen the definition of muscles on his arms and last night he could feel them as Keith leaned against him. But his attitude is a bit of a downer, but he’s honestly super sweet when h-   “Hey Lance,” Hunk sat down across from his best friend, two plates of food in his hand. He slid one plate towards Lance and moved the other more in front of him.    Lance jumped slightly at his friend's sudden appearance and thanked him a couple of times for bringing him food before grabbing the spork Hunk brought for him as well. After a couple of bites, he placed his spork down and grabbed Hunk's hand across the table. “Hunk, I have to tell you something very important.”    Hunk gave him a friendly smile, readjusting his right hand so Lance could grasp his better while he continued eating with his left.    Lance smiled and glanced down at the table, feeling the same blush cover his face. “Keith and I…well we uh…” Lance stumbled over the words, he didn’t know why he was so tongue-tied, it was just a mini attachment right? Right??    Hunk stared at Lance, his mouth hung wide, his spork falling on the ground with a small noise, he didn’t even look like he was breathing. Lance was unaware of his friend's reaction due to keeping his gaze on the table and he didn’t realize how he ended his statement until Hunk removed his hand from his grip, and leaned forward, grabbing Lance by the shoulders gently. “You two slept together?!” His voice was a whisper and while no one turned their head at them Lance thought everyone in the cafeteria has heard what Hunk said and fought back a scream.    Lance waved his arms in the air, shaking his head frantically as he choked on air. “WHAT?!” Now that got everyone’s attention but Lance was too frantic to care. “No no no no no! We did not,” he dropped his voice to a whisper and leaned in again, “have sex. We just…cuddled?”    It took Hunk a minute to respond, his emotions unreadable on his face until he stood from the table, walking to get another spork, while Lance leaned back in his chair; praying the ground would open up and swallow him whole. Hunk eventually returned, picking his dirty spork off the ground and setting it on the end of the table so neither would mistake it for a clean one and use it. “Lance, why couldn’t you just say cuddle first? You said sex before that.”    He seemed tired but Lance knew he wasn’t mad, just most likely wasn’t expecting an emotional rollercoaster this early in the morning. Lance pulled himself up from how he was sitting and poked at his eggs with his own utensil. “I was flustered okay? We were watching Voltron yesterday and-”   “Oh my god, you’re finally watching it.”   Lance rolled his eyes in a friendly manner, returning to his conversation. “Well, we ended up kinda…leaning up against each other and he placed his head on my shoulder and I placed my head on his and….I think we fell asleep like that. I woke up to his jacket laid on me.”    “Did you wake up in the same bed?”    Lance shook his head, “no, and thank God we didn’t I would be more of a mess.”    Hunk paused, thinking of what his friend was telling him, ripping his toast apart, “you like him don’t you.”    It wasn’t a question and Lance knew that but he didn’t know was his own answer to it. He hadn’t even known Keith longer than a week, hell even before they cuddled Keith snapped at him for something; but he did apologize. That was something Lance wasn’t used to, sure friends had apologized before for smaller issues but none of them had ever snapped first and apologized first. Lance always had to apologize for what he did, even if he did nothing wrong in the scenario. It had become second nature at this point in his life, always saying sorry to his parents and teachers and never getting a sorry back. But Keith? He broke that cycle, he acknowledged what he did wrong and said sorry before Lance did, and he didn’t seem to even want Lance to say sorry.    “Hello? Earth to Lance?” Hunk was waving a piece of fruit on his spork in front of Lance and Lance blinked a couple of times.     “Sorry,” he looked down at his plate, pushing some eggs on his spork, “I don’t know if I like him like that but I think I could. Right now I just want to be on friendlier terms with each other, I’m not going to even think about the possibility of a crush on someone I’ve known for a couple of days.”    Hunk nodded and the conversation ended with Pidge and Shay showing up at the table, Nyma following soon after, sitting right next to Lance. “Hey cutie, missed you yesterday.”    Lance gave her a friendly smile, “well I’m here now.”    --- Keith’s POV Keith forced his eyes open, his body aching as if his pain receptors woke up along with him and he pulled the blankets closer around him. He wanted to keep sleeping but as he pulled his blankets over his head he realized his motion was an attempt to block the light in his room. Too much light in his room and he sat upright, his head spinning with the sudden movement. He quickly attempted to focus on the first clock he saw, reading just after 10 am and he flew out of bed, swear words sitting on his lips.    He ran around the room, grabbing his pants and socks, attempting to put them on while brushing his teeth and hair. He bit the bullet and settled on a black sports bra before grabbing a black tank top to wear under his jacket. Wait, where was his jacket? He spun around a couple of times, his eyes scanning for anything of that color before he saw it peeking out from under his discarded blankets. He sighed with relief and ran out the door as he attempted to put his jacket on while borderline running down the hall.    He paused in front of the doors, taking a couple of moments to catch his breath before pushing the doors open. He could feel two sets of eyes on him and he looked to find his brother and Commander Jackson looking at him; Shiro with a friendly smile and Commander Jackson remaining unreadable and she watched him approach, his head hung low.    “Cadet Kogane, it’s nice of you to join us this morning.” Her voice didn’t hold any emotion, Keith couldn’t detect if she was angry or sarcastic or really anything.    Keith switched into a salute position, only breaking position when both commanders nodded at him. “Sorry Commanders, I overslept. It won’t happen again.”    Commander Jackson nodded, turning back to look at a screen that showed everyone in their respective simulators. Shiro cleared his throat, keeping his ‘business’ face on, “Cadet Kogane, each simulator has its own missions installed, please get to your pod and complete as many as you can before the end of class.”    Keith saluted again, biting back the urge to make a comment on Shiro’s seriousness and he headed to his pod; the only one not in the middle of a simulation. He slid into his seat, letting his hands find their homes on the controls and he closed his eyes for a second, letting himself adjust to his surroundings, and then he started the first simulation.    --- Shiro’s POV Shiro let his eyes scan each pod, trying hard to not only focus on his brother who was completing every mission with ease.    “Is he normally late?” His friend looked bored as she flipped through a couple of cameras, checking to make sure no one was struggling in the confined space.    Shiro shook his head, taking a break from the screens to sit back in the chair he was in. “No he’s a very diligent person, the fact he was late is a bit concerning to me.”    “Concerning enough to have him seek professional help?” She closed down the cameras and mirrored Shiro's lack of posture.    Shiro laughed, “no, just something had to be distracting enough for him to be late.” He heard a hum in response and they both fell in comfortable silence, the only noise being the small clicks from each of them flipping through the cameras.    Shiro flipped through the close-up cameras, stopping before clicking back to a certain pod, Lance’s pod. He seemed to be struggling, he wasn’t full-on freaking out that they have seen over the years with screaming and crying and begging to get out of the pod but he looked uncomfortable. His posture was tense, eyes furrowed, focusing on whatever was on the screen and Shiro could see the sweat on his forehead. “Hey, look at this.” He switched the camera up to the main screen and the other Commander glanced his way, her eyes focusing on the boy.    She rolled her chair closer, placing her chin in her left hand as she leaned on the table. “He doesn’t seem to be having a panic attack. He just looks stressed.”    Shiro didn’t disagree, but he didn’t agree either. He had only been around Lance a couple of times but he seemed like a very carefree guy. Maybe he didn’t handle academic stress well and he glanced at his co-worker. “I think we should check his vitals.” He waited for an answer, needing two approvals before running a scan and she nodded. Shiro pulled up Lance’s pod, typing in the code before the pod began a scan. It was invasive in most people’s opinions, the cadets are aware that they can be scanned and monitored at any time throughout the simulation but Shiro always felt like he was violating some form of privacy.    The computer beeped indicating it was done and his stats were displayed in front of them; heart rate, breathing, stress levels, and a couple of other things that Shiro never bothered to look at. Everything was on the higher end but not concerning enough to pull him from the simulation. He ran his hand down his face and clicked out of the chart.    The clock slowly clicked to 11:50 and Shiro ended the simulations for everyone, letting them go early to lunch. “Cadet McClain?” He waved Lance over as he saw the boy start to leave. He waited patiently, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched the cadet walk over to him. He seemed to be trying to make himself look as small as possible, his shoulders rolling forward, eyes gazing down at the ground, his hands rubbing up and down his pants legs like he was wiping sweat off his palms.    He gave a half-hearted salute as he stopped in front of his commander. Shiro lifted his hands to signal ‘at ease’ and Lance dropped his arm, still staring at the ground.    “Is everything okay? You seemed a little stressed in the simulation.”    Lance fumbled for a moment, rubbing his fingers together as Shiro waited for an answer. “I uh, the simulations was just harder than I expected. I’m still struggling with the altitudes and landing but….I’m sure I’ll get the hang of it soon.” He finally met Shiro’s eyes, his smile barely selling as real.    Shiro forced himself to drop the subject and began to walk out the door, motioning Lance to follow. “Well if you need any additional help you can ask me, Commander Jackson, or Commander Iverson. But for now,” he paused at the doorway, Lance stopping slightly behind him. “Don’t beat yourself up, it’s still the first week of classes.” He gave Lance a wide smile and Lance smiled back, still not reaching his eyes.    “Th-thanks Commander, I uh…I’ll see you tomorrow for our meeting.” And with that Shiro watched him exit the room and he double-checked everyone was out of the room, his eyes falling on his brother.    “Still here? It’s lunchtime.”    Keith shrugged, his eyes frantically searching the space around him, “can we eat together? I need to talk about…something.”    Shiro frowned, “sure buddy, come on I have to lock up.” He let Keith walk past him, scanning the room one more time before closing the doors and locking it. “What did you want to eat?”    Keith didn’t give a response and Shiro pulled out his phone, placing an order at the Commander's cafeteria as they walked towards his office. Shiro swung by to grab their lunches as they passed the cafeteria, Keith waited outside quietly and they both headed towards Shiro’s office together.    Shiro locked the door behind them and placed the containers of food down on his desk, sliding his dark gray jacket off and placing it on the back of his chair. Keith wanted to take his jacket off as well but was suddenly reminded of his lack of binder and kept it on. He pulled the chair closer to his brother's desk and opened the container for his lunch, eyeing the assortment of food.    Shiro didn’t waste much time digging in, humming with happiness at whatever he was eating, but Keith didn’t have much of an appetite.    “What’s going on in your head?”    Keith tore his eyes away from the food and made eye contact with his brother. He didn’t know how to word it but he also didn’t want to not say anything either. He had worked hard at not bottling up his emotions anymore and he wasn’t going to start now. “I’m confused.”    Shiro nodded, taking a drink of whatever was in his mug. “Confused about what.”    “Lance.”    That got Shiro to freeze, pausing his bite, his eyes staring at his desk. Keith could see the multiple scenarios flooding his brain. After a couple of minutes, he finally began to move, a hint of sadness in his eyes. Keith couldn't blame him, he really wanted Keith to fit in at the Garrison. “What happened? Do we need to get Allura?”   Keith shook his head, “I just…he makes me feel different. And don’t give me the ‘birds and the bees talk.” Shiro laughed and Keith smiled in response. “But I don’t know how I feel about him. He doesn’t annoy me as much as the first day or two but last night after you left…we kinda just. Spent time together?”    “Are you sure you don’t need the birds and the bees to talk?”    Keith knew his face was red as a tomato and he nearly choked on his food. “Jesus Shiro, it wasn’t like that, we just….well, I fell asleep against him okay!”    The room was silent and Keith was internally debating on running away and finding a shack to live in out in the desert. Eventually, Shiro made a noise but it wasn't what Keith wanted to hear. He was laughing at him. Full-on chuckling at his younger brother's outburst. “No need to laugh at me.” Keith crossed his arms and pouted in his chair.    Shiro eventually calmed himself down, a grin still on his face. “So you were late to class because you cuddled your roommate?”    Keith didn’t know if his face could get any redder, “I fell asleep on him!!”    “My apologies, you fell asleep on your roommate. Did he seem to mind?”    “I don’t think so? He leaned into me..” His voice dropped in volume and Shiro looked like he was a kid in the candy store. Keith shifted in his seat, the spotlight he placed upon himself burning into his skin. “I feel all weird about it. I didn’t actually hate it.”    “Keith, I hope you know this is a big accomplishment and I’m proud of you. You don’t have to label how you feel about Lance but being that comfortable around him is a good thing. Don’t you think so?”    Was it? Is this what having a friend was like? Was it normal to cuddle your friends? Was that even cuddling? Keith has never dated anyone before, let alone held someone's hand so all of this was unknown. “I guess so,” his voice was low and he hated feeling so unsure.    They fell into silence and Keith forced himself to eat some of the lunch Shiro got him, it tasted better than what the cafeteria usually served; which wasn’t anything surprising to Keith. “Have you talked to him? Since you woke up?” Keith fought back an eye roll, chewing the piece of food in his mouth before swallowing it down. “Shiro, I was late to class, do you really think I had an opportunity to talk to him?”    Shiro raised his hands in surrender, a smile still on his face. “Hey, I’m just making conversation. Do you think you will?”    Keith slumped in his chair, his skin flushed with embarrassment at the thoughts of last night. “Should I? I mean it’s not even that serious. I don’t like him or anything like that. We’re just roommates.”    “I didn’t cuddle my roommate.”    Keith scoffed, “I feel like that’s a lie.”    Shiro’s face was unreadable and he picked at his leftover food, lunch rapidly coming to an end. “Where did you eat for dinner last night? I was expecting you to come bursting into my office last night.”    Keith straightened his posture in his chair, reaching up to close the container of food, “I ate in the cafeteria.”    “By yourself?”    A pause. “With Lance.”    Shiro raised his eyebrows at his younger brother, “just the two of you?”    Keith hesitantly nodded, not liking where the conversation was going. “I need to go.” He stood from his seat, walking around the desk to give Shiro a side hug, and raced out of the room, his skin still tainted pink.    Shiro forced his face to relax, his cheeks hurting from the amount of smiling that conversation caused, and followed suit closing up his food. He stacked it on top of Keith's container and threw them away in the trash can that sat by his left side. A knock filled the room and he straightened his posture, “come in.”    Ethan stumbled into the room, his cane smacking a bit too hard into the bookshelf right by the door. “Shiro? I’m literally begging you to stop rearranging your office,” he walked in further, smacking into the chairs in front of Shiro's desk.    Shiro fought back a sigh, “Ethan the only time I rearranged my office was when I moved in.” His friend mocked his voice in friendly banter and Shiro laughed. “What can I do for you, Ethan?”    “Can you help me find a file I need for class? Tyler rearranged my space and he’s in class and I have no idea where it is. I went to Allura’s office but she was talking to her mice friends.”    Shiro stood from his chair, grabbing his own keys and phone before leading Ethan back out of the office. Stopping after a few doorways, “what about Lila?”    Ethan let out a laugh, echoing down the empty hallway as he opened his own office door, “yeah she would probably find it and not say anything just to watch me suffer 'cause she’s a bully.”    “Oh, you love her, no what’s the file called?” Shiro followed his friend through the door, letting him start to ramble about some weird topic.    --- Lance’s POV Lance poked his food around his plate, willing his body to calm down enough to eat. He had eaten some, mainly because Hunk was sending him a concerning look but overall he just didn’t want to exist. Did he want to be dead? No, not really, but he didn’t want to be here, or anywhere.    Everyone at the table chatted back and forth about their classes, all of them obviously succeeding at whatever they were assigned and Lance felt a lump sit in the back of his throat, threatening to cut off his airflow.  Why was he so bad at everything? The simulations weren't even that hard but he struggled with all of them. He knew he was the worst pilot in his class, probably the entire Garrison. Sure he didn’t know how the others were doing but probably better than he was. He fought back a groan as he closed his eyes, he was going to have to up his study game and ask for help.    “Lance? You with us?”    He blinked up at everyone at the table, their eyes burning holes into him. He wasn’t sure who spoke to him but he glanced back down at his hardly eaten plate and stood from the table, grabbing his dishes. “Sorry, I just don’t feel good. I’ll see y’all at dinner.” He didn’t wait for a response and he quickly took care of his dishes and walked out of the cafeteria, his phone buzzing as soon as he was down the hall. He didn’t have the energy to check it and he headed to his next class. It was still a bit too early for other students to filter into the room so Lance placed his head on his desk, letting his thoughts drown him; his limbs beginning and all familiar itch.    ---   As soon as class finished Lance dragged himself back to his dorm. Ignoring the people who passed him and he flopped on his bed, his back to the room as he faced the wall. He didn’t bother to take off his shoes and he curled in on himself, hugging one of the pillows tightly. His eyes traced the wall, the beige color flooding his eyes, focusing on nothing. His mind was overflowing and his head pounded and he closed his eyes to attempt to lessen the pain. He needed to do homework, he needed to text Hunk back, he needed to call his parents, he needed to put on a smile so no one was concerned, he needed to cu-   The door opening dragged Lance out of his thoughts, not even bothering to turn to look at his roommate, or maybe it was a murderer breaking in to kill him. Either way, he didn’t care.    “Hey.”    Lance just kept his eyes closed, hoping he was appearing to be asleep. He knew Keith wasn’t an idiot, he knew Lance wasn’t asleep (unless he could fall asleep in like the two-minute difference between them entering the room), but he also knew Keith wouldn’t push him. Keith wasn’t a touchy-feely guy like other people were so Lance knew as long as he stayed still he would be left alone.    He heard Keith moving around the room, a chair sliding across the room and he could hear the faint sound of a laptop starting up. Lance released the breath he was holding and closed his eyes, letting his thoughts drag him down. He wanted to scream, he wanted to cry, throw a pillow at the wall, he wanted to disappear. He didn’t know exactly what he was feeling but he knew he was pissed at people who lived their lives happy. Were able to function without fighting the urge to die, people who could fail at something and brush it off.    The itching got more intense and Lance knew what he needed to do to relieve it, but he didn’t want to. But he was weak and he was hurting, his skin burned and he could feel himself reaching the point of crying or freaking out. Maybe if Keith wasn’t in the room he would let himself indulge in a good, messy, slightly loud cry. One that just lets everything out, but he wasn’t going to subject his roommate to that.    He sat up from his bed, getting off his bed in a blur of motion. He kicked his shoes off, messily landing by the door, and threw his clothes around in his hamper, his long fingers finally clasping onto familiar material and he slammed the bathroom door shut. Not realizing that Keith’s eyes were on him the entire time.    He immediately pried his pants off, rolling his boxers up higher on his thighs before slumping on the toilet. He wasted no time adding to the barely healed cuts that scattered his thighs. Letting the tears fall as the sight of red filled his vision. Not enough. He hated himself, he hated that he discovered this, he hated how he was just too weak to end it or stop. He hated how one bad day would cause this to happen, he hated how it never felt deep enough.    He eventually ran out of room on his thighs and he switched to his stomach, sucking in a breath of air at the sensitive skin. It made him pause, it was what he needed but he also knew from experience that too much on his stomach would leave him immovable and wincing in too much pain to pretend as if nothing happened. He reluctantly switched to his left shoulder, not bringing nearly enough relief to his emotions and he kept going until he had reached his wrist. Finally stopping as his body ached in dull pain. He knew the floor was a mess, and he knew the shower was going to sting, but he felt more in control than he did about ten minutes ago. He dropped his blade to the ground, his eyes glazing over as he let the pain overrun his senses.    “Lance? Is…Is everything good?”     The voice was muffled through the door and Lance finally pulled himself from his unfocused trance. Lie. “Yeah, just not feeling good.” His voice wavered as he spoke and he dragged himself up, peeling his undershirt off all the way, ignoring the mirror. He didn’t care if Keith didn’t believe him, Keith was just his roommate after all.    He turned to fill up the bathtub, took his socks off, and sat on the side of the tub, his eyes staring at the silver object on the floor. He wanted to throw it away, he wanted to flush it down the toilet and promise to never do it again; but he knew himself. This was a long, constant cycle he had found himself in for years. He had tried to stop but always found himself stealing another disposable razor from his sister and taking it apart.    He sighed and picked up the object, flipping the small object around before locating the pouch to shove it back into. Placing it back in his mirror cabinet before turning to his mostly full bath. He slid into the hot water, hissing at the cuts screamed with pain, and eventually submerged his body. His body aching in pain but he didn’t care, he closed his eyes and let the pain surround him; convincing himself that he deserved it.    He was brought back into reality to another knock, his eyes remaining closed, praying Keith would just go away. He expected another knock and prepared himself to speak but he wasn’t expecting a loud pound on the door, followed by a male voice.    “Cadet McClain? Are you in there?”    He recognized the voice but he couldn’t place it as his heart rate picked back up. Suddenly he realized how cold the water was, his wrinkled fingers were, and how sore his back was. Shit shit shit.    “I’m going to unlock the door if you don’t respond in the next 20 seconds.” The voice sounded more urgent and Lance pulled himself up into a more sitting position. He opened his mouth to speak but he would only muster a small “I’m fine” and he knew he couldn't clean up fast enough. His brain flickered with ideas and he moved without much thought, not the first time he was almost caught. He reached out with his left arm, grimacing through the sharp pain he felt, and quickly threw his towel that was on the ground by the tub towards the toilet, praying it covered the red that had fallen to the ground earlier. Pulled the curtain back so he was covered, his voice still refusing to come out through his panic.    The door handle began to twist and Lance held his breath, sweat dripping down his forehead. This is embarrassing.    “Cadet McClain? Is everything okay?”    Of course, it had to be Shiro, after a couple of failed attempts he pushed his voice out. “Ye-yeah. I fell asleep in the bath, I don’t feel good.”    The door opened slightly, but he knew Shiro hadn’t stepped into the room, “are you able to get up okay?”    Lance nodded, before verbalizing his response, his eyes staring at the red-tinted water. “Yeah I can, the warm water made me a bit sleepy.” He forced a weak laugh out, praying Shiro couldn’t see that it was fake. He heard Shiro speak to someone, a female voice responding quietly before he returned to Lance.    “McClain, please get dressed, we’re escorting you to the infirmary for a check-up,” and the door quietly clicked shut.    Lance felt more tears in his eyes and he fought the urge to smack his head. Would they make him take off his clothes? Will they see what he actually did? He thought his heart was going to explode with how hard it was beating and he flipped the switch and the water slowly began to lower. He turned on the shower and rinsed himself off, becoming numb to the pain and he made sure all the red was gone from the bathtub. He stepped out of the tub and picked up his towel, wrapping it around his waist as he stared at the floor.   It wasn’t too bad but anyone could tell it was blood. He focused on getting dressed, biting his tongue as the fabric rubbed on his skin. He wetted the edge of his towel, brought it down on the floor, and quickly cleaned up the floor. He did a once over in the room, nothing looked obvious so he folded his towel up putting the stained area on the inside of the fold. He finally allowed himself to look in the mirror. He didn't have to fake being sick when he already looked sick. His skin was paler, eyes sunk in slightly, he just looked bad.    He sent a quick prayer to anything that would listen and opened the door, his eyes immediately falling on three people. Keith, Shiro, and Allura, all looked a bit too frazzled. He moved his gaze to the ground, the silence being replaced by screaming in his head as his thought told him he should die in that tub.    “Lance,” Allura cleared her throat, “are you okay to walk to the infirmary? I can call for a wheelchair o-”    “No! I ca-I can walk.” Lance wanted to cry at the thought of more attention and he looked at Allura wide-eyed at his interruption but she didn't seem to mind; after all, she did just call him Lance. “Sorry,” his voice dropped in volume and he placed his towel down on his hamper, stepping around Shiro to shove his phone in his pocket, failing to ignore the eyes that followed his every move. He pushed down the burn in his eyes as the tears began to form before turning to Allura. He shoved his hands in his pocket, suddenly unsure of which commander was going to have the annoying job of escorting him to the infirmary.    Right on cue, like Allura could read his mind, she gave him a pleasant smile, holding his arm towards the open door, “ready to go?”    Lance nodded, not trusting himself to say anything without breaking down and he left the room, slipping his shoes on as he passed where they were discarded earlier. Lance didn’t push himself to walk in his usual stride, but Allura didn’t seem to mind. Her presence was slightly calming and Lance allowed himself to relax slightly as they stepped onto an elevator.    “Sorry for the…rude awakening but Keit-Cadet Kogane ran to Commander Shirogane's office in a frenzy saying you were in the bathroom for over an hour and a half and he didn’t hear anything.” Her accent was light in the confined space and Lance allowed himself to take a closer glance at his commander. He still couldn’t tell if the pink marks under her eyes were her makeup or a tattoo but he was in no position to ask. He felt a smile tug at his lips as she reminded herself that she needed to speak in formal terms outside of her classroom.    “Yeah I just, lunch made me feel sick and I didn't even expect to fall asleep but I guess anything can happen when you're sick.’ He tried to keep his tone light-hearted, he didn’t want to come off as being more broken than just an upset stomach.    A laugh filled the elevator right as it beeps indicating they reached their floor, and Allura stepped out first, “I understand that all too well.” She turned down an unfamiliar hallway, leading them to yet another elevator and Lance felt that pit form in his throat the closer they got.    “It’s a good thing there wasn’t an emergency, this office is like 5 miles away,” Lance attempted a small joke after the elevator stopped and they turned down another unfamiliar hallway. Allura made a ‘tell me about it face’ and finally stopped in front of a brown wooden door, a sign that read ‘INFIRMARY’ hung above it.    “That's why every commander is trained in medical assistance, and we have multiple doctors on site that can get anywhere in a minute or two if they are needed.” She turned the door handle and entered the room, her hair flowing behind her, and Lance followed; praying no one could see his limbs shaking.    He heard Allura say something to a girl sitting at the desk, Lance’s vision was too blurry for him to focus on her name.    “McClain?”    He blinked towards Allura who was standing by someone in black scrubs who was holding the door to the exam rooms open. “Sorry,” he forced his legs forward, feeling like his knees were going to collapse underneath him. He was led into a room, both the nurse and Allura pausing by the door, allowing Lance to enter.    “Take a seat on the bed and once I talk to Commander Altea I’ll be right in to check you out.” He grabbed the door to close it, pausing briefly, “feel free to take off your jacket and get comfortable,” and the door was closed.    Lance felt his skin get hot, the room itself wasn’t hot but the idea of getting caught made his anxiety spike. He had never been caught in his life, he had told Hunk on his own accord but he always managed to sneak around people seeing them. The hardest moments were swimming at school, but with long trunks and a long sleeve swim shirt and changing in the bathroom no one ever said; or said anything if they did.    A soft knock filled the room and the same nurse entered, a smile on his face. “Cadet McClain,” he entered the room, clipboard in hand, and sat on the swivel chair located by the counter. “My name is Antok, and I’ll be checking you out before the doctor comes in.” He grabbed his pen from its location under the silver part of the clip.    Lance managed a small wave, “just call me Lance,” he didn’t know why he felt the need to say that. Maybe he felt like he didn’t deserve the title cadet anymore, maybe he just wanted to be seen as more than just a title. He didn’t know.    Antok smiled, “so Lance, Commander Altea told me she received a call from Commander Shirogane saying your roommate, Cadet Kogan, ran all the way to his office, stating you were unresponsive in the bathroom. Both commanders came down and that’s when Commander Shirogane opened the door and you responded then.”   Lance’s head spun with everything he said, all the formalities getting twisted in his already occupied mind. He released Antok and was waiting for an answer and he nodded his head, taking the moment to actually look at Antok.   He was a tall individual, Lance could tell from his sitting posture, he wished he remembered the walk into the room better so he could tell if he was taller than Lance or not. He had wide shoulders, longer arms, and muscles being defined even through his scrubs. He had almost a snow-white mohawk, the sides of his head shaved down to nothing, ears pierced with black studs, and while his face looked rough and Lance would have shit himself if he saw him in public, his eyes were kind; his smile taking the edge off the room and Lance allowed himself to breath as his lungs began to ache.    Antok asked more demographic-based questions, such as how old are you, where are you from, what's your diet like any medications, and when did your symptoms start. He jotted down every answer, and Lance let his eyes drift around the room. He checked Lance’s height and weight and while Lance readjusted on the bed, ignoring the paper he sat on, Antok washed his hands.    “I’m going to give you a check over,” He began to dry his hands, “then we can do a message around your abdomen, and then a doctor will come in to make your treatment plan.”    Lance’s mouth went dry at ‘stomach massage’ and Antok grinned while he approached Lance with a thermometer, assuming Lance was just nervous about doctors' offices. “If you’re good I can get you a lollipop.”    That made Lance chuckle slightly and he remained as still as he could while Antok held a small device up to his forehead. “98.9, so no fever, that's good.” He wrote down the number before returning to lance, a wooden stick in his hand, “open wide and say ahhhhhh”    Lance complied and briefly wondered if Antok worked with children at all, feeling the desire to ask but swallowed it down. “Throat looks fine,” he stepped away and came back with another device, opening a sealed packet and slipping the case over a smaller part. He quickly looked at Lance’s ears and nose, “well so far you look healthy.”    “Usually am,” Lance watched Antok write some more things down on the paper.    “Well it’s no fun to be sick a lot, do you mind lying down so I can check your abdomen?”    Lance wanted to say no, he knew the cuts were too fresh to touch, they weren’t even bandaged but saying no would lead to more suspicion and more suspicion meant maybe a more intense exam and Lance really couldn’t deal with that. He slowly laid down, Antok expertly feeling around his organs, his eyes in thought as he asked “does this hurt?” as he moved his hands around.     Lance thought he was going to bite his lip open as he forced himself not to react to pressure on the cuts. Eventually, Antok stepped away, washing his hands once more, “everything feels fine.” He wrote one more thing down on the clipboard, clipping the pen underneath the silver part again and smiling one more time. “Dr. Thace will be in shortly, just sit tight. It was nice to meet you, Lance.”   Lance mumbled a “likewise” and he was left alone in the room.    Lance released the breath he was holding and stared at the ground. He felt his phone vibrate again and he pulled it out of his back pocket, his eyes falling on Hunk's name. He pulled up two unread messages,    Hunk (12:43): You okay?    Hun (17:12): Hey Lance! Are we meeting up for dinner tonight???? Or are you eating with Keith ;)    Lance rolled his eyes, his thumbs gliding across the screen.    Lance (17:13 pm): Eat without me, at the infirmary until further notice   He could feel Hunk’s panic as he received the next message, grimacing as he opened his phone again.    Hunk (17:15 pm): ARE YOU OKAY? ARE YOU HURT? DYING?    Lance laughed, least Hunk would miss me, he pushed the thought out of his head.    Lance (17:16 pm): I’m not dying, just got sick after lunch. Fell asleep in the tub and gave Keith a scare. Shiro and Allura were called and Allura walked me down here. Doc should be in soon   Another knock and Lance shoved his phone back in his pocket. He didn’t know if he should say ‘come in’ but the door swung open before he could even form a proper thought. Another tall figure entered the room, and while he was muscular as well he was thinner (did they have a medical fitness team or something?), a slight beard on his face. His dark hair was combed back and he wore a white coat with a purple button-up and black pants and way too shiny shoes. His face held a bored expression that mirrored Lance’s parents but his eyes were soft; the light color comforting in a sense. “McClain, my name is Doctor Thace. Are you feeling any better than you were earlier?”    He moved to the chair that Antok had previously sat in, his eyes scanning the paper that was left outside his door. He rolled himself closer to Lance, crossing his left leg onto his right, creating a box shape with his legs.    “Yeah, better than before I fell asleep.”    “Hmmmmm, did you throw up at all?”   “No sir,” Lance avoided the doctor's gaze, he hated making eye contact with people that held authority.    “So all you needed was a bathtub nap?” He lifted his own gaze from the paper he was reading, watching the cadet nod, “guess I’ll add it to my future prescriptions.”    Lance chuckled, “totally recommend it, just make sure you let your roommate know first.”    Thance placed the clipboard down on the counter and turned to face Lance, his arms crossed over his body. “According to the chart you seem fine psychically, and you feel fine. Do you want me to send you home with anything? Pain killers? Nausea blockers? A new puppy?”   Lance shook his head, biting back another smile, something about a grown man with hardly any expression making light jokes just was the funniest thing to him right now.  “I think the nap reset my system, I feel better honestly. I only came down here because Commander Altea escorted me down here.”    Thace nodded, seeming lost in his own thoughts before he sat forward, his elbows on his knees, “y'know giving you’re physically fine means this could be a result of stress. Which isn’t uncommon, especially during the adjustment time, which is typically the first four weeks.”    Lance released a puff of air, “haha good one doc, but I am as cool as ice. Sure the classes here can be hard. I'm adjusting a-o-kay.” He plastered his signature ‘I’m fine’ smile but it seemed as though Thace saw right through it.    Thace stood from his chair, pulling a draw open slightly, grabbing a small card from the inside, and turned back towards his patent; holding the card out in front of him. “Dr. Altea or he likes to go by his first name Coran is a psychologist at the Garrison. He’s a great resource if you find yourself overwhelmed or just needing someone to vent to.”    Lance shakily reached to grasp the card, cursing at his hand for giving away his fragile state. “Thanks.”    Thace nodded and put his hands in his coat pockets, “one of the most damaging things cadets do here is they don’t reach out for help. They would rather sink than take a lifejacket. There is no shame in asking for help, especially in a stressful place like this.” He opened the door, motioning for Lance to exit, “Commander Altea is in the waiting room, it was nice to meet you, McClain.”    Lance nodded and walked down the hallway, opening the door to find his Commander sitting in a chair talking to other people wearing matching uniforms. She looked up and smiled widely at him, “you look so much better!”    “I feel better, thank you.” He saluted as the other Commander stood from where he was sitting, facing slightly away from Lance.    Allura smiled, twisting the other gentleman to face Lance, “at ease cadet” and Lance dropped his arm. “Cadet McClain, this is Commander Wright, he teaches engineering.”    He recognized that name from Hunk, “nice to meet you.”    “Oh, likewise McClain was it? I feel like I know that name…Did you have a relative that attended here?”    “Uh my sister, Veronica McClain.” Of course, he’s still going to be under her shadow even if she isn’t here.    The other man snapped his fingers, “oh right, she’s a good kid, I’m excited to hear about your success as well.”    “Th-thank you.”    Allura clasped her hands together, “well it has been nice to chat with you but I must get our cadet back to his dorm safely. Ready to go, Lance? No medicine you need to get?”    “No, rest and water, that's all I need.” He headed to the door, Allura close on his tail, Commander Wright waving at them as he sat back down in a chair. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your conversation.”    Allura laughed, “Oh no worries, he was down there getting a prescription anyway, It was a pleasant surprise to run into him. Y’know we are busy individuals.”    “What? I thought you guys just stood around all day and did nothing but look scary?” Allura laughed again, and that’s how their conversation went until Lance was standing in from of his dorm room again.    “Please don’t hesitate to reach out to me or another commander if you need anything. You gave your poor roommate quite the scare.”    Lance frowned at the statement, “it won’t happen again.”    Allura reached up and placed a friendly hand on his left shoulder, a smile on her lips. “Just reach out if you need, okay? We are here to watch you succeed.”    Lance nodded, agreeing with her statement as he screamed in his head as her hand pushed down on his new cuts.    --- Keith’s POV Keith sat at his desk, his foot borderline tapping a hole into the ground. He was nervous, scratch that he was borderline freaking out. Not only did he watch his roommate frantically rush into the bathroom but no noise had occurred for over an hour. He heard the tub filling up but after that nothing. He had tried knocking a couple of times over the course of the hour but he heard nothing.    Of course, he debated busting the door down but figured getting Shiro was the better option. Shiro was, well he was concerned, to say the least. Keith knew he was preparing for a meeting but he still couldn’t stop his legs from bolting to his office, slamming the door open, nearly making the older man scream with fright. He wasn’t expecting Allura to show up along with his brother but given he needed the master key, Allura would have to be present being their resident assistant.    Shiro had left after Allura did with Lance, telling him he would check up on him after his meeting. While Keith understood, he really didn’t want to be alone. This attachment or whatever he had with Lance was annoying but he honestly thought Lance died there. What was in that pouch? Was Lance doing drugs? No, Keith never smelt anything, maybe something else? But Keith couldn’t think of anything else. He wanted to investigate or ask but Lance deserved his privacy as much as Keith did.    Keith couldn’t take the silence, he wanted Shiro to come back and talk about whatever he wanted. He wanted noise, he wanted a distraction, and he really wished he had more friends than just Lance. Not saying he didn’t appreciate Lance but right now he thought he was going to go crazy.    He was fighting the urge to go down to the infirmary himself and see Lance. He didn’t know why but it felt like his body was being pulled to go see him. He had never in his entire life felt like this for anyone but his family. The door swung open and his head snapped at it, making eye contact directly with ocean blue eyes.    Lance gave him a small wave, turning around to say goodbye to Allura before closing the door, and took his shoes off in the process. They both stared at each other for a bit, neither of them knowing what to say but neither of them could break eye contact first. “Sorry for scaring you.” Lance reached up and rubbed his neck with his right hand in awkwardness.    Keith blinked a couple of times, before forcing his eyes away from the memorizing blue he had gotten lost in. “I wasn’t scared, but I was worried in all honesty.”    Lance’s face dropped more, “well I’m sorry either way.” He moved to sit on his bed, his shoulder dropping with defeat.    “What's in the pouch?” Keith pressed his right hand to his mouth, cursing himself for asking that question; especially so bluntly. He avoided Lance’s gaze and occupied his eyes with the multi-colored pens that sat on his desk.    Lance didn’t answer for a long time and Keith didn’t blame him. He was about to say ‘hey don’t worry about it that was pretty insensitive’ but Lance broke through the silence, his voice waving as he spoke. “Just has something…personal in it. That’s all.” He laid down on his bed and Keith continued to stare at his desk, his stomach rumbling slightly. He glanced at his clock, reading just past 6 pm. He needed to eat but he also didn’t know if he could handle a lot of interaction with people.    Lance seemed to either hear his stomach rumble or he did as well because he sat back up, “have you eaten yet?”    Keith shook his head no, listening to the creak of the bed as Lance stood. “Did you wanna come and eat with me? Hunk and they already ate so it’ll just be us.”    Keith shrugged his shoulders, the only people who could handle right now were Lance and Shiro, anyone else was just too much. He already spent his emotional capacity on the situation earlier with Lance and dysphoria picked up earlier and he couldn’t even bind safely at the moment to help. “I don’t...I don’t wanna eat down there.” His voice sounded small and all he wanted to do was hide under his covers.    Lance didn’t say anything for a bit, no laughter, no mocking just an “I get it. Ummmm too bad we can’t order in, I could go for some Chinese or pizza right now.”    Keith nodded, Chinese did sound good at the moment, but cadets weren’t allowed to order food in the cafeteria unless a commander brought them something. Wait, a commander. “Shiro.”  Lance blinked a couple of times, leaning against his bed, “what about him?”    “He could get us Chinese, he brought me wings the other night.”    “I was wondering how you got those.”    Keith reached for his phone, remembering quickly that he broke it, and leaned back in his chair, letting his head roll back. “I don’t have a phone, sorry.”    Lance snickered, grabbing his phone, “do you have his number memorized? You can borrow mine.”    Keith nodded, holding his hand out for Lance to place his very old phone into his hand. Jesus, this looked like it was run over by a bus a couple of times. He entered Shiro's number and held the phone to his ear as it rang. He wasn’t even sure if his brother would answer, he had a habit of not answering phone calls from numbers he didn’t recognize.    “Hello, Commander Shirogane speaking.” He sounded so formal and Keith fought back his own laugh.    “Wow this job must have made you beat your fear of answering unknown phone calls,” you could hear the smiles in Keith’s voice as he spoke.    “Keith? What- who's phone are you calling from? Is everything okay? I just got out of my meeting.” He sounded a bit flustered as he spoke, Keith could hear movement on the other end.    “Lances’ and no I have a very special request to ask of you.”    Shiro paused, Keith spent a glance at Lance who had a small smile on his face. “What do you need? Condoms?”    Keith nearly choked on his own spit and he promised himself to kick him in the shin when he saw him next. “No, Lance and I are dying for Chinese food, can you pleaseeeeeeeeeeeee pick it up for us?”    “Why can’t you guys just eat at the cafeteria?”    Keith rolled his eyes, “because Lance just got back from the infirmary and the doctor said he needed takeout to feel better,” Lance was laughing at that response, “and I feel bad about myself so I need Chinese as well.”    Shiro sighed, not in an upset way just in an older brother's way. “Fine, but you’re paying me back for it. What do y’all want?”    They both relayed their orders and Shiro said he would pick it up for them, and with a loud thank you from both boys Keith hung up. He handed the phone back to his roommate and began taking off his jacket. He was too stressed to even think about getting changed into more comfortable clothes.    Lance placed his phone on his desk, “were you telling the truth?”    Keith turned towards his roommate, “what?”    “When you said you didn’t feel good about yourself?” Lance seemed hesitant to speak, his eyes avoiding his roommates.    Keith bit his lip, his attention going down to his unbound chest, suddenly too prominent. “I’m going to go shower.” He grabbed his hoodie and shorts and headed to the bathroom, keeping the lights off as he closed the door.   His mind swam with too many thoughts, how close did he want to be with Lance? Were they friends? How personal did Keith need to be with him? How many secrets did he need to spill? And why does he feel like Lance was hiding something big from him? He focused on the water on his skin and in his hair, if friendships were this confusing he didn't know if he wanted them.

As much as you tried, you could not pin down the way that the marks worked. Hours studying, nights spent wide awake while everyone else slept, countless books read, and nothing. She knew the basics- the same as everyone else. Soul mates were connected in someway, and the marks that were on one person’s skin, appeared on the others. There was no set time when it would come into play, there was no specific age when you’d discover who your soulmate was. Some knew early on, others would have no idea until well into adulthood. You wanted to know why, and wanted to know how. It was during this time that you discovered your own soulmate. When they say that opposites attract, it was something you’d always brushed off. Now, however, you believed it entirely. You had held the hope that your soulmate would be much like you- a love of knowledge, a connoisseur of art, and someone she could connect with on that level. Draco Malfoy. A name that you had heard many times since coming to Hogwarts, a name that you yourrself had spat out in disgust, and a name you associated with nothing pleasant or descent in life. Now, it was a name associated with something that you didn’t even understand completely. In some cruel twist of fate, Draco Malfoy and Y/N Y/L/N were soulmates.  Neither wanted to truly admit it at first, denying it to those around them, but that only worked for so long. When things finally came to the surface, none of their friends knew how to feel. Y/f/N and Y/B/F/N were worried for their best friend, understandably. Many in Slytherin mocked Malfoy for being soulmates with a ‘traitor’, earning many a death glare. Although the truth was out, neither you nor Draco ever made a move to further your relationship along. You remained as you always had towards each other, although there was a small glimmer in your eyes when you’d catch the other’s attention. You didn’t want to admit to yourself, or others, that you were intrigued. Surely you wouldn’t have a soulmate that you weren’t compatible with? What drew you together? On what level did your souls match up? Draco at first concerned himself with his family and friends. What would they think of this? When it all came bubbling to the surface, there was no mistaking your feelings on the matter. Then, as the excitement and shock wore off, a new feeling came over. It was strange, and to Draco, quite confusing. It was the need to protect you from himself. The path his life was headed was in no way, shape, or form, a direction that you should ever head towards. As things with Voldemort got worse, and worse, you were fearful for what would become of Draco. The stance his family held was no secret to the wizarding world, and it was even less of a secret how Draco wanted to gain his father’s respect. You watched as he became less of the school bully that she had known, and more of a shell of himself. The color left his face, something you didn’t even think possible. Any lust for life slowly faded from his eyes, being replaced with a numbness. All you could do was watch from afar…and finally make your own marks for him to see. Chewing on your lip lightly, you were nervous. There was no way for you to know how he would react. Finally, you pulled up the sleeve of your sweater, and grabbed the quill from your inkwell. Your heart was hammering in your chest as you neatly wrote to your soulmate. Draco, please talk to someone. Even if it’s not me. I’m scared for you. Short, and simple. Just something to let him know that he wasn’t entirely alone- you were there for him, wanting him to be okay. You wouldn’t call it love, exactly, but there was something there. Days passed, and the ink was gone. It would be faded from him, as well, and you had received no reply. Not that you had expected to, either.  It was random when he would look down and see new words upon his skin. Never a lot, never anything over the top. Always encouraging. Be safe. I’m worried about you. You’re better than this. Draco…Please. He never, ever replied. Even in moments of weakness, him wanting to keep you from harm pushed him away from his own quill. He’d snap his eyes shut, will the need to comfort you away, and wait for the words to fade.  It seemed like an eternity between the first words appearing on his arm, and the fighting at his manor. Your screams echoed through the halls, causing his head to whip around, his jaw clenching. It wasn’t until he felt the burning on his own arm that he began to glance down. Slowly, the red letters appeared on his pale flesh. ‘Traitor’. Draco knew this was one word that wouldn’t be fading. Before he could stop himself, his feet carried him towards your screams. His blood pumped through his veins, pushing him forward. He’d been awful to you in the past, and even still, you’d cared for him. Enough to tell him to be safe. Even if this was the end of him, at least there would be some small memory of him being decent to you. Coming to the room that you were in, he didn’t slow down. Skidding on his knees to your side, he cupped your jaw. “Y/L/N!” He ground out, holding back the tears as his gaze followed yours. A small line of blood was rolling down your arm, dripping to the floor. Slowly, you looked up at him, silent tears burning your eyes. “Draco?” You breathed, unsure if he was truly there. “Draco!” You lunged at him, wrapping your arms around his neck when he’d simply nodded, assuring you he was there. “Let’s finish this.” He said quietly. You parted, just to stand. Your fingers laced with his, and he could feel the fear all but radiating off of you. “If I don’t make it through this…Thank you, Y/L/N.” He gave you that smirk. You gave his hand a small squeeze, smiling in return. “You’ll be fine. You’re too bloody stubborn for anything else.” You teased softly, needing something to lessen the weight that was on your shoulders. 

This was bad, this was so very bad, this was so…   It wasn’t Cat’s fault, this reaction, Cat could hardly be expected to know about the tattoo between her shoulder blades. Cat couldn’t be expected to know that the mark, printed with a special ink that reacted to touch, that the mark was more sensitive, more stimulating than other areas of Kara’s body.   Cat couldn’t know that the reason Kryptonians received these marks when they turned thirteen was because it had been so long since it had been normal to marry for love, and not power or political gain, so long since sex and want had been mixed into relationships, and so long since Kryptonians had actually been drawn to someone for any reason other than business, that as a species they had largely forgotten how to feel anything stronger for their partners than basic companionship.   Cat couldn’t know that these tattoos were designed to work around the established Kryptonian marriage system, to provide a way of identifying compatible matches in the hope that they could once again return to natural births. That, until Kal-El, there hadn’t been a natural birth on Krypton in generations, and that it was having a negative effect on their culture and society.   Cat couldn’t know that the ink in the tattoos was connected to a neural interface, reading the wearers brain chemistry, watching and learning how the wearer reacted to certain people, discovering what it was that fostered passion in each person.   Cat couldn’t know that without that mark, they wouldn’t realize, not without help. Years of genetic manipulating and coding had altered them, slightly, years of wanting to be able to marry off daughters and sons to make good political matches had led to a race of people who were genetically predisposition not to notice their own attraction, not to understand what their own sexual cravings were. And even though Kara had grown to maturity on Earth, even though she could see it all around her, see other people falling in love, see them exploring different sexual preferences, she herself was not immune to the genetic blindness. Kara was not immune to that inability to understand desire.   Cat couldn’t know that by touching Kara like this, she was triggering that reaction, triggering the neural interface to override the blocks in Kara’s mind, to override everything that had made her unaware of what she wanted, needed, even.   Cat couldn’t know that, because how could she know? How could she know that until this moment Kara had never felt anything like this before. Well, she must have felt it, in her own way, because if she hadn’t, if her body and mind hadn’t already been reacting to Cat, if Kara hadn’t already been responding to her, then she wouldn’t be responding now. She wouldn’t be struggling to keep her breath slow and even, to keep her hands from shaking. She wouldn’t be struggling to hold herself still as the slow brush of fingers across her mark sent heat spiraling through her body, awakening something in her, something she did not fully understand, but desperately did not want to give up.   Cat couldn’t know that for however long Kara had been reacting to her, that the neural interface in the ink had been searching for the person who was causing the change. Cat couldn’t know that by casually reaching down, leaning over the back of the chair where Kara was perched, by placing her hand on Kara’s back to steady herself as she used her other hand to point out something on the papers in Kara’s hand, that she was causing Kara to be aware of her desire for the very first time.   And Cat couldn’t know that, even through the fabric of Kara’s cardigan, the ink of the tattoo was recognizing who Cat was, paring her touch with the lights in Kara’s brain, and that, as a result, it was making it so that the slight shift of fingers, the gentle scrap of nails, the increased heat of Cat’s skin, all of that, all of that was seeping into Kara’s body, making her want to cry out, even as she fought to retain her composure.   It wasn’t that she didn’t want this reaction, far from it, because the ink didn’t just help recognize physical desire, no, it measured so much more than that. The ink was designed to tell a Kryptonian when an attraction was more than just physical, and to help them to understand what it was that they already felt. It was designed to make love possible for their race, again, and Kara wanted that, she wanted that so very much.   And she wanted that especially because it was coming from Cat Grant.   Somehow it didn’t surprise her that she wanted Cat, and the idea that this was the person she was drawn to, well, it was invigorating, enthralling. Kara didn’t need to fully understand it right now to know that she didn’t want to suppress the surge of wonder at that, at the knowledge that her type was a woman like Cat Grant. Wonder, because Cat was… was everything, and how could she possibly not want that?   And so Kara felt the pleasure of Cat’s fingers against her tattoo, but she also felt the added sensation, the added excitement, the relief that she finally had a place to start. This thing she was feeling, this desire, it was overwhelming, consuming, and yet, yet if it was inspired by this woman, how could she possibly ever want it to stop?   She didn’t. But Cat, there was no way Cat would want someone like her, the assistant. There was no way Cat would want…   And then Cat moved her fingers again and Kara mind went blank, her body shifting back, shuddering as she curled into that touch, into that warmth, pressing back until the contact felt more solid against her body.   “Kiera?”   //////////////////////   Cat remembered when this had all started.   She remembered the exact moment, the exact second she had reached out, absently straightening Kara’s collar, and at just that small movement a blush had risen to the girl’s cheeks. She remembered because if it had been just blush, she probably would have been fine. If it had been just that slight, adorable look, she would have been able to move on, to dismiss the reaction and continue looking at Kara as just her strange, but endearing (if infuriatingly so) assistant. She would have been able to brush it aside because it would have just been an innocent reaction, one she had seen countless times before, but not anything that called out to her, that drew her back. Not anything that could have inspired her current obsession.   And she was obsessed, now. That moment had settled in her mind, an image playing on repeat every time she closed her eyes when she was at home, alone in her bed late at night. It was an image that had seeped into her mind, settling into her body, igniting a flame every time she had looked at the girl since, every time she had seen something else, another hint that Kara was…   Because it hadn’t been just a blush. A blush was cute, yes, a blush spoke of something, an affection, but that was all. A blush by itself was without depth, it was without a dark, more hidden want, without craving or need. A blush on its own, especially on a face as young and open as Kara’s, it was just that, just a blush, something that could have been inspired by a million and one things.   But it hadn’t been inspired by a million things, it had only been inspired by the one. It had been inspired by the way Cat had reached for Kara, the way she had moved to touch the girl without asking permission, with such forthright control and expectation that Kara would let her, that it had almost been a claim. And so Kara hadn’t just reacted with innocence to the fact that she was receiving attention from Cat, no, she had reacted to the attitude, the power. Kara had reacted to Cat, and more than that, she had reacted to Cat being Cat, to Cat being exactly who she wanted to be, to Cat being someone who took command of everything and everyone, and in that particular situation, Kara had reacted to Cat taking command of her.   And Cat knew that that was what Kara had reacted to, specifically, because it hadn’t just been the blush, because there had been something else. There had been a hint of a soft tongue flicking out, the graze of teeth over slightly parted, inviting lips, and the shift of Kara’s eyes to Cat’s own mouth, a shift accompanied by a look of that something, barely there, but still, so very present to Cat’s appraising gaze.   It had been over quickly, but it had been enough. It had been enough because Cat’s eyes had been drawn to that movement, and suddenly, irreversibly, the innocent blush had become more, the flash of teeth holding a promise of what was waiting to be unlocked in the girl. The knowledge that there was something for Cat to discover, something that the girl might not even know about herself, yet, if the fact that Kara’s hadn’t even seemed to realize how she had reacted, was any indication.   Cat’s eyes had snapped up to Kara’s own, and she had seen it in those eyes, the fact that Kara hadn’t realized how she had reacted, hadn’t quite understood what it was that her body had done, how it had betrayed her. Kara hadn’t realized, but Cat had. Cat had realized she could have something, but in order to take it, she would have to be the one to reach for it, and drag it to the surface. Cat had realized that there was something in Kara that would respond to her, and that it was something that could be nurtured, broken, into the perfect form.   That… that was what had inspired her current need, inspired the nights she stayed up late, picturing that moment over and over again in her head, and picturing other moments as well, moments that could, and would, follow. It had inspired something in Cat that she hadn’t felt this strongly for a long time, if ever. It inspired something that she did not want to give up, but even so…   Even so she had considered holding back.   She had considered it because of so many reasons, considered it because just because she wanted the girl, that did not mean that she should take her. Just because she could take her, that did not mean that she had any right to reach for Kara, it did not mean… and so she had held back, for a day. She had held back until Winn had looked at Kara, and Kara had laughed, and Cat had realized that it was already too late because the idea, the thought, of holding herself back, of letting someone else have the girl? That was unconscionable, unforgivable, it was…   Cat Grant always took what she wanted, and it didn’t matter that she had only learned of her desire the day before, it didn’t matter because she could not look at Kara now without seeing that shadow lurking within her, without remembering that something in Kara’s eyes, without thinking about how Kara didn’t even understand it, about how Kara didn’t know. Cat could not look at Kara now without feeling that utter dread, the fear, that someone else like Cat would notice it first. That someone else would see it, and that someone else would be the one to harness that energy, to shape and mold it. It didn’t matter that it was still a new revelation to her, it didn’t matter, because once she knew what she wanted, she took it.   And what Cat wanted, was Kara.   And so she had started, little touches, subtle gestures that were increasing in frequency and level of contact. The straightening of Kara’s collar became a brush along her arm, which then became a grip on said arm, the tight winding of her fingers around Kara’s body, straddling the line between professional and personal. She danced along that line, restraining herself slightly because she wanted to savor this, savor the process of awakening Kara, of feeling her come alive under her touch. She wanted to watch as Kara became hers, almost before the girl even knew what was happening. Cat wanted to take Kara piece by piece until it came to that moment when the girl would finally realize what was going on, and then… then Cat wanted to watch as Kara realized that this was something that she wanted as well.   And it was working, Cat’s seduction. Kara had started to respond to her more openly, if just as unconsciously, and now, when Cat touched her, Kara would move into that touch, would shift her body to bend to Cat’s grip. Now Kara would instinctually move to stand just slightly closer to Cat than she ever had before, setting herself within easy grasp, making it possible for Cat to reach out and touch her, take her, at any moment. Now Kara would forget to fiddle with her glasses when she was nervous, and instead she would lean closer to Cat, and when Cat would offer a touch, Kara’s body would relax, the nervous energy fading away, Cat’s grip soothing her and calming her, invading her.   And now, now Kara would move just that much more quickly to follow orders, and the more Cat gave, while she was touching the girl, the more Kara’s eyes would dilate, the more she would squirm, and the more her want would settle around them, almost tangible, almost something Cat could taste. And Cat so very much wanted to taste that desire.   But she couldn’t, not yet. Cat was leading Kara, guiding her, awakening her, yes, but Kara still hadn’t noticed. And while at first that had been according to Cat’s plan, her own want was starting to become almost too strong, and holding herself back, it was turning into a constant battle between what she wanted, and what was right for Kara.   Cat had wanted to go slowly because she hadn’t wanted to scare the girl off, because she knew, knew, that this was what Kara needed, and Cat could not abide the thought that Kara would hurt herself by denying that need, that the girl would suppress those desires, would push them away when she realized them.   Cat went slowly because Kara needed her, Kara needed her to show her that this was ok, that it wasn’t wrong, that it didn’t have to be demeaning. Kara needed someone like Cat, but if Cat moved too fast, or let Kara go free, if Kara ran now the next person might not be so careful.   And that thought, that someone else would find Kara, would just take what they wanted instead of taking the time to bring out the realization slowly, that someone would just push the girl, overwhelm her without giving her time to think, to accept, that through terrified Cat. It made her want to lock Kara away from the world, to draw her close, protect her. It made her want to pull Kara towards her possessively, because Cat did care about her. Kara was special, someone to be cultivated, someone who deserved all the attention and time that Cat could offer.   And so Cat had forced herself to move slowly, her need to protect the girl holding her back. And she had been doing well, she had been going slowly, but still, still by now Kara should have realized something. How was it possible that Kara…?   And then it had happened.   Cat had noticed the change as soon as her hand had come into contact with the girl, she had noticed how Kara had stiffened slightly, how her breath had hitched and then evened out, deepened, almost as if the girl was forcing herself to breathe in a slow, methodical manner. As if Cat’s touch was making her have to concentrate, just to breathe normally.   Cat had noticed because suddenly she had found that her own breath was faltering, that she too was having to struggle. Cat had noticed because Kara had never done this before. When Kara’s breath had faltered in the past, under Cat’s fingers, the girl had never realized, never tried to hide or alter it, but now, now Kara was putting conscious thought into her reaction to Cat. Kara was thinking about how she was reacting, which meant that Kara was finally aware.   It meant that Kara finally knew that she wanted Cat, that she wanted the kind of attention that Cat could give, that Cat wanted to give. It meant that Kara was finally waking up, and Cat had been waiting for this for so long, that there was no way for her not to notice. No way for her not to realize, for her own self-control not to waver, not to flounder, now that her prize was finally within her reach.   But what had triggered this change? What had Cat done this time that was so different? At first Cat had thought that maybe it could be attributed to their relative positions, to the way she was towering over Kara, the way she was leaning forward, holding Kara in her power, and to be fair, that was probably part of it, but the rest?   She had started to move her finders lazily, almost absently, over Kara’s back, to trace the area between the girl’s shoulder blades with light touches, noticing how the longer she did, the more she could feel the tension coil in Kara’s body, the more energy she could feel build up as the girl sought to suppress her reaction. And then, then Cat had pressed just slightly harder, had dragged a single nail down the girl’s back, running her finger down that space, and Kara...   Kara had moving into her, pressing back, her fingers losing their grip on the papers and her head dropping beautifully, submissively. It hadn’t lasted, that that was mostly Cat’s fault because she had been so thrown by the sudden change, the sudden surrender, that for a moment she had panicked, had thought something might actually be wrong with the girl, and she had drawn her hand away, moving quickly to stand in front of Kara as she called her name.   Kara hadn’t responded right away, that first call had gone unanswered, which was when Cat had lifted Kara’s face in her hands, cupping the girl’s chin and pulling that gaze towards hers. That was when Cat had seen that Kara’s pupils were blown, that the color of her face could no longer be considered just a blush, no, a blush was too naïve, and what Cat saw instead could only be described as flushed, a soft glow, a gleam that betrayed the darker desire that lurked, the one Cat had been waiting to bring forth.   And there had been something else as well, an awe almost. Cat had been so worried that Kara would realize what her nature was, what it was that she needed, and she would run. Cat had been so afraid of that, but right now? Kara looked confused, slightly, she probably still didn’t understand entirely what it was that she wanted, but there was an excitement there as well. Cat looked into Kara’s eyes and saw not fear, but curiosity, a yearning to discover.   It was a look that Cat found herself responding to, a look that was pulling her in, as if she hadn’t already passed the point of no return long ago. It was a look that made her heart race because she wanted that, had been hoping for it. And seeing it, she had so badly wanted to lean down, to kiss that confusion away. She had so badly wanted Kara, but…   And then it had been over. She had called Kara’s name a second time, this time the name falling from her lips in surprise, with an almost predatory pride, a pride brought on by the sight of that expression on the girl’s face, at that lack of fear. And that second call had jolted Kara out of whatever trance she had been in.   Kara had stammered out her excuse, saying that she was tired, that the heat was getting to her, and Cat had pretended to accept it. Cat had let her go, but her mind had been reeling, and now, sitting here, watching Kara work at her desk in a flustered haze, Cat couldn’t keep the smirk off her face. She couldn’t keep the excitement, the anticipation, from welling in her chest and settling like liquid fire in her lower abdomen. She couldn’t keep her hand from twitching as she planned out what to do next, how to approach the girl, and when to act to fully draw out Kara’s need.   She didn’t know why that place, the hollow between the girl’s shoulder blades was special, why it had had such a strong effect, maybe it was something to do with Kara’s alien biology because yes, Cat did know who the girl was, she wasn’t an idiot, but whatever it was, Cat knew that she wanted to explore it more.   But she wasn’t going to push too fast, not yet, because Kara was still discovering, and because Kara needed to know that Cat wasn’t just interested in using her, that Cat wanted so much more from her. She wasn’t going to push because Kara probably hadn’t even realized that Cat actually wanted her back, yet, and she wasn’t going to push because Kara was almost there, almost ready, but not quite.   And so she would continue to hold herself back, but not as much as she had been before. She would continue to temper her own want, but she was still going to move forward with her slow, calculated seduction. Cat would continue to restrain herself, but now, now that she knew that Kara would be so very aware of everything that she was doing, now Cat could truly begin to draw Kara in.   ////////////////////////   It was getting worse, harder to control, and Cat was going to notice soon, of that Kara was sure.   Cat was going to notice the way she shivered each time the woman came near, the way her breath faltered when Cat would look at her, when Cat’s gaze would linger on her in that way that seemed to be almost a claim, but that Kara knew was actually just Cat being Cat.   Cat was going to notice, and Kara could not have that, because Cat’s gaze, it didn’t mean the same thing to the older woman that it did to Kara. It didn’t, because this was Cat Grant, and of course Kara already belonged to her, of course she did, everything did. But the way Cat’s eyes would move over her body meant nothing more than simple possession, it didn’t mean that Cat wanted her the same way she wanted Cat. It didn’t mean that Cat wanted to push her down, to devour her, to command Kara to devour her.   It didn’t mean that, and so Kara had to control herself, because Cat was going to notice.   Except that no matter how hard she tried, Kara just could not stop herself. Not when Cat continued to rest her hand along Kara’s tattoo, not when her fingers would dance along the mark, short-circuiting Kara’s brain and making her want to cry out for the older woman. Cat was going to notice because she couldn’t control herself around Cat, because she wanted Cat to be the one in control, because she wanted Cat to be the one controlling her.   She knew that now, it had all fallen together so easily, after that afternoon. It had come together perfectly, simply, and where, if Kara had been human, she might have run from the realization, might have feared her own needs, well, she wasn’t human, and now that she knew what she wanted, now that she had felt desire, really felt it for the first time, she did not want it to stop. It was like a drug in her system and she wanted to let it roll over her, wanted to let to consume her, wanted…   She wanted to kneel before Cat, in that chair. She wanted Cat to look down at her, gaze hungry and powerful, she wanted Cat to run her fingers through Kara’s hair, to take hold, and to pull Kara to her. She wanted Cat to demand that she stay there, on her knees, face pressed between Cat’s thighs. She wanted Cat to use her, use her lips, her tongue, her body, she wanted Cat to take everything from her, take whatever she wanted, and then, only then, only if she did a good job, Kara wanted Cat to bend her over that desk. She wanted Cat to hold her down, to finish the job of making Kara hers as she ran her nails, her tongue, and god, her teeth, over the mark on Kara’s back.   She wanted to feel what it would be like, how strong the pull would be, when Cat was not only touching the tattoo without the barrier of clothes in between, but also taking complete command of her. She had been a little shocked, at first, when she had realized just what it was that she wanted, but the shock had soon faded and left only excitement behind, because how could she not want it? How? When what she felt when Cat looked at her, touched her, in such a way that her possession was clear, when that feeling was so very powerful? How, when nothing had ever made her feel more special, more valued, than seeing someone like Cat Grant look at her like she wanted her, like she was worth wanting, like she was worth claiming?   Even if Cat didn’t mean it in the same way, even if Cat just saw her as a valued assistant, even if there was nothing sexual in Cat’s gaze, how could Kara want anything else other than to continue to belong to that woman, in whatever way she would have her?   And so Kara had to fight to keep her responses in check, because she did not want Cat to stop. She did not want Cat to realize what she was doing to her, and to withdraw her gaze, her touch. She did not want Cat to comprehend just how far gone she really was, and to pull away. She did not want…   Kara shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. She needed to focus. She could let her mind roam free later, when she was home, but right now, at work, she needed to keep herself in check.   Glancing at her watch she realized that it would be a little while longer before Cat got back from her meeting. She had some time, and an idea came into her head. She would just take a minute, just step out onto the balcony for a few seconds, just to calm herself down. She needed that, needed a moment to gather herself, and so, checking to make sure that no one was paying attention to her, Kara slipped out, pulling off her cardigan as she went so that she would be able to feel the breeze against her overheated skin, to feel the air against her body, providing a counterpoint to the sensations that she really wanted to experience.   She stood out there for several minutes, getting lost, and that, that was her downfall, because as she let the air play across her bare arms, as she adjusted her senses to block out everything except for the sensation of touch, as she focused all of her attention on just feeling her body, on cooling it down, she lost track of the time.   Kara didn’t notice when Cat returned from her meeting slightly early, didn’t notice Cat watching her, didn’t hear the way Cat’s heart rate sped up. She didn’t see it when Cat’s body language shifted, becoming, if possible, more confident, more possessive. She didn’t realize Cat was even there until the woman was already behind her, until Cat’s hand was already grazing her back, until she cried out because it was too late, because she was already too lost, and because she no longer had any desire to be anything else.   //////////////////////////   It was perfect, the sight before her, perfect and Cat couldn’t help the way her breath stopped momentarily, the way her tongue darted out to lick at her lips. She had been slightly annoyed when she had come back early from her meeting to see Kara’s empty desk, but her annoyance had faded when she had crossed to her own desk and glanced to the side, her eyes falling across Kara, head tilted up towards the sun, cardigan missing, standing so still that Cat knew the girl was in her own world.   It was perfect because Cat had been right about Kara’s back. She still didn’t know why, and so her guess about the alien biology remained her predominant assumption, but she had seen how Kara reacted when she touched her there, how every time Kara would bend towards her, so easily, how each touch, each stroke, had made the girl hers by just that much more.   It was perfect, because right now, like this, Kara had no defense against Cat, and it was all too easy to cross to her, to take a moment to enjoy the sight of that vulnerability, to feel her own shiver of anticipation and she raised her hand, fingers hovering over the thin material covering Kara’s skin.   It was perfect, and Cat knew that this was the moment, because right now Kara was so open and inviting, and it was time to stop going so slow. She knew because Kara, like this, Kara was too beautiful for her to ignore.   And it was perfect because the moment her fingers closed the distance and touched Kara, in that moment Kara’s entire body went limp. The girl was still standing, yes, but her body gave itself over completely to Cat’s touch, reacting in a way that was instinctual, in a way that was driven not only by Kara’s desires, but also by the girl’s acceptance of them, by her own want of them.   That acceptance manifest in the air between then, appearing in the soft cry that escaped Kara’s lips, in the way the girl’s head turned, even as her body stayed where it was, waiting for direction from Cat. Kara’s head moved, just enough that the girl could look at her, could see her eyes to wait for an order, a command, just enough that Kara could read Cat’s face.   And in reward for that, for that willingness, for that openness, in response to that for the first time Cat let her own guard completely drop. For the first time she let her face shine openly with her own desire, possession, command. Up until now she had let Kara see the possession, let Kara see that she considered the girl to be hers, but she hadn’t given everything, hadn’t shown her just what that entailed, but now…   Now she held nothing back, using her free hand to turn Kara’s face towards her even more, to tilt the girl’s head back, enjoying the sensation of Kara so easily letting her direct her movement. She ran the fingers of her hand over Kara’s cheek, brushing across her lips, and then moved down to grace the girl’s neck, wrapping around, letting her touch linger and burn. She could already see it, the soft collar she would place there when they were alone, when it was just the two of them. She could see how the black leather would shift under every breath the girl took, she could imagine how Kara’s eyes would look, overwhelmed by need, when Cat would run her hands over that collar and take control. Cat could already picture that, had been picturing it for months, but now that it was so close, now that her hand was resting there, a placeholder until she could get something more permanent, it was impossible to keep anything about her intentions hidden any longer.   And then, finally, she saw it, saw the realization in Kara’s eyes, the understanding that Cat had been coming for her. The realization that Cat had been planning this, that all this time, Cat had been leading her here, leading her to this moment. And with that realization Cat also saw something else, a fierce pride blossoming on Kara’s face, a pride that made her own heart swell.   “Yes,” she wanted to tell the girl, “yes, be proud, be proud that I want you, that I’ve spent months looking at no one else but you, that I’ve spent months waiting for you to be ready. Be proud that I haven’t been able to look away, even for an instant. Be proud of what you are, of the power you have over me, the power no one else could even begin to hold.”   She wanted to tell the girl that, but she didn’t. She didn’t need to and now was not the time for speaking and so instead Cat curled the fingers of the hand that was against Kara’s back, and this time, as Cat’s nails dug in, hard enough to mark, if Kara had been human, this time Kara didn’t try to hold anything back either, and Cat felt a shiver run through Kara’s entire body, saw Kara’s mouth fall open, heard the soft, “please,” that fell from those lips.   And that was the last straw because suddenly it didn’t matter that it was the middle of the day, that someone could come into Cat’s office to look for her, that someone could glance out towards the balcony. It didn’t matter because Kara had asked her for something, and Cat felt her desire pull, felt herself give in, wanting to give in, wanting to show Kara that if Kara needed something from Cat, if she asked, if she begged, Cat would not deny her.   And so Cat moved her hand again, drawing a soft whimper from the girl when her fingers shifted higher, pulling away from that area of her back, but only for a moment. Only an instant because a second later Cat was grasping the zipper of Kara’s dress in her hand, and slowly, slowly, she began to pull it down, a single finger trailing along the newly exposed skin in its wake. She didn’t need to go far, and she held the eye contact until Kara cried out again, her body arching at the first brush of Cat’s finger against her bare skin. And as Kara moved against her, Cat couldn’t suppress her own gasp as her gaze fell across that mark.   The red ink of the tattoo stood out in stark contrast against the girl’s pale skin, the strange markings, the alien symbols, almost seeming to glow, no, they were glowing, Cat realized. She watched, mesmerized, as the ink began to radiate light around the point where her finger was touching the girl. She watched as she traced her finger along the pattern, watched as the glow followed her movement, and Cat felt the way Kara shivered against her, head falling back beautifully as Cat added a second finger, and then a third.   “Please,” it escaped from the girl again, and Cat realized Kara no longer had any residual control, and what’s more, she didn’t want to have any. This was more than just Cat’s touch, it was something else, that darker shadow of a need Cat had witnessed all those months ago, finally coming completely to the surface, no longer even hidden behind any false sense that it was just a one sided desire.   Cat could have kissed Kara then, could have pulled her face down, could have claimed those lips as she had wanted to do for so long, but instead, instead she lowered her mouth, pausing with her lips just shy of the mark on Kara’s back. She let her lips hover over the tattoo, kept them there as she took a step forward, pushing Kara until the girl was trapped, her stomach pressed into the ledge of the balcony, held in place by Cat’s firm grip.   Cat let her breath play over the ink as she pressed Kara down, forced the girl to bend, her hair falling around her face as Cat moved her hand from Kara’s neck, sinking it lower and maneuvering it between the ledge and Kara’s body. She withheld the contact of her lips against that skin until her hand found its place, resting low on Kara’s abdomen, until she could feel the muscles shift and contract as she pulled the girl flush against her.   And Cat held back one moment longer, pausing to take in the sensation of Kara so helplessly caught, before finally, finally she lowered her lips that last inch, pressing hot, searing kisses into Kara’s flesh. Cat took her time, tasting her, moving slowly in this as she had in everything else up until this point. She took her time exploring, nibbling and sucking. She took her time discovering how the different sensations would cause Kara to writhe against her, without thought, without any ability or will to resist. She explored how Kara’s voice would change, now whimpers, now soft cries, now deep moans. She explored how everything that she did brought Kara just that much higher. She explored all of that, and every time she knew the girl was close, she would pull back, shifting somewhere else and watching in fascination as the glow of the tattoo became brighter, almost blinding.   Cat continued on, continued until Kara was begging her, continued until Kara was whimpering her name, the word spoken with complete abandon, complete devotion, complete trust. And Cat continued until her own need, spurred on by feeling Kara like this, so lost in her, became too strong and Cat felt her own hips rock forward. Cat continued until she could no longer hold back, any longer, could no longer stop herself, and then she bit down, moving with Kara as the girl cried out one last time before coming undone around her, Cat riding her as her own desperate cry escaped.   And then, only then, as Kara continued to shudder, her body still coming down, did Cat reach for Kara’s hair, giving a hard tug to pull Kara’s face around towards her, kissing her lips to capture that last moan, the last echo of what had just happened. And when Cat pulled back, not stepping away, not letting go, but moving her head back to take in the sight of Kara spread out so gloriously before her, she noticed that the glow was gone, but what had been red ink had shifted, changing color to green, changing into a perfect reflection of Cat’s eyes.   Cat didn’t fully know what it meant yet, the significance of the tattoo, but she knew that somehow, whatever it was, it was hers now. She realized that, and that knowledge settled around her heart, wrapping around her mind and body as she understood something else. Cat understood that maybe it hadn’t just been Kara who had been awakened by all of this, that maybe it wasn’t just this young, beautiful woman who had needed Cat to guide her, that maybe…   That maybe Cat herself had never truly appreciated desire, until this moment. That Cat had never fully understood desire until this perfect moment where Kara was in her arms, where Kara was hers, and where the evidence of that was emblazoned across Kara’s skin with a tattoo that Cat knew would never fade. The End

Heavy rain fell on the streets of a black and white city. "Stick 'em up, ya dirty thief!" a hard-eyed cop yelled at a fleeing robber. "You'll never catch me ali—" DING-DONG! With a sigh, Yuisu grabbed the remote and paused the movie. "What the? It's like ten o'clock. Who'd be here this late?" Haru, her wing wrapped around Yuisu's shoulders, just shrugged. "No idea. Maybe Iormu lost her house key?" "I'll go check it out." Yuisu stood up from the couch, then paused to tug a wrinkle out of her panties. She was wearing a big t-shirt as pajamas, since she and Haru had spent the entire day just lounging around together and never got dressed. She called out, "Coming!" and started toward the door. Once her socks hit the smooth hardwood, she sock-skated down the hall. Yuisu jumped into the entryway and flung open the door, expecting one of her housemates. Instead, there was a wall of luggage and boxes piled up on the porch, nearly blocking out the night sky. "Uh, okay…" She tucked a strand of her black hair behind her ear and looked around, but didn't see anyone in the porchlight. "Is anyone here?" Long blue hair and a smiling face popped into view from behind a big suitcase and a cheerful voice said, "Oh, hello!" Cerulean eyes scanned Yuisu up and down, pausing briefly on the bit of purple panties peeking out from under Yuisu's loose t-shirt. "You must be Yuisu! Hehehe," the new arrival giggled, then stepped the rest of the way into the light and stuck out a hand. The young woman wore a yellow sweater-vest and a short white skirt, a look reminiscent of a school uniform. Large bat-like wings stuck out from her lower back, and their surface faded from purple to orange to red, with streaks of lightning blue. Curved, stony-grey horns poked up out of her blue hair, and a thin, dark tail flitted behind her. Yuisu blushed as she realized how little she was wearing in front of a stranger. She grabbed the bottom edge of her t-shirt and pulled it down, trying to cover up a little. All it really managed to do was stretch the cloth tight against her chest, making her black bra show through the thin fabric of the old shirt. Then Yuisu gave up on trying for modesty and finally shook the woman's hand. It was strangely rough and stonelike, with grey skin. After a moment of surprise at that, Yuisu said, "Uh, yes, that's me. Who are you?" The mysterious woman frowned. "You don't know my name? I mean, I figured Agent Will would at least tell you that, since I'm moving in and all." She chuckled, flapped her colorful wings, then said, "I'm Chione, and as you can see, I'm a gargoyle! Nice ta' meetcha!" Yuisu was immediately frustrated with Agent Will, but she couldn't help but smile in the presence of such cheerfulness. "It's nice to meet you, too. Let me get some clothes on, then me and Haru will help you bring all this stuff inside." She stepped inside, then turned and looked back out at Chione. "Uh, you can come in for the meantime if you want, but I'll have to give you the full tour later." Chione smiled and sat down on a big storage chest. "Thanks, but I'll just wait out here and enjoy the night." Yuisu raised an eyebrow, but she nodded then ran inside. She slid to a stop by her room and called toward the living room, "Haru, we've got a new homestay. Get dressed and help me move her stuff inside." Haru hopped up and jogged over to their room. As she stepped inside and closed the door, she said, "I'm not even surprised that we didn't get any warning. At least Agent Will is predictable in his screwups." Once they were dressed, Haru and Yuisu met Chione on the front porch. Yuisu pointed at Haru, who was wearing a white tank-top and jeans, a bit more dressed than Yuisu in flannel PJs. "Chione, this is Haru, my, uh…" Yuisu hesitated, unsure how open she wanted be with the new arrival. "Girlfriend," Haru finished for her. Yuisu blushed and mumbled, "I was going to say 'first homestay', but that works too." Chione lit up. "Oh, that's so wonderful! I heard it can be really hard for exchange program participants to find love, and it made me kinda sad." She paused, then quickly added, "Not that I only joined the program to find love or anything!" Yuisu and Haru shared a brief glance, then Yuisu spoke up. "Anyways, since Tsuen moved into Mara's room, we've got two open bedrooms, both right next to each other. They are a little small though…" Yuisu looked around and took in the massive pile of belongings Chione had brought. "Actually, with how much stuff you have, maybe the big room out in the cabin would be better? Carrying all this stuff up there would be a pain though…" Chione shook her head and waved her hand, still smiling. "Oh, no, no, the smaller room is fine." "If you say so…" Yuisu said, shrugging. "Well, let's get everything inside," Yuisu said as she grabbed a heavy cardboard box. Haru grabbed another and followed Yuisu inside, then Chione came last, rolling a large wheeled suitcase. A few more trips got everything inside except one big wooden chest, with a rounded top and gold banding. Yuisu grabbed a handle and tried to lift one side, but it was far heavier than she expected. "This weighs a ton! What do you have in here, Chione?" Chione's eyes darted from side to side, then she said, "Uh, just some family heirlooms…" "Alright. I'll be extra careful then. Grab that side, Chione, and Haru can get the doors for us," Yuisu said, skillfully avoiding mentioning Haru's difficulty with carrying handles. Step by step, they hefted the heavy chest through the entry room and kitchen. At the door to the first guest room, Yuisu peered in and said, "Uh, this room is getting pretty full. Any more and you won't have anywhere to stand while you unpack. Let's store this chest in the other guest room for now." Chione smiled and nodded. "Sure. Thanks so much for helping with all my stuff. I know I packed too much, but I couldn't bear to leave any, uh, thing behind." Yuisu nodded slowly. "Nah, it's fine. We've got plenty of space here. So, do you want the tour now"—Yuisu suddenly yawned, then continued—"or in the morning?" Chione giggled, then said, "I'll let you get some sleep. I'm not much of a morning person, but I'll try to be up for the tour." The next morning, a substantially less chipper Chione sat at the kitchen table, sipping at some very black coffee. Her eyes were barely open and her hair was a mess. Yuisu sat down across from her and said, "Wow, you weren't kidding about not being a morning person." Chione chuckled laboriously and mumbled, "Me and the sun don't get along." Yuisu put a hand on Chione's stony grey one. "That's alright. You've got some nocturnal allies here. Mara stays up super late most of the time, and Haru's a night-owl, at least when her work schedule allows." A small smile cracked across Chione's lips. "Alright. So, how about that tour?" Over the next hour, Chione learned the layout of the main house, heard how laundry would be handled, and got a crash course in Japanese-style bathing. "You wash before getting in the tub?" she asked as she took in the intimidating bathing room. "Yup," Yuisu said, "The tub is just for soaking, kind of like a hot spring, which is the next stop on the tour." "There's a hot spring? Really?! That's so cool!" Chione said, looking alive for the first time all morning. "Well, more hot than cool," she added with a little giggle. Chione followed Yuisu out the back door and up the wooden path. When they got near the hot spring fence, she turned and looked up the hill at the cabin. "Is that the cabin you mentioned last night?" she asked. "Yep. That's where Iormu lives. It's specially outfitted for large liminals." Chione fidgeted with the hem of her skirt. "How large? Like a giant?" Yuisu waved a hand. "Oh no, it can't fit anything that tall. The ceilings are just a few feet higher than normal, but the rooms are really spacious, the bathroom in particular. Iormu's about forty feet long, so she definitely appreciates the extra room." Chione's eyes went wide. "Forty feet… uh, what is she?" Yuisu opened the gate in the wooden fence and ushered Chione into the hot spring area. "She's a Jormungand, which is similar to a Lamia, and you'll get to meet her later, whenever she and Quess finally show themselves. Anyways," Yuisu changed the subject, "This is the hot spring. It's hotter by the spout over there, and deeper toward the center. Don't stay in too long, especially if you're bathing alone, since you could pass out from the heat." Chione nodded and listened attentively, looking exactly like an eager schoolgirl. Yuisu thought, How old is she, I wonder? That night, Yuisu and Haru finished their movie from where they'd left off. It was a long movie and there'd been over an hour left when they were interrupted, so splitting it up worked out alright. "Not bad," Haru said as she stood up and stretched her wings. Yuisu nodded, then tried to stifle a yawn. "Yup, though I was almost falling asleep at the end there. I need to get to bed. Got a morning shift tomorrow." Haru frowned. "Aww, alright. I'm not tired at all, so I'll come to bed a bit later." Yuisu pulled Haru into a brief kiss, then shuffled off toward the bedroom, leaving Haru in the living room with nothing to do. She settled on getting a snack, at least to start with, so she strode into the unlit kitchen. Haru usually didn't bother turning on lights at night since her night vision was so good. She opened the fridge and started digging through the meat drawer before she suddenly froze. She sensed something unusual. She stood up slowly and turned around. At the kitchen table, sitting stone still in the darkness, was Chione. Haru hadn't noticed her at all upon entering the room. The gargoyle was just staring at the wall, holding her chin as if deep in thought. Upon closer inspection, Chione wasn't even breathing. Needless to say, Haru was a little creeped out. No wonder I didn't sense her. She swallowed, then whispered, "Hey, Chione? Are you alright?" Chione suddenly burst into life, her previously static wings flapping as she looked around, disoriented. "Huh? Oh, Haru! Yeah, I'm just fine. Got lost in thought for a bit, I guess," she said with a giggle at the end. She seemed to use laughter like punctuation. Haru tilted her head. What a strange girl… "What were you thinking about? Anything interesting?" Haru went back to searching the fridge and eventually decided to finish off some leftover roast beef. Chione shook her head. "Nah, I was just thinking about how different things are going to be from now on. Japan's so different from Europe. It's a little overwhelming, ya know?" Europe? I'd ask what part, but I have no clue about that part of the world, Haru thought. She sat down at the table and started in on her sandwich, which was just cold roast beef on bread. Haru had pretty simple tastes, as long as there was meat involved. After she swallowed her first huge bite, Haru looked up at Chione and said, "When I can't get my mind off something, I tend to go flying. It's easy to forget about all the insignificant problems in life when the world is so tiny down below." Chione's eyes lit up, glinting in the dark kitchen. "Ooh, me too! I love to fly at night and see the world sleeping soundly." She suddenly frowned. "But I don't know the area here, and I'm not supposed to leave the property boundary, and I don't even know where that is." Haru set her sandwich down. "I could go flying with you, and give you the tour of the property." "Really?!" Chione reached across the table and grabbed Haru's wing. "That'd be amazing! Let's go right now!" She jumped up and flung open the kitchen windows, then turned back and gestured at Haru impatiently. Haru blinked at her. "Hold on, girl. Let me finish my snack, then we'll go." She looked the gargoyle over and added, "And you might want to change clothes." "Huh, why? I always fly like this." Haru sighed, then said, "I guess it doesn't matter as much at night, but flying in a skirt is risky. Japan's got more than its fair share of perverts looking for upskirt shots, and the last thing you want is photos of your panties going around the internet. Being of an extraspecies girl would probably make them even more popular." Chione blushed profusely and grabbed the hem of her skirt. "Eww! Alright, I'll go change." A few minutes later, Chione, now wearing some shorts under her skirt, soared over the dark mountainside. Haru flew a few yards ahead of her, a bright white beacon in the moonlight. Haru turned her neck all the way around and called back, "That big dead tree there is pretty much the southwest corner of the property, so it makes a great landmark!" Chione had to strain a bit to hear Haru's voice over the whooshing wind. While she was a pretty good flyer, she didn't have animal-level senses of hearing or smell to help navigate. Chione did have good eyes at least, including superhuman night-vision. No one knew for sure how Gargoyles came to be, but they seemed tailor-made to watch over cities at night. She followed along as Haru circled the entire property and pointed out several more landmarks. When Haru looped back toward the house, Chione called out, "Won't it all look different during the day?" "Yep, but those landmarks will still be good. And it's not like anyone would know or care if you go a little outside the boundary." Chione pondered that for a second, then said, "Oh, okay. I'm used to really strict rules, so this will be… interesting." Haru landed gracefully on the gravel driveway. "About that… I'm guessing you came from a private school?" Chione had to flap her wings hard to slow her descent. Unlike Haru, who had a very light body and practically floated to the ground, Chione would quite literally drop like a rock if she let up for a second. Through heavy breaths, Chione responded. "Yeah… How'd you know?" Haru smiled and flicked her golden eyes at Chione's skirt and vest. "While it does look good on you, I assumed that outfit wasn't a fashion statement." "Yeah, I don't know the first thing about fashion, since I've just worn school uniforms most of my life." Chione giggled out of nowhere, then said, "Japanese fashion seems so fun though! All the colors and styles!" You can't help but like this girl. She's so eager and lively, Haru thought. She put a wing around Chione's shoulders, then stepped toward the house. "I've got some clothes that might fit you, if you want to try some styles for yourself." "Oh, that'd be great!" Chione said, barely containing another bout of giggles. Haru smiled. "We'll have to wait 'til tomorrow, though, since Yuisu's asleep right now."

"Why is it that mother's day is tomorrow and I haven't gotten Bobby's mom, my sister, or my own mom anything? I need to get to the mall like, yesterday." Natasha said frantically through the receiver to Olivia. Natasha was brushing her teeth, on her way out the door to hunt for the perfect gifts to give. She was in the process of persuading her friends to meet up with her because she was missing them deeply. Work had been chaotic for her this week and she'd barely had any time to breathe so it was no surprise when she forgot about Mother's day gifts entirely. "Are you asking me and Summer to join you?" Olivia said, wanting to hear her say the words. Natasha rolled her eyes in the mirror, able to watch herself. "Yes Olivia. I am." Natasha said sarcastically, her words came a little garbled because she was brushing her tongue but her friend still know what she was saying. "I'll call her and see if she wants to meet up but I'll be there in 45, I have a date later and I can't be out too long with ya'll." "A date with who?" Natasha asked in disbelief. She felt a small pang in her stomach that she hadn't heard of the man the day she met him. Usually, she'd have already known everything there was to know. "This guy, I'll tell you about it later." Olivia said sounding annoyed, but Natasha knew it was an act. She secretly wanted nothing more than to talk about her new boy with her best friends. "Alright, see you." Natasha said, wiping her lips. The two hung up and Natasha applied her lip gloss and grabbed her purse. She checked for her keys and headed out to the car. She called her mother yesterday to break the news that she wouldn't be spending Mother's day with her this year. She sounded content with the decision but Natasha knew her mother too well. She would need to make it up to her somehow and fast. Natasha drove somewhat slowly, thoroughly thinking out the possibilities with meeting Bobby's family. Her palms grew wet with unease. Her worst thought was that they would have a problem with her skin color. She didn't know how she'd deal with that situation, maybe she'd just wait it out. But knowing herself too well, she would want to leave immediately. Natasha walked into the big mall and found both of her friends walking up towards the entrance from the parking lot. The weather was beautiful and she wished she could spend the day outdoors without a hat and shade over her, but she knew the sun wasn't her friend. She smiled happily; excited to be spending time with them and they both returned her welcome. They walked through the door and strode in a horizontal line. "Have you gotten gifts yet?" Natasha asked. "Yeah, I didn't wait until the last minute so..." Summer said, but she laughed when Natasha gave her a death glance. "I got mine 2 days ago." Olivia said, brushing some hair out of her eyes. "Well I have no clue what to get. Plus I have 3 people I'm shopping for so I didn't plan on breaking the bank." Natasha said. "Pandora has a sale going on." Summer said, shifting her head towards the kiosk in the middle of the mall. Natasha pivoted her direction in its path, feeling the gravitational pull of the 40% off sign wearing on her. A cute old woman stood behind the counter, ready to greet the women before her. Natasha smiled lightly, all set to absorb her words. "Hello ladies. What can I do for you today?" She asked pushing her glasses a little further up the bridge of her nose. The kiosk was shaped in an oval with a hollow center. "I want to know if everything is 40% off?" Natasha asked, glancing at the glass counters full of sparkling jewelry. "Everything in this section." She said, walking over to the left and pointing out a medium sized portion of the glass counter. Natasha smiled lightly and thanked her. "Do you think I should get his mom something like this too? I don't want it to be too intimate; it'll be my first time meeting the woman." Natasha said. "I think she'd be fine with a simple piece. As long as it doesn't say ' you're the best mom ever.' That would be weird." Olivia said, placing her hand on her small hip. Natasha nodded, taking in her words. That was true; she didn't want to creep her out. Nor did she want it to seem like she was kissing ass even though that's exactly what she needed to be doing. "Maybe you should get her a gift card for a mani-pedi." Summer said. Natasha took in this suggestion too, but she didn't know whether she was into that kind of thing. Not everyone was fond of religious nail appointments like they were. "What about Macy's? Everyone loves Macy's." Natasha asked hopeful. "True, but you can't just put 25 dollars on it. This is something you have to put on and then you have to tell the person you're giving it to the ." Olivia said, bringing up another good point. If she got a gift card, there would be a thin median between 'I'm super cheap/ don't care a lot about you.' And 'I want you to love me.' Natasha huffed in aggravation and wiped her hand over her face slowly. "Just get a plain bracelet for her Tasha. Not too flashy, just simple." Olivia said, wanting to help her friend out. She could only imagine how difficult it would be to purchase a gift for someone you've never met, and then expect them to like it. Natasha had the option of putting her name on Bobby's gift, but she didn't feel right doing it. She wanted something that would showcase her on personal style. "Okay." Natasha agreed, turning back to the counter. She looked into the blinding white cushion cradling the jewels inside the glass and her friends looked beside her too. There were a lot of different types of jewelry, none of them universal for Bobby's mom. They were flashy, plain or ugly. Olivia gasped as she spotted the perfect bracelet. She pointed at it and Natasha quickly moved her gaze. It was just the thing Natasha had imagined. It was charmed all over with deep purples, golds, pinks and some wooden charms too. Each charm was unusual and held a pattern on each one. "Excuse me." Natasha called to the woman who had helped her earlier. She leisurely walked over to the women from behind the counter. "How much is this one?" Natasha asked, pointing to it from outside the glass. The woman looked into her glasses. "It'll be 34.99 with the 40% off." Natasha had forgotten what kiosk she was standing at but then realized that this bracelet was ideal and was worth the money. After she asked to have it the woman placed it in its proper box and put it into a small blue bag. She continued to look for her mother's and sister's gifts afterwards. For them she wanted a necklace, earring and bracelet set. After another 10 minutes of looking, Natasha settled on 2 sets for her mother and sister. For her sister she purchased something bright yet sophisticated. The earrings were silver hoops that each held a smaller hoop inside, but detained a small deep yellow stone on the end of each double hoop. The necklace and bracelet matched. For her mother, she got something even more sophisticated. Her necklace was simple small circular charms around the chain that held soft tribal colors and patterns and the other 2 pieces in the set matched perfectly. The 3 were now on their way to the food court to enjoy a dinner together. Natasha settled on a Salad Works salad while her friends got Chinese. Natasha couldn't deny that their plates looked good but she just wasn't in the mood for anything heavy. "So what's with this man?" Natasha asked, putting a fork full of food up to her lips. Olivia's eyes lit up at the topic and she repositioned herself in her seat. "He's this cute mixed guy I met at a stoplight." She said. Natasha smiled at her enthusiasm. She must have rubbed off on her friend with branching out and trying different types of men. 4 months ago neither Olivia nor Natasha would've ever considered the possibility of dating outside their race, even mixed. "What does he look like?" Natasha asked, curiously. He must be cute. "He's tall; 6"1, light brown eyes and olive skin." Olivia said. Natasha laughed as she went off into a daze. "Don't fall too soon too fast Livi." Summer said. "Shut up, no one's falling anywhere." Olivia said, snapping back to the real world and at Summer too. Summer didn't take it seriously and continued to eat her food. "And you? You been looking pretty joyful lately." Summer said eyeing her speculatively. Natasha gave her a look that indicated she had no reason to be so skeptical. She was fully capable of taking care of herself. But the sentence did inference a few other things. "So how was I looking before? Miserable?" "No, but not like this. You look unexplainable..." Olivia chimed in. Natasha felt a little bit like she was being backed into a corner. But she fought against the two girls. "So what?" Natasha asked focusing her attention back in her plate. "You're going pretty fast." Summer said lightly shaking her head at her. Olivia was feeling an argument coming their way so she decided to change the theme of the conversation promptly. "How's crochet going?" Olivia asked. Natasha shrugged. "Alright, I've taken a break though; it's getting warmer out, anything made of knit isn't needed." Natasha said. She remembered the matching scarves she made for her friends last Christmas that she was happy to discover they loved. It was a black ribbed circle scarf with tints of metallic gold laced in. "When's your next tennis game Summer?" Olivia asked. Summer was a part of the YMCA's Elite sports club and they often had matches that packed the whole field bleachers. Natasha and Olivia habitually went to see her play but they both missed the last one since the seats had been utterly sold out. "End of this month is our last game, then I'm starting field hockey." Summer said, signaling that they would need to attend those games as well. Natasha didn't mind; she loved watching her play. She was so excellent and such a star player that Natasha was happy to be calling her best friend's name from the stands. The people watching her and noticing the support Summer gave the team then looked at Natasha with a look of something that has no definition. But Natasha knew she liked the feelings those looks gave her. It was like a mother watching her son score on a high school sports team. She suddenly understood how parents could be so proud. "We'll be there." Olivia said, speaking for them both. Natasha's mind kept wandering to the aspects of tomorrow and couldn't help but bring it up to her friends. Her fears were getting the best of her. "I'm scared for tomorrow ya'll. I hope Bobby told them I'm black." Natasha spoke. "Natasha, they won't care. You're a sweet, cute successful girl. They'll have no choice but to love you." Summer said, and Natasha couldn't deny that it felt good hearing that come from a white person. "Just be yourself girl." Olivia said. "Nothing more you can do than that. Plus don't be too flashy with your outfit" It was true. Natasha couldn't do anything more than be who she was. If they didn't like her for that, oh well. It was nothing she could do but ride the waves and flow with the punches that may come with her visitation tomorrow. But the comment about her outfit only added more pressure. "What the hell am I going to wear?" She said more to herself. "Dress casual. You'll be fine with that part." Olivia said, turning back to her meal. Natasha pushed her plate away, powerless to eat anymore. *** * * * * "Baby you okay? You don't look good. Take a nap and I'll wake you up when we get there." Bobby said from the driver's seat of the BMW. He sounded truly worried and Natasha almost took him up on his offer. She had barely slept last night but her sleep deprivation was being clouded with pure anxiety. Bobby could sense her nervousness and wished she could be more relaxed. He coaxed her with a light rub on her thigh but this time it did nothing for her emotions. Natasha would have loved to take a nap during this 3 and a half hour ride but she didn't want to risk messing up her hair or makeup while sleeping. Her wide legged jean Capris were crisply ironed and simple peach sleeveless but not tube top, wrap blouse hugged her accordingly. She matched the outfit with a gold collar bone necklace and plain hoops. "No, I'm okay." Natasha said. "Please? For me?" Bobby asked. She honestly looked terrible. Her eyes had luggage bordering them and her skin didn't have its usual glow. "I'm staying up." She said sternly. Bobby stroked her thigh with much larger rubs and Natasha was being overcome with exhaustion. She reached into her large tote and grabbed her hook and yarn. She was working on some straightforward stove mittens for her kitchen. The fabric was flame resistant and was probably the most expensive yarn she'd ever purchased but she decided she wanted to splurge. "What you making?" He asked, keeping his eyes on the road but his hand active on her leg. Natasha was feeling herself settle down when she began crocheting. It was a sunny day, and Bobby was glad. They were cooking out on the grill today and it wouldn't be enjoyable if no one was able to go outside. "Pot holders." She said, humming Adele with the radio. Bobby turned it up a little for her and she sent a smile his way. He returned it and wished he could kiss her, but the streets were doing some abnormal turns that he needed to keep his eyes on. "I love seeing you knit. You look so classy." Bobby said, his voice went down an octave and Natasha felt her loins clench a little in her seat. Natasha thought, rolling her eyes at herself. "It's crochet." Natasha said. He chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. "Did you tell them about me?" Natasha decided to ask. She placed her work in her lap but making sure not to lose her place. She clenched it tightly and held her breath a little; in dread of what Bobby might reply. "Of course I did." He said. "Well, what'd you say?" Natasha asked. "I just told them I had a girl and I was bringing you to spend Mother's day with us." Bobby flashed a quick worrisome look. "Why? Was there something specific I was supposed to say?" He asked. "Yeah, maybe it was be easier to tell them that I was black." Natasha said, feeling even more distraught. "What?" He asked. The disbelief in his voice was saturated in his words. He removed his hand from her leg and Natasha felt suddenly cold. He moved it back to his own thigh, letting it sit there lifelessly. He clenched his jaw and tilted his head. "Why?" He asked her bitterly. "Why what?" She asked, trying to keep her voice unchanged. She didn't want to argue with him over something like this especially being a few hours away from facing his family. She needed him supporting her when she was standing around looking helpless. "Why do you think skin color would be a problem with my family?" "I didn't say it would be. I just think they should know..." She trailed off. "Why? My family isn't some racist ex- KKK members or anything. Are that the type of people you think raised me?" He said in a more angry tone of voice. Natasha was getting wound up with it and was very close to letting him know. She was starting to learn how Bobby's temper worked; once he was angry, that was it. Natasha was the same way but only her anger took more to be triggered. The slightest thing could make Bobby's veins pop. But they both could be calmed easily. "I didn't say that Bobby. I just didn't want them to be surprised or anything." "Surprised? I'm sure they've seen black people before." "I really wouldn't expect you to understand." Natasha said quietly. "You're being so ridiculous." Bobby began. His anger was topped with a fresh coat of frustration. "Why can't I understand? Because I'm white?" He laughed a little in an evil, stiff way. "You're so closed minded. No it's not because you're white, it's because you can't spare a moment to show some empathy." Natasha spat, her voice rising. "I'm trying to understand-" "Sorry, forget it." Natasha whispered, cutting him off. Bobby didn't speak for about 20 minutes. Natasha was beginning to dread what would be of today with his family. It wasn't a good sign that Bobby was being so difficult to talk to. Natasha looked out the window and at the trees moving vastly beside her. Soon the car was stopping at a light and Bobby shifted his weight in her direction. Natasha didn't need to look to see his eyes were glued to her. "Did we have our first fight?" He asked with a smile. "I'm not mad or anything..." She said quietly. It was true, she wasn't upset. Bobby closed the space between them and planted soft kisses on her neck. Natasha tilted her head to the side and let his soft lips skim over the sensitive skin. "I really don't like when we argue." Bobby said between kisses. Her chest was rising a little further and Bobby was ready to take his seatbelt off and go even more with her as her eyes fluttered closed. ** * * * * * "Natasha, we're here." Bobby said, awaking her with a kiss on her full, pouty lips. Natasha opened her eyes to see Bobby bending down outside the car. Her door was opened and he was taking off her seatbelt. Natasha adjusted her eyes and saw the house before her. It was a cute crème colored residence with brown trimming. The home was a long ranch house and Natasha fell in love with the warm, welcoming dwelling. Bobby was parked across the street; the drive way was full and some cars were parked on the curb. She took a deep breath and slowly planted her feet on the ground. Bobby had their gifts in his hand and they strolled up the length to the front door carefully. Bobby was nervous as well. His grandmother was known to be unapproachable to new women and Natasha's behavior wasn't reassuring him that she'd be able to handle being on the spot. The door was already open and Bobby held it for Natasha. She made sure to step in cautiously. The house was country styled and smelled of lilac. The living room was empty and Bobby placed the gifts on a nearby chair and took Natasha's hand. She was grateful to have some guidance in this moment of complete ignorance. He led her down a small hall that led into the yellow kitchen. There they found the people. 2 women stood in the kitchen putting foil over pans and cleaning up the area. It seemed they were finished preparing the food and were ready to serve it. "Nana." Bobby said quietly, announcing his presence. One woman turned around quickly and the other soon followed. Natasha could only assume the one who turned the fastest was his grandmother. Her silver hair was pulled into a cinnamon bun on the top of her head with small pieces loosely hanging around her nape. She wore a floral dress with triangle sleeves. She held Bobby's black eyes and rosy cheeks. "Nice to meet you Natasha. I'm Gina" She said, and she walked towards her and gripped hee hand in a handshake. Bobby's aunt, Leslie followed her lead and introduced herself. The two sisters must have been twins. "You too. Happy Mother's Day." Natasha said, making eye contact with Bobby's aunt over Gina's shoulder to emphasize she was speaking to her as well. They both said their thank you's and Bobby held the women, giving his grandmother a peck on the cheek. "I don't wanna' hog you too much. Meet everyone and I'll catch up with you later." Gina said with a smile. Bobby took her hand and guided her around the kitchen to a screen door that was connected to the dining room. He slid the door back and Natasha entered a black deck. To the right was a big round table with enough seats to sit 10 people and a big umbrella hid everyone under it from the sun. Further up and to the left was a smoking stainless steel grill that was working hard. Behind it was a man with a bald head and plaid shirt on. "Pop. This is Natasha." Bobby said, walking up to him. He squinted over the thick layer of smoke and once his eyes registered he smiled a cheek wrinkling smile. He brought his hand that didn't hold a spatula out for Natasha to shake and she did just that. "Hi honey, how are ya'? I'm Ollie. " He stated. "Nice to meet you. I'm doing well. Yourself?" She asked back, returning the smile. "Pretty good. Nice to finally meet you too." He said laughing. "Likewise." Natasha said back. Bobby hugged his grandfather and turned Natasha back around to the big table. She now had the chance to notice the people seated at it. Bobby pulled out a chair for Natasha and she thanked him. He sat right beside her and gathered her hand under the table. 2 men who were obviously deeply in love sat across from her and a very pregnant woman holding a baby wrapped in a light blanket with her husband sat right beside Natasha. "Hi Natasha. I'm William." William said, reaching his soft hands across the table. Natasha leaned up a little to shake it and smiled back at him. "Nice to meet you William." She said. "Are you not going to introduce me Willy?" The Hispanic man beside him said. His accent was overpowering yet very attractive. Both men were very well dressed and Natasha didn't need more than common sense to know they were happily together. "This is Hector." William said dully. Natasha chuckled and knew she'd be enjoying herself with those two. Natasha reached her hand across to shake Hector's and he sent a dimpled smile her way. "Gorgeous blouse. The color looks good on your skin." Hector said winking. Natasha looked down onto herself; forgetting the outfit she planned so carefully. She smiled. "Thanks, I was hoping it would. I usually don't go for pastels." She said smoothing out her Capris. Bobby smiled to himself. She was doing that classic relating ability thing she did that captured people who were talking to her for the first time. It wasn't an annoying babbling quality but a perfect elaborating, personality trait. "No, browns and pastels go so well -" William began but the pregnant woman cut him off before he could complete his thoughts. Natasha was surprised at the sound of her voice cutting into their conversation and turned her attention towards her. "I'm Elizabeth, this is Aaron." She said reaching out her free hand and nodding her head in the direction of her husband. As she shifted her hands, the baby's face came into view and Natasha was mesmerized. The baby had ivory skin and bright green eyes identical to his father's. His cheeks were bright red and he owned the cutest button nose. His round belly and plump face indicated he was healthily fed. "Nice to meet you." Natasha said not taking her eyes off of the baby. Natasha had a soft spot for beautiful babies and he was definitely one. "This is Charles." Elizabeth said smiling at her. She thought Natasha's reaction to her baby was fairly comical and as she and Bobby shared a glance then they chuckled in harmony. "Would you like to hold him?" Elizabeth asked. Natasha nodded and she handed him over. He was so dense but Natasha loved it. He sat in the crook of her arm with his feet facing Bobby and his head in the direction of his mother. Bobby watched Natasha hold his nephew and saw the glints of paradise in her eyes. He noted his grandfather over by the grill and inference he may have needed a little help. "Aaron, let's get a beer." Bobby said standing. Natasha shot her eyes up at him and tried to control the pleading that she was certain was noticeable. Natasha didn't want him to leave her quite yet. He smiled lightly and bent to kiss her on her cheek. "I'll be back." He said quietly. The entire table was watching their intimate interaction and Natasha quickly nodded and turned her attention back to Charles. He was cooing quiet nothings and Natasha couldn't help but laugh. "Do you want any kids?" Elizabeth asked, leaning back in her chair and rubbing her big belly in a classic pregnancy motion. Her brown hair spilled over her shoulders marvelously and her naturally red lips highlighted her face. "Yeah, eventually." Natasha said thoughtfully. "I want to be ready though." "You're never ready. Being pregnant is something you can never fully plan." Elizabeth said sounding tired. "Why do you think that?" Natasha asked scared. Her sister seemed as prepared as it could get, but there were still things that went wrong as Tatiana grew older. Most of them had been inevitable and unexpected. "The breasts for one." She said looking down onto her chest as she spoke. Elizabeth didn't want to get into the deeper things of pregnancy that might scare her a bit. Natasha now noticed her breasts were They had to be at least and E cup. "Of course your boobs will grow." Natasha said expectantly. "No, they ache, leak, all that good stuff." "How did Aaron feel about that?" Natasha asked like a child in school. She found pregnancy very interesting and almost astounding. "He loved it. Of course he had to be careful but he didn't mind." Elizabeth looked around the table for a moment and then back at Natasha. Natasha knew she was about to tell a secret by the gleam in her soft eyes. "He actually loves when I nurse him. He says it tastes like regular milk and sugar mixed together." She whispered. "Like... a baby?" Natasha asked in the same tone but more disbelief in her voice. A smile spread her lips as she nodded slowly. The two women howled on the deck and all eyes were on them as they shared a secret joke. Natasha tried her best to keep her vibrations under control to keep from disturbing the baby. He seemed unaffected and she wiped away a small tear. "That's so crazy. What do you think about it?" Natasha asked. "It's very, personal. We bond a lot, and I get pretty excited." Elizabeth said flipping her hair off of one shoulder. Natasha smiled lightly. "That sounds great. I can only imagine the connection you two have from it." Natasha said selflessly. "Yeah, you and Bobby seem to have something close to that though. It looks like you've known each other longer than a month." Elizabeth said raising an eyebrow. "Trust me, I feel that same way sometimes and I have no idea how it happened." Natasha said, dwelling in her own words. She spoke a little too loudly and Hector and William were now watching her. The two men sat back at the table and Bobby held his hands out for his nephew. Natasha handed him over carefully but Bobby was much rougher with him. He balanced Charles in one big hand and Natasha's heart was skipping beats. She was trying not to reach out to take him back out of Bobby's hands. Natasha spotted his beer on the table and took a big sip and placed it back on the table. "Did you want something babe? I forgot to ask you." Bobby said sounding frankly sorry. Natasha swallowed her drink and shook her head. "No, I'm okay." She said kindly. "Food's done." Gina said entering the deck with a pot in her hands. She swayed over to the table and placed the pot onto the large table. Leslie laid out the big round red plates in front of everyone and Ollie appeared with silverware. The screen door opened and Gina had more bowls and pots of food. Natasha was eager to find out what she'd be eating; she was getting pretty hungry. Once the food was all placed out everyone began picking up bowls and pots and passing them around. "I'll help you make your plate if you wanna' still hold the baby." Natasha whispered to Bobby. But she could still sense the powerful attention on everything the couple said or did from his family. She really didn't like it but figured it was to be expected. "Thanks baby but I'll just give him back to his mom." He handed him over to Elizabeth and began passing plates of food to Natasha. She carefully studied the victuals and found it looked The dishes consisted of rolls buttered to their peak, a broccoli and cheese casserole, steamed carrots, mashed potatoes and a roast beef with flavorful sauce. Natasha anticipated the ending of the circle that transported the plates so she could indulge into her food. When that time came she almost completely forgot about the people around her. In her mind it was just her, the food, this beautiful weather and the view of Charles. "So, what is it that you do Natasha?" Gina asked while placing a fork full of food to her pink lips. Natasha looked shocked to be abruptly spoken to and she quickly wiped her mouth to respond. "I'm an environmental ethics lawyer." Natasha said sweetly. "And what exactly do they do?" Gina asked a little more bitterly. Natasha was accustomed to being questioned about her career choice but she had never heard such a cold voice regarding it. Bobby was feeling some unease in his seat; he knew his grandmother's tricks were just beginning. "I make sure there isn't anyone taking advantage of the fact that the world has no lawyer." Natasha said simply. She didn't want to sound too defensive but it was difficult to have someone speak to you the way she was and try to keep your cool. Her instincts were telling her to argue and rebel but she fought against them for the sake of her approval. "Do you really believe in all that stuff? I mean, don't you think there are more important things to argue about? Child care, taxes, gas?" Gina began. "Mrs. Walton, I do believe those are important but you have to see the picture. The government is something made up by average everyday people and once it collapses it can be rebuilt. Now the world is a one shot deal. When it's too hot for us to continue living here- that's it. There isn't any rebuilding and I don't think people see it that way, and it's truly a shame because it's the thin line between life and death for us." Natasha said into her plate, scooping up more casserole. "Does your mother live in Rhode Island?" Gina said fully changing the subject. Natasha chewed her food and prepared herself to speak. "Yes." "How many children does she have?" Gina asked. Natasha couldn't help but feel offended by this question. It implied her mother didn't have the same amount of children that her father did and that they weren't together. A typical racist stereotype that Natasha didn't fit in at all. She was glad to have an answer she wasn't expecting. "My mother have 2 children, including myself and both live in Rhode Island, together." Natasha said. As she spoke her temper rose and she suddenly took in how vulnerable she felt in front of this woman. She could only imagine the other bigoted thoughts running through her head as she prepared for her next inquiry. "Wonderful." She said. "Are you interested in kids?" "Um, yeah. I am." Natasha said. She was feeling uncomfortable talking about this in front of the silent table full of people, but something about this woman made her feel like she had to answer. Everyone sat around and enjoyed their food, quietly whispering to one another occasionally. But for the most part Gina and Natasha's discussion was the main focus. "Hm... Bobby take your time. Make sure thi-" Bobby cut her off. "That's enough." He said in a quiet tone. It seemed she was more than used to his sudden octave changes and she kept her face unbothered. Bobby wasn't tolerating the major disrespect with blatantly talking about someone who was sitting right beside you. "It's okay Bobby." Natasha said. She wasn't feeling too intimidated by her. At least not enough to not answer her questions or take her harsh comments. "Anyway, how long have you two been dating so far?" "A month." Bobby spoke before Natasha could part her lips. "That's all? And she's already meeting the family?" Gina asked with some shock in her voice. Natasha shifted in her seat. She couldn't deny that she had been thinking the same thing, but to hear someone in the family say it held a different meaning. She wondered who else at the table felt that way about her stopover. Natasha suddenly wished to be invisible to everyone around the table, and she was feeling some animosity towards Bobby for even putting her is this predicament. "I thought she was ready for it but apparently it's you I should've been watching. Stop badgering her Nana." Bobby's authority shook in ripples across the table and Natasha felt a weight off her shoulders as Gina was finally silent for a moment. She used this moment to enjoy her food in peace. "I love your shirt." Gina said, not looking up from her plate. The enthusiasm or interest was as far away from her tone as possible but Natasha was glad to hear a fairly kind thing exit her lips. "Thank you." Natasha said. Bobby took a defeated breath beside her and Natasha wanted to take one of relief but subdued it. "Where's Alex mama?" Elizabeth asked. It seemed she wanted to get up and search for her son by the anxiousness in her accent. She strained her neck to look through the deck door back into the house. "He's eating in the living room. He's fine, just watching TV." Leslie said. Elizabeth relaxed in her chair a little and began eating again. "How's work Bobby?" Leslie asked. "It's alright, pretty well actually." Bobby replied. Leslie nodded slowly. "Do you enjoy gardening? Since you like the earth and all." Ollie asked from across the table. "Um, I do actually." Natasha said, clearing her throat a little. Bobby watched her look for something to swallow to ease her gorge and he quickly got the pitcher and poured her a cup of lemonade. Natasha was grateful for his observation skills and the fact that he was watching her every time she spoke. "Here." He mumbled. Natasha thanked him as she brought the drink to her lips. "What else do you like to do?" Ollie asked "Read, garden and crochet mostly." Natasha said "Grandma crochets too." William chimed in, finally breaking free from his flirting series with Hector. Gina didn't speak and continued to eat her food. Natasha was feeling the need to just sit back and stop talking, but all of their attention seemed to be on her. "I would love to see what you've made one day." Natasha said. "Mhm." Was all Gina could spare to say. "You talked to Tammy lately?" Gina asked Bobby. Bobby's heart dropped and Natasha was wondering who this woman was as she looked between them both. Gina's snide expression and Bobby's worried eyes made her even more curious. She couldn't wait to be able to ask Bobby; she didn't want to give Gina the satisfaction with asking in front of everyone. Bobby remembered the day his grandmother arrived at his office to drop something off while she was visiting. Tammy just so happened to walk in as she always does at the same time his grandmother arrived and for some reason they hit it off immediately. Bobby had a hard time ushering them out of his office and only recently did his grandmother stop mentioning her. "Not about anything unrelated to work." Bobby said, continuing to eat his food. Natasha thought. She couldn't deny, she was feeling a little bit a suspicion. Whoever this woman was who worked with Bobby and had his mother speaking so highly of her must have been perfect. Natasha was feeling small in her seat. "Aw that's a shame. She's such a wonderful girl." Gina said shaking her head while looking down into her plate. What she was trying to do was more than obvious and Natasha tried not to let her emotions seep through the façade. "Yeah well, she isn't my type." Bobby whispered. Gina mumbled something unintelligible. The baby beside her began screaming in his mother's arms. Natasha was startled by the intensity of the sound and her heart fell as she saw Charles' red face drenched in tears. Elizabeth got up from her seat slowly. "Natasha, come with me please?" Elizabeth called as she skillfully held the baby and opened the screen door at the same time. Natasha eagerly got up from her seat and excused herself from the table. Natasha was pleased to get away from the potency of everyone's questions and finally take pleasure in some quiet time, even if the baby was crying. "I thought you might have needed a break." Elizabeth said, looking down under the blanket she placed on her chest to protect her nude breast. She fondled under it, probably trying to feed the fussy Charles. His crying calmed a little and he was finally eating. "Thanks, I was definitely on the spotlight." Natasha said, sitting on the chair in front of Elizabeth. The dining room table was small and the windows let in a lot of light. "Do you know who Tammy is?" Natasha decided to ask. "She's some girl who had a thing for Bobby. Only Gina's met her though. She took really well to her and I don't understand why." Elizabeth said laughing towards the end. "I wish she was doing that for me." She said exasperatedly. "Am I doing something wrong?" Natasha asked, she just wanted Gina to like her. Next thing you know Bobby has to choose between the two of them and either put a wedge between their relationship or the one with his grandmother. She didn't want any of those to happen. "It'll take time of course. You're doing well so far, just keep doing what you're doing and you'll kill her with kindness." Elizabeth said. Natasha thought for a moment and came to the conclusion that was exactly what she'd do. Gina would have to get used to the idea of her being around one way or another. The rest of the night went smoothly with a few bumpy patches of Gina. Her nasty remarks and inferences were getting old and Natasha was happy when Bobby was beginning to yawn and burrow up next to her on the living room couch. She gently woke him and he realized they'd better get back on the road to Rhode Island. They said their goodbyes and Natasha gave Elizabeth a special departure thank you. Natasha didn't know what she'd done if this woman wasn't here. It would only be her, Gina, Leslie and all these men. Plus she was very supportive and welcoming. **** Natasha and Bobby had been sitting in the car for about an hour now, in complete silence. Natasha was feeling tired and emotionally drained. Bobby shifted in his seat and Natasha knew he was about to say something. "She'll take to you soon Natasha, just a few more visits." Bobby said "I doubt it, but alright." She sighed. "It doesn't mean anything. We'll still be together; I'll still take you out and eat you out." Bobby said. Natasha had no control over her actions or emotions but the moan she purred was completely unexpected. It was inevitable; his words made her loins literally ache and she had felt it in her core. Her eyes grew wide and she realized what she had just done and she didn't even want to look at Bobby although he heard her loud and clear. He moved his hands from the surface of her thighs to the heated inner parts. Natasha spread them slightly so he could get a better access to her lady parts. He grunted as he felt her temperature. His BMW sped up from 70 to 85 and he pulled into an empty gas station and drove the car behind the small building. It was 8 oclock' and the sun was setting so it would be dark soon. "What are you doing?" Natasha asked quietly. Bobby turned off the car and quickly searched for her lips. He took them impatiently into his and suckled them. Natasha moved her hands around his neck to play in his hair as they kissed but he broke it quickly. He didn't want to get too involved while in the front seat; it would be too complex to migrate to the back. "Get in the back." He said quietly. With that they were both moving to the backseat and Natasha was happy to find it was very spacious. Bobby locked the doors and they finished where they left off. Bobby helped lift her over his lap and she straddled him while their slippery tongues played together. Bobby roved his hand under her blouse to find her perfect globes. Bobby moaned in her mouth as he found the heated balls in a perky bra. Natasha broke their kiss noisily as she used her mouth to part her lips and break out into a panted moan. Bobby took advantage of his reason to touch her so sexually and forcefully unbuttoned her Capris to grasp her round thick ass. Natasha wrapped her hands around his neck while her head rested on his shoulder and he simulated the strokes of her riding his cock with his own force. Bobby moaned out as he began to visualize his girl giving him pleasure. "Are you ready?" Bobby asked her. Natasha knew she wanted Bobby, and that she wanted to be with him for awhile. She thought. "Natasha, I want you. I think you're perfect for me and I'd love to pleasure you and make love to you. But if you need-" Bobby began "I'm ready." She whispered. Bobby pulled down her pants but decided he wanted her to be wet for him. She deserved her own personal pleasure considering the rough day she faced. "What?" Natasha asked. He laid the length of the seats and his legs curved off the edge. He was much too tall and lengthy to be in the back and Natasha was confused with what he wanted her to do. She slowly moved her nails to his pants to unbutton them but Bobby seized them fiercely. "I want to taste you." He said directly into her eyes with his typical, sex filled authority. Natasha's pussy pulsed and her clit was swelling. She slipped off her purple boy short panties and positioned herself over his lips. She looked down on him and could only see his eyes. His breath whispered onto her folds and she shuttered all over and hummed out a small moan. Her eyes shut and her hands grasped the door two inches away from her. Bobby went in and started flicking her puffed-up pussy which was so smooth and waxed to perfection. Her pussy lips were enormous; Bobby had to use his index and middle finger to part them. Natasha was purring and it sounded so loud in the enclosed space. Bobby put more force onto her rose petals and Natasha was feeling herself building energy. She grasped her tit from under her shirt and Bobby suddenly found the nipple of her other. Natasha sat over him not breathing, moving or making a sound as her powerful orgasm ran through her body. But she moaned out as it settled and her aftershocks broke through. Natasha moved down to now straddle his groin. Bobby wrapped an arm around her waist and placed her onto the backseat. He looked down on her as her eyes were coated with sex. Her lips were slightly parted, red and inflamed while her hair was ruffled. Bobby lifted her shirt up over her head and feasted his eyes on her cheetah print push up bra. Bobby unbuttoned his pants and then grabbed the condom out of his pocket. Then he had thrust just half of his length into Natasha and she screamed out and reached for anything close by. But just as she vocally coaxed Bobby about his performance there was a hard knock on the window and Bobby took a deep breath of annoyance and pulled out of Natasha. Natasha got up quickly and watched Bobby as he put on his pants. "Get dressed and stay to the side." Bobby said. He didn't want the police seeing anything that Bobby was seeing for the first time tonight. She was specifically for him. Bobby opened the door and tried to keep it cracked just enough for him to get out, but the nosey police officer tried to pry inside anyway. "She's getting dressed." Bobby said sternly, and quickly slammed the door. The officer was small and looked up at Bobby with his flashlight at his side. Bobby leaned against the window and crossed his bare arms. He didn't have enough time to put on a shirt and the officer didn't look like he appreciated Bobby's lack of upper body clothing. But Bobby really didn't care; he was upset his first moment of pleasure with Natasha was interrupted at its most crucial point. "I'll need her to come out of the car as well" He said to Bobby. "When she's dressed, she'll come out." Bobby said. "Can I see both of your licenses and your registration?" Officer asked. Bobby moved towards the front seat and found the officer closing each inch of distance between them and still trying to snoop into the backseat. Bobby was getting quickly exasperated and his nostrils flared. "I told you she was getting dressed, you need to stay back until she gets out." Bobby told him. The cop's eyes narrowed as Bobby handed him them information. "I'm just trying to see if she's alright, and I quite frankly don't like the way I'm being spoken to Mr... Walton." The officer said. "Bobby, relax." Natasha whispered from the back seat. She knew her man had a temper problem but she didn't know he could be so fearless, especially with anything concerning her. It was actually flattering and really sexy. Bobby blew off her warnings and continued to stare the cop down. "Are you okay ma'am?" The cop asked. "Yes I'm fine, thank you." Natasha said in a sweet voice. " Can I ask you what exactly you two doing?" The cop asked. Bobby huffed out as he took advantage of his power. He knew exactly what they had been doing and just wanted to hear the words escape his mouth. "We were... engaging in... I was pleasuring, my uh- girlfriend." Bobby said. Natasha chuckled from the back seat. The officer just walked away and strolled back to his police car with his information. Natasha moved to the passenger seat and handed Bobby his shirt. Natasha was practically floating on air as she sat beside her lover. Even though he only entered her with one stroke, it was enough to know what he was capable of and Natasha couldn't wait until she got the real deal. Bobby placed a hand on the side of her jaw once his shirt was on and he kissed her tenderly. "You're glowing." Bobby whispered as his pride set in. She really was; her eyes held a sparkle and she had a small smile on her thick, full lips. Bobby was ready to finish what he had started and was still cursing out the cop that interrupted it all. "So full of yourself." Natasha mumbled as she slipped on her sandals. "And I wasn't even started though, wait until I really get in that pretty tight cun-" Bobby was cut off by a coarse throat clearing out the window. Bobby was getting so infuriated with this officer. His hot cock was ready for Natasha and that's all his mind was focused on in that moment. "I'm getting you each with indecent exposure." The cop said. "Have a good day." He basically threw the papers at Bobby and it took a deep breath and a soft hand on his arm to stop him from cursing him out and being arrested for disorderly conduct. Bobby eyed Natasha and went for her lips ravenously. Natasha almost complied but remembered what had happened just a few moments ago. She pushed him off as hard as she could but he still stopped on his own as if he didn't realize she was shoving him away. "Bobby, take me home." Natasha said laughing. Bobby hissed and threw the car in drive with so much force while he stepped on the pedal in anger. "Fuck." He spat as he realized he wouldn't be finishing his new vice with Natasha anytime soon. His cock was pulling blood from his body and he wished he could shoot his load. But Natasha sat in a daze as she experienced her first sexual act with a man in over 8 months. It was refreshing to know she was still a woman and Bobby thought of her as such too. She was flattered that he wanted her so badly, but if only he knew how badly she wanted him. She didn't think this was the right time for them to fully make love together. They definitely needed more time and the officer was a sign but it was wonderful while it lasted. Although Bobby seemed addicted already.