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Vanitas was alone.
Chirithy had disappeared somewhere, maybe to the real world or maybe to a memory or Kingdom Hearts knew where. It felt too familiar, Chirithy walking out from him like that. Only with Vanitas, he didn’t need to second guess why Chirithy left. He was too scathing, too dark, and Chirithy was a being of light.
With nothing else to do, Vanitas turned towards the wall of memories that weren’t there before. He watched Ventus Halzen as he talked to Myde Ilma, he watched as Ventus Halzen sat by the swings in front of his house, he watched as Ventus Halzen walked for hours on end around the town, and Vanitas realized one thing: Ventus Halzen did not have any friends.
Most of the memories he’d seen were of Ventus Halzen being alone, but it didn’t feel like anything. It was as if he was resigned to the fact that he was alone.
But there was a memory that screamed something to Vanitas the moment he laid eyes on it. It was of Ventus Halzen, sitting alone on top of a clock tower. It was… different from the other memories that Vanitas saw, this one felt like something and it was really odd.
So Vanitas stretched out his hand, trying to touch the memory, and it engulfed him in bizarre light that was similar to the one that had taken Ventus previously…
It felt really warm.
--
The first thing Vanitas realized was the fact that it felt weird.
He was there and yet he was not; like he was trapped in a headspace that was not his own but did not actively reject him. He was the one sitting, but at the same time not. It felt like watching an event in a first-person view, and it was weird.
Ventus Halzen had been crying, apparent from the sticky track of tears on his face and the fluttering sadness and anger that felt like a second nature to Vanitas. Sad and angry were the two emotions Vanitas knew better than anyone, after all, so he wasn’t particularly weirded out by it, if anything it felt right. Because even if he was sad, there wasn’t any Unversed pouring out of him and leaving him with a hollowness that downright angered him. Vanitas was both sad and angry, so he felt sad and angry and that was it.
And he didn’t pass out like he would if he was echoing Ventus’ emotion, either. Because it felt like his own emotion though it didn’t pour out and create Unversed. Vanitas felt... normal.
He started to realize his surroundings, careful not to be too carried away by Ventus Halzen’s emotions. He was shorter than what he used to, does that mean that he was younger than what he was used to? And he was hugging something, too. Something metallic and probably a bit too big because it went past his shoulder. He was…
“Oh, I didn’t realize that someone would be in my spot already.” Ventus turned to the source of the sound, hurriedly wiping the tears off his face because how shameful would it be if a Halzen is seen crying in public? But the man didn’t seem to care that he was crying. He kept walking until he was only a few steps away from Ventus and sat down there.
He… was dressed like Lady Ava, but he had a leopard mask instead of a fox. His color was yellow and blue instead of pink and silver. There was a flutter of cautiousness and surprise coming from Ventus Halzen, so Vanitas assumed that he must have known this man.
“T-to what…” Ventus took a deep breath, trying to hold the shaking in his voice. He didn’t want this man to know that he had been crying. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Lord Gula…?” Vanitas really had to do a double-take at his own voice. Ventus Halzen sounded so horribly childlike; like he hadn’t had puberty yet. His voice didn’t sound like Ventus and definitely didn’t sound like Vanitas. He was… just a kid…
“Nothing, really. I’m just here to enjoy the sunset, like how I always do.” The man replied nonchalantly. “If anything, I should be asking you why you are here; isn’t your induction ball already underway? Ira had to leave the Foretellers’ meeting early to get to Halzen Manor, after all.”
Vanitas could feel the coldness and fear that came with that statement. Ventus went pale almost immediately, his hands shaking as he hugged himself tightly and put his forehead on the blade in his arms. Scared. I’ll disappoint everyone. I’m not worthy…
But the stranger then looked at him without any sort of malice or expectation that Ventus had to stare back. Ventus knew that Lord Gula was famous for his nonchalance, as people had told him that Lord Gula didn’t show any emotion when the last members of Eira Clan died in the hands of Darklings, but he wasn’t… as cold as everyone said he was.
Or at least that was how Ventus felt.
“Starlight, huh? Such a powerful key to be summoned when you are only six years of age. You are destined for great things, Ventus Halzen.”
Ventus immediately hugged the blade in his arms even tighter before it disappeared entirely in a rain of light. He was shaking hard, but Lord Gula didn’t say anything. Ventus took a deep breath and stood up. Vanitas had to note how… small he was, to the point that he was only just as tall as the other man who was sitting. This was… him-them; this was how they looked like when they were only six years old.
He had grown up as humans had...
“Why… are you talking to me, Lord Gula?”
“Everything we are, everything that is to happen… has all been noted by the Master…” Lord Gula said as he watched the sun falling into the darkness. “Perhaps this is also one of those things. You are prophesized, Ventus, and I am the Foreteller who is destined to find you.” Vanitas didn’t get anything he just said, so he reached out to Ventus’ thoughts, but the other also drew a blank.
“Do you want me to train you? I can show you a way so that keyblade won’t be too long or too big for you. Starlight chose you, so of course, you can wield it.”
Ventus is only six! He can’t wield a keyblade!
It’s simply too dangerous to allow you to wield a keyblade right now, Ventus. Let’s hold the induction ball as soon as possible so we can ask Master Ira and everyone else to protect you, at least until Starlight fits right in your hands.
“But… I’m a Halzen….”
“Nobody said that members of Halzen Clan have to be a member of Unicornis though,” Lord Gula said as he turned his gaze from the dying sun to Ventus’ own blue. “They just… chose to. But you don’t seem like you want to be part of Ira’s Union, am I wrong?”
He wasn’t wrong. Ventus didn’t really want to be part of the Unicornis. He wasn’t a worthy enough Halzen to do that. He was weak, he always fell short, he’s afraid to even look at Master Ira who was the leader of all the other Masters. And the keyblade? He was sure that it was just a coincidence instead of his heart being powerful or something…
“Tell you what, I’ll just train you. I’m not inviting you to join my Union,” Lord Gula stood up and summoned his keyblade. It was gold and blue, it looked and felt dangerous but it suited Lord Gula just fine. “When your mind’s made up, I’ll ask you again. Whether you want to join your family in the Unicornis... or be part of my Leopardus, or even if you want to be in other Unions, I won’t hold it against you. What do you say?”
Ventus looked at the Master of Leopardus Union with an incredulous look. He… never belonged. He was not smart, not good at magic, he doesn’t amount to anything. All his life Ventus Halzen never really had a choice outside of what was already prepared for him, but here this man was, convincing him that maybe there was a life outside of being a Halzen.
So Ventus looked up to him, his head held as high as he could, and nodded.
“Please, Lord… Master Gula, teach me the ways of the keyblade!”
Master Gula kneeled in front of him to get on his eye-level and handed Ventus the grip of his keyblade. “In your hand, take this Key. So long as you have the makings, then through this simple act of taking, its Master you shall one day be. Starlight has chosen its destined wielder and I, Master Gula, swears to guide you onto the path of destiny. In the events that I cannot guide you, may the Spirit of Chirithy guides you, so you will not stray.”
There was a loud sound of ‘poof’ in the air and a Chirithy appeared. Ventus was startled as the creature landed on his head, greeting him with a laugh.
“Now, you are officially a keyblade wielder,” Master Gula’s keyblade disappeared in a rain of light as he stood up. “Come find me in the Eira Manor tomorrow, I shall teach you the ways of handling a keyblade.” And then he left.
Ventus was left alone in the clock tower; even when the tear tracks on his face have not cleared, he had a Chirithy in his arms and a choice he never thought he had before in his life.
Vanitas smiled.
--
The lounge just across Master Eraqus’ study was probably Ven’s favorite place in the entire castle.
It was simple, quaint, and homey. Starting from the discarded blanket just by the sofa to the cluttered stacks of books a few meters away from the fireplace, the lounge screamed of people who lived there. It screamed of Aqua’s love of books, Terra’s love of miniature models, and Ven’s own general untidiness. There was a reason why Aqua never scolded him for the sheer fact that his room was never tidy, after all.
(Master Eraqus once said that Ventus, just like his namesake, is the personification of the term orderly chaos. You don’t try to order the wind, Aqua, you let it take you where it wants. Ven had hidden behind the Master’s back as he laughed and ruffled Aqua’s hair when he said that. Ah, Ven missed those days, really.)
And here there were, sitting in the room where they have talked about nothing and everything all at once. The lounge was fairly large, with bookshelves lining the entirety of the room’s walls. It could have easily passed as a library if not for the contents of said books. The library held materials that have been passed on between generations of keyblade wielders, of tomes that Aqua could not read, and books the Master showed none of them because they weren’t ready. The books in the lounge were geared towards their enjoyment, starting from fiction works of literature to comic books from other worlds.
Other than the bookshelves, there was a simple set of a sofa, a loveseat, and an armchair surrounding a modest oval-shaped wooden table. And across that set is a grandiose fireplace which flame was enchanted to last all year long until they’d replenish it on the winter solstice. Ven had celebrated the winter solstice in the Land of Departure four times (though he only remembered three of them clearly, the first one was still a fuzzy blur) and he always felt warm each time.
Right now, though, Aqua was sitting on the love seat directly across Terra, who was occupying the armchair. Both of them surrounded Ven who was sitting awkwardly on the sofa.
The tea they had brought from the kitchen had gone cold from inattention, all of them too busy gauging the others’ reaction to start a conversation. But it was clear what they wanted: an explanation. Ven took a deep breath before exhaling softly, tucking his knees underneath his chin and tilting his head, sighing once more to make a point.
“Uhhh what if you guys start by asking questions and I’ll answer them? I really don’t know where to start…” There were loads of things to be explained. Like his real name. Or the fact that he had lived at the age of fairytales. Or the fact that he had a Master even before Xehanort. Or the fact that he had a servant apparently? And a best friend too? He really didn’t know where to start.
“Well, why don’t we start with explaining about Vanitas?” Aqua began, her eyes sharp and tone worried. Ven was actually surprised that out of everything he had to tell, what his friends wanted to hear about was Vanitas, and it caught him off-guard.
But… he supposed that it was fair because, from Aqua’s stories, she had been the one to confront Vanitas before Ven did in the Keyblade Graveyard. She had been the one to see Vanitas taking control of their—Ven’s body and fought him with Mickey. Vanitas had called her a backup, she was to forge the X-blade if Ven hadn’t risen to the occasion. So yes, he supposed that it was fair.
Meanwhile, Terra’s gaze was gentler than Aqua’s. It was curious but coaxing instead of piercing, so Ven smiled at Terra to assure himself before taking a deep breath to answer.
“Well… uh… I met him in my heart,” none of them spoke, even though their eyes widen, a simple act to urge Ven to continue. “He’s just… sitting there, watching my memories. I was about to fight him, but he’s…” resigned. Didn’t feel like he wanted to fight me. We cried together. There were many things to say, none of them even believable for Ven himself if he hadn’t been the one going through them.
Vanitas, crying? He didn’t even cry when he’s fading away from existence!
Vanitas, passing out because he felt too overwhelmed? Oh, come on!
“He’s what, Ven?” Terra asked, his voice kind, and Ven knew that it was more for Ven’s benefit instead of his own. Usually, it would be Aqua who would coax things out of him, because Aqua has always been able to understand him even when he couldn’t talk right. But instead, she had her steely gaze, one she usually would sport when she was deep in thought or was apprehensive about something but unwilling to say things outright.
Ven took a deep breath once more.
“He… didn’t really want to fight me. If anything, he’s…”
Another breath.
“I can’t really explain it, but it just… felt right. For once. Between me and him. Like we’re meant to be together at last.”
If Vanitas was paying attention to this conversation, he would have called Ven a sap. But after the long talks, the long silences, the shared memories, and shared glances, it felt right. Vanitas wasn’t a stranger. He was his own person, Ven really believed that with all his heart, but somehow they still fit together.
But how can he explain that to his friends?
“He…” Aqua was the one who broke the silence, earning both Terra and Ven’s attention at once. She took a deep breath and clenched her fists on the loveseat. “He was a part of you, wasn’t he?” She was treading very carefully like she was still trying to find a balance between her own apprehension and her need to know. Ven nodded, smiling a small smile.
“Every time I go to sleep, I met him in my heart. Time didn’t really have meaning there. Sometimes it’s short, sometimes it’s long. So we talk a lot, scream at each other a lot too,” Ven chuckled to himself, finding his early interactions somewhat nostalgic, like it had been a part of his life instead of a new occurrence brought by their unlikely meeting. “But it’s kind of hard to stay mad at him or hate him when everything he felt echoes back to me immediately after he felt them. I don’t think he hates me anymore…”
Or was it that Vanitas never really hated him at all? It was all a misunderstanding caused by their unwillingness to listen to what the two of them had to say…?
Taking a deep breath, Ven tried to look and really look at his friends. This was a revelation to him, and he was the one who saw Vanitas doing all those things he never imagined, how would his friends take it?
Terra had a neutral expression on his face, but it was attentive, as if he wanted nothing more than listen to what Ven had to say. Ven was grateful for Terra, really. He was always so unshakeable, so firm and steady, definitely the person he wanted to have when everything was as unsteady as it was right now. And Ven caught the acceptance in his features. He didn’t seem apprehensive with the fact that Ven was talking about Vanitas like he was something other than an enemy.
But that was the sheer truth, right? Vanitas was not an enemy.
Aqua, however, looked downright confused. She was still looking at Ven, her brows creased in worry and doubt and many others. Aqua was always Ven’s picture-perfect of calmness, of control, of what a Master should be. But here she was with a thousand emotions flashing on her face, all because of one clear thing: she did not trust Vanitas.
So Ven scooted over to the edge of the sofa, nearer to the loveseat, just until Aqua was near enough for him to reach. Her eyes were on him, so he showed her a smile as he reached forward with his hand. Aqua welcomed him in earnest, her hand taking in his and she gripped hard. Aqua, smart and amazing and understanding—Master Aqua was unsure, so here she was taking Ven’s determination and trying to make it her own and Ven understood.
“Aqua… I remember perfectly what Vanitas did to us…” Ven remembered watching those memories, of Vanitas goading and lying to him, of Vanitas striking Aqua mercilessly, of Vanitas nearly killing Aqua many times before Aqua pulled through with her own strength. He had watched them all while Vanitas slept next to him after one of their many screaming matches. All the while he watched, Ven felt a strange rush of desperation, Vanitas’ thoughts floating through his own like a mantra.
Just a little more… just a little more… it will stop. All so we can reunite… everything will stop once we reunite…
Vanitas was not a good person, but he was desperate for an empty promise given by the man who had hurt them, the person who was the only person in Vanitas’ life. Being reunited with Vanitas just made Ventus resent Xehanort more than he already did for tearing his family apart…
But Aqua didn’t know how it felt. Aqua didn’t understand what Vanitas felt, didn’t feel what he felt, so Ven would assure her. No matter what it takes…
“Just… be careful, Ven.” Aqua’s words screamed of both worry and promise. She still didn’t trust Vanitas, but she trusted Ven with all her heart. She promised that she was going to protect him, even when he was not being careful. It unnerved Ven sometimes, how Aqua seemed like she was going to take the world and hand it to him on a silver platter if she could, but Ven managed.
Aqua loved him, she was too afraid to lose him (and who could blame her? Ven’s inability to end Vanitas had cost her ten years of his life, after all) and this was how she loved and Ven needed to accept it because he loved Aqua all the same.
He’ll convince her that he wasn’t the kid (weakling) that she thought he was, all in due time.
“You don’t need to trust him, but please, trust me…”
That was all he could manage for now. Ven will work through it, he had all the time in the world to do just that.
Aqua took a deep breath and tried smiling at him, rising from her seat and joined him on the sofa. She sighed and ruffled his hair with a tentative laugh. Ven welcomed the gesture instead of deflecting like he usually would. It was about Aqua, not about him.
“I’ll try, I’ll try.” Aqua exhaled. “But I still want to know why you fell asleep you and woke up as him.” The tone was light, a genuine question that was laced with worry and faraway doubt.
“Yeah, Ven,” Terra said from his seat on the armchair, his expression kind and fond as he watched Aqua and Ven sitting so closely next to each other. “It scared us, me especially, when I see you making your way into the kitchen and make yourself the Master’s coffee, you know?” The three of them laughed.
And it was warm, it felt like home, and Ven was…
Lonely.
Ven jerked at the feeling, surprising both Aqua and Terra as he flinched at the familiarly unfamiliar feel of feeling somebody else’s feelings. It felt like he was in his- their- Ventus Halzen’s memories. It wasn’t Vanitas, Ven knew, because if it was him it would have felt more intense. But this was…
“Ven, what’s wrong?” Aqua trod carefully as she put her hand on Ven’s shoulder, grounding him back to reality. Her touches were casual, warm, it was Aqua through and through. His friend.
Ven’s silence prompted Terra to move from his seat and onto the sofa, effectively putting him in the middle of his friends. Ven really wanted to answer, but it was hard to do so when he kept getting flashes of memories overlaying his friends’ figure. He reached for Aqua’s hand on his shoulder, trying to ground himself to reality. His breaths were short, but he tried to breathe normally. The room’s overlay began to change to something familiar yet not. He’d seen it before. It overlay with the living room of the Halzen Villa he had seen in Ventus Halzen’s memories.
“Ven, please, you’re scaring me.”
“Ven!”
A shake on his shoulder. He could hear Aqua and Terra, but at the same time, he was alone. The fireplace in front of him had been roaring brightly, but it no longer did. It was cold, he was alone on the sofa, two people sitting across him while they watched him with careful eyes.
“Ventus, please?”
“Ventus…”
He looked up, trying to see the faces of the people in front of him. But everything blurred and the fireplace roared once more. It was horribly disorienting, but he could feel the firm grasp of Terra’s big hand on his shoulder and Aqua’s trembling hand on the other shoulder. No. No. He had to come back. Stop. Stop. Stop!!!
“Ven… please, come back to us!”
That was Aqua. It was her voice. Ven slowly turned to her, trying to place her face to her voice, but then what he saw shocked him to his core.
Aqua was blonde...?
So he turned to Terra, trying to place him onto focus….
But Terra was blond as well.
“What…?” Ven was shaking, all of him, starting from his voice to his entire body. Oh Kingdom Hearts, what in the world is happening to him?!
Then there was a voice that cut through everyone else’s, slowly… slowly bringing him back to focus. It whispered a lot of things and Ven tried to focus on that voice and that voice alone. Slowly it turned into something much more tangible; curses, insults, and Ven had to smile at that.
Screw you, Ventus, seriously.
You moronic asshole.
Come back, don’t screw this up.
For once in your damn pathetic life, get a grip!
“Vanitas…” It was a sigh as much as it was a chuckle. It did the job. He was back. He was in his favorite lounge with favorite people in the world. Chii was on his lap, looking up to him with a worried stare. Ven took a deep breath and exhaled before allowing Chii to kiss his cheek with a simple act of turning his face. Aqua and Terra slowly withdrew, standing in front of him instead of sitting next to him.
There weren’t any words, only worried stares and shared glances between the two of them. Ven circled his arms around Chii’s entire figure and hugged him close as he looked up to the blue-haired Aqua and brown-haired Terra. He was back to normal. It was okay.
“Ven…?” Aqua called, cautious and worried. Terra didn’t say anything, but Ven could tell that he was just as worried as Aqua. He traced a circle around Chii’s back, trying to find a semblance of calm. When he finally found it, he faced Aqua and Terra with a resigned smile.
“Sorry,” Ven said as he let Chii turned around so his back would be on Ven’s chest. “But what just happened had a connection to your question, really.” He… didn’t know how to phrase it better. Ven was never eloquent with words, after all. But he faced his friends and tried his best. That was all he could really do.
“You guys know that I don’t really remember anything before I met you guys, right?” There was a unanimous nod from both Terra and Aqua, so Ven took it as a sign to continue. “Well, it’s coming back to me. The memories, I mean. Turns out that I have a full name and Xehanort’s not my only Master and I lived in the age of fairy tales.” Ven laughed.
Aqua and Terra were both staring at him like he was insane, but Ven didn’t really know what to say. Because, well, how was anyone ever going to react to that?
“Please don’t worry, Aqua, Terra!” Chii chirped excitedly as he leaped away from Ven’s lap and onto Terra’s shoulder. “Ven is just Ven, right?” He turned to Ven, who then smiled. Yeah. It was okay. He was him and nobody else.
“I can’t remember everything clearly yet, but I promise I’ll tell you everything when I do.” Ven grinned up to the both of them, who then showed him a relieved expression. Ven opened his arms and threw himself to hug his two most important friends, who both laughed before hugging him back.
“Remember that you can tell us everything, okay?” Aqua chided, comforting as she usually would.
“Yeah, Ven, let’s share what’s in our minds. The three of us.” Terra added, his voice heavy with both concern and determination.
It was only later, when Ventus had remembered everything, that he regretted ever making a promise he cannot keep. |
‘Lazy Saturday at the Mins’’
Yoongi runs the spray of the showerhead over Jimin’s cock, and he’s not sure why he hadn’t quite expected it, but Jimin gasps loudly when he realizes that it feels very much like his cock is pressed up against a vibrator.
Jimin has no control over the spray, seeing as it’s in Yoongi’s hand, steady and firm.
“Stay still,” is all his boyfriend says, as he brings the showerhead closer, the 40°C water pounding against Jimin’s sensitive skin.
“Oh, wait. I almost forgot.” Yoongi clicks the dial on the showerhead, and Jimin doesn’t even have a chance to make the connection of what he’s talking about before the pulse of the water changes; Yoongi has switched the setting on their very expensive showerhead to Powerful Massage, and Jimin can’t keep the whimper from slipping out.
“Feel good?” Yoongi wonders aloud, voice frustratingly calm.
“Yes,” Jimin breathes. He tries his best to not squirm as Yoongi runs the showerhead over the length, moving it up and down before focusing on the head of Jimin’s flushed cock.
“Tell me how it feels.”
“It, it feels—” Jimin pants suddenly, as sensation builds, “like…”
He can’t think. He can’t form the sentences to describe what it feels like, because Yoongi draws the showerhead back and then brings it in close again; so close that it almost hurts—and it feels amazing. It feels amazing, and Jimin’s going to come. He’s going to come just from the fucking showerhead spraying water on his cock.
“Yeah?” Yoongi prompts him, calm and encouraging.
“Hyung, I’m gonna come,” Jimin announces, voice high and whiny.
“Really?” he sounds fascinated. “Just from this?”
Jimin pants. His mouth feels so dry. He kind of wishes it was full of wet cock.
“Wow, fuck,” he says aloud, surprised at himself. He almost immediately moans when the water pounds directly against his balls and then moves back up to the head again.
“Yeah?” Yoongi says, again. “Talk to me, baby.”
Jimin is so close to coming, but the water just keeps him at the edge, tensed up and ready to burst, but not enough stimulation to let him come.
“Wanna suck you off,” he admits. Yoongi swears colorfully. There’s silence for a moment, just Jimin’s panting bouncing off the bathroom walls.
“You want it now?” Yoongi asks, then. “Or do you want it after?”
Jimin thinks about it. He thinks about having Yoongi’s heavy cock filling his mouth full of cum as he is edged under the spray of the showerhead. It’s a filthy, but pleasant image. Then he thinks about the way he’ll get after coming; he’ll be so sleepy and needy, and probably make soft whining noises around Yoongi’s cock as he suckles him gently until he has to pump himself enough just to come into Jimin’s mouth.
That sounds delicious, too. He can’t decide.
“Jimin?” Yoongi brings him back. “You want it now?” He’s lowered he showerhead away from Jimin’s cock for a moment, allowing his head to clear.
In that moment of clarity, with Yoongi staring down at him so fondly yet with heavy arousal simmering in his eyes, Jimin decides immediately that he wants to be babied instead of dirtied.
“I want to come,” he says in lieu of an answer, and because Yoongi knows the way Jimin gets when they do things like this, he understands.
The showerhead returns with no warning, and within the next minute Jimin is clenching up and coming hard all over the floor of their extra-large shower. Yoongi lets the water pound against him through his orgasm until he whines sharply at the sensitivity, and then he shuts off the water with an abrupt thunk of metal on metal.
Jimin sits sprawled on the floor, trying to catch his breath until his chin is tilted up.
“You want it here, or somewhere else?”
Yoongi knows him too well. He doesn’t just assume the other place is the bedroom, because sometimes Jimin likes it in other parts of their house. Like the one time he asked to be fingered on the coffee table, spread out and naked on the cool surface while Yoongi sat on the sofa in his sweatpants, some reality television show playing in the background.
Jimin allows himself to blush, because he’s feeling soft now, and he also knows Yoongi likes it. The other man is nothing but a gentle creature, but Jimin knows his behavior during and after sex sometimes gives Yoongi a power trip; he’s admitted it and apologized for it, but Jimin finds he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind because he kind of likes it, too.
Well. Maybe he likes it a lot, because he trusts Yoongi.
“Bed,” he says.
Yoongi helps him up, and dries him off a bit. They kiss over by the sink, fluffy towels wrapped around each other, until the kiss gets too wet and heavy and Jimin whines against him.
“Want your cock,” he mumbles.
“Yeah,” Yoongi agrees. He sounds much more affected now, and Jimin can see why; his cock is hard and flushed dark, already dripping precum down its length.
Jimin can’t wait to get it in his mouth.
Their bed isn’t far from the bathroom, but it’s still just far enough for Jimin to get the chills from walking damp into the slightly cool room. Yoongi clicks on the heater above their bed, and Jimin lets the warm air embrace him. He watches as Yoongi climbs onto the bed and then settles back against the headboard, rearranging the pillows to get more comfortable.
“Come here, baby.” He pats his thigh, before taking his heavy cock in hand and stroking it.
Jimin crawls onto the bed as well, letting his towel hang loosely over his naked body before Yoongi tugs it away. He can’t decide whether to kneel between Yoongi’s knees or lie down, but his boyfriend speaks before he can make up his mind.
“Lemme kiss you first.”
Jimin leans forward over him to slot their mouths together, and he hums contentedly around Yoongi’s tongue.
“Sleepy?” Yoongi asks when they pull apart for a moment. Jimin nods and presses forward for a more innocent kiss. “All right, you can have your treat, now,” he says, voice completely casual as if he isn’t talking about his dick.
Jimin pushes himself down Yoongi’s body, nuzzling and kissing a few different places on his way down. Once he’s settling between the other man’s thighs, cock in front of his face, Jimin sighs heavily and then presses his lips to the skin. Below him, Yoongi shudders but doesn’t make any other sound.
Jimin loves Yoongi’s cock. It’s big and thick, and the other man always keeps it clean, so it always smells good and tastes good. Jimin never feels dirty when he’s got it in his mouth or in his hands. He also loves that even though he and Yoongi are just about the same height, Yoongi’s dick is so much bigger than his; when they’re next to each other, Jimin feels small and cute, even though his own cock is pretty average size. Yoongi is just that much bigger than him that he looks small.
Right now, he wraps both hands around the base and squeezes a little as he presses it against his face. Rubbing it over his cheek.
Yoongi sighs.
When Jimin finally fits his mouth over the head and suckles it like an ice cream pop he wants to savor, Yoongi makes one of those noises like he’s sighing through his nose; he’s trying to hold down a groan. Jimin really likes it when he does that, because when Yoongi holds himself back like that, it just means when he finally lets go, he’s going to sound so gone that even Jimin gets overwhelmed.
Jimin moans a little as he opens his mouth more and slides away from the head for a moment, his tongue lolling along the length of Yoongi’s cock. He uses both hands to massage him, knowing how much Yoongi loves that Jimin can’t fit one hand entirely around his girth.
Maybe he and Yoongi are perfect for each other; Jimin loves how big Yoongi can be, and Yoongi loves how small Jimin is. They really fit each other well.
Jimin returns his attention to Yoongi’s head, pushing more into his mouth and letting his saliva pool around it until it’s dripping down the sides. One of Yoongi’s hands makes its way down to Jimin’s head and begins carding through his hair.
“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs, and Jimin whines, squirming a little.
He’s starting to get hard again. He’s still tired from his first orgasm, though. His exhaustion lasts a while when he’s been edged for a long time like he had been in the shower just now.
“So pretty with my cock in your mouth.”
Jimin bobs his head slowly, making soft noises through his nose and humming a little in content. Yoongi’s starting to leak more precum, but he’s still as hard as ever.
When Yoongi reaches down with his other hand and begins to pump himself with a tight fist, it doesn’t surprise Jimin. He just continues to suckle the head as he rests his cheek upon Yoongi’s lower stomach and enjoys the soothing fingers in his hair. His body bounces a little from Yoongi’s movements.
Above him, Yoongi starts to groan. He’s still trying to be quiet, but Jimin can tell he’s getting closer.
“Open your mouth more, baby,” he says suddenly, and Jimin does so, also sticking his tongue out a little more to slide along Yoongi’s cock as he pushes it farther into Jimin’s mouth. It presses against the inside of Jimin’s cheek due to the angle at which he’s lying down, and Jimin closes his lips tighter around it to create more friction as Yoongi rocks himself into his mouth in small movements. He’s gripping himself tightly, though, knuckles white as he pumps up and down his shaft. Yoongi likes it rough, and when Jimin’s being soft like this, he usually takes things into his own hands to make sure he gets the release he needs without making Jimin do anything stressful.
“Fuck, that’s good,” Yoongi bursts out suddenly, hips stuttering. His voice is rough and guttural, and Jimin moans around his head as he cuddles in closer, sucking a little more desperately. “Almost there, baby. You’re doing so well.”
Jimin knows he’s not really doing much at all, but the praise makes him whine happily, and he reaches down to stroke a single finger over his still sensitive but now hard cock. He gasps and whimpers around Yoongi’s cock—
And then his mouth is being filled with thick, warm cum. It gushes in over his tongue and hits the roof of his mouth. He reactively seizes his own cock in his fist, squeezing hard and rubbing his thighs together as he whines through his nose. He tries to fit his lips over the head of Yoongi’s cock, but it keeps slipping away as Yoongi pumps himself jerkily, groaning deep in his throat. Jimin doesn’t want to swallow in case he misses some, but ends up drooling, half of the liquid slipping over his lips anyway. When he finally manages to get his tongue on the head, Yoongi swears loudly and holds Jimin’s head still as he shoots more into his mouth.
Whenever Yoongi comes, it’s usually a nice, large load. He always tells Jimin how pretty he looks with it spilling over his lips, dripping down his chin. Jimin thinks he agrees; sometimes he catches a look at himself in the mirror afterwards, and wonders how Yoongi is able to control himself from making him a mess all the time.
Now, he nuzzles into the puddle of cum on Yoongi’s stomach, licking and kissing at the skin as he twists his fist around his own cock.
“Hyung,” he moans, face squished against Yoongi’s cock again. It’s soft and comforting, and he loves the musky smell of it right now.
“You’re gonna come again, baby?” Yoongi notices. “You’re already so messy; you’re gonna get even messier.”
“I know,” he whimpers. “I can’t help it.”
Yoongi shifts one of his legs, moving it so Jimin can rut against his calf. Jimin quickly wraps his own leg over and bucks his hips frantically until he is coming for the second time that afternoon. Jimin goes limp, gasping a little as he trembles with aftershocks.
“Oh, baby,” Yoongi groans. “You did so well; come here.”
Jimin knows he doesn’t have the strength to move, but he reaches up over Yoongi’s chest so his hand can be caught, and with a heave that reveals Yoongi’s well-kept secret of how much he actually works out, Jimin is pulled up by his biceps until his head is level with Yoongi.
“Oh, you’re so messy,” he’s told, Yoongi’s voice fond. He wipes at Jimin’s cheeks and chin with his thumb, pushing it into Jimin’s mouth to suck off. Then he pulls him down to kiss deeply.
They spend a good ten minutes just kissing, bodies pressed together. When they finally pull apart, Jimin smiles shyly at the way Yoongi gazes at him.
“How’re you feeling?” he whispers, running his fingers through Jimin’s hair. They’re both very sticky now, and will need another shower or bath soon.
Jimin sighs and snuggles into his body. “Really good. But hyung, can you roll over a bit?” he tugs at Yoongi’s shoulder, pulling it toward him. “Want you on top of me,” he admits, mumbling a little in embarrassment. He’s grateful that Yoongi seems to understand that it helps him feel close, and protected after they’ve had sex. Jimin likes the way it feels when Yoongi’s body presses down upon his, pushing him into the mattress and covering him with warmth.
Yoongi does just that, rolling over and straddling him in a way that their cocks squish together, and—still very much sensitive—Jimin sucks in a startled gasp.
“Sorry, baby—” Yoongi shifts against him in a way that has him whimpering and hiding his face against Yoongi’s ear. “Fuck.” Even Yoongi groans, and then turns Jimin’s face so he can kiss him. The kiss feels dirty with how shy and overwhelmed Jimin is, now, and he can’t help the little whimpers he makes every time Yoongi’s tongue does something particularly penetrating or wet.
It’s a good thing it’s a Saturday. It’s already the afternoon, but they’d spent the entire morning sleeping in, before lazily eating simple toast and drinking coffee as Yoongi went around to water some of their more dependent plants. Their shower tryst had been unplanned and mostly due to Yoongi’s playful sleepiness—but the moment they had both realized how it’d felt having the showerhead directly on Jimin’s cock, suddenly the older man had been completely alert.
Now, their sleepiness is coming back, and Jimin thinks he could stay in bed like this all day. The heater is warming the room so well that he doesn’t even need a blanket over his naked body; Yoongi is enough.
When Yoongi’s phone buzzes on the bedside table—still in the same place it’d been last night when they went to bed—he groans and reaches blindly for it before bringing it over close to his face. Jimin can sort of see the screen from his angle; it’s a text from Jin, asking if he wants to hit up a pub with him for an early dinner around four-thirty before going bar hopping. Yoongi is silent as he types, an annoyed frown on his face.
‘no thanks, too busy fucking jimin today’
He hits Send and tosses the phone back onto the little table, where it skids across the surface and luckily bumps into the lamp before it can fall off the other side.
“Oh my god, did you just send that?” Jimin squeals, feeling his face heat up in embarrassment. He should be used to the way Yoongi and Jin talk together by now, never bothering to pretty up their language for each other. Jimin supposes that’s what comes from them being former roommates for nearly six years before Yoongi and Jimin got their own place together. They literally have no filter when it comes to talking together.
Yoongi grunts, and pulls Jimin closer by the waist.
“He’s gonna get mad,” he says dryly. “But that’s all right, because then he won’t bother us for the rest of the day.”
His phone buzzes twice more, and Jimin is really curious, but he doesn’t try to get at Yoongi’s phone. Yoongi’s hand stroking up and down his side feels too good.
“You really gonna fuck me like you said?” Jimin mumbles, concentrating on the delicate touch of Yoongi’s fingertips on his skin. He often tells Jimin how soft and smooth his skin is, and maybe Jimin spends a little more time than necessary in his showers, lathering on his special body wash to keep him nice and soft to touch.
“Mm. If you want me to.” Yoongi presses a light kiss to Jimin’s forehead; he’d slipped down a little on the pillow when Yoongi moved to grab his phone.
“Sounds kinda nice,” Jimin says with a sleepy smile. “Not right now, ‘course, but…you know. A little later, maybe.”
“Yeah.”
Even though Jimin’s feeling warm and satisfied, though sticky—they really need to clean themselves off, but they’re both too lazy right now—he loves talking about sex with his boyfriend. Yoongi thinks it’s funny the way Jimin does it, though; as much as Jimin loves it, he can’t help the way he still gets shy about saying some things. Yoongi never calls him dirty names because he knows Jimin is too sensitive for that, but sometimes his eyes laugh at Jimin in a way that embarrasses him even without the words.
Yoongi used to have to reassure him that he loved how kinky Jimin’s mind was, but nowadays they don’t even need that conversation.
“Maybe,” Jimin starts hesitantly, one hand coming up to rest against Yoongi’s chest and play with his nipple a little bit, “might be nice down in the theater.”
Yoongi hums; he’s listening. He keeps stroking his fingers along Jimin’s skin.
They haven’t done anything down in their little home theater in a while. It’s mostly there for when they have friends over for movie or game nights. Their largest HD television is set into one wall, in front of which is a great big low sofa with plenty of cushions to be rearranged as seen fit.
“Might be,” Jimin rolls Yoongi’s nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching a little. Yoongi’s not nearly as sensitive in his nipples as Jimin is, but he still likes to play with them. Yoongi told him once that it’s calming rather than arousing, which Jimin has taken full advantage of when Yoongi just wants to relax but Jimin is a little horny. “Might be nice to have you inside me while we watch a movie later.” He switches to the other nipple, now that this one is properly pebbled.
Yoongi’s hand moves to stroke along Jimin’s backside, giving him little shivers as his fingertips slide up and down his spine.
“Yeah? You wanna warm my cock?” Yoongi is a lot dirtier with his words than Jimin. “Or you want me to make you bounce on my lap, full of my cock?”
Both options sound pretty good.
“I don’t know.”
“I think I like the first option,” Yoongi says. His hand drifts down lower until he’s cupping Jimin’s ass, squeezing the soft skin and letting his middle finger stroke over Jimin’s smooth hole a few times. Jimin closes his eyes, feeling so loved.
“Hyung,” he breathes.
“Yeah, baby?”
“Feels good.”
“This?” Yoongi swirls his finger in a circle around Jimin’s rim, but doesn’t make any move to put it in him.
“Mmh.”
“We should clean up,” Yoongi says, abruptly, and Jimin whines, not wanting to move. “I’ll give you a massage,” Yoongi says, to entice him. It works. Jimin really is too easy when it comes to Yoongi.
True to his words, Yoongi gives Jimin a massage; a scalp massage as he shampoos him to get the dried cum out of Jimin’s hair. It feels so good that Jimin feels like he’s going to turn to jelly and melt onto the tile. Afterwards, his hair is ridiculously soft from being so thoroughly washed, and he keeps running his fingers through it as he gets dressed.
Jimin’s hair is getting a little long, falling in his eyes now, and hiding his ears. He hasn’t dyed it in a while, either, so it’s a nice dark chestnut brown; his natural color. It’s probably why it’s so healthy. Jimin loves having lighter colors, but right now, with the weather so chilly, he just kind of likes having it dark.
It takes a while for him to decide what to wear. Picking a shirt is easy enough; he chooses a long-sleeved button-down made from bamboo threads. It’s soft against his skin, and so loose he swims in it. It’s a dark wine-red color, deceivingly fancy-looking even though it feels like he’s wearing pajamas.
It’s choosing his bottoms which gives him trouble. He doesn’t want to wear something tight and hard to get out of, but he also doesn’t want to wear something baggy which hides his slender legs. It’s too cold to wear shorts. He stands in front of his side of their large closet, just his shirt and underwear on, and jumps slightly in surprise when Yoongi comes up behind him to grab his waist.
“Can’t decide?” Yoongi asks. Clearly he knows Jimin too well. He slips his hands under Jimin’s shirt to check which underwear he’s got on. They’re nothing exciting, really. Just his black boy-short panties. When he’d bought them, they’d both had a good laugh at the name—somehow the style of underwear made popular for women based on the design of men’s brief shorts had made a full circle, turning into a more feminine-style adjusted back to accommodate the male body.
Jimin loves how they feel on his body, but he still thinks the name is funny and redundant.
Yoongi hmm’s and lifts his arms to rest both elbows on Jimin’s shoulders.
“You should probably put on something a little warmer. Might go out to grab food in a bit.” He isn’t asking if Jimin wants to come. They both know he’ll want to come along without needing to ask.
“Oh?” Jimin reaches for a pair of stretchy black jeans. “Where are we going?” He bends down to begin pulling them on, letting Yoongi hold onto his hips and press his crotch against Jimin’s ass until he has to move away to pull the jeans all the way on.
“I was thinking that café down the street. Something light, you know?”
Jimin tucks in just the front of his long shirt, leaving the back hanging down to cover his rear. “Yeah. That sounds good. Kinda hungry now.” He unrolls a belt from a shelf in the closet and begins to thread it through the belt loops of his jeans.
“We can head out as soon as you’re ready.” Yoongi takes the ends of the belt from Jimin’s hands and slips it through the buckle, tugging it tight so abruptly that Jimin stumbles against him and lets out an “Oof” of surprise.
“Hyung,” he complains, no real force behind it other than mild annoyance.
“Sorry, Jimin-ah.” Yoongi makes sure the belt isn’t too tight before fastening it and then letting go. He stands back for a moment, hands at Jimin’s hips. “Pretty,” he says, and Jimin scrunches up his nose only to get a quick kiss to the end of it. “Well, you are.”
“Doesn’t mean you have to say it all the time,” Jimin mumbles.
“You like it.”
Jimin doesn’t respond. Because it’s true.
They toss on their coats and pull on their shoes before making their way out the front door. It’s very chilly outside. Probably a little below zero. Jimin tugs the collar of his coat up closer to his neck and buries his hands into his pockets.
The sign on the gate out front says “Min” in fancy lettering. The house is theirs, but everything is in Yoongi’s name. On paper, Jimin is just a tenant. They’d discussed what to do before moving in, and decided that would be the easiest option. Yoongi suggested putting both of their names on the gate, but Jimin had told him to keep just the one name.
He likes to pretend they are married whenever he passes by and sees it. Their friends always call them “The Mins” when referring to both of them at the same time. They even have matching rings they sometimes wear when they want the illusion to feel especially real. But they’re not married, and it’s not real. Yoongi’s income from his software development is just enough to give them a place to pretend.
The café is quiet when they enter; it’s between meal times, thanks to their lazy Saturday schedule, and they are able to order quickly. They decide to eat there, knowing they won’t have to clean up after themselves that way. Yoongi taps his shoe against the outside of Jimin’s under the table, as if he’s listening to a tune in his head. The beat doesn’t match the music playing inside the café.
By the time they leave, it’s flurrying outside, and Jimin giggles as he tries to catch some snowflakes on his tongue once they’re back in the safety of their yard. Yoongi watches him silently for a few moments before stepping into his space and capturing Jimin’s lolling tongue in his mouth. Jimin seamlessly responds, taking hold of the lapels of Yoongi’s coat as his waist is pulled in. Snow falls all around and on them as they stand there, kissing. They know no one can see into the yard past their high stone wall and wooden gate, so there is no rush as they hold each other tightly and intimately taste each other.
Jimin’s nose feels a little numb from the cold, and the clouds of condensation from their breaths are cold on their cheeks, settling in their lashes.
“Uhmph,” Jimin can’t stop the sound from coming out. He opens his mouth wider, moaning a little more as their kiss gets heavier and hotter. Yoongi’s hands are tight on his hips now, holding him firmly against himself.
Jimin thinks if they keep kissing any longer like that, he might get hard right out there in their garden, so with an enormous amount of self-restraint, he breaks the kiss and pushes himself back a few centimeters.
“Yoongi,” he gasps, far more breathless than he thought he’d be. “Inside.”
“You?” Yoongi smirks, and Jimin’s eyes widen—he smacks Yoongi hard on the shoulder and is released with a laugh. “Kidding, kidding.” He catches Jimin’s hand and pulls him toward the door. “Let’s get in the warm house, then inside you.”
Jimin squeals, feeling his cheeks heat up as he stumbles into the front hall where they rid themselves of their shoes and coats. Yoongi is so dirty sometimes. Jimin loves it, though. He half expects Yoongi to grab him again, but his boyfriend just carefully unwinds and folds up his scarf before heading farther into the house, socked feet shuffling quietly across the floorboards. Jimin follows him, straightening out his shirt and smoothing out the wrinkles from being shoved into his coat.
“Yes?” Yoongi’s eyes are laughing at him, lips quirked a little when Jimin catches up to him and grabs onto his arm.
“Should I go set up downstairs?”
Yoongi glances at his watch, as if they have any commitments today. “If you want.”
Jimin smiles and pecks him on the cheek. “What movie do you wanna watch?”
“Anything’s good. Pick something we’ve seen before.”
Jimin pouts. “At least give me a genre to choose from, hyung.”
“All right.” Yoongi is quiet for a moment. “Action-adventure.”
“Something with lots of explosions?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.”
Jimin heads downstairs to their windowless theater room, flicking on the low lights and turning on the heater. He rearranges the cushions and sets out a few blankets just in case. He’s turning on the TV and selecting a movie—he chooses a foreign one with lots of chase scenes and a few raunchy gay sex scenes—to put into the queue when Yoongi steps into the room. He’s changed out of his own jeans into comfy, loose sweats and a large t-shirt that shows off how broad his shoulders are. He’s got bare feet, and his toes wiggle into the carpet when he pauses in the doorway. His short hair is messed up on top, leaving his undercut very visible, like he hadn’t bothered to straighten it out after switching shirts.
Somehow it looks really hot. Jimin doesn’t tell Yoongi that, though, not wanting to fill his head with too many compliments too soon.
Yoongi’s holding a bottle of lube in one hand, a pack of wet wipes in the other. He walks over to the sofa and sets both down near the section of sofa they always end up on when they watch things or play video games.
“Should I change?” Jimin wonders aloud.
“Nah, no need.” Yoongi steps over to him. “You picked a movie already?”
“Yeah.” Jimin shows him which one.
“Perfect.”
They just stand there for a minute, breathing each other’s air and taking in each other’s faces in the low light. Then Yoongi kisses him lightly, both hands on Jimin’s cheeks.
“Can I undress you?” he asks. His voice is gentle, and Jimin can feel himself shifting from silly-playful to soft-sensual. Yoongi always knows how to help him into the right frame of mind for sex.
Eyes hooded, Jimin lifts his head and brushes his open mouth against Yoongi’s, letting his plump lips catch against his.
“Yes. Please.”
Yoongi removes Jimin’s belt first. It clinks quietly and then swishes out from his belt loops to flop onto the floor, the carpet muffling the sound. Then he unbuttons the top three buttons of Jimin’s shirt, and slides his fingers unnecessarily into his jeans to unfasten them. He drags them down to Jimin’s ankles, where he steps out of them. Finally, Yoongi unbuttons the bottom two buttons of Jimin’s shirt, so that it’s barely closed over his torso. One shift of his narrow shoulders and he knows it will slip right off.
“Perfect,” Yoongi pronounces. “Come on, let’s watch this movie.”
They both know that’s not what’s going to happen.
They settle onto the sofa, Yoongi reclining back comfortably with his legs wide apart. Jimin makes a spot for himself between, leaning back and sighing. He uses the remote to start up the movie, and they sit quietly together as the opening credits roll. Yoongi’s arms are around Jimin’s waist, just encasing him but not really touching him otherwise. He pulls Jimin back a little more so he can rest his chin upon his shoulder.
It’s nearly ten minutes into the movie before anything happens. It is a good movie, so Jimin almost wonders if Yoongi has gotten too interested in the story to do anything, but then he feels lips on his neck. Yoongi mouths at his throat and shoulder, sucking lightly but very likely leaving several marks in his wake.
Jimin tilts his head to give him better access.
His hands begin moving, slowly. He takes his time feeling Jimin up—something he never seems to grow tired of, as if he’s feeling Jimin’s body for the first time every time—and gently tugs Jimin’s underwear down until it’s caught around his knees. Jimin wiggles around until he can kick them off.
Neither of them are hard yet, but it probably won’t be long.
“Is it okay to get this shirt dirty?” Yoongi asks lowly, hands moving underneath.
“Yeah, it’s fine; it can just get tossed in the wash. Not dry clean or anything,” Jimin says.
“Good. This color is pretty on you.”
Then, Yoongi shifts and pulls Jimin up onto his thighs, and uncaps the bottle of lube. Trying to help, Jimin moves so his feet are on either side of Yoongi’s hips, so he’s sitting more on his own knees and his legs are spread wider. He leans forward so Yoongi can reach his hole better.
They’d had sex last night, but Jimin has tightened since then. He takes a deep breath to relax himself as Yoongi’s long finger wiggles its way into him. Yoongi takes his time, fingering him open in a way that doesn’t really stimulate; he ignores Jimin’s prostate completely, focusing more on opening him up than anything else. When he’s finished, though, pulling his wet fingers from him, Jimin is halfway hard.
He’s left alone for a minute, and he listens to the slick sounds of Yoongi stroking himself quickly and without much care.
“Right, come’ere,” he murmurs suddenly, and lifts Jimin’s hips up off his lap. Jimin feels the head of his cock against his hole, and then— “Sit down.”
He can’t help the groan as he sinks down onto Yoongi’s cock. Yoongi pulls him back, flush against himself, and rocks his hips a little until he’s completely bottomed out. Jimin finds his hand and squeezes it tightly with a whimper; it’s always at first that Yoongi feels almost too big to fit into him, the stretch so strong that he struggles to catch his breath.
“You’re doing perfect, Jiminie,” Yoongi soothes. “Deep breaths.”
Jimin chokes out a moan he’d been holding in, and suddenly all of his stomach muscles loosen up.
“There you go.” Yoongi sounds pleased, and rocks his hips a little more, shifting inside Jimin.
He lets himself sink back against Yoongi’s chest, and mumbles thanks when his folded legs are maneuvered back up and then out so he’s putting more of his weight on Yoongi again and not cutting off the circulation to his legs.
Yoongi goes back to kissing his neck and running his hands over Jimin’s body, but otherwise doesn’t move. He just stays inside, making Jimin feel deliciously full.
It’s during a chase scene when he starts fondling Jimin’s cock. On screen, the protagonist’s car smashes into things and races through the streets, meanwhile Yoongi’s entire fist is around Jimin’s cock, massaging and pumping him. He’d already coated his hand with lube without Jimin realizing it, so the slide is easy—so easy, in fact, that very soon he’s on the edge of coming.
His high-pitched, choked-off gasp alerts Yoongi to his near release, and almost immediately the hand disappears. Jimin sucks in mouthfuls of air and grinds his ass down several times until he starts bouncing more steadily upon Yoongi’s dick. Cock warming is best when he’s sleepy, but right now he’s not sleepy at all, and he wants to be fucked.
“Yoongi,” he whines. “Please.”
The scene on the screen changes. The music gets sexier; Jimin realizes the scene where the two men fuck in the public bathroom is coming up soon.
Yoongi begins to roll his hips into Jimin, finally giving him some of the friction he wants. It’s still not enough, though, and he tries to lift himself up more to get a better thrust.
“Not yet, baby,” Yoongi says calmly, putting a hand against Jimin’s stomach to hold him down. “I wanna watch the movie. I like this scene.”
Jimin groans in frustration as he’s held still. They watch as two of the side characters get passionate against the bathroom sink, the door wide-open with the possibility that anyone could walk in (no one does, but the first time they’d watched this they hadn’t known that). Yoongi waits until the man topping makes his first grunting thrust into the other character before he decides to finally move.
Jimin cries out when Yoongi begins fucking into him with no warning.
“Ohh, oh, oh—” Jimin knows he sounds pitiful already, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to mind; he pushes Jimin’s head forward so he’s leaning folded over and can be fucked into better.
The men finish up onscreen—they’d had barely a minute or two of screen time—and the scene shifts to something calmer and quieter; the wet slap of Yoongi’s hips and thighs hitting Jimin’s ass is suddenly loud in the room.
Yoongi pulls out completely and guides Jimin onto the sofa, positioning him on his hands and knees. When his cock plunges back into him, it’s far deeper than before, and Jimin’s back arches as he moans loudly with each thrust.
“So good, so tight,” Yoongi groans against him, one hand holding his hip firmly, the other holding onto Jimin’s shoulder to brace himself better.
They continue like that for a while, movie completely forgotten until there’s an explosion so loud out of the speakers that Yoongi startles to a stop. The suddenness makes Jimin sob out, “hyung!” His arms lose strength and he collapses down, only to have Yoongi pull out of him again and flip him over.
“Wanna see your face when you come,” is all Yoongi says before bottoming out once more.
Jimin hasn’t touched his cock at all, and neither has Yoongi since fondling him earlier. It bounces and slaps obscenely against his stomach as he’s fucked, and he starts to see the precum drip out. His shirt has slipped off both of his shoulders, but somehow miraculously holds closed at his middle. It makes him feel dirty, the way the dark red material looks splashed across his pale skin, sleeves constricting his arms.
Above him, Yoongi is still fully dressed, with only his cock pulled from his sweatpants. But Jimin can see his muscles rippling below his t-shirt where it clings to the sweatier parts of his torso, and his arms bulge as he uses his grip on Jimin’s hips to increase the power and depth of his thrusting.
“H-h-hyung,” Jimin tries to say.
Yoongi groans loudly, shuddering abruptly. But then he picks up his pace again, leaning down to be closer to Jimin’s face. The angle doesn’t really help him, but Jimin appreciates the closeness. He pushes himself up on his elbows to kiss him. It’s more tongue than lips, really, but Yoongi seems to like it; he completely lets go of Jimin’s hips to put both hands on either side of Jimin’s face and hold him in place so he can kiss him harder. He continues to roll his hips, but a little slower now; dragging against his prostate with each push. Jimin hiccups into Yoongi’s mouth.
“Close,” he gasps.
“Wait for me,” Yoongi chokes out, voice affected. “Jimin, baby, wait for me.”
Jimin tries. He really does, breath stuttering, stomach clenching. His cries become absolutely desperate as he tries to hold his climax back even as Yoongi keeps stimulating him in just the right spot over and over again.
“Yoongi! Y-Yoongi, please, oh fuck, I can’t—!”
“Let go,” Yoongi groans breathlessly directly in his ear, the sound nearly a growl, and with a broken, “Ugkhhh!” Jimin comes.
Yoongi shudders and trembles over him, and Jimin feels a rush of warm liquid fill him as Yoongi orgasms inside him.
“Fuck,” Yoongi grunts weakly, lowering himself down until he’s lying upon Jimin. He’s panting hard, and Jimin feels his cock twitch inside, another small spurt hitting his clenching walls.
“Good night,” Yoongi jokes, letting his forehead fall against the sofa cushion.
Jimin’s just as wiped out, but he still giggles a little. He tugs his shirt open the rest of the way to free one of his arms, and lifts it up so he can gently wipe at the sweat on Yoongi’s brow.
On the other side of the room, the movie continues to play, loud music filling the room. Jimin sees Yoongi’s eyebrows pinch, and feels around for the remote—luckily still within reach, although he accidentally knocks the wet tissues onto the floor. He clicks off the TV, sending the room into sudden silence and darkness until their eyes readjust to the low lighting. Jimin continues to stroke his fingers along Yoongi’s brow and temple.
“Love you,” he murmurs, sweetly. He’s full of Yoongi’s cum and softening cock, his stomach smeared with a sticky mess of his own, but he feels so fond in that moment.
Yoongi wrinkles up his nose cutely, unable to prevent his own smile. “That’s just the orgasm talking,” he teases.
“No.” Jimin shakes his head slowly, and moves his hand up higher to card through Yoongi’s short bangs. “’s not the orgasm. Though that was a pretty good one.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Don’t think I can move for a bit.”
“Me neither.”
They’re quiet for a moment, just gazing at each other across the cushion where their heads rest. But then Yoongi shifts forward and kisses Jimin softly, with no tongue. He pulls back with a small, content hum.
“Love you,” he says.
Jimin can’t help the wide smile from spreading across his face.
“That’s just the orgasm talking.”
“No.” Yoongi pecks him again, eyes crinkling happily. “Love you. So much.” He does it again. “So, so much.”
Jimin’s smile is starting to hurt his cheeks. He wraps his arms around Yoongi’s chest under his arms and hugs him tightly. He feels like the luckiest person in the entire universe.
Yoongi presses his lips to Jimin’s forehead, holding them there for a long time before pulling away and settling down beside him again.
“Love you,” he mumbles, sounding almost delirious. “Mmh. My Jiminie.”
They both drift off into an exhausted sleep, not caring that they’ll wake up uncomfortable and sticky.
So ends another lazy Saturday at the Mins’; just one of many already passed, and even more to come.
The End. |
Posted in r/HobbyDrama -[Figure skating] How Katsuki Yuuri beat his fiancé by 0.51 points at the 2017 Grand Prix Final and set the Figure Skating fandom on fire.
Posted by r/AxelsAllArround
Flair: Extra Long
Hello again r/HobbyDrama. I’m back with another post about figure skating drama. This one is about the 2017 Grand Prix Final that ended with the controversial defeat of Viktor Nikifovor by his student-cum-fiancé Yuuri Katsuki. I’m going to discuss a lot of “fan” reactions to things, which for the most part come from skating forums like GoldenSkate, social media sites and even from some professional sports commentators. I’ll try to provide references whenever possible.
Viktor Nikiforov
As you probably remember from my previous posts, Viktor Nikiforv is a figure skating legend. He revolutionized the sport in both his artistry and technical skills-- he was the first skater to land both a quadruple flip and a quadruple loop in competition. From the beginning of his career, he was a fan favorite. He’s incredibly good looking as well as super charismatic and he brought a new life to the sport with the quality of his performances. That, paired with a couple of high profile sponsorships and a minor appearance in a couple TV shows helped build a huuge fanbase. Not only was well-known even outside of the skating world but he honestly made a lot more people become fans of it. By 2015 not only had he won two Olympic gold medals but he had an impressive five-year grand slam streak.
Of course, there were quite a lot of fans who liked to say that Viktor was always over-scored and that because the International Skating Union knew that as long as he won his fans would keep buying tickets. I think these critics were right to point out that both the ISU and the Russian federation were biased in his favor. His Program Components Score would usually be ridiculously high and occasionally he would get lower deductions than other skaters for the same type of mistakes. But most of these claims had no leg to stand on. His performances were nearly always flawless and even if he was occasionally over-scored in one element or another, the gap between him and the competition was usually veeeerry wide. Because of this, a lot of the criticism was dismissed as hate from fans of other skaters that usually didn’t stand a chance against him.
Katsuki Yuuri
Katsuki Yuuri’s story was kind of the opposite of Viktor’s. He wasn’t well known for his technical skills but his artistry and well- choreographed performances usually put him on a level playing field. He also had another advantage over most skaters:his stamina (remember this one kids). While he didn’t include many difficult jumps in his program, when he did they would always be towards the end of his programs, guaranteeing him a higher score. In a world where everyone was trying to compete with Nikiforv’s four quads, this was a pretty good skill to have.
Yuuri also seemed to crack really easily under pressure and he tended to mess up during major competitions. This had been the biggest stalling point of his career, since his performance anxiety usually cost him the qualification to the Grand Prix Final and other big championships. However, he had built a small but loyal fanbase that both identified with his struggles and wanted him to succeed. In 2015 , he finally qualified for the Grand Prix Final. His short program was amazing, but he completely bombed his free skate and ended up in sixth place. After this, he also bombed the Japanese Nationals and immediately got disqualified from the remaining big competitions of the season. After this, it looked like Yuuri was going to retire. He left his coach in the US, moved back to Japan, and made no announcements about training again or finding a new coach.
Coach Viktor
What happened here is very unclear. Viktor had said in a couple of Russian interviews that he and Katsuki met at the 2015 Grand Prix Final Banquet and discussed working together/Viktor becoming his coach. I haven’t been able to find any trustworthy sources on this. But as far as we know, in 2016 Yuuri Katsuki posted a video of himself doing Viktor Nikiforov’s free skate. The video went viral, and a few days later Viktor Nikiforov suddenly announced that he would be taking some time off without indicating why or for how long. He was MIA from social media for a couple of weeks (an oddity for him), before he posted a few pictures in Japan, specifically in Yuuri Katsuki’s hometown. Of course it didn’t take long for the skating fans to connect the dots and conclude that Viktor had quit in order to become Yuuri’s coach. This was only unusual because of how sudden it seemed, and that it's the kind of career move a skater would make after they retire. Viktor made no comment about how long he’d coach Yuuri for. This led fans to believe that Viktor had been so inspired by Yuuri’s performance that he decided to drop it all off to go coach him. For the skating world, this meant two very important things: the biggest star and toughest competitor was now out of the picture for an indefinite amount of time, and he was now helping a very talented albeit inconsistent skater that could potentially surpass him, but who frequently let his nerves get the best of him.
Skating fans were taken aback by this decision, and a lot of Viktor’s fans were very dismissive of Yuuri. Of course this doesn't’ represent all of his fans, but there were a lot of posts and threads saying that Yuuri was unworthy as a skater and expressing anger over ‘Yuuri had taken Viktor away from the sport”. Other fans were interested to see how Viktor performed as a coach-- and if he’d be able to turn Yuuri into a champion.
The 2016-2017 Skating Season
As a skater, Yuuri objectively improved under Viktor’s coaching, both in his technical skills and his general confidence while performing. Yuuri was able to qualify once again for the GPF and he improved his own personal scores throughout the season. At the final, Yuuri not only managed to win the silver medal, but he also beat out Viktor’s world record for the highest scored Free Skate.
Viktor had also tried to revamp Yuuri’s image a little bit, and choreographed a very sensual short program for him. It turns out that this wasn’t just an image upgrade , but probably more a reflection of how Viktor saw Yuuri . The two of them began dating at some point during the season. They infamously kissed during one of the qualifying skating events(u/contrarymarynondairy already made this post about it). The relationship only added to the drama. A lot of people immediately started shipping them , but some hardocore Viktor fans that already hated Yuuri hated him even more as his boyfriend . It also looked like things were getting serious -- at the Grand Prix Final of that year they showed up in matching Golden rings which were later on revealed to be engagement rings.
That, however, wasn’t the biggest reveal of the season. After the final, Viktor announced that he would return to figure skating the following season while also continuing to coach Yuuri. Not only would Viktor be Yuuri’s coach and fiancé, he would also be his competitor.
Of course, everyone and their mother were scandalized by this. Figure skating is a really tough sport and the idea seemed ludicrous to even the most talented skaters. However, the couple seemingly ignored all of these concerns and relocated to Russia so Viktor could return with his coach, Soviet skating legend Yakov Feltsman. Yuuri was able to finish the season with some of his best performances. However, a lot of fans assumed that with Viktor’s attention divided the following season, Yuuri would return to his inconsistent performances , or that Viktor would purposely sabotage him for an easy win.
The 2017-2018 Skating Season
Yuuri Katsuki started off this season on a great foot despite the concerns of many fans. He was able to finish on the podium during all of his qualifier events, something he had never managed to do. Overall, he seemed a lot more confident in his skating abilities and was overall very motivated.
The same could not be said for Viktor. His performances weren’t bad but he was making a lot of mistakes he hadn’t made since he competed in juniors . This was in many ways to be expected. He had not only taken a season off, but he did so at age 27, when most professional figure skaters are past their prime. Returning a year later after a year-long break is practically unheard of. All things considered, his performances were amazing when compared to the other skaters-- but it wasn’t Viktor Nikiforv at his prime. However he seemed to be very happy with his performance and even happier with Yuuri’s. He’d constantly post instagram photos of Yuuri at the podium with very sappy and suggestive captions. A favorite of mine was a picture of Yuuri with a medal at the NHK Trophy with the caption ‘I love it when he’s on top’.
A lot of Viktor’s super fans were not taking this well. As I’d mentioned a few of his fans resented that Yuuri had ‘taken Viktor from the sport’. With the drastic shift in his performances, the number of fans that felt this way increased. A very popular figure skating blog even wrote a post about it, infamously saying that by putting all of his effort in training Yuuri, Viktor had become lackluster. This post was very controversial and has since been deleted but you can still find it on Wayback Machine. Not all fans agreed with this. Yuuri had built a pretty nice fan following and that only increased with the number of “shipping” fans. One of Yuuri’s fans wrote an open letter in response to that blog post, essentially saying that Viktor’s fans were exaggerating because they couldn’t bear the thought of someone beating Viktor, even if it was someone he loved.
But it wasn’t until the Grand Prix Final came around that things really hit the fan. Up until the final, Viktor and Yuuri had not competed against each other at qualifier events. The competition was tough, but after the first day of competitions Yuuri was ahead in first place, having gotten 103.32 points for his short program, and Viktor in second with 101.51 points. This meant that for the second and final competition they would be the last two skaters to do their short programs.Viktor was the second-to-last, and his performance was magnificent. It was at the same level he had been before his break. He skated cleanly and beautifully and the crowd went completely wild for it. Viktor Nikiforov was back! He even got a two-minute standing ovation. His performance hadn’t just captivated the audience-- it put him in first place. Viktor had gotten 184.50, a new world record, that put him at a total of 286.01 , the highest score he’d received during the season. This meant trouble for Yuuri-- his previous scores for the SP had been really good , but not high enough that he could easily defeat Viktor. The lead Yuuri had also wasn’t significant enough, so in order to defeat his coach/fiancé he’d have to increase his technical element score by a lot. Considering he had a reputation as someone who cracked under pressure, most people watching assumed he would underperform and hand the gold to Viktor. One of the event commentators at the event stated that Yuuri’s victory was unlikely . But, before the medals could be given out, Yuuri had to perform. His performance was amazing from the start, and from the moment he stepped on the ice it was clear he’d get a perfect score on his performance components. Now, everyone watching also knew that this wouldn’t be enough to beat Viktor.
This was when Yuuri pulled the rug from everyone’s feet. Remember how I’d mentioned Yuuri’s stamina? Well, Yuuri had moved his most difficult technical elements towards the end of his program, making sure he’d get a bigger score from them. And unlike previous years, Yuuri had now included four different quads in his program, which meant that this trick was even more powerful than before. The commentators were freaking out, and you could hear people in the audience actually gasping. In the end, his final result was still lower than Viktor’s (183.19 ) but his total score was 286.51, winning him the gold medal by 0.50 points.
The drama
Now, you’d typically expect that such an impressive win would get the audience cheering like crazy, or at least garner some sort of positive reaction. But remember that this was Viktor Nikiforov, the living-legend of figure skating. The audience lost their shit, and not in a good way. From the second the scores were announced, some people began booing. There’s nothing more heartbreaking that watching poor Yuuri be confused when the booing started. The worst part about it was that Viktor seemed to be genuinely proud and happy for Yuuri. After all, Yuuri was both his skater and fiancé.
Things only got worse when the medals were given out. As the booing continued, Yuuri broke into tears and he spent the majority of the medal ceremony hiding in Viktor’s arms. People in the crowd were yelling out things like ‘cheater’ and other rude things. At one point, some of the event coordinators took the microphone and asked the crowd to calm down. Both Viktor and the bronze medalist Yuri Plisetsky seemed angry at the whole thing. After a little while, Viktor asked to borrow the microphone and told the audience that Yuuri had skated beautifully and that he deserved this win, and if they could please acknowledge his hard work respectfully. He then repeated the same message in a couple of different languages. You can see footage of the medal ceremony here(x).At the press conference following the event, Yuuri barely answered any questions. Viktor said that he was disappointed his fans couldn’t accept a fair and clean victory, especially when he was defeated by someone he loved. Yuri Plisetsky also said that “rude assholes that are only here to see one skater win should find a new fucking hobby.”
Meanwhile, the online skating world was collapsing. ‘Grand Prix Final’ ‘Katsuki Yuuri’ and ‘Viktor Nikiforv’ were all trending topics on twitter. A handful of die-hard Viktor fans were standing by the crowd’s reaction. Others were saying that yeah, sure, it was disrespectful, but that Viktor still should have won. However, slowly but surely, a lot of fans that were more sympathetic to Yuuri started going online. Going off of Plisetsky and Viktor comments, fans started defending Yuuri’s performance, saying that it deserved the score it got and that it was also significantly better than Viktor’s. A lot of the old criticism of Viktor being over-scored made a comeback. While nothing about the claims had changed, a lot more people were willing to be critical of Viktor and his ‘rabbid, hateful fans’. Yuuri’s fanbase, which had grown exponentially in the last couple of years, was very loud in its defense of their favorite skater, writing blog posts and tweets claiming that Yuuri had constantly been mistreated by both fans and the ISU. The first claim was very much true, but there was little that could be done about it. The second claim was more serious, and it led to over 1000 people signing a complaint to the ISU for their mistreatment of Yuuri. The argument here was that the lack of clarity about the scoring system had been the main cause for the backlash, as some of the fans at the event had genuinely believed that Viktor deserved a better score. There wasn't a lot to back this up, but since it was the only point where fans could actually do something of consequence, it became the thing to rally around. This even got some mainstream media attention, especially as other skaters like Cao Bin and JJ Leroy weighed in on the matter.
Fans also imagined that this took a toll on Viktor and Yuuri’s relationship. After the initial conference, neither one of them made comments to the press. Most worrisome of all for the shippers, Viktor Nikiforv went silent on all his social media. His twitter and instagram nearly always had some content that included Yuuri, especially after competitions. But after the final, there were absolutely zero posts. This immediately led to speculation that they had broken up. They were only seen again at their respective national competitions. Viktor was wearing his golden ring but Yuuri’s ring couldn’t be seen, which only added fuel to the rumors of a break-up. This only made the fandom wars get worse, since now it looked like the event had ruined Viktor and Yuuri’s relationship.
The aftermath
Despite not technically being responsible, the ISU issued an official public apology to Yuuri for what had occurred at the event-- and they agreed to review some of their scoring system. Ultimately nothing changed about the scoring but now judges would need to disclose beforehand what their criteria would be. The ISU also established that any event attendants that behaved in a matter that was insulting or disrespectful to the skaters would be removed from the event. This rule is kind of impossible to enforce but it’s there in paper so they could wash their hands in the future.
Ironically, since the whole thing went viral, Yuuri became a figure skating household name in the same vein as Viktor. A lot of people heard about the controversy and became Yuuri fans from this point onwards.
As for Viktor and Yuuri’s relationship, the rumors about their break-up died shortly after. Yuuri’s missing ring had been due to Yuuri’s costume blocking it from view . This had been happening since the beginning of the season, but no one had read anything into it. Viktor eventually came back from his social media break saying that the two of them had taken some time to be alone and deal with what had happened privately. He also thanked all the fans that sent kind messages to Yuuri and congratulated him for his gold medal. (Never to refuse an innuendo, this post had the hashtag #IDontMindComingSecond)
Yuuri eventually talked about how it had all been for him in an interview he gave a couple of months later. He stated that he had been heartbroken, but that ultimately he was able to ground himself by remembering he had given a great performance. He also said:
“I was proud of myself, and Viktor was proud of me as well. Of course I was sad that so many people seemed disappointed by my victory, but I later realized that all this meant was that I had to keep proving to those people that I was better than they thought I was, and that I’m worthy of the gold medal. I hope I’ll continue to prove this to people until they believe it.” Luckily for Yuuri, he has been able to continue skating without being booed in public, even on the occasions that he’s defeated Viktor. Viktor retired after the 2018 Olympics, but he is still Yuuri’s coach and the two of them are now married and it seems that this debacle didn’t affect their relationship.
The same cannot be said for the figure skating fans. To this day if you go to r/ViktorNikiforv or any major skating forum, you’ll find some sort of debate or discussion about the 2017 GPF.I hope you all enjoyed another look into the very dramatic world of figure skating. See you next time!
|
"Wait, what?"
"I know."
"Sorry I was just not expecting that"
"Of course you love me, this wouldn't have happened if you didn't."
"Oh? Sorry I am just confused."
"It happens when there is love between 2 fairies. Or in this case fairy and human."
"So does that mean...?"
"I love you too Mark."
"Really?"
"Of course I do, I thought it was obvious."
"Oh... great!..."
"It is isn't it?"
"Yeah I love you, I really do!... but just... now what?"
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know, I have never said I love you to anyone before... and you're a fairy, I just don't know ... is this going to work?"
"Yeah, this may get a little complicated but I'm willing to get through it if you are."
"I want to."
"Great!"
"Yeah, hey um... do you only eat... um?"
"What?"
"Well I just... would like to take you out to dinner but I... they don't serve..."
"I can eat human food."
"Wait you can?"
"Yeah, I can't live off it but it won't hurt me."
"Oh, so can I take you out to dinner then, tonight maybe?"
"I'd love that, as long as they have salad, I don't like eating animals."
"I'm sure they do... but can I?"
"I'm Not gonna make you change your diet for me, if I did you'd be drinking cum all the time."
"Ew!"
"Exactly, you're human and you require meat to survive, just don't eat any of my friends ok?"
"Ha, you got a deal."
Later that night Rose changed in to her human form and created a beautiful red dress to wear. Mark saw her and was blown away by her beauty. She filled it out nicely to the point he was sure she would make human woman hate her for looking this good, and probably guys hate him for being with her. He brought her to a nice Italian restaurant thinking she would have more options that weren't meat. He was a little nervous about how she would act in public but he was willing to take the chance. He couldn't stop staring at her and she could tell because all she could sense was how bad he wanted her.
"Might want to tuck you tongue back in your mouth there Mark." She said with a giggle.
"Sorry you just look so..."
"Thank you."
The waiter came over with a bottle of wine for the table pouring some into both their glasses. Rose smelled it and had an odd look on her face like she wasn't sure what it was. Mark couldn't help but laugh a little seeing the look on her face when she tried it.
"Wow, what is this?"
"It's red wine."
"Fermented grapes, it's an interesting taste."
"You like it?"
"Not sure, why do you drink this stuff?"
"It's alcohol, makes us feel good as long as we don't drink too much."
"Interesting, I do feel... funny."
"Are you ok?"
"Yeah, this stuff is great, can we get a whole bottle?"
"Maybe you should slow down a little."
"Why I love this, and that guy over there wants to fuck his waitress so bad." She said pointing a the gentleman in the corner eating alone.
"Rose what are you doing?"
"Jeesh so many pent up people in here this evening, these people need to get laid."
"Really? Maybe you should have some water."
"Like that couple right there, first date and they both want each other so badly but they are both so nervous and unsure, it's sickening, just take off you pants and do it."
Mark wasn't sure what was happening but was trying to get her to keep her voice down. He began wondering if the wine was maybe a bad idea as Rose seemed to be drunk after only a few sips. She was acting silly and then she sucked down the rest of her glass. He knew this could be trouble but he still found himself just smiling as he looked at her.
"You know Mark, you could totally have me right now if you wanted." She said suddenly sticking her foot into his crotch lightly caressing his cock.
"Woah woah, not here."
"What? You don't want me anymore?"
"No, I do, god knows I do but I think you're drunk.
"I'm a Fairy, a superior magical being, I don't get drunk. Maybe they need to get drunk." She said pointing at the couple in the booth across from them. "He wants her so bad but she has this stupid book full of rules that says she'll go to somewhere called hell if she has sex before they get married, that's so stupid, I'll fix her." She said as she suddenly zapped the woman with some sort of quick light.
"What did you do?" Mark asked concerned.
He looked over as the woman seemed to be suddenly very uncomfortable. she took a drink and was waving her hand in her face like she was trying to cool off. Her date seemed concerned and asked her if she was alright to which she just sort of smiled at him shaking her head yes. She started grabbing her crotch like something was happening to her that she couldn't control.
"I used a spell that's going to make her pussy throb until his cock and only his cock enters her."
"What?"
"Yeah, no sex toys will get her off, it has to be him."
"You can't do that!"
"Why not, these people need to get laid."
"Ok maybe we should try this some other time." he said trying to get the waitresses attention.
She began zapping people all over the restaurant and Mark saw as they all seemed to start acting very strange. One couple started making out and ripping each others clothes off right at the table.
"Rose stop this." Mark said trying to control the drunk Fairy he was with.
"You need to loosen up to I think, but don't worry, I'll get you there." She said with a smile as she pulled her dress down giving him a glimpse of her breasts.
"Rose I'm begging you not here, please stop this."
"You're no fun." She said as everyone around them was making out and even starting to fuck.
There was one guy sitting alone who seemed to be watching in horror as his pants opened up on their own and his cock seemed to start jerking itself off.
"Sorry I ran out of partners." Rose said giggling to herself.
Their waitress was giving one of the other waiters a blow job just beyond the kitchen door. Roses foot was still caressing the bulge in his pants as she was still smiling at him and biting her lip like she wanted him to take her right then and there.
"We need to go now." He said taking her by the hand and heading for the front door.
Mark was so happy it was late and there were no kids in there but he wasn't sure what to say to Rose. It was his fault for giving her wine but he couldn't have known it would affect her like that. They both got in the car and Rose was just giggling to herself in the passenger seat. He looked back and saw the orgy happening in the restaurant so he started the car and raced off. Mark started heading home just letting her giggle in her seat. She was completely wasted from only a glass of wine and started pulling her dress off again. it was hard for him to not look at her but he was trying to concentrate on the road before she zapped his pants causing them to unbuckle and open up while he was driving.
"What wait, what are you doing?" He said still trying to concentrate on the road.
"Don't worry, I won't leave you hanging." She said before she lowered her head and took his cock in her mouth.
Mark was trying to stop her but it felt so good. He decided to pull in to a parking lot for the train station thinking nobody would be around that late. He parked the car a she continued to slobber on his cock. He couldn't help but enjoy the feeling despite everything that had just happened.
She finally let go and raised her face next to his. "I want you so bad right now." she said as she crawled into his lap.
He suddenly didn't care about what she did and just wanted her right there. She slid her dress up and apparently had not been wearing any underwear as his cock slid inside her with no problem. She smiled at him as her dress just vanished showing off her massive breasts in his face
"You still love me?" She said still giggling to herself.
"Of course I do." He replied before kissing her as she began to slowly move her hips massaging his cock inside her magical pussy.
"Oh wow, I should drink wine before we do it more often." She said enjoying the feeling in her drunken state.
"Maybe just at home then?" He said as she wiggled in his lap.
Watching what she did and how she acted got him turned on before they left the restaurant. He thought about the orgy happening back there and what the consequences were but he didn't care. He had what he wanted and even though she was a little trouble maker he wouldn't trade her for the world. She grabbed his face and shoved it into her breasts. She squeezed one of them and some sort of glittering liquid began dripping from her nipple. He wasn't sure what it was but it smelled amazing.
"Drink!" She said grabbing her breasts and massaging the liquid out of them.
Mark didn't hesitate before grabbing her nipple with his mouth and sucking it out of her. She moaned like it pleasured her to do this and he continued. It was sweet and made him feel strange. He began to feel light headed and but continued to drink until he felt this warm feeling in his body all over. It was strange but then it all started to move through him like it was all being pulled down into his cock. The warmth filled his member making it swell up even more while it was inside her. He pussy tightened on his cock creating a sucking feeling as she fucked him and it was very intense. Suddenly there was a pair of blue flashing lights behind them as the cop pulled in expected exactly what they were doing in that parking lot.
"Fuck... we've got company." Mark said still enjoying the sensation.
"Don't worry, he's busy." she said before she raise her hand and suddenly bolt of what looked like green smoke shot out of her hand and towards the police car.
The officer was about to get out of his car when some green gas seeped in through his vents and slid inside his pants.
"What the hell?" he said as his cock suddenly felt very strange and began to swell in his pants. He opened them up to relieve the pressure and was shocked to see his cock growing bigger and pulsing as his foreskin began moving on its own. "Holy...FUCK!" he said not sure what was happening but it felt very good.
Back in the car Mark looked in the rearview mirror for a momen. he couldn't see much because the lights were shining towards them but he was sure he saw green slime leaking out the side door knowing exactly what Rose had just done to him. He didn't care because he just wanted to enjoy this moment with his fairy. He couldn't hold on much longer as his cock felt like it was ready to explode inside her. She moaned louder as the swelling of his cock filled her even more until his whole body jerked and his finally felt an almost merciful orgasm drain him into her like taking a cork off a bottle. The orgasm didn't stop for a while and felt amazing as this magic never ending fluid drained from him into her pleasuring every atom of his cock as it flowed. He didn't know how long it lasted because after a few minutes everything went dark and he passed out.
--------------------
Hours later when he awoke he was in his own bed covered with his blanket and in pajamas. He looked over and saw Rose laying next to him asleep. Everything seemed fine but he still had a hard on and it didn't feel like normal morning wood. He removed his blanket and slid his pants open to see his cock wasn't just hard it was very swollen and was even pulsing a little. He jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom trying to rub one out. He began jerking his cock above the toilet and it didn't take long before he blew a load into the water. It was a lot of cum that shot out of him but it finally subsided and he flushed. As he washed his hands he realized his cock was not getting any smaller and he could go again.
"What the hell?" He said before going to wake up Rose.
He walked back into the bedroom and gently rubbed her shoulder trying to wake her up.
"Mmmhhhh." She mumbled not ready to get up.
"Rose, honey I need you to wake up."
"Huh? Owe my head hurts."
"Hangover probably."
"What happened?"
"You started a magical orgy in a restaurant and then we did it in a parking lot."
"Oh? Oh no."
"Yeah it got a little out of hand."
"I'm so sorry." she said staring at his red throbbing member.
"I don't know, it won't stop, I just jerked off a moment ago but I could go again."
"You drink from my breasts last night?"
"Yeah you insisted."
"Oh crap, I'm so sorry."
"Why? What did you do?"
"You drank Fairy milk so you're gonna have that hard on until it's all out of you."
"All out of me? How do we get it out?"
"Well, basically the way you just did."
"How long will it take?"
"A few hours but don't worry I got this."
She pulled him down on the bed and climbed on to his cock. She positioned herself comfortably and began riding him. Mark wasn't sure how long this was going to take but he was enjoying himself as Rose made it her goal to fuck him until the milk had worked its way out of his system. He closed his eyes for a moment enjoying the feeling only to reopen them and see she had changed into Jenna Jameson.
"What the?" He asked.
"This is gonna take a while, so I want you to enjoy yourself."
He looked up at her amazing naked body. She looked exactly like he remembered her from her prime. He ran his all over her body as she moaned at his touch. It didn't take long to make him cum as the milk was keeping him very stimulated. Rose changed to many different women throughout the process. At One point she was, Carmen Electra, then Cindy Crawford, almost every woman he had ever fantasized about made an appearance as she tried to fix what she did to him. It went on for hours until he felt another amazing orgasm and his cock finally started to shrink back down to normal.
Rose climbed off and laid down with him as he took deep breaths and was covered with sweat. He grabbed her hand and held it while he rested.
"I'm sorry." She said.
"For what?"
"Everything, I was an ass last night at dinner, and fed you Fairy milk without thinking. Maybe I am more trouble than I'm worth."
"Stop that, It will take some practice and some time to figure it all out but I'm not letting you go."
"Yeah but..."
"But nothing, I love you Rose, even if you're a pain in the ass sometimes."
She smiled on laid her head on his shoulder before he fell back to sleep figuring he needed to rest a little after what had just happened.
|
Tony strode into the technical operations area, the door automatically swishing open for him, only to stop short. Abby appeared on a life sized display on the screen, arms folded across her chest as she spoke to Eric and Kensi. While she seemed generally unhappy, she didn’t seem overly hostile. He briefly wondered what case they were working on before deciding that discretion was the better part of valour and backing out the room.
“Tony!” Abby said, before he could back up too far and he stopped, looking up at her on the screen.
“Abby,” he said neutrally, wondering what her reaction would be. He hadn’t spoken to her at all since he’d said his goodbyes in Washington. In fact, the only ones he’s had contact with were phone calls with Jimmy and the occasional exchange of emails with Ducky.
“What did you do?” Abby demanded, glaring at him. “Everything went wrong!”
Tony aborted a move to pinch the bridge of his nose, not willing to show Abby even that much weakness. There’d been pressure coming in from Washington to put him on the Roosevelt in place of the San Diego agent they’d sent instead. The argument seemed to be that he’d be safer far away from Spearing. The only problem with that was all the other people Spearing might be after that Tony wasn’t going to abandon. That and he didn’t know how far Spearing's reach extended. He didn't want to be stuck in the middle of nowhere without backup if they found out he had more contacts than they'd anticipated.
“It was wrong for a long while,” Tony told her, folding his arms and not quite meeting her eyes. He hadn’t really expected her support or understanding, not since she hadn’t contacted him during his time in LA, but it still stung for to her to fling accusations at him instead.
“All you had to do was follow orders!” she said, pointing her finger at him. If they had been in person, he had the feeling she’d be poking him in the chest. “Then everything would have been fine.”
“Historically, ‘just following orders’ hasn’t been a great defence,” he said blandly. Abby gasped in offence, hands clutched at her chest.
“How could you even joke about that!” Abby asked. He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t reply. At one point they’d been good friends, but that had been years ago, even if he hadn’t realised it. He’d known her devotion to Gibbs would supersede everything else, but they’d indulged her in it far too much, indulged her too much altogether. Of course, she was also a grown woman who’d made her own choices. They all had.
“Tony,” Kensi said, interrupting their argument. “I could use a hand closing out that case.”
“Sure,” Tony said, looking at Abby for a moment longer before turning to Kensi and giving her a nod. Kensi glanced at Eric who nodded as she and Tony turned to leave.
“Don’t walk away from me!” Abby told him. “I deserve an answer.”
Tony’s pace slowed at the door and he sighed. The sort of answer he had wasn’t anywhere close to what Abby would want to hear. Especially not with what was going through his head at the moment.
“I’m not sure what’s going on, Abby,” he heard Eric say. “But I don’t think this is the time or the place.”
Kensi gave his shoulder a shove, pushing him through the door. It swished shut behind them.
“Washington is seriously messed up,” Kensi said and it was obvious she was trying to lighten the mood without prying too much.
“That’s one way of putting it,” Tony said with a shrug, not willing to get pulled into a discussion of his old team.
“It’s just as well we got a hold of you when we did,” Kensi told him, lightly punching his arm before turning and walking away. Tony shook his head, reluctantly amused and more touched than he was willing to show.
...
Kensi wasn’t sure what to make of the rather run down apartment block at which she found herself. It certainly wasn’t what she’d expected. Still, she steeled herself as she knocked on the door; sometimes sacrifices had to be made.
“Kensi,” Tony said, opening the door and putting the safety back on his gun before he set it on the table near the door. She couldn’t really blame him for caution given that she didn’t think any of them had been by before and Spearing’s silence after his escape was more than a little worrying.
“Tony,” she said, pushing her way into the apartment. The go-bag sitting by the front door caught her eye briefly before she forced her gaze to move on only to stop short at the boxes that still weren’t unpacked, piled against one of the sitting room walls.
“I was going to say, ‘I brought some beer, you supply the entertainment’, but you don’t even have a TV,” she continued, turning around to take in the entire place. She could just about see a tiny bathroom and a bedroom that had only a single bed. It was pitiful, really, and made her feel even sorrier for Tony, but it wasn’t going to do for her plans.
“Sorry I couldn’t oblige the plans I knew nothing about,” Tony said, sounding bemused. Kensi took his faint smile as a positive sign and hooked her arm through his.
“Right, you’re coming with me,” she told him, dragging him from the apartment, waiting only long enough for him to grab his shoulder holster, gun and keys. She took the fact that he didn’t resist as a good sign.
“What would Deeks say?” Tony asked with a smirk.
Deeks had taken point on making sure Tony was doing all right, that whatever had happened to bring him here wasn’t consuming him. Especially after the accusations she’d seen thrown at him. But Deeks wasn’t around to do that at the moment, and Kensi was deliberately thinking of that only in temporary terms, so she was stepping up for him. Besides, she didn’t want to be alone either.
“He’d either be ridiculously jealous or want to join in,” Kensi told him with a grin. Tony grinned back and waggled his eyebrows but Kensi knew he wouldn’t take that as an invitation for further. Regardless of his teasing, she hadn’t seen him smile like he had those mornings he’d come in with a spring in his step and she was sure he’d met someone even if he wasn’t telling.
“Come on,” she said, guiding him to her car.
In just under half an hour, they were ensconced on her couch, beer in hand and a bowl of popcorn on the seat between them as she flicked through movies before finally settling on one that was only just starting.
“How’s Deeks?” Tony asked after a moment of hesitation.
“He just needs time,” Kensi said, but she knew she was reassuring herself as much as Tony. Tony made a murmuring noise of agreement that could have meant anything. She could still see the fading bruise at his temple that was a stark reminder about what the three of them - Deeks, Tony and Sam – had been through. The thought of how shattered Deeks had been by the experience, even if he hadn’t broken and revealed Sam’s wife, still left her feeling hollowed out. She wondered if Tony felt the same.
“Time,” Tony said absently, as though he hadn’t meant to speak at all. He ran his thumb along the neck of the beer bottle and stared without focus at the screen.
“And, when he’s willing to open up, he’s got the team.” He had her, too. He always had her.
“He really doesn’t stand a chance,” Tony said, blinking back into focus and turning to give her a slightly wan smile.
“You’re one of us too, you know,” she told him.
“I thought we were supposed to be commiserating about Deeks,” Tony said and she could practically see him squirm uncomfortably at the declaration. She wondered if it was because of what she’d seen earlier, but knew that it would be the last thing he’d want to bring up. She shoved his shoulder.
“We were supposed to be watching a movie.”
“I think I’ve seen it before,” he said, narrowing his eyes at the screen.
“Good, then we won’t have to rewind.”
...
“Excuse me,” a man said, drawing Tony’s attention. He was shorter than Tony by almost a foot and, with his head ducked down to look at a piece of paper he was holding, all Tony could see of him was a curly mop of hair. “I’m looking for Nell Jones and Eric Beale?”
“Can I help you?” Tony asked, because he wasn’t about to direct a stranger to their analysts without verifying who he is.
“Oh, of course,” the man said, looking up with a brief smile. He shifted his bag from under his right arm to under his left, crumpling the paper in his hand in the process. “Professor Charlie Eppes.”
“Any relation to Don Eppes?” Tony couldn’t help but ask as he shook the man’s hand.
“You’ve met my brother?”
There were some moments that Tony couldn’t believe that this was his life and wondered if he didn’t have bad luck if he’d have any luck at all. It was just typical that he’d run into Don’s brother, that the two sides of his life he’d been trying to keep separate could be embodied in this one, perilous, man. Especially not when he hadn’t decided what he was going to do about Don. It had seemed so simple, so easy, when he was leaving and looking for anything serious wasn’t in the cards. It was different now.
“Something like that,” was all Tony was willing to say. “Ops is just up those stairs.”
“Thank you, Agent...” Charlie looked at him with a faint frown, as though trying to remember if Tony had given his name.
“DiNozzo. Tony DiNozzo.”
He figured there wasn’t too much risk in giving his name. Less than making the man suspicious by avoiding the cue entirely. Besides, Charlie undoubtedly knew better than discuss his work with his brother and Don didn’t know his real name anyway. It didn’t stop the unaccountably guilty feeling squirming in his stomach.
“Let me show you the way,” Tony said, hoping to hurry the man along without being impolite before he could ask any more questions.
“Yes, I should probably get started,” Charlie told him. “I understand there’s some urgency.”
“Nothing like an escaped murderer and gun runner to light a fire under you,” Tony told him with a grin. Charlie gave him a benign smile in return as they climbed the stairs and walked into ops. The professor immediately drew the attention of the two analysts and introductions were quick. It wasn’t long before Charlie was poring over the information.
“So you think it’s a cipher?” he asked.
“Windtalkers, National Treasure or Imitation Game?” Tony asked, barely holding back a wince when he realised he’d reduced the professor’s insight and years of study to a series of movie references.
“Uh...” Charlie began, looking a little lost.
“Language code, book cipher or substitution cipher,” Nell explained as though the connection he’d made was obvious and logical, which he always felt was the case, but he knew others tended not to. Tony was just relieved he wasn’t going to have to embarrass himself further. As helpful as he found them, he knew movie references tended not to go down well in a professional context.
“I won’t know until I’ve had some time to study it. An idea of what I’m looking at would help enormously,” Charlie said.
“Best we can determine, it’s Spearing’s ledger and contacts,” Nell told him.
“Right,” he said and Tony could practically see the cogs turning in his brain. “I’ll get back to you as soon as I have something.”
He slid the printouts into his bag and pocketed the thumb drive Nell handed to him. He paused a moment before turning to look at Tony.
“Do you often piece together discordant facts with movie references?” Charlie asked, giving Tony a considering look, as though he was a formula that wasn’t adding up.
“A good investigator uses whatever tools they have at their disposal,” Tony said with a dismissive shrug, arms folding across his chest. “Even if they’re a little irregular.”
“Hmm,” Charlie said, not divulging his thoughts, then added, “Non-linear thinkers are highly sought after in academia and the private sector.”
Tony shrugged again. He’d had a few offers over the years, usually when one of their cases drew them into the civilian world, but he’d never considered them seriously. Even since he’d stepped foot in the academy, he’d known that being a cop was who he was, not just what he did and he didn’t know what he’d do with a desk job.
“Not really my thing,” was all he was willing to say. Charlie nodded as though he understood and Tony figured with a Federal Agent as a brother that he just might.
“Pleasure meeting you Agent DiNozzo,” Charlie said, shaking his hand again.
“You too, Professor,” Tony told him, surprised to find that, despite everything, he meant it. At no point did it seem like he was going to make this whole situation easy on himself. |
Waverly didn’t remember much from the first day of the train ride from District 12 to the Capitol, except that there was so much food everywhere. Not that she had much of an appetite. Doc, Waverly and Champ’s mentor for the Games, had tried to encourage her to eat as much as possible.
“I know you’d rather not think of it, Miss Waverly,” he told her in an old-fashioned drawl she couldn’t quite place, “But the times ahead will undoubtedly be the worst of your precious life. Enjoy these luxuries while you can.”
“And if I win?” she asked, challenging him.
His mustache twitched and there was a long pause before Doc’s reply. “I can’t say I recommend it.”
Doc tipped his hat and walked away then, taking gulps from the ever-present flask in his pocket.
Waverly didn’t know much about Doc except that he had won the 26th Hunger Games five years ago and spent most of his time staggering around District 12 in a drunken stupor. Their interactions had been trades of wild game in the Hob, and the few times Waverly had found Wynonna drinking just outside Victor’s Village with him.
Being a victor, Waverly was sure Doc could teach her some things about the Games, but he seemed to be caught in a fog of survivor’s guilt.
Champ, with easy access to alcohol on the train, decided to follow Doc’s lead and drank himself into a buzz before breakfast and spiraled down until he passed out after dinner. He liked to spend the time taking advantage of the relatively close quarters to flirt with Waverly. Badly.
“Waverly Earp, am I glad to have been reaped with you! Couldn’t have picked a prettier partner!” he said obnoxiously, wrapping his arms around her waist when she tried to walk away. Their Capitol representative, who was now their official escort, shook her head in disgust.
“Savages.”
“We’re not partners, Champ,” Waverly huffed, wrestling herself out of Champ’s grasp.
“Aw, Wavey, aren’t we gonna be partners in the Games?”
“There can only be one victor, Champ.”
Waverly winced at her own blunt tone. They only had a couple weeks to live, probably. She didn’t like to be reminded of it either.
Fortunately the gravity of Waverly’s statement seemed to go over Champ’s head. “You’re right, Waves! I forgot!” He slapped his forehead and laughed. Then Champ looked at Waverly and smiled. “How could somebody so pretty be so smart?”
Waverly sighed. They were supposed to work together in the upcoming Games, at least in the beginning, that was the usual strategy, but she was beginning to wonder if she might end up killing him herself.
“Because they’re not mutually exclusive,” she muttered before leaving the main compartment for her bedroom.
It took about a week on the train before they reached the Capitol, and on the fifth day, Waverly shook awake a dozing Doc in the dining compartment. Doc and Champ had spent five straight days drinking and eating, but no talk about the Games or strategy. Wynonna had told her she wasn’t allowed to die, and Waverly wasn’t going to wait for any sudden brilliance from her District 12 partner.
“Why, Miss Waverly,” Doc drawled when he recognized her through bleary eyes. “Finally decided to join me for an afternoon drink?”
“It’s still morning, and no,” Waverly said in an abrupt tone. She pulled Doc’s sprawled body into an upright position on the couch and sat in a chair across from him. “I’m ready for you to mentor me.”
“Mentor? I do believe there is plenty of training we can get up to when we reach the Capitol. At least a week if I recall.”
“Then strategy! Plans! …formations?” Waverly moved her hands frantically, trying to illustrate that she needed something to feel like she had an advantage, to feel like she could survive.
Doc shook his head and scrunched his nose, twitching his mustache in a way that would have made Waverly laugh if she wasn’t trying to get life-saving information from him. “No, we had nothing like that in our Games. No ma’am.”
“Well…” Waverly paused. She tried to broach the subject tentatively. “How… how did you win your Games?”
Doc’s blurry eyes suddenly focused, and he swallowed hard. “Well, I’m not certain that’s a tale for your sweet ears, Miss Waverly.”
Waverly let out a half-hearted laugh. “I’m about to enter the Hunger Games, Doc, and I’m not sure if you heard, but Wynonna said I’m not allowed to die.”
Doc’s gaze went below Waverly’s face to the gold necklace Wynonna had given her in the Mayor’s office before they dragged her away. “No, I believe you’re not.”
He straightened up his posture, pushing the brim of his cowboy hat out of his eyes. “You may not be aware of this Miss Waverly, but I am highly skilled in the art of the tomahawk.”
“Throwing axes?”
“Indeed. Put up a target, anything, anywhere, I assure you I will hit it.” Doc pulled out his flask and took a small sip. “Sober or not.”
Waverly nodded at him to continue.
“In the 26th Games, my partner was the town darlin’. She never paid attention to me until we were both reaped, but she turned sweet on me after I hit a District 1 fellow square in the skull who had come after her. She’d kiss me right on the cheek whenever I made a kill for her.”
Doc absent-mindedly touched his right cheek, remembering her soft touch before moving on. “I killed five other tributes while the others made a mess of themselves. When there were only four of us left, the arena let out a fog while we were sleeping, and we caught something mighty fierce that made our lungs fill with consumption. Before sunrise, we were coughing up an unnatural amount of blood. One of the other tributes died from the affliction shortly after, and the three of us left were so weak that it was only a matter of time. I told Darlene...”
Waverly watched Doc swallow hard again then take a deep breath.
“I told Darlene that I’d find us some breakfast like I usually did; berries or some animal I could find. She could hardly move in her condition. While looking for food, I found the other tribute stumbling around, barely breathing. I dispatched him quickly with one of my axes. In another time and place, it might have been seen as a mercy.”
Doc went quiet then, avoiding Waverly’s gaze. After a few moments, Waverly pressed him. “And then?”
“Now Miss Waverly, are you certain you didn’t watch this yourself in the town square merely five years ago?” The glint in Doc’s eye had returned, though faded. He was trying to avoid the ending.
“Wynonna wouldn’t let me watch.”
Doc nodded solemnly and took off his cowboy hat. He smoothed down his dark hair. “Well, Darlene had hardly moved from where I left her, but she was laying face down in a pool of her own blood. I ran over to assist, and she was still alive, but… but she had driven a knife partially into her own chest. She was too weak to hit her heart hard enough.”
He stopped and waited for Waverly to connect the dots.
“…she asked you to finish, didn’t she?”
Doc let his head nod slightly, then put his black hat back on. “Might as well have driven a knife into my own heart that day. Regretfully, ours was not a love story to last.”
“Oh, I did love you and Darlene together!” a chipper voice suddenly added, making both Waverly and Doc jump. The Capitol escort, Aeif, had apparently entered the dining car without either of them noticing. “I even sent some money your way to sponsor you both during the games! I wish they had spent more time covering you two. But here’s a spoiler: I hear they have new tiny cameras this year!”
Waverly and Doc both looked at each other.
“Tiny cameras?” Waverly asked for clarification.
“Yes! Tiny cameras hidden everywhere, and ones that even follow you around so they can show more intimate storylines. Those are the best parts of the Hunger Games, after all.”
The dining car’s doors whooshed, and Champ stumbled in, dropping heavily on the couch next to Waverly and throwing a casual arm around her shoulders. “Whatcha guys talking about?”
Doc watched Waverly uncomfortably squirm under Champ’s arm and smoothed his mustache, leaning back in his seat. “Perhaps the Hunger Games is ready for a love story at last.”
Nicole was in the Training Center at the Capitol when she first saw her. Nedley, her mentor, wanted her and Bobo Del Ray, the other tribute from District 2, to concentrate on strength and endurance training instead of focusing on the weapon stations – no need show off and let the other tributes know what they could do. Nicole figured he knew what he was talking about, being a victor and all, but Bobo immediately disregarded Nedley’s instructions and ran over to the weapon station with machetes, swinging them aggressively in front of the other district tributes.
Nicole thought it would have been intimidating if the tributes from District 1 and 4 weren’t doing the exact same thing. And if they were actually holding the machetes correctly.
Nicole was working on pull-ups when she noticed a small girl with long brown hair enter the Training Center with two others. Something about her made Nicole drop down from the pull-up bar and walk slowly over to Bobo, who was busy hacking at a training dummy with a hand axe.
“Who’s that?” Nicole asked him, pointing her chin at the girl anxiously looking around the room at all the other, much larger, tributes.
Bobo glanced up quickly from his work, then returned to his task of beheading the training dummy. “Just some District 12 dusties.”
Nicole kept her gaze on the girl, now listening to an unusual looking-man in a dark cowboy hat. She squinted, trying to find confirmation of Bobo’s information from the district patch on every tribute’s training uniform, but she was too far away for Nicole to read the number. “How do you know they’re from District 12?”
“They got that look. Starved,” Bobo said matter-of-factly. He wondered vaguely if the training dummy’s consistency was the same as a human body. It seemed like a human body would be easier, softer. Bobo looked again at the small girl Nicole seemed focused on. She wasn’t too far, just one flick of the wrist…
An iron grip was suddenly felt on Bobo’s forearm as he readied to throw his hand axe. He turned his head and glared at Nicole.
“Sorry, against the rules, Bobo,” she said calmly. Tributes were strictly prohibited from fighting each other before the Games, and clearly Bobo had intended for something more lethal.
Nicole steadily squeezed his wrist until he yelped and dropped the axe in pain. “You should work on your body tells. I could see that from a mile away.”
Her trademark dimples showed through an easy smile as she released his arm.
Bobo gritted his teeth in annoyance and stomped away, cradling his now-sprained wrist. He’d get her back in the arena later, and he’d make her pay tenfold.
Nicole watched Bobo leave, then turned her gaze back at the girl she didn’t know. Something strange began spinning in her mind; Nicole didn’t know her, but for some reason she wanted to know her. There was something about that girl that drew her in, and she wasn’t sure if it was good or bad.
The girl was looking back at her now, seemingly unaware that Bobo had been aiming an axe at her just moments ago. She smiled softly and offered a tiny wave. Nicole, mesmerized, couldn’t help but smile and wave back.
It was definitely bad.
Waverly watched as the red haired girl across the room turned and went to get a drink of water. Something about her made Waverly’s heart pound in her chest, and it was hard for her to look away.
“District 2. No good, Miss Waverly.”
Doc’s low voice next to her ear snapped her attention back to their conversation.
”She seems…nice,” she offered, remembering the girl’s generous smile. The other tributes in the room had either eyed them, trying to size Champ and her up, or merely ignored them.
"She’s one of the Careers, probably just trying to gain your trust until…” Champ dramatically wrapped his hands around his own neck and made exaggerated strangling noises.
Waverly sighed. She was supposed to pretend to be in love with this guy?
The last two nights on the train, Waverly, Doc, and Champ stayed up late formalizing a plan that would hopefully get them both back to District 12. From his time being paraded as the Hunger Games victor in the Capitol, almost every Capitol citizen he met had expressed regret that both he and Darlene didn’t get more screen time to see their love fully blossom. There had also apparently been campaigns to allow for two victors, but the government had struck these down.
With the new cameras in play, Doc would work on his end to drum up even more support for the love storyline, and Waverly and Champ would plant the seeds in their pre-Games interviews. They were attractive kids with humble backgrounds – the citizens of the Capitol would eat that up.
Admittedly in the mean time, to enact this love story plan and build a ravenous fan base, they would have to survive the other tributes.
While Waverly was luckily skilled in survival thanks to her illegal traps with Wynonna, she had no familiarity with weapons. Well, except for one.
“I can shoot a gun,” she said simply, when Doc had asked about her experience with weapons.
Doc had narrowed his eyes in disbelief. No citizens were allowed to own or handle guns, only Peacekeepers. “Now how is that possible?”
“The Peacekeepers thought it was funny,” she explained sheepishly. Ever since the raid where her father had been killed by Wynonna and Willa had been taken away, she and Wynonna had been blacklisted by the community as troublemakers, especially Wynonna. Waverly’s smaller demeanor often invited bullies to pick on her when Wynonna wasn’t around, and a few drunk Peacekeepers grabbed Waverly when she was fourteen and thought it’d be funny to let her shoot targets on the edge of town.
They had warned her that if she tried any rebellious behavior that they knew where Wynonna worked in the mines, and then placed a sawed-off shotgun in her hands.
The first few shots flew wildly, and Waverly almost fell back from the gun’s kickback, causing the Peacekeepers to fall over laughing. “Lil Earp’s no good either!”
Waverly had pressed her lips in an awkward smile; the Peacekeepers still wouldn’t let her leave, so she fired off a few more rounds. She found the gun steadying in her hands, and while she wouldn’t hit the targets to give the drunken Peacekeepers any clue that she was getting better, the shots hit her own secret targets.
Miss. Right on the fence post.
Miss. Knocked off the second branch on the tree.
Miss. Waverly pretended that the shot’s kickback threw her to the ground to the uproar of the Peacekeepers and looked back to what she hit.
Right through the “D” on the “Danger!” sign hanging on the electric fence.
Guns weren’t part of the Games, but Doc suggested Waverly try out the bow and arrow to see how it felt, while Champ would focus on the weapons that could play off his brute strength.
After Doc left the pair in the Training Center, Waverly tentatively approached the weapons station and picked up the bow, measuring its weight and heft in her hands. A tall blonde girl approached her, crossing her arms. Waverly could see the girl’s arm muscles rippling and a distinct “District 1” patch on her shoulder.
“You any good with that?” she asked Waverly in a particular tone. Her head cocked to the side, not expecting much from Waverly’s reply.
“I-I don’t know,” Waverly stammered. If she wanted, this girl could crush Waverly in an instant, and Waverly could see that all too plainly.
The blonde girl laughed and snatched the bow from Waverly’s hands. She reached over to grab an arrow, then pulled it back taunt on the string and released.
The arrow sailed easily into the target’s center.
Waverly gulped.
“I’m Constance Clootie,” the girl said, introducing herself with a rough smile that seemed to be more of a menacing baring of teeth.
“W-Waverly Earp,” Waverly found herself saying automatically in a shaky voice.
Constance placed the bow back in Waverly’s trembling hands. She leaned down to whisper confidently in Waverly’s ear. “I don’t think we’ll be knowing each other long, Waverly Earp.”
Waverly tried to keep to herself that first day in the Training Center, but other Career tributes intercepted her with similar interactions, trying to intimidate and assess her skills at the same time, though the red-haired girl from District 2 never directly approached her. She always seemed to be on the periphery, and Waverly wasn’t looking forward to discovering what secret aggression the “nice Career” was hiding.
The other non-Career tributes seemed to have the same nervousness Waverly had and avoided conversation. Surprisingly Waverly found herself staying close to Champ’s side, finding comfort that they were at least on the same team.
At lunch break, Waverly ate her meal quietly across from Champ, while the other tributes ate scattered across the cafeteria. The Career tributes from District 1, 2, and 4 seemed to stick together and kept their voices low as they spoke to each other.
Champ was doing his best to shovel as much food as possible into his face. Though Champ had grown up without the risk of starving like Waverly did, the abundance of food still triggered a primal instinct in him to eat as much as possible.
“I need it for the strength to protect you, babe,” Champ insisted through a mouthful of food when Waverly shot him a disgusted look.
”Doc said we don’t have to act like a couple until the pre-Game interview,” Waverly reminded him, trying not to let her annoyance show through.
“Just getting used to it.” Champ smiled, shoving a bread roll into his mouth. “Want to make it natural and believable, ya know?”
Waverly let out a small laugh at Champ’s stuffed cheeks. He was annoying and obnoxious, sure, but overall he was harmless and could be depended on to stick to the plan. They were partners.
When Champ had eaten himself to an upset stomach, he excused himself and ran desperately looking for the rest room. Waverly released a sigh, glad to get a moment alone and gather her thoughts.
She didn’t get much time until she heard someone sit down across from her.
It was the girl from District 2.
Waverly felt her heart thumping in her chest again, though she couldn’t pin down the exact reason. When the other tributes had scared her, she felt her stomach drop and her pulse race, but when this girl from District 2 looked at her with a friendly smile, it felt like her heart might leap out of her chest.
“I didn’t know the human body was capable of eating so much food,” the girl joked, referring to the way Champ had eaten lunch. Her brown eyes were bright, and Waverly found herself distracted before thinking of a response.
“Yeah,” Waverly laughed. “You know, I keep telling Champ to slow down. Don’t want to get a cramp during training.” She gestured to her side for emphasis and laughed again nervously.
The girl nodded politely at Waverly’s reply, and Waverly silently cursed herself at being so boring to the girl’s witty opening line.
But the girl was still smiling at her, which made the edges of Waverly’s lips stay in a soft smile.
“I’ve been meaning to introduce myself,” the girl said after a moment. “I’m Nicole. Nicole Haught.”
As Nicole reached over and shook Waverly’s hand, Waverly thought she had detected a slight waver in her voice despite Nicole’s confident exterior. Waverly shook the feeling off as she prepared to say her own name, but the feeling of Nicole’s hand over hers was causing another wave of distraction.
“Hi,” she managed to get out.
“And you are Waverly Earp,” Nicole continued after a half a beat, still gently shaking Waverly’s hand. “Quite the popular girl around here.”
Waverly smiled and nodded, feeling her smile becoming embarrassingly wide. “Oh, you know, it’s all in the smile and wave.”
“Yeah,” Nicole replied simply, watching Waverly wave awkwardly as she spoke. Her eyes locked with Waverly’s, and something passed between them. It didn’t feel like the usual Career intimidation stare or a look to evaluate her capabilities.
It felt like… Nicole had seen Waverly, and it was the first time Waverly had felt seen, rather than being viewed as a trouble-making Earp or hungrily eyed by boys when she had gotten older. This was a new type of gaze altogether.
Lunch was starting to end, and the other tributes began standing up at their tables and leaving the room. Bobo cleared his throat loudly to catch Nicole’s attention, and the moment was abruptly broken.
“Looks like we’ve got to go back at it,” Nicole said, her voice maintaining an easy-going tone. “How about we talk again later? How about tonight?”
Waverly’s thoughts whirled, wondering what Nicole meant about talking. Did she forget that they were tributes training to kill each other in the Hunger Games? Was this an elaborate trap?
Still, Waverly wanted to say yes. Oh, she really wanted to say yes.
But Doc’s words of warning repeated themselves in Waverly’s head. “District 2. No good, Miss Waverly.”
“Oh, I can't. I mean, I’d love to – would like to,” Waverly corrected herself. “But my mentor has plans – big plans – to talk strategy. Strategy to win. The Games. The Hunger Games.”
Waverly felt herself making exaggerated gestures and pitching her voice too dramatically on her fragmented sentences. She kept mentally telling herself to stop talking, to stop the warm flush she felt creeping on her cheeks as Nicole softly laughed at the nervous way she was speaking, but another part of her wanted this interaction to go on forever.
“And I’m in a relationship,” Waverly heard herself blurt out. “With my tribute partner. Who’s a boy.” Waverly blinked. “Man.”
Nicole dropped her gaze to the ground for a moment and laughed again, and Waverly found herself not minding it was at her own stuttering expense.
“A boy-man?” Nicole repeated in an incredulous tone. She glanced over at Bobo, who had cleared his throat again and jerked his head toward the exit. Nicole nodded back before turning her attention back to Waverly. “Yep, I’ve been there. It’s the worst.”
Nicole let out another laugh as she stood up to follow the Career tributes leaving the cafeteria. “Okay, well, some other time.”
Waverly felt her eyes flutter slightly and her mouth involuntarily curve into a speechless smile at Nicole’s self-assuredness.
Nicole offered a wink as she turned and walked away. “I mean it.”
Waverly didn’t feel her heart beat normally until Nicole had exited, leaving her alone in the cafeteria.
If that was a play to get her unbalanced and unfocused on the Games ahead, it had worked flawlessly. |
The formal party is two days away, and Alec’s mind can’t stop racing with all the possible scenarios of what might go wrong. He fears Magnus’ attitude toward his parents and the Clave, but at the same time, he knows he can trust him by now. The Lightwoods and the Clave themselves could actually be bigger problems than the warlock. Alec knows for a fact that they won’t hesitate to criticize Magnus, which he’s already irritated about. And he’s certain Magnus isn’t going to hold back from throwing a gibe or two their way, even if he aims to be as polite as possible throughout the whole evening. All of this is a recipe for disaster that Alec doesn’t know how to prevent from happening.
The Institute is buzzing with people preparing the place for the party, putting up fancy decorations and expertly strewn about fairy-lights in the hall, pushing away the screens and desks to make room for multiple round tables. Without all the tech equipment, it’s a completely different place. It looks like the church it once was, ready to welcome an array of people in its nave.
At around one in the afternoon, Alec calls Magnus to tell him that the Institute’s makeover is underway, and that he’s free to come if he wishes. He’s just hanging up when he hears the familiar “whoosh” sound of a portal appearing in the next room. Alec comes out of the main study, still clutching his phone, and finds Magnus standing in the middle of the hall, looking at what the place has become. Alec can’t help but notice Magnus’ rather sober outfit, very different from the colorful and layered ones he got used to. He’s wearing a simple black shirt - though it is made of silk - and black jeans, with short-heeled black boots. There is no necklace around his neck, nor bracelets on his wrists. The only jewels he has are his usual tiny ear-cuff and a couple of rings on each hand, but Alec guesses they’re the least shiny he owns. From where he’s standing, he can see that Magnus hasn’t left his loft without his smudged liner look, but overall, he looks… different. Like he tried his best to think of a look that would make him blend in the Shadowhunters crowd.
“Well,” Magnus says, loud enough so that Alec can hear him all the way across the room, “you’ve actually managed to make this place look welcoming. Good job.”
Alec makes his way toward him, climbing down the few steps leading to what will be a dance floor, 48 hours from then, give or take.
“I did nothing, really. Isabelle is the one you should congratulate.”
Magnus grins at that.
“Of course it was your sister all along. Where is she? I wanna say hi. She left quite the impression on me when we first met.”
Memories of their wedding come back to Alec, specifically Isabelle’s fierce defense of him, her unflinching stare at the most powerful wizard in New York as she’d promised she’d hurt him if anything were to happen to her brother. It makes Alec smile, and he finds his satisfaction is deepened by the fact that Magnus doesn’t seem to hold any kind of resentment toward Izzy for her threats. The idea of them getting along is both delightful, and terrifying.
“Your room’s waiting for you,” he says with a smile, the idea of Magnus staying at the Institute strangely comfortable.
“
My
room?,” Magnus asks, the corner of his lips turning up in a smirk. “What happened to ‘don’t overstay your welcome’?”
Alec chuckles, but doesn’t reply. If it’s anything to go by, the smile on Magnus’ face tells him he doesn’t have to.
**
That same day, and the one following it, Alec finds it’s almost impossible to have a conversation with Magnus. The warlock is taking the preparations of the party at heart, and Isabelle lets him have a say in everything. As expected, they get along very well, which Alec is pleased about more than he’d care to admit.
Alec stays as far away as possible from any party matters, hoping no one will ask for his help. He still has to send out teams to search for any other lost artifact in the underground, and because a visit from his parents and the Clave clearly isn’t enough already, he receives worrying news from Luke. Unsurprisingly, tensions are running high between werewolves and vampires, and it ordinarily wouldn’t warrant any concern. But while playful threats are common between the two groups, Luke’s message talks of close calls with violence, and that is something Alec will inevitably have to deal with after the party.
It’s one in the morning when he and Magnus finally find themselves alone for the first time in 48 hours. Alec is sitting on one of the benches at the kitchen table, drinking coffee, his anxiety running higher with each passing minute. Magnus comes in, rubbing at his eyes. He’s wearing black pajamas with a silk, crimson robe over them, and is barefoot. His face is free of any makeup. He looks so different without it that Alec needs a few seconds to adjust to the sight. He’s still handsome as ever, though, which is mildly annoying.
“Alec,” he says, no surprise in his tone. “Can’t sleep?”
Alec nods, and takes a long sip of his coffee. Magnus goes and sits next to him.
“Anxious?”
Alec chuckles in response.
“You have no idea.”
Magnus snaps his fingers, and a cup of tea appears in front of him. From the smell of it, it’s vanilla. They don’t even have vanilla tea at the Institute.
“What’s troubling you, exactly?”
Alec scratches the back of his head, and sighs.
“I’m not… worried about what they’ll say about our work,” he starts. “For the few things that we’ve done, I know we’ve done good. But…”
Magnus lifts his eyebrows, intimating him to go on.
“They won’t get that we made this work, you know? That’s what they wanted but they’ll find something to be disappointed by. And I’m scared that…”
Magnus’ eyes staring right into his almost make Alec swallow his tongue.
“I’m scared they’ll be hard on you. Only you. No matter what I tell them.”
He shakes his head in rancor, taking a swig of his lukewarm coffee. He hates thinking about his parents and the Clave’s prejudice against Magnus, because it mirrors the one he used to have, the one he had when he slipped a golden bracelet around his wrist and drew a rune over his heart.
“Although it’s sweet of you, you shouldn’t worry about that,” Magnus says, a tinge of amusement in his voice. “I’m not one to be scared by in-laws and pencil pushers.”
Alec chuckles and looks toward the warlock. Despite his best efforts, he can’t help but let himself stare at Magnus’ face, and there’s not much he can do to fight off the thought that Magnus really is a beautiful man. There is no need to try and deny it, because it’s right there, looking him right in the face.
“There’s something I wanted to tell you,” Magnus says, breaking the short silence.
Alec straightens up in his seat, blinking away the image of Magnus’ eyes and their color.
“Another one of your confessions?,” he asks, scared that Magnus might tell him something that would add to his already strong anxious emotions.
“Well… More like an apology.”
Alec frowns.
“I know I’m rather late about this, but…,” Magnus starts, seeming concerned about finishing his sentence, “I wanted to tell you I’m sorry for kissing you at our wedding.”
Inexplicably, Alec feels like someone just took all the air right out of his lungs. He certainly hadn’t seen that coming.
“Wait… what?”
Magnus shakes his head and titters, obviously embarrassed.
“I shouldn’t have taken that liberty. I shouldn’t have assumed that it’d make you feel better either. So, I’m sorry, and I hope you can forgive me.”
Alec blinks away his surprise and confusion.
“Magnus, that was what feels like ages ago, I don’t…”
Magnus has the same look on his face he had when they’d met Camille at the Downworlder party - eyebrows drawn together, the corner of his lips downturned, eyes looking everywhere but at Alec. Something like anger rises inside of Alec; how did his parents dare tell him that this man would ever take advantage of him and feel no remorse about it? He traces the rim of his coffee cup with one finger, frowning slightly.
“A short while after we got married,” he starts, “my parents told me something about you.”
Magnus’ traits don’t soften, instead the muscles of his jaw seem to tighten.
“Ah… What did dear Maryse and Robert have to say about me, pray tell?,” he asks through gritted teeth.
Alec bites the inside of his cheek, hesitant.
“Well… They said that because of your…
reputation
, that you might… They said that you might take advantage of me. They didn’t put it that way, but that’s what they meant.”
He lets it all out in one go, because if he’d taken more than a few seconds between each sentences to finish, he never would have. It’s heart wrenching, seeing the look on Magnus’ face, going from sad to sadder still. He resists the urge to put his hand on Magnus’ shoulder, or even to take it in his own.
“But,” he continues, “here you are. Apologizing for kissing me almost two months ago.”
Magnus looks up at him, and stares, a strange spark in his eyes. Slowly, his eyebrows unknit, and his lips part slightly.
“I’m not saying I wasn’t mad about it,” Alec continues, wanting to make sure Magnus understands what he’s saying. “I was. It’s just…”
He wants the next words to sink back into his stomach as well, to never see the light of day, because they feel odd in his mouth, but they hang on the tip of his tongue and he can’t help but say them.
“You’re not what I’ve been told you were.”
You’re better
, he doesn’t say. Magnus is speechless for a moment, and Alec realizes that his heart’s taken on a fast pace. Being this nice, this caring, wasn’t part of the plan. The day they’d gotten married, Alec had decided on a very clear, simple path for how things were to go. And yet, he’s sitting next to Magnus in the middle of the night, mesmerized by how soothed he feels watching the sadness on the warlock’s face being slowly replaced by a shy smile.
“You’re forgiven,” Alec ends up saying, and Magnus’ face breaks out into a wide grin, his eyes shining.
“Thank you, Alexander,” he says, his tone soft, fragile.
Alec makes a slight shrug of his shoulders, like what he just said is nothing, when he feels like the last bricks of the wall both he and Magnus had built between each other just turned to dust. Magnus quickly finishes his tea, and stands up, running his hands over the fabric of his nightgown.
“I’ll go to bed now,” he says, then coughs into his hand. “You should get some rest too.”
He makes his way toward the door, and right before leaving, turns around.
“It’ll be okay, Alec,” he says, not needing to clarify for Alec to know what he’s talking about.
Magnus slips out of the kitchen, and Alec stands up to refill his cup of coffee.
**
Alec gets two hours of sleep, at most, before he has to wake up. His parents are scheduled to arrive at one in the afternoon, while members of the Clave will come just in time for the party. Strangely enough, the Institute is rather calm, but he expects it’ll soon enough be buzzing with people getting ready. Alec takes a quick breakfast, and goes to find Magnus, still needing to tell him about Luke’s message.
“Vamps and werewolves
again
?,” Magnus moans in annoyance. “You know, I thought I was petty, but they’re really giving me a run for my money.”
“This could be serious, Magnus,” Alec says, his tone stern. “We can’t ignore it just because we’re used to it.”
Magnus sighs in response.
“Of course. You’re right. But we can’t attend to this now. Maryse and Robert will be here soon and I’m sure they’re going to want all of your attention.”
It’s Alec’s turn to sigh. There’s no forgetting the Lightwood parents.
At exactly 1 p.m., they enter the Institute, heads held high, their stride confident as ever, the perfect image of what they’ve been telling their children to be since they were born. Alec cannot help but gulp as he sees them heading straight toward him, not taking the time to look at how different the place looks now that it’s been decorated for the party.
“Alec,” his father says, warmth in his tone despite his serious expression, “how have you been, son?”
He shakes Alec’s hand firmly and pats his back, before taking one step to the side so Maryse can hug him.
“You look so tired,” she says, and how very much like her for these to be the first words she gives him. “Have you not been sleeping well?”
If Alec chose to be honest, he’d tell her that them and the Clave visiting terrifies him, and that they’re the cause for the shadows under his eyes.
“I’m fine, don’t worry,” he lies. “There’s just been a lot of work, recently.”
“I would hope so,” Maryse says.
She doesn’t need to finish her sentence for Alec to know where it would have gone.
We didn’t marry you off so the workload would be lighter.
Just as he’s thinking this, Magnus pats him on the shoulder.
“Maryse, Robert,” he says, smiling wide. “What a joy to see you.”
Alec shoots him a look, and is surprised to find no evidence of sarcasm on the warlock’s face. They all know he’s a good liar, though.
“Magnus,” Maryse says, her tone so cold Alec fears he might froze in place.
His father leans toward him as his mother and Magnus are exchanging false pleasantries.
“What’s he doing here?”
Alec frowns.
“He… slept here, dad,” he answers, hoping his father won’t come up with extravagant ideas as to why Magnus stayed over.
“Slept here?,” Robert repeats, the shock in his voice quite obvious. “Was it necessary?”
Alec makes his hands into fists at his sides.
So it begins
.
“Magnus insisted to be here, so he could organize the party with Isabelle,” he says, louder, so his mother hears as well.
“Oh,” both his parents say.
“And as you can see, this place has a lot of potential,” Magnus adds, showing the room’s decorations with a gesture.
Maryse and Robert remain completely impassive, but Alec knows it’s a front. They quickly leave him and Magnus behind, presumably to settle into their room. Alec lets out a huge sigh once they’re out of earshot.
“It’s a real wonder how these two managed to have such lovely kids,” Magnus says.
Alec lets out a soft snort. He would scold Magnus for talking badly of his parents, but it’s not like he disagrees with him.
**
The day ends up being a lot of lounging around doing nothing in particular, which Alec had forgotten could be a thing. He guesses his parents are keeping all of their questions for later, when the Clave will be at the Institute, which gives him the opportunity to think about what they might ask, and how he could answer. Magnus coaches him without Alec even asking. Considering the state of the relationship between the warlock and the Clave, Magnus helping Alec out is rather unexpected, but welcomed nonetheless. Alec figures Magnus is probably used to relentless questioning from prying Shadowhunters.
Time passes quicker than he’d like it to, and so, at 6.30, Alec finds himself walking to his bedroom, both impatient and anxious to find the outfit Magnus has laid out for him. Except he only finds a plain white shirt and black dress pants on his bed, and with a quick glance toward his wardrobe, sees a simple black jacket on a hanger, its hook around the knob.
“Isabelle told me you had those somewhere in your dresser.”
Alec jumps when he hears Magnus’ voice. He turns around, his eyes still wide in surprise. He notices that the warlock is dressed in a rather sober way, sporting a black button-up shirt and black skinny jeans, the only touch of color being a velvet, dark green jacket. He’s not wearing any glitter on his eyelids, just a smoky eyeliner, and his only accessory is the pair of earrings that go with the brooch he’d offered Alec all those weeks ago. Something dips inside of Alec’s stomach when he notices the jewels.
“I thought you were supposed to pick something for me,” he says, tearing his gaze away from Magnus’ earlobes.
Magnus smiles.
“I did. I just figured your parents would notice if it was something I would have chosen for myself. And…”
He takes a few tentative steps into the bedroom, and Alec finds himself inhaling through his nose, hard. Magnus’ presence in his room is alien, and scary, and he doesn’t like how it’s making his heart go faster. Magnus sits on Alec’s bed, and runs a hand over the fabric of the white shirt.
“Well, you know. It’s the Institute. This is your home. You should look like yourself.”
Alec tries to make the small smile at the corner of his lips as imperceptible as possible.
“I tried to tone it down as well,” Magnus continues, smiling even wider, his eyes crinkling at the sides. “Hopefully that’ll be one less thing for our guests to criticize me about.”
Magnus chuckles a little, the sound soft in Alec’s ears. He looks at the shirt and the pants lying on his bed, and then at Magnus. There’s so much Alec wants to say; how much it means to him that the warlock picked something he’d be comfortable in, or how forcing himself to fit in with the Shadowhunters crowd is a sacrifice that Alec has tremendous respect for, no matter how small it might seem to Magnus.
“Thank you,” is all he manages to say.
Magnus nods and stands up, walking back to the door.
“Get dressed,” he says, “we don’t have much time before we’re thrown to the hounds.”
**
Alec takes a last look at the obsidian brooch on his bedside table, and decides that he can’t put it on, no matter how much he wants to. He’s not stupid - Magnus hadn’t put on the earrings just because they compliment his outfit well. If Alec wore the matching clasp, it would send a pretty huge message to the Clave, and to his parents. A message he fears might be misinterpreted. It doesn’t matter that he is out, and it doesn’t matter that there’s nothing going on between him and Magnus, apart from a loveless wedding. It’s
Magnus
, and showing up with coordinating jewelry to a Shadowhunters official event would mean trouble. Alec leaves his bedroom thinking about how Magnus is going to feel not seeing the brooch on his chest. He almost runs back in to grab it.
When he reaches the hall, Alec immediately spots Magnus in the crowd, despite his dark outfit that melds him in with the guests. The warlock is having what seems to be a very lively conversation with a blonde woman, and not too far from him, Alec sees Isabelle, who’s clinking her champagne glass with a fellow Shadowhunter’s. Earlier that day, he’d given their evening to Jace and Clary, not wanting to force them to attend an event that did not concern them. Not seeing the two makes him regret his kindness. Alec adjusts his jacket one last time, and makes a beeline for Magnus. He apologizes profusely to the woman, saying he needs his husband, which makes him realize he still feels weird using that word.
They’re about to go find Maryse and Robert, but the Lightwood parents find them first.
“Alec,” Maryse says, her tone ice cold, “you’re late.”
He’s about to say that yes, he knows, but that’s before he notices his mother giving Magnus a once over, as if he’s somehow responsible for Alec’s lost time. He shuts his eyes for a few seconds, clenching his teeth.
It’s only getting started
.
“I’m here, now, mother,” he says as he opens his eyes back up.
“Go talk to people,” Robert says, patting him on the shoulder. “We’ll sit for dinner when you’re ready.”
Alec nods, and gulps. His parents walk away toward one of their Clave friends. He works in lieu of Head of the New York Institute, and yet, being the person who decides for a whole crowd when dinner starts feels like more responsibility than he’s ever had before. Alec looks around the room, and feels Magnus linking their arms together. He shoots him a look.
“Come on,” Magnus says, “let’s give them a show.”
For the next half hour, to the sound of a string-quartet Alec didn’t know would be here, he and Magnus go from guest to guest, exchanging pleasantries - which the warlock is incredibly good at. If Magnus notices the missing brooch on Alec’s chest, he doesn’t take the time to say.
While Magnus is entertaining a Clave member’s wife - who seems to have entirely forgotten about him being a Downworlder - Alec talks to her husband. He sounds self-righteous and arrogant, so Alec instantly dislikes him.
“So,” the man says, leaning in toward Alec, attempting to whisper with a voice that all but booms with every word, “how’s it been going, with the…”
Alec frowns when the man shoots a look toward Magnus.
“Has he been… you know? He’s got quite the…
reputation
.”
For what might be the hundredth time in thirty minutes, Alec shuts his eyes, and tries to make his deep intake of breath as discreet as possible. The man leans in even further, and Alec wishes he’d fall on his nose.
“There’s nothing good to be done with them, anyway. To think you landed with the worst of them all…”
A boiling rage starts inside Alec, and he’s about to snap at the man when, out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Magnus’ silhouette walking away toward the entrance corridor. He doesn’t excuse himself before leaving the Clave member behind, and hurries his pace after Magnus.
“Magnus,” he says once he reaches him, putting a hand on the warlock’s shoulder. “Where are you going?”
Magnus spins around. He looks visibly upset, the same furrowed brows and tightened jaw than the night before.
“I need some fresh air,” he says, then begins taking another step toward the exit.
“No, wait, Magnus.”
This time, Alec doesn’t just touch his shoulder. He grabs at it, gently but firmly, and turns Magnus toward him in a smooth motion.
“Trust me when I say I want nothing more than for my right fist and that guy’s cheek to meet right now,” he lets out, not needing Magnus to say anything to
know
. “But if you leave, he’ll win. They’ll all win.”
He hadn’t known he had this in him. He’s terrified by how very much like Jace he sounds.
“Do you have to be right all the time?,” Magnus asks, a sad smile on his lips. “Listen, Alec, I’m not scared of them. If anything, they should be scared of me. But they aren’t. They all look at me like I’m a freak, and that’s the one thing I can’t stand.”
There’s something Alec knows, and it’s that he hates to see Magnus look so vulnerable. It’s not right. That’s not the Magnus he knows.
“You want them to be scared of you?,” he asks, staring right into Magnus’ eyes, and the spark in them make him feel elevated. “Then stay.”
The slow progression of a smirk on Magnus’ lips is enough for Alec to forget about the Clave, to forget about his parents. Nothing matters but to make them regret ever doubting that this would work. That
they
would work.
“What do you suggest, then?,” Magnus asks, peering over Alec’s shoulder to look at the crowd of Shadowhunters, talking and drinking and dancing.
Alec is struck by a flash of something that is nothing short of reckless and hazardous. But looking at Magnus, there’s a fire in him that begins burning, a fire that he’s never felt before, and all he can think about is
fuck it
. He grabs Magnus’ hand, and leads them back into the hall, right as the quartet starts to play another waltz. He doesn’t leave time for Magnus to ask any questions; he turns, facing the warlock, puts his free hand on his waist, and starts to lead the dance.
Alec quickly realizes that he’s never done this before outside of a training room, with someone who isn’t Izzy. He’s staring at their feet, counting the steps, happy to see that he and Magnus move seamlessly together.
1 2 3, 1 2 3, 1 2 3
…
“Alexander,” he hears Magnus say, surprised and breathless already.
He looks up to find the warlock staring at him, smiling brightly.
“You didn’t tell me about this,” the spark in his eyes even brighter than before. Alec only now realizes that Magnus’ eyes are possibly the most beautiful eyes he’s ever seen.
“Shadowhunters training. Improves posture.”
He makes Magnus spin, and when the warlock comes back to him, taking his hand again, a look of wonder is splayed all over his face.
“Also good for that kind of nonsense,” Alec adds, referring to the party.
Magnus chuckles, and the sound is so light it makes Alec’s heart flip inside his chest.
“Apparently, it also shortens your sentences quite a bit.”
He looks up at Magnus again. He knows people are staring, are whispering in each other’s ears. He can clearly visualize the look on his parents’ faces. But Alec is too captivated by the crinkles at the sides of Magnus’ eyes, the smile on his lips, and the feeling of utter freedom inside his own chest. The dance is exhilarating. Magnus’ grip on Alec’s arm is as tight as Alec’s on Magnus’ waist. The whole thing feels like it’s enough to make the rest of the room disappear. He has not felt this way since he came out. It’s the exact same sensations. There is the weight of anxiousness on his shoulders caused by possible consequences, but then again, there’s the overwhelming sense of doing something good and right.
The song reaches its end too quickly for Alec’s liking. His heart is raging inside his chest, and he doesn’t know if it’s because of the dance itself, of the crowd undoubtedly judging them, or because of the slight flush on Magnus’ cheeks.
“Alec,” he hears his mom saying as she approaches, conversations starting up again all around them, a new waltz beginning to play, “what did you just-”
“Let’s eat,” he says, cutting her off intentionally for what may be the first time in his life.
There’s no mistaking the smile on Magnus’ face for anything other than pride.
**
Alec finds Magnus sitting in the kitchen, clutching a cup of tea. It’s almost one in the morning; the Clave is gone, his parents are gone, and Alec couldn’t be more relieved.
“What a night,” Magnus says, like he’d guessed Alec was just standing in the doorway.
Alec chuckles and comes in.
“It sure was.”
Magnus looks up at him and smiles.
“You did great tonight. That speech you made about us effectively working toward peace between Shadowhunters and Downworlders… Shut them all right up.”
Alec walks toward the counter, in dire need to fix himself a cup of coffee. Before he gets a chance to start the coffee machine up, Alec hears Magnus snap his fingers, and a hot cup appears in front of him. He smiles to himself.
“They expected a speech from me,” he says, turning to face Magnus and leaning against the kitchen’s work surface. “I don’t think they were ready for you to use your magic to get us delicious food.”
Alec takes a sip of his coffee, staring right at Magnus who’s shaking his head slightly, looking amused.
“That was nothing,” he says.
“You charmed them,” Alec counters. “They were impressed.”
He watches as Magnus stands up and walks toward him, each step as elegant as the one before, despite the obvious exhaustion the warlock must be feeling. Magnus comes to a stop right in front of Alec, crossing his hands behind his back.
“And
you
didn’t tell me you dance. Clave members weren’t the only ones who were pleasantly surprised tonight.”
Alec can’t stop himself from blushing, doesn’t try to either. Magnus stands just a few 20 inches from him, close enough that if Alec wanted to, he could grab Magnus’ slender waist and dance with him again.
“I’ve never seen you this way before,” Magnus continues.
Alec wishes he could look away from the warlock’s intense stare, but he can’t. There’s something magnetic in Magnus’ eyes that he doesn’t know how to fight off, and that damn hypnotic spark he finds himself fascinated by. Magnus lifts his hand up, and for a moment, Alec thinks he might be reaching out to touch him, and he’s uncomfortable with how fine he would be with that. But Magnus’ hand goes to his ear cuff and adjusts it, before falling back to his side. It seems to break whatever spell Alec was under, because he looks away, everywhere but at Magnus, and takes a swig of his coffee.
“I’m exhausted,” he says, too fast. “You can help yourself to whatever you find here.”
Alec puts his cup down on the counter, skirts by Magnus and makes his way toward the door.
“Alexander,” Magnus calls out.
Alec chews at his bottom lip, and forces himself not to look back.
“Thank you for the waltz.”
Alec shuts his eyes tight, tighter than he did the entire evening, and leaves without a word. The door closed behind him, he backs up against it and rubs at his face, exhaling loudly.
Don’t
, he scolds himself, his stomach upside-down, his heart stuck in his throat.
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Project Robeast Research Logs Entry #516 Dated three months before the return of Voltron
Prisoner 117-9875 [Pidge’s Note: Shiro] was reintroduced today to the Arena for testing of his prosthetic arm and override chip. The demonstration went well, although questions were raised about the long-term efficacy of the program, given 117-9875’s reaction to the procedure.
Unfortunately, despite Lady Haggar’s protests, the subject has been removed from the project and delivered into the custody of another Prince. According to reports, the prisoner has volunteered for active duty and has sworn fealty to Emperor Zarkon.
We have been permitted to keep the override chip active as a precautionary measure against the prisoner’s probable betrayal.
Matt lay screaming on the ground, crystals sprouting from his skin. Beyond him was Keith, too still and small for the one who had defied his entire race to keep Shiro out of Haggar's hands the first time around.
“No...”
Specters of Keith and Matt stood over their crumpled bodies, staring down at them with blank expressions. They seemed… confused. Keith’s specter was thin, nearly translucent, and seemed unaware of anything but himself. And maybe not even of that much.
Matt, though, blazed with light, currents of blue running beneath his skin and pooling in his eyes. When he looked up, the accusation behind his eyes cut Shiro to the core.
“You did this, Shiro. You killed us.”
“Matt… I’m sorry… Keith…”
Something cold and soft brushed against his forehead, startling him from the dream. “It’s all right, Shiro,” Allura whispered. “You’re all right.”
Shiro opened his eyes to darkness. A sliver of light bled in beneath the door of their cell, and it was just enough for Shiro to make out Allura’s outline bending over him. Their cell would have been small for a single prisoner; with both of them in here, it was downright claustrophobic. Allura sat against the back wall, Shiro’s head in her lap. He didn’t have room to straighten his legs, and one of his knees ached from banging it against the wall while he was under.
It wasn’t sleep that took him periodically, though he tried to convince himself it was. Sleep would have meant rest. Sleep would have meant nightmares instead of memories.
“I killed them,” he whispered, staring down at his prosthetic arm. It glowed almost imperceptibly, the way a lightbulb clung to the last traces of light for a moment after it was switched off. He could see where the metal ended, could see vague impressions of his fingers as he forced himself to relax his fist. He could see the fissure running from his wrist nearly to his elbow. That break made it difficult to move the arm—but it also made it difficult for Haggar to maintain control. She kept appearing in his mind, plunging him beneath the surface of a dark, icy lake, only to fade again and allow his mind to surface for another desperate gasp of air.
“You didn’t kill them, Shiro,” Allura said in her frustratingly even voice. She brushed his bangs off his forehead. “They’re still alive.”
“Did you see them?” he demanded. “After I…Fuck." Tears pressed against the back of his eyes, a physical pressure that was getting increasingly difficult to ignore.
Allura’s hand stilled for a moment, and she sighed, the sound reminding Shiro how exhausted she was. Whenever Shiro plunged into the darkness, she was taken, too. “No. I didn’t see them.”
“I did,” Shiro said. He couldn’t stop seeing them: two of the people he cared for most in this universe, dying from wounds he had inflicted. He hoped Allura was right—hoped desperately he hadn’t actually killed them—but he couldn't make himself believe.
They were dead.
Shiro had killed them.
And what if they had survived? Neither of them would ever be able to look at him again. Neither of them would ever trust him. (And they’re right, Shiro thought. They never should have trusted me to begin with.)
“There’s still time,” Shiro whispered. “You could still--”
“I won’t.” Allura’s voice was hard, and the hand that wasn’t combing through his hair tightened its grip on his shirt. “I’m not going to kill you, Shiro.”
Shiro sighed. They’d had this argument before, several times. Shiro had pointed out how easy it would be for Allura to break his neck. With a little bit of Quintessence, she could change her form into something that could crush his skull or slit his throat. She’d been shifted at the time, compacting her body in an attempt to give them both a little more room to breathe.
She wasn’t shifted now, and Shiro had to wonder how much of that was exhaustion, and how much that she didn’t want to give him more ideas.
But he was too tired to argue now. Too tired to point out what had to be done. Too tired to remind Allura, again, that he was the only reason Haggar had control of her. Kill me, and she can’t get to you. You’d be free.
Allura would hear none of it. Even though they were the black paladins—decisive, rational. The ones who made hard decisions for the greater good.
In this, Allura refused to consider the one option available to them, and Shiro was finding it harder and harder to care that it meant she was putting them all at risk. Soon enough Haggar would reassert her control, and Shiro would find himself standing once more over Matt and Keith’s dead bodies, and when he woke again nothing would have changed.
He was glad for the darkness of their cell as the tears finally began to fall.
Haggar did come eventually—but this time, she came in person, flanked by four other druids. The cell door opened onto a hallway filled with blinding light, and Allura roared as two of the druids grabbed Shiro and dragged him from the cell. He fought, lashing out with more energy than he thought he’d had, but the druids seemed not to notice his thrashing.
The cell door slamming shut cut off Allura’s cries, and Shiro fought to get his feet under him as he was dragged down the corridor. If he could just stand up, if he could just find his balance, then he would be able to fight back in earnest. Maybe he could get away. Maybe he could at least force Haggar to kill him.
But his body refused to cooperate. With Haggar so close, he seemed to hang on the edge of oblivion, only tethered to himself by the pulsing agony where his prosthetic arm joined with his body. The edges of the crack had begun to glow faintly purple, the way they always did just before Haggar took over.
He drifted, and by the time he returned to himself he was strapped to a table in one of Haggar’s labs, his right arm spilling bits of ruined mechanics across the table. Pain twinged up his arm as pieces were torn out and replaced, the new connections somehow even more painful than the old rot being cut away.
Shiro struggled weakly, his energy all but sapped, his mind already filling with a deep, choking fog. Haggar’s eyes swam through his vision, bright and cruel.
“Sleep now, my Champion. It will all be over soon.”
Shiro closed his eyes and found himself in empty space. He didn’t think he’d physically changed location, or at least he wasn’t aware of having a physical body wherever this was. He wasn’t standing on a solid surface, nor was he floating. He simply… was. A weary mind in an endless void.
This is new.
He thought he spoke the words aloud, but with no mouth to speak and no ears to hear if he’d made a sound, it was difficult to tell. Still… he almost felt as if another voice had spoken at the same time, a tickle at a corner of his awareness that seemed to say, Here again?
Slowly, the darkness receded, like a sunrise in timelapse. He didn't open his eyes; it was more like the world resolved around him. One minute he was nowhere, and then he was in a hangar. He tried to look around, but his head refused to cooperate—he had a head again, or so he thought, but it no longer listened to his commands.
Haggar.
Dread seeped into Shiro’s veins. As if it weren’t bad enough knowing the witch had control of him. Was she going to force him to watch as she tore the rest of his team apart?
What he could see of the hangar was brightly lit, a few deep shadows clinging to the upper corners of the space. There were no ships, unless they sat behind him; in fact the hangar seemed deserted. There weren’t even any mechanics around, or guards to watch him for signs of resistance.
Then again, he didn’t think he could have broken Haggar's control, however hard he tried. He was aware of his body, distantly, and of the ground beneath his feet. But whenever he reached out for a hand, or an eye, or any piece of him, there seemed to be a wall standing between him and his body. It was locked down, and Shiro didn’t have the key.
A door opened, and Shiro’s heart plummeted as Zarkon strode in, dressed in his blood-red armor, a slate gray cape eddying around his legs. His eyes—violet eyes, eyes the color of corrupted Quintessence—stared directly into Shiro’s.
“Are you ready to surrender yet?” Zarkon’s voice sent a chill through Shiro. He’d seen the man only twice: once somewhere in the fog of disjointed memories from the day of his capture and once on the day he’d lost his arm, when Zarkon had ordered Shiro to kill an Altean child.
Was all this just more punishment for that moment of defiance?
Shiro kept his mouth shut, refusing to dignify Zarkon’s question with a response.
A slight frown was the only reaction Zarkon gave. “You cannot resist me forever. A weapon is only as strong as the hand that wields it, and I am far stronger than you realize. I will not be stopped by your foolish pride.”
He spat the last word, and Shiro growled—a low, rumbling sound deep in his chest, a sound of anger and helplessness. Hatred simmered in his gut, hatred for who Zarkon was, who he had become. He hadn’t always been a monster like this. Once, he’d been a great man. A leader.
Now look at him.
Zarkon’s eye twitched, and he raised his hand, the black bayard glowing with violet light. It did not assume the shape of a weapon—not yet—but Shiro felt it tug at him, as if it had reached inside him and latched onto his heart.
“You are mine,” Zarkon growled. “You will always be mine. Or have you forgotten?”
The bayard pulsed white, and Shiro’s vision changed. He looked out over a planet he didn’t recognize—yet somehow he knew it was the Galra homeworld. It looked broken. Shattered. A massive crater had been carved out of the planet’s surface, nearly an entire hemisphere ripped away. A number of natural satellites ringed the planet—none of them large enough to be called a moon. Most likely it was rubble left over from the collision that had damaged the planet.
The wound cut to the planet’s very core, where Shiro could see something flickering like lightning inside a cloud. A crystal, he realized. A massive crystal—more opaque than a Balmera crystal, with coloring like an amethyst—lay at the core of the world. It was a raw crystal, lumpy and dull except where some great force had shattered it, exposing a few smooth faces to the void of space.
Anger swirled within Shiro, and it took him some time to realize that anger was not his own.
“Look at what has become of us,” Zarkon whispered. He sounded younger than the Zarkon Shiro knew. An image flashed through Shiro’s mind—Zarkon as a young man, without the scar down his face, with yellow eyes instead of violet. “Is it any wonder they rail against the Alliance?”
Shiro rumbled discontentedly—except it wasn’t Shiro. It was his mind, and his voice, but it was not his will.
At Zarkon’s urging, the Black Lion turned and descended toward what remained of the Galra homeworld.
The scene shifted, spinning around him as Shiro tried to regain his bearing. The Black Lion. These were the Black Lion’s memories. He looked through her eyes, felt the things she felt, as though--
His vision cleared, and he stared down at a much younger Zarkon. He was shorter, more slender, and he seemed to be in awe of the lion towering over him. Shiro tried not to think how much this younger man looked like Keith. He had a different face, but the same eagerness traced the lines of his body; the same determination burned behind his eyes.
There were other people ranged around Zarkon, four of them, all dressed in paladin armor. Shiro glanced from one to the next, some corner of his mind, or Black’s, supplying names.
The green paladin, slender and furred, his tail lashing behind him in anxious anticipation, his eyes fond whenever they fell on Zarkon. Sa. They were similar in age, Sa only recently chosen by his own lion, and they’d become close friends during these last weeks of training. Already, Sa would follow Zarkon into a Destroyer’s mouth.
The yellow paladin, big and burly, her eyes proud. Rukka. She’d helped train Zarkon, and some part of her had thought perhaps he might be chosen as her successor. He’d gravitated more toward Black from the very start, of course, but he still often sought out the Galra Paladin—a legend to him growing up, and a mentor here on the Castle of Lions.
The red paladin, tall and regal, her hands clasped behind her back. Keturah. The Black Lion remembered her wild youth, but time had tempered her, turned her into a cunning strategist and a shrewd diplomat. She had that subtlety so common among Altean nobility, but her eyes shone with deepest respect. She saw Zarkon’s potential, perhaps better than anyone else.
The blue paladin, all but bouncing on her toes as she waited for the Black Lion to accept Zarkon as her new paladin. Mother.
Wait.
Mother?
All at once, Shiro was aware of another presence in his mind—and she of him. The Black Lion rumbled, unsettled by the disturbance, but Shiro and Allura were too busy searching each other for new hurts. Shiro found none. Allura's mind was taken up with something called the Heart of the Black Lion, a non-space very much like the void they’d woken up in after Haggar regained control.
You were lost, the Black Lion said. I called you to me.
Called? Shiro wondered.
It is safer.
There was no time to talk more. Zarkon was still assaulting the Black Lion with memories. Shiro could make little sense of them; they seemed to skip forward and back in time without pattern. Battles, training, negotiations. Many of them were happy memories, and Shiro couldn’t help feeling a little untethered as he realized that of the three minds watching these memories, he was the only one for whom the idea of a kind, smiling Zarkon was a contradiction.
Allura and the Black Lion may have hated Zarkon, but they’d both loved him, once.
The more Shiro saw, the more a pattern emerged. Zarkon was too well-respected—by his lion as well as by the other paladins—for them to disagree with him. In the rare case that someone did voice a concern with one of his plans, he swayed them quickly. He didn’t use threats or intimidation, but neither did he actually acknowledge their concerns. He was charismatic and well-loved, and all it took was a simple joke or a gentle nudge to trust me, and the opposition fell away.
Except when it was Black who disagreed. Then Zarkon’s charm was gone, his silver tongue replaced with an iron fist as he simply thrust his bayard into the lion's control panel and forced her to obey his orders.
The scene changed again. They stood now inside the Black Lion’s cockpit, Zarkon seated at the controls. Black sat on a rocky hill overlooking a city that neither Shiro nor Allura recognized.
The Galra capital, Black supplied. Shiro felt Allura’s shock.
“You lied to me, Alfor,” Zarkon spat. He had a comms channel open on his viewscreen, and a weary King Alfor looked back at him, unblinking.
“I didn’t lie,” he said calmly. “I simply didn't see the need to brief you on every matter to cross my desk, especially as it had nothing to do with Voltron.”
Zarkon’s hands clenched around the armrests of his chair. “They are my people, Alfor. Whether or not it was relevant to Voltron, it was relevant to me.”
“You are a paladin now. The black paladin. Your duty is to something much larger than the planet on which you were born. You must learn to let go.”
“Let go?” Zarkon asked, his voice a dangerous rumble in the back of his throat. “Let go? The way you have learned to let go, Alfor? The way you have learned not to meddle in the business of peoples and planets who neither need nor want your ‘guiding hand?'”
Venom dripped from Zarkon’s words, and something dark flickered across Alfor’s face in response. He smoothed it out, straightening his back. The conversation had seemed, at first, a simple rift between two friends. Now it seemed a king addressing his subject.
“It’s been five weeks, Zarkon. You’ve had more than enough time to stabilize the situation. It’s time you return to the castle. I’ll deal with whatever mess you leave behind.”
Anger and disgust rolled off Zarkon in waves, strong enough to fill the cockpit. Shiro felt something in him stir in response to the emotions, an automatic sympathy that made him feel sick. It took a moment to realize it wasn’t his own emotions betraying him, but Black’s. She shrank back from him now, shame filling her.
I don’t understand, Allura said before Shiro could figure out how to comfort their lion.
What do you mean?
This conversation shouldn’t have happened. They said Zarkon has been here for five weeks, but... Father told us Zarkon cut contact just a few days after arriving on the Galra homeworld. Father said he'd tried to reach out to Zarkon to find out what had happened, but he refused to answer the transmissions.
He had lied.
Neither of them thought the words, but the knowledge floated in the bond, intangible and unignorable. Alfor had lied about being in contact with Zarkon in the days leading up to the war. And if he had lied about that, what else might he have lied about?
The view of the Galra capital blurred, another scene already forming in its wake. Fuming, Shiro forced it away. He was done playing this game. He was done letting Zarkon torment Black and Allura with old wounds. The memory wavered, Zarkon trying to reinforce the illusion, but then Allura was pushing together with Shiro, and by the time the Black Lion joined their efforts (weakly, uncertainly), Zarkon had already relented.
They returned to the hangar, and Shiro understood now: he was inside the Black Lion, staring out through her eyes as Zarkon tried to force his way in. He couldn’t move because the Black Lion had shut herself down. Her shield was up, but none of her other systems were active. She was afraid Zarkon would find some way to use her otherwise.
“Have it your way,” Zarkon spat, raising his hand in a curt gesture. The door behind him opened once more, and two figures appeared there.
Shiro wanted to be sick.
“If you refuse to accept me," Zarkon said, "then I’ll just use these children you’ve attached yourself to in my stead.”
Shiro and Allura’s horror mingled into one overpowering malaise as they watched themselves walk forward, eyes glowing with Haggar’s influence. They wore Galra uniforms, silver and black, with red sigils on the breastplates. It was the same uniform Shiro had worn for three months while he played the role of loyal soldier, and the sight of it now, with the memory of Keith and Matt's still forms so fresh, made him want to scream.
“Pathetic,” Zarkon said. “Look at you—you know no one else is a match for me. You know you have weakened yourself in rejecting me. You need two pilots just to come close to what we had ten thousand years ago. Why? What lies did Alfor tell you?”
The Black Lion rumbled her defiance, but Shiro felt the current of uncertainty beneath the surface of her anger. Her whole being was bent upon the approaching figures—Shiro and Allura still, even if they’d been turned into puppets.
I cannot keep them out.
Fear jolted through Shiro as his body bowed to Zarkon, then approached Black’s particle barrier. What do you mean? Why not?
They are you, Black said, her voice mournful. If I reject you, I must reject all of you.
Shiro and Allura would be cast out. Shiro accepted that truth, let it wash over him, then released it.
Do it, Allura said. Sever our bond. Do not let us use you in Zarkon’s service.
I cannot.
You have to, said Shiro. Please. You’re more important than us.
I cannot, the Black Lion repeated. Without you, I cannot.
Shiro’s heart clenched as he saw what Black was trying to tell him. Zarkon had never surrendered his bond with the Black Lion. She had rejected him, but Zarkon had never let her refusal stop him in the past. She was afraid—afraid that Zarkon still had the strength to control her, as Haggar now controlled Shiro and Allura.
You called us here. Allura’s presence thrummed with grief, and Shiro felt her emotions shake him. You called us here for your sake. To help you resist.
It is safer, Black said. With you, it is safer. I am safer.
Shiro’s heart ached, but his resolve firmed, as did Allura's. They were scared—all three of them lost and powerless against forces that would use them to ravage and destroy. But they were not alone. They were united, three minds as one. Maybe they couldn’t keep Zarkon and Haggar out entirely, but they could fight. They were stronger together.
Shiro and Allura’s bodies touched their hands to the Black Lion’s shield, and it shattered. As it did, Allura’s mind raced toward the pedestals standing behind the pilot's seat, desperation flooding the bond. Shiro caught a fleeting glimpse of a yellow-eyed Allura standing between those pedestals, forcing the other lions to her. Claiming Voltron.
The Black Lion roared, and the pedestals retracted into the floor, panels sealing shut over them just as Shiro and Allura’s bodies reached the top of the ramp.
But Shiro didn’t have time to be relieved that one weapon, at least, would be kept out of Haggar’s hands. Allura’s body stilled at the spot where the pedestals should have been. Shiro’s curled his lip and sat down at the controls. He reached out, or Haggar reached out through him, and tugged at the part of the bond that let Shiro and Allura co-pilot their lion. Black resisted, holding the pedestals back, refusing to yield.
Power surged through her. Pain that would have made Shiro cry out if he’d still had a body. It felt like someone had reached their hand into his chest, sunk claws into his lungs, and begun to pull.
(A world lay below her, quiet and unsuspecting.)
No. The vice tightened. Shiro tried to twist away from it, but he was bound too closely to the lion now. There was no escape.
(A hand on her controls, on their bond.)
No. Not for this. The pedestals tried to rise, and the Black Lion seized them in her mind, dragging them back down, fighting the invader’s grip on her soul.
(A sudden, blinding pain. A command she could not refuse. Below her, the planet burned, and she roared in guilt and grief for what she had done.)
The Black Lion roared, but inside she was sobbing, the jagged edges of her past rubbing her raw. Shiro was swept up in that pain, his own wounds crying out in sympathy. They were both of them broken, used. Both of them weapons wielded against their will, unleashed on innocent people without the means to fight back.
Shiro sank deeper into Black’s mind, only dimly aware of Allura curling around them, a shroud of pain and sorrow. Twin pedestals rose from the floor and came to rest against Allura’s waiting hands.
I’m sorry. The words came from everywhere, and from nowhere. They might have been Shiro’s. They might have been Allura’s. They might have been Black’s. Shiro thought, perhaps, it was all three of them at once.
I’m sorry I couldn’t stop this.
Keith found Lance on the bridge, eyes red and puffy as he stared, unblinking, at the holoscreen projected above his station. It was the middle of the night, so the bridge lights were dimmed, only the Balmera crystal overhead giving off any light, and the glow of Lance’s screen seemed harsh in comparison.
Keith stopped just inside the door, shuffling his feet. Something about this felt like an intrusion—maybe the way Lance was sniffling, maybe the fact that he had his feet pulled up onto his seat, one arm wrapped around them as the other tapped at the screen.
He groaned suddenly, banging his forehead against his knee. “Goddammit.”
Glancing once more over his shoulder and contemplating a quiet retreat (No, Coran had sent him up here for a reason), Keith cleared his throat.
Lance jumped, nearly falling out of his seat as he twisted around to see who it was. At the sight of Keith, still dressed only in his black undersuit, Lance froze, and Keith felt a fresh pang at the tear tracks and dark circles framing Lance’s eyes.
“Keith?” Lance whispered. Before Keith could figure out how to answer, Lance was on his feet, leaping over the back of his chair to save the half a second it would have taken to go around. He charged forward, throwing himself at Keith, his arms squeezing so tight around Keith’s chest he thought he might pass out from lack of oxygen.
The hug lasted only an instant, though, not even long enough for Keith to grow uncomfortable at the contact, and then Lance was pulling back, tired eyes searching Keith’s face.
“Coran said you were worried,” Keith said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Figured I should let you know I’m okay, especially since it sounds like you’re the whole reason I’m alive.”
Lance waved his hands, a wild gesture, and too big for the narrow space between them. Keith leaned away, but didn’t move his feet; Lance still seemed on the verge of collapse, and Keith wanted to stay close in case he did finally hit a wall.
“I didn’t really do anything,” Lance said. “It was Ryner who figured out how to get you fixed up, and Coran modified the cryopod to do it. All I did was sit there.”
Keith frowned, hearing a note of… something beneath Lance’s cheery demeanor. Keith wished he was better at reading people, but figuring out what others were thinking had always been something of an enigma for him, and he still hadn’t really learned how to speak Lance’s language. Not the way he he spoke Shiro's language, or Matt's.
Thinking of them sent a pang through him, and he wilted. Lance reached out for him, blue eyes sharp, and Keith looked away. His eyes fell on Lance’s holoscreen, and he suddenly realized what it was Lance had been working on.
“Eshet?”
Lance made a confused noise, then turned and followed Keith’s gaze. “Oh. Yeah...” He shrugged, rubbing his hands along his thighs, fingers fiddling with the indicator lights where his bayard was stored like he wanted to summon it. “Did you know the castle tracks our performance on the training deck?”
“It does?”
Lance nodded. “Gets some data from our armor when we’re out on missions, too, but mostly it’s the gladiator and stuff.” He turned, waving for Keith to follow him, and sat cross-legged in his chair. “Anyway, the eshet program has profiles for all of us, in case someone wants to run battle simulations for the team.”
Keith scanned the screen, his heart sinking. He must have caught Lance in the middle of a simulation, as the pieces were scattered around the field: all nine paladins, seven of them up against Shiro and Allura. Matt and Pidge led the charge against Allura, Keith and Shay against Shiro, with Ryner, Lance, and Hunk providing backup.
Allura’s marker had turned gray, a small indicator above her head proclaiming a fatal wound.
Keith felt sick.
“It’s… not looking great,” Lance said slowly. He wouldn’t look at Keith, just toyed with a thread he kept wrapping around his fingers. It looked like he'd pulled it off the frayed cuff of his jacket. “I’ve tried a hundred different approaches, but I don’t know how we’re going to pull this off. If we hold back, Shiro and Allura are going to slaughter us. If we hit hard and fast, it’s going to be really hard to incapacitate them without just killing them. Ideally, we should take them both out at once, then book it out of there—because once Haggar realizes we have the upper hand, she’s going to send in reinforcements—if she doesn’t do that from the start.”
He sighed, closing out of the eshet program and slumping in his seat.
“Honestly, I can only think of two ways to do this.”
Keith frowned, sitting down on the arm of Lance’s chair. “Okay. What are they?”
“Well, we could kill Haggar,” Lance said. “I figure that’s got to break her control over them.”
“Sure,” Keith said. “Except it’s Haggar. We’d have a tough time beating her with Shiro and Allura on our side.” Lance’s grimace said he thought the same. When he didn’t immediately offer up his other idea, Keith began to grow antsy. “So… what’s the other plan?”
Lance was silent for a long moment, his face dark, his fingers plucking at the thread like he was trying to pry it apart. Taking a deep breath, he stood, then turned to face Keith. “I need you to teach me how to use a sword.”
It was easy to lose yourself in the code.
Pidge sat inside the Green Lion, surrounded by a comforting rumble, distantly aware of Ryner outside working on Green’s shield. The part of Green that brushed up against Pidge’s mind said Ryner was tuning the shield to defend against another lion’s lasers.
But that drifted too close to things Pidge didn’t want to think about. The code was bad enough—an avalanche of fragmented commands hiding the one Pidge needed. They’d stumbled upon something that looked like a security program an hour or so ago, and they’d switched their focus to that while Green ran through the rest of the code. A semi-sentient lion ship might notice something Pidge had overlooked, they figured, and they might as well see whether or not hacking Shiro’s arm was even going to be a possibility.
They wondered what time it was. Ryner hadn’t been here at first; Pidge thought she might have started on Yellow so she could bounce ideas off Hunk, and only progressed to Green once they were finished.
Pidge probably should have taken a break by now. Should have gone to sleep. It seemed they’d been up for two or three days straight—and the fact that they couldn’t quite convince themself that was an exaggeration only made it all worse. When you couldn’t even remember how long you’d been awake, it was time to step away.
Except every time they tried to, they locked up. If it wasn’t Shiro’s look of horror when he’d woken up right at the end, it was Matt’s screams that stopped them. Or Allura, looking like a stranger as she swung her staff at Pidge’s head. (They knew full well that blow would have shattered their helmet—and probably their skull—if Hunk hadn’t jumped in front of them. Allura’s strength was nothing to scoff at.)
So they were still here, running an attack against Haggar’s security and letting Green keep them appraised of Ryner’s progress down below.
When Ryner wrapped up her work and headed for the door, Pidge tensed. There was no reason for it, no reason to feel the silence suddenly wrap itself around their throat, but they felt Ryner’s absence like a wound, and the computer screen in front of them went out of focus. They didn't want to be alone.
It was stupid, this was stupid, they were stupid, and everyone was going to die because Pidge wasn’t smart enough to fix this.
Green was roaring, a vibration in the air that rattled Pidge’s head but didn’t reach their ears. They bit at the loose pieces of skin where their lips were chapping, wincing as the skin pulled free and began to bleed, the sharp taste curdling their stomach.
Someone touched their shoulder.
Pidge jumped, their mind on overdrive, everything around them too bright and too close. The hand pulled back, and Ryner knelt beside them, concern radiating through the bond. Green echoed it, and Pidge shrank further down. They didn’t want anyone to worry about them. They didn’t want to be like this. To be weak. To be stupid.
Dad would have been able to figure this out.
It had been so long since they’d thought of him—the last missing member of the Kerberos crew. All their digging had turned up no hint to where he’d been sent when he was separated from Matt and Shiro. No sign to say he was even still alive.
Pidge wished he were here now.
“Pidge,” Ryner said. “Pidge, can you tell me what’s wrong?”
It was too much. All of it. The war, and their dad’s disappearance, and Matt’s injuries, and Shiro and Allura being taken. Pidge wanted to make it all right, but it was too big a problem, all the threads tangled together, and they no longer knew where to start.
A sigh. Pidge cringed. They hadn’t meant to disappoint Ryner. They opened their mouth to apologize, but the only sound that made it out was a shuddering, hiccuping breath that didn’t do anyone any good.
Ryner stood, and for an instant Pidge thought she was leaving again—but she was only crossing the cockpit to sit in the pilot's seat. Usually that was where Pidge sat, but Ryner’s seat had most of the computers, and that was where Pidge had needed to go to upload the code to Green. As soon as Ryner sat down, Pidge felt the change. She’d reached out to the Green Lion, who had responded at once, their minds intertwining like vines of creeping ivy. The line between the two of them blurred, then smoothed over, and they reached out toward Pidge—carefully, slowly. An invitation, not an intrusion.
“Would this be easier?” Ryner asked.
With anyone else, the answer would have been no. With anyone else—except, perhaps, Matt—Pidge would have shied away. They liked their privacy, and they hated the mind-meld with a passion that hadn’t faded over the months they’d been a paladin. They’d accepted it as a necessary evil, accepted that it helped the others prepare to form Voltron (though to Pidge, Voltron and the mind-meld were nothing alike). But they always had to take time to prepare themself for a mind-meld session.
They were not prepared now.
But this was Green, and this was Ryner, and the two of them already knew Pidge better than most of the others. They’d shared a mind before, more intimately than they shared a mind with the other paladins as part of Voltron. This was safe. This was familiar.
Cautiously, Pidge reached out toward the bond, letting themself be wrapped up in Ryner’s mind. She was warm and comforting, sympathetic but not overbearing, like one of their dad’s hugs. A question hovered just beyond words, a suggestion Pidge could choose to ignore.
I should be able to do this, Pidge thought, knowing Ryner would hear the words and see everything else that was tangled around them. The code, the arm, the search for their dad, and a dozen other projects that had been left unfinished as more urgent business arose.
Pidge was supposed to fix problems, not abandon them.
Some problems don’t have a solution, Ryner told them. Sometimes you just need to find a new approach.
That’s what I’ve been trying to do, Pidge protested. All their work on the code spilled out of them. Hundreds of hours of staring at the computer, analyzing the code line by line, typing up analyses as they tried to untangle the secrets that just didn’t want to give themselves up.
Wrong.
The Green Lion’s voice startled Pidge’s mind into silence for all of two seconds before the shame began to creep back in.
Problem is wrong, Green said before Pidge had time to travel far down that path. They frowned, glancing over at Ryner. She seemed just as confused as Pidge, which was a comfort. How could the problem be wrong?
The Green Lion rumbled, something that felt like a huff, even if it didn’t sound like one. Words had never been easy for her, Pidge knew; she spoke through actions, and through code, and through something that had always somehow reminded Pidge of smells. She presented a challenge, and Pidge solved it. In that way, they came to understand each other.
That was not something either of them could do now, though, and it frustrated Green as much as it did Pidge. Ryner soothed them both, her mind already tugging at the knot of impressionistic signals Green had provided with her statement.
The problem is wrong… Ryner began, and Pidge smelled burning dust—a computer overworking itself. Strings of code flashed before their eyes. The code. The code is wrong.
Pidge frowned, and the air filled with the scent of lightning, that ozone crackle that reminded Pidge of the LOKI… and of Haggar. Realization thudded through them, stealing the breath from their lungs. The magic, they said. The override is in the magic.
Problem is wrong, Green said by way of affirmation. No solution.
If not for the bond and the peace it brought, Pidge thought they might have burst into tears. They’d thrown themself into this code, desperate to find the answer. Certain there was an answer to find. Lance was counting on them to bring Shiro back. Are you sure? they asked. There could be--
No solution. Can paladin hack lion bond? Can paladin make not-paladin?
Pidge smelled Green’s disdain, but they pursed their lips. I’ve hacked the Red Lion before. Back when Keith was still trying to hide his face. I hacked his cameras.
Green rumbled at the reminder, and Pidge felt Ryner’s surprise. There were very few things on which Pidge and Green disagreed—but the fact that Pidge had hacked another lion remained their biggest sticking point.
Hacked lion. Not lion bond.
Wait. Ryner’s mind moved quicker, her unease bleeding across to Pidge. You can’t hack a paladin’s bond with their lion—not with computers, not with magic. It’s impossible. That’s what you’re saying, right?
Impossible, the Green Lion confirmed. Pidge smelled metal and blood and ozone, and they began to see how it all fit together. Haggar hadn't simply flipped a switch in Shiro to take him over; she'd forged a bond with him, like a corrupted version of the paladin bond. The arm tied him to her somehow, but the bond itself was something that couldn't be severed with a bit of clever coding.
Right, said Ryner. But then... how did Haggar get at Allura and the Black Lion? They don't have Shiro's cybernetic to link them to Haggar.
Pidge frowned. How had Haggar taken them? Because they were connected. But…
Oh.
Allura had established that connection. Haggar couldn’t establish those connections at a whim, but she could hitch a ride on ones that already existed.
Ryner, Pidge thought. I think Hunk was right about Shiro and Allura's telepathy. I think Haggar's going to use it against us.
A flash of horror from Ryner, quickly displaced by a firm resolve. Then we're just going to have to figure out a way to counter it.
Hunk took half of his last Ativan before heading up to meet Shay on the training deck.
Things had been going fine (fine enough) while he was working on Yellow with Ryner. Yellow’s presence was calming, and Ryner was kind of turning into the team mom, and between the two of them they’d managed to scale Hunk’s anxiety back from end of the world to please let this just be a bad dream.
Figuring out ways to improve the lions’ defenses helped, too. That was a clear problem with a well-defined solution. He could focus on the work instead of on all his other worries, and for a couple hours he felt something approaching calm.
That was over now, of course. Yellow was ready for battle, or at least as ready as they could make her under the circumstances. Ryner was off to mod Green, but she’d told Hunk to check in with Shay and meet her at the Blue Lion in a couple of hours.
He’d lingered with Yellow until Ryner was gone, knowing he was going to break down as soon as he stepped away. Even ready for the wave of anxiety, though, it was too much. His heartbeat sped up, his chest grew tight with worry. He kept seeing Allura, swinging for Pidge’s head with no care in the world that she could kill them.
Pidge could have died. Shay could have died. Keith and Matt almost did die.
Why was this happening? Why couldn’t Hunk just keep his friends safe?
Underlying the anxiety was guilt, guilt so deep and dark it hurt to look at it too closely—so Hunk buried it deeper and all but ran to the training deck. He needed another problem to solve. He needed another task. Sparring with Shay might be exactly what he needed.
He started to feel the Ativan as he neared the training deck, and he could tell it was only a half dose. He still felt like his skin didn’t fit right, like the world had tilted on its axis. He could breathe, though he was panting far sooner than he should have been after he broke into a jog, his heartbeat a little quicker than normal. He almost wished he’d taken the whole pill, except that he knew he was going to need something when they finally went after Shiro and Allura again. The last run had been awful, and this time there would be no room for the team to be anything less than their very best.
Maybe he shouldn’t have taken anything, then. This—this half-calm, a kind of suspended panic attack—didn’t do him any good. (Except he knew it was better than it could have been, and he honestly wasn’t sure he could have made himself leave the Yellow Lion without something to dull the knife-edge of anxiety trying to cut him in two.)
Shay was still on the training deck when he arrived, which surprised Hunk more than it should have. It was late, and Shay had every reason to have called it a night. As hard as they’d all been pushing themselves, they would need at least a few hours of sleep before they launched another rescue attempt.
But there Shay was, huddled behind her shield as the gladiator approached. Hunk stopped just inside the door to watch. When they’d parted ways, she’d assured him she would be fine. Hunk had to admit he’d been skeptical, since she’d only done basic self-defense training with Allura before this. Shay wasn’t a soldier—she’d always maintained that, and Hunk had defended her decision not to face the gladiator every step of the way.
Well, she was facing it now. But she wasn’t fighting. Hunk watched as the Gladiator hammered at Shay’s shield with its blade—a blade, not a staff, which meant this was at least a level five. Why was she up against a level five? It had only been a few hours!
Shay flinched as the sword struck her shield, but she didn’t yield. All she did was brace her shoulder against the back of the shield and spread her feet a little wider, tensing in the instant before the gladiator struck again, a string of slashes that barely scratched the surface of the shield.
Shay squeezed her eyes shut, turning her face away from the next attack, so she didn’t see the gladiator shift to come at her from another angle.
Hunk’s heart thundered in his ears, and he reached instinctively for his bayard, only to meet resistance as he remembered it was in Shay’s hands. She gave a start, opening her eyes to gape at the shield, then noticed the gladiator.
“End training sequence!” Hunk cried as Shay stumbled back, her eyes open wide with fear.
The gladiator froze, its sword vanishing, but Shay continued to backpedal, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. She tripped over her own feet and went down, bayard reverting to its inactive form and skidding away.
“Shay!”
Hunk raced toward her, feeling as though he hadn’t taken an Ativan at all. He slid the last few feet on his knees, reaching out to help her up.
Shay screamed as his hands touched her, flailing her limbs as she propelled herself back away from Hunk. She only stopped when her back hit the wall, and then she went as still as the gladiator, staring at Hunk in horror as she realized where she was and what was happening.
Her face crumpled all at once, tears welling up behind her eyes in the instant before she buried her face in her knees, her hands coming up to press against the side of her head.
“Vex,” she whispered. “Vex! I—I am sorry, Hunk, I am so sorry—I—”
“Shh.” Hunk held up his hands, his heart still pounding, and inched closer to Shay. He didn’t try to touch her again, just circled around until he was sitting beside her, his back against the wall. He left several inches between them, even though what he really wanted to do was hold her until she stopped shaking. He wished she didn’t look so small. “It’s okay, Shay.”
“It is not,” she hissed. He could hear the tears in her wavering voice, but she held her sobs back, only curling more tightly in on herself. “It is not okay.”
Hunk breathed in a gasp, her words too sharp for the kind, steady Shay he knew. “What happened?” he asked. “Are you hurt?”
One of Shay’s hands moved as though she meant to grab at her shoulder. Hunk couldn’t see any wounds there, but he’d faced a level five gladiator. They were brutal, and Hunk didn't like to face them without Shiro or Allura as backup. The one time he'd tried to solo it, he'd ended the match with cracked ribs and a dislocated shoulder—and he’d only fought for a few minutes. How long had this match gone on before Hunk showed up?
“I am unharmed.” Shay’s voice dared him to argue, but he wasn’t here for a fight, so he held up his hands in surrender. This seemed to catch Shay off guard, and she peered up at him between her fingers, eyes wet. “I am.”
“I believe you,” Hunk lied. Wounds could wait. There was something bigger going on here, and Hunk couldn’t just stand aside while Shay fell apart on the training room floor. “What level was that gladiator at?”
Shay turned her head aside. “I must prepare myself to face Shiro,” she said, as if that was an answer.
Well, it was, in a sense. Hunk glanced at the robot and shuddered. “Sorry,” he said. “I should have come up here first.”
“You had your own duty,” Shay said, her voice growing sharp on the last word. Seeming to catch herself, she turned her face back into her knees and curled her arms around her head protectively. “The Yellow Lion should not have chosen me.”
“What?” Hunk yelped. “Shay, what are you talking about? You’re an amazing paladin! You and Yellow are, like, scary close—I’ll never be able to fly her like you do. Plus you’re a healer—and look at your shield! You did more than any of us in that last fight. You broke Haggar’s control over Shiro.”
“That is the problem, Hunk.”
Hunk had been prepared to continue listing Shay’s accomplishments indefinitely (Altea knew there were a million of them), but her words stopped him—not because of their force, but because they came as a whisper on the verge of cracking.
He leaned toward her, catching himself just before he brushed up against her, and bit his lip. “You’re upset because you freed Shiro, and he still got taken again?” Hunk asked. “That was our fault, not yours.” Not that he could blame her for feeling that way. After all, Hunk was much the same. He’d figured out the secret of how Haggar was tracking Shiro—at least, he thought he had. He’d made Shiro think he was safe, and then...
“No,” Shay said, and Hunk set aside his own issues for now. “I… I know now I have the ability to free Shiro. It is just that… I think I lack the courage.”
Hunk shook his head. “Lack the courage? Shay, you stood up to Shiro on your own, which is more than the rest of us managed. How can you say you lack the courage?”
Shay’s shoulders rose. “I stood because it was that or leave Matt to die. I had no time to be afraid.” She looked up at the deactivated gladiator, her face pulled tight with the tears she didn’t want to shed. “In this… In this, I have no such reason. You ask me to be a soldier, but… I am not.”
“Shay…” Hunk bit down on a curse, stretching out a hand toward her—slowly, so he could see if she didn’t want to be touched. She said nothing, though, and relaxed a little as he rubbed her arm. “Shay, I’m sorry. I didn’t think—Lance was just—”
“I know.” Shay sighed, wrapping her arms around her knees. “We all wish to save Shiro and Allura, and I am the best chance we have. This is something I must do… But I cannot.”
Hunk thought of the Shay he’d seen in the last battle, standing against Shiro like an honest-to-god hero. She was so much more than she gave herself credit for; a better paladin than any of them, as far as Hunk was concerned. She was kind and brave and loyal. She saved lives, not because she was a paladin but simply because she was Shay, and she couldn’t stand to see anyone suffer.
But now wasn’t the time to tell Shay what she could be. Shifting his hand to Shay’s back, Hunk said, “You don’t have to do this.”
Shay looked up at him, surprised. “But… Shiro’s arm…”
“Is tough,” Hunk said. “And the form your bayard took is perfect for this fight—but there’s no reason you have to be the one to use it. I can get it to take on a bunch of different forms, and Matt can switch between his gun and his sword. Heck, Lance’s bayard gave him a grenade launcher when he really needed it.” He paused, focusing on the bayard laying on the ground across the room until it returned to storage in his armor and then appeared in his hand. “How about instead of trying to teach you to fight, we teach me to summon a shield like yours?”
He turned to see what Shay thought of the idea, only to find himself being engulfed in her arms. She shook with the sobs she’d been fighting against all this time, her face pressed against the curve of his neck. “I am sorry,” she whispered. “I am so sorry.”
“Hey. Hey.” He returned her hug, scowling at the far wall as he held her. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for.”
“But I do,” she said. “I do not want to fight.”
Hunk squeezed her tighter. “I know. You want to end the violence, not perpetuate it. That’s one of the things I love about you.”
For a moment, she seemed to stop breathing, and Hunk suddenly realized what he’d said. He sat, frozen, refusing to take it back, until Shay relaxed.
“Thank you, Hunk,” she said. “But I think, this time, I am wrong. Sometimes it is necessary to fight. Sometimes standing aside is, itself, a wrong.” Taking a deep breath, she pulled away from him, plucking the bayard from his loose grip. It flashed, taking on the form of a shield. “Will you help me?”
Hunk looked up at her, tears on her face, hand shaking as it held the shield—but standing firm. He didn’t think he’d ever seen someone so beautiful before.
He let her pull him to his feet, smiling proudly. “Of course I’ll help,” he said. “I’m always here for you, Shay, whatever you need.”
She leaned forward as he regained his balance, pressing her nose and forehead against his. Hunk inhaled on instinct, tears following soon after. The gesture reminded him of a honi—of home. Of the islands. Of his mothers running to greet him when he came home on break from the Garrison, of his uncle's rare visits that came with a burst of excitement and color and this one moment of stillness. The honi was a greeting, a kiss, a gesture of affection, an exchange of breath and of self. It was so much more than Hunk knew how to say, so much more than anything he’d felt since leaving home, and it left him breathless.
From the flushed heat of Shay’s skin against his, and the warm light in her eyes as she pulled back, he knew it meant just as much to her.
“You are here,” she whispered, her eyes shining with fresh tears. “You are always here when I need you. That is one of the things I love about you.”
Lance cried out as Keith’s attack tore the sword out of his hands—again. He stumbled back, breathing hard, and bit down on the urge to swear. Swearing hadn’t gotten him anywhere so far, and breathing was far more important.
Still, he growled as he went to retrieve his bayard. They were in one of the smaller training rooms, as Hunk and Shay were sparring in the main room. Or had been, when Keith and Lance had started. It had been close to two hours now—the first forty-five minutes of which had been spent just trying to make Lance’s bayard turn into a sword. And stay that way past the first attack.
Keith backed off, watching Lance warily. He was a little short of breath by now, which was better than the first hour, when he’d knocked Lance around without a care in the world.
“You’re getting better?” Keith said, as if he’d read Lance’s mind.
Lance snorted. “Is that a question, or a lie?”
Keith pursed his lips. “You are. You don’t seriously expect to learn the sword in one night, do you?”
“I don’t know, Keith, would you rather--” Lance faltered, cursing. Even just thinking about it—the one shot they had, the one plan he could think of that didn’t wind up with anyone dead—made him sick. A glance at Keith told him the red paladin was no better off. Lance straightened, wrestling his bayard into the sabre form it had finally adopted for him. “Just shut up and come at me again.”
Keith sighed, but fell back into stance. Lance followed suit a little less gracefully, readying himself for another beating. He was going to need a stay in the cryopods at this rate.
The door hissed opened before they could begin, and Keith straightened so fast Lance was afraid he’d give himself whiplash. Curious, Lance turned, blinking at the sight of not only Coran, but the Altean boy he’d found on Haggar’s ship, who hardly waited until Lance had caught sight of him before dashing forward and throwing his arms around Lance’s waist.
Lance’s fatigue fled him in an instant, and he abandoned his bayard in favor of grabbing onto the boy, struggling to hold them both up as he fought to regain his balance. “Hey!" Lance cried, a smile splitting his face. "You’re awake!”
“Indeed he is,” Coran said, beaming down at the boy. “Lance, meet Wyn. Wyn, Lance and Keith, two of the paladins.” Wyn pulled away from Lance, leaning to one side to peer around him at Keith.
Keith made an uncertain sound. “Should… I go?”
“You’re fine, Red Two,” Coran said, waving a hand.
“Are you from New Altea, too?” Wyn asked.
Keith stared at him, ears twitching. “New Altea? I’ve never been there. But…” He glanced up at Lance, frowning. “I’ve heard my mom might have had something to do with them. Her name was Keena.”
Wyn pursed his lips, then shook his head. “Don’t know her.”
Though he tried to hide his disappointment, Lance saw the slump of Keith’s shoulders at the answer. So did Wyn, if his frown was any indication. He glanced up at Lance, then backed up a few steps. “Coran was showing me around the castle.”
“Starting to, at any rate.” Coran pulled his ticker out of his pocket, shook it, then rubbed at his eyes. “But it’s getting late. You want me to walk you back to your room?”
Wyn shook his head. “I remember where it is.”
Coran narrowed his eyes. “You aren’t going to wander off in search of Maka and that lot, are you?”
“Of course not,” Wyn said, and Lance had seen (and told) enough lies to adults to see the mischief in the way Wyn rose up on his toes, his hands tucked behind his back. That he was smiling at all was enough to cut through the tension that had been plaguing Lance all day. That he apparently was feeling good enough to sneak out to play with the Galra kids brought actual tears to Lance’s eyes.
Coran remained firm for all of five seconds before he relented, shooing Wyn off with an admonition to get some sleep. “Tomorrow’s going to come early!”
Wyn called out a vague answer, and then he was gone. Lance was honestly surprised he kept himself to a walk until he was out of sight.
“He’s okay,” Lance breathed, and sat down hard against the wall. He’d been so scared, after how timid Wyn had been at first. Scared Haggar had done something so terrible to him that he’d never recover. Scared, because every time Lance looked at Wyn he thought of Mateo. “He’s okay.”
“He will be,” Coran said, taking a seat beside him. “He’s a strong one, that boy. Already wants to start going out on missions with you paladins, you know.”
Lance looked up, horrified. “Absolutely not.”
Chuckling, Coran patted his shoulder. “I told him I’d teach him to fly the castle-ship, but he’d have to take up a post on the bridge with me during battle. Should keep him distracted for a little while.”
“I guess that’s better,” Lance muttered. With a sigh, he stretched his sore legs out in front of him. The hour of training was starting to catch up to him, and he was almost ready for bed—except that he still had work to do if he was going to be ready for tomorrow. (It would be tomorrow; they couldn’t wait any longer than that.)
“So… what are you two doing in here?” Coran asked.
Lance glanced up at Keith, who hovered awkwardly nearby, still holding his sword, though he’d at least remembered to power it down while Wyn was here. “Practicing,” Lance said evasively.
Keith, of course, was having none of that. “Lance asked me to teach him swordplay.”
“Swordplay.” Coran’s eyebrows shot up, and he glanced at Lance expectantly. “Whatever would you want that for?”
“We need more melee fighters,” Lance said before Keith could jump in with the truth. The full truth, anyway; Lance wasn’t exactly lying. “Shiro and Allura are half our front line, and now we’re down to Keith—and Matt if he’s better in time, which we can’t count on. We’re going to get crushed if there’s no one to give us room to shoot.”
Coran scratched his chin. “Have you considered an ambush? I don’t see how there’s any need for close-quarters combat at all.”
Lance grimaced. “Yeah, except how are we supposed to take them down without killing them? It takes a lot more than one shot to bust through good quality armor, unless you want me to aim for the face, which I wouldn’t recommend.” He caught his bleak tone and shook himself. “Anyway, that still risks druids swooping in to grab them again. We need to be close.”
“And you’re sure a sword’s your best bet?” Coran asked.
Lance had been expecting more of an argument on the strategic front, so the sudden shift in topic left him momentarily speechless. He glanced at Keith. “I’ve at least got someone to teach me the sword.”
Coran hummed thoughtfully. “And what does your bayard think of that?”
“My… bayard?”
“Yes.” Coran tapped Lance’s leg. “The bayard is tied to your Quintessence, but it’s made from a small piece of the Blue Lion. I wouldn’t go so far as to call it sentient, but if it’s trying to tell you something, it might be a good idea to listen.”
Lance frowned, summoning his bayard. “Well, I mean, it’s kinda fighting me on the sword thing, but what else am I supposed to do? Just try every melee weapon I can think of?”
“Try not thinking of one at all,” Coran suggested. “Visualize the situation you need the weapon for, and see what it gives you.”
Of course. Lance hadn’t asked for a grenade launcher, after all. He’d just wanted something to take out all the Haggar clones at once. He formed an image in his head, all the paladins going up against Shiro and Allura, Lance charging in--
The bayard flashed, and Lance nearly impaled himself on a long, slender shaft. Yelping, he dropped the bayard and dove aside. The butt of the shaft struck the wall behind him, and the weapon rebounded, skittering out across the floor. It was a polearm, easily eight feet long from end to end, the last foot and a half taken up by a single-edged blade.
Lance’s eyes widened at the sight, and he grinned. “Ooh, look at that. A lance for Lance.”
“More of a glaive, I think,” Coran said, looking impressed. “A fine weapon. I have a bit of training with them myself.”
Lance’s smile faltered. “No, I mean… because my name is Lance?”
Coran glanced at him, and then up at Keith, who just shrugged.
“It’s a joke?” Lance said. “Fine, so it’s not my best joke ever, but...”
“Ohhh.” Keith nodded like he’d just figured out the answer to Final Jeopardy. “Your name means lance in Earthian.”
Lance gaped at him, stammering through a few incredulous responses before settling on, “The language is called English. And my name doesn’t mean ‘lance.’ It is Lance!”
“Wait. You’re named after a weapon?” Keith looked him up and down, lips twitching. “Seriously?”
Lance scrambled to his feet, scowling. “Don’t give me that attitude, fuzzbutt. It’s called a nickname. Ever heard of ‘em?”
Keith just laughed.
Offended, Lance turned to Coran for support, but he seemed just as amused as Keith. Lance squawked in protest, and Coran held up his hands.
“All right, all right,” he said. “Names aside, I do know how to fight with most polearms, glaive included. I could show you the basics if you like?”
Lance grumbled for a while longer. In retrospect, it made a certain amount of sense that his name wouldn’t translate with the rest of his words. His sister was still Luz after all; he only called her his little Light when she was being particularly adorable.
Still, he couldn’t help being offended that his entire repertoire of lance puns had just been taken off the table.
“Yeah,” he finally said, drawing out the word as he retrieved his glaive and took his place at the center of the small training room. “That’s probably a good idea.”
Coran pressed a hidden button on the wall—there seemed to be a lot of those in the castle—and a rack of polearms descended from the ceiling. Coran chose one, then sent the rack back up. He turned to Keith. “Don’t feel like you have to stay. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind catching a quick nap?”
“Nah.” Keith put his sword away, then went to lean against the wall by the door, crossing his arms. “I wouldn’t miss this for the universe.”
The paladins did all, eventually make it to their rooms, though it took some doing on Coran’s part. He worked Lance till the boy's eyes started to droop, then sent Keith to help him to his room, making Keith promise he would go to sleep, too, once Lance was squared away.
Hunk and Shay were still in the main training room by the time Coran shuttled his first two charges off. They’d stopped training at some point and sat against the wall, shoulder to shoulder, water pouches forgotten in their hands. They’d already begun to doze, though both insisted they were fine.
“Need to...” Hunk dissolved into a yawn, the rest of his sentence unintelligible. Coran helped him to his feet as he tried again. “Need to find Allura’s signature in the castle thing. Computer. Castle computer.”
Coran arched an eyebrow, reaching out to steady Hunk as he staggered. “Whatever for?”
“T’track her,” Hunk mumbled. “Same way Haggar tracked Shiro. Figured we have it somewhere, if the castle knows who she is.”
He seemed to only be hitting about half the points he wanted to make, but Coran pieced together the gist of it. “I’ll pull up Allura’s Quintessential signature before I go to bed,” he said. “You just focus on getting back to your room, all right you two?”
Shay mumbled an agreement, and when Hunk blearily began to protest, she simply tossed him over her shoulder and carried him from the room.
Smiling, Coran watched them go, then continued on his hunt. Pidge and Ryner weren’t in the Green Lion’s bay, so Coran stopped by the pod room to check on Matt—still sleeping, the Quintessence drain paused for the night, but his condition already much improved—then headed up to the paladin quarters. The four paladins he’d shooed this way were, in fact, in their rooms, which was something of a surprise.
Even more surprising, he caught Ryner emerging from Pidge’s room.
“They’re actually sleeping?” Coran asked in a whisper as Ryner shut the door.
She chuckled. “Shocking, I know. Best not to jinx it.”
With that, all the paladins were accounted for. Coran stopped at the second door from the end, next to his own, to make sure Wyn had found his way back. He had, and was even sleeping, Maka curled up at the foot of the bed, Wyn sprawled beside him. A deck of Altean playing cards sat between them, half the stack spilled onto the floor.
Smiling, Coran gathered up the cards and set them on the nightstand, then retrieved two blankets from the closet to cover the boys.
After that, he still had work of his own to take care of: letting the other Galra know where Maka was, starting a scan for Allura’s signature for Hunk, going back for one last scan of Matt. His Quintessence levels had risen since Coran had shut off the drain, but a quick analysis of the rate of intake let him set the system to drain only as much Quintessence as Matt took in, with an emergency shutoff if the levels dropped below their present state.
It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it should get him through the night. The crystal on his face had already begun to flake off in places, looking more like dead skin than Balmera crystal. Curious.
Coran didn’t dare venture far from the pods until Matt was fully healed, so he raised a cot from the floor storage and curled up, promising himself he was only going to rest his eyes.
He woke some hours later to an alarm blaring.
Stumbling to the nearest computer station, Coran rubbed the sleep from his eyes and searched for the source. There were two alerts flashing at him, and either one would have been enough to shock him into wakefulness. The castle had located Allura's Quintessence, and the Arusian king had triggered the emergency signal Allura had left with him some months before.
Coran pulled up the tracking program, horror gathering in his bones. He knew, even before he read the coordinates, what he would find.
Arus was under attack from the Black Lion. |
Sansa
It wasn’t a calm sleep. It had been a few moons since her last nightmare. Usually, she dreamt of Joffrey, Cersei or Petyr Baelish. But his time she dreamt of the beating in the throne room, when Meryn Trant stripped her of her dress and beat her with his sword.
Then came Sandor Clegane. He stopped it all and covered her with his white cloak. But as soon as the cloak touched her skin, it caught on fire. The flames licked her flesh and hair, burning in agonizing pain. The non-knight then embraced her and burnt with her.
Sansa woke up in a sitting, breathing heavily and unevenly. She looked around and saw her room, the fireplace and her belongings. Then, a hand touched her shoulder and Sansa practically jumped.
“Hey, it’s me”, her sister’s voice whispered lightly. “Are you well?”
Sansa covered her face with her hands and controlled her breathing.
Gods, why is this happening?
“Yes”, she said after a few moments. “Just a nightmare.”
Arya got up and lit up a candle.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No, but I would like to talk all the same.”
They dressed in their robes and went down to the kitchens. It was the hour of the wolf, and the castle was dead in sleep. They were the only ones awake and wondering around Winterfell.
They made tea and sweetened it with honey and spices. Then sat down in one of the tables in front of the hearth. For a long time, the sat quietly just sipping their drinks. After Arya finished hers, she sat the cup on the table and stared at Sansa.
“Is everything alright?”, she asked, worried.
“I believe so”, Sansa murmured. “Just a lot to take in.”
“We need to talk to Jon”, Arya whispered. “He bent the knee, didn’t he?”
“I believe he did. Now I want to know why and if there’s any chance of undoing it.”
Arya whispered something that sounded like stupid and covered her face with her hands.
“Why did you hide?”, Sansa asked her sister. “Today, when Jon arrived.”
Arya then looked at her seeming almost scared.
“I…”, she started, but then shook her head. “I’ve changed some much. I was afraid… I was afraid he wouldn’t like who I’ve become.”
Sansa stared at her with eyes open wide.
“Oh, Arya…”
“It’s stupid, I know. And yet, I couldn’t stop thinking if he would be happy knowing all the things that I’ve done.”
Sansa, once again, noticed how she had no idea of all her sister had gone through. Arya didn’t seem ashamed or guilty of her journey, but also didn’t seem proud.
“You never told me about yourself, about what happened to you while we’ve been separated.”
“The same with you”, was all she answered.
Sansa nodded. And the same with Bran, and Jon.
“I’ll tell you my secrets if you tell me yours.”
Arya laughed at that.
“Deal.”
Sansa smiled then.
“Alright. Who starts?”
“You do.”
“Why me?”, Sansa asked while she put her cup down.
“You proposed this game.”
“Alright”, Sansa murmured, choosing her first secret. It wasn’t hard, considering she just dreamt about it. “Every time Robb won a battle, or ambushed the Lannister army, or even when he trapped Jaime Lannister, I received a beating. I still have marks on the back of my thighs from when Meryn Trant spanked me with his sword.”
She looked up to see Arya staring at her, angry.
“And nobody did anything?”
“Only a few people ever did”, she said thinking of Tyrion Lannister, but mostly Sandor Clegane. But that was another secret that she would tell only later. “Now it’s your turn”, she said hurriedly, wanting to change the subject and the focus of the conversation.
Arya still looked mad, but she nodded.
“I had a list of all the people I wanted to kill.”
So that's it. Her sister whispered names every night before she went to bed. Usually, she would whisper them low enough so Sansa couldn't listen. But one time, she heard her sister say Cersei Lannister before falling asleep.
“Who were on your list?”
“Many people. Cersei, Joffrey, The Mountain, Twyin Lannister, The Tickler, Polliver…”
“Did you succeed? Did you kill any of them?”
“A few”, Arya answered. “Including Meryn Trant.”
At that, Sansa stared at Arya, without anything to say.
“I’m sorry, Sansa”, Arya whispered. “I’m sorry I didn’t kill him before it was too late.”
“Don’t be”, Sansa’s eyes were filled with tears that she didn’t want to spill. Not now, at least. “There was nothing you could’ve done.”
“Maybe, maybe not”, she whispered. “I shouldn’t have gone to Braavos, I should’ve stayed in Westeros and found Jon and you.”
“Braavos?”, that was news to Sansa. “You went to Braavos?”
A little grin appeared in Arya’s lips.
“That’s another story. First, you need to tell me another secret.”
Sansa laughed at that.
“Well, let me think.”
There were so many things she wanted to tell her sister. Arya already knew that Littlefinger had killed their aunt and, before that, persuaded her to kill her husband, Jon Arryn. All of that became very clear in his trial and execution. But she still hadn’t told her – or any of her siblings, for that matter – of the abuse and the stolen and unwanted kisses. Of the manipulation and little games he liked to play at the Eyrie. Those were scars not yet healed.
But there was one story that didn’t leave marks on her – at least not directly. But in this case, she would’ve liked to have taken the credit.
“Tyrion didn’t kill Joffrey, of that I am certain.”
Arya eyed her suspiciously.
“How do you know that?”
“Well, first, I was there the day he died”, she felt like laughing. Poisoned at his own wedding. “Tyrion never had a chance to slip the poison on Joffrey’s cup. Second, Baelish told me.”
“Who then?”
“The Queen of Thorns, Lady Olenna Tyrell.”
Arya started laughing at that.
“I can’t believe it!”, and laughed even louder.
Sansa laughed too.
“Ser Dontos had given me a hairnet with purple stones to wear at the wedding. He was one of Littlefinger’s little birds. Lady Olenna took one of the stones and put it in his wine.”
“Oh gods, I wish I was the one who killed him”, Arya said.
“Yeah, me too”, Sansa whispered, remembering the day she almost pushed him from the battlements. But Sandor stopped her. But that was another story.
He was always there, wasn't he?
“Now, I want to know about Braavos.”
Arya breathed heavily and looked at the contents of her cup, thinking of her story – and maybe what she would let out this time.
“I took a ship. I had an iron coin that was given to me by Jaqen H'ghar. He told me that if I showed this to any bravoosi and said the right words, they would grant me safe passage. And they did.”
“What words?”, Sansa asked, curious.
“Valar morghulis.”
Sansa recognized them. Arya said that every night before she slept, right after whispering the names – which she has just found out. But she always said that louder than the names.
“What does it mean.”
“All men must die.” |
human.
It’s all mechanical now. The constant sound of coffee beans being grinded echoing in his ears, the scent of bread and burnt cheese on his uniform, that one couple who always order cream cheese bagels and sit in the booth beside the cafe entrance. Like clockwork, they all fulfill their part in the daily monotonous routine of Beomgyu’s life.
Among the incredible mutants and the rotting Infected, Beomgyu lies within the in between. He’s human. Ordinary. Powerless. Helpless.
But safe.
Unlike most of his peers, Beomgyu doesn’t feel an ounce of envy for the godly gifts mutants behold. It’s okay if he has to walk to his destination instead of flying, he’s fine with getting something himself instead of bringing it to him using his mind. With nothing extraordinary about him, nothing extraordinary ever happens to him either. And Beomgyu wants it to stay that way. He’s willing to live in repeat as long as he survives long enough to see another day.
“Here comes your boyfriend.”
“Shut up, don’t let him hear that.” Beomgyu hisses underneath his breath at Taehyun, a friend, a human like him. “He’ll obliterate you with a snap of his finger.”
He casts his colleague one more glare before turning to the blonde standing in front of the counter. “What can I get you today, Yeonjun?”
The said male smirks before handing a bill to Beomgyu, “You ask me that everyday as if I’ll ever order anything new.”
Beomgyu rolls his eyes, trying his best to ignore the pounding in his chest. “It’s called being polite, it’s part of my job. Otherwise I’d pretend I didn’t even see you.” He should be paid for his acting skills really.
“Always so sassy with me.” Yeonjun shakes his head before receiving his receipt and striding towards his usual spot in the cafe: the table nearest to the counter. It sometimes crosses Beomgyu’s mind that Yeonjun sits there on purpose, knowing that it’s where Beomgyu can easily see him and vice versa. But he’s quick to stomp down that thought, there’s no way someone so special will choose someone so dull.
It’s how it usually works anyway, mutants choose fellow mutants to ensure that their children will also inherit abilities. Meanwhile, humans also typically engage in romantic relationships with only of the same kind, too afraid of the possibility of dying at the hands of someone more powerful than them.
Although Beomgyu doesn’t harbor any fear towards Yeonjun at all, he’s certain the latter will only want someone in the same league as him—invulnerable, invincible.
Inside the mundane Beomgyu wants to stay in, Yeonjun is the only semblance of excitement he’s open to, and he’s content with the mutant being just that and nothing more.
But Beomgyu can at least stare every once in a while right?
The origin of powers remains unknown, so people resorted to believing they’re blessings from gods; remnants of their beings. Despite this divine gift, those who were bestowed with them still appear human and can die as quickly as them too, depending on their power at least.
On the gray line between man and god, the name that was settled on was mutant.
Beomgyu is still quite skeptic about the theory, but also thinks maybe there’s some truth to it—that bit about mutants basically being gods.
Because Yeonjun surely looked like one.
“If you’re done staring, maybe you could go fix the ice cream machine. It’s being faulty again.”
Taehyun narrowly avoids a slap to the arm.
Down to the smallest details, Beomgyu keeps everything the same. Even the streets he walks through at night are solidly wedged within his routine, to the point he doesn’t even have to consciously think about where to go anymore, his muscle memory moving his body to the right direction for him.
However, this doesn’t mean he’s any less alert to his surroundings.
With his only sources of income being his job at the cafe and a miniscule government financial entitlement for young adult orphans, Beomgyu wasn’t left with a lot of options on where to live. The best he could do was a run down unit in a fishy apartment complex located far away from the main streets. All sorts of shady, really.
Even small-time criminals refused to be in this part of town, and it’s not because they didn’t want to be vulnerable to attacks from other felons. Beomgyu knows what they’re avoiding is much more dangerous than armed thieves, it’s why he has to constantly stay on guard too.
Only the truly brave, skilled, or desperate live here. Because this area’s alleys are crawling with the Infected.
The Infected don’t choose a time to attack. Whether sunlight is present or not, they’ll devour the first living being they’re able to set their sights on.
Another aspect of them that scares Beomgyu more than their intent to kill is the fact that the humans they used to be are still alive within them. Soulless but undead. Conscious but unable to control themselves, rendered to only watching as their own bodies tear apart flesh.
This is only gossip Beomgyu heard from customers, but it sends shivers down his spine nonetheless. He’d rather die than be attacked by an Infected and be part of them.
Fortunately, in his nineteen years of living, he’s never had any fatal encounters with them before. He likes to think maybe somehow he’s an expert at hiding from them.
Just as that thoughts crosses his mind, the gods above must’ve thought it was funny to force him to prove his confidence isn’t baseless. Because the next thing he knows, a fucking twig is crushed under the sole of his shoe, the brief crackling sound it makes turning the heads of two Infected from a nearby alley.
Beomgyu bolts towards a lit, empty alley and hides behind a dumpster. He palms at the dagger Taehyun had so kindly gifted to him on his last birthday, saying that Beomgyu needs at least something to defend himself with during emergencies like this. Since then, he’s kept it safe and sheathed inside his bag.
From what he’s heard, the Infected can be killed by targeting a typical living person’s vital points, a little part of them is still human after all.
So when Beomgyu hears lethargic, dragging steps come closer, he prepares himself physically and mentally to slash necks. He’s not used to this, he’s never been attacked before. But he’s not about to let that end now.
The wind blows. Beomgyu holds his breath.
The footsteps get louder until they abruptly halt, swirling anxiety and adrenaline within the boy’s veins, they must have smelled him due to the wind, must have sensed him.
Maybe there’s no point in keeping himself alive. He’s an orphan struggling paycheck to paycheck in order to make ends meet. No family, only has one friend. With the unceasing numbers of the Infected, the world doesn’t have time to mourn the loss of one.
But even with that, Beomgyu just really does not want to become one of them. He’ll die in another way, not like this. Not like this. Not being aware of what your body is doing yet powerless to prevent even a finger from moving.
Beomgyu’s teeth sink into his lip hard enough to make it bleed. His palms sweat and the wind blows again.
He hears the Infected run.
Away.
They ran away. Elsewhere. To a direction opposite of where Beomgyu is.
But why?
A scream that resembled a woman’s resonated through the streets. Ah, so that’s why. Beomgyu didn’t fall victim because someone else was unlucky enough to take his place first.
Immense relief washes over fear. The male’s hands tremble as he tucks his dagger back inside his bag. He probably should feel guilty for actually being glad another died instead of him, he’s a horrible person for feeling that way.
Maybe for a second, the broken edges of Beomgyu’s heart do clench together to reprimand him for feeling at ease, but the sentiment disappears as soon as it came.
He gets to breathe another day.
With a palpitating heart slamming against his ribcage, it’s all Beomgyu thinks about on the journey home that seemed longer than usual.
It’s much later, when he’s in front of his rotting doorstep, that Beomgyu realizes the gods saved him from death only to push him to the brink of it again right after.
An eviction notice. That’s what’s taped on the surface of his door. Beomgyu’s eyes hastily skim over it, but none of the words register except for the ones written in bold. Leave within three days of notice. It was typed in glaringly red font too, as if mocking him.
With what he has now, he already can barely afford staying in the run down apartment, anything in better condition would be more expensive. Where else would he go? Should he try looking for another job? But who would accept someone who didn’t even graduate high school? Surrounded by more capable humans and superior mutants, what can he achieve with his background? Is there anything at all?
The questions plague him as he tosses and turn in bed, he thinks about them in every step he took towards work the next morning, picks them apart in hopes of finding an answer to at least one of them. But all he keeps finding are deadends.
The Infected couldn’t kill him, so starvation will. Funny.
“Hey, you okay? You’ve been wiping that table for three minutes now, I’m sure it’s not that dirty.”
Beomgyu snaps out of his daze after being brought back by the sound of his friend’s voice. Taehyun would be willing to help, he’s certain of it. He’d even tell Beomgyu to stay as long as he needs to, because he’s a good friend like that.
But Beomgyu also acknowledges how much the other has already done for him. Taehyun led him to this job opening and even gave him a loan the first time homelessness was knocking on his door.
He doesn’t deserve any more favors.
“Yeah, sorry. Just didn’t sleep well last night. Anyway, what’s up?”
Taehyun sends him another concerned look before deciding it futile to pry, “You’re always up for any quick money right? Yeonjun said he needs someone to clean his apartment unit today, he’s willing to pay money.”
Beomgyu perks up at the mention of the mutant. “Really? Would he be okay with me doing it?”
“Of course.”
He almost jumps at the intrusion of another familiar voice, one he’d recognize anywhere—in his dreams, in his reality, even over the noise of broken coffee machines. He’s been hanging onto every simple word for months now, after all.
The human turns to Yeonjun, “Alright, thanks for this. I’ll head there after work.”
“No I,” The blonde coughs into his fist, “I’ll pay triple if you come with me now.”
Beomgyu blinks once, twice. Why was Yeonjun so adamant in getting him to leave now? It’s suspicious, but he’s quick to brush it off. He’s been spiralling the past twelve hours about what he should do next, he deserves a little break from that, why not spend it with the person he’s been embarrassingly pining after?
“Alright, just let me grab my stuff.”
Maybe the unit was really just that dirty.
The apartment is absolutely spotless.
There isn’t much furniture to begin with, leaning towards a minimalistic interior, while everything else seemed to be in their proper place. The kitchen is void of any dirty dishes and the human swears the floor appears to be shining too.
“Okay, I’ve been roaming around for five minutes now. There’s nothing to clean in here at all.” Beomgyu shouldn’t have ignored his initial doubts, even for Yeonjun. Though this is partially his fault too, he was quick to trust just because he likes the mutant. “Tell me the real reason why you brought me here.”
“My friend, Huening Kai, his power comes from the mind. So he has telekinesis and.. can see through one’s thoughts too.” Yeonjun appears guilty with his teeth sinking into his bottom lip and eyes looking everywhere except at the younger.
Why was Yeonjun telling him this? See through one’s thoughts? What did that—
Ah.
“You were reading my mind?! That’s a complete invasion of my privacy!” Beomgyu feels both humilated and violated, how much of his difficulties did Yeonjun find out without his consent?
“I know, I’m sorry! It was actually an accident, his powers are still unstable but—this is the first and last time, I swear.”
The human opens his mouth but clamps it shut again, the initial heat he felt from being exposed fizzling out when he realizes to get angry and to still trying keeping his secrets would be futile in the face of someone who already knew. “Fine, you got me. I’ll be homeless in a few days.”
Beomgyu feels like crying, honestly, hot tears are already prickling the back of his eyes. Out of all people, he has to reveal how pathetic he really is to the one person he didn’t want knowing. He coughs and begins talking to push the tears back. “Well, whatever you read in my mind is exactly it. I have no money, I’m getting evicted with no family or relatives to even beg to.”
He turns away, not wanting to see whatever expression is on Yeonjun’s face. “And out there, I’ll either get eaten by an Infected or get wiped out by, no offense, a mutant.”
“None taken.” There were a few who have used their powers to endanger the lives of those who didn’t and Yeonjun is decent enough to acknowledge that.
“So,” Beomgyu inhales a shaky breath, “I have nowhere else to go.”
Only the sound of a ticking clock follows the statement. Yeonjun isn’t saying anything and Beomgyu isn’t brave enough to look and see why.
“Well, you’re here, aren’t you?”
The human’s head snaps toward Yeonjun’s direction. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying, you can stay here. You have a place to go—here, with me.”
Beomgyu scrutinizes the other’s face, searching for any underlying trickery, but finds only sincerity, even his eyes are absent of the usual confident blaze in them. Yeonjun’s current demeanor is doubtful, afraid of rejection yet hoping for otherwise. One wouldn’t think he’s actually someone so powerful.
With a look like that, how can Beomgyu say no? Not that he has any other choice left anyway. He casts the mutant a sheepish smile, “So, when do I move in?”
Apparently, the management of the condominium Yeonjun stays in is strict with ensuring the health and safety of their residents; each person who lives there is required to do monthly checkups and submit them. It’s quite unusual, in Beomgyu’s opinion, but considering the condo is mostly filled with mutants, maybe the management just doesn’t want any risks. Confidentiality be damned.
Yeonjun has to submit his today, and since Beomgyu will now live with him for the meantime, he’s required to turn in his own results. He had been initially opposed to it, saying he can’t afford even a simple checkup like this either, but the former silenced him by talking about how it’ll be paid through his insurance or something. Beomgyu wasn’t educated in issues like those, so he ended up letting Yeonjun do as he pleased.
“Don’t worry, this will be quick. They just need to see if you have any symptoms that are lying dormant.” Dr. Yang, the woman in charge of him, says with a friendly smile. She’s human too, which puts Beomgyu at ease around her.
“It’s fine, take your time.”
True to her word, the doctor does each procedure swiftly. It’s on the last one, however, that Beomgyu starts shifting uncomfortably.
“Afraid of needles?” Dr. Yang is kind enough to start small talk in an attempt to distract the male.
“I guess? It’s my first time getting my blood drawn, I’ve never had a doctor’s appointment before.”
“Never? That’s impossible, not even once?”
“The orphanage I grew up in couldn’t afford to send any of us to doctors, only if we were on the verge of dying. It’s fine though, the worst I ever got is a cold, which disappeared after like a day. So I never needed checkups in the first place.”
There’s a brief pause in the doctor’s movements, one that Beomgyu doesn’t notice. She’s quick to place her attention back on the syringe she’s preparing. “I see. Well, you’ll be just fine in my hands, Choi Beomgyu. Trust me.”
“Okay, I trust you, Dr. Yang.”
Following their appointments, the pair headed straight back to the condominium. Beomgyu didn’t own many things to begin with, so his move was finished a day after Yeonjun offered his place.
By the time they arrived, two strangers were already standing outside of the doorway.
“Kai, I’m surprised you didn’t use your powers this time to break in.”
“You throw a fit each time I do.”
Shaking his head, Yeonjun unlocks the door to his unit with the three behind him following suit. He’s quick to begin introductions. “Beomgyu, the one with blue hair is Choi Soobin. He’s a mutant too, he has healing abilities.”
“Wait, Beomgyu? Isn’t that the-“
“And this ,” Yeonjun interjects, sending a glare towards Soobin, before shifting to the other stranger. “This is Huening Kai.”
Beomgyu bites the inside of his cheek. “The one who read my mind without me knowing?”
Yeonjun winces in embarrassment and nudges the taller mutant with his elbow.
“Uhm, yes that’s me. I’m really sorry about that, my powers started showing only recently, so they’re still unstable.” Kai bows his head in shame.
He appears genuinely sorry of what happened. And it’s not like Beomgyu has the right to bear a grudge when he doesn’t understand in the first place how it’s like to suddenly wake up one day with extraordinary abilities, so he responds to the apology with a gentle smile. “It’s alright now, as long as you promise not to do it again though.”
“Yes, I promise!”
It was surprisingly easy for Beomgyu and Yeonjun to find a working dynamic for them.
Although Yeonjun assured him that there was no rent to be paid anyway since the condo unit is owned fully by him, Beomgyu still felt bad that he had no money to contribute, as he was saving what little he has to save up for a real apartment. To pull his weight, he resorted to putting himself in charge of domestic tasks, ensuring that the house was always clean and Yeonjun always had food on the table to come home to.
Due to their frequent visits, it didn’t take much for Beomgyu to be comfortable with Soobin and Kai either, the distance he felt with them as a human lessening overtime. This was the first time he became friends with mutants other than Yeonjun and he realized maybe they’re not so different once you put aside their abilities.
Like humans, they can be clumsy too, they can be irresponsible and stay up late playing video games even if there’s work to be done.
Like humans, they can be dangerous ticking time bombs when they’re angry.
As opposed to his usual bright nature, Huening Kai has an unrivaled temper. Although they’ve become closer, Beomgyu still isn’t completely sure how he should act around the other. Making Kai laugh is as easy as making him throw a glass bottle at your head.
Yeonjun advised Beomgyu to never be alone with the youngest and so far, the latter has been able to firmly follow that instruction. He doesn’t want to risk it even if he and Kai have become friends too, not when he’s quite literally powerless and has nothing to defend himself.
But maybe he’s just meant to be chained down to death’s doorstep, cursed to wait for when it’ll finally swallow him whole.
Because it’s a quiet afternoon when Beomgyu arrived back to the condo unit a little earlier than usual after a shift, and Kai was already there, sitting. Seething.
“That house always likes to push that it’s my fault my powers are still unstable. Maybe I’d be better if they actually did what parents should and taught me properly.”
Beomgyu’s eyes dart around as Kai rambled, searching for either Soobin or Yeonjun or anyone who can save him now. But there was no one else—just him and a grenade threatening to blow.
“Do you think that way too, Beomgyu?” Kai’s gaze shift towards the said male, viciously piercing through him. “You think my sisters are better than me right? That I’m the family’s disappointment?”
“No!” The other immediately counters, eager to diffuse the situation. “I-It’s not your fault your powers came late, it’s understandable that they’re still unstable. You’re not doing anything wrong!”
The rage that’s been pulsating off of Kai in waves eases and for a moment, Beomgyu is relieved that he managed to calm the boy down.
“I think you should know from now on that I hate liars the most, Beomgyu.”
But what does he know about mutants anyway?
With the flick of a finger, Beomgyu is hurled through a window and down into an abyss.
More than the pieces of glass that pierced his back when he was thrown, more than the harsh blows of the wind’s arms that fool him into thinking they’ve caught him only to mercilessly let go, what Beomgyu feels is raw desperation.
He’s not even entirely sure for what, too caught up in the panic of knowing only concrete is there to meet and shatter him, but he still screams for it. His throat begins to burn but he doesn’t stop. He cries out for it.
“It’s okay now, I heard you.”
Strong arms wrap themselves around Beomgyu’s being, there’s warmth against his back.
He’s given only a second to savor it before he feels the white hot pain of the inevitable collision.
It hurts, everything hurts. He’s sure his legs have been bent and maimed to unimaginable angles, it’s impossible his ribs are still intact with the way merely breathing results in a sensation akin to a knife being twisted within his lungs.
Beomgyu isn’t sure whether it’s cruel or miraculous that all this excruciation wasn’t enough to make him die.
Amidst the overwhelming taste of iron flowing across his tongue and the burn of his mangled limbs, the last things Beomgyu’s senses are surrounded with are streaks of blonde and tender whispers assuring him everything will be okay before darkness was finally kind enough to welcome him.
After making sure the boy was gone and no other patients were around, the doctor calls for her assistant, the name Dr. Yang Seohyun pinned on her coat glistening under the ceiling lights.
Without sparing the trusted nurse a glance, she orders, “Take these blood samples to the lab underground and prepare the cells I extracted from the bodies of the Infected.”
Seohyun pinches the bridge of her nose, recalling her previous conversation with her last patient. Abandoned in an orphanage that didn’t even have the budget for the simplest hospital visits, a human like Choi Beomgyu should have never even lived past the age of two in such an environment.
Yet there he was, mentioning just moments prior that the worst he’s ever gotten was a cold that lasted only a day.
“This hell of a world makes no sense,” Seohyun sighs. For most of her life all she’s been doing is searching for solutions to finally end the pandemic that’s plagued mankind for god knows how long, however, she’s left emptyhanded each day.
At least, until now.
Doctor Yang Seohyun closes her eyes and plays the conversation in her head again, word for word.
Maybe the answer to the strange is the ordinary.
mutant.
Beomgyu being the sole reason for his daily visits to the cafe is a secret Yeonjun will take to his grave.
He just can’t help it, the boy was already pretty at first sight. And when Beomgyu gave him attention, Yeonjun didn’t bother denying to himself that he relished in it.
So when he found out about Beomgyu’s housing problem, albeit through not so morally right means, he jumped on the opportunity to help out.
The first few weeks were more than pleasant for Yeonjun, the experience of coming home to someone set alight parts of him that he didn’t know were bleak with longing for companionship. (Specifically Beomgyu’s.)
Seeing traces of the boy in his empty house that doesn’t feel so empty anymore is something he can get used to, something he wants to get used to. Maybe later on when Beomgyu thinks he wants to move out, Yeonjun can convince him to stay a little longer. He doesn’t want the sight of Beomgyu watching TV show reruns beside him to leave just yet, not when the ghost of the television’s colors that illuminate and cast shadows over Beomgyu’s face are so pretty, too.
“How is it like to be completely human?” Yeonjun had asked him once as they ate dinner.
“Like a grenade.” Beomgyu swallowed and answered after a moment of pondering, he said it offhandedly as if it’s a response he didn’t give much thought to, but the loss and bitterness cast in his eyes made the mutant believe otherwise. “There’s a whole other population out there who wants to literally eat us up and we don’t have powers to defend ourselves from that. What’s the point then?”
Beomgyu was finished eating, the sound of his metal chopsticks scraping against bowls ceased into silence. “Maybe we were just made to be detonated and shattered.”
Yeonjun was smart enough at the time to conclude what Beomgyu was trying to say. In simple words, humans are fragile. Like a grenade, their purpose is to be broken and blown up.
Now, after witnessing Beomgyu fall down to his potential death, Yeonjun realizes something the former forgot to consider in his analogy—what the grenade leaves behind. Once it explodes, it destroys everything else around it.
What would happen to Yeonjun if Beomgyu were to disappear now? He’s just beginning to understand the fluttering on the left side of his chest, below his throat. But he’s not there yet. He can’t let Beomgyu slip away.
Yeonjun doesn’t want to be left behind in the rubble and devastation that follows the grenade.
So he dives and reaches out, following Beomgyu’s screams of his name and pleads to be saved. They echo in Yeonjun’s ears as they plummet through the sky.
He wraps his arms around the other and pulls his back flush to his own chest, making sure that his broader frame covers Beomgyu’s smaller one. It won’t be enough to protect the latter from severe injuries, but all that matters is that it pushes death away from him.
They fall onto asphalt hard enough to dent. Yeonjun sustains only cuts despite taking most of the impact, since his invulnerability reaches beyond his strength, it’s in his whole system. His bones practically steel.
The same couldn’t be said for Beomgyu however, who’s left bleeding and disfigured. He may still be alive now, but every second eats away his life.
Fortunately, Soobin ran down the moment Yeonjun jumped after Beomgyu, fully expecting the injuries bound to happen. He’s beside the pair within minutes. “I’ll fix his legs now just so they don’t hurt him any further, but after that you carry him back up to your unit. He’ll be more comfortable getting patched up there and we’ll be away from unnecessary attention.”
Yeonjun has complete trust in Soobin’s healing ability, so he follows every instruction.
Amidst it all, Yeonjun chants whispers of assurance that everything will be fine. (If it was to Beomgyu or to himself, he didn’t know.)
While Beomgyu remained asleep after being completely healed by Soobin, Yeonjun had dragged Kai outside the building to roughly shove him against its exterior, cracks appearing behind the younger’s head.
“I’ve been patient with your temper because Soobin and I could handle it, but I think you really tried to piss me off today.” The blonde glowers with gritted teeth.
“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to, I never intended for any of this. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, I swear.”
“Damn right it won’t happen again,” Yeonjun pushes Kai’s shoulders deeper into the wall. “Because you’re not stepping anywhere near him until you learn to control yourself.”
Kai’s knees buckle when he lets go and ends up sitting on the ground, no breeze is blowing to make him shiver, and yet he is. Yeonjun takes a good look at him this time and sees all the snot, tears, and shame. Guilt begins seeping in, only starting to realize now that maybe he was too harsh. After all, he knows Kai enough to be certain that the last thing this incident would be is intentional.
The older crouches down, “It’s just until you have full control over your powers okay? Beomgyu isn’t like us, Kai. We have to be more careful with our abilities around him. I’m sorry too, tell Soobin to heal your back, I pushed you really hard.”
“Okay… okay, I promise to stay away for now. Please tell him I’m sorry.” Kai exhales a shuddering breath. He takes his trembling knees and wounded back as reminders of what Yeonjun told him.
Beomgyu isn’t like them, Beomgyu needs to be given more care. Because Beomgyu is human.
Following the fiasco, Yeonjun becomes noticeably more protective of the boy living with him. He takes Beomgyu to and from work, and begins coming home earlier too.
Beomgyu complains to him about being “smothered” yet never makes a real effort to reject it. Aside from the fear and immense guilt he fails to hide whenever he’s near the condo’s now fixed window, Yeonjun wants to believe that the other doesn’t dislike the increasing time they spend together and it only encourages him to coddle the human even more.
There’s a particular bakery the male is fond of. It’s near the condominium and serves the most luscious chocolate cake, in Beomgyu’s words. After another work day in the dance studio, Yeonjun later figures it won’t hurt to bring home a slice. Beomgyu will smile and the blonde will be able to delight in the ticklish feeling in his chest whenever the former does so.
However, what he doesn’t expect is to hear a cry from the alley near the bakery. Yeonjun glances at the paper bag in his hand containing the cake he purchased. As much as he wants to rush home and show it to Beomgyu, he can’t ignore whoever is calling for help. It’s his duty as a mutant to use his powers for cases like this.
Armed robbery is what it is. A man has a gun pointed at a sobbing woman’s throat. When he spots Yeonjun, he points the weapon at the mutant instead. “Don’t come any closer, mutant or not, you’re dead once I pull the trigger.” It’s clear in the criminal’s tone that he’s not nervous at all despite being faced with someone much more stronger than him.
It disgusts Yeonjun, at the same time it tires him out.
He could’ve been home by now with Beomgyu.
Ignoring the threat, Yeonjun continues walking towards them with hands ready to hurt. “Let’s make this quick, I have someone waiting for me.”
A shot is fired straight towards his shoulder. It’s predicted but doesn’t make the fresh wound hurt any less. Yeonjun can take the hardest of collisions, but he’s not bulletproof. Just because nothing breaks his bones doesn’t mean nothing can pierce his skin.
Nonetheless, he simply grits his teeth and breaks into a sprint, catching the robber off guard. As a result, he’s able to easily grab the man by the shoulder and hurl him towards the nearby wall, instantly knocking him unconscious.
“Call the police, they’ll arrive before he wakes up again.” Yeonjun dusts his hands off on his jeans, deciding if he should maybe wash his hands when he gets home. The thought of touching Beomgyu with fingers that held a criminal and most of all, fingers that intended to cause pain, made the mutant somewhat… uncomfortable.
The woman Yeonjun rescued thanks him profusely and says other things he doesn’t really register.
“It’s fine, no big deal,” Yeonjun interrupts, he’d really rather be at home now. “It’s my duty after all.”
With the cake back in his hands, he makes a phone call to Soobin before finally heading to the condominium.
To Yeonjun’s surprise, after arriving back in his unit, Beomgyu panics upon seeing him.
“Oh my god, what the fuck—you’re bleeding! Why aren’t you heading to the hospital right now? We need to go now—Yeonjun what the fuck -“
The said male grabs Beomgyu by the shoulders in an attempt to calm the latter down, “Hey, I’m okay. I already called Soobin before going back here and you know there’s nothing he can’t heal, so that’s why I didn’t bother with a hospital. Besides, this is normal, so don’t worry alright?”
Beomgyu’s reaction to his bleeding shoulder honestly puzzles Yeonjun. Sure it’s shocking to see a gunshot wound in general but the sheer distress the shorter is displaying is unusual, at least in the latter’s perspective.
Albeit it’s true that some mutants have strayed from this responsibility, it remains an unspoken rule that those bestowed with abilities have the obligation to protect those who weren’t. Getting injured in the process of doing so is, as Yeonjun said, normal, if not expected.
He’s not as physically weak as regular people, so what is Beomgyu so worried for?
Apparently, he must have unknowingly verbalized this because the next thing the other is doing is rambling as he’s unable to hold back his tears. “So what if you’re stronger? Even if you can do things I can’t, you still get hurt, you feel pain, you bleed, you can still die!”
“I know but-“
Beomgyu reaches out to clutch the collar of the taller’s shirt, his grip tight enough for the fabric to twist in his hand. “You’re alive, Yeonjun. And that’s something that doesn’t change whether you’re human or mutant.”
When Beomgyu stops, only silence and the shock and palpable apprehension lingering between the walls follow.
Yeonjun is baffled, to say the least.
Born with his powers and gaining control over his super strength before he even learned how to count to fifty, not even his own parents were worried about him much as he grew up. He barely ever got hurt anyway and when he did, they were never anything life threatening.
He was never envious of other mutants or humans who received more attention for their well-being. Yeonjun instead viewed it as trust in his abilities, people are confident enough in what he can do that they don’t find the need to fuss over him.
Though that doesn’t mean he never wondered how it would feel—to have someone worry for your safety, waiting for you at home and simply hoping you’re okay.
Now, with Beomgyu’s whitening knuckles still tightly wound on his shirt, Yeonjun has to hold back a smile as he realizes he doesn’t have to wonder anymore.
(It feels lovely.)
“Okay, I’m sorry. I’ll be more careful next time.” The taller places a hand over the one on his collar and slowly loosens it, letting his fingers linger over the other’s.
“Next time? There shouldn’t be a next time, never get hurt like this again okay? I’m still guilty about you jumping after me when I got thrown out the window. So- so no dying on me at least until I make it up to you. Promise me.”
Promises are usually made under more romantic circumstances, preferably without any bleeding shoulders at the very least, but Yeonjun doesn’t believe the blood and tears makes this moment any less tender.
“I promise.”
Apparently, the surprises aren’t over just yet because after getting completely healed by Soobin, Yeonjun finds himself being dragged up on a hill by Beomgyu the next evening.
“Hey Beomgyu, do you at least want to take a break before continuing? It’s not because I’m tired, it’s because you are.”
“Shut up,” The said male sends a glare but doesn’t deny the statement. It’s true, he admits he is getting tired, if it isn’t already made obvious by how breathless he sounds. But he’s determined to take them both to the top. “I want to show you something and I want to do it now.”
They halt only once they’ve reached the hilltop. The large trees don’t help in easing Yeonjun’s puzzlement at all. “I don’t really see anything significant here, Gyu. Why’d you bring us here?”
“This is where I first slept after growing out of the orphanage.”
Yeonjun is immediately silenced, rendered frozen by the other’s abrupt display of vulnerability. He remains quiet to urge Beomgyu to continue.
“It’s not a special story, I just didn’t know where to go after being allowed—or rather forced, really—to live on my own. Before I found the apartment I got evicted from a month ago, I actually slept here first for maybe a few days. But that’s not the point!”
Beomgyu points a finger to the sky. “That is.”
Yeonjun gazes upwards and finds it void of anything but the moon and a few stars, it feels quite anticlimactic considering the journey and how determined the shorter was to keep this a secret.
“Some adult who visited the orphanage once told us that stars are at least four light years away. And a single light year is worth trillions of miles,” Beomgyu starts, “I suddenly remembered that when I slept here and it comforted me in a way—the fact that to whatever is up there, we’re only as significant as specks of dust.”
It’s both odd and pathetic to the blond how the brush of Beomgyu’s arm against his own causes the skin there to feel warm even on a chilly night. The latter continues, “Under the cosmos, at least on this ground, we’re just as insignificant as each other. We’re equals here.”
Yeonjun senses a build up but he’s unsure what it’s leading to. The atmosphere around them is becoming increasingly heavy, or maybe that was just Beomgyu’s presence; both grounding and suffocating. He swallows, “What’s your point?”
“I don’t know, I guess what happened yesterday really bothered me. You’ve been taking care of me well, I just hope you’d treat yourself the same. Even if you are technically invincible.”
“I don’t need this type of talk, especially coming from you. Actually, you know you should be afraid of me right?”
“Oh, I know,” The human chuckles, “I’m not though.”
“You’re not?” There’s a playful mirth in Beomgyu’s eyes that mocks Yeonjun, amused and unaware of the fact that the mutant is currently clinging onto every word.
“I’m not.”
Growing up with unrivaled physical strength and endurance, there’s another expression besides apathy that Yeonjun became accustomed to: fear.
As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, it’s actually the look that hurt him the most, more than indifference did. He uses his powers for good, even when he’s met mutants who turn away from what’s morally right, Yeonjun has never deviated from the law.
So when there would be fright thinly veiled by gratefulness on the faces of people he saved, it would sting. Until he forced himself to stop caring. However, he still never stopped wondering, imagining how it would be like to be seen with eyes void of fear.
And again, it’s the boy in front of him who gives him a chance to know. Yeonjun knows how it feels now.
Beomgyu smiles at him, proving that he’s not and will never be afraid because—“I don’t see any reason to be.”
Yeonjun thinks it hurts, too. Like no other.
(It hurts so breathtakingly, so wonderfully. Like no other.)
“What if there was a cliff that had two opposite sides, one side has me barely hanging on while the other has the whole city, who would you save?”
Yeonjun and Beomgyu grew even closer as the weeks went by, one was never found without the other.
Fingers entwined under blankets and returned, lingering stares blurred lines without crossing them.
“You over the city in a heartbeat.”
Beomgyu scrunches his nose at the other’s response, “I don’t know if you’re being serious but I’ll tell you anyway, never sacrifice the rest for just one.”
“Well, to me you’re not just someone.”
“Oh my god, shut up. That’s cheesy, but selfish. Who knew Seoul’s hero was like this?”
The lighthearted question halts Yeonjun from making another teasing remark.
A hero. Is he really one? It’s a label that is carelessly thrown around by those who benefit from the hell given, but Yeonjun wants to focus on the pressure and responsibility that come with it. He’s a law-abiding citizen and fights criminals when he stumbles upon them, are those enough to be called a hero?
“Hey,” A poke on the forehead pulls Yeonjun out of his thoughts. “Eyes on me. What are you thinking about?”
“Am I really a hero?”
It’s Beomgyu’s turn to pause. His eyebrows meet in the middle and his expression morphs into defensiveness, seemingly ready to have a spiel laid out to explain why the other is worthy to be called a hero, until something more unreadable washes it away.
“Do you want to be?”
And Yeonjun should have said yes right then. He’s powerful and capable of things that many aren’t, it’s only right that he should fulfill the obligation to be a savior for them.
But right now, Beomgyu doesn’t seem to be looking for what’s right, he’s asking for what Yeonjun wants. Though the only thing the mutant ends up saying is—
“I don’t know.”
(In his hesitation at that moment, Yeonjun should have understood.)
Yeonjun had so easily weaved himself within the monotonous routine Beomgyu is used to, the human doesn’t even notice when two months pass by.
Each day had been nerve-racking. Already having to deal with the Infected on a daily basis, the knowledge that the blond can put himself in danger willingly at any time didn’t help.
But for each morning that Beomgyu would wake up with anxiety, muttering prayers for Yeonjun to be okay, he’d be filled by nothing but tenderness at night when their condo unit is again occupied by two; when their bed is warmed once more by two bodies; when their sink becomes full with used dishes.
Beomgyu’s hand halts wiping the counter.
Since when had he been referring to the place as theirs instead of just Yeonjun’s?
He feels guilty, in a way. The other had been kind enough to offer his home while only getting some cooking and chores done in return. Yeonjun waa cruelly rewarded with a leech for lending a helping hand.
But just because Beomgyu is ashamed doesn’t mean he wants to leave.
His whole life, in simple terms, has been a game of waiting. Always having to share a single bed with multiple children in the orphanage, watching everyone there get picked except him, never safe outside in the presence of beings who either want to devour him or easily overpower him, without any source of a sense of identity save for his own name — Beomgyu has been waiting and wondering why death refuses to look him in the eye.
After the first month of moving into the condo, he at least had the decency to tell Yeonjun every other day that he’s okay with moving back out. However, he was met with a firm stay each time he mentioned the topic.
Perhaps he’s tired of playing the game he was forced into by the gods, or maybe it’s because of Yeonjun’s new habit of putting an arm around Beomgyu’s waist whenever he’s about to fall asleep, as if to keep the latter right there beside him. But that one, simple word is enough to convince Beomgyu that maybe it’s alright to linger a little longer.
Instead of death, now he waits for Yeonjun to pick him up from work, and it feels nice. Warm. Beautiful.
It feels beautiful—not being lonely, for once.
“What’s on your mind?”
Beomgyu wills himself to focus on Taehyun’s question. “Yeonjun.”
“Wow, how deep have you fallen for you to not be embarrassed after admitting that?”
“Oh shut up, he’s been really caring towards me and I already liked him to begin with, I couldn’t help it okay?”
“I’m guessing you rely on him a lot now.”
Beomgyu picks up sarcasm and wariness from Taehyun’s tone that causes him to subconsciously feel defensive, “Is there something you want to say?”
His friend faces him, contemplating whether or not he should share his thoughts, then sighs, “If you really think about it, it’s mutants we should fear the most. Powers aside, doesn’t reliance on them scare you? Or at least worry you?”
“Why should it?”
“Because they can turn their backs on us anytime. Mutants have been saving us for decades, the second they realize they don’t have to do that is when it’s over for us.”
Taehyun is turned towards Beomgyu but the latter believes he’s not looking at him , rather at something beyond him. “Remember this Beomgyu, mutants are a blur of different things—a part of Yeonjun may be a god,”
Something beyond both of them.
“But a part of him is human, too.”
The conversation resonates all the way to the back of Beomgyu’s mind and until the few seconds before he falls asleep, only stopping when he suddenly wakes up to Yeonjun’s strangled grunts during a particular night.
He sits up to see what was going on, realizing what it is when he finds that the other’s eyes are still closed.
Yeonjun is having a nightmare.
Beomgyu reaches out to shake him awake. Before he could, however, a hand grabs his wrist. The grip is tight enough to be painful, eliciting a groan from him.
Immediately after the sound slipped from his mouth, the pressure against his wrist slackens. The blond instinctively woke up when his body told him he was in danger and seized what he perceived as the nearest threat, only to let go not a second after when his vision cleared enough to register that the threat in question was Beomgyu.
“Fuck, I’m sorry, Gyu. I’m sorry. Sorry- I’m sorry.”
“Hey, I’m okay! What’s with the apologies? What happened? Why are you crying?”
Oh, Yeonjun didn’t even notice his damp cheeks. “I had a nightmare,” He admits. “I can’t remember the details, all I can recall is crushing you. You were in my arms and I held on too tight. And—And I crushed you. I started sobbing then, you kept telling me that it was okay.”
Yeonjun places Beomgyu’s palm against his cheek and tried to engrave its warmth onto his memory. “But you’re here, right Beomgyu? You’re okay and you’re with me.”
The action brings the human back to Taehyun’s words and the clear distrust laced within them. Truthfully, they managed to stir doubt in Beomgyu. He already knew that Yeonjun would eventually realize how much of a burden it is to keep him around, but he also assumed the mutant wouldn’t be cruel enough to throw him out without warning. Taehyun thought otherwise and Beomgyu had been so close to getting completely convinced.
Now, however, in the face of Yeonjun’s tears, glittering like starlight and each one pouring for him. Beomgyu believes—no, Beomgyu knows.
“Yeah, I’m with you.”
Yeonjun would never even come close to anything that can hurt him.
infected.
“You know, Kai hasn’t been allowed to come here for three whole months now. Isn’t that too much?”
“I’m just taking precautions. He can come back when his telekinesis, or at the very least, his temper, isn’t out of control anymore.”
“He learned that temper from you, you know.”
Yeonjun raises a brow at Soobin, who’s sitting across from him at his condo’s dining table. It wasn’t time to pick Beomgyu up yet when the taller came by, hence Yeonjun let him in. “Okay I feel like there’s something you want to say but you keep dancing around it. What is it?”
Soobin sighs, he’s always been so easy to read. “Aren’t you being too protective of Beomgyu?”
Hearing the question, Yeonjun already knows any other answer that isn’t a yes would be a lie. He’s not dense enough to not see that he’s been hovering around the other. Yeonjun is mostly the one providing for the both of them, yet ironically, he’s the one acting like a dog tailing and whimpering for the first hand that fed it.
“I like caring for him,” is the reply he settles for. “It’s been drilled into our heads that it’s our duty to protect the powerless. But Beomgyu doesn’t feel like a task forced onto me. It’s just like you watering plants or Kai taking vocal lessons for fun. I don’t know, I’m simply doing something I like. Maybe that’s why I can’t help but be excessive.”
To Yeonjun’s surprise, the response he receives from Soobin is a mere chuckle. “You could’ve gone straight to the point instead to save yourself from all that talking. You like Beomgyu.”
Ah, is that what it was?
Yeonjun can finally put a label on them—on the thick honey that lingers on his tongue when he says Beomgyu’s name; on the tingling sensation prickling his skin when the human’s brushes against his; on the constantly burning need to always be near.
(Fondness. Affection. Adoration.)
He feels somewhat lighter now that he’s certain of what exactly it is that he feels towards Beomgyu.
Yeonjun hopes it all never stops.
(Devotion.)
Beomgyu shifts in discomfort in his seat. The male across him has been unabashedly staring at him for the past five minutes. He counted. He always does whenever Yeonjun’s eyes are on him. “Is there something you want to tell me?”
The mutant shakes his head without breaking his gaze, “Nothing.”
“Then why have you been staring?”
“Hm, guess I never told you how nice it is just to look at you.”
A choke followed by gasps for air are later heard throughout the room. Beomgyu slaps a hand over the mid-portion of his face in a futile attempt to hide how red it is. “You- You can’t just say that out of nowhere! What’s gotten into you?”
Yeonjun really did mean to answer, perhaps with another flirty remark. However, a laugh is what actually ends up as his reply.
He can’t help it. There always seems to be a certain lightness within his ribs when he’s around Beomgyu, elevating him to a heart fluttering high he doesn’t want to come down from.
He can’t help it. Beomgyu makes him so happy.
“Nothing, alright? Continue eating, just let me appreciate how ordinary this day has been.”
“Oh? What do you mean ordinary?” Beomgyu asks with interest and relief at the change in topic.
“I didn’t rescue anyone today for once, usually I save at least three people daily.”
“Well, I guess that’s great? That means less people were in danger today.”
The mutant only hums instead of forming a proper response. He figures for this one, it would be better to stay silent and effectively end the conversation about it from there.
Because Beomgyu is a good person and Yeonjun doesn’t want to lie.
It’s a lazy Saturday, something the pair was grateful for. Beomgyu had worked himself to the bone the past week while Yeonjun just finished an elaborate choreography an idol company paid him to make.
The two are currently in a mess of limbs on the couch, lying chest to chest with the human on top, and listening to each other’s stories and heartbeats rather than the television playing reruns in front of them.
Beomgyu giggles and Yeonjun feels its vibrations to his core, he wishes he can force his rib cage shut to keep them there.
“Okay, I’m gonna get up, I think I want to take a nap.” The former begins pulling away, but pauses when fingers dig themselves into his waist. “I want to take a nap on the bed, Yeonjun.”
“Fine fine, I’ll cook dinner for us tonight, I’ll wake you by then.” The said male grumbles, already missing the warmth sprawled on his chest just moments prior.
While Beomgyu closes the bedroom door for some privacy as he naps, Yeonjun remains lying in place on the couch.
He should confess soon, he wants to. Honestly, he’s not even sure how Beomgyu still hasn’t caught on. His yearning for the other consumes him to the point that sometimes Yeonjun thinks there’s a possibility Beomgyu can actually feel his heart whispering his name underneath his fingertips.
“Choi Beomgyu.” Yeonjun mumbles. It’s unfair how sweet the name tastes, triggering an ache in his chest that hurts so good.
He hopes the sensation never leaves, hopes it never has to.
The sound of knuckles against wood is what interrupts Yeonjun’s musings. Out of all people, Yang Seohyun is the last person he expected to see on his doorstep. Their interactions are limited to the few times the doctor was assigned to give him a checkup. To say that Yeonjun is confused would be an understatement. “Good afternoon, Dr. Yang. What brings you here?”
“I think what I’m about to tell you is better discussed in private.”
Seohyun clearly means business, Yeonjun could do nothing but sidestep and direct her to the dining table.
“I’ll cut to the chase,” The doctor immediately places a folder on the table upon sitting down. “These are Choi Beomgyu’s blood test results.”
“Why are you showing me? Shouldn’t you-“
“Results after we tested it with cells dissected from an Infected.”
Yeonjun’s tongue dries as an unsettling weight places itself on his throat. Something is coming and he’s sure he won’t like it. Nevertheless, he pushes on. “Why would you do that?”
Seohyun opens the folder to reveal graphs, images, and blocks of text Yeonjun is too unfocused to understand. “Beomgyu never experienced any severe illnesses despite growing up in an orphanage that lacked the most basic health care. With a situation like that, no one can make it to three years old, let alone nineteen.”
“But this made the puzzle make sense,” Seohyun gestures to the data laid out in front of them. “I’ll summarize it for you. Beomgyu’s blood cells are eating up the Infected’s. His cells aren’t just unaffected by the virus, they’re completely destroying it. Do you know what this means, Yeonjun?”
He does. And he doesn’t know why his apprehension only worsens at the realization.
“Beomgyu is the cure.” Seohyun answers for him. “He’s not human, he was just unaware. His parents must have been mutants but abandoned him. God knows why they did when he was the cure all along.”
Yeonjun asks the only question that matters to him, “So what now? What happens to Beomgyu? Does he just need to donate some blood?”
Seohyun purses her lips and the mutant’s guts twist.
“A few vials of blood isn’t going to solve a worldwide pandemic. We need to find the source.”
“Do you know where it is?”
“We’re speculating that it’s at the heart. But we’re unsure so we need to bring Beomgyu to our lab and-“
“And kill him?” Yeonjun bristles at the mention of the word lab. Bringing Beomgyu there as if he’s not a living being like the rest.
As if he’s just a means to an end.
And to the rotting world and its rotting people, maybe he is. But Yeonjun would rather go to hell and back than let Beomgyu know that. He’s afraid the latter will actually agree to it.
“We’re not going to let Beomgyu die in the process, we’re just-“
“You’re just going to pick him apart until he does.”
Seohyun’s patience snaps at the same time Yeonjun’s does. She takes a deep breath before stating the cruel truth, “So what if he does? One life for billions, this isn’t even an equivalent exchange. It’s the answer to both of our problems being dangled right in front of us. You won’t have to protect humans anymore because there’ll be nothing to protect them from.”
It’s unfair, Yeonjun thinks. It’s unfair that he spent all his life serving humans without asking for anything in return. And now that he’s finally knowing what it means to want , the newfound happiness is about to be heartlessly snatched away from him.
Salvation be damned.
“Get out.”
The sudden display of hostility raises Seohyun’s brows, “I don’t think you understand what this means for all of us, Yeonjun.”
“I said get out.” Wood chips off the dining table and a handprint carves itself on the spot the mutant is clenching. He’s not playing nice anymore and the doctor is aware of it.
Realizing that she’s fighting a losing battle, Seohyun stands up from her place but leaves the folder behind. “You’ll come to your senses, Yeonjun. Bring Beomgyu to us when you do.”
After the woman leaves, the blonde slumps back down on his chair and clutches his head in his hands.
Beomgyu can’t know. Yeonjun isn’t going to risk it. He doesn’t care.
To him, it’s billions for one.
Yeonjun had been rather antsy lately. As in he’s been making an effort to either keep Beomgyu at home or the mutant never lets him go anywhere without him. At the cafe, Yeonjun is there the second his shift is over.
Beomgyu doesn’t quite mind. In fact, he likes being taken care of. For once, he doesn’t have to look more than twice behind him when walking or worry about which routues are safe to pass through, because he’s never truly vulnerable anymore. So he keeps his thoughts and comments to himself.
However, they all slip out faster than he can think when Yeonjun comes home one evening clearly angry at him. Beomgyu’s recent shift ended early and went straight home, forgetting to inform the other. It’s true that he should have, but that doesn’t warrant whatever tantrum Yeonjun is throwing right now.
“Stop yelling at me! I’m more fragile than you or whatever, I know that. But I’m not a child, I survived nineteen years without you hanging around me like some stray dog, I can survive a twenty minute commute.” Beomgyu didn’t mean to label the taller that way, but he’s too blinded now by his own rage to care.
Yeonjun himself appears unaffected by the name. (What he is—he knows it.) “You don’t understand, alright? There’s things you don’t know, I’m protecting you from all of them.”
“Then make me understand! Don’t keep me in the dark! Why are you—“ Beomgyu is cut off when the blonde unexpectedly lays his forehead on his shoulder. All indignation rising in the shorter’s chest fizzles out. “W-What are you doing?”
“Do you think I protect you to save your life? No,” Yeonjun continues with honesty and desperation laced in every word. “I protect you to save mine.”
Beomgyu is still yet to understand, but his knees weaken nonetheless. Months of crossing the boundaries of friendship yet never daring to call themselves lovers. He needs the confirmation, the assurance.
And Yeonjun must have sensed it. “I don’t want to be.”
“What?”
“I don’t want to be a hero, I just want to be yours.”
“My hero?”
“No, not your hero,” Yeonjun looks at Beomgyu in the eye with all the love he can muster and the latter is rendered breathless; he’s never seen anything more genuine and pure than this. “Just yours.”
Yeonjun doesn’t want to be a hero. Heroes don’t have the luxury of selfishness. They have to keep giving up everything just to keep the world from burning down when he would rather watch it ignite in flames than lose Beomgyu.
Thankfully, whether or not he knows what he’s getting himself into, human hands meet him halfway in the dark. “Okay, you’re mine. And I’m yours, too.”
It’s only then that Yeonjun wraps his arms around the other’s waist, binding their bodies together.
Like a promise, like a shackle.
Yeonjun whistles a tune he heard from the radio as he strides through the condo’s hallway, back to his unit. After finally making themselves official, Beomgyu agreed to move out with him with initial perplexion, but without hesitation, saying that You’re finally my boyfriend now after months of living with you and pining after you, I don’t think I’ll be able to stand being apart anymore. Besides, it’s not like I have anything to leave behind here. I should say goodbye to Taehyun though.
Needless to say, the mutant is in a state of elation.
He opens the door to his unit and finds Soobin already there. While this would usually be a typical occasion, that’s not the case now.
Not when the healer is looking at the folders he tried so hard to hide.
“How did you find those?”
“That’s not what matters, Yeonjun. What matters is you’ve been fucking hiding the cure all along!” Soobin is swearing at him with a raised voice, a crystal clear indication that he’s nothing but pissed.
“I’m not going to let him die, I don’t care if anybody else, or everybody else, does.”
Soobin gazes at him with horror for a fraction of a second. “He’s a good person, he won’t agree to that. He’ll be happy to save everyone.”
“That’s exactly why I kept it a secret. We’re leaving Seoul as soon as possible.” Yeonjun has it all prepared. He’s put all his savings in an accessible bank account and he already informed the condominium’s management that he’ll be vacating the unit very soon.
“Well, it’s too late anyway.” The taller mumbles, but the other hears it loud and clear.
His blood runs cold and his hands waste no time twisting themselves around Soobin’s collar. “What the hell do you mean?”
The latter attempts to pull away from the hold, however, he’s forced to choke out an answer when fingers move closer to his bare neck. “I… I called the number on the papers right away when I saw them. A Yang Seohyun picked up, I told her where Beomgyu works. She probably has him now.”
The hands closing in on his neck loosen and move away. Just when Soobin assumed that the tide has passed, it comes crashing over him—landing a sharp pain that crackles like lightning from his head to his spine.
“You’re one of my best friends,” Yeonjun looms over the said male, conversing with him as if he hadn’t just practically buried the healer into hard, ebony wood flooring a few seconds prior. “That’s the only reason I’ll be leaving now without your blood on the walls.”
The blond releases a heavy sigh, “I’m sorry, Soobin. For hurting you. I really am. But being with Beomgyu is more important to me than being the god everyone expects me to be.”
With that, Yeonjun rushes out the door and turns his back on his friend, turns his back on the world.
And runs heart first towards Beomgyu.
His legs dash faster than he can think, stopping cars that threaten to run him over with a simple slap of his wrist. Though he ensures he doesn’t shove any innocent passersby too hard amidst his panic.
Fortunately, the hospital isn’t very far and most of the staff at the front desk are familiar with Yeonjun either due to debt or his friendly character whenever he’s around for a routine checkup. In the case of the employee currently stationed at the desk, it’s the former, Yeonjun once rescued her from getting eaten up.
Being violent now and alerting security will only slow him down and he doesn’t want to unnecessarily hurt anyone who doesn’t know about Seohyun’s plan, so he forces himself to briefly calm down and use the help he previously gave to his advantage. “Hey Hari, is Doctor Yang Seohyun available? Do you know where she is?”
The unsuspecting woman brightens at the appearance of the mutant, “Yeonjun! It’s been a while. But about Doctor Yang, she’s busy right now and not accepting patients. Do you want to set up an appointment?”
“No, I have something urgent to talk to her about. Can you do me a favor? Can you tell me where she is right now?”
“I’m sorry, Yeonjun. That’s not information I can divulge. Instead, I can-“
“ Please do me this favor. I saved your life, Hari. Won’t you just do this one thing for me?” There’s only so much the male could do to keep the edge off his tone. Each passing second further crumbled the ground Yeonjun stood on, and the time right now was rapidly moving too fast.
Finally, the nurse reluctantly answered, “Okay, she booked one of the operating rooms just recently. Room 318, it’s on the third floor, you go left when you arrive there. But you have to know you won’t be allowed to go inside, alright?”
Yeonjun gives the woman a nod before he’s blinded, panic and rage covering his eyes with shades of red. He’s unsure of how fast he’s running or of how many people have seen him. Perhaps they’re suspicious of him now, but all he can think about is if Beomgyu is okay and if his heart is still beating.
Maybe some staff attempted to stop him only to get pounded and battered by a swing of his fist. Truthfully, Yeonjun isn’t certain anymore of what’s happening around him. Barely lucid, he slams the door to the operating room open, knuckles dripping with blood.
He registers Beomgyu in a hospital gown, lying unconscious, prepared to be picked apart. The red enveloping Yeonjun’s eyes darken into velvet and festers to his ears. He can’t see. He can’t hear.
One of the three nurses assisting Seohyun points a gun at him, no doubt loaded with bullets containing ability neutralizers. The doctor must have anticipated him storming in.
What they failed to consider however, is the fact that this isn’t new to Yeonjun at all. Landing punches and avoiding attacks are both embedded in his muscle memory, combat is the last thing he would fail in.
Hence he sidesteps when a shot is fired to easily dodge the bullet, immediately countering it with strike to the nurse’s jaw. The unmistakable crunch of a broken bone resonates throughout the room. The other two nurses were even easier to deal with, all Yeonjun had to do was snatch the gun used against him and shoot them to their chests instead. They were either mutants whose abilities were temporarily muted by the weapon, or humans that were killed with the press of a trigger. But Yeonjun can’t care any less about any of that.
The real hindrance is the woman still gazing at him with defiance, as if intentionally ignoring the clear power imbalance between them. “You can kill me now and take Beomgyu away, the guilt will just keep haunting you. So think about it carefully, are you really going to choose one boy’s life over finally ending whatever hell this world has gone through for decades?”
There’s helplessness that Seohyun’s hardened expression fails to mask, it causes Yeonjun to recall the look of trepidation Soobin gave him when he stated he was alright with more of the population dying as long as Beomgyu got to live.
Yeonjun doesn’t understand what’s so frightening. The population has grown used to the constant danger lurking in allies and open streets, so it resorted to protecting what it considers valuable instead.
He’s simply doing the same.
“Yeah,” Yeonjun aims the handgun between Seohyun’s eyes. “Is that so wrong?”
And fires.
His vision isn’t so red and white anymore.
Yeonjun soon turns back to the lying male and gently carries him out of the room, away from the crimson picture he painted. He makes his way up to the rooftop; he can’t walk out with a patient in his arms, so he’ll jump down instead.
It shouldn’t have been this messy, they were supposed to drive away once everything was settled. Now he also has to come up with a plan for how to hide this incident and more importantly, how to justify to Beomgyu what he did.
He was unfazed when his own best friend viewed him as inhumane, but for his lover to see him the same way would absolutely shatter him.
The bright light that peeks through his eyelids upon being carried outside is what stirs Beomgyu awake.
There’s two of the Infected on one side of the rooftop, formerly doctors based on their tattered attires. They begin sluggishly moving toward the pair, but what the blond braces himself for is the onslaught of accusations that he’ll hear from Beomgyu.
However, contrary to his fears, what Yeonjun gets is a smile. A caress to the cheek. And—
“I was hoping you’d come.”
Relief washes over Yeonjun in an abrupt, large wave. It’s almost painful. “You- you’re not angry at me for keeping it a secret? For keeping you a secret?”
The human’s smile doesn’t falter as he replies, “Before they forced me to sleep, they explained to me the situation—what my blood can do and what was going to happen to me. Maybe I just resigned at that point, gave up. I only wanted what you did. If you came to save me, I would’ve been happy. If you rather let me die, I would’ve been alright with that too.” He nuzzles his face into the other’s chest, “So what do you want, Yeonjun?”
The Infected that are with them on the rooftop inch further towards them.
Yeonjun embraces him closer, afraid that even the most miniscule distance would be enough to take the boy in his arms away. “I don’t want to hurt people. But just this once, I want to make it all disappear, so no one finds out.” About this, about you.
Beomgyu slightly pulls down Yeonjun by the neck to place his forehead against the latter’s.
The wind blows.
“Then burn it all down.”
And the Infected flee, willingly falling to their second and final deaths.
“Whatever evidence that could lead us to who did this is gone with the hospital’s ashes. Was there anyone suspicious who visited today? Someone who could’ve possibly been the culprit? Any detail at this point can help.”
Kang Hari stares straight into the camera. The news reporter continues to ask a chain of questions that all merely blur into sounds her mind doesn’t register.
Perhaps this would be selfish of her—to be the only one who knows the truth. But while the rest burned, she was given time to run away and be spared from the flames, she had been granted another favor.
It’s only right that she returns it.
Kang Hari stares straight into the camera, concealing her gratefulness.
“I don’t know. I don’t know anyone who could have done this.”
|
After how many times TK had been injured whilst out on a call, one would expect him to be more careful.
They had been called out to a barn fire, both paramedics and firefighters. It had been quickly contained, fortunately the farmhands were well trained and had taken quick action to ensure it didn’t get out of control.
With all the straw, it was taking a while for the fire department to make sure that there were no remaining sparks that could start a secondary blaze. Nobody had been hurt, thankfully, so TK offered to help with the search, which his old teammates had gladly accepted.
Nancy and Tommy had joined in as well, it had been a slow day for the ambulance, and they were all quite relieved to finally have something to do.
TK reached the back of the barn, where the bulk of the hay was stored. The stench of smoke had spread throughout the entire building, and TK felt sympathy toward the poor workers who would have to deal with it.
He lifted a scorched patch with one hand, testing the area for heat. The straw was soaked, but there was no sign of smoke. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a pitchfork, and absentmindedly reached for it to check further back.
It wasn’t until he felt a sharp pain in his right hand that he realised it was in fact not a pitchfork. It was instantaneous, a feeling like he had just been hit by a hammer, and TK shrieked at the power of it. he yanked his hand away, seeing pale brown scales slither away into the straw with a faint rattle.
His hand was dotted with two deep puncture marks, throbbing sharply from the already swelling wound. TK hissed as the pain flared up, and he realised that he needed help right now.
Since becoming a paramedic he had picked up a few tips about dealing with snakes. He knew he needed to stay as still as possible to prevent the venom from spreading, but every part of him wanted to get as far away from the danger as possible.
The pain was already growing worse, and TK began to feel lightheaded, from either the shock or the pain. He couldn’t tell. He tried to call out for help, but his voice felt like it was stuck in his throat. Swallowing, and trying to relax his breathing, he tried again.
“Help! I need help over here!” This time Mateo noticed him calling out and hurried over. His face paled at the sight of the bite marks and let out a low curse. TK couldn’t blame him, but it wasn’t helping with his anxiety.
“Captain! We need medical here now, TK’s been bitten.” Mateo shouted much louder, and TK thanked god for his friend. Owen rushed over, followed quickly by Tommy and Nancy. The rest of the team looked frantic with worry, but Judd quickly stepped in.
“Alright y’all don’t crowd them they need space to work. There’s a snake in here somewhere so keep your eyes open and stay alert. We need to get ahold of animal control, and make sure everyone else is nowhere near the danger.” The Texan turned back to the small group.
“What happened TK?” Tommy’s voice was urgent but controlled, her presence making TK feel slightly safer. The pain was scalding now, and TK could barely get the words out.
“Snake.” His voice cracked painfully, and he groaned desperately. Owen was by his side in an instant, rubbing his shoulder soothingly. “Brown. Rattle.” Tommy gave Nancy a look.
“Get the hospital on the line now, tell them that we are possibly dealing with a western diamondback rattlesnake.” TK didn’t know what type of snake that was but based on their tones he assumed it was pretty bad. Judd looked frightened for a moment before he regained control.
“Alright, Owen I need you to make sure TK stays calm. Judd, get the stretcher now.” The pain was still getting worse, and TK couldn’t keep himself silent, moaning between desperate pants. His whole body was covered with sweat, he could feel it as it dampened his clothes.
Owen went to put pressure on the still bleeding injury, but Tommy stopped him. “Don’t, the bleeding will get some of the venom out.” She undid his wristwatch, which was starting to feel tight against his swelling skin. “Just stay still TK, we’re going to fix this. Can you tell me what you’re feeling?”
TK groaned desperately again, his hand feeling like he had put it into acid. A few tears made their way down his cheeks, and he decided that snakes were now solidly his least favourite animal.
“It burns.” He was struggling to sit still, the pain so intense that he felt like his own skin was trying to pull away from the bite. He screamed at a particularly intense wave. He could barely hear his father trying to calm him down.
He didn’t realise he was nauseous until he was vomiting, barely turning to the side in time. His vision was blurred, and he felt his body go limp against his father, unable to control it. He groaned in confused pain.
He didn’t know what was going on, a wave of light-headedness washing over him as he was moved onto the stretcher. Out of the corner of his eye he could see that his hand was twice the size it normally was already.
He gasped for air, his chest suddenly feeling tight and constricted, and he feared for a moment that the snake had somehow come back to curl itself around him. The light of the sky was replaced by artificial ones.
He vomited again, entire body jerking. He started rocking and twisting, trying to escape the pain but hands came seemingly out of nowhere to pin him down.
“You need to stay still TK!” A voice ordered.
“My body’s on fire.” He thought he responded. He jerked again against the restraints, shrieking in agony.
The sound of the siren was too loud in his head, and TK shivered uncomfortably. He had been set on fire by someone, they were trying to torture him. Saliva dribbled down his chin.
Another wave of light-headedness was so powerful that the world vanished for a minute, and when TK came back, he hoped that someone would just kill him already. He didn’t know what he had done wrong to deserve this, but he hoped that whatever had done this would put him out of his misery.
Someone was running their fingers through his hair, but it barely registered in his exhausted brain. He might have groaned again, but he didn’t know if it would be audible over the mask that someone had put over his face.
He drifted at some point, in a world of suffering that he couldn’t even explain or make sense of. He was only vaguely aware of people moving around him in white lab coats. Perhaps they were angels and he actually had died.
As another wave of the fire washed over him, he assumed that he must be in hell. The lights were too bright, and he vomited again, too weak to turn his head to the side to get it out. his lungs started to burn a little bit more before someone helped him.
He didn’t think it was possible, but now he felt significantly worse.
Mercifully, he at last fell unconscious.
When he came too, TK was feeling a little better. It wasn’t perfect by any means, but it was a significant improvement on before. His entire body felt as weak as a kitten, and he tried to remember what he had taken.
“TK! How are you feeling?” TK blinked owlishly until the face of the speaker came into focus.
“Carlos?” He rasped out, throat feeling scratchy and rough. Carlos held his hand.
“Yeah, it’s me. Your dad had to step out for a moment, you have the whole team out there baby.” The Latino man sounded like he had been crying, and TK did his best to grip his hand comfortingly.
“I’m sorry.” Carlos shook his head.
“Don’t be, you’ve done so well baby. I’m so proud of you.” A kiss was planted on his forehead.
“What did I do?” His brain felt like it was filled with clouds, and he felt a rush of panic. “What did they give me?”
“You didn’t do anything sweetheart. You got bitten by a snake on the job, they had to give you a bunch of anti-venom but you are going to be just fine.” He paused. “They had to give you some pain meds.” TK felt a weak sob pull itself from him, all that he had done had been thrown away in an instant.
“Your sobriety hasn’t been compromised sweetheart, your dad is speaking to your sponsor now and he completely understands. This isn’t a step backward.” TK still felt like crying, but Carlos held his hand firmly.
“You’ve been through so much baby. I’m so proud of you.” It was the second time he had said it, so TK was starting to believe him. He was just able to lift his arm into his eyeline, relieved to see that the swelling wasn’t quite as bad as he expected.
His hand was covered by a bandage, tiny spots of red peeking through the white.
“That’s gonna leave a cool scar.” He joked weakly, and Carlos chuckled.
“You bet; you’ll be even sexier.” TK raised an eyebrow flirtily, but he didn’t feel like he would be up and about for a while yet. Even being shot had been easier than this.
Tiredness pulled at his eyelids, and Carlos gave him another kiss, this time on the lips. “You just rest now; we can talk about this later.” With his permission, TK allowed himself to relax. He was going to have a lot of stories for his kids someday.
Owen was no stranger to fear. When the towers came down, with most of his team still inside, Owen had been certain that his heart would stop. Finding out about the cancer almost seemed like death was finally catching up with him. When TK overdosed, he thought that he might have been even more terrified.
When TK was shot, it somehow went beyond that.
When he held his son for the first time, it felt like everything that had ever happened to him in his life had been leading to that moment. This little baby, so perfectly innocent, was all that mattered in his life.
Owen wasn’t so arrogant as to assume that he had never made mistakes with TK, but he had always tried. A part of being a parent was trying your best and managing to fail anyway, something Owen had truly come to appreciate over the last 26 years.
You would think that after a certain amount of terror and seeing your son nearly die, one might get used to it. That didn’t happen, not even slightly.
When Owen reached TK, the paramedic was covered by a thin sheen of sweat. His eyes were bright with pain, clutching and hunched over his hand, blood trickling out of two perfectly matched holes.
For a moment, Owen couldn’t wrap his head around the situation. In New York, you didn’t often run into snakes, and the ones you might meet tended to scurry off before any harm could be done. It wasn’t until Tommy went into full paramedic mode that he realised quite how serious this was.
Judd was talking, but Owen was more focused on Tommy and Nancy. Tommy was always well controlled, the exact person you would want in an emergency due to her calm and focused demeanour. Nancy was very talented, but her emotions were far more on her sleeve after Tim had died.
It was her look of alarm that made Owen jump into action.
“What happened TK?” Tommy was asking the man, who was looking like he was in more pain by the second. Owen’s heart clenched, terror flooding his veins as he saw the clamminess of his skin. TK was panting, and every now and then he would rock slightly from the pain.
Tommy eased his hand away from his chest, and Owen got a better look at the bite. His hand was swollen, far too quickly for Owen’s liking, and the blood was still coming at a steady but slow pace.
“Snake.” TK’s voice was strained, and he broke into a groan. Owen was forced into action by the noise, putting a hand on TK’s shoulder. Alarmingly, the boy didn’t seem to notice.
“Brown. Rattle.” TK rasped, and Tommy shared a look with Nancy, which didn’t go unnoticed by Owen’s son. His breathing increased, and he shuddered slightly, leaning more into Owen. The captain forced his emotions under his skin, determined to not give away any indication of fear.
He had heard of a western diamondback rattlesnake before and seeing Judd gasp faintly it reminded him of the severe danger. Nancy was gone in an instant, and Owen was jolted back to reality by Tommy directing him.
“Try to keep him calm.” Owen nodded; mouth dry as he murmured a few calming words. TK was whimpering between beaths now, and Owen hated seeing his son in such obvious pain.
On instinct, he went to put pressure on the wound before Tommy stopped him gently. “The bleeding might get some of the venom out.” She explained, and Owen could only blink to show he understood. He had never felt so out of depth.
For a second, he realised that he should probably be more concerned about the location of the snake now, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. TK’s pain was all that mattered.
“You are doing so well son, just keep breathing ok?” TK didn’t give any indication that he had heard, but Owen kept talking anyway. “I am so proud of you Tyler.” Tommy said something but it escaped Owen’s notice as TK let out a broken sob.
“It burns.” His voice was broken and cracked, and he screamed into Owen’s shoulder at the next wave. Owen kept talking, but he barely knew what he was saying, not that TK seemed to care.
The kid jerked, groaning deliriously. His eyes were glassy and unfocused, panting shallowly and twitching uncomfortably. Just as Judd came back with the stretcher, TK contorted and vomited, some of it hitting Owen but he didn’t mind.
TK slumped against Owen’s shoulder, a tender thing he hadn’t done since he was 7. It reminded him of better times, were it not for the despairing, thin wail escaping his son’s lips.
“Owen, help me get him up.” Judd’s thick accent broke through Owen’s concern and he numbly helped the Texan manoeuvre his son’s ominously limp body onto the stretcher. They were moving quickly, but it couldn’t be fast enough for Owen.
A dreadful wheezing noise made him want to sob, before it was broken by another painful vomiting session. TK cried out again, starting to roll and writhe in his position on the stretcher. The desperate movements were blocked by Tommy, who was pinning down his wrists, indicating for Owen to do the same with his legs.
TK fought back with surprising strength given how dreadful he was looking, although it was evidently not his choice. Owen had a dreadful flashback to the horrible agony of when TK was shot.
The same pale form, wordless pleading with Owen for the agony to stop as he bled out onto the shaggy carpet, dark blood matting the fabric. TK had met his eyes then, blood painting his face as it dripped steadily out of his slack mouth and nose, sharp with fear.
“You need to stay still TK!” Judd ordered, and Owen realised that he had completely lost control of himself for a moment. He felt guilty that the team was likely panicking and concerned, just as much as he was, but Judd steadied him with a look. A look that said ‘we can handle this; you worry about TK.’ It was a shockingly common look he received.
“My body’s on fire.” TK gasped back, the last coherent words he said before he descended into agonised shrieking and senseless begging. It made Owen feel nauseous just to watch it. The twitching was starting to ease slightly, but Owen knew that it wasn’t a good sign.
TK’s arms and legs were still jerking, but much less strongly against the restraining hands than he was before. He didn’t know how long his son could keep fighting, and Owen started praying out loud, not caring about anyone hearing him.
“Please, don’t let him die. I don’t care if you take me, just please leave him.” Tears streaked his cheeks. TK jerked again, foam speckling his lips, flecked with blood where he had bitten the inside of his mouth.
“Judd, swap places with me.” Owen spoke with more authority than he felt capable of, and Judd immediately obeyed, allowing the captain to sit by his son’s head.
TK twitched vaguely, unable to even swallow, leaving Owen to grab a spare napkin and wipe away the saliva. He was groaning faintly, looking straight through the ambulance staff as they worked, not that there was much they could do without the right antivenom.
Tommy shared a look with Owen, and he realised that she was scared. A part of him desperately hoped it was residual fear after Tim had died as he did.
Owen ran his fingers through his son’s sweaty brown hair, whispering soothing words that he knew TK was well beyond hearing at this moment. The heart monitor beeped frantically.
“Owen, he’s gone into shock. He’s in a lot of pain, we need to give him some pain medication or he might…” Tommy’s eyes were dark with pity, and Owen realised that she wasn’t going to administer it without his permission. He thought he might vomit.
She was asking him to make the choice, to decide whether TK would be willing to risk his sobriety. For a moment Owen couldn’t think, he could barely even breathe. How could he be expected to make that choice?
TK could despise him for it, he could go into a full relapse and end up on the streets somewhere, or he could overdose again. Owen remembered how hard TK had worked to move past his addiction, the nights he could do nothing but sit by the toilet sobbing between boughs of nausea.
Tommy didn’t speak, but her eyes begged him for an answer. TK’s heart monitor beeped frantically again, and TK groaned. Owen couldn’t bear it anymore, and he gave a slight nod.
TK could hate him for it, so long as he was still alive to do it.
As they neared the hospital, an oxygen mask was placed over TK’s pale face, and for just a second he met Owen’s eyes. That beautiful green gaze hadn’t changed since that very first day, when Owen had cradled this perfect being in his arms.
Owen was pushed aside to make way for the hospital workers, and he almost knocked Judd over in his desperation to stay by his son.
“Cap, listen to me!” The voice finally broke through, and Owen blinked owlishly at his teammate. “Let the experts do their job, ok? TK is in good hands.” Owen forced himself to breathe, nodding mutely.
Any semblance of calmness was gone in an instant when TK choked weakly, and the doctors had to actively turn his head to let the bile drain out. Owen nearly passed out.
He tried to follow again but was manhandled into a seat by Judd. He struggled for a few seconds before giving up, overanxious muscles easily overpowered by the Texan. He lent against the younger man, unable to do much else.
Slowly, the rest of the team trickled in, looking alarmed at Owen’s ragged appearance but Judd brushed them off. Owen had never been more relieved for his friend. He sat up.
“Carlos! He needs to know, oh god I forgot to call him.” Judd hushed him.
“Don’t worry, Marjan took care of it. He’s on his way.” Almost comedically, that was the moment Carlos burst through the doors, eyes frantic with worry and face damp with tears.
“Where is he? What happened?” He looked at Owen, flinching slightly at his appearance. With the strained looks on the team’s faces, Owen realised that it must look like TK had…
“He’s alright.” Owen found himself calming the young officer, feeling more like himself now that he had some direction. “He was bitten by a snake.” Carlos stared intensely, before he turned away, trembling. Owen pulled him into a hug.
“He’s gonna be ok.” He could only hope he sounded like he believed it.
--- --- --- --- ---
It was a little over an hour before the doctor at last returned, quickly met by all the unit. Even Grace had managed to slip away from her work and had been a godsend bringing the team coffee and assuring them that TK had made it through far worse.
“Tyler’s doing well, he response well to the antivenom we have given him. We will need to keep a close eye on him for a while, so he will be staying here for a day or two, but he should make a full recovery. It’s fortunate you acted so fast.”
The doctor was calm, and she seemed to sense the relief of the team. Owen almost collapsed.
“I saw on his chart that he is an addict, I’m sorry but we had no choice but to give him pain medications.” Carlos flinched and some of the team looked away, ashamed. Owen only nodded.
“It’s alright, we are all going to be here for him.” To his relief, his voice was calm and authoritative, and he was met by numerous looks of determination. Marjan nodded solidly.
“Of course we will cap, if we could get Mateo through those exams we can do this.” There was a gentle titter of laughter from the unit, a nice change from the seriousness of the last few moments. Owen smiled faintly, too exhausted to join in.
“If you would like to visit him, he’s asleep but I’m sure he’ll appreciate visitors. Try to keep it to just a few people at the moment, he needs a lot of rest and is going to be pretty out of it.” Owen nodded, gesturing for Carlos to come with him.
Judd was almost immediately planning a visitation schedule and meal plans for the next week for the couple whilst TK recovered, and Owen knew that the rest of the team would be in safe hands with him and Grace.
Following the doctor down the hallway, Owen gave Carlos an affirming pat on the back, seeing his own concern reflected in the officer’s eyes. It was that love and affection that made the policeman one of TK’s best partners, and it was about time.
TK was looking much better. His arm still looked uncomfortably swollen, but the paleness and sweating was almost entirely gone. They had been lucky, Owen realised. In a second, he was holding his son’s hand, stroking his palm with a thumb gently.
He couldn’t believe how fortunate he was.
TK was completely motionless, deeply asleep from whatever pain meds he was on. With a. jolt, Owen realised he would need to let TK’s sponsor know what was going on. The young man was going to need a lot of help after this.
He turned to Carlos.
“I need to let his sponsor know what’s happening, can you stay with him?” Carlos nodded blankly, before his attention was back on the pale man between them. Owen stepped out, dialing the number.
The phone had only just been picked up when he looked back through the door, seeing TK blinking back to life. With a sob, he realised that TK truly was going to be ok.
After this, TK was never going to leave his sight again. Safer as a paramedic his ass.
|
Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Atsushi frowned. Why was.. anybody coming down here for? Down into the cold basement. Completely made of stone. Only a window that was just a bit above the ground, let blue moon light shine into the room. And of course, the twelve year old boy was curled up in a corner. The farthest away from the moonlight.
He'd been in the middle of.. sleeping? Sleeping wasn't the right word. It was more passing out than anything. His stomach felt empty. His mouth and throat felt dry. His body hurt. Atsushi felt his hopes rise up. Maybe.. it was the headmaster. And he was gonna finally let him out! That— or provide him with food and water. He'd take anything. He really would.
But he was not met with the headmaster, as he thought he'd be. The figure was obscured from the dark, not in the moonlight quite yet. "Atsushi Nakajima." The voice sounded like maybe it belonged to a young adult..? And it sounded so.. scary. Serious, yeah. Scary.
"..." Atsushi lifted his head a little to acknowledge his name being said. He watched as the figure seemed to kneel down, and a tray was slid towards him. He blinked a few times and looked down at it. Food.. that was food! But- should he accept food from a stranger? A person he couldn't even see?
"You're pathetic." The voice spoke. "I would've expected something better from the man eating were tiger." The voice sounded.. bored now. "Eat. I can't talk to you when you're half dead." The food looked a lot better than what he was normally served in the orphanage.
Atsushi reached a hand down and picked up a piece of food off the tray, taking a bite out of it. The cooking was... phenomenal. And he found himself easily eating it within minutes. Sure, he didn't have water. But- he most definitely wasn't going to complain at all. The food was enough. "Barbaric." The voice spoke again. It sounded disgusted, this time.
Atsushi frowned. Him? Was he barbaric? He mentioned something of the man eating weretiger. But he'd almost convinced himself.. that he wasn't. "Who.. are you?" Atsushi's voice was weak.
The figure sighed, and took a step into the moonlight. Not a young adult at all. If he had to guess, he'd say the boy was around sixteen. He had messy brown hair, and bandages covering half of his face. A black coat over his shoulders and a white shirt with a black tie and pants and dress shoes. His eyes looked.. not dead, but most definitely not alive either. As if stuck between those two worlds. "Dazai Osamu." Dazai's hands were resting in his pockets. He took more steps. Out of the moonlight, but closer to Atsushi. He knelt down in front of the boy, who had gotten tense at the older boy getting closer.
"How would you like to leave this place, Atsushi Nakajima?" Dazai squatted down so he was eye level with the other. Even though Atsushi was desperate to leave this place...
"Where.. would I be going..?" The boy asked softly. It wasn't a matter of if Atsushi could leave the orphanage. It was a matter of whether or not he could go somewhere better than the orphanage. After all, why would he leave if he'd just end up some place worse..?
Dazai grinned. It wasn't a heart warming, happy grin. The aura- was like the exact opposite of what a grin should be like. "I can provide you with means of living, a job, food, water, shelter... a lot better than here. And all you have to do is...."
"I can't kill anyone." The wording of the white haired boy who was strapped down to a chair- it made Mori tilt his head just a little bit. Atsushi was not strapped down because he didn't want to be there. He was strapped down because he could very much kill someone if not kept under control. He could kill someone.
So that word choice... not "I don't want to kill anyone", not "I refuse to kill anyone". But, it was "I can't kill anyone." It felt like an oddly accurate way to put somebody else in the mafia's philosophy. Perhaps.. there could be use for this boy. Mori did have to wonder- what actual potential did Dazai see in Atsushi? He'd just brought both Akutagawa and Gin in, hadn't he? Why did he want Atsushi here?
It was like a little guessing game to the black haired man. What fun. And in the end.. Atsushi ended up joining the mafia. The living situation, the pay, even the fact that he had to work with all of the missions nobody wanted... even though he was matched with the lowest ranking member.. life in the mafia was 80,000 times better than what it was at the orphanage.
As for the lowest ranking member.. Oda Sakunosuke. Right off the bat, Atsushi would never have expected someone like him to be in the mafia. And coincidentally, it was Vice versa. Oda wouldn't have expected Atsushi to join. But then- he had to wonder how awful his situation at the orphanage had been. It was no secret that Oda had a soft spot for orphans.
Atsushi lived his entire life in the Mafia the same way that Oda did. ... except for drinking. Despite how many laws the mafia broke, Atsushi refused to drink underage and that's facts. Oda was like the father that Atsushi never had. And he'd made friends with the orphan children he took care of as well, helping to take care of them whenever he could.
Atsushi didn't have any personal opinion about Ango. Not yet, at least.. and then Dazai. The boy that Atsushi felt he owed his entire life to. And.. in a sense, he did. Without Dazai, he would've never left the orphanage. Never joined the mafia. And Atsushi always seemed to do whatever he could to show Dazai just how grateful he was.
And it was a little strange to Dazai. Someone being so grateful. At least, with such an immense amount of kindness and pureness in the thankfulness. Scratch a little strange. It was a lot strange. He found Atsushi strange. He had absolutely no idea how to react to the male. At least when it came to Akutagawa, he would always just want to prove his worth. Wanted Dazai's approval. Thats not something all too new, though with the extent the black haired boy was going... it was quite entertaining. But Atsushi just wants to show how grateful he was.
Maybe that explained why Dazai's attitude was different to Atsushi than it was to Akutagawa. Not to mention Dazai and Oda and Atsushi's little friendship triangle.. oh yeah Ango too. Square?
Regardless, Akutagawa's hatred for Atsushi would start to grow.
And that brought them here. Six years later. Two years after Oda's death. Which pretty much.. broke Dazai in half. When he and Atsushi had found Oda, slowly dying... his dying words seemed to stick with Atsushi more than they did with Dazai. And for obvious reasons... Dazai sort of regretted that. He wanted to be able to live on in his friends honor. But all that was born from watching one of his only friends die was hatred.
Atsushi, eighteen, still in the mafia. But he continued to live out his morally correct peace and justice. He truly.. wasn't someone that felt like he fit in with the mafia whatsoever. Akutagawa, eighteen, always wanting to prove himself still. And with a lot more violence. And his hatred for Atsushi, who didn't reciprocate that hate, grew. Mori, dead. The cause of death was completely unknown. An assassin maybe? Natural causes? But— many have rumored that it was Dazai. Twenty two. The boss of the Port Mafia.
Atsushi hummed softly as he walked down the long hallway. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. His head tilted from side to side only a few centimeters, in tune with the song he was humming. He even altered his steps to the beat. Only Atsushi could be carrying documents to the feared boss' desk with a soft smile and a happy hum.
To be quite honest.. the only reason he was bringing the documents to him were because, 1. He had to go see him to report of his latest mission anyways. And 2. Nobody else wanted to do it. Of course, suddenly 80% of the members of the port mafia had a mission to go on. And then the 20% who were still in the building were busy with something. Except for a shaggy blonde haired boy. Who lazily told Atsushi he just didn't wanna do it.
So, Atsushi, like the kind and productive weretiger he was, was taking care of it. When Atsushi had first joined the mafia six years ago, he had to wear a type of collar for almost a year and a half. It would dig spikes into his neck and- kept the tiger in check, for the most part. But then, with the help of Oda and even Dazai here and there.. though it was physically exhausting, he had learned to properly control his ability.
Dazai had his feet kicked up on his empty desk, leaning back in his chair, hands behind his bed. Relaxing is what he'd like to call it. But a duo of red heads would like to call it slacking off. Which was exactly what it was. It was no secret that he willingly put off his work until the last moment, unless he was practically threatened by his executives.
A knock on the door. It was very subtle, but the knock was sort of a tune. Like a song. And of course the only person who knocked like that, at least that he was aware of giving the fact that 80% of the members actively avoided himself, was Atsushi. To be quite honest.. the white haired male had taken a special place in his heart.
Dazai nodded, as if that could be seen by Atsushi whatsoever on the other side of the door. Atsushi tilted his head a little when not heading a 'come in'. But then he had a strange feeling he was being welcomed in. Atsushi poked his head through the door. Something almost everyone would rather die than do. "..may I come in..?" Atsushi asked politely.
"...yeah." Dazai nodded, sighing as he watched the other fully step into the office. He realized he'd nodded without verbal confirmation to come in before hand.
"Thank you." Atsushi hummed still, though a little more quietly, as he walked up to the boss' desk, setting the documents down. "I finished my mission, and these are all the documents that're coming in about our data disappearing."
Dazai moved his feet off the desk and sat up straight, flipping through a couple of the documents. "That's funny.. I could've sworn I told Chuuya to bring these to me." He looked at Atsushi, very clearly awaiting an explanation.
"He's on a mission." Atsushi hummed quietly.
"Then Kouyou should've done it."
"She was also on a mission."
Dazai leaned back in his chair as he began to skim through the documents. "..and who wasn't on a mission? Do tell." He spoke as his eyes looked across the many words on the documents. Eugh.. reading.
"Ah.." Atsushi didn't really want to considering that they'd probably end up getting targeted in some way for actively avoiding their boss. ".." But it's not like he could tell his boss no either. So he listed them off, deciding to mention the shaggy blonde haired male too, who said he didn't wanna do it. "He must be a little sick or tired." He hummed softly. Obviously trying to come up with an excuse of some kind so that no one would have to get in trouble.
Too kind. There was a reason that, even with Dazai as the boss now, he couldn't just promote Atsushi a few ranks. He refused to kill after all. And you couldn't play too many favorites when it came to the mafia. Heaven forbid that.
"I see..." Dazai placed the stacks of papers down. He stood up straight, stretching his arms and walking up to the smaller male. Despite the fact the other most definitely wasn't scared of him, he always seemed to get slightly fidgety or nervous when the other got close. Cute..
"Atsushi. How would you like to handle the newest case?" Dazai asked with a small toothy grin.
"Me-?" Atsushi blinked a few times. He only ever got cases that other people in the mafia didn't want. But— as far as he knew, very few people even knew this case existed. It hadn't spread yet. "You want.."
"Yes. I want you to handle the case, Atsushi Nakajima." Dazai grinned, and gently pat the other's head. "You've become quite experienced... I think you deserve a little teensy break from being the mafia member's garbage can."
What a beautiful way of putting it. "I promise I'll complete the case!" Atsushi nodded with determination.
"Oh but real fast-" Dazai added. "..I'm gonna assign someone else with you if that's ok." His eyes showed mischief.
"Oh-! No problem at all, Boss. Uhm- who will it be..?" Atsushi had to hope this wasn't what he thought it was...
"Akutagawa!"
Yep, it's what he thought it was. "I uhm... no disrespect- or- anything at all of course- but uhm... aha- are you sure we should be working on the same case...?" He asked quietly. Whenever questioning Dazai's intent as the Boss, he of course would be a little more quiet and cautious about his words.
"Hm? I do. I think both of you need to get over yourselves." Dazai crossed his arms with a smile. "It'll be good for the both of you."
For some reason I highly doubt that— Atsushi blinked out of his thoughts as the other brought a hand up to his chin, lifting it to look at him. "Huh..?" Dazai leaned forward.
"That's no good.." His hand moved up to the side of his face, his thumb running over his cheek making Atsushi wince. "You got all scuffed up on that mission..." Dazai clicked his tongue. "You should go to the medbay then get some rest after you're all healed up." He smiled and removed his hand from his face.
It took Atsushi a couple seconds to respond. "Oh— oh- yeah- uh- yeah, ok." He nodded and quickly turned on his head, his hands in his pockets as he sped walked out of the room. Soft hands...
Cute. Dazai giggled as the doors shut, sitting back down on the chair. Because of Akutagawa's hate for Atsushi, Atsushi began to not like Akutagawa. He'd never call it hate of course. He wasn't sure if Atsushi was quite capable of hate. But, the two definitely had a mutual disliking for each other at this point. And now they'd have to work together. Despite Chuuya and Dazai's hatred for each other, they still managed to fight together as one. But when it came to Akutagawa and Atsushi.. that seemed physically impossible.
"I'm truly not all that sure how such a mission could've scuffed you up so bad." Kouyou clicked her tongue as he handed Atsushi an ice pack. She was back from her mission. He went to their medbay, yes. But- ah... was hardly treated by the doctor unless it was something Kouyou wasn't capable of doing. She'd played some type of motherly role with Atsushi.
"Well, our info wasn't fully accurate so I did get caught a bit off guard." Atsushi said with a nervous side smile as he held it up to his forehead.
"You showed mercy on an enemy again, didn't you?" Kouyou sighed and shook her head. "How many times must you learn your lesson? You cannot save everyone no matter how hard you try."
".." Atsushi sighed. Ever since.. Oda had died, Atsushi had been showing mercy to all of his victims as a final resort. But of course— they'd just try to attack him again and he'd leave them all beat up and knocked out. It really was a shame. Though, once or twice on a run in with the Agency, they accepted his kindness and they went their separate ways. That was nice..
"..." Kouyou had sat down on the infirmary bed, her eyes gently but stern at the same time. "Blaming yourself doesn't help one thing. You just make it worse for yourself." She brought a hand up and flicked him on his cheek.
"Ow-! Hey..." Atsushi huffed and sighed. He hadn't properly talked to anyone about how he felt completely and utterly responsible for Oda's death. It didn't help that... after Oda's death, Dazai completely sectioned himself off from everyone. Including Atsushi. And that made him feel like it was even more his fault. After all, he'd only properly spoken to Dazai again once he became boss. And he wasn't the same as before. Some of that was good... and some of it was bad.
Good becomes great, bad becomes worse.
"I should've gone with him... I should've persisted-"
Smack.
"Atsushi." Kouyou stood up, her hands on her waste as she looked at him in the eyes. "Whether or not it is or isn't your fault doesn't matter. Wallow in your sorrow all you'd like, but you're letting it affect everything you do. And that's not good."
It was the same thing Dazai had done. But Atsushi's just made his heart softer. Dazai made his heart harder. "It's not that easy." Atsushi murmured, not daring to look away from her eyes.
"I know it's not. You've had many years to get over it. Or at least.." Kouyou sighed. Normally she truly didn't care about her wording but when it came to Atsushi's way of acting depending on those words... she really had no choice but to be careful. "If you blame yourself so much, live on and do what he'd do. I don't remember him getting all scuffed up by showing mercy to an opponent."
Kouyou placed a hand atop his head. "You should always be prepared for them to attack. That's all I ask of you at the moment." It would save him from unwanted bruises.
Atsushi sighed. Even he knew that despite trying to see the better in people, he should've still been cautious. "...yeah... ok." He nodded.
"Good." Kouyou stood up normally now, her arms how they always were. "Go get rest."
"Ok." Atsushi sighed and stood up, trudging off to his office as if a child who was just lectured by his mom.
That's exactly what happened.
Once in his small office, he collapsed onto his couch, that was covered with blankets from home since, being the low ranking member, his couch as well with much of his office was worn out and low quality. Atsushi sighed and closed his eyes, getting comfy. He found it... surprisingly easy to fall asleep.
Well, that didn't mean anything considering he was woken up moments later by being shaken violently. "What're you? Stupid!? Are you an idiot!? Where's your brain at you dumb fuck!?"
"...huh.." Atsushi was tired so slowly opened his eyes. "..." he had to look down at Chuuya while he was shaking and lecturing him. That was funny. But unlike Dazai, he valued his life and wasn't gonna comment on it. Anyways, it appeared the red head had returned from his mission... or hiding. Whichever he did to avoid the Boss.
"You should be awake and fully attentive when I'm talking to you!" Chuuya hissed, shaking him again. "Are you stupid? How old are you now? Eighteen? You're an adult and you're still letting your guard down around people who want you dead, you dumbass!?"
"Sorry.." Atsushi sighed as the other dropped him back on the couch.
"Yeah, you better be." He clicked his tongue, crossing his arms. "What if one day one of them tried to take the opportunity to kill you?! You know how many problems that would cause for me!?"
"...ok, dad." Atsushi huffed.
"Well,—" Chuuya held his tongue. No way could he phrase a single thing about him having to be his dad figure without Atsushi thinking of his parents who didn't want him, or Oda, his only real father figure who died. "Stupid spoiled brat." He grumbled.
Atsushi smiled a little. Chuuya felt like an older brother of sorts. It was a little cool, felt like a sort of family... Kouyou the mother. Chuuya the brother. Dazai... hm. What would Dazai be? Oddly enough, he couldn't imagine him filling a family role that wasn't... romantic..
So obviously he pushed those thoughts out of his mind. "I'm tired." Atsushi spoke calmly.
"How the hell are you still tired after I yelled at you?" Chuuya was still yelling... "How can you rest when you literally got assigned one of our most important and challenging cases!? How confident are you!?"
"...both the Boss and Kouyou told me to." Atsushi huffed. "I'm following orders." He crossed his arms.
"....." Well... Chuuya can do many things. Like not care about some of Dazai's orders. But it was Dazai and Kouyou. And quite frankly, as much as he lacked to show it, Chuuya valued his life. "Still... you can rest while thinking. You have to work with Akutagawa. Which means you need to be a hell of a lot smarter than how you've been acting or it'll only cause trouble."
"By acting you mean me sparing my enemies... because Akutagawa will kill them without question. Not caring..." And Akutagawa would also probably patronize him for wanting to spare lives.
"After all these years, the weretiger uses his brain for once." Chuuya grumbled sarcastically as he stretched his arms. "...well, I'll get more mad at you later when you have energy to get scared." He mumbled. But truly... did want him to rest.
Atsushi sighed as he watched the other walk out. He was really... thankful, was the word? To be in the Mafia. To be quite honest... it had been a lot less twisted since Dazai became boss. Or at least- as less twisted as a Mafia could get.
It was sort of like a pattern. Mori.. killed the previous Boss and had restored the mafia to its "glory", if you will. And then, Dazai.. killed Mori. And now the Mafia was.. a little better. It was taking baby steps. It was a literal Mafia.
Atsushi remembered very clearly. He'd gone to report his mission to the boss. But when he'd opened the door... the boss was dead. And Dazai stood there, holding the gun. He'd never forget how he looked. He killed him... almost a week right after Oda died. The hatred and- rage in his eyes. And then Dazai had seen Atsushi.
The pressure of having to be a false witness to the Boss' death. Hm. Sounded very familiar to Dazai. And maybe it was the first time he'd seen Atsushi... look genuinely scared of him. Instead of a general concern for his mental well being like every other time he went a little crazy. But that had been far more than a little.
Dazai didn't want to be like Mori. He wanted to be better. Not just as a Boss, but as a person. Yes, he asked Atsushi to not say anything. Why— wouldn't he? "Ah yes go tell the entirety of the Mafia that I just killed their boss :)" No... he didn't think so.
And it was definitely a lot for Atsushi to have to deal with. Dazai knew that from experience. But the least he could do was just... try and make things less of a hell than what Mori made things for him.
Atsushi sighed. He remembered thinking that Dazai would kill him. He knew Dazai's main motive for killing the boss was to avenge Oda. After all, Mori had purposely let him die. And since Atsushi saw his own self at fault for his death, it would only make sense if Dazai were to kill him.
But that never happened. Dazai was a completely changed person now. For better or for worse..
Atsushi really couldn't tell.
"We should probably find out where they're going to attack next." Atsushi hummed, biting his nail. He sat in Akutagawa's office. For obvious reasons, working in his office wasn't debatable. Atsushi knew the condition of his own office was.. no.
"Obviously." Akutagawa murmured to himself. Finally, after an hour of Atsushi just talking and rambling out useful information, Akutagawa wants to speak one word. But the weretiger wouldn't comment on it. He didn't want him to go back to being all silent and a peace of garbage again. Honestly... how dramatic can you get? It was for Dazai, he figured Akutagawa would at least try a little harder.
"Oh, hey." Atsushi piped up after a moment of silence. "Lemme see the document with the dates that they had attacked."
"I'm using it."
"You're not using it." Akutagawa was literally reading over reports of things that had been stolen. Not the sheet with the dates. "If you want to make the Boss approve of your or feel so proud of you, maybe you should focus more on the case than the fact you hate me." He huffed and reached for the document, only to have his hand held still by Akutagawa's ability, who was now giving him a deathly glare.
"Don't think that because you're the Boss' favorite means you're in any higher rank than the Mafia's trash can. Don't talk about things you don't understand, and don't talk to me like that ever." Akutagawa hissed then let his hand go. Atsushi huffed, staying quiet as he grabbed the document. He got what he needed, why continue to argue? To be quite honest, despite being the lowest member of the Port Mafia, the only people Atsushi really watched how he talked around were the executives and the Boss.
"Oh... the next time they'll be attacking is tomorrow." Atsushi resized as his eyes scanned over the dates. Akutagawa just gave a quiet scoff. Obviously waiting for some kind of explanation. "He attacked on April first, April third, April fifth, April seventh, April 11, April 13, April 17 and April 19. Those are all prime numbers. Today is April 22nd. Tomorrow's the next prime number date in line." He hummed.
"How're you sure that those dates aren't all just coincidentally prime numbers?" Akutagawa raised an eyebrow... well, he tried. He doesn't have any.
"It's the only lead we got. By all means, if you have a better way of discovering when their next attack will be, let me know." Atsushi looked over to him. "You are higher ranking than me, which means you should know already since I'm so stupid." He said innocently, like he wasn't politely mocking how Akutagawa acted towards him.
"Finding out the day he's gonna attack is useless if we don't know where or when." Akutagawa hissed in response, obviously trying to find a way to make Atsushi's findings irrelevant.
"Is there a pattern in the places he's been attacking, then?" Atsushi asked calmly. It was the fact that he managed to be so calm that seemed to piss Akutagawa off. He'd been looking through what had been stolen so surely he knew some kind of pattern.
"He only steals really expensive items from places with history of some sort of corruption." Akutagawa finally decided to disclose the information he had with the other. "He stole a bag of hidden jewelry from a jewelry shop that had rumors of and was found to have illegal ties to the black market. On April 7th is when he magically managed to steal our data. His most recent attack was on a museum, who had actually stolen many of their relics that they displayed. All of the relics that were stolen were returned to their rightful place of origin, except a small portion of pictures of "The Great Cat"." Akutagawa sighed.
"So.. there's a possibility they may be some type of descendant or have ties to something related to Kawanabe Kyosai?" Atsushi hummed. "If they returned everything, perhaps they kept those paintings because they were the person it were stolen from. If they had ties to its artist, Kyosai, then it would make sense, wouldn't it?"
"Well... he had two kids back in the 1800s, it's not like people take the time out of their day to try and track down descendants of dead people." Yes they did. "..besides, we don't know if they're actual descendants or even have any ties to the original artist. For all we know he could've just kept them to throw us off and suspect something else." Akutagawa did make a good point. But the thief seemed to have some type of respect for ancient Japan, and the people of it too, so would he really do something that seemed to go against his morals?
"..hey, doesn't The Tavern illegally get supplies from here in exchange for money?" Atsushi hummed. (Disclaimer: The Tavern does not actually illegally do anything I'm just using a real life place. I promise that the real life Tavern is just chillin—)
"Yeah, what about it?" Akutagawa huffed.
"Wouldn't that be something that the thief targets? Though we don't know if it'll be here or anywhere else. We don't know if any certain ties to corrupted areas other than people tied to the Mafai." Atsushi sighed. "Give me the calling card real quick." He spoke all of a sudden.
"Get it yourself."
Good enough for him. Atsushi quickly grabbed the black calling card. It only had a white box with a circle and two xs on the inside. He hummed quietly. "You have a UV light?" He asked Akutagawa.
"Yeah."
"......can I have it please?"
"......sure." God, he was impossible to work with. Seriously... Akutagawa used his ability to hand him the UV light, not looking up from examining the paper and such.
Atsushi used it on the card. "I knew it!" He smiled as text was visible.
"What?" Akutagawa looked up and then stood up, hands in his pockets. "Well, what does it say?"
"Well- give me a second. Bring me the card from April 17th." Atsushi said.
"Don't give me orders." He huffed but did as told, giving him the card.
"Ohh... I see.." Atsushi hummed.
"See what? Stop being so damn vague."
"On the seventeenth, the day he stole our data, he left this calling card, and it says 'Want to go sight seeing?' And then the next time that he attacked was the museum. And this one, left from the museum, says, 'Want to get a drink?'" Atsushi turned off the light. "He's leaving clues on where he's supposed to go next, but they're purposely vague."
"But.. we already have a candidate since The Tavern is tied to us illegally." Akutagawa murmured.
"Mhm! But then it becomes a matter of time..." Atsushi murmured. "Were there any patterns when it came to their time..?"
"No." Akutagawa grabbed one of the documents again. "First attacked at 12:02 am. Next attack was. 2:44 am. Next attack, 10:16 am. Next attack, 2:54 pm. Then 8:32 pm." He continued on. "And their latest attack was at 2:04 pm."
Atsushi thought for a moment. "Give me a second." He looked through the times and seemed to be on his calculator.
"Let's see.. 12:02 times 2.. 2:44 am." Atsushi tilted his head. It lined up. "If we get rid of the zero, at least."
"But if we're multiplying by two then the next time should be 5:28 am shouldn't it? Since 4:88 isn't a real time it would go into 5:28." Akutagawa grumbled.
"Not by two... by evens." Atsushi said. "2:44 times four is 9:76. But that's no such time, it would be 10:16 am. And that's when he did attack on April 5th."
"I see.. and 10:16 times 6 is 6069... but that's not a valid time either, and you can't just add seconds or reduce it to military time." Akutagawa grumbled.
"True, but, if you need it to fit within a 24 hour time frame, you could just divide it couldn't you?" Atsushi pointed to the attack on April 7th. "And 6069 divided by 24 is 2:54, the time of the attack."
"I see.." Akutagawa hummed. "2:54 times 8 is 2032, and reducing that to military time would be 8:32 pm, the time that they attacked in April 11th."
"8:32 times ten is 8320.. but when you divide it by 24 it's just a decimal..." Atsushi murmured. "Maybe.. it just restarts form 2? 8:32 is 16:64, convert that to military, its 4:64. Carry the seconds over, it becomes 5:04."
"And that matches with the April 13 attack. 5:04 times four is 20:16, which is just 8:16, the time of the April 17th attack. And that times 6 is 4896, divide that by 24, you get 2:04, the time their last attack took place." Akutagawa hummed.
"So then tomorrow's attack.. would be at 4:32 pm! At The Tavern, 4:32 on tomorrow!!!" Atsushi exclaimed happily. He was sort of impressed they were able to work that out. It was a lot of math. "I do wonder.. why bothering putting patterns into your attack dates? That makes it easier for people to find you, doesn't it?" Atsushi murmured.
"Who cares about their motive of a pattern? For all we know it could just be so that they have a decent schedule to work around." Akutagawa shrugged and put the calling cards back.
"Nice to see my two underlings working together." The door opened, the brunette walking in with a grin on his face. "Finally, air conditioning." He sighed, closing the door behind him. He'd taken off his coat and scarf, his tie messy and loose, his black sleeves rolled up and the first few buttons of his shirt unbuttoned. "God, it's too hot outside."
"Boss! I have discovered the location, time and date of the next attack!" Akutagawa declared.
"We, but ok..." Atsushi mumbled, huffing.
"Wow, you mean you both managed to get something done?" Dazai asked with a little smile. "Impressive, I wouldn't have wanted to have to teach you both a lesson on getting along." He walked up to the two. "When is it?"
"Tomorrow, at The Tavern, at 4:32 pm." Atsushi hummed.
"Alright. So what do you need for tomorrow?" Dazai was fully prepared to take anyone off of any mission to assist the two in catching the bastard.
"Oh- maybe—"
"No one." Akutagawa cut Atsushi off. "We'll do it on our own." He stated. Obviously wanting to do it on their own so that he could impress the boss.
"Oh, if you say so. I hope to see your skills have improved from last time." Dazai gave a grin that was anything but friendly. And it was directed towards the both of them.
Atsushi has gotten himself beat up on yesterday's mission. And.. he'd heard about how Akutagawa killed any and all hostages, which prevented them of knowing anything about a group of people who'd been attempting to attack Atsushi as of late. "Yes, Boss." Both of them said in unison, failing to show that they weren't scared.
"Very good!" He put his hands together. "I'll leave you both to it, then." Dazai smiled. "You should both get the most rest and food and water for today and before the mission tomorrow as you can. This is important, and I don't want you to screw it up." He addressed the both of them before turning on his heel, taking a deep breath before he swung the door open and bolted out, obviously trying to race back to his own air conditioned office before he died of a heat stroke—
Not that he would mind dying.
"..hey," Atsushi knew that it was best to try and be as friendly as possible with Akutagawa. After all... they were gonna have to fight together tomorrow. "We make a pretty good-"
"Get out of my office." Akutagawa cut him off, obviously not wanting to be around the other any more than necessary.
Atsushi groaned in annoyance before just leaving. Wow.. it really was hot. Why were the hallways, of all areas, not air conditioned? He sighed as he walked back to his office. Stinky smelly office. You know what-? He had the sudden urge to clean the place up.
The reason he didn't use his money to replace the worn out furniture in the office was that.. it was cozy. The small wooden desk with a white tablecloth over it, and potted plants on the window with pale slightly torn curtains. A stool, that perfectly fit Atsushi's butt. And then the floor was a carpet. No stains or smell, just a little squeaky. He liked it. The couch was covered with quilts and blankets, as was the chair. The book shelves had been dusted off the best they could, plants and books and files on it.
It looked incredibly cozy. And felt it too. Atsushi didn't want a big fancy office like how Akutagawa or the Boss had.
Atsushi hummed softly, deciding to dust off any small specs of dirt he could find and throw them away. Clean.. clean made him happy. Because of the importance of the mission at hand, he wasn't given any more missions for the day.
As if on cue, the moment he was done the door bursted open and slammed close. The Boss- again? "Atsushi. This is very important!" He quickly took him by the shoulders, looking into his eyes with his own wide ones.
"Uh.. yeah..?"
"My office is dirty and I can't be comfortable in air conditioning. Please clean it." He spoke all dramatically. Ah.. well, Atsushi was relieved to know there wasn't any general problem. And being asked to clean wasn't anything new. Not because of his ranking, but because he was just very good at it and also enjoyed it.
Atsushi sighed. "Yeah, okAY-" Atsushi was caught off guard as he was suddenly rushed back to Dazai's office. Jeez.. the brunette really didn't like the heat, did he? But then to be fair he's been out in it for hours.
Atsushi sighed and dusted himself off once he was in his office. It was just about as untidy as it was yesterday, no surprise there. Dazai wasn't exactly known for being a cleaner. "You're a life saver, Atsushi~!" Dazai grinned as he simply went back to sit down in his chair, feet kicked up on the desk and hands behind his head. He just wanted an excuse for them to see each other aha.
Atsushi sighed and first began to pick up the documents and such that were scattered on the floor. "Ah- you missed one." Dazai said quickly, pushing his chair back a little and pointing under the desk.
"Ah.." Atsushi quickly went over, getting on his knees under the desk and grabbing the document. Meanwhile, Dazai just had a mischievous grin on his face. Staring at where he shouldn't be— "Ok, is that the only one I missed—" Atsushi blinked as he stood back up, turning but just seeing Dazai's grin. Not seeming to get it. "??"
"Yep~! There's one over there!" He giggled and pointed to the space behind him, on the floor near the door. Atsushi tilted his head and turned to look.
"Hm? I don't- see anything—!!" Dazai moved his chair forward again. The back of Atsushi's legs hit the chair, quickly causing him to fall back. But not into the ground. No, he landed in— Dazai's lap.
It took him a second to register what just happened. Hang on- hang on. He heard a chuckle from behind him, and a hand run through his hair. He turned his head slightly. Dazai, with the same smile. And Atsushi's face- completely red. "Have I ever told you how cute you are, Atsushi..?"
"I-I... I uh.. don't.. think.. so..?" Atsushi's brain was still taking a moment to process this. He was- sitting in the Boss' lap. Oh my God, he's so dead. But wait— the Boss wanted it to happen. It was Dazai's entire plan.
"Why do you look so nervous for?" He chuckled, his hands moving to gently rest on the other's waist and turn him around the face him. His hands remaining on his waist. "You're not in trouble for it. I planned the entire thing out after all." He giggled mischievously.
"I uh.. I-I..." Atsushi took a moment to clear his head. "Wasn't- prepared for uhm... sitting in your lap.. I-I guess..." he scratched the back of his head.
"Atsushi Nakajima, tell me something." Dazai lifted his chin with a hand, his other slowly traveling down his waist. "What makes you tick? Why do you do what you do..?"
"What.. makes me— tick?" Atsushi repeated, his face still red. "I uh.. I'm afraid I'm not quite sure what you mean... a heart..? Lungs.. organs.. I-I think...?"
"Not quite what I'm looking for, dear Atsushi." Dazai hummed softly, earning a soft gasp from the smaller boy as he had slipped his hand under his shirt. What a nice reaction.
Oh my God- was this seriously happening? With— Dazai of all people?!
"You wouldn't mind if I tried to find out on my own..." Dazai rested on his shoulder. "How your insides work... would you?" He purred softly into the other's ear.
Atsushi opened his mouth, about to respond before he quickly froze up. Oh my God. The doors had opened. Dazai's hand left his skin.
Dazai's eyes were wide, his pupils small. Terrifying... "What part of knocking don't you understand, Chuuya?" He hissed as he stood up, letting Atsushi sit on his chair, curled up and embarrassed.
Chuuya's eyes were incredibly wide. He.. hadn't expected this at all. I mean, he expected something, like Dazai not working. Or Dazai not there at all. But uh... this. He quickly took a few steps back. As the other got closer. "Calm your shit.. I'll do it next time...." he mumbled, quickly turning to leave only to have his arm tightly gripped.
So much so that it hurt. He turned back to face the brunette, who was twisting his arm a little. "If you tell anyone, I'll kill you." Dazai wasn't known for empty threats. In fact, he was known for doing much worse than what he threatened.
"I get it.." Chuuya grumbled. It really sucked. I mean, if this had happened while he was an executive he could swear and hiss and disrespect the other all he wanted. But uh... he was his boss now. And as much as Chuuya still acted relatively the same with him... he knew that there were sometimes when he needed to quit.
Chuuya's arm was let go. He let out a soft grunt. That hurt— and he wasn't gonna say anything about it. He quickly walked off, many many thoughts filling his head. Like he hoped the situation wasn't the worst and his Boss wasn't just using the other, type of hope. But then, it had become pretty much impossible to read Dazai after Oda's death.
And holy shit, Atsushi's mind was spinning right now. He slowly got off the chair, the other's back still to him. "It's.. getting late." He piped up. Boy.. this was awkward now. "I should.. get going."
Dazai turned to him, his expression softening. Cmon.. he had the perfect atmosphere and opportunity and Chuuya had to walk in and ruin it all. But his face was simply blank. "Yeah." He put a hand on his hip as the other walked to the door. "Get rest. You'll need it.."
He closed the doors once Atsushi walked out. He hated it more than he hated anything in the world. This uncomfortable, awkward, tense atmosphere. Chuuya better keep his trap shut.
Atsushi left the building, returning home for the day. And once he got home, he curled up in a ball, screaming into a pillow. Maybe he was fanboying, who knew. God, that small moment! The low voice, the tension, his hand against his skin. It was his Boss, so it should've felt wrong. But it felt so right. So nice. Atsushi huffed and turned on his back, staring up at the ceiling and still hugging the pillow. Dazai had completely stolen his heart away.
To be honest, he'd had it for a good while. But now.. now, he'd taken the last small bit he'd needed to, a bit that questioned his feelings ever since the other became boss. Dazai. What a pretty name! A pretty face. He whined quietly.
"You wouldn't mind of I tried to find out on my own.. how your insides work, do you?"
Atsushi screamed into his pillow again. He had to wonder, how far they would've gone if they hadn't been interrupted.
After ten minutes of thinking and huffing and whining and just- reevaluating life all because of Dazai, he finally just.. laid back on his bed. Closing his eyes. Get rest... yeah.. get rest.
Despite how amazing the last hour might've been, how much it fuzzied his brain and sent shivers down his spine... he had to deal with Akutagawa in the morning. And that.. was something he needed all of his energy for.
What would his hands feel like down there...
Atsushi frowned. Didn't he just close his eyes? Why was his alarm clock going off? He looked at it. 12 pm.. already? Because of them not having to truly leave until around 3, they got to rest and ready themselves before then. Ah... Atsushi hadn't even noticed that he'd fallen asleep while he was fantasizing. God.. that's so embarrassing to think about.
He quickly sat up, and went to take a shower, brushing out his hair afterwords and getting dressed in a sort of casual attire. They were going to The Tavern after all, and had to blend in. He wore a black turtle neck with high-waisted jeans, and boots. This was nice. Comfy, actually. He should dress like this more.
Man... seeing Dazai again today was gonna be very awkward. No.. don't think about it. Focus on this case. It's a hell of a lot more important.
Once Atsushi got to the building, he went to his office, closing the door and sighing. He knew it was best if him and Akutagawa kept their distance until they actually needed to get together to work. Oh man... if it had been Akutagawa who caught them—
Stop thinking about that. It's in the pass now. It's not important..
At around four, is when he heard a knock on his door. Ah.. Akutagawa opened it, not waiting for a come in, dressed in similar casual-formal type attire. "Get your ass up. Let's go." He then walked away. Atsushi quickly got up and followed him.
The two were absolutely quiet when they were walking to The Tavern. It's not like they had much to converse on. Eventually, they got there and walked in, looking around. That's when Akutagawa's phone rang. He simply answered it and listened as Atsushi carefully examined the place. Two people... seemed out of the ordinary. Why weren't they trying to hide? Blend in? "Atsushi." Akutagawa closed his phone. "None of the other calling cards have anything on them."
"Huh? What're you talking about...?"
"The two we looked at yesterday had clues to the location on it, but your dumbass didn't bother to check the rest of them." Of course, the raven haired male wanted to take all the credit for finding things out but when there was a slip up it was suddenly all Atsushi's. "Those two were the only ones that had messages on them."
Akutagawa's eyes suddenly seem to catch onto the two individuals dressed in black suits, their faces covered. "That's them."
"Wait— Akutagawa- don't you see!? This could easily be a trap!" Atsushi frowned. They were out in plain sight, only the cards they looked at had clues. But how did the true culprit know what cards they'd look at..?
Akutagawa either didn't hear or was ignoring the white haired male, not caring as he violently threw aside a lot of furniture. Only to have bullets fired at him, not like it mattered. Blocked. Rashumon slashed through the taller male dressed in a cloak. Last time... he left no hostages. "...show yourself, thief, before I force you." He hissed.
"Akutagawa... that's a lot of damage..." Atsushi huffed under his breath as he watched the hidden figure remove their hood. It was... a girl. Probably around fifteen. Violet hair. She didn't just remove the hood. She removed her whole jacket, revealing a bomb vest strapped to her shirt.
She said nothing. Her eyes were lifeless. Akutagawa clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Pathetic child... blow yourself up, for all I care!"
"Akutagawa, listen to me for a second!" Atsushi hissed. "We need some type of info and she's the only connection we have left!"
"She's a fraud, a decoy!"
"I told you that but you didn't listen! Either way we can't just let her die!" Atsushi truly didn't sound as if he was in the mafia.
"You're putting us in a hell of a lot of danger, you idiotic bastard! Who're you to give me orders!?"
Click. The two looked over to the girl, who held a detonator in her hand. And had hit it. Shit! Atsushi quickly ran over to the girl, who didn't move or flinch away, ripping off the vest. "Akutagawa!" He threw it to the other, who, with his ability, grabbed it and threw it into the window. Sky high as he could.
Boom. Wow.. this girl, this young girl was just going to kill herself. Just like that. "Answer me, you pathetic brat." Akutagawa kicked her in the stomach. They'd brought Kyouka back to the interrogation room of the Mafia. And.. Akutagawa was the one 'interrogating' her.
"Akutagawa, knock it the hell off!" Atsushi kicked Akutagawa in his side though his foot was caught moments before by his ability. "Your way— isn't working at all! Let me try." Atsushi didn't like all of this violence. That was no mystery.
"Tch.. yeah, you're right. If you ask her nicely I'm sure she'll tell us everything." He spoke sarcastically but, never the less, backed off. Atsushi huffed and knelt down in front of the slighted beaten up girl.
Just a fifteen year old. Man... he always felt pity to children who were drawn into such affairs. "..my name is Atsushi Nakajima.. what's yours?" He asked softly, not making any type of physical movement as to not startle her.
"...Kyouka. Izumi." The girl's voice was scratchy and quiet. Akutagawa huffed, obviously upset that Kyouka would speak to Atsushi and not him.
"That's a nice name, Kyouka." Atsushi smiled. "How come you were wearing that bomb vest...?"
"It was to blow up... the entire building." She spoke quietly. "And everyone inside.."
"We already know that, Atsushi, stop wasting precious time." Akutagawa hissed.
"..who do you work for, Kyouka?" Atsushi asked again. His tone was a friendly and calm one.
"..I don't know." The female murmured.
"Oh, bull shit." Akutagawa let Rashumon fly towards her, but before it could hit her, Atsushi caught it with his tiger claw arm. "You—"
"Remember want the Boss said?" Atsushi spoke, his voice low as he locked eyes with Mr. Anger Issues.
"Yeah, and I recall it being directed towards the both of us." He snapped back.
"..and now we have a prisoner, because I didn't give her a chance to attack me. I did my part. If you're gonna be such a problem, you should leave." Atsushi murmured, only to have the other's ability ripped back from his claw grip.
"Watch your tone, you entitled dick. Who the hell are you to give me orders?!" Akutagawa hissed.
This is exactly why they shouldn't have been put together. "The Boss gave you orders. I'm simply suggesting something based off of that." Atsushi murmured.
"Miss Kyouka..." Atsushi knelt down again, to the girl who'd been watching the whole scene. "Do you know any one else who might be working for who you're working for?" He asked.
"I don't." Kyouka shook her head. That was- a little odd. "Ability users are deployed like weapons... we aren't told anything, we don't hardly see anything."
"Ah... in case you got captured." Atsushi felt bad for her. Obviously.
"So in other words, she's useless." Akutagawa huffed, hands in his pockets. "Let's kill her already then go report to the Boss."
"Kyouka.. you mentioned having an ability." Atsushi ignored Akutagawa. "What is it...?"
".." Kyouka stayed silent for a moment. "I can't control it... the orders that come through the phone you took, is what will activate my ability."
Atsushi tilted his head and took her phone out of his pocket. "...should I— tell it to appear or... something?" What kind of ability she had, he wondered. He was met with a shrug and opened the phone, turning it on and putting her number in his own phone, then calling hers and putting it on speaker. "..appear... I guess.."
With a flash of white light, to Atsushi's surprise... the ability did appear. And wow. What an ability. Akutagawa wanted to use this as an excuse to dispose of the girl already. But.. it had already been proven it's just how the phone works. "So- someone on your end... could control....."
"Demon snow." Kyouka finished his sentence seeing as he had no idea what to call it. "...yes." She murmured quietly. But not a call had come in yet. He simply turned off her phone permanently until he'd manually turn it back on later.
"Well... no one should be able to talk through it for a bit." He sighed. Sadly, Kyouka didn't have any information to offer. And he knew Akutagawa already wanted her dead.
Atsushi wanted to go to the Boss, and ask him to let Kyouka join the mafia. But.. he didn't wanna leave Akutagawa and her alone. He would definitely harm if not kill her. And also... seeing the Boss again was going to be incredibly awkward.
"Give her time to rest." Atsushi crossed his arms, standing up straight and looking over at him.
"She's useless. We should just kill her instead of dragging out the inevitable." Akutagawa scoffed but despite what he said, turned on his heel and walked out. Atsushi looked back down at Kyouka.
"..get as much rest as you can down here... ok?" He spoke softly. "I'm... gonna do my best to help you out." And then he left.
Leaving Kyouka to wonder why.
Why was he- trying to help her out for? She was working with the enemy wasn't she? Though it wasn't so much working as it was being used. She would've killed them all, with that bomb vest. Which somehow— didn't activate the second Atsushi tore it off.
Kyouka simply lay there with her thoughts, not being able to tell if she'd fallen asleep.. or if it was just the dark room and she was tired.
"I already told him it was a stupid idea." Akutagawa scoffed, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes.
"It's not a stupid idea! You just don't like it because it doesn't involve murder." Atsushi retorted.
"Geez... I had actually started to believe you two could get along." If anything, Dazai sounded incredibly annoyed and bored. "This is just boring... but hey, at least you both managed to make it back without causing any issues."
There was no difference in the way he was acting. No surprise... he'd been so well at hiding all of his feelings, there's no way he'd let himself show the change of what happened yesterday. But Atsushi had been able to distract himself with it with the current case and such.
“Her ability is a useful one. She would do well in the mafia.” Of course, Atsushi was only thinking about Kyouka’s well being. But using that in an argument wouldn’t mean a thing to Akutagawa.
“Let’s see...” Dazai hummed, pretending to think as he swung his head back and fourth. “..ok!”
“Are you serious? We know almost nothing about her and you’re just ok with her!?” Akutagawa hissed, only to be met with Dazai’s intense gaze.
“Did you forget you do what I say, no questions asked, Akutagawa?” Dazai had the same bored looking on his face but the atmosphere was so intense. The black haired male backed down, crossing his arms with a huff, murmuring a ‘No, boss’. “Atsushi.” Dazai lifted a hand and beckoned him with his finger, the tense atmosphere fading away as the other walked up to him.
“You’re in charge and responsible or any and everything regarding Kyouka.” He spoke, lifting her cell phone off the desk and handing it to him. “You’ll have control over her ability. And you’re in charge of getting her a place to stay, getting her to eat, and properly training her.”
Atsushi took the phone and put it in his pocket, nodding. He’d- most definitely let her have control over her ability once she could properly do so. “Yes, Boss.”
“Well, you’re dismissed!” He waved the both of them away, out of the office.
Akutagawa wasn’t all too happy. “Stupid brat.” He growled through clenched teeth. “You’ve only gotten this damn far cuz the boss keeps playing favorites with you.” He stormed off.
Maybe- that was true. But also, Dazai had only been Boss for about.. a year? Mhm. Not too long. So he personally thought he did rather good those other five years. He wouldn’t try too hard to get along with Akutagawa. It didn’t affect himself anyways.
Atsushi returned to the prison cell and turned on the light, kneeling down and offering a hand to the girl who was still awake. “...you’re- gonna become apart of the Mafia now.” He spoke softly. “I’ll- help you learn to use your ability.. and you’ll be a person, not a weapon. How does that sound?”
Kyouka blinked a few times. How could a Mafia member be so kind? But she wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity. She took his hand, and struggled to stand up. So he simply lifted her. “I’ll properly heal whatever wounds you have tomorrow, since I think our doctors already went home.. you’ll have to stay with me for a little until I can find you your own place.” He murmured as he walked out of base and to his house.
“And-“ He stopped talking once he realized Kyouka had seem to have fallen asleep. Ah.. understandable. She’d been through quite a lot.
He laid her down in the guest room, after cleaning what excess blood he could without having to remove her clothes. Respectable boy. Hopefully Kouyou would be alright with assisting. Another member to their family, it would seem. At least, the family in Atsushi’s mind. Kyouka could be... a little sister.
Yeah.. a little sister.
"Boss." Chuuya entered after having knocked on the door. He learned his lesson after- yesterday... "The Guild raised the bounty on Atsushi again." He put is hands in his pockets.
"Tch." Dazai huffed, annoyed. "How annoying..." He wasn't gonna let anyone get their hands on his precious little weretiger. "Anything else? I'd hate for the Guild to take a step out of line... it really would be a shame to have to kill off an entire organization." He mumbled. Yes, he would go as far as to kill each and every single one of them if it were to mean Atsushi's safety.
"The Guild doesn't exactly let everyone know their next step." Chuuya crossed his arms. "Just the bounty." Obviously... why would anybody who was sane let the mafia know of their whereabouts while hunting for one of their members?
"I want security increased on Atsushi's house and around town." Dazai spoke firmly, tapping his fingers on the desk. Chuuya didn't say anything. It didn't sit right with him, how Dazai was the only person who had access to the cameras inside and around Atsushi's house... obviously after the events that transpired yesterday.. guess it- made a little more sense.
"You know Atsushi already knows that he has body guards following him everywhere." Chuuya mumbled.
"They're the same suit and tie useless men who can only use guns. There can never be enough of those. Until I find a gifted to trust his life to, he'll have to put up with it." Dazai crossed his arms. Quite obviously, if he could, Dazai would be with Atsushi day and night. But being the Boss- he couldn't exactly do that. As much as he wanted to.
"Oh and don't worry." Dazai spoke again, Chuuya lifting his eyes to look at his. "I'm not doing anything perverted with those cameras."
Dazai- had human decency.
At least a little.
Chuuya clicked his tongue. "None of my business. Don't care." He turned on his heel beginning to walk to the doors. Obviously trying to deny the older brother instinct he had with Atsushi.
"Did I dismiss you?" Dazai chuckled as he stood up.
"..." Chuuya huffed and turned back to face him as the other walked up to him.
"I do hope you kept your trap shut about yesterday, maggot." Dazai had a grin on his face. But as most his grins were... they were anything but happy.
"I told ya I fuckin' would... calm your tits." Chuuya grumbled.
"I know. The wire tap hidden in your clothes is to monitor such a thing!" Dazai said, his grin only growing. "And if I find the mic to not be working, Chuuya..."
"I get it! Jesus shit...." Chuuya huffed. He would like to find out where the hell it was. He didn't need- Dazai to hear certain things. At all.
"Ok~! Youre dismissed!" Dazai flicked his forehead before walking back to his desk and sitting down. "..and keep your sexual activities limited while I monitor your mic." Chuuya rubbed his forehead as he grumbled to himself, walking out, a little blushy.
Dazai would be able to monitor everything he said. He didn't know how long he'd keep the wiretaps there. Probably for a while, he figured...
Dazai was a liar. A half liar. He pressed a button on his desk, and the top of it slid open, a set of computer monitors elevating to take its place. He never had any type of perverted intent with any of these cameras. That's why there wasn't one in the bathroom. Though he might add one, purely out of being paranoid for his safety. But- that didn't mean that Atsushi had never done perverted things to himself in his room, and that didn't mean that Dazai didn't enjoy every second of watching it. Or that he never stroked himself thinking about pleasuring the other.
Dazai remembered one time, he'd fallen asleep while monitoring the other. And he'd- woken up to moans. He had Atsushi having a wet dream on camera. God he loved it.
But right now, monitoring those cameras, he was purely keeping an eye on Kyouka. Wanting to make sure she didn't dare try a thing to harm Atsushi. And by the looks of it, she wasn't. That was good. He'd get those cameras and security guards in as soon as he could. But Atsushi had to leave his house first. It's not like he wanted him to know they were there.
Just wanted him to be safe.
Atsushi was sleeping as peaceful as a baby. How cute.. it was always nice to see Atsushi so peaceful. Dazai held his head in one of his hands. What did the weretiger think about the events of yesterday, he wondered. Did he like his touch? Did he not like it..? Would he ever genuinely want to continue where they left off? Because hell, Dazai sure did.
Atsushi soon stirred in his sleep, waking up. To the smell of food, actually. "..?" He rubbed his eyes as he sat up.
He stumbled out of bed, his tiger plushy in arm as he walked to the kitchen, which was connected to the dining room. "Huh..."
Kyouka was standing on a type of stool, seeming to be making eggs. "Good morning." She spoke quietly. She sounded just as empty as she did yesterday.
Atsushi yawned. "Uh... watcha doin?" He tilted his head as he placed his large tiger plush down on one of the dining room chairs. We respect plushies in this house. He did notice that Kyouka didn't have any other eggs out. Just making one pan of eggs. "You're not- making yourself breakfast?"
"It's not my house." Kyouka spoke calmly. "And not my stuff. I won't eat it." She scraped the eggs off the pan onto a plate and placed the dirty dishes in the sink. "I will do the dishes later."
"Ah- Kyouka." Atsushi scratched the back of his head. The way she was acting reminded him of himself all those years ago. "You.. don't need to do any of this."
When Atsushi had joined the mafia, due to the fact it was Dazai who brought him in, he had to live at his place for just a little while until he could genuinely afford his own. Which- definitely didn't take too long. But- while there, he would always wanna clean, cook, do anything he could to show Dazai how grateful he was. And obviously Dazai didn't really care. But, Atsushi didn't want Kyouka to do any of this. After all, it was her first day living the life of a genuine human being and not a tool.
"You don't owe me a thing! I was in a similar situation like you once." Atsushi said with a smile as he placed a hand on her head. "Trust me, I know how grateful you must be."
Kyouka blinked a few times. "...oh. Ok." She tilted her head to the side. "Guess this is for me then." She took the plate of eggs in her hands.
"Mhm." He nodded. "You don't have to eat at the dining table if you don't want to either." He sighed. She was still dressed in the slightly torn raggedy gown she had worn yesterday, below the cloak that had hid her face. "Ah... we should probably get you more clothes."
He thought of giving her one of his smaller shirts. But in the end he didn't have shorts, skirts, or any pants for her. So, he just gave her one of her larger shirts. And once she got out of the bathroom from changing into it, he using a type of ribbon to tie it around her waste. So it looked more like a dress than a long shirt. "This'll... do for now." He said with a little chuckle.
"You can wear my shoes." He had an old pair he kept, though even so we're still big on her. "Just sort of push with your toes when you walk and they'll stay on." He sighed.
Atsushi wanted Kyouka to be the happiest she could here in the mafia. And uhm- well, it was the mafia so it was sort of a hard thing to make happen.
Atsushi led her to town. She silently followed. He had to wonder exactly how she was raised. Given by the fact she had her moms phone, she'd have to have known her parents for at least a little while, wouldn't she? But he wouldn't ask about it. He knew his own personal backstory was rather though.
The two walked the streets, and he let Kyouka pick and change into different clothes. She'd need a proper uniform or just designated outfit for when she works with the mafia.
And in the end, the female chose a type of kimono. Red and yellow. That's nice. "It looks good on you." Reminds him off Kouyou. They even have similar abilities. "You should let me do your hair. It's pretty, but really long." He didn't want it to get in the way of anything.
"Ok." Kyouka nodded.
"..do you want me to?"
"You said you were going to, so I'll simply let you."
"Ah- but, I'm asking you if you'd like me to. If you like your hair down, I'm not gonna touch it." Atsushi sighed. As a previous tool, it was no surprise that the concept of free will and decision making seemed to puzzle her.
"...uhm.. yeah, you can do my hair. That's fine." Kyouka didn't really care if he did or not. So.. yeah. Atsushi nodded.
He let her snack on an ice cream cone he'd gotten her as he decided to braid her hair. One nice braid. Yeah! "All done!" He smiled.
"Does it look ok?" Kyouka asked.
"I think it does!" He nodded with a big grin. "Some time today, I'd like to train you to somewhat properly control your ability if that's ok. It can be near the end of the day, if you'd like. I don't mind waiting." Atsushi smiled. He did know that if he wanted her to be able to start living her own life, she'd need to be able to actually start working and maintain a stable income.
"Oh..." Kyouka slowly nodded. "We can right now, if you want. But I don't have my mom's phone." They'd taken it from her after all.
"Oh, not to worry! I have it." Atsushi said with a little smile. "I'll be holding onto it just for a little while until you can properly control it.. is that ok?"
"..even if I wasn't ok with it, you would still have to hold onto it." Kyouka blinked a few times, before taking a lick of her ice cream. "But... yes. I guess.. that's ok." She- trusted Atsushi. He saved her life after all.
Atsushi nodded, a smile on his face. "Well, I'm glad you think it's ok." It would be difficult to work out if it wasn't. "So- we should probably go to a more isolated area to properly train without civilian casualties." He hummed. Kyouka watched as his eyes scanned around the town. "Ah, this way!" He offered a hand to her with a smile. She took it and stood up.
Atsushi led her to a river bank, where there were stone side walks on both sides. "This is the perfect place to practice." He smiled happily.
"Ok."
Atsushi could've sworn there had been street lights along side the river bank. Maybe he was just- imagining things. Whatever. "Ok, so, first off—" he turned to Kyouka only to see her staring at her feet. "???" Wait a minute... two- what looked like branches, had wrapped around her feet. What the hell...? He quickly grabbed onto her arms to try and pull her out, but by the way that her eyes had widened... he knew it only caused her pain.
The branches kept traveling up, pretty much trapping her legs. "Atsushi..." Kyouka didn't know what was going on.
And neither did Atsushi.
He then heard a sort of buzzing. He frowned. He looked up in the air, spinning around to try and find where it was coming from. A- helicopter..? What the hell...
Atsushi quickly transformed his arms into that of his tiger's, beginning to try and slash the roots of the branches to free Kyouka. "It hurts—" But it had only caused more pain. But he hadn't touched her at all! Was she- maybe feeling what that tree was feeling? Goddamit... what the hell is going on?
"Atsushi Nakajima." Atsushi turned. The helicopter had landed. And out walked a tall blonde man... a hunched over fluffy haired man who's hair covered his eyes... a red headed female. And then footsteps from behind. A blonde and a red head. Both men. And then- two other people walking down from the stairs that led to the river area. A woman in a gown and hat, and a grey haired man with a black coat. What the hell... not to mention the blue haired man that suddenly just emerged from the water.
"You're the Guild." Atsushi soon realized. They knew almost nothing about them. Except that they were after him. For- whatever reason.
"Very observant." The blonde chuckled. "Yes, it is the Guild! And we are here to claim the weretiger for our own!" Atsushi glared at him as he spoke. "My name is Fr-"
"I don't give a damn who you are! Let Kyouka go!" Atsushi huffed.
"Oh, will do~! That is— if you join us, Atsushi Nakajima." The blonde- wanted him to leave the Mafia. Was he- stupid? "I'll pay whatever price, you know. I have all the money in the world."
"I'm not a damn object! Offer anything, I'm not joining you." Atsushi had a defensive stance, fully ready to attack.
"Then you wouldn't mind if we disposed of your little friend here?" Francis knew that Atsushi would probably comply if one of his friend's lives were on the line. Yes, he definitely would. "You may be astronomically strong, but you're nothing compared to the wealth I have." His wealth made him stronger after all. "So you'll come with us. Or come with us and lose your friend."
It was a simple choice. Atsushi scanned the members around him, who all seemed to be either calm or smiling. There was no way he'd be able to beat all of them. Especially without knowing almost all of their abilities. "..I'll come with you. But I'm not joining you." He grumbled, holding his hands up as his arms returned to human ones.
"Kidnapping it is, then!" Ah yes. What a lovely alternative.
"Boss-" Chuuya kicked the doors open practically.
Dazai was less than pleased. "This is the second time that you've come in without—"
"Shut the hell up and listen to me for a damn second!" Chuuya slammed his hands on his desk. "The Guild has Atsushi."
"What?" Dazai stood up, his eyes wide and his pupils small. "What the hell do you mean, The Guild has Atsushi!?" He yanked him by the collar of his shirt. "What about the security cameras or the increased security you were supposed to put in place, Chuuya!? What the fuck were you doing the entire time!?"
"Exactly what you said too, you damn dick!" Chuuya yelled right back. Panicking about Atsushi being kidnapped almost as much as Dazai was. "Atsushi purposely evaded the fucking security, and they're all so thick in the head that they couldn't find him!!"
"And the security cameras!?" He let him go, smacking the button his desk. "Where the hell— why're there none set up on the street lamps near the river bank!?"
"They disa-fucking-peared! There's no more street lamps on the river bank!" Chuuya shouted right back.
"If you're both going to yell, do it productively." Kouyou walked in, not at all calm yet calm at the same time.
"Somebody in this goddamn organization better know where the fuck they went." Dazai's eyes darted over to her.
"Moby Dick. It's a large invisible air ship in the sky. That's where they went." Kouyou responded. Dazai didn't know what the hell the Guild wanted with Atsushi. He just knew that he'd already lost Oda. He couldn't afford to lose Atsushi. "Kyouka is in the infirmary. She was badly injured, held as a hostage so that Atsushi would comply with them."
"Useless girl..." He hissed. Even though Kyouka had absolutely no control over her ability, and would've done something if she could've, Dazai didn't care.
It was everyone's fault. Everyone.
"You two, you're coming with me." Dazai quickly walked out of his office. The two followed, Chuuya adjusting his collar and X belt since the other messed it up.
"Where to?" Kouyou asked.
"Shut up and do what you're told." Was the response she received from Dazai. Mm... even he had never had the balls to speak to her in such ways. But, Kouyou understood in a way. She was also pissed.
But, she'd terrorize him for it later. For now, they needed to focus on finding Atsushi. And getting him back here safely. "Chuuya, you're gonna get the three of us up there." Despite being invisible, the Moby Dick couldn't escape the Mafia's radars.
Chuuya nodded, and let Dazai continue to talk as they left the building to go outside. "Kouyou, you'll find us a way in the second we're up there. And we kill anyone that isn't Atsushi."
He spoke firmly. He knew Atsushi wouldn't like him giving that order. But he didn't care. They'd all kidnapped him. Bastards.. he'd make them pay. How dare they lay their hands on his precious kitty?
The moment outside, Chuuya used his ability on the three of them, quickly getting them up to the Moby Dick. As fast as he could, anyways. He had no problem killing any and everyone who kidnapped him. And Kouyou didn't either. So.. no problems here. Once they landed on the top of the Moby Dick, it took Kouyou only 10 seconds to find a hatch that she used her ability to cut open.
Dazai climbed down first, making no noise as he did so. The same for Chuuya and Kouyou. Dazai poked his head out of the doorway of the small room. A blonde.. Dazai grabbed him by the throat and pulled him back into the room. The blonde didn't seem too panicked at first, but soon realized he couldn't use his ability. "Atsushi. Where is he? Don't yell or call for help. I'll kill you." The aura that Dazai radiated made the blonde feel.. terrified.
"They're.. keeping him in the prison block! That's all I know!" The blonde spoke shakily. He didn't want to die. The same male who had trapped Kyouka with tree branches.
Dazai slashed a blade across his throat. Blood splattered everywhere. He let the blonde's body slump to the ground, before walking off to where he'd assume the prison block was.
Kouyou and Chuuya followed, killing some annoying God-obsessed man and the lady in the European gown and hat. Dazai would wipe out this entire organization.
He finally got down to the prison cell. "You two. Keep guard." He told the red heads as he walked in. His eyes scanned around the long hallway. Many doors. He simply followed his gut prediction, and peered in. Atsushi...
Curled up on the ground, tied up so tight that there were small bits of blood rolling down, his eyes and mouth covered and gagged. Tch. Only I should be allowed to do that. Besides the blood, of course. Dazai kicked down the door, causing the weretiger to flinch. Why hadn't he used his ability, yet..? A drug that the guild had crafted. One to deactivate an ability and cause you to lose energy. The brunette knelt down in front of him, quickly removing his blindfold and gag.
"..Atsushi." Atsushi looked.. so out of it. It enraged and saddened Dazai to see him like this. "Look at me.. I'm here. It's ok now." He spoke softly, gently cupping the other's face.
Atsushi noticed his bloody hands. "Dazai...." Dazai. Atsushi had been calling him Boss for- a year or so now. "...did you.. get hurt?" He asked tiredly.
"No."
"..did you.. kill someone.." Atsushi frowned softly.
"Only those who were necessary to kill, Atsushi." Dazai carefully slid his arms under him, lifting him up into his arms.
"..please.. don't kill them... a couple of them don't even want to be here, Dazai... they're forced..." Atsushi whispered softly.
"I'm not going to dismiss the actions of someone kidnapping you." Dazai murmured. "Did they hurt you?"
Atsushi paused for a moment before slowly nodding. "Francis.. mostly.. their leader. And another blonde.." the one Dazai had already killed. Mr. Tree.
"I promise... I swear I'll get you back safe and sound." Dazai promised as he carried the other out of the prison cell, and to the entrance of the prison block. Only to see a defeated Guild leader.
"What the hell... what the hells happening?!" Francis looked.. terrified. He was just using his ability. Why'd it stop? Dazai hadn't been there. He shouldn't have deactivated it?
"You'd be.. very surprised how easy it is to steal from such a wealthy man." Dazai grinned, staring down at the other who'd been throughly beat up by his executives. "How dare you lay a hand on one of my members.." Dazai stepped on the other's neck.
"D-Dazai... wait..." Atsushi whispered softly.
Crunch. "...sorry." Dazai murmured to Atsushi. "But no." He kicked Francis' corpse to the last four guild members that were alive. The red headed male, red headed girl, messy haired man, and long haired man.
So the Guild leader was dead, was it? The long haired male looked.. very tired. "I'm going home." Ok... wow.. Dazai raised an eyebrow. This person's ability... it wasn't an ability. Trying to kill him would be quite difficult. So... he let him leave. Yup.
And then there were three. "...Dazai..." Atsushi spoke again, sounding as if he was straining himself to do so. Dazai frowned and looked to him. "....." Atsushi's eyes were desperate. He had a strict no killing policy when it came to things that involved him. Dazai clicked his tongue and sighed.
"...eenee....meenee.. mienee... moe." Dazai's eyes landed on the red headed male, holding Atsushi with one arm as he pulled out a gun. Bang. Bang. Bang. Three shots to the chest. Dead. "Congratulations. You two get to live." He didn't sound too happy about it. But three's a crowd and if Atsushi truly didn't want them to die... he wouldn't kill them.
But again, three's a crowd.
Atsushi tiredly looked at the two. Their names were.. Lucy.. and Poe.. if he remembered correctly. And even individuals so horrifying as themselves... they trembled before Dazai.
"Now you can join the Mafia, or die, because the world has no use for you." Dazai held his gun still. They had a choice now. And Lucy.. wasn't going to not live. And as for Poe.. well. The Mafia rivaled the Agency, which meant he could still properly rival Ranpo. No arguments there.
"Yeah.. ok.." Lucy slowly nodded. She was obviously a little sick of the life style of not having anywhere to go, being a burden to the world unless she's apart of some type of organization and was using her ability to terrify others.
Atsushi sighed softly. He really had hoped that this would’ve all been resolved peacefully. Perfectly fine.. nobody died. But only two people survived from this. Made him feel at fault. “Kyouka...” he whispered softly, tugging on Dazai’s scarf to get his attention. “Where’s... Kyouka..?”
Dazai clicked his tongue. He knew she had no use of her ability whilst Atsushi had the phone. That didn’t mean he wasn’t any less pissed off that she was completely and utterly useless. Because of that, something bad happened to Atsushi.
“She’s fine. She’s back at base.” Dazai looked back to Chuuya and Kyouka, who had blood splattered on them. Chuuya simply gave a nod. And the four swiftly left.
“...mm.. my body hurts.” Atsushi whispered tiredly. Dazai took a shaky breath. Poor Atsushi.. he was too kind. He didn’t deserve to have to go through any of that.
“Kouyou will get you all fixed up when we get back.” He whispered softly. “I promise.” Dazai used the palm of his hand to push hair out of the other’s face as they landed, placing a small kiss on his forehead. Neither Kouyou or Chuuya dared comment on it. Not with the mood Dazai was currently in.
“Mm...” Atsushi rested his head against the other’s chest. He’d... register the kiss later.
Dazai carried him all the way back to base, back to the infirmary, the executives following him staying silent as he laid the passed out weretiger on the infirmary bed, stripping him off his shirt. Jeez... Francis hadn’t held back at all. Made Dazai wish he would’ve tortured him before killing the blonde.
Kouyou got right to cleaning the wounds up, and bandaging them. And in the mean time, Chuuya went to file a report on this specific mission. And Dazai sat by Atsushi’s side once Kouyou left. Just examining him.
There wasn’t a single person in the world he hated more than the blonde now. Except maybe.. the deceased black haired mafia boss. They were battling each other for the things they’d done. But Mori definitely won. Especially considering the emotional and mental abuse and manipulation of Atsushi.
“..mm..” Atsushi’s eyebrows furrowed before they slowly opened. “Hm...?” The weretiger slowly turned his head to weakly look at the brunette. “Dazai....” he sounded relieved. Comforted. “What... happened?” He remembered being kidnapped, practically tortured, tied up and thrown into a cell, then Dazai came and saved him in the middle of his phasing in and out of consciousness. And.. he killed almost everyone.
“You’re safe now.. don’t worry.” Dazai whispered softly. “..you’ll be getting a few days break.”
“Ah.. that’s really not necessary...”
“It’s an order from your Boss.” Dazai always used something like that when the other refused to take genuine rest or sleep or eating or drinking. Boss privileges.
“Hmph.” Atsushi puffed out his cheeks in a pout before sighing. “...” he didn’t remember the kiss to the forehead at all. Dazai could tell.
“How about I take care of you for the next couple of days? Would you like that?” The brunette asked with a smile. “Don’t worry about my work at all.. ok?” He knew the other would.
“Oh...” Atsushi hummed softly. “I.. I’m think I’d like that...” he murmured softly. “H-huh- wait- HaVE I BEEN CALLING YOU DAZAI!?” The other felt his face heat up and quickly sat up, just to feel a hand on his chest that gently pushed him to lay back down.
A low chuckle leaving Dazai’s lips that made Atsushi’s head spin. “Don’t worry about it..” he purred softly. “I’ll be taking care of you...”
“...mm..” Atsushi brought his own hand up to the other’s, closing his eyes. “I.. ok.. yeah...” he liked the sound of that.
And with that, Atsushi easily slipped into unconsciousness. Finally getting rest.
He really did deserve it.
Atsushi's brows furrowed as he slowly opened his eyes. "...mm..?" What happened..? This wasn't the infirmary, he didn't think. His head and body didn't hurt so bad. He groaned softly as he used his hands to push himself off. He frowned as he did, slightly rubbing what his hands had just pushed up on. And then looking. Hey- those were thighs.
"Ah, Good morning, sleeping beauty." The low and slightly rough voice of the brunette was heard from right next to his ear, causing him to shiver. "I brought you to my house." He murmured softly. Dazai's hands were resting in Atsushi's lap. "How're you feeling?" By the sound of it, Dazai had probably woken up a little bit before himself.
It took Atsushi's brain a second to begin working. "O-Oh—" He quickly cleared his throat and embarrassingly moved away his hands from his thighs. "I'm feeling better." His voice was soft, quiet, as it always was during the morning.
"That's good." He murmured softly, and slipped his hand under the other's shirt, causing him to squeak. "Relax, Atsushi. I'm just checking your wounds." The bandages felt more dried up than normal soft gauze bandages. "Looks like we'll have to redo those." He sighed softly.
"Oh- I don't.. want to trouble you-" he was cut off as the other suddenly lifted him into his arms, standing up. It never ceased to amaze him how effortless the other always managed to pick him up. "..." Atsushi sighed. He was a little disappointed in himself, hoping that he wouldn't have had any other wounds to have to add to. But here they were.
Dazai carried Atsushi to the bathroom, where he began to undersea him. "H-Hey- what're you-!"
"Atsushi." Dazai cupped his cheek. "Relax... ok?" The other was tense and on edge, and he understood that. "I'm giving you a bath, then going to rebandage you up... ok?" He murmured softly.
Atsushi slowly relaxed, swallowing thickly. The other had no other intent towards him that wasn't to help. He let the other remove his bloodied shirt, and the bandages. Then undo the buckle on his pants, unzipping them and pulling them off, undoing the bandages there as well. He got a little tense as his boxers were removed. Completely naked.
Dazai showed no sign of anything. Not making any sexual comments. He didn't want to make the other uncomfortable at all as he lifted him up and placed him into the bath tub, turning on warm water. And putting in bubbles so the other wouldn't feel so exposed.
"Really.. you should relax, Atsushi. I planned to end up seeing you naked one way or the other." Dazai would of course enjoy teasing him just a little. Atsushi huffed and felt his face get a little warm. "...if your wounds start hurting very badly again, tell me, ok?" He shouldn't but it was just a precaution, which wouldn't hurt anyone.
"Yeah.. ok." Atsushi nodded as the water of the bathtub filled to his collarbone, bubbles obscuring his body. It was nice, warm water. With everything that's been going on he hadn't been able to take a proper bath or shower in a few days. "How're you... here?" Atsushi said with a small frown.
Dazai was a Mafia Boss. He had responsibilities. How did he just somehow manage to take care of Atsushi at the same time? "Don't worry about it. Kouyou and Chuuya will handle everything." Normally they'd just hassle him to work, but.. they both understood the importance of Atsushi to Dazai. And he was also important to them, so.. they'd let him be. Just this once.
"..." Atsushi sighed and nodded. "What about- the members of the Guild?" Atsushi asked urgently. It annoyed Dazai how the other seemed so caring for the well-being of the people who harmed him. "How many are left?"
"Two." Dazai sighed, seeing how the other didn't look at all pleased with the answer. "Poe and Lucy." He murmured, crossing his arms. "You shouldn't be worrying about them. They're evil." That was ironic. Osamu Dazai, calling someone else evil. But, it's what he truly felt. Not even someone as evil as himself could lay a hand on Atsushi and yet... so many people did it with ease.
"Not all of them hurt me.. you know.." He murmured softly, his knees rising above the water as he let himself sink to where only his head and knees were above the water. "Lucy.. the one with red hair.. she grew up in a similar way that I did." Atsushi sighed. Ah.. so he could relate to the female. That's why he seemed so understanding? Not fully.
He just understood that not many members of the guild genuinely wanted to be apart of the guild. Lucy had nowhere else to go. The female with the European gown had a debt to pay. Poe just wanted to finally outsmart Ranpo. Howard... just wants to go home and take a nap—
Dazai said nothing. He simply went and got a roll of bandages. You can bet he had an unlimited supply of those things. Came in handy, not just for himself but for Atsushi as well. He drained the water once the other was clean, and brought a towel around him to dry him off. Atsushi was in no position to be moving around so much without assistance. Dazai wrapped the bandages around the wounds before sighing.
He glanced up at Atsushi, who seemed to have a light pink dusted across his face and his eyes averted. "..am I making you uncomfortable?" Dazai asked. He did get the other was naked with only a towel to cover him.
"Mm.." Atsushi shook his head. "Just.. feels a little awkward." It was odd. As of late it really didn't feel like Dazai was his boss. It felt like he was a close friend. Who he could talk to as an equal. He sighed.
Dazai nodded and dressed the other before sighing. The other undid his own tie. "H-hey- what're you doing.." Atsushi blinked a few times. Atsushi was naked and Dazai was removing his shirt which could mean- a lot of things. The brunette simply placed his large shirt on the other, buttoning it up.
"Sorry. Your clothes are still washing so this is all you'll have until they're done, k?" He asked softly, pushing some hair out of his face.
"Oh... o-ok." Atsushi slowly nodded. "Uhm- thank you." He whispered softly. Only to be lifted into the others arms again as he carried him out of the bathroom. It wasn't the first time he'd seen Dazai shirtless but it definitely didn't happen often.
Dazai's chest and arms and neck were for the most part obscured with bandages anyways. He sat down on the bed, the other in his lap. "Are you hungry or thirsty?" He asked him.
"I think I'm just tired... wait.. I have work today." Atsushi murmured and lifted his head in realization.
Dazai laid down, pulling Atsushi with him, using a hand to rest the others head against his bandaged chest. "..I'm your Boss. You get the day off." The brunette smiled softly.
"..uhm.. oh.. ok." Atsushi murmured, letting his head rest against the others chest. "...thank you.. Boss."
"You should go back to calling me Dazai." Dazai chuckled softly, running a gentle hand through the others hair. "I like it better."
"But.. ah- you're.. my boss. That wouldn't be appropriate." Atsushi said with a nervous giggle.
Dazai chuckled. "Did you somehow forget our rather.. inappropriate moment just a day or so ago, hm?" He tilted his head with a giggle as he watched the others face heat up.
"O-oh- no- I uhm- didn't. I just- uhm..." Atsushi felt himself get all fidgety.
"It's ok.. I think it's cute when you're all flustered and blushy.. and a little oblivious." Dazai kissed his cheek, earning a soft whine from Atsushi.
"B-Boss..." All these kisses- the cuddles. The physical affection. He felt a thumb against his lip.
"My name." Dazai murmured softly, a little smile as he placed another kiss on his forehead.
"Dazai.." He whimpered, his face all hot and warm.
"Thats better." Dazai chuckled and stroked the other's back. "Yeah.. just call me Dazai. I don't like being called Boss by you." He hummed softly.
"Hmph." Atsushi buried his face in the others chest, as a way to hide his embarrassed face. He had called him his real name a few times whilst half beaten up since his brain wasn't working correctly. But now that it was, he realized how long it had been since he'd actually called him his real name. Boss for a year and a half now. Almost two years. It was crazy.
Dazai chuckled and pushed himself to lean up against the wall a little bit, Atsushi still against him, and he lifted his head up to look at him. He let his thumb run over the others lips with a small smile. Atsushi's heart felt like it might explode as the other gently lifted his face, and lowered his own down. God, he could feel the other breathing on his own lips right now.
Atsushi's eyes slightly closed, just a little, his face a soft shade of pink that Dazai thought was adorable. He gave a low chuckle, which send butterflies through the smaller boy's body. He felt the other's thumb stop at his bottom lip, gently tugging it down just a little bit.
Dazai leaned forward and moved his thumb away, placing his lips on the others. And God was he happy to finally be able to kiss Atsushi. He's wanted to for a bit.
Atsushi's heart was racing. He felt like he could have a heart attack just this second as his eyes fully closed and the other gently.. and so lovingly, kissed him. This was Atsushi's first kiss, matter of fact. Dazai.. stole his first kiss. He loved the idea. The fact. It couldn't make him happier as he lifted his arms around the others neck, feeling soft large hands on his waist.
After a few more seconds of kissing, and Dazai leading Atsushi whilst doing so, the two finally pulled away. Dazai was okay but Atsushi was panting just slightly that it was hardly noticeable. It was his first kiss after all, and his heart had made his head spin. "..that was nice." Dazai chuckled softly.
"I... Yeah... nice." Atsushi murmured softly, averting his gaze out of embarrassment.
"That was your first kiss right?" Dazai chuckled. "I could tell."
"Was I really that bad at it?" Atsushi groaned and hid his face again.
"No, not really." Dazai chuckled. "I could just tell." Tell how much the kiss meant to Atsushi. It meant a whole lot to Dazai as well, far more than any stupid peck he gave to any woman.
Atsushi huffed, and sighed, yawning. He knew the other said he could rest... but he couldn't help but feel a little rude, falling asleep right after getting kissed. But the brunette didn't mind. The other was tired and he was pretty sure he just took what little energy he had left when he kissed him. Awe.
"..mm..." Atsushi's head resting on the other's chest, his eyes closed. He loved this. The- the atmosphere. It was so loving. Comforting. Warm. He really wasn't sure how to explain it. Love, probably. Yeah. "..Love you.." he murmured softly as he drifted off into sleep.
Dazai smiled softly, resting his hand on his hair, gently petting him. "I love you too, Atsushi."
Dazai was going to fully enjoy today. He got to take care of his beloved. He trusted no one else to do this but himself. He was very protective of him. Besides, the last time he let Atsushi into the hands of someone else, like Chuuya or those cookie cutter men in a suit and tie who couldn't do shit for security, Atsushi ended up not only getting kidnapped but getting severely injured.
As he let the other rest, he put in a pair of earbuds and began to scroll through his phone as to not wake the other. He listened to a song here and there, and noticed he had a folder of saved videos from the camera footage.
But why watch those when you could watch Atsushi sleep peacefully in real life, before your very own eyes? Dazai preferred the real thing. It was nice, being able to cuddle with Atsushi like how he always wanted to. Yeah.. nice :)
Dazai ended up resting his eyes for a bit. After an hour or two, he felt the other stir again. It was now afternoon. Atsushi shifted slightly, his hand landing on Dazai's phone to accidentally play a clipped video. And Dazai's earbuds had disconnected from slight shifting while resting.
"Ah~ ♡︎ H-Hah~!"
Oh- that— definitely woke the two of them up. Atsushi instantly sat up, his face red because his recognized that voice. Holy shit that was— his.
Dazai quickly exited out of the app and for the first time in his life, Atsushi watched the brunette get flustered. "W-why— how do you have that!?!?" Atsushi brought his hands up to his own hair, his face dark red. "H-how— I— when—" Atsushi remembered... uhm- that.
It was his first time ever acting on his hormones, aha, uhm- that's embarrassing. Even more so- Dazai had Atsushi touching himself saved on his phone.
"Ok— Atsushi, relax.." Dazai needed to relax himself too. "I just— once the guild put a bounty on your head I installed- security cameras in your house.." Now that he said it to him he did feel a little bad doing so without telling him. Seeing a show embarrassed Atsushi got.
"You— have cameras—" Oh jeez. Did that mean he had the time when- he called out Dazai's name in his sleep? Uh uh- n o . That was too humiliating for him.
"I— removed them!" Dazai spoke quickly. No he didn't, but he definitely was going to have them removed first thing when he gets back to work.
Atsushi whined. "I-I—" He really wasn't sure how to handle this situation. It was so- embarrassing.
"Hey- hey, Atsushi, calm down. Look at me." Dazai was panicking too, as his hands cupped his face, wanting nothing more than for Atsushi to calm down.
There was a difference between Atsushi being a little flustered which was always cute, and then being so embarrassed to the point of stress. No.. Dazai didn't want that for him. "..look—" he held up his phone and deleted it. "I don't- need any of the camera footage since yours safe now. So- I-it's all gone- ok?"
Atsushi sighed shakily. He didn't know why this was panicking him so much. It was just Dazai who knew about it... right? So why was he so scared?
"Ah. Atsushi, perfect timing." Mori grinned, his head resting on his hands. For the first time in his three years in the mafia, Atsushi actually walked into the boss' office without seeing questionable things.
"You wanted to see me?" Atsushi didn't know why he had a bad feeling, since he hadn't done anything wrong. Maybe— no, yeah, it was probably just a dangerous mission he had.
"Feelings are most people's weaknesses." The raven haired male stood. "Though of course they can be good things too." Atsushi was confused. Why was he telling him this? "But when it comes to people outside of this organization? That becomes very problematic."
Atsushi watched the other walk up to him. Kneeling down a little to become face to face with him. "Uhm... yeah, I know—" before Atsushi could confirm his knowledge of that matter..
Smack.
"Understand?"
"I do... sir.."
Atsushi remembered the last time— he merely got caught holding hands with a girl outside of the organization when he was fifteen. And he'd gotten into.. actual trouble for it. He never understood it but.. the thought of getting caught again, especially with something like this, scared him.
But this was Dazai, who was having feelings of his own. Who was trying his damnest to convey that in a healthy way. "..."
"Haaa!? What is this!?" Dazai huffed and cupped Atsushi's face, which had a red, stinging hand print on it. "Who smacked you!?"
"Somebody smacked you-!?" Chuuya quickly shoved aside Dazai to cup Atsushi's face, examining the mark. "Tell me. I'll kill em. I'll do it right now, i swear. Was it that bitch you were hanging out with yesterday!? Did she do this to you!?"
"Stop yelling, dumbass, you're gonna make everything worse!" Dazai yelled at Chuuya.
Meanwhile.. Atsushi just stood there, and empty- blank expression. No response. So it was wrong to feel feelings.
"Atsushi..." Oda carefully pushed past the two shouting nineteen year olds. ".." he knelt down, and cupped his face, moving his hand to fit over the handprint.
"I did a bad thing..." Atsushi whispered weakly.
The hand size and the situation already gave away who had hit him, at least to Oda. Which meant he couldn't do anything about it. "Why don't we go put some ice on it.. hm?"
No matter what, Oda couldn't get what the bad thing Atsushi was done out of him. Atsushi was too scared that he'd get mad at him for it too. Not to mention, he felt very bad about having the break the female's heart but...
It was a bad thing. Wasn't it?
"Look... so there's nothing for you to be embarrassed about, ok?" Dazai sighed. "Everyone's... done something like that before in their lives. And I mean- everyone. So..."
Dazai gently patted his head. "....." Atsushi blinked a few times. Everyone did it? So it wasn't a bad thing? But if- merely holding hands with a girl.. just hanging out with someone you had feelings for, as in a date, was bad, how could doing something like that to yourself not be bad? Maybe the brunette said that because he didn't know he was thinking about someone?
No.. Atsushi very clearly recalled him calling out his name by accident. There's no way the other didn't know about that. "..." He frowned, feeling exhausted once more as his body calmed down. "Sorry.. sorry."
"You don't have to apologize." Dazai sighed. Man... that's what he gets for leaving his phone unlocked, with videos of Atsushi on them. "I should apologize. I did mean for them being security... but I saved them. To be truthful, watching you sleep peaceful helps relax me. Sorry if it sounds creepy.."
"I'm— I'm the creepy one." Atsushi shook his head quickly.
"No you're not. You're the completely normal one doing normal things normally. I'm.. the creepy one watching you do that on a screen." Dazai sighed. He gently put a hand on his back, pushing him to lay back down in the position before.
Dazai's- deductive abilities in no way shape or form ever matched the detective from the Agency.. but, he was relatively smart. "..does.. this happen to have anything to do with that mark from three years ago?" He gently pet his hair.
"...mm.." Atsushi gave a nod. He said that... it was ok, right? And he hadn't said anything about when he went on a date with that girl. "I went on a date... once.... and the Boss..."
Really.. hearing Atsushi's voice tremble broke Dazai's heart. Made him wished he tortured the hell out of Mori before shooting him. But it was too late for that. "Those other times..?"
There were about six times after that when Atsushi would have a slap mark on his face. And every time, no one could get out of him what happened.
And you can bet Oda did... try to civilly discuss it with the boss. That didn't blow over too well. Mori simply told Oda he wasn't doing a good job with disciplining Atsushi so he'd taken matters into his own hands.
But Oda never got to know what Atsushi was being punished for. And that's what really pissed him off. Now, years later Dazai finally knew at least one of the reasons. And it sucked. Atsushi didn't deserve that.
Atsushi nodded in confirmation. "...I'm sorry. You didn't deserve them." Dazai murmured softly, twirling his hair in his finger. This atmosphere... he wanted to distract Atsushi from it.
"Hey, why don't I make us lunch? You haven't eaten since yesterday morning." Dazai sat up a little, using his hands to push him up straight, Atsushi automatically being sat up with him.
"Ah..." he probably should eat. "..ok. That doesn't sound like a bad idea..." he was thankful that the other was attempting to change the subject. It- meant a lot more to him than he could probably understand.
Dazai lifted him up in his arms bridal style, standing up himself and carrying him to his kitchen. He set him down in a chair. "You hungry for anything in particular?" The brunette asked.
"...mm... fruits." Fruits sounded super nice. Cold, fresh, juicy. Yummy :] “Or- uhm.. I’ll eat anything.” That was also true. Atsushi was starving. Dazai nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.
This wasn’t the first time he’d been in his house, since he’d stayed with him for a year or two before buying a place of his own. There was a point where Dazai lived in a storage unit, which was ironic considering the luxury and elegance of the place he lived in nowz
Atsushi had apparently been sitting and thinking for- a little bit, because as fast as he thought he started, the other was already done cooking. It’d been a bit. “Here you go.” He made him rice and curry. “I know you said you were in the mood for fruits but.. I haven’t really been grocery shopping for those in a bit so...” yeah he didn’t have any.
“Ah- thank you. No worries.” Atsushi was grateful that the other genuinely asked or wanted to make him any food at all. The other sat down and got his own plate in front of him before the two began eating.
After they ate, Atsushi attempted to stand. “I’ll- wash the dishes.” Dazai has cooked for them, after all. It would be unfair if he had to wash the dishes too. But the weretiger’s legs were wobbly and not fully recovered energy wise, yet. Dazai shook his head as he finished eating and stood up.
“No, you won’t.” It was a simple statement, not to be challenged or questioned. Atsushi felt bad, though. But he simply nodded and sat back down. “You’re the guest. If I ever go to eat at your house I promise I’ll let you do the dishes, then.” He chuckled and patted his head before gathering Atsushi and his own dishes.
“Ok.” Well, guess it made sense. Whoever lived in the house gets to do the dishes. Atsushi sat there awkwardly as Dazai disappeared in the kitchen, he heard running water. He wasn’t sure what to do whilst the other washed the dishes.
In the end, he just waited for Dazai to come back. And once he did, the two decided that watching a movie would be a good way to pass time. Dazai was sitting on the couch. Atsushi beside him, a blanket over the two of them, as they watched a movie.
Dazai’s amber eyes would dart from the TV over to Atsushi at least twice every minute. Wearing a large shirt, more skin around his neck and collarbone were noticeable since the neck hole was bigger. His skin looked so soft. Smooth. Dazai couldn’t help himself. He lifted his hand to the other’s neck, gently running his hand and fingers around.
Atsushi shivered. “What’re— you doing?” He would be lying if he said that he didn’t enjoy the others touch on his neck. He was just a little curious as to why the other so suddenly decided to start- touching there. You have to admit it was a little random.
“Your skin looked very soft.” Dazai smiled softly. “I wanted to see if it was, is all. He tilted his head as he brought his hand to the back of his neck. “Ah- I think you have something back here. Turn around-?”
Atsushi frowned in confusion but turned around. Was there maybe a bug? Or maybe something in his hair? He expected to feel the hand of the other dust off or grab whatever it was, since he felt hair get moved out of the way of his neck. But then, he felt soft, smooth lips against the back of his neck. He gasped in surprise, shivering. Smooth... “H-Hey..” his voice felt all meek and quiet. Who knew it felt so nice to be kissed back there.
“Mm... soft.” Dazai chuckled softly, not moving away from his neck after pulling his lips back just a centimeter, breathing on the others neck, earning a shiver from him. Atsushi wasn’t trying to turn around or stop him, so he continued. He wrapped his arms around him as he connected his lips to the same spot.
Atsushi’s body completely relaxed in the other’s hold. Neck kisses... he definitely would want those more often now. Maybe not in public but— “!!” He squeaked as he felt the other begin to suck on his neck. That- definitely caught him off guard. “Hey- y-you— mmnn..” Atsushi decided on keeping his mouth shut. It’s not like he wanted him to stop, and also, if he opened his mouth he was afraid he’d make a weird noise.
Not like he wasn’t already whimpering. Dazai continued to suck on his neck, until a mark appeared. Atsushi seemed to be thoroughly enjoying this, his hands having desperately searched for and found the other’s, interlocking their fingers. Dazai pulled away from the other’s neck with a satisfying pop. “...do you want me to leave a few more?” He purred softly.
Dazai would have all the fun in the world marking Atsushi. He was his, after all. It only made sense to mark him. He let the weretiger breathe for a moment before he answered. “Y..yes please...” the response sent Dazai’s heart flying, especially the meek little please at the end. He grinned, and connected his lips to a spot above it.
He purposely left two more marks, however only in places where Atsushi could easily hide them. At least that’s what Atsushi thought until he felt the other move his lips to the side of his neck. And he- definitely wouldn’t be able to hide that one. But hey, what were the point of marks if not to show that you belong to someone? Atsushi loved the thought— Dazai being his lover.. marking him to show it. He liked it. A lot.
“...” Atsushi let out a breath as the other finally pulled away for good, letting his hair fall back and turning him to face him. “Was that too much?” Dazai asked softly as he placed a small little wet kiss on his lips.
“N..No..” Atsushi shook his head. “It... was- perfect.” He admitted shyly, averting his eyes. Dazai smiled softly, and kissed his forehead.
“Tell you what, Atsushi.” He played with the piece of hair that was longer than all the rest, that fell on the side of Atsushi’s head. “Why don’t we turn off the movie and head to bed, hm? It’s late.” He pat his head. “...we can make a pillow fort if you want.”
Atsushi blinked a few times before a small smile appeared on his face. “Yeah, ok. I like that.” It was- a very nice idea.
Dazai lifted the other up once more, and once in the bedroom gathered all the pillows and blankets he could. Atsushi helped with what he could seeing as his legs didn’t work. “Ok! I’m done with the inside!” The pillow for was very well done, easily able to fit the two. Atsushi had decorated the inside with blankets and smaller pillows and plushies. Yep, Dazai owns plushies.
“Hey, it looks great in here.” Dazai chuckled and laid down, beside Atsushi, gently bringing his back to press against his chest in a spooning cuddling fashion. “Just like you.” He rested his head on the others shoulder.
“H-Hehe..” Atsushi couldn’t help but blush, every time the other made a comment. “...I love you...”
Dazai turned off the light using the light switch he had for his room. Atsushi normally was scared of the dark, but with Dazai... Atsushi actually felt safe. “I love you too, Atsushi, darling.” Ooo, Darling. Atsushi liked that. “Goodnight.”
“...goodnight, Dazai.”
Atsushi rubbed the side of his neck as he hummed, reading over the files in Akutagawa's office. The back of his hair covered, for the most part, all of those makes. Except for... the one on his neck. And now that he was back in work.. aha... you can bet that it didn't go unnoticed.
"Why am I still working with you after you dragged us into that trap last time..." Akutagawa hissed in distaste, sitting on the desk with one leg crossed over the other, his arms crossed. Not doing work... as usual. So why was he even complaining?
"You certainly aren't doing anything to help. Plus I tried to warn you about the trap last time but you didn't listen." Atsushi grumbled. Now knowing the patterns were a trap, he huffed, not sure what to do next.
"Don't talk to me that way. I'm your superior, you imbecile." Akutagawa always seemed to feel the need to bring up that Atsushi was still the lowest ranking member in the mafia.
"Put your pride away for once in your life." Atsushi rolled his eyes. He heard Akutagawa get up, thinking he might actually do work. But it was a foolish thought. The raven haired male walked towards the door to the office, causing Atsushi to scoff. How childish.. leaving.
Akutagawa took a deep breath as he opened the door and yelled, out into the halls, "ATSUSHI HAS A HICKEY!"
Oh, fuck.
Atsushi yelped and quickly attempted to dive behind a desk as he heard pounding footsteps, only to get yoinked back by the back of his shirt. Chuuya.
"You have a what!?" Invigorated older brother. Sigh. He shook him rapidly. "You're eight-fuckin-teen! Why do you have a hickey!!! You should be focusing on work, not getting your neck sucked like some fucking vampire type shit you moron!"
"I'm— sorr— y." Atsushi whined in syllables as he was shaken. Chuuya knew exactly where those hickeys came from.
"You better have not gone any farther than that or I'll kick his ass so far to hell he'll never ever come back." He hissed.
"Nothing else happened-!!!" Atsushi exclaimed quickly. God.. this was embarrassing.
"Him? Atsushi's gay?" Akutagawa asked flatly. Chuuya had said him, so he assumed...
"Why're you saying it like it's a bad thing?" Atsushi huffed as he was let go by the red head. Chuuya wasn't going to elaborate on who it was. If Akutagawa ever found out...
Hoooooo boy, Chuuya didn't wanna be there for it. And neither did Atsushi. Click clack click clack. Heels. Kouyou poked her head in before speed walking up to Atsushi, her eyes violently and vigorously scanning him. "I'm going to murder him :]" and then she simply left.
A h a . O h b o y. Atsushi huffed and put his arms around his neck. God... this was so embarrassing. "Fuck you..." Atsushi glared at Akutagawa.
"Did you just say fuck!?" Chuuya began to shake him again. "Who taught you that word!? You're too young to be saying shit like that!!" He yelled.
"You— taught— me— that- word-!" Atsushi exclaimed in syllables as he was shaken. Akutagawa was just sitting on his desk, watching the scene. God... talk about obnoxious. Going and yelling about him having a hickey, which he was pretty sure at least 1/4 of the mafia heard that...
Chuuya let him go with a huff. There wasn't much he could say or do regarding Dazai because of the mic, so... Not that he'd want to mention Dazai in front of Akutagawa. "..." He glanced at Akutagawa and huffed before dragging Atsushi out of the office by his tie.
"Hey-! I have to work on that case!" Atsushi exclaimed as he was dragged back to his own office. Door shut.
Chuuya yanked his tie down so Atsushi was eye level with him. "When did he do it? Was it when he was supposed to be taking care of you? Did you say it was fine? He didn't take advantage—"
"Chuuya... I promise- I was perfectly okay with it." Atsushi huffed. He was okay with it. "Yes- it was during that time but he didn't take advantage of me in any way, I swear."
Chuuya huffed and crossed his arms. "Good.." he grumbled. "Did you go farther than that?"
Atsushi slowly shook his head. "No.." it was the truth. He wouldn't be lying if he said that he found Chuuya seeming— worried? Concerned? Protective? Was a little odd. Sure, it had been something Atsushi grew up with. Chuuya, Dazai, and Oda. Kouyou as well. All protective. But this was clearly something different now.
"...you really don't need to be worried." Atsushi murmured as he adjusted his tie.
"Look, I just want you to be careful, is all." Chuuya sighed as he brought his hands up to rub his own temples. "Dazai's... had many many flicks with females that didn't mean anything." He mumbled. "It was all just for some double suicide stunt." He grumbled.
That definitely got Atsushi's hopes down. Was Dazai treating him this way just to ask him for a double suicide in the end? And then- if Atsushi said no.. would he go back to ignoring him and treating him as nothing but the Mafia's trash can..? He didn't want that. "..." But did the boss know about Dazai and all these women? Because— if so, why'd he never see Dazai get in trouble for it? Atsushi went on a singular date and got smacked so hard it left a mark.
"Chuuya." Both Chuuya and Atsushi jumped. They hadn't even hear the door open. Dazai stood there, leaning against the door frame. Shit.. the mic. Chuuya knew he was probably gonna get in trouble for it but he- just wanted the best for Atsushi. "Out." It was a simple order. No, a demand. Dazai had heard his concerns, after all. He didn't care about what Chuuya felt. He just wanted to reassure Atsushi now.
Chuuya glanced at Dazai then at Atsushi. Clearly skeptical with the plan of leaving them two alone. "Now." Dazai wanted him out.
"Tch.." Chuuya huffed as he made his way out of the office, the door being closed by Dazai behind him. He waited outside now.
Atsushi rubbed his arm awkwardly. Should he- say anything? He stared at the floor. Eye contact for him had always been a problem but even more so now. "...uhm..." jeez. What if Dazai was gonna reveal that Atsushi was just like those other women? Not worth anything more than a double suicide..?
Suddenly a pair of arms wrapped around him, pulling Atsushi into a warm, comforting hug. Dazai sighed softly. Chuuya's worries were completely warranted. He just wished Chuuya went to talk to him about it instead of making Atsushi doubt his love. But then, Dazai was a scary individual. It's not like you can just go up and talk to him like that.
"You don't need to worry, you know." Dazai spoke softly, rubbing circles into the others back. "I know.. that you're probably scared that.." He sighed. There's no way to word this and make it sound like a good positive thing. "Atsushi—"
"You can just say it, you know..." Atsushi murmured softly. Dazai had done an incredible amount for him.
However... having such strong acts of love fall apart all of a sudden was something Atsushi was used to his whole life. "I'd rather... you not lie about it.." he whispered shakily.
"You've given me a reason to live, Atsushi Nakajima." Dazai spoke with complete honesty and confidence. It was the only way to properly put it. "And that is the one hundred percent truth." He murmured. He felt the other relax slightly in his hold, though he was obviously still surprised by his words. "I'm never going to ask you to die on my behalf, not with me, not ever." He murmured.
".." Atsushi slowly wrapped his arms around the other back, feeling the other adjust his collar to hide the hickey. "I'm sorry I made them visible. I probably shouldn't have done that." He murmured and kissed the other's ear.
"It's... it's okay." Atsushi murmured quietly. The other pulled away from the hug and gently pecked him on the cheek.
"I have to attend a meeting in a few minutes.. we can continue to discuss it after you return from your mission, yeah?" Dazai cupped his cheek. Atsushi wasn't aware he would be going anywhere today, but simply nodded and leaned into his hand, kissing his palm before they separated.
Atsushi returned to Akutagawa's office, who was thoroughly agitated. Seems like even without Atsushi around, the other wouldn't be so easily calmed. "..nothing. We have. Nothing." The raven haired male hissed. "There's no genuine pattern. It's all random. All unpredictable." He scratched his head. "Weretiger." He looked up at him. "Figure it out."
"Ha-!? If there's no pattern then there's no pattern, I can't just magically know where the next attack is going to be! I'm not an all knowing detective, you know." Atsushi crossed his arms. The two of them stopped, and stared at each other.
"We can continue to discuss it after you return from your mission, yeah?" That was what Dazai had told Atsushi. "I already know what you're going to say, but it's a stupid idea." Akutagawa spoke before Atsushi had a chance to breath.
"It's the only idea we have... the Boss quite literally said to go." Atsushi frowned, rubbing his temples with his middle and pointed fingers.
"Going to an enemy organization and asking them for help is dishonorable and pathetic." Akutagawa hissed, crossing his arms and shaking his head.
"..then you can stay here, and tell the Boss aaall about how you didn't help with the mission." Atsushi stuck out his tongue. Akutagawa grumbled, muttering not so happily.
"Take the stupid raccoon guy with us. He'd probably want to go anyways and if they refuse to cooperate, his ability is a good non-violent way to settle things." Akutagawa stood up, walking over to the entrance. Akutagawa, planning for not violent affairs? What a shocker.
"Oh, Poe.. sure." Atsushi nodded. He and Poe— haven't had much time to get to know each other since the incident. But Atsushi was a kind individual who wouldn't blame him. He just wanted to battle Ranpo after all. And this would be his chance.
Atsushi walked down to the cellar, where they often kept prisoners to torture. He found Poe there, in charge of cleaning up... the corpses and the blood and the organs. Poor guy... but given Dazai's distaste for everyone in the Guild, it only made sense. "Uhm.. Poe-kun." Atsushi gave a nervous smile as he walked over to him.
"Huh— yes, what is it?" The messy haired man was quick to look at him, seeming slightly panicked. His attire was different than what he wore in the guild now. He wore a dark blue button up and black pants and boots, a black large coat that almost touched the ground draped over his slightly slumped over shoulders. His raccoon friend relaxing on his shoulders still.
"Uhm... well, for a mission.. we're going to the Agency." The sentence seemed to catch Poe's undivided attention. "We specifically need to ask Ranpo.. to assist with his ability and such." He scratched the back of his head. "And.. your ability would be helpful if he won't cooperate. Plus I know you wanted to have a one on one with him so maybe this could be your chance."
"Oh... I see..." Poe was hiding his excitement. "So- I can go!" Didn't do too good of a job at it. Though, seeing Poe look so happy for once made Atsushi smile.
"Mhm!" He nodded. "We'll be leaving soon. We can get one of our janitors to finish cleaning, don't worry about it!"
"Ah- are you sure that.. your Boss- the Boss won't mind? I don't want to... upset him." Understandable as... Dazai and two of his executives wiped out the Guild.
"I'm sure he wouldn't! You're helping me with this case, and Akutagawa too. He'll be understanding and thankful, I'm sure of it!" He nodded confidently.
"Uhm—" Understanding and thankful didn't seem to fit Dazai too well but whatever floats your boat. "Okay! Im ready!" He declared, a little anxious. Poe kept books in his coat just in case, if he ever needed to sue one for defense or offense.
"Alright.. great!" Atsushi led the taller man upstairs, to meet up with a less than happy Akutagawa. They began their quiet and awkward walk to the Agency.
"By the way... uhm.. Atsushi." Poe spoke up.
"Hm? What is it?" Atsushi looked over to him, tilting his head.
"Thank you.."
"For what?"
"For... for saving my life. You.. if you'd never talked to your Boss.. me and Lucy could both be dead.." He murmured.
"..don't.. thank me. You only ever joined the Guild to fight Ranpo. You didn't wanna be there. So.. it's okay." He said with a soft and friendly smile.
Poe gave a small smile, nodding. He really was grateful that Atsushi, someone in the mafia, was so kind. He followed the white haired male back upstairs, and walked to the main entrance of the building to meet with Akutagawa, who seemed less than pleased than to have to go and ask help from an enemy organization. There was no pride in that. But they had no other choice.
They began their walk there. It was rather quiet. Atsushi wasn't sure if they could get a peaceful audience with anyone at the Agency. The moment they stepped in.. wouldn't they think they were attacking? Perhaps... if Atsushi went in by himself... they'd let him? He'd met many of them in the past... outside of meeting them on missions, he was genuinely kind to them if he saw them out on the street, which sort of confused them but eventually they got used to it. Yeah... Atsushi would go in, and ask if he could bring two of his friends. And that they came in absolute peace with no means of attacking.
He truly hoped they'd be willing to cooperate. As these thoughts spun around in his mind, he hadn't even noticed they were close to the Agency. Poe seemed excited...? No, he seemed anxious. And Akutagawa just seemed plain violent, obviously not wanting to be there. Well, didn't matter. Because he was, and he'd have to deal with it. "You two wait out here. I don't want them to think we're attacking them so I'll go in and ask, then you guys can come in after I text you to." It was just for safety. They didn't need to start a fight with the Agency, not whilst they had so many other things to deal with.
"Don't give me order." Akutagawa huffed, but nevertheless, crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. Poe gave a polite nod, patiently waiting outside as Atsushi entered.
He'd only actually been in the Agency one time before. To be honest.. being on the rather kind side, they were less hostile towards each other than they were to say; Akutagawa.
He took the stairs up to the floor where he knew the Agency office was. He knew things would probably go smoothly, but he couldn't help but feel a little anxious. Despite how less hateful the agency and Atsushi were with each other... they were still and enemy organization, and fully prepared for Atsushi's kindness to be a trick to be able to attack them off guard. He opened the door to the agency office, poking his head in a little.
Kenji so happened to be waiting by the door, eating a snack. "Hm? Oh, hi, Atsushi!" He chimed loudly, a big smile on his face. Obviously the name of the Mafioso caught the attention of the other detectives in the room.
"Uhm.. hi, Kenji.." Atsushi said with a small smile as he slowly walked in. "Is- Ranpo here?"
"Mhmmm! He's right over there." Kenji happily pointed to his desk. Ranpo tilted his head, having looked over and waved, a lolipop in his mouth.
Atsushi nodded and approached his desk. "Hi, Ranpo.." He greeted with a small smile.
Ranpo seemed to be analyzing him. "Don't wanna."
"Ha-!? You didn't even let me ask yet!" Atsushi frowned, crossing his arms.
"I don't neeed tooo. I don't wanna. I don't feel like it." Ranpo huffed. Atsushi forgot how difficult the detective could be at times.
"Ranpo— this is serious." Atsushi huffed. "You realize the danger Yokohama could be in if we don't catch him?" He was glad he could talk to Ranpo without having to specify things because he already knew what was going on.
Atsushi didn't seem to notice the room falling silent as Ranpo spoke. "Yokohama is always in danger, Atsushi." He huffed.
"Is that so?" A tall man had walked up to stand beside Atsushi. Traditional attire, grey hair— the President, actually. "What type of danger..?" Ah- Atsushi had no idea he would be here. It's not like he minded but he always got a little anxious around authoritarian figures.
"Ah— Mr. Fukuzawa.." Atsushi gave a small bow to him, before standing up straight. "Someone.. has been stealing and selling Mafia information. It wouldn't be too much of a problem.. but— information incredibly dangerous is being sold to unknown sources and that could cause an immense amount of danger and complications for Yokohama."
"..I see." Slowly, Fukuzawa lifted his eyes to Ranpo. "So you've come out empty handed and require Ranpo's assistance?" Ranpo didn't look too happy. If it was for Yokohama's protection, he knew Fukuzawa would have him help.
"That is correct, sir." Atsushi nodded.
"Well, then, Ranpo..?" Fukuzawa hummed.
Ranpo groaned dramatically, spinning around in his chair five times before sighing. "Fiiiiine, I'll do it." He huffed.
"Thank you, very much!" Atsushi was relieved that they could be getting some help. Things would become quite complicated if they didn't. Besides, it's not like it was only mafia information that was being stolen. This person was a thief, the Agency had as much of a reason to catch them as the Mafia did.
Ranpo got up, shoulders hanging as he and Atsushi left the office. With— Kunikida going with them. Just to make sure nothing happened to Ranpo, who's ability didn't exactly aid in self defense or offense. "Akutagawa and Poe are outside. They came with to help."
"Akutagawa and who?" Kunikida raised an eyebrow, not recognizing that name.
"Ah... Edgar Allen Poe of the Guild." Ranpo mumbled. "..that no longer exists."
"No longer exists?" Kunikida huffed. "Organizations don't just disappear like that. Especially not the Guild."
"Ah.. about that..." Atsushi piped up as they rode the elevator down. "..the Guild.. ended up kidnapping me and... Da— the Boss.. sort of- wiped them out..? All except Poe, and another red head." He mumbled quietly.
".." Kunikida blinked a few times. "You're telling me a singular man wiped out an organization as strong as the Guild?"
"Well- it wasn't just him.. it was him and the executives."
"..." Kunikida wasn't sure if he could believe what he was hearing. The Guild was so easily wiped out? It made no sense. Not even for an organization as powerful. But then he also didn't know exactly how much Atsushi meant to Dazai, who would and could tear the world apart if it was required for Atsushi's survival.
Ranpo sighed. "Hmph." He pouted. He already knew he would have to face off in one of Poe's books.
As they walked out, Poe was quick to stand up straight. "...Ranpo-kun. It's been awhile..."
"..." Ranpo crossed his arms and nodded. "Mhm... it has.." he mumbled.
"..." There was an uncomfortable tension in the air. What was it..? He didn't like it. It felt like he was the third wheel. It wasn't just him. Kunikida and Akutagawa shifted their stances uncomfortably. "You two know each other?" Kunikida asked Ranpo as he pushed up his glasses.
"He's my ex." Ranpo huffed.
"Ha!?" Poe whined. "Stop calling me your ex!!"
"I haven't seen you for over a year, we can't possibly still be in a relationship!"
"A- wha- huh!?" Kunikida seemed absolutely flabbergasted. Ranpo— what??? Hello?? Since when??
"Hmph. This big meanie ditched me!!!" Ranpo crossed his arms. "I haven't seen him in four hundred and twenty days!"
"I said I was sorry!" Poe whined. "I called you as often as I could! But you hardly even picked up!"
"That's cuz I was mad at you!"
Atsushi stood there, watching. Completely lost. "..." Ranpo sighed. "Poe and I were dating, but he had to go across the world for some dumb organization thing."
"I was apart of the Guild! I-I told you I would only be here for a few months then I'd have to go again." Poe defended himself. "I— quit, while overseas so I could try to get back to you sooner.. but then they planned to come back to capture the weretiger and I.. joined back! So I could see you!"
"Does... erm.. the President know?" Kunikida asked, clearly not sure how to handle such an awkward situation.
"Absolutely not." Ranpo said flatly. "He would kill Poe, and then me." He mumbled.
"Cmon, Ranpo.." Poe murmured as he held out a book to him. "I-I made a new mystery novel! Just for you!" He whined.
Ranpo sighed. "...fine.. fine." Well.. they did bring Poe so he could finally see Ranpo, as it turns out, again.
"We're getting side tracked." Akutagawa hissed as Ranpo opened the book. "We should be focusing on the thief! Not your love life!"
"Stop throwing a hissy fit." Ranpo stuck out his tongue as the book began to glow. "Just cuz you can't work up the balls to confess doesn't mean the rest of us can't have a love life." Ranpo got sucked into the book. Poe clapped his hands together happily.
"He's gonna be so happy!!" Poe smiled brightly as he picked up the book.
"Confess?" Atsushi's attention was now caught, gently tugging on Akutagawa's sleeve. "To who?" He seemed intrigued.
"To nobody." Akutagawa hissed. "He's just lying to get me upset." He pushed the other's face away with his hand.
"No— I know you're lying!"
"Ahem." Kunikida wasn't too happy about being thrown off track either.
"...sorry." Atsushi murmured. Despite not having any sort of allegiance to any agency members, he held them in high respect. That much was obvious.
It was an uncomfortable silence as they waited for Ranpo to finish whatever in the novel. Poe fully expected him to be able to make it out and eventually he did. About five minutes of the four uncomfortable standing and waiting around, the book opened. And out came Ranpo, who dusted himself off. "What do you think?" Poe asked earnestly.
"...." Ranpo huffed as he wrapped both of his arms around Poe's right arm. "That was a dirty trick." He mumbled. Atsushi tilted his head. Uhm... guess the two were okay with each other now..?
The book itself was indeed a mystery novel… but it was a mystery romance novel. It made Ranpo remember just how much he missed being with Poe.. and made him feel a little bad, because writing that book was Poe’s way of coping with being away from Ranpo so long.
"Now, if you're done with your lovers quarrel, can we please return to the task at hand?" Kunikida mumbled.
"Yeah, yeah." Ranpo waved his hand and sighed. "Welp... take me to the scene of any one of their crimes and I'll use by ability to figure out who did it!" He declared.
The determined attitude was one that gave off a reassuring vibe. With Ranpo on their side, they'd for sure catch the thief! "Okay!" Atsushi nodded.
Atsushi and Akutagawa lead the way to one of the crime scenes. Lucky for them, the man had attacked once more. Not their own place, this time, but at a small diner that had been hiding stolen jewels from a Jewelry shop. As Ranpo clung to his boyfriend, he fished out his glasses from his pocket. "Alright..."
Pushing them up onto his face, he opened his eyes. "..." for only about five seconds did Ranpo need before he spoke again. "Atsushi."
"Hm?"
"The shaggy blonde hair guy in the Mafia, from chapter one." He put his glasses away.
"I'm gonna ignore that you mentioned a chapter number— uhm- I'm not sure about his name, but his nametag said Hani. I think that's his last name." Atsushi said with a hand to his chin.
"That's him. He's the one."
"What!?" Akutagawa hissed. "That traitor!" The black haired man was quick to turn on his heels. "Atsushi, come! We're to report to the boss."
"Atsushi." Ranpo spoke up as Atsushi turned as well. "...I'm gonna steal Poe for a teensy eensy weensy little bit, okay?" He moved his arms from just Poe's arms to give him a side hug with the both of them. And Poe seemed quite happy.
Atsushi gave a smile. "No problem!" He waved at them as he walked away. He followed Akutagawa back to the Mafia. "Wait— Akutagawa. Before we report, I want to check up on Kyouka." Every time Atsushi had wanted to, Kyouka was either asleep, passed out... basically just unconscious.
"..." Akutagawa scoffed and rolled his eyes as they walked to the infirmary. He waited outside as Atsushi slowly entered.
"Kyouka?" He murmured softly as he approached the infirmary bed she was being held in. The purplette female lay there, eyes half open.
"..hm...? At..sushi...?" She looked over to him. "Hi..."
"Hey.." he smiled softly and pushed some hair out of her face. "How're your feeling?"
"Okay, I guess." It had been two days since the Guild attacked.
"I'm glad to hear that... we're just about to go report in on who's in charge of the thievery... and then after that, I'm going to spend as much time by your side as I can." He spoke softly.
"..oh... okay... thank you, then." Kyouka gave a weak smile and closed her eyes. "I'm just... going to take a quick nap." She murmured and let her eyelids fall, covering her eyes. Atsushi sighed softly.
"Sweet dreams." He murmured.
Atsushi made sure Kyouka was properly tucked in and had a glass of water for her for when she awoke. He then stepped out, to a rather impatient and irritated Akutagawa. The two of them walked to the elevator that led up. "...you can tell me, Ya know." Atsushi began pestering again.
"For the last time I do not have feelings for anyone!!" He hissed, crossing his arms in annoyance.
"You're a bad liar.. I bet I can guess who it is!" Atsushi chimed. "Is it Higuchi?" He smiled.
"...ew." Akutagawa scoffed. He didn't seem like he was lying at all, his face twisting into one of indifference, not caring, etc. Huh.. guess it wasn't the blonde woman. "..it's Chuu—"
"Ah, there you two are." Akutagawa's words were cut off when the elevator door opened, revealing Dazai, who just finished talking with another mafioso. Atsushi stepped out of the elevator, and Akutagawa followed.
"We.. discovered the identity of the thief, Boss." Atsushi spoke. Dazai still wanted him to just call him— Dazai. But for professional reasons... obviously he wouldn't do that.
"Oh?" He seemed a little surprised. "Do tell."
"He has.. shaggy blonde hair, with the name Hani. That's all we know about him." Akutagawa knew he'd seen that male around before. So why didn't he remember his actual name?
"Hani?" Dazai gave a dry smile. "Okay.. well, let's go then~" he purred as he walked past the two and to the elevator. Akutagawa and Atsushi glanced uncertainly at each other, before nodding and following him into the elevator. It was a quiet ride, an unsettling grin resting on Dazai's face.
They went all the way down to the prison block. Atsushi wondered if Dazai somehow already had Hani captured down there. But if he did then what for? Dazai led them down the hallway, probably around ten cells down before unlocking a heavy metal door to reveal Hani, chained up and looked like he'd been through... quite the torture session. "Atsushi," Dazai turned to him still smiling. "I present to you, Hani! Your stalker."
Atsushi blinked a few times, face twisting into a confused one. "My.. stalker? What?" Since when was anyone stalking Atsushi.
"The day before you got kidnapped by the guild, I was checking the cameras around your house. And I found Hani... trying to see through some of your windows. When I looked back at more footage previous dates, when I'd be asleep, I caught him again and again. I asked the security team I had following you around and they said they'd seen Hani around countless times but didn't seem to think anything of it. And then.. I confronted Hani about it. And here we are~!"
"..." Atsushi had a stalker the entire time? How did he not sense it? He stared at the bloody mess that was a barely breathing Hani. He truly hadn’t expected this… at all. “That’s… quite the plot twist.. I guess.” He scratched the back of his head.
Akutagawa sighed. “…so- we’re killing him now right?” He hadn’t experienced bloodshed in a few days. He wanted to make up for lost time.
“Okay- killing is a little extreme— isnt it?” Atsushi asked with a nervous smile. Both Akutagawa and Dazai seemed to… have expected him to say this. One of the men that had been guarding the cell stepped in, strapping the man to a table by his hands, arms, feet, torso, neck, legs… everywhere.
“…” Atsushi knew he was being ignored. It was the Mafia.. not a pacifist organization. Things were extreme here. And the crime of stalking Atsushi as well as betraying the mafia..? Was punishable by the most painful death.
A cage of rats was brought into the room, four placed on the man’s torso before a metal tin was placed on him, trapping the rats. “…hh..” Hani was awake.
“Well, good morning.” Dazai smiled, standing beside him, staring down at him with a wide grin. He watched the other tug at the restraints, hissing slightly in pain. “Oh, this?” The other was confused. “Rats will do anything to get out of a deadly situation… they’ll do anything to survive.”
“What’re.. you even on about…” the blonde hissed, though the gears in his mind seemed to finally click as a hot piece of coal was placed onto the bin.
“..the rats want to escape.” He giggled. “While the metal bin gets hotter and hotter and burns your skin… the rats will tear through your flesh, to try and find a way out. And they might just try and escape through your face. I do wonder how much you’ll stay alive for…” Dazai hummed his explanation before he and everyone else left the room.
Atsushi felt horrible, within five minutes hearing the man’s screams. Dazai glanced at Atsushi before bringing a hand to his back. “…why don’t we pick up that talk we were having earlier?” He asked softly.
“Ah…” Atsushi slowly nodded, letting the other lead him out of the prison cell, Akutagawa distracted by the satisfying sight of the traitor being ripped to shreds by hungry rats.
The walk to Dazai’s office was quiet. Atsushi continued to walk towards his desk whilst Dazai turned, locking the door. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. He then turned, walking to his seat, and sitting down.
“…” he outstretched his arms, welcoming Atsushi to sit in his lap. But it wasn’t sexual this time.. no… it was like cuddling. The weretiger obliged, crawling into his lap and curling up as the other wrapped his arms around him. “…you remember how— when you used to live with me.. you’d always see my with a different girl pretty much each week?”
“..uhm.. y-yeah..” Atsushi mumbled. He remembered.. he hadn’t understood it then. Every week, Dazai brought a new girl into the house…
“…I used to be an absolute whore, Atsushi. I’m not even going to lie to you. I mostly just… slept with women. To please myself. Or I would lead them on only to reject them if they wouldn’t commit suicide with me.” Dazai spoke with complete honesty. Despite how much it might worry Atsushi to hear such things. “..but then… you.”
“M..me?” Atsushi blinked a few times as the other pushed a strand of hair behind his ear.
“You made me… not want to die, Atsushi. That’s not an easy thing to do. It was such a nice, warm fluffy feeling. I wouldn’t change it for the world, to be honest.” He hummed softly and kissed his nose. “So you see, I have no reason to ever ask you to kill yourself with me.”
Atsushi slowly nodded as the other cupped his face with his hands. “I love you.” Dazai smiled.
“I… love you too.” Atsushi slowly smiled before lifting himself up slightly to kiss Dazai’s forehead.
“..okay, well, now that that’s all cleared out of the way.” Dazai’s hold tightened on him, holding him close to his chest. “I was so scared Atsushi would doubt my love!” He whined.
“Ah—“ Atsushi couldn’t help but laugh slightly. “I’m sorry.. I promise I won’t.” He knew Dazai… it was just his past of loved ones lying to him about loving him that blinded him for a short moment.
“Good. Now give me a big kiss as an apology.”
Atsushi laughed softly, before softly connecting their lips. So much had happened… the case was finally over. The mission was finally over. He could pretend to be normal…
Even if it was pretending, he would give the world if it meant he might have a chance at something somewhat normal with Dazai.
It had probably been about a month or so since the case. Nothing too eventful had been happening... which meant Atsushi had less time to act and do things than he had to ponder on his thoughts, trapped in his mind.
Dazai was the boss, so he'd always be busy. That left little time for them to genuinely spend together. Atsushi lay on his couch, staring at the ceiling. He'd felt so tired as of late. His body felt... heavy, yeah. He could move it. But it just felt so exhausting to. He wasn't sure why. Was he becoming lazy because of the lack of work?
That didn't feel right. He stared dejectedly at the ceiling, eyes half lidded. He'd been getting so much sleep and rest and yet eye bags had formed under his eyes, looking as though a dark brown eyeliner might've been smeared below his eye. "..." He had gone back to being the Mafia's trash can once he finished with that case. It's not like much of his philosophy had changed. He still refused to kill anyone. If he didn't... maybe he would've never gotten kidnapped by the Guild. Maybe he wouldn't need security and therefore wouldn't trouble the Boss. Maybe that shaggy blonde haired man would've been long dead before that.
But those are all what if's. Atsushi still couldn't bring himself to kill anyone. Was that such a good thing to do? He was apart of the mafia, any and all right to being a good person was probably restricted anyway... at least that's what he's telling himself. Was he doing good? What Oda wanted him to do? Being left alone with your thoughts for longer than a day at a time was troublesome. It wasn't just troublesome, it's dangerous as well. Atsushi knew that.
And Atsushi's sudden drop in attitude, in energy, in motivation, in happiness— in Atsushi-ness, it didn't go unnoticed by those in the mafia. Kouyou wasn't seeing him much in the infirmary anymore. Chuuya couldn't even bring himself to get upset with him. Akutagawa had noticed the decrease in obnoxious noise that was Atsushi's happy humming. Kyouka did bring him food every now and again, but when she did she'd just find that he didn't eat the food at all. And then Dazai— obviously he'd noticed he was gone. There was a lack of humming, and steps to match the beat of the song. There was no gentle knock and then a peek through the door. Atsushi... what happened?
"...Atsushi?" Kyouka poked her head through the office door, a plate of warm food in her hand. She looked at the table beside the couch that he rested on. Food, the plate she'd brought him before this one. Not having been touched. Probably not having been touched. In her other hand, a singular paper. Kyouka sighed and placed the food down, looking at Atsushi. "Atsushi."
"Huh?" Atsushi snapped out of the dark abyss that was his mind and thoughts as he heard the girl speak. "..oh.. thank you, Kyouka-Chan. Sorry..." he apologized for not having eaten the food before... or maybe it was an apology because he knew he wouldn't be eating this plate either.
"...you have a mission today." Kyouka spoke softly, handing him the paper.
"...oh... really..?" He sat up, taking the paper in his hand and beginning to read. Yeah... okay- this worked.. He finally had a mission to get his mind off of things. "..." He huffed. "This just says to go outside..." he mumbled. Only the words 'Go Outside'. Yeah... yeah that was it.
"..that's your mission. The Boss is gonna come beat you up if you don't do it." The purplette spoke calmly. Obviously- kidding... "C'mon. Eat, and then you're going outside." Kyouka wasn't asking or requesting. She wanted Atsushi to breathe fresh air. To feel healthy again.
Atsushi hauled himself up to sit up straight, sighing as he finally began to eat. When was the last time he actually... ate a meal. He wasn't sure, but Kyouka seemed content with the fact that he was eating, so.. that was good. He did feel bad. He was only doing this to make her happy, and not for his own health. She knew that too.
After he finished eating, he put the plate back on the table and stood up, stretching his arms with a sigh. Kyouka went ahead and left the room, leaving the door wide open for him to walk out, and he did. "...okay, back inside." Atsushi turned on his heel, only for Kyouka to yoink him away before he could.
"No." She huffed.
"..there's really... no reason for me to be out here." Atsushi sighed. "I don't have any missions.... I'm useless, so let me go back and lay down."
"The Boss said if you're alone with your thoughts you could die. So I can't let you go back inside." Kyouka said calmly, beginning to drag him to the elevator.
Atsushi frowned. He could die..? Silly Dazai. Thoughts couldn't kill the weretiger... could they? They'd been eating away at him for so many days... who knew anymore? Atsushi knew. And so did Dazai. He wouldn't end up alive by the end of this phase he was going through.
He quietly stood in the elevator, as did Kyouka. He felt bad for worrying everyone but it's not like he particularly enjoyed this phase he was going through either. He rubbed his arm awkwardly. "..so.. uhm.." what should he say?
"The Boss.. Dazai- Dazai wants you to go out today." Kyouka said calmly.
"Go- out?" Atsushi felt a flicker of hope. "With- with him? Go out with him?" but that was quickly put out.
"No, with Chuuya." Kyouka shook her head. Ah... Dazai was probably too busy. That made sense. He was the boss, after all. But Atsushi still felt relatively disappointed. Silly him, getting his hopes up.
"Ah.." Atsushi sighed and nodded. "Okay.."
"Sorry. Dazai knew you would be sad that he wouldn't be there. But he said he'd be free from eight pm tonight to whenever. He wants you to visit him after you finish drinking with Chuuya." Kyouka said calmly.
"Oh, really?" His hopes got up yet again, eyes sparkling. Kyouka nodded happy to see that he at least wasn't as down as before. Atsushi was happy to be able to spend some actual time with him. They hadn't properly done so in so long.
"Chuuya will meet you at your house in about two hours. You're not allowed in your office until tomorrow, Boss' orders." Kyouka huffed. Atsushi only chuckled softly.
"Okay, okay, I get it.."
Kyouka took Atsushi out and about to get some actual sunlight and excessive. He'd taken care of her before, it was only fair that she returned the favor. She bought him snacks and food, way too many, even for how long he hadn't eaten.
He got home at around four pm. Despite how chaotic Mafia life could tend to be, Atsushi never failed to always have fun little days like this. He sighed, yawning as he placed his bags down. He needed to shower.. do laundry.. He wouldn't go out all dirty and smelly.
Atsushi put his clothes in the washer then went and took a hot shower, then wrapped a towel around his body. He went to put the clothes in the drier, then headed back to the bathroom. He dried out his hair, not wanting to go to bed with wet hair. Not that it was truly going to bed. He just needed some much needed rest.
Atsushi stretched his arms as he removed the towel, tossing it in the laundry basket he used for towels. Then, he changed into a pair of boxers and a tank top. He yawned, laying down on his bed which he'd cleaned with his clothes. So nice...
This was nice. He could start working towards a better mindset again, starting with going out. He closed his eyes. He didn't fall asleep, but simply rested. And that felt very nice.
As promised, Chuuya showed up two hours later. Atsushi got dressed in his normal, now clean work attire. Despite the bags under his eyes, Atsushi was finally looking normal again. "Cmon." Chuuya huffed. "You been worrying the shit outta me." He grabbed his sleeve and dragged him to his bike. "I didn't even think Kyouka would manage to pull you out of that office."
Atsushi only gave a sad empty smile as he climbed onto the back of the motorcycle, Chuuya in the front. "..a compliment on my progress would've been nice.." Atsushi mumbled quietly, staring down at his lap. He wondered how long he'd have to listen to people constantly telling him things like that..
Chuuya frowned and only sighed softly. "..I'm sorry. I'm really glad to see you." He started up his motorcycle. Quietly, he began to ride the motorcycle to the bar they'd go to. He parked it out front and helped Atsushi off, who still seemed to have his only spirit broken by the slightly rude comment he'd made.
"..look, I'm sorry." Chuuya sighed. There was nothing that made you feel shittier than if you made Atsushi sad. Akutagawa stuck to upsetting him, because even him making the other sad rather than mad- was just wrong. It was weird but it was a universal fact.
"..I really am impressed." He patted Atsushi's head. "Your hair looks very nice and is extra soft. You look completely and totally clean.." he smiled softly. Atsushi returned a small smile as they entered the bar, a quiet thank you leaving his lips.
They sat down at a small booth in the corner of the bar where it was a bit quieter than the rest of the bar, though granted it was quiet in general. Only soft murmuring from the couple of people inside and some soft jazz played by the bar itself.
"..so, tell me what's up." Chuuya huffed.
"Nothings up."
"You can't even come up with a genuine fake excuse? Everyone can see it. You were the light of the Port Mafia, Atsushi. All of a sudden- acting like.. so depressed- everyone notices." Chuuya huffed.
"..I don't know." Atsushi frowned.
"..what?" Chuuya tilted his head in slight confusion.
"I don't know why I feel this way.."
Chuuya seemed to be listening intently. "Feeling what way..?"
"Tired.. unmotivated.. sad." Atsushi quietly laid his head down onto the counter table. "..I don't have a reason to be. My hardest case was over... the man I love loves me back.. I'm doing the best m I can and only good things are happening. So why do I feel like this?"
Chuuya took a shot. "You don't need a reason to feel sad. It's a normal human emotion.. some people are unlucky enough to have it wash over them for no reason at all... but.. are you sure you don't know why? You feel empty, perhaps something is missing?"
"Oda's missing.."
Chuuya stopped at that. "..Atsushi.." this was about Oda? How old was Atsushi when he died...? Hm.. 15? That was a lot for even someone who's gone through as much as Atsushi has to take in at such a young age. "You-"
"I already know what you're going to say but that's not it." Atsushi hissed. One of the first times he'd ever seemed hostile towards another Mafia member... "Sorry." He apologized quietly, for snapping. "..I just.. feel like I'm not doing good enough. I was supposed to be good. I followed in his footsteps and I don't kill. But... I'm not apart of the light."
"He wanted us to become apart of the.. 'good side'..." Atsushi hates to say it but staying in the mafia didn't exactly bring bright side to life. "..I wonder if I'm disappointing him."
"I don't think so." Chuuya huffed, shaking his head. The tone in his voice was oh so familiar. Ready to confidently reassure the other to the best of his ability. "You've become a wonderful man, Atsushi. You're- one of the most good people on this planet. You have a heart, you're sweet and kind and considerate."
"..but.. what's the point of being- any of that if I'm still in the Mafia? He wanted.." Atsushi frowned softly to himself and glanced back to Chuuya. "Not that- the Mafia is bad or anything."
"No, no, I know what you mean.." Chuuya patted his head to assure him he didn't take any offense. "..I don't think you fit in the mafia, Atsushi."
"Huh..?" Atsushi was a little surprised to hear him say that.
"Everyone agrees.. you're a bright shining light and you're living in a black hole." Chuuya mumbled as he took a shot. "We all love you very much.. but you shouldn't be here." He said softly.
"I'm.. sure I belong here. I have family and friends here. I've- it's not like I'm completely useless-! I can still do things." Atsushi wasn't sure why this was hurting his feelings so much. He knew that the reason he still felt so empty was because he was in the Mafia.
"Hey, hey.. I know. Don't take offense." Chuuya said quickly, putting his hat on the others head. "I don't mean it as a bad thing.. it's a compliment." He sighed. "Atsushi, you should leave the Mafia."
"..." Atsushi chewed on his lip anxiously. "But.." Dazai. What about Dazai? He was the Boss. Did he agree with this at all? Their relationship had finally kicked off a week or so ago and now Atsushi was supposed to just up and leave?
"Dazai wanted to talk to you tonight, remember..? I know you want to. Talk to him about it when you see him again." Chuuya said softly. Atsushi.. didn't belong here. Not in a murderous, dark place like the Mafia. He could leave. He could be better.
"I-I.. okay..." Atsushi hummed softly and slowly took a shot. "..." he laid his head down on the counter. Was this really going to fix things? Would he feel so happy and alive if he left the Mafia. "Where would I even go..?"
"..." Chuuya sighed. "Isn't it obvious?"
"Eh-?"
"The Agency." He closed his eyes. Atsushi sat up quickly with wide eyes.
"The Agency-? That wouldn't just mean I would've deserted the mafia, it means I would've betrayed them! Plus- would the Agency even accept me? I-I'm mafia.."
"They know you. You don't fit into the mafia. You're kind, and you're humane. They trust you, Atsushi. You really.. should go." Chuuya sighed.
Atsushi was silent for the rest of the night, at least until he was taken to go see Dazai. It was at his house. Ah, yes. He remembered this place. He knocked on the door, and heard footsteps before the door opened. "Atsushi!" Dazai grinned. "You made it. Come on in." He wasn't dressed in his normal work attire for obvious reasons.
Atsushi nodded and stepped in. The demeanor from himself wasn't at all happy, which already upset Dazai. He wanted him to go out to have fun and be happy! And yet it just felt like it was worse.. "Are you hungry? Tired, maybe?"
"Tired." Atsushi nodded and sighed. He looked tired, very much so. And not just physically, but mentally and emotionally.
"Okay." Dazai lifted Atsushi up lines bag of potatoes, slinging him over his shoulder.
Atsushi was slightly surprised but had gotten used to such random antics, simply sighing. Dazai carried him to his room, where he placed him down onto the bed and got on with him. "Comfy? We can cuddle for the rest of the night." They hardly ever had time to properly show physical affection to each other.
Atsushi laid his head on Dazai's chest, and snuggled up to him. Dazai placed a hand on his waist and head him close. "...Chuuya thinks I should leave the Mafia and join the agency." Atsushi said weakly.
Dazai frowned softly. Why was.. Chuuya encouraging Atsushi to leave? No, he knew why. Chuuya wasn't selfish like himself, he wanted Atsushi to have a better life even if it costed their relationship. Well.. Dazai wasn't like that way. Atsushi was the only one who ever made him feel loved, feel alive. "I don't think you should." Dazai said blatantly.
"...I'm glad." Atsushi murmured. "..being told to leave your home.. that you don't fit in... it's jarring." He mumbled. "..Chuuya thinks that's what Oda would've wanted from me."
Stupid red head.. why did he have to be so smart and selfless. "..we'll never know." Dazai huffed, his grip tightening slightly on Atsushi.
Atsushi only whimpered in response. "I.. I don't mean to upset you.." he whispered.
"..no. I know. I'm sorry." Dazai sighed softly. "..I just.. don't like the idea of you leaving, is all. But.. if that's what you want to do I also won't stop you. I'm just not encouraging it... I would miss you."
Atsushi sighed softly. "God.. I don't even know what Oda wants me to do. I've been trying so hard to live out a life he'd want me too and I know damn well that I haven't. I-I hate it, I hate myself."
His little outburst of stress concerned Dazai. But then, he felt the same. At least Atsushi had changed for the better. But Dazai.. he'd only changed for the worst, hadn't he? "Then give yourself to me." It was a simple phrase. It sort of just slipped out. If.. if Atsushi couldn't find himself to properly live out Oda's words.. why not try his best? But at Dazai's side? As his.
Atsushi seemed surprised at the words. "..I.. already did. From the moment I joined the mafia, you’ve had my life..” he whispered.
“I want your heart.” Dazai corrected. “..I want everything you are. Your loyalty.. your love.. your softeness..” with each compliment and flattering word, Atsushi felt himself relax. “And hey, if I’m lucky, maybe even your virginity.”
Atsushi huffed at the statement and flicked his nose. “You’re such a tease..”
“Please stay with me.” Dazai responded softly.
Atsushi closed his eyes and laid down, against him. “..I.. I want to… I love you very much. I want to give every ounce of my humanly being to you..”
“..If it’s difficult, I don’t mind simply taking it..” he pushed some hair out of his face and followed in laying down, kissing his forehead. “Get some rest.. okay?”
Atsushi wasn’t too sure what he’d accomplished here. Maybe.. staying in the mafia? He’d fully given himself to Dazai. And even if he- couldn’t do so properly Dazai would simply take all of him. What a rather nice thought. Atsushi slowly closed his eyes and before he knew it.. slipped off into a wonderful sleep.
Why didn't he wake up?
Atsushi remained asleep. No... asleep wasn't the right word. It was unconsciousness. This wasn't a nice peaceful sleep that he'd fallen into at Dazai's house. It was a forced sleep Atsushi wanted to wake up from. A forced sleep.
And finally, he was released from it.
Atsushi frowned, slowly opening his eyes. Yet everything was still dark. As he blinked he could feel a cloth against his eyelashes. He tried to move his hands up to pull the cloth off only to find his hands were bound to something. He couldn't stand either, legs spread out and tied down. Was he in a chair? He wanted to speak, yet there was a cloth preventing him from doing so, gaging him.
Atsushi attempted to shift to use his ability, but for some reason it wasn't working. He struggled against his restraints but completely froze up as he heard footsteps. How big was the room? The clicks of the shoes echoed. He did his best to try and look as tough as he could what with being tied and gagged and blindfolded. Only a low, soft chuckle was heard.
"I apologize for the uncomfortable accommodations." The voice sounded much closer than he'd presumed it was before. Atsushi shuddered as a hand was brought to his cheek, flinching away from the touch only to be roughly pulled back by the hand that cupped his cheek. "Don't pull away." It was very demanding. The voice had a strong Russian accent and Atsushi's thoughts were spinning. Was he kidnapped? How did someone manage to kidnap him from Dazai's house of all places?
"Now.." the hand was brought down to the others chin. "Don't scream~ I'd hate to cut out that pretty tongue on yours." He purred, and then pulled down the gag. "..So, love.." He giggled. How funny. "Who would've thought such an empty man could feel such a trivial thing."
Atsushi frowned. Was he talking about Atsushi? Or was his captor talking about himself..? "Dazai never had many weaknesses. It's unfortunate that you became one of his." The man hummed softly. Dazai's weakness..? Was that what it was about..?
Atsushi felt the gloved hands go behind his head, hearing fabric shift before the blindfold was removed from his eyes. Atsushi's eyes squinted in retaliation as dull light hit his pupils, and he slowly opened them to adjust to the light.
From what he could see, he was locked in a basement, as evident by a high up window that was half blocked out by grass and dirt. The night sky, the perspective he had mostly blocked by the moon, shined light into the stone basement. The walls were made of stone, and the floor was a carpet, it seemed. Atsushi was in a chair, a rather large one, which explained why his arms and legs were slightly spread out more than if he was sitting in a normal chair.
And then his captor. Almost instantly did he recognize him from the file he'd seen. A man who had constantly tried to take down Yokohama and the world as a whole, targeting Dazai who prevented such a thing. Weakness... Atsushi was quick to attempt to shift to escape the ropes but nothing happened. His eyes widened as he panicked, staring up at the short haired man. Fyodor Dostoyevsky. "I didn't think you'd tried to use your ability so early on, but it's best you know now." The Russian wore a wide and unsettling grin.
"Perhaps you remembered it in the Guild.. that oh so inconvenient drug injected into your blood stream that rendered your ability immobile.." Of course, the Guild wasn't the only group of people or persons to have such a thing. They'd gotten it from some where. The entire usage of this drug practically screamed "black market". Atsushi wouldn't be surprised if Fyodor got the drug easier than the Guild had gotten it.
"..you.. said something about Dazai..?" Atsushi meant to sound much more confident than the meek, cracking voice he spoke with. Fyodor wore the same smile.
"Quite a curious kitty, aren't you..~?" He purred, and then cupped his cheek. Atsushi wanted to reel away but was scared of what the other might do if he did.
The Russian turned on his heel and went to a drawer, opening it and pulling out a potion with a colored liquid that practically screamed warning. A slightly luminescent violet colored liquid. The bottle was glass with a fancy golden top in the shape of a square. It was only when Fyodor moved away to grab the potion did Atsushi realize there was a video camera set up facing him.
He was going to be used as bribery.. wasn't he? As bait. For whatever Fyodor was planning. He desperately struggled against his restraints as Fyodor advanced towards him. "Whilst I would apologize for roping you into my personal affairs, it's only the cruelty that is life. The cruelty of loving someone, like how you foolishly fall for that.. skirt chaser." Fyodor's grin never left his face.
Fyodor popped off the cap to the bottle. "Don't look so afraid." He purred and then tilted his own head back, taking about half of the potion in his mouth. Atsushi stared in complete confusion until suddenly the Russian put a hand on Atsushi's thigh for support as he pushed himself into his lap and crashed his lips against Atsushi's, which were open and panting.
Atsushi realized far too late, as he struggled against the kiss that made him want to cut his lips off or wash them with bleach, what Fyodor was doing. The Russian pushed the liquid from his own mouth into Atsushi's via tongue. And being so caught off guard Atsushi didn't have the mind to not swallow.
Atsushi coughed as the other move off of him fully. In a matter of seconds he felt as though his soul was being completely torn from his body. He watched the diamond like shapes that were his eyes become smaller and smaller until all he could see was black. Then it was just like his eyes closed. He slowly opened them, his mind feeling cloudy. He felt like he was quite literally looking through rose colored glasses. Atsushi tugged at the restraints once again but it wasn't in fear or panic. It was in want.
Fyodor had forced the boy to consume a love potion.
Fyodor took out a remote control from his pocket, and when he pressed a button a beep from the camera was heard. He turned only slightly to glance at the camera with a wicked grin. "..as you can see, another fool of this disgusting human world has fallen pray to the trap and cage that is love." The Russian grinned and his thin fingers slowly wrapped around Atsushi's neck. "I'll enjoy having him as my pet~"
Fyodor crashed his lips onto Atsushi's, hands going to undo the restraints on the boy. He wouldn't run, he knew he wouldn't. Atsushi was completely enveloped in the kiss, desperately sighing and such as his now untied hands came up to Fyodor's hair to try and tug him closer.
The Russian didn't want this to be a gentle and love full moment. He had one purpose here and it was to steal something so precious to Dazai that not even getting it back would make up for it. Fyodor's hands practically yanked off Atsushi's pants, down to his lower thighs. He had them both on an angle, Atsushi laying on the big comfy chair and Fyodor a top of him, his coat covering everything. All that could be seen was Atsushi's face and Fyodor's face. But it was obvious what was going on behind the cloak when Atsushi's pants and boxers were both dropped to the ground.
Fyodor pulled away from the kiss. He knew even if he harmed Atsushi during this that Atsushi would love it. It would torment Dazai.. who he was going to send this to. Undoing his own pants and shuffling down his boxers, he glanced at the camera one last time before giving a devilish grin, then tensing up with a small thrust and Atsushi whined loudly.
It couldn't be seen. But it was so obvious.. Fyodor had stolen his virginity.
Crack. Dazai watched, eyes wide and pupils small. His beloved Atsushi.. no.. he was supposed to be his first. Atsushi- had gone home safe and sound, he saw it in the cameras. How did he let this happen?
Dazai's heart was pounding, his hand clutching the class he held so hard it shattered in his hand as his eye twitched. He kept watching. The suggestive movements hidden by Fyodor's cloak, Atsushi's whiney and loud, painful noises. They would've never sounded like that with Dazai. It was supposed to be soft, airy, cute moans. And Atsushi wasn't even fighting back because of the potion. He'd willingly accept this in fact he could see so sure that he wanted it. Dazai gritted his teeth and as though losing control of his body, punched straight through the screen, cutting off the video and breaking the computer.
Fyodor.. how dare he? He could tolerate a lot of the Russian's madness.. but this was going too far. Way, way too far. Of course... of course this would happen. Any time he finally emotionally got close to a person something always had to happen. Oda had to die... Atsushi had to..
He didn't want to think about it. Not at all. He wanted to grab Fyodor by the throat and dig his fingers into his neck so much so he'd tear his vocal cords right out, and then watch him bleed to death. Dazai's breathing was quick, his heart beat becoming quick and irregular. He stormed out of his office, and for the first time felt more panic than anger. He needed to get Atsushi back..
"Chu—" he opened the door to his office, not there. "Kou—" he went to her office and she wasn't there either. He clenched his teeth. Where the hell... He went to the only place he hoped he could find someone. "Aku—" he stopped as he busted the door open.
Oh.
He found Chuuya. And Akutagawa.
...
He found Chuuya, who was leaned up against a wall on the desk, and Akutagawa, who was hovering over him. And... they were most definitely making out when Dazai opened the door. "..." Okay. Akutagawa quickly moved off, coughing and bringing the back of his hand up to his mouth. Maybe they would've been more focused on this is Chuuya, who's red face matched his red hair, didn't recognize the franticness in his eyes.
"Why the hell weren't you in your office!?" Dazai practically shouted before yanking Chuuya by the collar, still screaming at him. "What the hell do I pay you for!? To hook up with each other!?"
Chuuya just stared. This was so odd. Dazai being so damn upset. ".." It could only be one thing. "Atsushi..."
"Both of you get your asses outside right now before I break your fucking legs." Dazai... being so angry... so emotional while angry.. it was terrifying. And dangerous.
Akutagawa nor Chuuya dare object or speak more when Dazai let go of him and stomped off outside. They quickly followed, hands in their pockets. They both knew it had something to do with Atsushi. On the way, Dazai practically screeched at Tachihara to track them down. To trace video footage. Oh.. and he didn't let him watch it of course.
Easily he got the location. He knew Fyodor probably wanted him to go, that's why he sent the video to him. He didn't care. He also didn't let Tachihara, Akutagawa or Chuuya know about the video.
He just had them both murder everyone in his way as he waltzed into the large building. A stone building, and he knew.. he just knew Atsushi was down in the basement. How long ago had that video been recorded, he wondered? God if he walked in to see anything happening in person today... he wasn't sure he'd be able to contain himself. He would just have to kill him.
No.. no maybe. He would for sure kill him, even if Fyodor wasn't doing anything to Atsushi at the current time.
Walking down the steps, he soon saw the basement. The same stone that was in the video. The same.. same chair. And it was occupied.
Fyodor sat in the chair holding a chain leash in his hand. That leash... attached to Atsushi, who had a metal collar around his neck. Oh- the Russian was having fun with this, wasn't he? He only grinned as Chuuya, Akutagawa and Dazai entered. Atsushi looked like a complete and total love struck puppy, not even staring at the two. And all he wore was a big baggy button up that went down to his thighs. Of course.. Fyodor would dress him this way. Just to piss of Dazai even more.
"I must admit.. I didn't expect you to get here so... slowly." Fyodor taunted, resting his head on his hand. Dazai wasn't looking at Chuuya and Akutagawa. Couldn't see his reaction. And he didn't care.
"You bitch." There was no way Fyodor was getting out of this alive. "You fucker!" He lunged at Fyodor. Only to- suddenly knock against something that sent him flying back into the wall. His vision cleared.
Atsushi stood on all fours which were now tiger limbs. There was no malice in his eyes, and yet- he'd attacked Dazai. Fyodor only grinned as he violently yanked back the chain and Atsushi was pulled back, back hitting the chair with a loud thud and a weak Yelp, like a kicked puppy. "..he'll do anything I ask. You can't bring yourself to harm your beloved kitten, can you, Dazai~?" Fyodor gently pet Atsushi's head, who leaned into his touch as tears fell from his eyes from the pain. Like- like Fyodor didn't just harm him.
"..you.. how could you!? Atsushi never did anything wrong!" Dazai growled, and quickly pushed himself to stand up. "..what the hell are you two just standing here for!?" He screeched at his subordinates. "Do something!"
Chuuya was quick to act, using his ability to quickly pull Atsushi and the chain away from Fyodor. Atsushi writhed at this, whining in protest as he was held in the air. Trying to reach to get back to Fyodor. Fyodor only clicked his tongue and stood up, dusting off his hands. "I've had quite my fill of fun with your little kitten.." he sighed. "I'm over it now."
And with a very simple movement, Dazai and Fyodor charged each other. This was a test, of sorts. For the both of them.. who's ability worked faster? Would Fyodor's beat him in terms of speed and kill him? Or would Dazai stop it before he could, and rip his throat out..?
Dazai and Fyodor's hands collided, and in a flash of blue light it seemed like the world had stopped. And then.. nothing. Dazai's ability worked first. Fyodor.. couldn't kill him. Dazai was quick to take advantage of the shock on Fyodor's face. He kicked behind his legs so he lost his balance and in a swift movement pulled out his gun, firing away at the Russian. And hitting his shots. All of them. Every single one.
Dazai wasn't sure how many bullets he fired. He just kept firing over and over again until he ran out. Fyodor.. the menace to society he was, was finally dead. And slowly, his eyes trialed over to the Atsushi who was now slowly being lowered down to the ground in front of him. His demeanor completely changed.. now that the affecting of the love potion was dead it rendered itself immobile. Atsushi was no longer under its affects.
Dazai only watched with sad eyes as he watched the way that Atsushi began to tremble with watery eyes as he made contact with the ground. He watched him curl up, on his knees, hands on Dazai's feet as he hung his head. And cried so loudly.. Dazai was so sure he could go deaf. Atsushi had felt like he'd been locked in his body. He knew he didn't want or love anything Fyodor had done to him despite how much his vessel told him he did. He felt disgusting. He wanted to die.
Dazai slowly knelt down, and gently pat his head. He felt disconnected from Atsushi... he wasn't sure— what to do. He removed his coat and tied it around Atsushi's waist. It was the only suitable substitute for his missing pants. He then removed that horrific collar and brought the sobbing boy into his arms. Chuuya and Akutagawa.. took their leave, waiting outside. Those two.. probably needed very much alone time.
"You're leaving."
Dazai's words echoed in Atsushi's head. About a month after the incident... Atsushi had been regularly attending therapy. Dazai had done everything in his power to make sure Atsushi was never alone and wouldn't go back into that depressing stage. He feared what might happen to his beloved should such a thing happen.
Atsushi wasn't doing much better. The boy had only spoken... about a few words a day? He was getting better at speaking, but the trauma of the incident.. Atsushi was fairly sure it wouldn't have been so bad if it wasn't for that love potion. Even if Fyodor never laid a hand on him— just giving him that potion. That potion — it had broken his mind beyond what Atsushi could deal with. Watching your own life like it was a movie in a theatre. And watching everything happen knowing you don't want it and yet your body acts like you want it and you beg for more. Your body locks you in the back of your mind and it's like you never really had a body in the first place.
Dazai had been taking best care of him as he could. It was a week of silence before he was able to get the weretiger to weakly stutter out raspy words. Atsushi never felt comfortable with his body anymore. It felt like it wasn't his own. And oh so quickly it felt like that bright shining light of the port mafia, Atsushi Nakajima, was extinguished. A bucket of water dumped over, and boom. Gone. Just like that. Atsushi hadn't had many missions. Akutagawa hadn't been harassing him at all and Atsushi hated it. He knew that everyone wanted to give Atsushi space, but it was the last thing he wanted. He wanted to feel like everything was normal, but because of what happened... he always felt like he was being looked at sideways.
And then Dazai had called him into his office. Atsushi had dragged himself there mindlessly and stood, waiting for the others reassuring words that never successfully comforted him. Never. He loved his voice and he loved Dazai, but nothing he said ever helped. It felt like his words went in one ear and then right out the other. As though they weren't even spoken in the first place. The brunette walked forward, and grabbed the coat that hung loosely off Atsushi's shoulders. Atsushi frowned and watched as Dazai set it on the ground and— lit it on fire.
"Hey.. that's my- coat! You gave that to me when I joined!" Everyone had something from whoever brought them into the mafia. Atsushi loved that coat to death.
"You're leaving." Dazai's voice was dull and dry. As though the words held no meaning and he was just reading off of a paper. But Atsushi knew better. He knew those words had meaning, but Dazai didn't want them to have meaning.
"..I'm.. leaving?" Atsushi repeated softly. He felt like his heart had been broken. Dazai was throwing him out of the mafia. For good. "Why..?" Any and all attempts at remaining calm had failed for Atsushi. His voice cracked even with just one word. He'd gone through something so awfully traumatic. And he was barely recovering, barely hanging on to life. And now.. he was being kicked out of his home? By the man who loved him, who was there for him, who took care of him? Who Atsushi gave himself to? "Is it.. because of what he did?"
Dazai tensed up slightly as Atsushi spoke. He opened his mouth but not a single word escaped his lips. Atsushi only assumed that it had to be because of what he did. "I-I didn't want it!" He took a few shaky steps towards the brunette. "Please— I- don't throw me out. I didn't want it. I had no control over my body! He forced me to- you can't punish me for that! I gave myself to you, I-"
"You gave yourself to him." Dazai hissed.
Atsushi stared with wide and watery eyes, mouth open in disbelief. Was that really what the brunette thought? He'd been comforting him for a month... and now suddenly... he was blaming Atsushi for this..? I didn't ask to get kidnapped. I didn't ask to lose it. Dazai was hardly speaking to him right now. The mafia boss had practically tore his heart out of his chest.
"No, I didn't. I didn't." Atsushi's hands desperately pawed at Dazai's clothes, as though tugging just right would get the brunette to understand. "Dazai- I didn't. He- I didn't give anything to him. He took it— I-it's still— if it's stolen- it's still mine. And I still want to give it to you."
"Enough." Dazai growled, smacking Atsushi's hands away. It wasn't even... a gentle tap away. It was a full on smack that echoed through the room. That left Atsushi's hands trembling and slightly red. He stared down at his hands with wide eyes, tears falling from them. And with a deep breath, Dazai continued his sharp words that cut down Atsushi's heart. "How do you think I felt watching you so willingly give yourself up to him? You didn't even try to fight it and you enjoyed every second of it."
I didn't. It was the potion.
"Furthermore he was an enemy. I can only play so many cards for you, Atsushi. And my hand is empty. You're disgusting."
Disgusting? What did I do? What did I do wrong?
It's a dream. It's all one big dream. Wake up.
But Atsushi didn't wake up. He just stared dejectedly at the floor, body trembling as tears fell from his eyes. "Crying? You're in the mafia and you're- crying?" Dazai's words had no emotion. They were so dry... "Get out. And don't ever come back. You're a disgusting traitor and I don't want you near me ever again."
Atsushi slowly lifted his head. He wanted to see Dazai's eyes. He wanted to see- he needed to. His eyes always gave closure. Atsushi wanted closures. All of these painful words- the insults. It was too much. Dazai yelled the moment he lifted his head up, "Now. Before I kill you." Atsushi was quick to stare right back at the floor. He spun around on his heel and ran off. Crying his eyes out. His vision was blurry, he couldn't see. The smell of smoke and fire was all he remembered.
"You're leaving." The words echoed through his mind as Atsushi trudged down the street. Every time Atsushi felt sad, he'd always try to hug the coat around himself. But now his hands only grabbed at air as he walked the city streets alone. No coat. No Dazai. No home. Atsushi had to wonder if it was only a matter of time.
Just yesterday, Dazai had been shushing his cried comfortingly, playing with his hair and kissing his lips every second he got. Reading him books and reassuring him everything would be okay. And what about Chuuya? Kouyou? Kyouka? They all saw him as traitors? This was what they believed was best for everyone? They thought he enjoyed any of that? That he was disgusting?
"Aaa?" As Atsushi trudged by a store, nose and cheeks red from crying so hard, he heard a confused voice. He turned to the store, where he heard the voice come from, to see Ranpo with a brown paper bag full of snacks. "What're you doing around here? Better not be some mafia crime things! I'm gonna have to arrest you and I'm already clocked out!" Ranpo complained and walked over to Atsushi.
Atsushi was quick to wipe his face. "Just— walking. Swear I'm not commiting any crimes." He mumbled.
"Woah," Ranpo frowned and stood in front of him. "Hey, what gives? You're not allowed to cry. If you're sad, then everyone else is doomed." He huffed. But his pout of a face only died down to an indifferent frown as Atsushi just seemed to make a soft crying noise. It didn't take him but a second. Ranpo didn't like to use his ultra deduction for anything but cases. He never liked to pry into people's personal and serious lives. But he had to, just this once. Atsushi didn't deserve to feel this sad. "I see." He murmured softly, and grabbed the sleeve of Atsushi's jacket. "Come."
He dragged the quietly crying body along with him. "H-hey- where are we going?" But Atsushi got no answer, only being dragged to an apartment complex and inside, to one of the room. "..." Ah. The detective probably used his ability to figure out what was u with Atsushi. Atsushi sighed. "I don't... need your help."
"I'm not helping you. This is for the benefit of the agency." Ranpo hummed and closed and locked the door after dragging Atsushi in. Before Atsushi got to ask exactly what that meant, Ranpo continued speaking. "You'll have to take the couch tonight. Night night." He waved.
"Wha-? What do you mean, night night?! You can't just—" bit his words fell on deaf ears at Ranpo stepped into his bedroom. Muffled voices could be heard.
"Who is it?"
"Sorry, sorry. It's just Atsushi, he's staying here for the night."
"Is that why you went out? You woke me up.. it was cold without you."
"I knowwww, I know. I'm sorry. I'm back now.. go back to sleep, Poe."
"..okay..."
Atsushi stared down at his feet. Ah, what a domestic conversation he'd overheard. He laid down on the couch. He only wished that he and Dazai might've lived together. There was such hatred in his voice when he'd casted him out... Atsushi, from exhaustion and sadness, slipped into sleep.
Atsushi's as hoping that if there was any God out there, he'd bless him mercilessly with a dreamless sleep. However, Atsushi ended up dreaming. And of course no such dream would be a pleasant one.
Atsushi stood in a grassy field. He looked down at his feet to find that everywhere he stepped, the grass moved out of his way. Step. Step. Step. And it kept moving away. Until there was no grass anymore. He'd walked to a very vacant beach, it seemed. It was too quiet. As though nature never made sound. And it made him paranoid.
"You failed me." He whispered softly. Who was he? Atsushi didn't know? It sounded like it was coming right from behind him and yet when he turned around nothing was there. "Look at me when I'm speaking to you." He knew the voice, it was on the tip of his tongue, and yet he couldn't pin point the voice without seeing the speaker.
"You didn't fail me, Atsushi. I promise." It was the same voice and yet Atsushi was so sure it was coming from a different person. Atsushi spun around and yet never found a single person. For some reason , perhaps it was his minds dream controlling state, he walked up to one of the large rocks on the beach and climbed in. But there was no water now that he climbed it, it was like there was just the rock.
And he felt a shove, and fell.
"..." muffled voices were what greeted Atsushi as he fell off the couch, smacking the back of his head on the coffee table. "!!!" It got quiet again and he rubbed his head, quick to stumble to stand.
Ranpo tilted his head. "Bad nightmare? That sounded like it hurt." The detective hummed.
"It wasn't bad enough to get a concussion." A female voice sighed, almost sounding disappointed. Yosano Akiko.
"..wha..?" Atsushi frowned and looked around. Poe, Ranpo and Yosano- all sitting down and staring at him.
"Do you not remember...? You were... crying and sad... and it was late at night so I brought you back here and you passed out." Poe tilted his head.
"..I.. what..?" Atsushi was sure it had been Ranpo? The detective used his ability to find out, didn't he? Atsushi's mind was spinning. Was he mishearing or was his memory all messed up from the cloudy emotions that were haunting him?
"..you feeling okay?" Ranpo frowned.
"Ranpo said that you're no longer in the mafia and that you wanted to join the agency." Yosano raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms.
"I.. I never said anything about joining in the agency. I'm just- not in the mafia anymore." Atsushi frowned, looking over to Ranpo.
"Okaaaaay, so maybe I bent the truth a liiiiiiiittle~" Ranpo hummed, putting his hands behind his head. "But let's be honest," he opened his eyes and locked them with Atsushi. "Where else do you have to go? You're not allowed in the mafia, your source of income is going to run out eventually. Your house was mafia property so you have nowhere to live. Tell me, what was your plan after getting kicked out of the mafia?"
Atsushi opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. The truth of the situation was gaining on him. He was unemployed, had nowhere to live, and as much money as he had, he was bound to run out without a stable income. He needed a job, and the agency could provide that job. "You were kicked out?" Yosano raised an eyebrow. Atsushi frowned and tensed up. The reason he was kicked out... it was so unfair. It hurt. Badly. He didn't think he'd ever be able to love again. "..sorry, touched a nerve?" The doctor sighed and stood up.
"..it's fine. But-" Atsushi stood up. "I doubt that your president would be willing to accept an ex-mafioso." And Yosano only chuckled at this. "..?"
"Well, why don't we go ask him?" Yosano stood and took Atsushi's wrist, bringing him to the hallway outside of the apartment. Ranpo and Poe followed.
"Woah-! R-right now-?" Atsushi's voice croaked out. So much was going on... he'd been kicked out. Blamed for.. things. And then all of a sudden, just- dragged to the agency to try and join?
"Better sooner than later." Ranpo hummed.
"I don't want to join!" Atsushi hissed, yanking his arm rather aggressively away from the female doctor, who blinked slightly in surprise before resting the hand on her waist.
"It's what he would've wanted. It's what he wanted in the first place." Ranpo's voice lowered and his eyes opened. He and Atsushi knew what he was talking about.. "He wanted you to be apart of the light—"
"-oh, God, would you shut up with that?" Atsushi hissed, shoulders slumped in an exasperated manner. "I'm so sick of all of this." He sounded rather tired. "You and your- you're good side, bad side, good guys, bad guys, your dark and the light. Newsflash.. once you're apart of the bad, it always stays apart of you. Even if you were never bad to begin with."
Atsushi's soft ranting came to an end, silence filling the halls. "...but I got out." Poe said softly. "I was never truly... guild or mafia. I was there for a short time but that's not who I am and none of those evil aspects follow me." The author murmured.
"I can't.. deal with you people.. right now. I don't- know how." Atsushi murmured weakly.
"It's not that you don't know how to deal with people." A gloved hand reached over his shoulder and to his back, before Yosano pulled him into a hug. "It's that no one ever took the time to deal with you."
Atsushi's arms didn't lift to hug her back but he still relaxed in her hold. Kouyou... oh, how she reminded him of her. "Seriously.. lighten up. If you're talking and thinking like this, then the world is doomed."
"You experienced something traumatizing." Ranpo hummed. "Would you not want to work to make sure no one else has to go through the same thing..?" The detective tilted his head.
Atsushi sighed quietly, and Yosano pulled away from the hug. He wasn't crying, but he might as well be. "..everything is just happening..." he murmured.
"Things happen. Life doesn't wait for you." Yosano hummed.
I should know better than anyone. "We need that light you have, Atsushi." Ranpo hummed, adjusting his hat. "I know you probably feel burnt out, but you can always reignite it with the right inspiration."
"..." Atsushi sighed. It seemed that it wasn't just some of the mafia members who believed he should not only leave, but join the agency. It was the agency too. "Okay.. I guess we'll.. we'll ask him."
Only chuckles came from the agency members. As if the answer would be obvious but to Atsushi it wasn't. Atsushi's light had expired, which was so ironic. Inside of the mafia, so full of light. And now, potentially in the agency, so full of nothing.
The group quietly walked, Dazai's words echoing in Atsushi's head and he wished they would just go away.
It seemed so out of place. Dazai never spoke to him like that, even before the two grew close. No matter, he supposed... it was over with. He'd never see him again.
As they walked, a loud explosion erupted from the building near a street. Atsushi's eyes widened. "Jesus... never catch a break." Yosano complained and began to run to the building. The three followed. Atsushi more skeptical than the rest. Should he really be doing this..? Running towards the scene of the crime? What if he made things worse..?
Police cars, sirens wailing, surrounded the building. "What happened here?" Poe asked softly.
"It seemed someone set up a bomb if they weren't brought 10,000 dollars cash. They'll set off a second one.." Ranpo murmured. "A criminal, a wanted one."
"And our identities aren't exactly secret. If we go in there... no doubt they'll just set off more bombs." Yosano growled.
"Send the ex-criminal!" Ranpo suggested, gesturing to Atsushi with a thumb. "Maybe it'll calm him and think Atsushi is here to help."
Atsushi blinked. "W-wait-! No- I can't— possibly- it'll just make it worse. Plus- the police might see me as a threat if I go in..!"
"Don't be ridiculous. We'll protect you if they try to attack." Yosano huffed.
"This could be your chance to make yourself feel better, ya know." Ranpo huffed. "You feel so bad for the things you did in the mafia, this-"
"No!" Atsushi's yell caught him off guard. "People's lives aren't just- a scenario to use as a second chance at something! I could seriously end up harming someone, myself, or the person inside. I'm not about to do that to just- make myself feel better."
"It's not going to go down like that." Ranpo murmured. "Trust me.. I know." He huffed. His ultra deduction told him as much.
Atsushi took a small breath. "I don't want to be the cause of someone's death." He murmured, staring down at his feet.
"..." Yosano put a hand on his shoulder. "Casualties happen all of the time. In this scenario... someone's going to die in the end. But there's a small chance no one will and that will only happen if you go inside and stop this guy."
Atsushi realized she was right. He'd set off more bombs, killing people. If he went in, the cops might fire or something and the criminal might die. But... there was just a small chance...
"Okay. I'll do it. That's- yeah.. okay." He nodded. A small chance.. he was used to small chances. That's all he needed. He could save these people...
Atsushi walked in, and saw an unfamiliar man with a mask covering his face. He had a remote in his hand. "Are you here to bring me my money?" His voice sounded electronic. Obviously- a voice changer so the cops wouldn't know who he was.
Atsushi knew if he said no, then a bomb would blow up. But he couldn't say yes. "I'm here to help you." He said calmly and firmly, holding up his hands. "I'm unarmed.."
"If you don't have my money then you can get the hell out of here." The man hissed, and with a simple click another bomb went off, this time a few stories higher than themselves.
"I can — get you your money! But if you stay here you're only going to get killed-"
"Maybe that's what I want. Maybe money is so important to me I'm willing to die for it.. have you considered that?" The man spoke with a raspy voice. Atsushi stopped. He hadn't considered that.. but now that he did..
Atsushi blinked as the male opened up a vest he had on his chest to reveal explosives ridden inside of it. Atsushi's eyes widened. He'd- kill himself over money..? He knew there might be some instances where if you owed money to the wrong people, you'd end up dying anyways.
But still...
"This is taking too long." The man hissed. The bomb he sat on, a timer turned on it for five seconds.
"..!" Atsushi charged at the man, shoving him off of the bomb. The man tumbled back in surprise and his mask fell off. Red hair— Tanizaki?
Before his brain could process it, a large boom deafened him and his body ached as he was throne back into a wall. The bomb had gone off. And Atsushi could've sworn Tanizaki looked terrified as he blacked out.
—
We could've killed him!
I-I didn't know-! I thought- the fake bomb was mine and the last real one was upstairs..!
We didn't find a singular fake bomb. They were all real! Do you know how awful this looks? And again- we could've killed him!
My ability saved him. He's alive and okay. We just have to.... A sigh. Figure out how to tell and explain this to him.
He's waking up.
Atsushi's brows furrowed as he slowly sat up. What... what happened..? He didn't feel.. injured, or anything..? Matter of fact he felt just fine. A little exhausted was all. His vision cleared and the whole agency surrounded his hospital bed. "Huh..? What.. happened..?" He asked tiredly.
Everyone looked at each other. "Well.. Atsushi.. we set up a test to see if you were fit for the Agency.. but.. the bomb that was supposed to be fake— it turned out being real... and you saved me from certain death." Tanizaki scratched his cheek.
"I healed your injuries." Yosano murmured softly.
"On behalf of the entire agency, we apologize, Atsushi!" Kenji most certainly felt bad.
They could've been responsible for Atsushi's death. It was only natural they felt bad. "..are.. you okay?" Atsushi was quick to ask Tanizaki. "Did you get hurt... at all..?" It was as though he didn't hear them. Or didn't care. Kunikida only huffed, and Yosano lowered her head with a soft smile. How kind... truly, a being didn't belong in the mafia.
"I'm fine." Tanizaki chuckled and shook his head. "You saved me from any injuries. I'm sorry to have put you in that situation, though..."
"No.. it's okay." Atsushi said softly. "Practice missions in the mafia are just as lethal as real ones. So I'm used to it."
"Still..."
Silence rung out before Yosano spoke up, clapping her hands together twice. "Alright, shows over. He needs space and air, not you all crowding around him like he's a zoo animal." She huffed, hands on her hip in a sassy manner.
"She's quite right." Kunikida stood up, pushing his glasses up. "This has thoroughly disrupted my schedule.."
Atsushi sighed softly, watching everyone leave. He rubbed his forehead, stressed.
~•~•~•~•~•~
Dazai rested his head in his hands, his thoughts racing. Was it the right thing? The pain in Atsushi’s eyes from what he said… the poor boy. But Dazai had no other choice. Atsushi wouldn’t leave the mafia unless he fully believed everyone there wanted him gone. And not for a good reason. It pained Dazai greatly to watch the way Atsushi’s eyes teared up and the way the ran away.
One day out of the mafia and now this? Of course the little bombing got to Dazai quick. The bastards could’ve killed… no.. no they couldn’t have. Even without Yosano’s healing ability, Atsushi’s regeneration ability would’ve at least kept him alive for a while. The poor boy… Dazai wanted to drag him back to the mafia and keep him here forever.
But that was selfish. Dazai knew he couldn’t do that…
Instead, for the second night in a row, he laid his head down on his desk, thoughts becoming dangerous as he slipped into an anything but peaceful consciousness.
“Goodnight… Atsushi…”
It had been a few days since Atsushi had been recovered. From.. the explosion, not from Dazai. The boy had definitely passed the test and had received medical and financial compensation. No matter how many times he told them it was alright, and an accident, they kept insisting. Atsushi easily adapted to the life of being a detective in the Armed Detective Agency. Genuinely, he felt at place here. Like he fit in. But he'd never feel like he was at home. He'd never feel like he had a family here. He loved them all dearly, they were all very dear friends of his! But... the mafia was.. his home. It always has been. He couldn't just switch up so quickly...
Atsushi was quietly writing a report at his desk, having tuned out the loudness of the agency. He wasn't even sure if he was processing the words he was carefully writing down. But his mind wasn't wandering either. It was as though his mind wasn't working at all. A gloved hand on his desk pulled him out of his dazed state. "Huh?" He seemed confused as he lifted his head, eyes meeting that of the female nurse. Yosano put her hands on her hips.
"What's eating you, Atsushi?" Yosano's tone was soft and gentle but straight to the point, and very concerned. She didn't receive an answer, and decided to make a wild guess. "Does it have anything to do with what Ranpo said when you were at his apartment...? About being kicked out of the mafia?" Ah, the lady wasn't a doctor for no reason... she was smart and observant.
Atsushi slowly nodded. Yosano reminded him much of Kouyou. Very caring. And easy to talk to. A good listener with straight forward and honest advice. "..you want to talk about it." Yosano said blankly. It wasn't a question. She knew it was eating away at Atsushi from the inside, and that he wanted to let it crawl out of his mouth so it would finally stop.
"Miss Yosano.. I really have to finish this report." Atsushi stared down at the paper again. What was the report on...? Uh... a burglary...?
"...I'm not going to force you to talk about it. But I'm always here." She crossed her arms, turning to return to her medical office. Atsushi lifted his head, frowning. He quickly stood. No, I really do wanna talk about it. He did, he just had a hard time saying that or showing that. Or maybe he wanted her to insist, and it would give him that feeling that she cared. Atsushi knew she did, especially from how she didn't force him. Yosano didn't seem surprised as he followed her to her office. She sat down in a chair and let Atsushi sit beside her.
"Well... start from the beginning."
Atsushi took a deep breath.
"Well... it started when I was first brought into the mafia, I guess. I was fourteen... Dazai was the one to recruit me. He called me barbaric... but now that I think about it, he was more so talking about the way I was treated in my orphanage. When I was brought to the mafia, I told the previous boss... Mori, that I can't kill people. And because of this.. I ended up being a very low ranking member. The lowest, actually. But- I met a very nice man. He was sort of like the dad I never had. His name is Oda... he didn't kill either. He practically raised me... he meant a lot to both me and Dazai. And me and Dazai grew closer as we grew up. A-anyways... Mori sent Oda to die one day. I.. don't understand the entire situation. Maybe I was too young to.. or maybe my memories just escaped me. Either way... and.. don't tell him I said this, but Dazai killed Mori because of it."
"I see." Yosano's eyes seemed to fall to the ground for a second before going back up. Respectfully, she was glad Mori was dead. Though she wished it was by her own hand. But then... she was sure many people did.
"Uh- and.. I saw it. Eye witness. Dazai made me keep it hidden. He wasn't- threatening or anything like that, of course." Atsushi added quickly. "..about a month or so or three or four ago... we grew much closer. We... shared feelings. We both confessed... our love to each other. A lot happened in those months... I had a stalker, I saved a girl from the organization the stalker worked for, I got kidnapped by the Guild, and then... I got kidnapped by someone else. His name was Fyodor..." Atsushi tilted his head to look away from her.
It was becoming obvious to Yosano this would be the more sensitive part of the story. Her voice was gentle and beckoning. "Go on."
"..he made me drink a love potion. The potion... made my body act as though I was in love with him. But it was, for me, like I was locked out of my body. Watching things happen from my eyes like it was a movie and yet I couldn't move a single finger. It was terrifying..." he murmured. "He.. he.. uh.. r-raped me— and it was rape because- because I never- never gave consent. Not never. Never ever did I give consent. It wasn't willingly. And I didn't like it—" Atsushi's breathing and words were speeding up.
Yosano wondered why he suddenly got so defensive. She believed him without his explanation of how he never said yes.. "Atsushi, hey... hey... calm down. I believe you..." she knew somewhere down the line someone must've not believed Atsushi... even blamed him. The poor boy...
"..." Atsushi took a moment to breathe. "He did it.. to spite Dazai. Dazai found me... killed Fyodor... and.. for weeks he cared for me and tried to help me get better. Everything was... going so well...Until.." he took another deep breath. "He kicked me out... h-he said I enjoyed it... that I gave myself to Fyodor... that I willingly went with it.. that I was disgusting— he said he'd kill me if I didn't leave." Atsushi's voice cracked as it filled up with tears. This as what had been eating away at Atsushi.
Yosano could hardly believe her ears. This... this was unacceptable. And she instantly knew why Dazai switched up so quickly. She knew the brunette thought it would protect Atsushi, and that such harsh comments were the only way for him to leave the mafia. Dazai believed the more Atsushi was around him the more he'd get hurt. And Yosano was furious with the way Dazai handled it. She'd met him a few times... and despite being skeptical, since after all he was the Demon Prodigy, she could respect him. How could he do something like this...? Surely he wasn't emotionally constipated enough to understand that he could've very well made Atsushi end his own life..?
Yosano snapped back to reality as Atsushi began to sob. She stood, and wrapped her arms around him. The hug was motherly and caring. Atsushi was the last person in the world that deserved to feel this way. He was a one of a kind human being and she's be damned if she met Dazai do this so easily. With no consequence other than himself feeling like a piece of shit.
"Atsushi.." Yosano knew trying to comfort him wouldn't do anything. She knew exactly what he needed to hear. And she knew exactly who he needed to hear it from. "You'll be taking the day off. I want you to lay here and rest. You've been letting this eat away at you for days. It must have taken a lot out of you."
Atsushi sniffled and slowly nodded. "I am... really exhausted." He slowly stood, walking over to one of the infirmary beds.
Yosano followed and tucked him in like the good moms he was. "Now, rest. I'll be back once you awaken. If you need anything, text or call me. I'll always be here for you."
"Thank you, Yosano..." Atsushi closed his eyes, hugging himself under the blanket.
Once Yosano could see his chest falling and rising at a speed that signified he was now peacefully unconscious, she turned on her heel and was quick to walk out. "I'm running an errand." She announced, not turning to face any of the members as she did so, before walking out of the agency office as a whole. No one seemed to question it.
The woman raised a hand quickly once she exited the building, a taxi picking her up and bringing her to the location she needed. The mafia building. Quickly stepping out and paying the driver, she welcomed herself into the building. She ignored any hostiles, easily keeping them at bay by bringing them to the brink of depth to revive them. It rendered the members nearly ... not a threat at all.
Yosano noticed how she didn't run into any of the gifted members that she would assume would've stopped her. Or maybe it was that her feet were carrying her so fast no one had time to even get or her. She didn't know. She didn't care. She just knew, as she approached the large double doors on the very top floor of the building... that she definitely had some words for Osamu Dazai.
Dazai lifted his head. "Ever heard of knocking-" he blinked in surprise to find the agency's nurse at his door. "...Miss Yosano." The fire in her eyes... the way her gloved hands were balled into fists. Ah...she must know- something that Dazai did wrong. Which thing was it, he wondered? And he prepared himself for a chewing out that he knew he deserved.
"How dare you." Yosano took quick steps forward, her hand yanking Dazai up by the collar. Nothing scared Dazai more than an angry woman... "Who the hell do you think you are? How could you do that to him? He was barely recovering and you- you kicked him out! You called him disgusting, you blamed him." She let go, only to back hand him across the face. Leaving a mark.
"..don't you think I already know that, woman?" Dazai hissed. "Don't you think I'm upset at myself enough already?"
Yosano only scoffed, laughing. "No, you don't get to be pissed at yourself. You're not allowed to feel bad. You don't get that privilege. Not after what you said to that poor boy. You did something irreversible to that boy's heart." She smacked him again, this time the other cheek...
"You abandoned Atsushi when he needed you. He could've killed himself had Poe not come across him." Yosano hissed. "He wanted to kill himself. He had plans to. I've seen the eyes of someone like that before.." She took a deep shaky breath. "What would you have done then? Sat here and felt shitty about yourself? How the hell does that help, Dazai!?"
Dazai stared with blank eyes at her. Atsushi wasn't going to kill himself.. it was a possibility Dazai had considered but it was very low chance of it happening. Right...? Dazai knew his words were harsh, but... were they that harsh that Atsushi would want to do something like that. "Ranpo knew it too. That's why he refused to leave him alone by himself the first day he stayed with us. We could all see it. Because Atsushi feeling something like that is noticeable."
"And after you said you loved him..." Yosano lowered her hand, taking a deep breath, her louder rant coming to an end. Dear... she hadn't even said half of what she wanted to get. "You know damn well that if you just told him that you wanted him to leave the mafia to be safer he would've listened. You didn't need to spiral him into mental instability. You didn't, you didn't at all. But you- you just couldn't even resist using your twisted mind games on him. Do you enjoy making people suffer? Is that what this is? You couldn't even resist being cruel to the boy you claimed to love."
"For God's sake- shut up!" Dazai felt his eyes her hot. "Don't you think I know that!? I've never felt more like shit than watching his heart crumble as he ran away! I instantly realized which way I should've gone! And I wanted to call him back but no words left my throat." Yosano only scoffed. "I know I fucked up. I don't think I deserve any excuses, or forgiveness... nothing. But I have no idea what the fuck I'm supposed to do now... to fix it..."
"It's so easy to break things... it's so much harder to put them back together." Dazai murmured.
"..you could start with talking to him face to face you prick." Yosano murmured. "You owe him that much. And if I ever even hear you bring up what Fyodor did to him, other than to apologize ... I swear on my life I'll kill you." She shoved her hand against his chest, letting something fall against him. Dazai quickly caught it in his hands. A key. "Make things right."
"..." Dazai watched the angry woman walking off, and he just stood there. Both sides of his face stung from how hard she hit. He stared at the key. He knew what it was for. It was for Atsushi's new apartment. She wanted him to go there. He plopped down onto his chair. In the end he knew that the way he handled this was... the wrong way. He just made things worse for Atsushi. Dazai hated himself but he knew hating himself didn't fix what he said. He stood up, despite having just sat down, and left his office. He hadn't told anyone what he did... a lot of them assumed Atsushi was out on a mission. Dazai didn't have the heart to tell them the horrible things he said.
The brunette began to walk out of the building entirely, and made his way to the address. Of course he knew where he lived now. He unlocked the door and stepped in, looking around. He coughed quietly. It was stuffy.. he opened the windows. It didn't look like the kitchen had been touched at all. There was no food in the fridge. Guilt continued to dig into his stomach. Atsushi... when was the last time he ate? His bed was messy. Dazai took the liberty of making it.
He sat down on the couch in Atsushi's main room. He didn't know when he'd be home.
When Yosano returned to the office, Atsushi was still out cold. She sat beside his bed, doing work whilst she waited for him to wake up. She would send him home the moment he woke up. Yosano couldn't bare to keep watching Atsushi in this dark mindset.
A few hours went by, and Atsushi finally woke up. "Ah.. you're awake." Yosano put down a notebook she'd been writing in. "You've worried nearly the whole agency... you're free to take the rest of the day off." She patted his head.
"Really..? Thank you." Atsushi murmured. "I promise I'll make up for my work tomorrow.." he tiredly sat up, standing and stretching. Yosano nodded.
"Don't stress about it, okay? That's the last thing you need." Yosano patted his head. Atsushi said his byes before leaving to home. He was tired. Very tired. As he walked, he found himself waking up. Thankfully.
Atsushi unlocked his door and opened it, dropping his messenger bag on the floor and making a B line for his room until—- He stopped. Dazai lifted his head as the door opened and the two locked eyes. "..." Atsushi's lips parted slightly as though he wanted to say something but couldn't. He was debating whether or not he was hallucinating...
Dazai stood up. Atsushi walked towards him and Dazai prepared himself to be slapped. Atsushi raised a hand... and patted Dazai's cheek. Multiple times. His other hand felt Dazai's shoulder then patted his chest all over. "Y-you're real..?" Atsushi's voice sounded so tired.. so weak. It was everything Dazai didn't want him to be.
"I'm real." Dazai spoke softly, and took the other's wrist.
"..a-are you here to say I can come back?" Atsushi's eyes watered, his voice trembling.
"..I've come to apologize." Dazai cupped his cheeks. "Atsushi... everything I said.. I shouldn't have ever said it. None of it was true. I didn't mean any of it. I... I wanted you to leave the mafia. Being around me just got you hurt. I was afraid you'd end up like Oda. I let my fear get the best of me and used the harshest and cruelest of words... I didn't mean anything I said. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.."
Atsushi wrapped his arms around him, burying his face in his chest. He was trembling. Dazai hugged him close.
"I'm sorry.. I'm so sorry..."
Atsushi hiccuped. "I'm... i-I can't forgive you." Dazai suspected as much. "It's too much... I wanted to just.. stop existing. But- but thank you for apologizing..." he whispered. "Thank you. Very much, for apologizing. I .. you have no idea how much it means to me... I'm so glad you don't think I'm gross... that I liked it..." he took a shaky breath. "I really thought that you did think I liked it. I never want you to think that I wanted what happened... please take me back!"
The other falling apart in his arms.. it was really breaking Dazai's heart. He couldn't bear to see him like this. "Atsushi... Shh.. it's okay.." he murmured comfortingly, rubbing calming circles into the boy's back. "I want.. you to be as happy as you can. And you can't do that in the mafia.."
"My family's there... he raised me there..." Atsushi murmured weakly.
"..you're working yourself up, Atsushi..." he picked him up bridal style. Atsushi was quick to curl up in his arms, leaning his head against Dazai's chest. Hearing his heart beat greatly relaxed him. "You're home early to rest, aren't you?" He asked softly.
Atsushi slowly nodded, closing his eyes. "You're gonna stay with me while I rest.. right? You're not gonna leave ..." he murmured.
Dazai wished he could leave, somewhere. He felt this proved he was weak. And he also knew that the only reason Atsushi was more sad than angry was that he didn't have the energy to be upset. He knew he was in for it when Atsushi finished resting. In fact, he looked forward to it. He sort of wanted Atsushi to get upset with him. He deserved it, to get mad.
Dazai set him down in the bed and kicked off his shoes, removing his coat. He laid down next to him and wrapped his arms around him. "..get some rest." He said softly.
Atsushi nodded, and closed his eyes. And he did get rest. Ended up falling asleep. It was around seven or eight pm when he did. As a result he woke up at around four. His brows furrowed and he sat up, frowning as he found himself unable to. Dazai's arms... Dazai.
Atsushi sighed softly, and squirmed his way out of his arms. He stood up and stretched. "It's too early. Come back to bed." He turned around as he heard Dazai's not so tired voice. Dazai sat up, giving him a quiet smile. Atsushi glared at him and Dazai's look only softened. The brunette stood up and walked over, gently grabbing his hand. "Cmon..."
Atsushi yanked his hand away and- Dazai flinched as he was smacked across the face. His cheeks were still sore from getting slapped by Yosano. The brunette sighed and rubbed his cheek. "There it is... I was wondering when the anger would set in." Dazai sighed.
"Get out."
Dazai blinked. "Ah..? But don't you want to yell at me...?" He tilted his head.
"If I yell at you, you'll convince me to let you stay.." Atsushi murmured. "I want you out."
Dazai slowly frowned. He hadn't expected- this outcome. "But.. I came to apologize. I'm not leaving here until I've set things right."
"Don't act like that's the reason you came here." Atsushi hissed.
The brunette frowned. "What?"
"I'm not as stupid as you think I am." Dazai was curious now. What did Atsushi think he came over here for...? "Two seconds after you 'apologize' to me, I'm not even in my right mind, and then you're instantly in bed beside me?"
Dazai knew where this was going. He frowned, lifting a defensive hand. "Hey, I promise you- that's not what's going on here—"
"And I should believe anything you tell me?" Atsushi scoffed. "You could've.. you could've done- anything, you knew I would've left if you just talked to me about it. But you... you decided to tell me I was disgusting, that I liked it, and then threatened me... and oh! Now out of all times you decide you're sorry. And not even- a minute later you're all affectionate with me-"
"I'm affectionate with you because I'm trying to apologize!" Dazai sighed. He took his hands, giving them gentle squeezes. "Atsushi, I in no way want your forgiveness, I just want you to know that I'm sorry. That I didn't mean anything I said to you..."
"People say they're sorry all the time... they don't always mean it." Atsushi's eyes felt hot, a watery sort of hot. "You made life unbearable for me- for the past few days..." his voice cracked. Atsushi mentally cursed at himself as he began to rapidly wipe his tears with his sleeves. Dazai took more steps forward until in front of him, and took his arms.
"Hey, hey.." his voice was soft. No other intent but to comfort. He gently cupped Atsushi's cheeks, rubbing his tears off with his thumbs. "I'm very sorry... I mean it when I say it. And I don't say it very often..."
"..." Atsushi sniffles, and brung his hands up to Dazai's wrists, just holding them. “I still love you, you know… but I hate you. I hate you so much…” he hiccuped.
“I know.. I know..” he pulled him into a hug, arms wrapped around him. “Never forget you always have the right to be upset and angry with me… to hate me. I love you, Atsushi.” Dazai murmured.
Atsushi silently cried this time. Dazai rubbed his back. “I don’t want you back in the mafia.”
“I know..” Atsushi murmured quietly.
“But.. I want you to leave of your own accord.”
“I’ll… I’ll leave… from my own accord.. so I can become a better man. And not… hate myself while I do it.” He gave a pathetic laugh, taking the others face with his hands. Atsushi stood on his tip toes and kissed Dazai’s lips. Dazai kissed back.
And all at once, Dazai could pretend that there were no problems. No mafia, no agency. Just him and Atsushi. And he loved him. A whole lot.
—————————
"I'm entrusting the organization to you." Dazai says seriously, his eyes meeting Kouyou's. "You're the most reliable executive I have here." He closes his eyes. "I'm sure you'll make a great boss."
"And where do you plan on going, Dazai?" Kouyou asks, seriousness in her tone. The brunette smiles at her. And for the first time she feels it might be a genuine, real smile. And not forced at all.
"I plan on living the simple life. An apartment, maybe a small house. With my boyfriend." He closed his eyes in a smile fashion. It really was odd. Dazai wore no bandages on his face. Instead of his boss attire, he was wearing a black button up and a dark blue plaid vest, a black tie and black pants. He definitely didn't dress like he planned on being a mafia boss any longer.
"..you'll be dearly missed." Kouyou says calmly as Dazai walks past her to the door of the building, preparing to step out of it for the last time. "..say hello to him for me.. alright?"
Dazai stops to glance over his shoulder for only a second. "Of course."
With that, he leaves the building and makes his way across down. Nothing but a smile on his face as he walks. It's been a month since he'd apologized to Atsushi. The two had decided what they were going to do with their lives. Atsushi would be in the agency and Dazai would be retired. He certainly had the money to do so. He unlocked Atsushi's small house, that they both bought, and stepped in, locking the door.
The house had a small living room with a TV, coffee table, couch and bookshelf in it. As well as shelves that's decorated the walls. Photos too. Then, connected to it was the kitchen/dining room. Small and simple had all the necessities. An island in the middle and comfy chairs. Then, a hallway. A bathroom on the right with a bath tub with a shower over it. A small sink with a cabinet beneath it and a medicine cabinet behind the mirror. A toilet and small closet for towels and such. Then their bedroom, at the end of the hallway. A twin bed but too small to sleep in without the two cuddling each other. Two nightstands on either side of the bed. A closet, dresser, and a desk. The whole house screamed of love, of a simple life.
Dazai removed his shoes and put his hands on his pockets as he walked to the bedroom. "Atsushi, you home?" He turns the knob on the door and hears a yelp.
"I'm getting dressed!!" He hears Atsushi exclaim.
Dazai chuckled as he heard frantic shuffling. "I've seen you naked before, you know." He smiles but does not enter the room. Definitely not going to disrespect the others boundaries. He hears fumbling and instead of drawers closing, he hears closet doors closing. "..?" Atsushi's clothes were kept in the dresser. Dazai's clothes were kept in the closet. He smiled quietly to himself as he connected the dots. He then hears the dresser drawer open and knows Atsushi's putting on his own clothes this time before opening the bedroom door.
"Hi.. sorry.." he said softly, seeming out of breath from being panicked.
Dazai tilted his head and fixed his hair with a smile. "Well.. I officially quit today." He hummed and cupped his cheek. Atsushi hugged him tightly, and Dazai hugged him back. Laughing. "Now that I'm unemployed I can be your stay at home wife." He teased.
"You still have a lot to make up for." Atsushi murmured. He felt bad saying it, but it was the truth and couldn't be ignored.
"I know. And I'll spend my life making sure I do." He lifted the others chin to look at him, and kissed his lips for a few seconds. "..I don't.. know why you chose Yosano, though."
"She volunteered. She's wonderful at listening, and giving straightforward and helpful advice. She's going to be an impactful therapist. She is a doctor, you know." Atsushi cupped the others cheek with his hand.
"So I've heard." Dazai sighed.
"Hey, look at me." Atsushi smiled softly at him. "Everything's going to be okay from now on. Nothing bad will happen. The mafia and agency have made ties, and if anything steps into the town that's dangerous it'll be demolished immediately. So we're safe. Nothing can hurt us anymore."
Dazai sighed softly, and put his hands on top of the others. He leaned into one of them to give his palm a kiss. "I hope you're right, Atsushi." He took a few minutes to relax. "Now.. did you get your veil?" Dazai smiled softly, kissing the ring on his lovers left ring finger.
"Yesss, but you're not allowed to see it! Seeing it before the wedding is bad luck." Atsushi pouted, before smiling.
"Next week. I get the love of my life next week. Forever." Dazai closed his eyes at the thought, smiling. Never in a million years did he... ever think that he'd be getting married. But he was glad that he did. Despite everything he was being granted a normal life. He didn't deserve it. It was too good for him. But still he was given it. It made him... happy.
"And you remember what I said.. right?" Atsushi had specified absolutely no sex. Not until their wedding night. That was to be the night they did it for the first time. Consensually. Lovingly. Where they'd give themselves to each other.
"Of course." Dazai smiled softly and kissed his forehead. "You have nothing to worry about.. I promise. Our wedding night will go so smoothly you'll think it was a dream."
Atsushi gave a soft smile. "Well, I hope it's not." He looked at the time. "Yosano should be here soon to come with me to go look at wedding dresses." Funny enough, Yosano had also gone to help Dazai pick out a ring for proposing. Yosano- was really such a dear friend to Atsushi. A mom, a sister even. He was so grateful to have her in his life.
"Why'd you get the veil first, if you don't mind me asking?" Dazai smiled.
"Because it was beautiful. So whatever dress I get, I want it to match that veil." He giggled softly.
"You seem to like wearing my clothes so much you may as well just wear something of mine as a wedding gown." He teased and wrapped his arms around a flustered Atsushi. "Kouyou said hello, by the way."
Atsushi smiled warmly, hugging him. "..I'm gonna miss everyone. I guess I'll see them here and there but it won't ever be the same as to how it was."
"Some changes are good, some are bad. All are necessary." Dazai assured him and kissed his cheek as the doorbell rang. "Yosano.." he said softly.
Atsushi smiled and nodded. "Okay!" He seemed very determined to find the most perfect wedding dress. Or heck, even a suit. Either would go well with a veil and he was open to anything, truly. But a wedding dressed just seemed so memorable to him. As well as the bride wearing a white dress to show innocence..? It made him feel- nice. Safe. Loved. That he was pure and not viewed differently after what happened to him.
"Have fun, but not too much fun!" Dazai smiled and walked Atsushi to the door, opening it.
"Hi, Yosano." Atsushi smiled brightly.
"Hello, Atsushi." Yosano lifted her eyes to Dazai, who seemed- maybe a little tense. She smiled. "Hello, Dazai."
"Hey." Dazai - really was grateful Yosano said what she did. It didn't help him recognize he was wrong, as he already knew he was wrong. But it definitely helped him make things right.
"I'll be back by seven, promise." Atsushi waved as he and Yosano left. Dazai closed and locked the door. He examined the house. Atsushi had certainly been cleaning up, it seemed. It was spotless. Without a job, he wasn't sure what he'd do while he waited for Atsushi to get home. He simply sat down in bed with a book, reading.
A month from then was when the wedding took place. Dazai stood at the alter. There was no one invited, surprisingly. They wanted a private wedding. It was just nice.
A white gazebo in a beautiful garden near a river. All private area being rented out for their wedding. There was no loud, obnoxious piano music. Dazai smiled softly as his fiancé, soon to be husband, came into view. And goodness was he beautiful. His veil was a crown of flowers with white transparent fabric elegantly encasing him from the flower crown to his collarbone. Then a simple white dress. Short sleeve, down to his knees. It wasn't fancy at all. It was so simply and so beautiful. Dazai couldn't help but let his mind wander. Was he wearing a wedding garter? That would be so cute! He hoped so.
Dazai felt like Atsushi was walking miles until he got up to the alter with him. He just wanted to say 'I do' and then kiss him all over and they'd be married. For one of the first times in his lift, the brunette felt impatient. Atsushi was struggling to make eye contact with him. He knew the other; He simply had all these butterflies in his stomach.
"Do you take Atsushi Nakajima to be your lawfully wedded husband?" That was the only thing the priest said that Dazai heard. He didn't even have to think about his next words.
"I do." Dazai smiled. Atsushi still wouldn't make eye contact with him. It was endearing. He took a ring off of the stand and slipped it onto Dazai's finger. Dazai proceeded to hold his hand, giving it a loving squeeze.
"And you, Atsushi Nakajima, do you take Osamu Dazai to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
They weren't in front of anyone. Atsushi didn't know why he felt so nervous as though he had expectations to uphold. He was just too happy that it was working up his nerves onto anxiety. "I do." He held his breath as Dazai slipped a ring onto Atsushi's ring finger.
"You may now kiss." The priest closed the Bible and then left the wedding completely. That's what Dazai and Atsushi really wanted, anyways. Dazai very slowly lifted Atsushi's veil. Atsushi practically jumped into his arms, causing Dazai to laugh before their lips connected.
"I love you. I love you so much." Dazai murmured out between kissed. He could see and feel Atsushi crying happy tears.
"I love you!" He exclaimed, bringing a happy laugh to Dazai's lips.
Never in all their years did they think they'd find love. Let alone get married. There was no wedding reception. It was straight to the honeymoon. Dazai and Atsushi got a cab to take them to the small house they rented for the honeymoon.
Atsushi stretched his arms and sat down on the bed of the bedroom, smiling happily. "Gosh, I'm so happy..!" He exclaimed and put his veil on a nightstand before laying back on the bed, giggling. "I feel so happy! That everything is so perfect." He smiled and closed his eyes. He did feel tired due to the amount of energy he spent on being so gosh darn happy. "!!!" His eyes shot open as he felt a hand on his thigh. "Dazai!"
Dazai giggled. "Calm doooown, I'm just checking to see if you wore a wedding garter." He finds the lace accessory around Atsushi's thighs.
"You could've just asked me." Atsushi sat up and pouted, his face pink.
“Atsushi. How tired are you?” Dazai asked with a soft smile.
“..not tired.” Atsushi smiled right back, looking away. “Tonight.. I’m yours.”
“Wonderful.” Dazai knelt down, and ducked underneath the others skirt. Atsushi bit his lip as he felt the others teeth graze his thigh before taking the wedding garter and pulling it off his thigh. It fell down his calf and dangled on his ankle.
Dazai then pulled down the others boxers. Atsushi took a deep breath. This may, regrettably, not be his first.. but it was his first time consenting to something and being present in his body for it. Actually.. feeling pleasure. And love.
Dazai rubbed the others thighs before sliding his tongue into the other. It was the first time, and he preferred a prep method that would be as painless as possible. The other deserved it. Atsushi’s legs squirmed slightly. It felt very odd.
Even so, it still felt good. Whimpers and sighs escaped his lips. “Mmnn—~” He placed his hand on top of his dress where the others head very obviously was. He wished that the dress wasn’t in the way and he could play with Dazai’s hair.
Dazai swirled his tongue around and earned a whine from Atsushi. “I- I want.. I want dress.. off.” He huffed.
Dazai pulled his tongue out and got out from under his dress with a smirk. “If that’s what my lover wishes, that’s what he’ll receive.” He unzipped the back of his dress and helped him out of it, tossing it aside.
He gently pushed the other back on the bed, hovering over him. “I’m going to make you feel so good, Atsushi. So loved.” Dazai promised.
“I love you.” Atsushi whispered.
Dazai’s smirk changed into a smile, before maintaining a healthy middle between the expression. “It’s common to give a blow job as prep, since we don’t really have lube and salivas better than nothing.”
“You.. want to make it so painless for me.” Atsushi whispered, shyly looking away. He appreciated it. So very much. He slowly nodded, swallowing thickly. “O-Okay. I’ll give e you one.”
“Thank you, my love.” Dazai smiled. “Why don’t you get on your knees on the floor? That, for sure, is the easiest position. I don’t think you’ve sucked dick before, have you?”
“Dazai!” Atsushi whined and slid off the bed and onto his knees, staring up at him.
Dazai snickered and sat on the edge of the bed. Atsushi blinked before realizing that Dazai was gonna make him remove his pants and boxers. With shaky hands, Atsushi unzipped the others pants, and shuffled them down to his knees. His hands hovered over the waistband of his boxers, but ended up just resting on his thighs with an embarrassed whine.
“Aweee, is someone a little shy~?” Dazai chuckled as the other hid his face in one of his thighs. “That’s alright, you already took off my pants like such a good boy.”
Dazai pulled down his own boxers, and Atsushi took a small breath before looking up. He whined. “What if- I do it wrong? And you don’t feel good?”
Dazai merely laughed. “Oh, Love, that’s impossible, unless you bit me hard and drew blood.” He placed a hand on top of the others head, petting his hair. “You can do it~ I promise~”
Atsushi slowly nodded and took the other’s member in his mouth, about halfway. Just to start off easy. Dazai groaned at the warm feeling, and that encouraged Atsushi to move down farther as well as start bobbing his head up and down. Sucking. He swirled his tongue around the others member.
As he did this, Dazai’s moans grew and grew. Atsushi was so relieved he was making the other fed good. “Alright, alright-“ after five minutes, he tapped the others head as he bit his lip. “O-Off~”
Atsushi pulled out, taking in a big breath of air. He wasn’t so used to breathing through his nose. “Did I.. do something wrong?” Atsushi wobbly stood up.
Dazai shook his head and backed up on the bed, pulling the other’s hand so he was on the bed too. “Not at all. I just didn’t want to come down your throat.” He smirked.
Atsushi’s eyes widened and he looked away, embarrassed. He gasped as he was pinned down onto his back, staring up at the other. Dazai kissed his ear lobe. “..Do I have your permission to make sweet sweet love to you, my dear?”
“You have.. all the permission in the world. I give myself to you.”
And with that, the two made love. And for the rest of their lives, they’d spend together. Living a peaceful, domestic life. As humans. A life they both deserved.
——
It’s been so much fun writing this fic! I hope that you guys enjoyed it as much as I did :]!
I love all of the support and all of YOU GUYS!!! Thank you!
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Eddie hangs back and watches Bev and Ben, then Bill, then Stan all file out to their respective rentals in the Townhouse lot. It’s been collectively decided to go to the diner a few streets away, a short drive by any measure, for their last shitty meal in a shitty hometown. He glances to Richie beside him, also lingering, then wordlessly lifts his hand and holds it out in front of him.
“No, come on,” Richie says, eyes flicking down at Eddie’s hand, then his face, then back to his hand while dropping his shoulders. “But I’m the only one on the rental insurance.”
Eddie raises his eyebrows, more urgently curling his fingers in gesture.
Richie hesitates for another beat, then crumbles just like in high school, sighing dramatically and going for his pocket. “Why aren’t I ever allowed to drive?”
“Because you suck,” Eddie says, rounding the driver side door while tucking the key fob into his jacket; he’s not going to admit the actual answer is that Richie rented a Mustang GT.
He takes a few minutes to assess the inside once he slips into it, sliding his hands across leather while ignoring Richie’s look when he moves the seat up and checks the mirrors. He takes a short breath, then presses the ignition, exhaling while the car rumbles to life under them, and pretends again not to notice Richie’s laugh as he puts it into gear.
“Be honest,” Richie says, as Eddie turns out onto the road behind the townhouse. “Are you one of those guys that literally fucks his car?”
Eddie rolls his eyes and absently glances in the mirrors, realizing an opportunity when he sees no one behind him, so slows the car to a stop. He looks at the buttons for a beat, then reaches out to tap off traction control with one hand, going through the controls for the dash screen from the wheel with the other, and scrolls until he finds what he’s looking for with a few quick presses of his thumb: line lock.
“Whoa, what are you doing?” Richie says, glancing around the empty street and hunching into the seat with a petulant frown. “What are – ? You can’t make me get out, Eds, it’s my car.”
“But not really,” Eddie says, looking up from the screen after putting in a few settings, then clicking back out and checking his mirrors a second time, then down the street. It’s still empty, not even a hint of a pedestrian or another car; he takes his foot off the brake, glancing briefly to Richie, then presses hard on the accelerator.
The lines travel up the screen at nearly the same rate of Richie’s pitching alarm and the tires’ squeal, before launching off with a roar the breaks the quiet of the street. A tight ball of tension loosens in the center of Eddie’s chest so quick that he hears himself start to laugh, leaning into the wheel while keeping the car steady on the center of the street.
“Holy shit,” Richie gasps, melodramatically holding tight at the handle above his head. “We’re in the middle of town, you fucking speed demon!”
“You rented a car you don’t even know how to have fun in,” Eddie says, slowing the car back down to a responsible speed and forcing the mounting screeching, paranoid voices in the back of his head to silence; he didn’t hit a person, he didn’t break the car, or himself, or Richie. It’s all fine and he can have a single minute of fun after he almost fucking died. “And since when do you even like Mustangs?”
“Oh, you know…” Richie goes quiet for a pair of seconds, then exhales a loud long breath before abruptly barking out a laugh. “You literally know, don’t you?”
“That you just asked for something expensive and cool?” Eddie guesses, glancing sideways, then smirking back when Richie offers an exaggerated shrug with both hands. He can remember being a kid, now, showing Richie pictures in magazines and reciting figures, and mostly getting a bunch of vague hums in the right spots to show Richie was listening, if not particularly sharing the excitement.
Eddie takes a more circuitous path than usual to the the diner, resisting any continuing urges to turn and dart down to the highway, kidnapping Richie into a trip down to Portland. He reluctantly puts the car into park next to the line of other shiny rentals, unclicking his seatbelt and glancing over to Richie. “Do you remember –” He pauses, swallowing hard and feeling his face fall, as memories filter in scattered but clear, and suddenly he can’t ask this question. “Uh…”
“Stallin’ out, S’gheds?” Richie asks, humor in his voice and fingers tugging on the door handle.
Eddie clears his throat, looking back up with a glance. “If, uh… if Bev said she was going back tomorrow or today?”
“Today?” Richie guesses, scratching down the stubbled column of his throat in a way that is suddenly way, way more distracting than it has any right to be. “I think she and Ben are doing this weird thing where they’re pretending not to be following each other.”
“Right,” Eddie mutters, hoping he’s doing well hiding this particularly heady, awful surge of memory.
It’s mostly of the last time Richie and he took off to Portland before they went to college, and it had been arguably a good trip – hiking along the coast, loitering for hours on the pier, sharing food, abusing Richie’s fake ID… The only bad part of the memory is, like a lot of things, recently, entirely the fact it was taken away.
He can remember now thinking, after they got back, he was going to do something in college. He would take Richie’s hand when he leaned into him on one of his, expected at that time, visits to Eddie at NYU and admit that he liked him back – he’d known Richie liked him, after that trip, because he finally noticed that Richie looked at him the same way Ben looked at Bev. He can remember, starkly, standing on a wharf in Portland and looking over to see Richie staring at him like he was fucking glowing, and remember thinking that it wasn’t even a new look, because Richie always looked at him like that, but he had never realized what exactly it meant until that moment.
Except… except, Eddie went away a month later and never saw Richie again.
He forces himself out of the car, feeling cold, and suppresses an urge to get back in and just go. Anywhere. He’s had a lot of little moments over these past few days where he thinks the last twenty years of his life were a total waste, but this one…
“Eds?” Richie says, waiting at the rear end of the car with a tilted head. His eyes are curious and a little concerned, but focused only on Eddie, like in the cistern, standing over then hole into hell; like arm wrestling in the Jade; like standing over the hammock in the clubhouse, and that’s… The look. “Hey, are you – what’s wrong?”
Eddie lurches forward under a heady impulse, sliding his arms tight around Richie’s torso with a squeeze. He hasn’t gotten to do this at all. He’s just watched other people do it – at the Jade, at the quarry – and not understood his own bitter envy.
“Oh, shit,” Richie says, his hands ghosting over Eddie’s back and arms, exhaling a tense laugh that makes Eddie just ache. “You know, I would’ve let you drive anyway.”
Eddie exhales a weak huff, digging his head in closer to Richie’s heart. “I’m just… excited to have bacon.”
“Dude, same,” Richie says, finally dropping his elbows and more confidently wrapping his arms around Eddie, then rocking them back and forth in lopsided steps toward the diner because he’s a big-ass dork. “I would take out that pig myself right now.”
Eddie breaks off to make the call when Richie and he get back to the Townhouse, making sure Richie is engrossed in his own phone before he goes out back. The narrow alley is darker than the street, sun cut by close buildings, but it doesn’t feel frightening like it used to, especially as it has here in Derry, instead it almost feels comforting in how it blankets his shoulders while the phone rings in his ear.
He shakes out his other hand with a bracing breath; it’s like dominos – he felled one, time for the rest of the line to go.
The call connects, followed by a melodramatic shriek of a gasp. “Eddie! Are you okay!? I can’t believe you’d be so –”
“Look, Myra, before we say anything else,” Eddie interjects in a clipped rush, swiftly raising his own voice in a way he’s never felt comfortable doing with her, easily speaking loud over her ongoing scolds while trying not to listen to them. “I know you’ve been sleeping with Mark from the third floor since we moved in.”
Myra goes absolutely, uncharacteristically silent for a beat. “Eddie-bear,” she eventually simpers, exhaling a pitchy, defensive sigh. “I would never – ”
“And I don’t care, alright? It’s not like we did that together,” Eddie interrupts, gesturing with a spinning hand at discolored brick and turning back and forth on his feet; he’s irritated at himself for how relieved he is suddenly that this is over the phone. “But I – I have had some uh, pictures taken every year, or so, for whenever I got around to this conversation.”
Myra takes a shuddery, shocked breath.
It’s a huge lie.
Eddie hasn’t got anything and doesn’t even know how that would work or if it’s possible. He doesn’t know if Myra and Mark go on dates, or if they go out at all; he has always just been relieved not to be part of it. He doesn’t even know really why he said it. He was always just happy for the fucking beard, and he knows that she knows all about that and has since the beginning – it had been an awkward honeymoon all around.
“Conversation?” Myra repeats, low, after recovering and finally seeming to grasp on the subject a full three minutes and thirty-seven seconds after picking up the phone.
Eddie drags his teeth sharply across his lip, then glances over his shoulder at the closed door into the Townhouse. “I’m not on a work trip.”
Myra all but squawks, “Are you with someone? Did you lie –”
“Yes, I – I’m at a reunion,” Eddie interrupts, lifting his chin down at the length of the alley and squaring his shoulders; he’s not going to fucking fold. “A bunch of my friends from school.”
Myra hesitates a moment and her building sneer is almost visible through the phone. “Friends?”
“And I want a divorce,” Eddie says, in a voice that he almost wants to pause and pat himself on the back for: steady, firm, and not particularly pitchy. “I reconnected with… With – ” God, he hopes Richie isn’t smoking out of his window. “A high school sweetheart, and I want – ”
“You’re destroying our marriage for some –” Myra interrupts in a snarling, disbelieving fury, “ – some girlfriend you had as a teenager?”
Eddie rolls his eyes, gesturing with a balled up first at the ground in front of him. “Not. A. Girlfriend. You know that.”
Myra exhales a sharp hiss, but doesn’t try to counter him this time.
Eddie thinks about how Richie looks at him, again; the smiles, the jokes… It’s almost gross, it’s so cheesy, like wrinkled couples holding hands in old folks’ homes. He wants to bask in it – he wants to not feel guilty about basking in it, like he’s never been able to before, not when he was 17, scared other people would notice, and not now when he’s stuck in a marriage that’s little more than a business agreement.
“He’s someone who waited for me,” Eddie says, lie easily rolling off his tongue as he strives for that steady, reasonable tone again, but it only comes out more angry. “Who I should’ve waited for.”
Who he had wanted to wait for; who had been stolen by a monster.
Myra exhales another mean laugh. “Eddie-bear, you’re not thinking, you don’t even know this man anymore, he could just be – ”
“I don’t care!” Eddie snarls, closing his eyes tight for a few seconds and feeling his jaw clench at the same time. He forces both back open, straightening his spine and setting his shoulders just for himself. “I want to be able to learn all that new shit about him in ways that I can’t do while I’m married, because I’m. Not. Like. You!”
Myra is quiet for a beat, then ultimately exhales a whiny, purely exaggerated melancholy.
“And since I know about Mark and I have known about him, I don’t think you have any grounds to make this any harder than a signature,” Eddie says, gesturing hard and decisive at the ground a second time, as he realizes suddenly and more mundanely that he’s got a lot of goddamn paperwork and legal shit in his near future. “I’m talking to a lawyer when I get back. You keep the lease, obviously.”
Myra is silent for a long while, then calmly tuts in his fucking ear. “You know, Eddie –”
He hangs up in haste, a chill striking through him at the tone, and realizes while staring at the recent calls screen that she had sounded just like his mother when she would be about to baldly, patronizingly call him stupid. He sees his hands are shaking then, breath still caught in his throat, and only barely catches himself before he throws his phone onto the pocked asphalt.
Shit.
Eddie yanks his ring off as he enters back into the lounge, marching over to the fireplace with a frown. He rolls it in his palm for a few seconds, staring at the white, leftover charcoal, then throws it in to disappear amidst the ash – he hopes whoever finds it gets a fucking payday.
“Ohkay,” Richie says, eyes flicking back and forth above his phone from Eddie to the doused fire. “Damn, I thought me and Missus K agreed to tell you about us when you got home.”
“Not the fucking time, Trashmouth,” Eddie snaps, taking a deep, unsteady breath and pacing a few lengths in front of Richie’s chair, then sweeping both hands over his hair. “Okay, okay – do you remember when Christy from Algebra 2 asked me to the Sadie Hawkins dance in the 9th grade and you stuck gum in her hair?”
Richie stares for a beat, hands dropping limply to his lap, then he makes a noise that might have been meant to be a laugh. “I – uh, I’m pretty sure we agreed that wasn’t me.”
“Right,” Eddie says, tone irked as he realizes this is going to be about as mature as it would be if he’d gotten around to it at seventeen, gesturing in frustration to himself while pacing another few lengths. “What about when I went on two really awful dates with Jessica Milliner and you stalked us with Ben from the theater to the diner.”
Richie’s brows go up, then back down, eyes getting markedly more avoidant while he visibly recovers the memory.
“Yeah, I knew about that,” Eddie says, stopping in front of Richie and crossing his arms, peering down his nose while watching Richie fidget in his seat. “Or the time you rigged an entire punchbowl to spill onto Terry Arnold’s lap at that senior bonfire, I can only assume because he’d been asking Bev about me.”
“He, uh,” Richie stammers, biting at his lip, then his voice abruptly gets sharper, even mean, as if he thinks he has any chance of an argument. “He was trying to bully you, remember?”
“We both know he wasn’t, Richie!”
Richie makes a couple of extreme expressions before visibly gives in, shoulders dropping and hunching in on himself. “Could’ve been.”
“I’m just saying…” Eddie pauses for a few seconds, gathering himself best he can under the circumstances. “I knew, okay? And I know.”
Richie grips the arms of the chair, visibly stuck between fight or flight with Eddie crowding him close. It’s clearly a shared sort of fear, of getting this out between them even twenty years late, which probably shouldn’t be a comfort.
“And – and now we’re forty! I can’t just – ” Eddie makes a frustrated noise, mostly to himself, unfolding his arms to gesture wide and angry. “I can’t just pretend it’ll work itself out in college anymore! The ship fucking sunk in the port, so I have to admit now that I – I liked you back. And I was scared then, but now it’s 2016 and I still like, I would – I would still fucking run away with you!”
Richie’s eyes get huge and his expression goes a little rubbery, like he’s actually surprised, which is… is unbelievable in itself.
And maybe just plain awful.
Had he really not known?
Eddie swallows hard, pulling his hands back in to gesture downward with flat palms. “Once I’m divorced.”
“Uh, I – oh.” Richie sounds a little bit like he might be drowning on air. “Yeah, oh.”
Eddie feels a little stupid standing there, breathing heavy and waiting for more, and feels a mean twist at the edge of his mouth. “Is that all you’re going to say?”
“Same?” Richie says, eyes darting back and forth, up and down, even past Eddie for a beat before fixing back on his face with a wheezy chuckle. “I still think you’re the cutest boy in school?”
Eddie rolls his eyes hard while exhaling through his nose, ignoring heat flaring up his skin. He’s a grown adult, he’s got 401Ks and Roth IRAs and a fucking divorce to get through; he cannot crawl in another man’s lap in the middle of a shitty hotel. It’s not a thing he can do.
“The planet, even,” Richie continues, weakly, expression folding with something almost like pain, tucking in and looking small in the chair he’d so recently been sprawled out in. “When you said you were married, it kind of destroyed me even though I couldn’t really understand why. I wanted to forget everything again.”
“Jesus fuck, Rich,” Eddie murmurs, an ache building swift behind his sternum.
Richie presses his lips together in some not-smile while he shrugs tightly, spreading his hands for a moment before folding them nervously back together.
Eddie tries to imagine the reverse, if Richie had walked into the Jade of the Orient talking about a wife – or a husband – a ring around his finger and a deep well of stories about a life with...
Okay, screw being an adult. He quickly closes the half step between them, shoving a knee onto the chair next to Richie’s thigh and recalling that talent he mastered as a teenager to wriggle his way into Richie’s personal bubble no matter the circumstance, from hammocks to adirondack chairs to damned sleeping bags, with a tissue-thin excuses.
(And Richie is surprised?)
Eddie digs Richie’s phone out of the cushions while molding himself into his familiar-unfamiliar side with only a minor, slightly purposeful elbow incident. “You keep texting some guy named Steve and I want him dead.”
“He’s my manager,” Richie says, unsteadily grinning while curving his arm high and hesitant along Eddie’s waist.
“Too bad,” Eddie says, throwing the phone carelessly onto the small, round coffee table and next to Richie’s empty glass. “Learn to handle your own shit.”
Richie huffs through his nose, but it’s subdued, and he seems to focus on staring down at the floor in front of the chair. He clears his throat, looking over to Eddie, then appears startled when they make eye contact, as if he didn’t think Eddie would be looking back. “Full disclosure, uh, if someone walks in and I flip… Sorry. Recently relived like the big three of reasons I’m a closeted fuck.”
Eddie hums while glancing toward the door, then looks back to Richie with a dig of his chin into his shoulder. He lowers his voice, talking mostly into the seam of Richie’s sweatshirt. “I get it. Like – ” He pauses briefly, swallowing, “Like the leper wasn’t really a leper because of leprosy, he actually just had a fuckload of STDs from sucking dick. Or something.”
Richie is quiet a beat, then laughs loud, relaxing some with his head thrown back on the cushion. “Holy shit, you never mentioned that.”
“Shut up,” Eddie says, poking hard into Richie’s side, which predictably just makes him laugh even more, just now while also pretending to flinch. “It’s one thing to admit your worst nightmare is becoming a living disease, another that it’s specifically dick sucking disease.”
Richie’s laugh abruptly fades into a heavy sigh. “Paul Bunyan tried to beat my ass.”
Eddie blinks into Richie’s shirt, then turns his head to peek up at Richie’s avoidant, upturned face. “What?”
“Like the statue in the park,” Richie mutters, lifting his other hand to vaguely gesture vaguely while wetting his lips with an insincere, twisting grin. “Pennywise brought it to life to – to queer bash me, I guess?”
Eddie blinks widely, then narrows his eyes toward the window. “I did sort of wonder about that.”
Richie demonstrably furrows his brow, hand limply curling in bemusement above him.
“Like you hated that statue, you know,” Eddie says, recalling more than a few times the subject would come up of what to do and Richie suggesting they destroy Paul Bunyan, though it had been dismissed and rebuffed as more boredom than antagonism. “Out of nowhere.”
“Oh,” Richie intones broadly, eyes blinking wide and hand dropping to his own chest.
The silence sits between them for a few beats, still comfortable, but getting heavier as time wears on. He’s pretty sure they’re the last ones out, except Mike; the only two who hadn’t had their bags in their car at that diner. Hell, Eddie’s rental hasn’t even been touched since he parked it three days ago.
“You want to go to Portland?” Eddie asks quietly, feeling the same way he used to: anxious, yet positive Richie is going to agree.
“Like, Oregon?” Richie asks, like he always used to, as if the joke didn’t get old half a second after the first time.
Eddie rolls his eyes. “Rich.”
“I technically have to be in Reno next weekend, but I kind of don’t want to be…” Richie trails off into a long sigh. “So.”
Eddie is momentarily tempted to volunteer they do drive to Oregon, but squashes it. “I don’t think even you can stretch a two hour drive into a week.”
Richie snorts and the noise is somehow tired. “Okay, yeah no. But what if we just never leave? I’ll become a lobsterman.”
Eddie breaks into a weak laugh, remembering Richie flailing awkwardly around the claws of a lobster, once, twice, and maybe every single time he had an encounter with one. He thinks Richie could pull off the look, probably, but the actual job?
“Stop laughing,” Richie grumbles, but the corner of his mouth is curled up at the cracks in the ceiling.
Eddie digs his chin into Richie’s shoulder, then harder until it earns him a wince and a sideways glance. “Maybe you should stick to the Walmart.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Richie says, easily agreeing while a wider grin slips across his face. “How old do you have to be to be a greeter?”
“Ancient,” Eddie guesses, though he can far too easily imagine Richie embracing it and being annoying as possible; until, of course, he inevitably got fired for making dirty jokes in bad accents.
Richie rolls his lips together, then exhales a deep, heavy sigh while his eyes flutter closed. “You serious, man?”
“Yeah,” Eddie says, briefly worried that Richie’s going to suddenly turn into a grown up and say he needs to get back to real life. “Yeah, I really am.”
“Alright,” Richie says, slapping at Eddie’s side and slipping out leg in a clear attempt to get up from the chair. “Let’s go, Spaghetti Head.”
Eddie rolls his eyes hard and digs his thumb into the delicate juncture between Richie’s collarbone and neck while he pushes up from the chair.
Richie winces with a hiss, swatting Eddie away with both hands. He rises from the chair with a shove and a grumble under his breath, stretching by his back, then looks at Eddie over his glasses while pressing them up his nose. “I know It ate like… kids, but right now I mostly wish it hadn’t dropped me like a sack of shit.”
“I could’ve left you up there,” Eddie lies through his teeth.
Richie proceeds him over to the stairs, then leans back on a heel halfway up the first, looming over Eddie with a crooked smirk. “So I assume we’re taking my car?”
Eddie rolls his eyes, shoving at him without bothering to answer. He does worry a little about it all fitting, as he gathers both his Samsonites together and heads into the fucking bathroom to get his toiletry bag. He glances back and forth before entering fully, and even then he mostly stretches to the sink to get it – he knows he took a shower in it this morning, giving few fucks about the missing curtain in his sleepless delirium, but somehow with more time the feeling that Bowers ugly face might just jump out is worse.
He descends the stairs to find Richie waiting at the door in the entry and drops his bags at his feet before going to hang his key. He startles a little when a small, hunched man comes out to look at him, but thankfully there’s no questions or even the sparest attempt at conversation, just a dropped chin in a nod.
“How long did you think this trip would be, Eds?” Richie asks, glancing at the drags being dragged along with a laugh in his voice. “Weeks; months?”
“I kind of just threw all my closet in them without thinking, alright,” Eddie admits, shoving them into the surprisingly large trunk of the car. “I didn’t have the convenience of already being packed.”
“Hey,” Richie says, stopping Eddie before he can get in the car. He ducks his head a little when Eddie looks, as if trying to seem coy. “Let me drive?”
Eddie raises his eyebrows, reluctantly pulled between the recent fact that Richie admitted he still wants Eddie, so maybe deserves leeway to keep going that way, and absolutely not.
“Not the whole way, just –” Richie grimaces, exhaling an odd, tense laugh that misses the mark on humor. “I want to show you something?”
Eddie presses his lips together for a beat, then exhales while he steps away from the driver door. “Better not be another stump.”
Richie blinks and furrows his brow, then he laughs, far more brightly than just seconds earlier while he tugs at the door. “Come on, it was totally sexy.”
“It was a tree,” Eddie argues, ducking his head to hide his own grin while rounding to the passenger side. It had looked vaguely feminine with burls in odd places, but hell if he’s going to give up ground on one of Richie’s weaker dirty jokes.
A few streets along, Eddie begins to suspect that Richie really is taking him to the stupid tree. The car is going in the direction of the same old barn, anyway, though it doesn’t explain the way one hand taps nervously at the wheel. He leans forward to peer better through the windshield when Richie turns toward the old kissing bridge, slowing the car to a crawl and then stopping completely before crossing, idling between the railings covered in initials and names.
“Richie? Eddie asks, glancing up and down the railing through the window, then looking over to the driver side. He hastily moves in tandem as Richie tugs at the handle to get out of the car, looking around at the old bridge just to look, then noticing that Richie’s stopped at a particular spot. “What are you – ”
Richie abruptly crouches, tapping falteringly at a slightly crooked set of initials set faded in the rail in front of them.
Eddie feels a little bit like he’s swallowed his tongue. “Oh.”
He can’t quite believe what he’s looking at – that Richie, who always put on such an unsentimental front, felt so much for Eddie that he carved it into reality. It makes him want to go back and shake himself for thinking he needed to wait until they were older, until they were out from under the thumb of Derry and all it contained, meanwhile Richie had come out here to declare it to the whole town.
“When did you do this?”
“Thirteen,” Richie croaks, then stands up and move away from the rail while shoving his hands in his pockets. He looks near the edge of panic, breath uneven, and he even flinches a little when Eddie reaches out to wrap a hand at his elbow to try to calm him. “Like, uh, when we were. I mean.”
“Shit, that…” Eddie swallows back a reflexive denial – how could it have taken him so long to notice? “That’s a long time ago.”
“Yeah,” Richie mumbles, exhaling a weak laugh and hunching further into his jacket with a shrug. “I didn’t… I didn’t know it would last this long.”
Eddie stares a few seconds longer at the carving, pretty sure that he knows exactly what Richie is really trying to say. He even understands it, a low ache at the middle of his chest, and abruptly decides he has to find a way to preserve this, to keep it with him, because he’s never going to come back to this shithole town. He lets go of Richie and turns back toward the car, digging into a suitcase and pulling out his work bag, stuffed flat under three pairs of sweats – shit, he left his laptop at the office. No, that doesn’t matter, he just needs to find a –
“What are you doing?” Richie asks, still hoarse, his feet audibly scuffing the ground while he turns to look.
“Getting a fucking pencil,” Eddie says, brows furrowing when his fingers wrap around and pull out an old carpenter’s pencil from the bottom of his bag; he doesn’t really know why he kept it, but he definitely remembers the contractor at the office who grinned and gave it to him with a wink. He feels a little heat in his face, at the memory, and tries to shake it off while yanking a blank piece of paper from the back of his day planner.
“Seriously?” Richie says, incredulous, his voice pitching high in that mocking way of his that’s really more alarm than scorn. “You could just – You have a phone. Take a picture.”
“It’s not the same,” Eddie snaps, kneeling down in front of the fence and pressing the paper over the carving with a shaky hand. He carefully runs the pencil over the paper until their initials appear on the surface in stark relief, then darkens it with a second pass; he pulls it down, staring a few seconds at the rubbing, then looks back to the railing and swallows back emotion welling again at the base of his throat.
“What are you going to do with that?”
Eddie looks over his shoulder, seeing that Richie is himself looking very hard in the other direction with a twisty expression across a ruddy face. “Keep it,” he says, standing back up and carefully folding it back into his planner. “You want one?”
Richie peeks over with a glance between the planner and the fence with a flick of his lashes, then shrugs with a short duck of his head. “We can share yours.”
Eddie rolls his eyes, feeling his face flush at the same time. It was obviously meant as sarcasm, maybe even dismissal, but it almost sounds like a promise, too.
“Rich,” he says, then surprises himself by tapping Richie’s chin in his direction and drawing himself up to briefly press a kiss against his lips. It feels reckless, like he might get nothing but shock, but is rewarded when Richie instead makes a small noise of delight against his mouth.
It still takes Richie a few seconds to find his voice after Eddie drops back down onto his heels, mouth opening and closing like a fish, until eventually he exhales a broken crack of laughter. “Shit, I – I didn’t imagine that, right?”
Eddie rolls his eyes, tapping his fingers against the edge of Richie’s jaw. “Dipshit.”
“You’re so fucking brave,” Richie says, laughing, “I thought about this a thousand times and never could’ve kissed you first.”
Eddie stares up into Richie’s earnest face and his dumb crooked smile, feeling so stupid happy to just be looking at it. He wets his lips, painstakingly suppressing an urge to shove Richie into the car and really kiss him, because they’re still in fucking Derry, and takes a reluctant step backward. “Was that a compliment? 7/10. Really awkward.”
Richie promptly crumples into the car, hands over his chest. “Ouch.”
Eddie carefully makes sure the planner and his bag are securely back in their place, then rounds toward the driver side. He expects Richie to ask to drive to Portland, and Eddie is half-tempted to let him, but instead he finds him on his phone while leaning on the passenger side door.
“Problem?”
Richie looks up with a start, then tilts his head slowly to the side. “Kind of? I guess Stan is still into birds.”
“How is that a problem?” Eddie asks, leaning into the roof of the car against his forearm.
Richie clicks his tongue and shoves his phone across the car so Eddie can see the screen. It’s the group chat that Bev had eagerly set up for them, and right in the middle is a fuzzy picture of some seagull on tarmac, then a mildly dull story of how he saw it at the airport.
“Christ,” Eddie mutters, feeling inexplicably comforted, and maybe even a little happy, to realize he’s about to live the rest of his life find out about the incredibly dumb things these people that he forgot have done on any given day. “He’s exactly the same. What did you say?”
“You think I have space in my brain right now to make fun of Stan?” Richie asks, his magnified eyes wide and melodramatic, though there’s an evident thread of sincerity underneath the exaggeration. “I’m just stuck in Eddie Kaspbrak Kissed Me Mode, man.”
“Fuck off,” Eddie says, feeling heat flush his face and dropping his hand to pull open the door. It doesn’t work too well to hide when Richie just follows him into the passenger seat, grinning wide and bright with that smile that Eddie undeniably put on his face. He presses the button to start the car, then realizes it was already on when it shuts off underneath them, and the flush just gets worse while he turns it right back on while Richie guffaws next to him. “Dumbass, you’re – I’m going to wreck! This is distracted driving!”
Richie hums mockingly, shoving into Eddie’s side to poke at the little gear indicator under the tachometer. “Looks like it’s still in park, Major Tom.”
Eddie briefly runs both hands through his hair and ducks his head toward the wheel, painfully aware of his own uncontrollable smile. He takes a deep breath, then exhales it on a count of ten, sitting back up and very carefully putting one hand on 10 and the other on the shifter, shifting it in drive with a squeeze. He just as carefully does not look anywhere near the passenger side, driving slowly over the bridge, and pretends that he can’t hear Richie still hiccupping laughs and tapping messages into his phone.
Damn it, if he’s being a dick while Eddie can’t defend himself…
“Fuck!” Eddie realizes, stomping a little too hard on the brakes at the stop sign on the other side of the bridge. “I forgot about my rental.”
“Fuck,” Richie echoes, then leans somewhat over the middle console while gesturing between them and lowering his voice like he’s being sneaky. “Let’s just leave it – I’m sure the rental company will be totally cool.”
Eddie just shakes his head, turning the car back toward the Townhouse with a scowl. He can’t believe he forgot – it was parked like two spaces away from the Mustang. “Now we have to go to fucking Bangor first, goddamn it!”
“Oh no, Edward,” Richie laments, putting on some Voice that Eddie recognizes as his old 1920s femme fatale, but always kind of sounded like Maggie Went with a cold; it’s a little better now. A little. “An extra twenty minutes? I don’t think I can take it. Call the whole thing off.”
Eddie reaches over without looking and shoves Richie gently, but firmly, into the door.
“You want to take the long way or the short?” Eddie asks, looking back and forth at the light, the rental place firmly behind them with his literally so boring, it’s forgettable sedan.
“Is there much of a difference?” Richie says, glancing over with a half-smile and quirk of an eyebrow. “Do you even know?”
Eddie taps the indicator, making the decision himself and turning down toward the coast. “An hour? It’s the way down toward the bay instead of through Augusta.”
“…Right,” Richie says, then offers a lengthy, winding hum, slumping on an elbow into the center console. “I’ll be honest – you could go like to the border right now and I wouldn’t even question it.”
“Are you asking me to take you hostage?” Eddie says, thinking of the most dramatic way Richie might frame this on social media to get out of his commitments.
“Fugitive, maybe,” Richie says, pointing with a flick of his hand vaguely in the direction of Derry. “I still have no clue what happened to Bowers’.”
Eddie raises his brows and looks back to the road, head tilting, “Uh… Shit.”
“I mean, he’s probably not still alive, right?” Richie says, gesturing back and forth, which is a worrying point, considering the last time he… just showed back up again. “Maybe he melted into like goop. Like Pennywise? Mike’ll just have to clean the library.”
Eddie is a little startled by his own laugh, suffering a mental image of Mike quietly shaking his head with a mop. “What is wrong with you?”
“…I don’t have an actual list, but I could probably make you one,” Richie says, grinning wide, though with that tinge of self-deprecation that Eddie’s gradually remembering really chafed him. “Want to help?”
“Fuck off,” Eddie says, glancing sideways and briefly catching Richie’s startled blink. “There’s nothing actually wrong with you.”
Richie scoffs with evident skepticism. “We are literally talking about a guy I murdered.”
“He wasn’t a guy, he was – I don’t know,” Eddie shrugs, ticking on the blinker at the last instant for a quick turn out onto the next road. “A fucking zombie. A ghoul. Whatever someone is when they’ve been in service to a goddamn alien murder clown after falling down a well.”
“And then stuck in Juniper Hill for thirty years,” Richie adds, humming in disgust, then leaning back into the passenger seat with a brief squeak of leather.
Eddie curls his nose up, shuddering himself a little, then catches a familiar sign coming up at them. “You ever apologize to your aunt?”
“Huh?”
Eddie nods with a jerk of his chin toward the Tozier’s Market, as they pass it. It looks almost exactly the same, aside for how the prices on the banner have gone up a few dollars.
Richie turns his head a little to look back at it, hissing slightly through his teeth. “No?”
Eddie rolls his eyes, unsurprised, and pretty sure it doesn’t actually have a lot to do with the whole Derry curse.
“It was half your fault, anyway,” Richie says, though he doesn’t really sound that defensive about it.
Eddie shakes his head, thinking about Richie at sixteen shoving a sandwich in his hands and insisting it was on the house. “I could’ve paid.”
“Eh, but why?” Richie says, his hand visibly flapping from the corner of Eddie’s eye. “It was only like two sandwiches, anyway – what’s the big deal?”
“More like fourteen, dipshit,” Eddie says, brows raising up his forehead, quickly glancing over again to see Richie rolling his eyes back at him. “You gave them to all of us.”
“I’m a generous guy,” Richie says, put upon and arch, though there’s a low laugh at the edge of his voice. “Got to feed the people.”
Eddie is tempted to reach across the car and flick him in the shoulder. “You wanted to get fired.”
The road leads gradually into, even more, rural territory. The greenery on either side of the road is familiar, but different, and he is startled to realize that he doesn’t completely hate it. It’s not like Derry, where he knows every part of it and being around it feels like a forever-sore bruise, but more like a scar – healed, a little raised, but no longer painful.
“Shit,” Richie says, quiet, as they turn onto the highway, eyes glancing across the buildings while setting his chin in his palm at the center console and nudging at Eddie’s arm. “I’ve lived in LA so long that I kind of forgot places like this really existed, it’s… I don’t know. Nostalgic? Is it weird I don’t want to think that – I don’t want to fucking miss it?”
“I get it,” Eddie mutters, somewhat startled that Richie was so close to thinking the same thing, though he probably shouldn’t be – they lived the same life for the same years. His own eyes continue glancing rapidly between the sides of the highway, suffering memory bursts at the back of his mind that threaten to distract him. “It sucked, a lot, living here. But it… It’s not like we can pretend we didn’t, not anymore.”
Richie takes a deep breath, then exhales it with a hum. “It wasn’t completely shit, I guess,” he says, sitting back up in his seat, then slumping toward the window. “Remember that bonfire we got invited to like just – just over there? The drive felt like forever, but the beach… that was awesome.”
Eddie does remember it, and that parts of it not quite so awesome. “Didn’t I make Ben throw up because he ate like a bunch of ash?”
Richie snorts a little, then abruptly bursts into louder laughter. “Shit, you totally did. You little asshole.”
Eddie rolls his eyes, remembering Ben with a little too much cheap beer dropping sticky marshmallows into the fire and eating them anyway, covered in black and white. “I thought it would hurt him.”
“Right… I think he cried,” Richie says, sounding overly disapproving, but not quite dropping into an actual Voice. “You managed to convince him and Stan both that he was going to go into organ failure.”
Eddie rolls his lips together, glancing sideways, out his window. “He could have.”
Richie snorts loudly, a look on his face that’s similar to that night – that he thinks it’s bullshit, but too funny to try to stop.
The car falls into another silence, not uncomfortably, with a low rumble of the engine and whatever playlist Richie has on his phone. It seems to be some sort of deliberately soothing house music, which is either an odd taste he picked up after he left Derry, or something he put on while Eddie was returning the rental and is a joke.
He honestly has no idea.
“Ice cream!” Richie gasps, a mile or so into Rockland, pressing his face with an audible thunk against the window.
“Jesus Christ,” Eddie says, glancing at Richie, swallowing a laugh bubbling up from his chest as he peeks along the side of the street for a parking. “You have to return the car, you know.”
“I wasn’t going to eat it in the car,” Richie says, exhaling hard through his nose and a bit snide, while turning his head to look at Eddie over his frames. “I know how you are.”
Eddie lifts his hand to gesture with a swipe at the window. “I meant your faceprint, dipshit.”
“Oh,” Richie intones, then leans back, eyeing the window for a beat, only to swipe his hand across the glass and create a far more disgusting smear.
“The fuck is wrong with you?” Eddie demands, hearing his voice pitch and already thinking about grabbing like all of the napkins from the ice cream place.
“Overreact, jeez,” Richie says, a mocking grin wide across his mouth and a laugh at the edge of his voice.
Richie, as promised, doesn’t try to eat in the car, though he does make a total idiot of himself at the counter asking about every damned flavor in an Australian accent. The worst part isn’t even the act, though, it’s that the teenager manning the little station definitely recognizes him, nodding a little too earnestly while giving Richie a black licorice scoop with gummie bears in a waffle cone.
“Hey, is my mouth black?” Richie says, sticking out his tongue with a pair of crossed eyes, clearly trying to look for himself.
Eddie tries to reign his expression, surprised when he feels so honestly unsettled. He looks down to his vegan chocolate in a cup; declared boring, but he maintains is classic. “It looks like Pennywise gunk.”
“Oh,” Richie winces, immediately hunching and shoving the cone in his face with a muffled: “Shit. Sorry.”
Eddie shrugs a little, taking a spoonful of his own scoop. It’s not like a little black dye and Richie making a shitty joke makes it more or less worse – being thrown up on, being jumped in the fucking bathroom, being stabbed. His cheek throbs, at just the thought, and he realizes he’s going to need to get it looked at for real.
“You know, It showed me you,” Richie says, pressing his mouth into the cone and incidentally painting his lips black. “Once. Like throwing up that shit.”
Eddie looks up with a raised eyebrow, trying to remember if Richie had ever told him that, but Richie never actually said a lot of what was done to him by It. “When?”
“The first time we went in the house,” Richie says, shoving up his glasses with a knuckle and taking another oversize bite of his cone. “It called me using your name, too, then like a you but not you climbed out of a mattress? It was… weird.”
Eddie raises his brows, then slowly furrows them. “…Climbed out of a mattress.”
“Then you threw up gunk,” Richie says, tipping his head back and forth, plainly looking somewhere over Eddie’s shoulder toward the street. “Asking if I wanted to play loogie.”
Eddie grunts lowly, then takes another spoonful of his chocolate. “I was best at that game.”
Richie sputters out a laugh, nearly choking while eating the last of the waffle cone in one bite. “You fucking were not.”
“Was so,” Eddie says, lifting his chin a bit and scraping the dregs of his own scoop.
Richie clears his throat, falling into a concerned tone. “Shit, Eds.”
Eddie looks up from the cup, glancing to Richie in worry – only to get smacked with an exaggerated kiss on his mouth. He blinks widely, reflexively licking his lips, then gags and hastily reaches up to wipe at his mouth as the gross-ass taste hits his tongue.
Richie barks out a laugh, if visibly anxious, as his eyes flick sideways around them. “How’s it?”
“You fucking know I hate black licorice,” Eddie snaps with another exaggerated gag. His lips are tingling, face flushing up to his ears, and absolutely unsurprised that Richie is already using this freshly set boundary to gross him out.
“Oh no, guess we have to get drinks,” Richie says, gesturing toward a café just a few storefronts down from the ice cream. He turns back to Eddie, quiet for a beat, then narrows an eye. “I bet you drink cold brew.”
“Of course, I drink cold brew!” Eddie says, throwing his ice cream cup away, then relaxing his scowl into a softer frown over at Richie. “What’s wrong with cold brew?”
“Eh,” Richie says, shrugging a bit and shoving his hands into his pockets, a small smile flickering across his face. “Nothing. Just seems like a you thing – the acidity or whatever.”
Eddie follows Richie into the café with a weak kick at the back of his shin. “Shut up, whatever. Maybe.”
It’s tempting to make Richie keep the drink out of the car, make a big deal about keeping it clean, but in the end it’s not actually his car. It’s not even his rental. If Richie spills an caramel mocha milkshake whatever all over the mats, he’s got to pay for it, he’s got to sit in it, and he’s got to explain to the rental service why he wasn’t driving.
“Do you think there’s more Dunkins or – ” Richie lifts his hand to point at the orange and pink sign, then waving in front of Eddie toward a mermaid just on the other side of the highway. “…Starbucks?
“Antique shops,” Eddie says, shoving Richie’s hand out of his face, then pointing himself at a hanging iron sign. “You think Ben likes antique shops? He seems like he would.”
“Oh yeah,” Richie says, voice raising at the end, as if remembering something, which he probably has, if he’s having any sort of time like Eddie has been over the last couple days. “His room was full of old shit. Him and Mike could open a museum.”
“He probably has like a collection of… those…” Eddie bites his cheek in irritation, the word at the edge of his mind, but refusing to be fully grasped. “Of those things that measure humidity?”
“A barometer?” Richie guesses, then bursts into laughter, leaning against the center console with highly raised brows. “That is so fucking specific.”
“I don’t know!” Eddie says, flipping his hand back and forth, then dropping it back to wrap and tap around the shifter. “I can imagine him holding one?”
Richie is quiet a few beats, then tips his head with a flat hum. “Yeah, alright.”
Eddie shifts in his seat as they cross the final bridge into Portland, looking out across the water for a few beats before being drawn back to the road. It feels odd merging on to the 295, dealing with parkway traffic for the first time in hours, or really days, and it almost irks him being reminded of it.
Portland isn’t the same – it’s been over twenty years, so of course it isn’t, and really he hasn’t expected it to be, but a tiny part of him still insists on sinking with disappointment. It isn’t even the town itself, a lot of it, but how it’s no longer bigger or more modern than he’s used to, teeming with unknowns; granted, he could probably still consider it an open opportunity for rebellion, just not the sort he looked for at seventeen.
He glances briefly to Richie, chewing on a straw in the passenger seat, and bites softly into his own cheek; okay, a little bit of the same sort.
“You remember that fancy-ass hotel near the wharfs?”
“Maybe,” Eddie says, mentally walking through the wharfs and Old Port, except there’s a pretty glaring issue with it. “There were about ten.”
“The one that used to be an armory, remember?” Richie says, pausing a few beats, then proceeding to gesture with his hands in the shape of a square. “We read the plaque like every time we walked past it.”
“Oh,” Eddie says, as the shape of the building actually does rise at the back of his mind – red brick, like everything else, but with a curling golden sign and a round, valet parked entrance. “Shit. Right.”
“Yeah…” Richie grabs his phone from the center console, thumb sweeping across the screen.
“You think you can afford it now?” Eddie asks, eyes flickering to the parkway, then to mirrors, while he switches lanes back to the outside to get off.
Richie hems and haws, doing a fairly good impression of uncertain. “I don’t know – it was pretty snazzy in 1994.”
Eddie huffs slightly, idly flipping off an irritated driver he can see gesturing at the corner of his eye.
“I’m curious at the most expensive room they have,” Richie says, briefly breaking into British Guy and clicking his tongue while smoothly switching tracks to certainly getting a room.
“Get one with a balcony,” Eddie says, remembering how he’d always look up at people laughing when they walked up and down the cobbled streets.
“Oh, Mister Living Large over here,” Richie says, smoothly switching to a shock jock voice, then immediately dropping it back to normal. “I don’t even know if that’s an option, actually. It was an – Wait, this one has a balcony… And this one – oh, it’s hot shit. You know what? We’re worth it.”
Eddie ignores an urge to yank the phone from Richie’s hand – he wants to see. He hates when he doesn’t get to see.
“How long?” Richie asks, head tipping and there’s plainly another question in his voice.
“I dunno,” Eddie says, feigning indifference while feeling heat flare up his neck and across the curve of his jaw. “A night? I… I need to settle shit in the city. Soon.”
“Gotcha,” Richie says, easy, though there’s some unknown thought betrayed by a noticeable pause and a short clear of his throat. “I can’t wait to sleep in a real bed – the one I had at the Townhouse was like a rock. It made me feel old.”
“You are,” Eddie says, letting a smirk flicker at the edge of his mouth and managing not to look at the reaction on Richie’s face. “And you drink to much. And smoke. It ages you quicker.”
Richie is quiet a few seconds, then exhales a low whine. “Jeez, who said you could dunk on me?”
“Uh, me,” Eddie says, turning the car down toward the Old Port with a quick glance toward the mirror.
“Oh shit, look – !” Richie says, pointing across the windshield in front of Eddie’s face, then abruptly rearing back to poke him in the cheek. “An asshole.”
Eddie shoves him back away again, trying to stay angry and ignore the dumb voice at the back of his head going ‘Richie touched me!’. “Driving!”
Richie makes another show of mocking him, face briefly curling into an over-serious expression before loosening back into a grin. “Anyway, I booked us the last sweet suite – ”
“Jesus Christ,” Eddie mutters, firmly refusing to let that voice get any louder or preoccupied about the combination of us and suite.
And real bed, shit.
“ – That they had, so I hope you love that balcony, because I paid like a lot for it.”
Eddie rolls his eyes with a snort. “It’ll be fucking funny if it’s like facing the back of nowhere.”
“The real fancy hotels let you see,” Richie says, oddly eager while settling back and putting his phone down in the cup holder, then gesturing with a spinning finger between them. “I stayed in this one in Vegas that gave me a 360° view of the place.”
“Of the drunks and the desert?” Eddie asks flatly, thinking about the one, horrifying visit he had to Las Vegas for a conference; he’d sweated through both his suits and some hungover dickhead threw up on his luggage while he was waiting to check-out. He’s never going back to that hell-hole.
“Hell yeah,” Richie says, dismissing the criticism with a pitchy laugh, leaning in the console to poke at Eddie in the shoulder. “Those’re the. Best. Fucking. Parts.”
Eddie shakes his head, pointedly keeping his eyes firmly on the road. He can feel a familiar route lining up in the back of his head, guiding his turns as he takes one, then another; the red brick of the old port rising in front of the car. He takes the last turn into the valet parking at a crawl, and hopes Richie actually managed to book a room, or he’s going to kicked in the shins for embarrassing Eddie, like they’re really re-living their teenage years.
“Shit, it’s still cool,” Richie says, peering out the windshield with a crooked grin. His eyes flick over to Eddie, “Right?”
Eddie nods slow, then glances toward the sidewalk, as someone in a dorky uniform approaches the Mustang. He gets out, pulling the keys, and rolls his eyes a little when the valet’s eyes immediately go to Richie.
“Mr Tozier?”
“Hey,” Richie says, his smile shrinking and immediately going awkward, though at least he’s not yelling at this kid like he did the one the restaurant. “You here for our shi - stuff?”
Eddie rolls his eyes, popping the trunk with a short shake of his head and watching the valet rush to take the bags. He leans over, as the valet proceeds them through the sliding door. “I thought someone was used to fancy?”
Richie exhales a put-upon sigh, lowering his voice into something wistful while he leans against the reception counter. “I’m just not built for fame.”
Eddie snorts loudly, settling next to him against the front counter and opening his mouth, only for the receptionist to cheerily greet them before he can get a word out. He loses what he was about to say by the time Richie’s gone through mockingly confirming that the room’s been steam cleaned and disinfected in the last twenty minutes, per his request, and Eddie starts fantasizing throwing him off into the bay until the receptionist’s polite laugh gives away that it’s just a joke.
“It is clean, though, right?” He says in the elevator, glancing over to Richie with a deepening frown. “You haven’t stayed here and had it be dirty – you didn’t see any reviews saying it was dirty? Did you read reviews?”
“Yes, no, no, and… no,” Richie says, wagging his finger a bit in front of him and holding a tilted gaze upward, obviously just pretending to think about what might amount to fucking bed bugs. “But if it isn’t, you can come down here and complain, and I’ll even back you up, Mr Clean. I’ll get that guy you hate to tweet something.”
Eddie opens his mouth, then closes it, furrowing his brow with an irked jerk of his head.
“My manager,” Richie says, waving both his phone and the embossed door keys he has held to the back with a pair of fingers. “Steve, remember? He could create an incident.”
Eddie continues to eye Richie for a few seconds, until the elevator dings, then shakes his head while he steps out. “I can create my own damned incident, Trashmouth.”
Richie barks out a laugh and the noise echoes down the narrow hall between the rooms. He playfully elbows Eddie away from the door, humming brightly when he gets the key to go green in one go, and throws open the door with an exaggerated swing that fortunately only amounts to a dull thwack of a stopper on the wall.
The room is huge, bigger than half of the apartments Eddie’s been in; he peels off his jacket and drops it to the couch, then drifts to the balcony that turns out facing the harbor and the city. He scrubs his face a bit, laughing under his breath, and feels like he’s stepped into some old dream when he looks down to see people milling below him on a familiar street.
Richie appears next to Eddie, a beat or two later, hands shoved into his pockets and waving them as he steps up beside Eddie with a low whistle. “Dang.”
Eddie shakes his head once, huffing through his nose. He almost asks how much this was – but feels, too, like that would break a bit of the glamour. He knows Richie sells out tours, which seems insane now that he thinks about it, so he knows he has the money; it’s just hitting how silly it is that Richie dropped hundreds of dollars on a whim, and, in particular and most importantly, agreed to drive down here only because Eddie asked him to do it. He thinks about the rubbing in his planner and the nervous way Richie had stared at the road, admitting what made him do that never went away, and belatedly realizes with an ache that he’s been holding something powerful all this time; that Richie’s probably got that in the reverse, too. He knows Richie does, actually, because he hates Nevada, but if Richie had asked him to go, he’d already be halfway through a booking before the question was finished.
“What do you want to do?” Richie asks, quietly, shifting just a bit closer, until the soft sleeve of his hoodie is warm along Eddie’s bare arm.
Eddie feels his face heat, taking a breath and turning to lean against the balcony rail. “What do you want to do?”
Richie hums a lengthy pitch, then offers a sarcastic tip of his head. “Well. My sleep’s fucked up by going to bed at like 5AM and waking up at like noon, so what if we party until the sun comes up?”
“Fuck no,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes while a setting a flat frown to his mouth.
“Okay, jeez…” Richie briefly affecting a sullen Voice, then taking a deep breath and gesturing with his chin down at the city. “Just do what we normally do? Did.”
Eddie carefully doesn’t let his eyes drift to the huge, soft-looking bed in the room behind Richie’s back, instead turning and dropping his head to look at the street again, too. “Maybe we can go to an actual bar instead of a gross ass dive.”
Richie barks out a laugh. “Oh, man, I bet there’s some bougie places. Probably just opening up, too.”
Eddie hums and looks up, glancing across Richie’s face from his mussed hair to his squared jaw, and feels an impulse to shift up on his feet to take Richie into another kiss – one that they should’ve had on the bridge. He hesitates a few seconds though, taking a bracing breath, which becomes enough time for Richie to glance back with a flick of dark lashes, brows going up and then down, plainly peeking to Eddie’s mouth.
He moves before Richie can beat him to it, gripping at his zipper while lifting his mouth to capture Richie’s lips.
Richie startles a bit, then grins with a sharp breath, pressing against Eddie while reaching down to wrap hands at his waist. His mouth opens a beat or so later, deepening the kiss, and sometime over the last few decades he’s figured out how to do more than talk trash with it; it’s kind of infuriating, really, how Eddie hasn’t been there for any of it.
Eddie pulls away seconds, or maybe minutes, later with a heavy breath and looks up into Richie’s face, seeing him equally flushed, and it’s all it takes not to demand everything from him. He thinks about the bed, visible at the corner of his eye, hands clutching in twitches at Richie’s hem.
“That good?” Richie asks, after a few more hesitating seconds, as his face pinches like he’s really worried that was anything bad.
“I wanted to go out,” Eddie says evenly, taking a deep breath through his nose and looking away from the edge of stubble on Richie’s neck, then quirk of his swollen lips, the flush high in his neck, all which has suddenly become very distracting. “Not make out.”
Richie blinks a few times then laughs, swooping down for a shorter, chaste kiss. “Gotcha. You’re trying not to be horny.”
Eddie scowls hard, letting go of Richie’s jacket to slip his fingers inside the zipper and twist scoldingly at Richie’s nipple through his shirt. “Shut up.”
“Ow!” Richie says, darting away and covering his chest, leaning against the rail near the roof with an overly aghast expression. “How dare?!”
Eddie rolls his eyes, biting at the inside of his cheek – he’s not going to laugh. He’s not giving Richie what he wants for that lazy attempt. He does crack a smile when he turns toward the room, back to Richie and shoving a hand through his hair, still trying to cool himself off. He picks his jacket up and digs his phone out of the pocket, wincing and sliding a few notifications from work off the screen, then shoves it into his back pocket. He inhales deeply, then looks over his shoulder to see Richie just watching him from the balcony. “Coming?”
“You’re going to go out looking like that?” Richie asks, trotting up behind Eddie when he turns and walks out into the sitting room. “Arms all out, wrists akimbo? So scandalous.”
“Just admit you think 75° is cold,” Eddie counters flatly, glancing over his shoulder and sweeping his eyes over to the ever-present jacket, though thank fuck it’s not the same one Richie had in the sewer. He doesn’t know what happened to that one, but he hopes it’s in a dumpster. “Pussy.”
Richie opens his mouth, then closes it with a pout, demonstratively sinking into the hoodie with a glance toward a cracked window at the corner of the room. “That hurt almost as much as the nurple.”
Eddie snorts and moves over to the little table that Richie had thrown the keycards to, taking them both and shoving them into his wallet. “You ever been back here?”
“Uh,” Richie intones, drawing out the tonal noise until they’re standing back out in the hall. “Nope. Maybe Ben has. For a barometer.”
Eddie rolls his eyes hard. He is sort of looking forward to that pleasantly confused smile from Ben when Richie inevitably makes a joke about it in front of him. Hell, he might even actually be interested in them.
The sidewalks are full, but not quite teeming, with late summer foot traffic; cars line the narrow streets and crowd ever further between buildings. Eddie’s past few days have all muddled together in the mess of run-through nights and monsters in dark caves, leading him to check his phone and confirm that it is, in fact, a weekend.
It’s surprisingly easy to fall into a peering sort of walk, looking back and forth at the stores and restaurants, recovering flashes of what he remembers from twenty years ago. He pauses in front of what he recalls being one of the bars who didn’t care about their age, only the cash, and frowns up at the sign for a credit union.
“All the buildings are the same, but the stuff in them really isn’t,” Richie says, rocking forward on his toes and dipping his head, catching Eddie’s eye with a quirk of his brows, “What kind of drinkies you want, Spaghetti?”
“Any sort that’ll make you never say that again,” Eddie says cuttingly, looking back with a put-upon glower that he softens with a smirk.
Richie makes a pitchy hum, nudging hard into Eddie’s shoulder. “Oh, dangerous kind.”
“I don’t know,” Eddie says, shifting on his feet and stepping sideways, forcing them to continue down the street, rather than loiter in front of a closed bank. “I’m not looking to get fucking wasted, if that’s what you mean.”
“Well. I want a Kentucky mule, and I want oysters, and – ” Richie leans sideways, a stern, serious press to his mouth. “I want to see a seal.”
Eddie blinks in bemusement, then he remembers – Richie’s goal for every coastal visit since he was like seven – and sputters into a laugh. “How the fuck did I forget about that?”
“Oh, that dastardly monster clown,” Richie says with a grin, shifting away with a scuff of his shoes on the uneven cobblestone, as they cross a street. “You’re really going to let the oysters go?”
“I’m not acknowledging it,” Eddie says, glancing at signs for something that looks like it might sell oysters, though from what he remembers that is pretty much everywhere – he kind of wants to go sit on a wharf though, and that’d… stupidly achieve all three of Richie’s set out goals. Probably. “The fuck is a Kentucky mule?”
“A Moscow mule with bourbon,” Richie says, bizarrely eager, swiping out in front of himself. “It’s way better.”
“Gag,” Eddie says, flatly, though he’s never had a mule of any kind, has no clue what’s in it, and can’t really see himself about to order one.
Damn it. He probably just ordered himself one.
“So,” Richie says, throwing an arm around Eddie’s shoulder in a fairly familiar gesture, pretending to stumble and reaching out as if he’s trying to lean on him for balance, which is suddenly a super obvious move. “You ready to rage?”
“It’s not even six,” Eddie says, shifting and easily fitting under Richie’s arm with a flash of heat across the back of his neck.
Richie takes a deep, humming breath, then leans sideways and uses his other hand to pull out his phone. “How fancy, you think?”
“I don’t know,” Eddie says, realizing this might be a real date and swallowing hard at an abrupt surge of anxiety; it shouldn’t be weird, right? All the trips were sort of dates? “Not one with low lit rooms. Those places stress me out.”
“You got it,” Richie says, thumb swiping, then he looks up with a startled grunt. “You think that’s because of It – like the clattering noises and the dark?”
“Shit, maybe,” Eddie says, grimacing and dropping his head to look down at the sidewalk, promptly stepping around a suspicious, still-wet stain. “On the wharf.”
“Narrowing down the options,” Richie says, clicking his tongue, then he glances shoves his phone in Eddie’s face. “This place okay? I can set a reservation for an hour or so?”
“Sure,” Eddie says, not really looking, a little overwhelmed by how Richie was briefly, practically wrapped around him. In public. He drags his teeth across his lower lip, as the phone is tugged back, and peeks sideways to watch Richie furrow his brow, oddly serious, at the phone.
The sun begins to drop slowly, casting shadows in the narrow streets, and Eddie remembers suddenly that he called Myra only hours ago. It feels like it’s been days – it feels like it’s been days, even, since he saw the other Losers, and he gets briefly, overwhelmingly worried, until he realizes he probably wouldn’t remember them at all if Derry was yet again fucking him – them over. He’s thinks it might be because he’s recalling more, actually, making it feel further away because he’s got so many things now to think about that were decades ago.
He lets Richie pull him into a bakery, forcing himself to try something with pecan; he then drags Richie into a pottery specialty store, full shit he doesn’t so much want, as want to see Richie make bored faces into the corners.
It feels a bit nostalgic in all the ways that Derry can’t be for them. Portland lacks that low, enduring dread, instead about feeling briefly free, sea-salt air and idling tourists, walking along the water, and no one knowing who they are or giving a shit about it. The difference is, this time, he knows he doesn’t have to go back.
The wharfs are different as everything else, full of unfamiliar signs, not to mention the selfie spots and a new, tiny park with a huge-ass buoy. He looks over to Richie, whose peering at an informational sign, and snorts through his nose. “You’re such a nerd.”
Richie looks up over his frames with a blink, then slowly his expression sharpens into a smirk. “Did you know that the sewage used to go in the Casco right here?”
Eddie stares back a beat, then looks away with a sharp inhale and swallowing a gag that threatens to burst from his throat. “Why the fuck would you tell me that?”
“The more you know,” Richie croons, breaking into a laugh, as he stands back up straight and leans in close to nudge Eddie. He lifts a hand, gesturing out toward the water in a smooth motion, as if he’s also sweeping something out into the bay. “Too bad It wasn’t here – could’ve just dumped It out in sea in the 1800s.”
“Would that’d be like an apocalypse?” Eddie asks, mostly sarcastic, but also weirdly, grudgingly curious. It had seemed to be somehow stuck in Derry, though who fucking knows why. “Like, would that’ve been freeing It?”
“Eh,” Richie says, scratching a hand through his hair while tilting his head back and forth, then gesturing outward with the same hand. “Not our problem? You could ask Mike.”
Eddie scoffs under his breath, rolling his eyes and incidentally landing on the giant red buoy. He finds himself caught on it a few beats, feeling his expression pinch, and forces himself to look away.
No.
“Hey,” Richie says, voice lowering, shifting closer with a tap of his foot against Eddie’s on the concrete path. “Alright?”
Eddie looks up as Richie leans into him, catching his eyes and seeing warmth there that startles him into a flush. “Yeah.”
Richie hums pitchy, staring back for a few beats longer, a soft smile joining that look that makes Eddie want to spontaneously burst. A jarring beep interrupts before Eddie can do anything like kiss him in front of all the tipsy patrons of the bar next to the park.
“Huh,” Richie says, tugging out his phone with a visible bewilderment, then raising his brows and exhaling an abrupt, pitchy laugh. “I totally forgot I did this.”
“You didn’t name drop, did you?” Eddie asks, mostly sarcastic, since he can’t imagine management in any place in the state giving much of a shit about Richie, no matter how famous he is these days.
“What do you think?” Richie says, brows wagging, then exhaling a snort and shaking his head. “Nah. I just put it under Rich.”
Eddie feels his nose curl, lips twisting with distaste. “You calling yourself that is fucking weird.”
Richie blinks then laughs loud, shaking his head and tapping Eddie annoyingly at the edge of the shoulder to make him turn down the street. “It kind of is, yeah.”
The place that Richie booked seems firmly stuck between oyster bar and upmarket restaurant, right on the wharf with the ocean softly whispering below the deck. It’s definitely a step up from the sort of places Richie used to drag him to, barely two steps off a boat and unshucked oysters passed to them in bags, muttering all around them like they were drugs, instead of slimy, unwashed ocean filters.
“Want one?” Richie asks, nudging the plate with a bob of his brows and a disgusting wag of his tongue. “Enjoying one is all in the technique.”
Eddie exhales a snort, rolling his eyes; he still doesn’t know if Richie actually likes oysters all that much or just likes making stupid jokes while eating them. “Still no. No for-fucking-ever.”
Richie grins and dumps like a gallon of hot sauce on his next oyster, then loudly slurps it out of the shell.
“You’re so gross,” Eddie mutters, ripping off a piece of bread from the flat loaf in the middle of the table. He glances to the water next to them, shoving it in his mouth. “I can’t believe I – seal!”
Richie almost chokes, ridiculously eager while turning to peer down at the water; he hums a pitchy excitement, as they watch the animal drop and dive back into the depths. He points down, after a beat, as if Eddie hadn’t been the one to tell him about. “You see that? What a cute little asshole.”
Eddie hums and squints, trying to see the shape swimming in fading sunlight. He glances back up, catching the server coming, and moves his plate to make room for his own cooked dinner. “It’s probably going to go steal someone’s fish.”
“Probably,” Richie says, still focused on the water, a grin at the corner of is mouth while he blindly reaches for another oyster. He drops into an aged sailor Voice, “Nasty ol’ sea dog.”
Eddie smiles back with a shake of his head, picking up his gin fizz for a sip.
The seal, or any other, doesn’t reappear, despite Richie’s threats to throw his oysters in for a treat. He turns his own big sad eyes on Eddie, once the sun has dipped along the horizon, and finishes off his oysters and a drink that turns out to be mostly ginger beer and bourbon.
The trip is turning out not be reliving, so much as something altogether entirely new, but Eddie can’t really say he’s disappointed. It’s nicer, anyway, eating somewhere that isn’t a bench or a dark, dirty bar with sticky floors. Richie still calls him dumb for leaving his jacket once they leave the restaurant, still offers his own with a put upon sigh, then makes a slighted face when he realizes twenty years late this may have been some kind of strategy; it definitely had been, now and back then, except Eddie probably won’t keep this one until Richie sneaks in his window.
The marina is lit up bright against the dusky night sky; yachters and fisherman alike drifting in to settle for the night under cameras and tall lights. The walkways, though, somehow seem to creak the same as ever under their feet while they slowly trek up and down to gawk. It used to be his favorite part, looking at all the boats, and it was down here he noticed first how Richie looked at him, what it meant, and he’s so glad that Richie didn’t have to be convinced to come down here with him.
He looks out across the harbor when they reach the edge, idly studying the pattern of lights on the other side of the city and the bright, sparkling tank farm; the far-off blip of the old light house. He shudders some as cool air cuts across his ears, not unpleasantly, and glances sideways at an abrupt shuffle, almost awkward, from Richie next to him on the boards; he’s giving Eddie that look again, so Eddie responds openly with a smile, feeling suddenly just happy that he’s out here. He thought he was going to die this morning, and now he’s here, on this pier, with Richie next to him looking at him like he’s really someone special.
“Eds,” Richie says, voice near cracking, then he suddenly drops his head, lips pressing soft against Eddie’s mouth.
Eddie closes his eyes with a gasp and reaches up, pressing his fingers lightly to the side of Richie’s jaw. He tilts his head with a hum when Richie grabs the hand, tightening their fingers together against his own cheek, and finds himself grinning somewhat helplessly upward when they separate only seconds later.
He tightens his fingers, drawing his thumb slowly down across the arch of a flushed cheek. He offers a weak, if heartfelt smirk, turning Richie’s hand so he can better kiss the back of it. “Is that going to be in TMZ?”
Richie just stares hazily back a few seconds, then weakly shakes his head with a chuckle. “Between the gay thing and the Portland thing, the most it could get is a Reddit thread about like…” He brushes his nose across Eddie’s, a breathless quality to his voice. “Lookalikes, or something.”
Eddie hums lowly, squeezing Richie’s hand again, and aches with the need to be in the hotel room. He leans in and presses another kiss to Richie’s lips, then turns with a significant tug on their linked hands. “Fuck, come on.”
Richie laughs and just as earnestly follows, pressing up against Eddie’s back nearly the whole walk back to the hotel room. It’s only a few minutes, thank fuck, and it almost feels longer in the elevator up from the lobby to their room than the actual winding march up the streets.
“I love how hot you get at kissing,” Richie says, after Eddie shoves him into the door once they’re back into the suite. He hums brightly when Eddie kisses him again, the laughs against his mouth, eyes curling up at the edges. “I love low effort.”
“Fuck off, low effort,” Eddie snarls, drawing them further into the room despite how his hindbrain insists he’d be just as happy if they fell to the floor and rutted like animals. He’s going to use this bed that’s been taunting him at the back of his mind since he kissed Richie on the balcony.
Eddie hastily shakes his borrowed hoodie off while making a go at biting Richie’s lower lip, listening to the gasp and groaning as his mouth opening slightly, which which he takes as invitation to push back. He follows eagerly when Richie backs up and drops down onto the bed, fingers scrambling across his hips and up his wide, heaving shoulders. The duvet crumples softly underneath them as they curve against each other, and Eddie hears a needy whimper emerge at the back of his throat, echoed hoarsely underneath him, and ruts down with another, louder, dropping to his elbows in a desperate attempt to get closer.
So he can’t help it that he yelps a little when he’s abruptly shoved in the opposite direction.
“Are – are you really sure about this?” Richie pants, staring up at Eddie, hand splayed wide across his chest to hold him up and unpleasantly away. “You – you’re married, man, and your wife… You sure you’re really this over her? I know there’s the whole… us and fucking Derry thing, but – she might try to get you back and – ”
“What? No,” Eddie interrupts, alarmed and a bit thrown, though… Richie just knows he’s married, doesn’t he? He doesn’t fucking know the whole cruddy, bullshit story. “Fuck. She’s actually with someone else, okay? She’s been having an affair for years.”
Richie exhales a bewildered croak of a laugh, blinking rapidly, “Wha – huh?”
“And me and her have never actually been together, even,” Eddie continues, feeling every muscle tighten with anxiety and consequently, devastatingly losing Richie’s hand across his hip when he tries to stretch out what suddenly seems like a whole body cramp. “Almost, once, I tried. It was awful.”
Richie stares wide and silent for a few seconds, then his brow tightens with visible dismay. “Eddie.”
“So we can do anything we want,” Eddie says, in a rush, hating that tone coming out of Richie’s mouth; the last time he heard it they both thought they were going to legitimately fucking die. “The marriage, it’s just a – an arrangement, you know? It’s only on paper. Because I – I… I guess I’m that gay?”
Richie takes an unsteady breath and shakes his head, eyes darting away from Eddie and over his shoulder.
“Is that not okay?” Eddie asks, swallowing tightly, suddenly feeling humiliated in a way he didn’t expect.
“I mean, in terms of – ” Richie hastily looks back while sweeping a hand between both of them, as his other rises back across Eddie’s hip to his waist. “Yeah. Yes. Of fucking course, it’s okay. Shit, you know, I’m like – uh, you know, like same. But in terms of like how awful that is? That you married someone you didn’t want to? Uh, no, Eds. It’s really… really not.”
Eddie rolls his eyes, shame fading some with a hard bite at his lower lip.
“Seriously,” Richie says, expression twisting into shapes, altogether more pained than pitying, and his grip splays firm across Eddie’s ribs – not pushing or pulling, just present. “You haven’t been… with her like this whole – ”
“No,” Eddie interrupts, maybe a little harsh, then briefly biting at his cheek and softening his voice. “Five years. And seven months.”
Richie grimaces hard and slams his head back into the pillow with a hard shake. “That’s still a long fucking time to – to feel you had to…” He closes his eyes against the ceiling, jaw visibly clenching, “I thought… I don’t know – not that unhappy.”
“You see why I need to get out of it,” Eddie says, tilting his head and using a pair of fingers to force Richie to look him straight in the face, black frames pressed awkwardly up against his brows. “Okay? Because I do want a real relationship, you know? With… you.”
“Ugh,” Richie groans, dramatically throwing an arm over his face, as if swooning, while the other curls tighter around Eddie’s back. He’s quiet a few seconds longer, just breathing, then suddenly: “Good sir, are you trying to seduce me?”
Eddie huffs quietly, sliding his knuckles up Richie’s neck and behind his ear, just to test, and smirking in relief when it ends with a shudder. “Is it working?”
“No,” Richie says, dropping both British Guy and his arm to peek up at Eddie over now even more skewed frames.
Eddie raises his own brows, repeating the motion and getting a little whimper. “You sure?”
“Maybe if you stop telling the super sad story that is your literal life,” Richie grumbles, exaggeratedly exhaling hard, face flushing, yet still cracking a weak laugh to ready another shitty joke. “So the clown was a highlight?”
Eddie rolls his eyes, but there’s too much affection and anticipation running through him to get even a little pissed. “Says the guy running from sold out shows in Nevada.”
“It’s not my material,” Richie says, briefly defensive, then gasping dramatically and clutching Eddie abruptly by the shoulders while staring up with wide eyes. “Oh my god, my career is as fake as your marriage.”
Eddie turns his hand across Richie’s nape, eyes dropping to watch his throat bob with a tight swallow. “Shut the fuck up. You’re not that bad.”
Richie sputters out a plainly disbelieving laugh and Eddie slumps down to silence it, pressing his mouth to Richie’s in what is becoming the most effective way he’s found to shut him up. He moans when Richie slides his hands up his back, drawing teasing fingers up under his shirt, and reluctantly leans up to let him pull it off over his head.
“Shit, Eds,” Richie says, dragging a flat hand up Eddie’s stomach with a wide-eyed draw of his eyes across the same path. “You took Work Bitch seriously, huh?”
“I have no clue what that means,” Eddie mutters, annoyed that Richie is busy groping him rather than helping take off his stupid shirt and button-fly jeans; fuck, it’s like he wanted to be more difficult.
“Like – ” Richie hums a few bars of something vaguely familiar, but not exactly identifiable. “Britney Spears? You know?”
“No,” Eddie breathes, surging forward and taking another kiss, sliding a hand up into Richie’s hair, then tugging him over on top so it’s easier to get him to kick his stupid jeans off. He crooks a leg over the back of Richie’s bare knee, grinding upward and groaning at the hot, hard sensation of Richie’s bare dick, and finally – fucking finally – the Trashmouth gets with the damned program and stops talking about pops stars and their own shitty lives, flattening Eddie into the mattress with both arms across his arms and a sucking kiss under his jaw.
“Fuck, Rich,” Eddie says, eyes closing while Richie plots kisses down his collarbone.
“You’re so hot,” Richie says, pausing to work at the base of Eddie’s throat, wet and hot and definitely leaving a mark. “It’s… so fucking nuts you look this good at forty.”
“Me?” Eddie gasps, peering through his lashes when Richie starts groping further down his body, watching that big hand close around his waist and eagerly lifting his hips. He probably seems desperate, but shit, he’s wanted this for actual decades, even if he didn’t fully know why for most of them. “Fuck, when you walked in the Jade? I couldn’t stop staring. The arm wrestling was just to feel you up, man, wanted to touch you so bad.”
“Really?” Richie says, chuckling, looking up with bright eyes carrying a bizarre amount of surprise. “I thought I looked like shit next to Handsome and Sexy Librarian.”
“Glad to hear you’re not into yourself,” Eddie says, feeling a whine building at the base of his throat when Richie grabs his hips and pulls him like he weighs nothing at all. “Be fucking… so insufferable.”
“You’re funny,” Richie says, between hard kisses across Eddie’s hips and thighs and going all in on foreplay. It’s teasing, and amazing, and frankly just like goddamn Richie to taunt a literal goddamn dick in his face.
It works, though; shit, it really fucking works. It may even be some kind of technique, considering how incredible it feels when Richie finally takes him in his mouth after so much playing coy.
“Shit,” Eddie moans, gripping the sheets and trying not to thrust too hard up into Richie’s mouth. “Shit.”
It’s fucked up how good Richie is at sucking him off – he’s not even sure Richie is good good, though, or if it’s just that it’s him, only that either way it’s fucking him up. He’s felt like he was on the edge since Richie kissed him at the marina and he knows he’s going to come embarrassingly soon in Richie’s awful, amazing mouth.
The peek down is what really does it – more than the heat or the pressure, or the tongue rolling against his cockhead – it’s all in that he opens his eyes to see Richie looking back, pupils blown and mouth swollen, and he’s just done. He barely gives any warning, though Richie doesn’t seem to mind all that much, absorbing the jerks of Eddie’s hips and swallowing with little difficulty, one hand notably at the base of Eddie’s cock while the other squeezes at the inside of his thigh, massaging at the clenching muscle next to his own ear.
He tugs at Richie’s hair, after, urging him up so he can take another kiss; taste himself on Richie’s tongue, another sensory proof that he’s got Richie Tozier in his bed. He bites down lightly at Richie’s lip and reaches down between them, a little clumsy, and is surprised a bit at what he finds hot and heavy in his palm.
Eddie pulls back and swallows thickly at the sight of Richie’s actual dick jerking in his hand, but it’s really more how he’s so flushed and swollen, leaking steady, and hasn’t even been touched. “You get this hard sucking cock?”
“Yeah, fuck, I – I just like doing it,” Richie says, panting, his voice low and gut-punchingly hoarse, then laughing breathless into Eddie’s shoulder. “Also you’re like, you know. Eddie Kaspbrak.”
“Shit, next time, I’ll fuck your mouth,” Eddie says, feeling heat sear across his own neck anew while lowering his voice and directing it into Richie’s ear, tugging him in slow, even strokes, grinning at the tangible jerk into his palm. He’s never really tried dirty talk, just imagined it, and he feels lit up with nerves while he looses his tongue to whatever comes to mind, “Would you like that? My cock so deep in your throat it’s all you can think about, huh?”
Richie’s gasps are quiet, a wheezing edge to them that sounds desperately restrained. The sounds echo between the walls and back into Eddie, urging him to give as much as he can to Richie, to hear what other noises he might give up.
“Slow, so fucking slow – I’d even make you come first,” Eddie continues, squeezing lightly at the base of Richie’s cock before continuing to get him off, trying to savor the weight in his hand because he knows Richie’s been close; he was probably grinding into the mattress while Eddie was too distracted to notice it. “Wouldn’t have to touch you, would I, Rich? Just hold you down.”
Richie lurches against Eddie with a needy noise low in his throat, thighs tightening between and around Eddie’s as he starts to come with harsher jerks of his hips. He half-collapses, a few seconds later, still moving a bit, breaths coming tight, but Eddie lets him go and takes the opportunity to wipe his hand across a pillow, then throw it to the ground.
He’ll feel guilty tomorrow.
Or he won’t.
“Holy shit,” Richie mumbles, covering his face like it might hide how he’s still shaking, or the flush lingering across the rest of his body. “You’re going to kill me.”
“You’re so easy,” Eddie says, rubbing a hand through Richie’s hair, carefully untangling a knot in his curls.
“Do you have some crazy 90210 office?” Richie says, turning his head into the attention. “You said you don’t fuck your wife, but shit.”
“I read a lot,” Eddie admits, pressing closer to Richie, wishing he could some fuse them together like this just for a few minutes. “Watch a lot.”
Richie exhales a breathless laugh. “And talk a lot.”
Eddie pinches softly at the flesh under his hand. “Glass house, asshole.”
“Maybe later,” Richie says, now breathy on purpose, then predictably starts laughing like a donkey.
“Shh,” Eddie says, wrapping his arms around Richie’s neck and shoulders, pulling him closer while making a point to squeeze. “I’m just going to fucking strangle you.”
Richie keeps laughing, turning his head into Eddie’s collarbone with deeper breaths.
Eddie wakes the next morning to a chilling waft of cool air from the open window over his hair, not unpleasant, though not particularly welcome. He squints out at the balcony for a few seconds, rising sun cutting across the rail and over the cushioned chairs, and closes his eyes again, trying to instead concentrate on the warmth of the body against his side; the arm over his back. A seagull squawks loud a few seconds later, and Eddie growls low in his throat, realigning priorities as the worst of them start buzzing at the back of his head. He pulls himself grudgingly out of the bed, shuddering at the cool air against his bare body, and walks over to slam the window shut, then snags his toiletry bag with only a pause to glance backward at Richie, who gradually seems to be following into wakefulness, if the low, extended groan is anything to go by.
He locks himself in the bathroom and busies himself by quietly, tensely talking himself out of a panic attack about what he has to do today. It’s easier than it should be, without the inhaler – without the fucking crutch he’s been on for decades – but he gets through it instead arguing with himself under the spray of multiple showerheads. He knows a few things, already: he has the upper hand, technically, with her infidelity and the prenup; he has his car; he has his job; he has Richie. It’ll be… well, probably not fucking fine, but it’ll be better. He already laid out what he wanted, and now he… He just needs to get his stuff. He needs to call a lawyer, too – a new one, since the one who already knows Myra is the last one he wants to see; is probably already on her side, talking her through next steps, so he… Fuck.
But he can think about that later. After. He has to get out of that place before he can really do anything is the thing.
He’s just not sure he wants do it alone. He should, he knows, because it’s not like Richie asked to be dragged into this all, but he’s still out there – he still looks at Eddie like he’s something awesome, like he’s precious. He also said his shows weren’t for another week, and it’s not like today isn’t already here and New York isn’t easier to fly out of than Portland. It kind of, in a way, makes more sense for them to drive down there today, for him to help Eddie to get this done.
Eddie drops his chin and shuts off the water, exhaling a decisive breath that’s maybe a little tight, but he’s fine.
He’s not freaking out, anymore – he screams a bit into the towel, as he grabs it, but he’s not freaking out. He knows exactly what he needs to do now, and sets it off by grabbing his toothbrush with one hand and taking up his phone with the other, because he really needs to figure out where to return Richie’s ego-inflating rental in the city and knows he can do it easily during the three-minute timer.
The plan falls apart when Eddie actually opens the door of the bathroom. He’s pissed at himself, multiple times over, because he didn’t predict himself stopping short at the sight of Richie’s unfocused, peeked-open eyes, his hair mussed with sleep, and wanting to just stay, nor the upsetting realization that he doesn’t want to find out if there’s some limit to what he can ask.
Richie stretches against the sheets, as Eddie approaches, though he doesn’t seem to be trying to be tempting, so much as that he just is and doesn’t know it. He lifts a palm up, fingers waving, “Eds?”
“I don’t want to go back to the city,” Eddie mutters, slumping on the bed and drooping his towel over his head with the notion to dry his hair, but mostly to just sit in the dark.
“Do you have to?” Richie asks, shifting on the mattress with a shuffle of the duvet; a palm curves at Eddie’s ribs, a moment later, warm and solid. “Didn’t you say you had all your sad old man clothes?”
“Hah,” Eddie says, exhaling a harsh, unamused breath, then tugging the towel from his head to look at Richie behind him, now fully spread out like some heathen on the white sheets. “Maybe, asshole, but there’s other stuff – an iPad, my old laptop, pictures, my fucking birth certificate.”
“Right,” Richie says, hand drifting down his back, not doing much more than touching for the sake of it. “Yeah. So more old man stuff.”
Eddie rolls his eyes, thinking for a brief moment that he hopes Richie pays that manager to, in fact, manage him.
“You sure you want to do it now?” Richie asks, quieter, voice losing that taunting edge to embrace a more attentive tone. “Today? You don’t have to.”
“I told you – ” Eddie briefly bites across his lower lip, dropping his head to stare at the folds in the duvet under his own tightening fist. “Yeah, Rich. I want to do it as soon as possible.”
“Then do it, man! You want me to come?” Richie says, his fingers slipping sideways to grasp and tug like a kid at Eddie’s elbow, as if he can get more attention. “I can bring pom poms or tell her to fuck off for you, whatever – despite all we’ve ever had, I love doing that to a Missus Kasbrak.”
Eddie stares for a few beats longer at the bedclothes, then lifts his eyes and focuses hard on Richie, slowly feeling a smile break across his face that leads into a quiet laugh. Okay, so Richie’s asking to come and – and that’s just like him, isn’t it? He doesn’t even know why he was so anxious, now, aside for… how he always is working shit up in his head about how one thing or another is going to hurt.
But it’s fucking Richie.
“That sound good?” Richie asks, still careful while pressing his palm soothing up the hollow of Eddie’s spine. It takes a beat to grasp that it must be because Eddie hasn’t agreed, yet, and Richie’s not actually in his head, despite various occasions it felt like they could almost speak that way. “We can do whatever. You want to drive, fly – train? I think there’s an Amtrak.”
“Drive,” Eddie says, smirking while reaching out and brushing Richie’s messy hair from his face, feeling an indulgent bubble of affection growing at the center of his chest. “Mostly freeway. I found a place we can return the car pretty close, then take the train the rest of the way.”
Richie’s expression drops into a lazy glare, focused upward, but Eddie knows it’s mostly for show; he can’t see for shit. “You knew I was going to want to come – you just like seeing me beg?”
“What do you think?” Eddie says, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to Richie’s mouth, going so far as to let Richie try and fail to pull him back in bed, then stands back up with a light smack at his bare hip. “If we leave now we can be there by two or three. It’s like six hours, but I think I can get there in a little over five.”
“Ugh,” Richie groans, rolling over to shove his face in a pillow. “You’re so Type A.”
“One of us has to be,” Eddie says, wandering over to his bag and pulling a polo over his head, then looking back to see Richie predictably in the same position. He rolls his eyes, reaching out to grab the edge of the duvet, then tugs it off in one swift motion. “Come on, asshole! I bet you only stay in bed past 8 on your phone – you can do that in the car.”
Richie groans into the pillow.
Later, out in the cool, misty morning, Eddie makes a point to inspect the car in front of the hotel, a bit to listen to Richie grumble tired little jokes about it, but mostly because he just can’t trust a valet. He was one, for a few months, and no one he worked with could drive. He slips into the driver seat, after he’s found no damage, and quietly smirks at the convincingly hungover look that Richie gives him through the windshield.
“It’s early enough for actual breakfast,” Richie grumbles, like this is some great affront, dropping his shoulders and pulling at the passenger door. “Which you're getting, by the way.”
“Your account dry up?” Eddie asks, glancing over while starting the car, then feeling his smirk fall when a damned Lincoln pulls in front of him and just stops; what the shit, they literally just saw him get in. How’s he not even on the damned road and already in traffic?
“My wallet doesn’t open until noon,” Richie says, reaching out and blocking Eddie’s hand before it can make contact with the horn.
Eddie shoves him away with a swipe, glaring hard from the corner of his eye, but grudgingly backs out without breaking the quiet of the morning. He still flips the driver off through the window, for all they probably see, but it makes him feel better and Richie drop his act to break into a laugh.
The drive down to New York is predictably more boring than the one from Bangor to Portland, with the parkway largely paralleled by trees and fences to hide it from the towns it travels through down the coast. He does suffer through a bizarre demand from Richie that they pause at a Dunkin specifically in Connecticut; he’s thankful for the break to stretch his legs, less so for the powder from the munchkins that Richie wipes on his shirt at odd intervals for the next two hours and the predictable rise in Voice usage for nearly every branded truck on the road, like the Mustang is the stage for a one-man show.
Eddie should’ve known the city would be a different story.
“Oh my god, Eds,” Richie says, his forehead pressed to the window, sounding exasperated, but there’s an annoying little smirk across his face when Eddie turns to scowl at him. “Just let him in.”
“Fuck him!” Eddie disagrees, gesturing with a swing across the car to the idiot in the van that’s been trying to nudge into the mirror for the last six blocks. “He can get fucking behind me!”
Richie breaks into a weak laugh, hunching a bit in the seat, then the laugh gets louder when the idiot tries again to barrel ahead in front of Eddie with a weak little jerk of the nose.
“Seriously!?” Eddie snarls, popping it into neutral and revving the engine underneath him at the next light, just to catch the other driver looking over in little-dicked fury. “I’m driving a muscle car with over 660 horsepower and you think I’m going to just let in anyone, let alone some shithead in a panel van?”
Richie pulls his shirt over his mouth in a move that Eddie’s not sure he’s seen in twenty years, cackling into it like he’s about to go into actual hysterics. “I can’t – ” He inhales in a sucking sort of stutter,“ – Can't believe you know the stats.”
“Of course, I do,” Eddie says, turning off onto the next street and disappointed he’s about to return it in a few hundred feet. He’s not really even into this sort of car, not outside of admiring them, but… He could be; he really could get used to it. “Damn it,” he says, glancing at the fuel gauge with a harsh sigh. “We didn’t refill it.”
“I, uhhh…” Richie leans over with a warbling hum, then scoffs and shifts back with a dismissive wave. “Like couldn’t even care, dude. I’m honestly just worried about your blood pressure.”
“Fuck off, Trashmouth,” Eddie sneers, pulling up into the drive to the rental agency and grudgingly pressing the button start to turn the Mustang off. He points toward the door, shooing, “Go let them know you drove this thing from Maine. I’ll get the luggage.”
The train is awful, dirty, and teems with people who do a bad job of knowing where the fuck they’re going or how to avoid a bag. He admires the engines and the designs of the cars, all the design that goes into the MTA, but damn does he hate the fucking train. He also feels like a damned target carrying his Samsonites around like a tourist, and Richie doesn’t help much by shoving his duffel over his arm and somehow immediately looking like he just belongs in the car. He does help, a bit, by throwing an arm around Eddie’s shoulder and tucking him in close; by letting him smell the remnants of hotel soap and musk, rather than the piss-y, musty smell of the tunnel, and reminding him that it’ll only be a few stops. It does to make him feel assured that he’s making the right decision, too, by forcing himself to confront Myra today, in only a few minutes now, rather than giving into a brief, pounding impulse to tell Richie that he can take it from here, then let Richie go off to do his shows, while he sidetracks to his office and sleeps there until someone notices it.
“You want to put this in your car first?” Richie asks, as they step off the last stair out of the station, a block or so from a familiar building up ahead of them. He gestures at Eddie’s rolling bags between them with a jut of his chin. “You do have a car, right? You gotta, right, since you looked like you never rode the subway.”
Eddie looks down himself, watching the lines on the sidewalk, then exhales a deep breath while briefly closing his eyes and steers them toward the side entrance with a sharp turn on his heel. “Do not make a single fucking dick joke.”
“Excuse me,” Richie says, prematurely offended, as they pile into the elevator.
Eddie unlocks the car when the doors split open, hearing the beep echo from its usual spot. He remembers, belatedly, what state he left it in, and nearly drops his bags to shove his face in his hands; shit, he doesn’t even know what status the insurance claim is in with the cab.
“No dick joke, okay,” Richie says, staring at the Escalade, then taking a deep breath while visibly biting back said comments. He shifts his duffle on his arm, looking over, “Okay. Serious question: how the shit do you park?”
“Fuck off,” Eddie snaps, pulling open the back and lifting his luggage into the back, then reaching out and yanking the duffle away from Richie to throw in alongside it. “It’s a nice car.”
“It’s definitely nice,” Richie agrees, head ludicrously dropping with the liftgate window as it softly to latches closed in front of them. He clicks his tongue when Eddie turns, feet shuffling loud on the concrete while they walk back to the elevator. “Should’ve gotten a white one, though, or red – I bet people probably think you’re some chauffeur until you start yapping at them about insurance.”
Eddie jabs hard at the elevator button for floor seventeen. “I do not fucking yap, asshole. Do I look like a dog to you?”
“Eh,” Richie intones, shuffling and breaking out into a laugh when Eddie reflexively smacks him in the side.
Eddie wets his lips as the doors close, swallowing shallow while the numbers start to ascend, and forces his eyes to Richie drawn up next to him. “Are you really okay coming up? She… You should know she might try to something on the Internet.”
“Dude, no one’ll believe her anyway,” Richie says, shrugging with a further hunch, then pulling a hand from his pocket to mime hurriedly typing into a phone. “‘Rich Tozier Stole My Husband’ – yeah, sure, lady.”
Eddie rolls his eyes, looking back to the doors in front of them. “The only things you’ve stolen in your life are shitty jokes.”
Richie sputters for a good three floors. “I used to shoplift!”
“You used to try!” Eddie counters, scoffing, remembering a particularly ridiculous instance of Richie freaking out at the bell of the exit door and throwing the pair of Twix at a gas station attendant – Bryan, a senior to their freshman – who flatly called Richie ‘Urkel’ and asked if he hadn’t seen him despite his specs.
The doors open and Eddie forces himself to step out, reminding himself that he’s already done the worst of it, and if – shit. He reaches out to stop Richie from taking any further steps, watching as a familiar figure closes the door to his apartment and heads down the hall the other direction, toward the stairs, as if that make what he’s doing somehow sneaky.
“That’s the guy she’s been with,” Eddie says, low under his breath while pointing with the keys his other hand.
“Him?” Richie says, far less quiet in some apparent, inexplicable disbelief. “He’s not even hot. He looks like Bob Hoskins in the Mario movie.”
Eddie blinks at Mark’s back, letting the comparison roll around in his head, then abruptly finds himself needing urgently to clear his throat. He ducks his head some, lifting a hand to cover his mouth, and only narrowly manages to mute his next breath.
“Eds?” Richie says, suddenly gentle, the shape of his hand ghosting lightly across Eddie’s back.
Eddie rolls his lips hard under his knuckles, but can’t restrain himself any longer and feels a hiccup escape that is quickly followed by another, then it all bleeds into a pitchy laughter that he refuses to call giggles, because he’s almost forty. He’s mostly just glad he managed to restrain himself long enough that Mark’s already gone and doesn’t hear it.
“Oh,” Richie says, offering his own laugh while his hand lands firmer, squeezing high along on Eddie’s ribs. “I don’t know if it was that good a joke, but I love the enthusiasm.”
“He does,” Eddie wheezes, trying to cover his mouth again but he can’t, leaning against Richie behind him and feeling a little weightless. “Christ, he really does.”
“So you really don’t care?” Richie asks, leaning in closer and somehow baffled, despite all they’ve done in the past few days. “I know you’re like not into her, but dude.”
“It was more a relief than anything,” Eddie says, resuming toward the door and hoping that Myra will be in an alright mood, if Mark has been here being forced to listen to her complain. “Knowing that if she had that sort of relationship with someone else, she wouldn’t try to have it with me.”
Richie is quiet for a beat, then coughs, “Jesus.”
“The only reason I married her is it looked better at my job,” Eddie says, which isn’t quite the truth, but it’s… close enough; he’s not exactly ready to go into the fucking Oedipal bullshit or his barely suppressed sexuality. He’s pretty sure Richie is half aware of that already and about to be entirely when the door opens to Myra.
“Stone cold, Eddie Spaghetti,” Richie says, whistling lowly, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.
Eddie stops at number six with a deep breath, staring up at the number and the pinhole. He takes out his keys, briefly rolling them with a clatter in his palm. “You want to wait out here?”
“If you want me to,” Richie says, shrugging with a short roll of his shoulders that tips his own nerves. “It’s your show.”
“Yeah…” Eddie chews at his cheek, looking back at the door, then exhales hard while he shoves the key into the lock. “Yeah. Right now, at least.”
He turns the key, pushing open the door, and nearly swallows his tongue at the sight of Myra right on the other side. He probably should have expected it, between Mark and the thinness of the door, but instead he ends up staring at her for a few beats, startled and frozen, then hastily tugs the key out of the lock while forcing himself to stand up straight.
Myra looks past him after those few tense seconds and her expression turns thunderous the instant her eyes skate over Richie. It prompts Eddie to step in and force the door closed, suddenly dreading some kind of incident where her ire gets directed at Richie. “Who was – was that seriously Richard Tozier!” She snarls while the door clicks shut, pointing aggressively, then taking a half-step closer and seeming to loom, despite being a good three inches shorter than him. “You lied to me about him!”
“I did not,” Eddie snaps, feeling his face flush and idly mortified by how Richie is definitely hearing this entire conversation; his ego must surely be growing three times larger behind the door.
Myra shakes her head, nose turning up in a smug sort of offense. “I should have known there was more to him. I knew you didn’t really like that tasteless, awful comedy.”
“It’s complicated,” Eddie says, which is even the truth, because he sort of does like tasteless shit when it’s actually Richie. He maybe even loves it.
“No, you lied! You should have just admitted it!” Myra says, expression pinched, a pale sort of ire to her that makes something feel small in Eddie. “You didn’t have to lie, not since I knew about – about you.”
“Are you serious?! Yes, I did!” Eddie argues, gesturing with a flat hand and feeling some relief when it also puts a few inches of space between them. “You just don’t get it, Myra. You don’t know what it’s fucking like - I didn’t want to be like that at all; I couldn’t just talk about it. You think I would’ve married you at all, lied to everyone I fucking knew, stayed while you went around fucking Mark, if – if I could just talk about it?!”
Myra still has her mouth open, but it briefly hangs, blessedly silent, until she glances again conspicuously toward the door. “You know you’re going to get hurt, Eddie. He’s just trying to take advantage of your confusion. You can’t seriously throw away all you have for – ”
“I came on to him,” Eddie interrupts, scoffing hard through his nose and irritated at the abrupt change in tactic, and only a little satisfied after his admittance earns a startled look of askance. “Are you really fucking surprised? I don’t know what you were expecting!”
Myra’s mouth flattens and pinches, effectively reminding Eddie very uncomfortably of just how much she looks like his mother.
“Just do what the lawyer says and follow the prenup,” Eddie says, taking a step back to put another foot of space between them, which is as much as he’ll get in the narrow entry hall. “It’ll be better for both – for all of us – if you don’t fight it.”
Myra’s face briefly slackens with shock, but quickly tightens back up in anger. “What?” She hisses, eyes darting back and forth across his face. “What did you do!?”
“Maybe you should’ve read it,” Eddie says, quickly slipping to the side and further into the apartment; he’s in, he can get his things now, then he can get out and never, ever come back. “Rather than expecting me to just keep swallowing all your damned lies and die.”
Fuck, he did not mean to say that; he didn’t even mean to think about it.
Myra goes markedly pale, then visibly swallows while lifting her chin. “I don’t know what that means, Eddie.”
“It means I know about the fucking meds and shit,” Eddie yells down the hall, trying to take a deep breath, only for it to seize, as the truth he’s been trying to repress all weekend seems to grate like sandpaper while it bursts from his throat. “How long before you just put actual poison in them, huh?”
Myra laughs uncomfortably, which is nearly the worst way she could’ve reacted. “Eddie-bear –”
“Don’t call me that!” Eddie snaps, hearing his voice becoming more shrill outside his control, as hurt bursts from him like a broken dam. “You’re lucky I don’t tell the cops, let alone your fucking boss! You really thought you could just get away with that?!”
Myra takes a step back, hands worrying briefly at her front before dropping to her side.
“You let me out of this, you never talk to me again,” Eddie says, pointing hard at her, then swinging the hand out wide between them. “Or I tell fucking everyone!”
Myra backs off a step, then another, glancing uneasily toward the door. “Where are you going to go?”
“Not here!” Eddie snaps, or tries to, agonizingly aware it sounds more like a desperate wheeze. He shoves the door open into his office, digging into the safe and cursing his shaking hand when he slips against the wrong numbers twiceover; he hastily shoves all the papers he can find with his name into a bag that he grabs off the office chair, then adds his personal laptop to it, his tablet, an old phone – the few things that he’s actually felt were his own, though he’s probably going to have to check for location apps.
He finds a gym bag stuffed in a corner, throwing in it a few books, his favorite mug, and a model of an SD70MAC in ARR colors; he struggles to find more, then shoves in a pair of sneakers and an old watch, then takes a day planner and the day calendar he never uses featuring Mustangs, mostly because it’ll make Richie laugh when he sees it. He briefly deters into the bedroom, throwing in the clothes he forgot while loading his luggage, and nearly goes into the laundry before realizing that shit does not matter. He can get new clothes – he wants new clothes; he wants to wear that stupid maroon suit that he’d felt foolish for even admiring in a window.
He swallows hard and nods hard to himself, knowing he’s got everything he was most worried about in his hands. He hurries past Myra, loitering still in the entry, and swings open the door to shove what amounts to his identity in Richie’s hands.
“Hey,” Eddie says, looking at him with a sudden massive feeling of relief threatening to burst him. “Hold this.”
Richie looks somewhat blindsided, but immediately tightens grip on the bag in his hands. He’s definitely heard every word that was said, considering how the look in his eyes when he glances past Eddie into the apartment is markedly less than pleasant.
Shit.
Eddie drops his gym bag on the ground next to Richie, then takes out his keys. “Just one more thing,” he mutters, frustrated that his hands are still shaking while he pulls the one to the apartment off the ring. He turns around to find the door still cracked, but somehow dark, and has to force himself to push back inside, despite already having gotten his things. He only goes as far as the hooks in the hall, nearly empty, and hangs the key up on its own.
He doesn’t say goodbye; he doesn’t want to say another single word to her until there’s a table and a team of lawyers between them.
Richie is already holding both the bags when Eddie slips back out the door, and refuses to let Eddie take either one with a quick jerk of his head. The ride down to the garage is far quieter than the one up, mostly filled with Eddie’s carefully counted breaths rather than conversation, but he feels lighter despite the tension thick in the elevator car.
He clicks the button for the liftgate again, hurrying toward the blinking Cadillac.
“Hey, Eds,” Richie says, quietly, his hand curling gently at Eddie’s elbow, and the duffle slides off his other arm with a thump onto the concrete floor. “Wait a sec.”
Eddie pauses and glances at the bag, irked, but allows himself to be turned only to suddenly be pulled into Richie’s chest, solid and warm, palms pressing firmly at his shoulders. He inhales sharply, tense for a pair of beats, then lets his forehead thump weakly onto Richie’s shoulder.
“I’m so sorry, man,” Richie murmurs, nose digging into Eddie’s temple while he heaves a deep, unsteady breath across his cheek. “Should’ve figured with the inhaler, and all, but I’m a dumbass. I can’t believe she was doing that to you.”
“It’s okay,” Eddie says, feeling a burning in his eyes when he blinks; shit, he… he didn’t want to get like this about it. He wanted it to go like when he did it with his mom, though that didn’t last long, but he hadn’t cried, at least, just felt like it. He doesn’t ever want to cry.
“Really isn’t,” Richie counters, squeezing Eddie tighter, until it feels like the world is just solid warmth and the line of a zipper. “Jesus. How did she even do that? You’re a grown up.”
“She’s a pharmacist,” Eddie says, hearing his voice emerge far smaller than he would like, “So it… it was probably –” He swallows hard, closing his eyes for a pair of seconds. “…She knew my mom first, okay?”
“Fuck,” Richie breathes, hand lifting and curling warm at the back of Eddie’s neck, squeezing gently in solid comfort. “We should go,” He says, voice dropping to an odd tone, not quite something Eddie can recognize. “Like right now – there’s this tiny little voice at the back of my head hammering away how I got away killing one piece of shit and wondering if I could again.”
“Uh,” Eddie intones, leaning back and briefly thinking it’s a joke, but Richie’s eyes are as serious as he’s ever seen them. He wets his lips, then nods, reluctantly shifting entirely away. “Yeah, come on. Help me with my shit.”
Richie does a half-assed job at best, though maybe it’s just hasty, throwing Eddie’s life in the back of the Escalade like a careless UPS driver. He exhales hard while reaching up to poke the button to close it. “You hungry? I’m hungry.”
Eddie stares back for a beat, not hungry at all, but he knows an excuse when he hears one. “Do you eat from food carts?”
“Uh, yeah,” Richie says, raising an eyebrow; he leans against the side of the Cadillac, pointing with a showy flick of his fingers. “Do you?”
Eddie rolls his eyes while walking around to the driver side, tugging open the door. “I live in fucking New York.”
He mostly eats from just the one, but Richie doesn’t need to know that part.
“Dosa, huh,” Richie says, his put-on skepticism clashing with the way he’s in the middle of shoving the crepe into his mouth. He deigns to chew with his mouth closed a few seconds, then tips his head with a nod. “Pretty good. Way more healthy than what I usually get, though – kind of feel tricked.”
Eddie rolls his eyes, pinching off the corner of his samosa. “Hotdogs?”
“Actually, just once,” Richie says, lifting a finger like that deserves an aided count. He shrugs, then, “Usually end up with like McDonald’s or Chipotle, if it’s just me.”
“That’s so awful,” Eddie says, feeling disgust of various aspects curl at the edge of his lips. “I haven’t had McDonalds in like twenty years.”
Richie’s brows go up with evident sensed opportunity. “Do you want to?”
“Uh…” Eddie flicks garbage from his fingers. “No.”
Richie leans forward with a whimper, as if heartbroken, then reaches out and steals one of the samosas. “So… what did she mean, you lied about me?”
“Because I’ve watched so many of your stupid shows,” Eddie admits, reluctantly, mostly embarrassed at being called out for it. The fact he’s been weird about Rich Tozier for years isn’t all that much of an embarrassment anymore after remembering he’s his Richie. “Even that one where you’re a goddamn raccoon eating literal trash.”
“Little King Trashmouth?” Richie crows, brows going up behind his frames in a mocking delight. “He doesn’t even talk, just –” He proceeds to make a bunch of stupid chirpy raccoon noises.
“I know,” Eddie says, dragging his teeth over his lip in a weak attempt to try to hide his own smile. “But that’s your dumbass voice.”
“Actually, my first gay role,” Richie says, hand briefly over his heart, then dropping it to lean over the table toward Eddie with a grin. “Man, I cannot believe you’re admitting being a stan.”
“Fuck off,” Eddie says, furrowing his brow tight and feeling heat sear up the back of his neck. “I am not.”
Richie oddly doesn’t continue, but dimly blinks, as if confused. “You know what a stan is?”
“It’s a fucking Eminem song,” Eddie snaps, rolling his eyes hard; he doesn’t like this trend of Richie acting like Eddie is forty years older than him.
Richie breaks into a laugh, shifting in his seat with a metal creak. “Of course you listened to Eminem, my angry little white boy.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Eddie says, piling the remains of their lunch back into the container with a scoff through his nose. “I bet you loved Blood Hound Gang.”
“Dude, yes,” Richie says, drumming on the table before leaning in and dropping the little chutney container in with the trash. “Obviously.”
Eddie snorts through his nose.
Richie leans hard into the table and points at Eddie, one eye narrowing, “Somewhere out there is a universe where I dragged you to a concert.”
“That poor bastard,” Eddie mutters, though the lie couldn’t be more transparent. He thinks being dragged to a cringy concert by Richie in his mid-twenties would’ve been a best case scenario, though he definitely would have staged similar protest to it.
“Hey,” Richie says, reaching out and tugging at the edge of Eddie’s sleeve. “You good to go?”
Eddie takes a deep breath, then shoves up from the table with a nod. “Yeah.”
The Cadillac is parked, perfectly for the record, only a few streets from the park. He finds himself swallowing hard on an anxious ramble when they pass a sign and steps down to the trains, belatedly realizing he’s not sure where to go from here. He asked Richie to go to Portland, then dragged him all the way to the city, and now… now what? Richie just goes to his shows in Reno? Is he expecting Eddie to come along? He could, probably, since his job wouldn’t give a shit as long as he had Skype and used the VPN.
He grimaces at the actual sight of the Cadillac, as they round the final block – its smashed front end and precarious, protruding headlight barely held together with connectors and wire. It looks a little bit like the past few days feel; not as bad as it seems, but just really no way to avoid looking at the worst of it unless you’re inside.
He unlocks the liftgate and busies himself rearranging the mess of his bags, trying not to think about how this meager assortment really does feel like all he had in an apartment that was supposed to be his home. He side-eyes Richie’s single duffle for a moment, small and deflated despite a purported nationwide tour, and wonders if he has the same problem; if his place is as empty as his luggage. He hears Richie pacing the sidewalk, a once again familiar skip-shuffle, and returns to his own things while pushing the melancholy thought away.
He listens to Richie go awkward behind him, audibly shifting back and forth on his toes while catching on aborted syllables that can’t quite get beyond breaths.
Eddie takes pity on him. “Yeah, Trashmouth?”
“So.” Richie abruptly drops his head to Eddie’s shoulder from behind, hands hovering and not quite landing around his waist. “You really want to run away… to home with me?”
Eddie raises an eyebrow, thrill briefly at the back of his throat while reaches out to needlessly straighten a pair of reusable grocery bags full of books and socks. “To home?”
“Fuck off,” Richie says, laughing weakly, his hands finally dropping while he bodily budges in just a little closer to Eddie’s back with a put-on cough. “But uh, I noticed you don’t have a place to live anymore…”
“I don’t want to do a Ben and Bev,” Eddie says flatly, glancing over his shoulder, then turning around on his heel to face Richie. He keeps still for a beat, simply looking, then indulgently slides his hands up around Richie’s chest and curves them over his broad shoulders. “Pretending we’re not following each other.”
Richie stares back widely behind his glasses. “Okay?”
“I want you to know I’m not pretending shit,” Eddie says, keeping his voice even and firm, suppressing a sudden humor he feels threatening his tone. “Explicitly yes, I want to run away with you.” He tightens his hands around on Richie’s shoulders for a solid beat, then leans up to press a kiss against his mouth. “I always did.”
|
It’s a beautiful day in Lotus Pier—though one young master is more than happy to destroy it.
“Wei Wuxian, you idiot!” Jiang Cheng shouts, expression as stormy as the windswept ocean and hands fluttering with the hum of his indignant anger; torn between being tossed in exasperation and zeroing in on Wei Wuxian’s stupid, stupid neck. It’s a minor blessing Wei Wuxian is now too low to reach so Jiang Cheng resorts to pacing and flinging his sleeves about instead.
“Jiang Cheng!” Wei Wuxian drawls with a whine, kicking out one of his feet. He’s been pushed to the ground and is none too pleased about it. “It’s not that big of a deal! I feel fine! It was probably just some cheap trick those merchants sell for a quick buck, nothing to worry about!!”
They’re on one of the far pavilions in Lotus Pier, one that overlooks the quieter part of the river, making it a popular hide away for both the two of them as well as Jiang Yanli. The servants passing by only sigh and shake their heads at the duo’s antics, which is as built into the scenery of Lotus Pier as the swaying flowers that surround them.
“I hate you,” Jiang Cheng replies vehemently. He gives his own kick to further prove his words, ignoring the yelp his brother gives. “I hate you so much. You got what you deserve.”
“Jiang Cheng!” Wei Wuxian wails, tossing himself back with a dramatic flail. “How could you say such a thing to me? What if I’m dying!! Do you want those to be your last words to me?”
“You said you feel fine!” Jiang Cheng snaps back, but his voice pitches up in the end and a drop of fear colours his irritation. Wei Wuxian hides a quick flash of smugness and returns to his theatrics, rolling back and forth on the wooden deck while clutching his stomach.
“Oh no!! Jiang Cheng!! I feel so weak all of a sudden! Something is definitely wrong with me—I don’t think I’ll make it!” Wei Wuxian says, his complaints only growing louder and louder as Jiang Cheng slowly begins to inch closer, tiny pinpricks of fear showing on his face.
“Bullshit,” he still scoffs, stepping in only close enough to ensure that the theatrics aren’t being put on.
Alas, as soon as he steps within range, Wei Wuxian’s eyes snap open, his grin growing as wide as the expanding sea, and he lunges for him. He drags him down for a fight, happily ignoring all the shouts and insults hurled at him, with a bright and gleeful, “Got you!”
“You bastard!” Jiang Cheng yelps once Wei Wuxian manages to pin one of his arms and tack down both his legs, “I’m going to kick your ass!”
"You can try!” Wei Wuxian says, still grinning as he bats away Jiang Cheng’s thrashing fist. Their impromptu wrestle session continues for some time, breaking only when a soft voice cuts through their shouts, gentle yet chiding.
“A-Cheng, A-Xian, what are you two doing?” Jiang Yanli asks as she steps onto the deck with a patient look and a collection of lotus pods cradled in her arms. She drops them onto the table laid at the centre of the deck before approaching to help detangle the both of them.
“Shijie!” Wei Wuxian chirps happily, allowing her to help him stand. Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes and stands on his own, landing one final punch to Wei Wuxian’s shoulder when his sister turns her back to sit down. If Jiang Cheng is the tumultuous sea, and Wei Wuxian the playful wind who aggravates it, then Jiang Yanli is surely the steadfast coast that welcomes them both. Both know better than to try too much when she has planted herself so firmly between them—which means Wei Wuxian is left with only sticking his tongue out as Jiang Cheng darts away from him.
“A-Jie, Wei Wuxian got hit with a curse today.” Jiang Cheng tells her, falling into the chair beside her and adamantly ignoring the sharp glare Wei Wuxian shoots him for such a betrayal. It’s not as if Wei Wuxian wishes to lie to his senior sister, it’s only that she has much more important things to worry about than a silly curse.
“It was nothing, Shijie, don’t worry!!” Wei Wuxian insists immediately, spilling into the chair on her opposite side with a practiced ease and even more practiced sulk. “Jiang Cheng is just making up stories about me.”
“He was flirting with some girl but when she asked him on a date he rejected her,” Jiang Cheng continues, merciless, ignoring the bait Wei Wuxian had left him as he persists in avoiding Wei Wuxian’s warning looks. “So she threw a curse at him.”
“Jiang Cheng—” Wei Wuxian tries to interrupt, but he is swiftly overruled by both Jiang Yanli and Jiang Cheng.
“It’s what he deserves for playing around all day,” Jiang Cheng huffs, crossing his arms and finally returning Wei Wuxian’s gaze with a puffed up look. “Now we just have to wait for him to keel over. It’ll be great.”
Wei Wuxian kicks him under the table.
“A-Xian, is this true?” Jiang Yanli asks once she’s placated a ruffled Jiang Cheng. It’s not often such a heavy layer of concern is so evident in her warm eyes and Wei Wuxian feels himself crumbling underneath it.
“Aiyah, Shijie, it’s really not that bad! I feel fine!” At her persistent look, her seemingly never-ending well of love and resolve to take care of the mischievous Wei Wuxian, Wei Wuxian concedes, sighing dramatically, “I really do feel fine! There’s just the teeniest bit of tightness in my chest. But that could be anything! Maybe I’m getting sick—Shjie! Quick! I need some soup!”
It’s not a complete lie—it does feel like something is trapped in his chest. It’s not quite the feeling of something squeezing his lungs, but instead, it’s as if someone has dropped something to the bottom of them. Like a rock falling to the bottom of a well. But Wei Wuxian has felt worse, so he continues to try and wheedle his way out of any more questions, taking Jiang Yanli’s hands into his own and dropping his chin onto them. “Please, Shijie? I know I’ll feel better afterwards.”
It almost works. Jiang Yanli softens to an indulgent smile, “Alright, A-Xian, I’ll make some for the two of you tonight.” She then tucks a stray lock of hair behind his ear and he gives a delighted hum, closing his eyes. However, “But, really A-Xian, why were you playing around with the girls again?” She briefly tweaks his nose. “You must have really hurt her feelings for her to do something so extreme!”
“I’m surprised none of them have tried it before,” Jiang Cheng grumbles, breaking in before Wei Wuxian has the chance to defend himself. “Weren’t you just going on and on about how to reel in the beauties last night? Why did you turn this one down? I thought you liked her?”
Wei Wuxian shrugs this inquiry off and sets to work on emptying the closest lotus pod from him of all its seeds. He’s barely broken the first one free when he notices that his flippancy is not mirrored in either Jiang Yanli or Jiang Cheng, so he tries again, “It’s just for fun.” This earns him the closest to a reprimanding look as he’s ever seen on Jiang Yanli’s face so he backtracks, “I’m not trying to hurt them! It’s just—I’m just—it’s just fun. I like talking to them. They’re cute and give me things but I’m not… I never think it’s going to go any farther.”
“Isn’t that the whole point of flirting?” Jiang Cheng asks, raising one skeptical brow that sits perfectly above an annoyed scowl. He too reaches for the lotus pods brought to them and digs for his own seeds. “That’s like peeling a seed without any intention of eating it. What’s the point?”
“The point is it’s fun,” Wei Wuxian reiterates, aiming another kick that goes nowhere. An uncomfortable feeling is beginning to well in his chest, spilling from his heart and lungs to crash at the curves of his arms and legs, making him both sluggish and restless. He doesn’t like this, being forced to face his antics so firmly. There’s a truth that’s buried in his hedging answers and he’s in no hurry to dig it out. He likes flirting. Flirting is fun. But the girls he flirts with, it’s not like he’s looking for anything… “Besides, what do you know about flirting? You scare any girl that tries to be nice to you! Remember when the pork bun girl tried to give you a free one and you made her cry over it?”
“Wei Wuxian—!” Jiang Cheng begins to roar with warning, barely soothed when his sister reaches out to push at his shoulders. Ignoring Wei Wuxian’s triumphant look, Jiang Yanli settles them both down with a minor threat to steal back the precious pods she’s brought just for them so that they could spend a beautiful afternoon together, since they’ve all been so busy these past two weeks, now wouldn’t that be nice?
Her scheme is clear but no less effective and the duo yield to her quickly, Wei Wuxian starting up a new story involving their darling disciples who have all mastered Wei Wuxian’s latest trick.
The warmth of the afternoon seeps into the trio and once they’re all stuffed full and lazy, Jiang Yanli turns her gaze back to her dozing younger brother and says, “A-Xian, you will tell us if you feel unwell, right? I know you believe it wasn’t a real talisman, but Father has said that even the fakes can cause trouble, so be careful.”
“I will, Shijie,” Wei Wuxian promises with a sleep-heavy voice. “There’s no need to worry.”
*
Three days pass and it appears as though Wei Wuxian is correct about the curse. It leaves no curse mark behind, besides a small bruise as the base of his sternum—one that doesn’t grow which leads Wei Wuxian to insist it’s only from the impact of the talisman—and the smallest pit at the base of his lungs that he doesn’t bother mentioning. It’s so easily ignored and it doesn’t inhibit his breathing in any way, even when he’s tearing down Lotus Pier or choking on his laughter in the pond, so it’s easy to reason that it’s nothing important. Once it’s clear that it’s made no effect on his body or energy levels or, most importantly, his golden core, Jiang Yanli and Jiang Cheng relent and agree to keep his little escapade from the Sect Leader and his wife.
However, it is then that the fourth day starts.
It’s another balmy afternoon and the trio once more finds themselves spread across their little hideaway, the delighted breeze playing with their sleeves and hair. Jiang Yanli sits kneeling beneath the shade provided by their modest pavilion, smiling as she slowly and methodically peels the lotus pods and seeds for her brothers. Across from her, Jiang Cheng sits with his legs sprawled out in front of him, in a way so unbecoming that he'd break both of Wei Wuxian’s legs if he ever dared to mention it. His robes are opened enough his chest is bared as he fights a losing battle with the heat. Wei Wuxian, on the other hand, is spread flat on his stomach, arms dangling as his fingertips ghost across the surface of the water like brief butterfly kisses. It’s a beautiful day and not much could ruin it.
“The other Sect Leaders are going to start showing up soon,” Jiang Yanli says serenely as the thought drifts into her mind, much like the fluffy clouds floating above them, “Are you excited? You might be able to see all your friends soon!”
Wei Wuxian, originally too lazy to give more than a noncommittal hum as this information, straightens up and turns to the others with a grin, “Do you think GusuLan will come?”
“Of course they will,” Jiang Cheng scoffs, straightening his own posture. “Do you think they could ignore us? Wei Wuxian, I’m warning you, you better not do anything to offend them!”
The threat is both idle and not, but Wei Wuxian would ignore it regardless.
“Do you think Lan Zhan w—“
He means to finish the sentence with, “Will come too?” but as soon as he finishes Lan Wangji’s name, something catches terribly in his throat and kickstarts a violent coughing fit. Both Jiang Yanli and Jiang Cheng startle and when it becomes quickly apparent his coughing will not be ceasing anytime soon, they rush for him, hovering at the edge of his body with timid touches to his shoulders and back.
Something is lodged in Wei Wuxian’s throat. He can feel it—long and thin, and it’s growing thicker the farther up his throat it climbs. It’s incredibly strange and more than uncomfortable and he wheezes around the object as he thumps at his chest, working desperately to clear it. After about a minute or so of hacking, the object breaks free and he spits out a tall blue flower. Leaves, blossoms, roots and all.
The three of them all stare, horrified.
“What the hell is that?!” Jiang Cheng is the first to ask, his voice strangled. He reaches out to grab it before remembering it has just come from Wei Wuxian’s body and thinking better of it. He furiously diverts his attention to Wei Wuxian instead. “I thought you said you were going to tell us if something was wrong!!”
“I was!” Wei Wuxian says, between rasping breaths, one hand clutching weakly at his chest, “I don’t know what happened.”
“Are you all right?” Jiang Yanli asks, laying a gentle hand to his shoulder. Wei Wuxian barely manages half a nod. “Is it the curse?”
“It has to be!” Jiang Cheng says before Wei Wuxian has the chance. “I told you!”
Wei Wuxian closes his eyes and once more ignores his brother. He works on steadying his breathing while Jiang Yanli frets beside him, “Something must have aggravated it. Are you sure you’re alright?”
A low whine slips from Wei Wuxian before he can stop it, “But what could have aggravated it? Today’s no different than any other!” None of them have an answer and it’s all Jiang Yanli can do to whisper soft reassurances as they peel open Wei Wuxian’s robe to inspect the most likely suspect of a curse mark. However, when the mark shows itself to be no larger or darker than before, the three of them all fall back.
“Maybe you just got too excited about the discussion conference,” Jiang Cheng offers, having relaxed now that Wei Wuxian’s breathing has evened out. “Or maybe Lan Qiren knows you want to bother Lan Wangji so he sent a curse to stop you.”
“Ha ha,” Wei Wuxian mocks, throwing out a weak glare that does no damage, “I don’t want to bother Lan Zhan—“
As soon as Wei Wuxian finishes saying Lan Wangji’s name, the same feeling from before overwhelms him. This time, when he finishes coughing up the flower—this one catching terribly in his mouth, the head blooming widely within the confines of his teeth as the stem comes up, making the petals tear as he spits it onto the ground—it’s a flower he recognizes. A pink tulip, mostly intact, and appearing as if it had been plucked from a garden and not yanked from somewhere within Wei Wuxian’s chest.
Horror builds within him as understanding starts to dawn on him. Before either Jiang Yanli or Jiang Cheng can speak, Wei Wuxian hurriedly, desperately, whispers, “Lan Wangji?!” and is knocked forward by the blow of yet another flower blooming within his lungs and being forced out by wheezing gasps. A marigold soon joins the worrying amount of flowers. Not that Wei Wuxian much cares about what type of flower it is, much more concerned with why it’s coming out of his body and why —
“Second Master Lan!” He shouts with curled fists. This outburst gifts him another coughing fit, a second marigold, and the inability to speak for several minutes as he works to soothe the small tears he can feel criss-crossing down his throat.
“A-Xian,” Jiang Yanli whispers beside him, eyes trained on the terror hiding behind the anger on Wei Wuxian’s face and the tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. Opposite her, Jiang Cheng simply stares, wide eyed and unmoving, at the bloody flowers lying limply before them.
“What the fuck?” Wei Wuxian rasps, reaching out to tug on some of the blood stained petals of the fully bloomed marigold that had somehow stuck itself in his chest. The glaringly bright oranges and red only seem to mock him from where they lay tangled with the soft blues and bright pinks. “Am I not allowed to…? Why?!”
“That’s a good question,” Jiang Yanli murmurs, rubbing small, soothing circles between his shoulder blades. He hardly even reacts to her touch. “I’ve never heard of a curse doing this before…”
“Maybe it’s some weird offshoot of a silencing curse?” Jiang Cheng offers, “At least it only seems to be coming up for Lan Wangji. You should be grateful.”
“But why!” Wei Wuxian repeats, crushing the marigold in his palm, “What does he have to do with this?!”
An excellent question, but neither of them can answer him. They wait for the sharp angles in Wei Wuxian’s shoulders to melt away before helping guide him to the chair, Jiang Yanli collecting the flowers too, despite both Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng’s protests. Once it seems safe, they carefully work their way through the rest of the Lans, before moving onto the residents of Lotus Pier and even the few names Wei Wuxian remembers of other sects. Their quest is fruitless—no other name garners even a hint of a reaction.
“Well,” Jiang Cheng starts, tired and resolute all at once, “Guess you’re officially banned from calling out for Lan Wangji.”
The sun is drooping low in the sky but the heat and humidity spread thick and sticky around them still lays claim to Lotus Pier. In Wei Wuxian’s heart, however, he feels something icy cold begin to crystallize.
“But it doesn’t make any sense!” He tries to argue but it goes nowhere and he can only struggle with a handful of words before Jiang Cheng is shoving his head down.
“Stop making such a fuss. Just don’t say his name until we figure this bullshit curse out. It can’t be that hard.”
“But I always call him by name!” Wei Wuxian insists, pulling away from the awkward show of comfort. “Now how am I supposed to talk to him?”
“Uh, don’t?” Jiang Cheng replies, giving him an incredulous look. “Who knows if he’s going to come and even if he does, he’ll probably be thrilled to be left alone by you.”
“A-Cheng,” Jiang Yanli interrupts sharply, shooting her brother a silencing look after she spots the flash of pain that darts across Wei Wuxian’s face. Once he’s quietened down, with only a cursory grumble, Jiang Yanli gently takes Wei Wuxian’s hands in her own and gives them a small squeeze. He doesn’t squeeze back, but he does turn his head up to look at her. “Don’t worry, A-Xian. There’s still a few more days before the conference, I’m sure we’ll be able to figure this out before then.”
Wei Wuxian’s chest feels scraped hollow, his heart beating pathetically at the bottom of his stomach. Blood still stains the dying flowers from before and, wildly, Wei Wuxian wants to laugh. But tears are still stinging at the edge of his eyes, the taste of copper and pollen staining his tongue, and he finds he hates the whole of it. It doesn’t make sense. Lan Zhan is just Lan Zhan, what does he have to do with anything?
Still, with his sister holding so tight to his hand he can feel the dig of her nails and Jiang Cheng nudging him with his foot, Wei Wuxian can only concede with a sigh and dredge up enough energy to flash them an attempt of his usual smile and cheer.
“Okay, Shijie,” he says, “It’s just some bogus curse after all, how hard can it be?”
*
During the next two days, Wei Wuxian learns to eat his words—quite literally. Hyacinths, morning glories, violets, and more spill from his chest and leave their often pungent taste on his tongue. He buries himself in research, but finds himself still coming up cold, and after four different attempts to break the curse, the latest shooting Wei Wuxian across an overgrown and forgotten training field leaving them all too worried to try anymore, the group finds themselves sprawled and rather defeated. Twilight has said goodbye, so the trio is bathed in a blue hour, a colour that more than matches their mood. Jiang Yanli sighs from her kneeled position beside a rather bruised Wei Wuxian and asks, “Can you tell me anything else about the girl, A-Xian?”
Wei Wuxian gives a heavy exhale and shrugs as best he can. Despite some rather impressive detective skills, the trio have been unable to even locate the worker who cursed Wei Wuxian in the first place, and due to Wei Wuxian’s adamancy that Sect Leader Jiang and Madam Yu not be informed of the incident, there’s little they can do without arousing too much suspicion.
“There’s really not much to say, Shijie. She worked at the florists, which explains the flowers, and she was pretty so I flirted with her for a bit. Nothing special.”
“What about when she cursed you? What happened before that?”
“Well…” Wei Wuxian shifts, uncomfortable with having to admit to his “crimes” - as named by Jiang Cheng - to his senior sister. “She asked me if I was ever going to invite her for a proper meal. When I told her I wasn’t, she got angry and hurled a talisman at me before storming off… It looked like one of those paper talismans charlatans like to sell to civilians so I really didn’t think anything of it until, well..” Another sigh, Wei Wuxian stares at the quiet stars blinking at him from their home in the sky. “But that really doesn’t explain why it’s Lan—That name I can’t say.”
It’s beyond frustrating, the amount of times he’s had to catch himself before speaking Lan Wangji’s name. He really didn’t expect it to be so difficult—he’s hardly thought of the man in months! However, as soon as he was reminded of his friend, it was like a crack in a dam, and with nothing available to fix it, the thin trickle had become a stream. Now, it seems, there is no one else Wei Wuxian ever thinks about.
It might be embarrassing, had he any energy left for shame.
Jiang Yanli lets out a small hum from beside him before gently pulling on his sleeve, “Come, A-Xian, I might have something that will help.”
She guides both he and Jiang Cheng to another pavilion, different from their usual one, in an even more secluded section of the mansion. One servant delivers both the flowers, now wilted, and a small book, while others bring three trays of food before they are waved away with a smile. She instructs the two of them to eat, it’s obvious they all need it, and tugs the book closer to her, flipping it open to a random page.
“What’s that, Shijie?” Wei Wuxian asks around a mouthful of noodles. Jiang Cheng whacks him for a lack of manners.
“It’s a book on flower meanings I requested from a friend of mine,” Jiang Yanli explains once Wei Wuxian has swallowed his food. “Since you keep coughing up different flowers I thought there might be some importance to them.”
“That’s so smart!” Wei Wuxian says in awe, a beaming look lighting up his face as he turns to her. “My shijie is so smart! Does every flower have some sort of special meaning?”
Jiang Yanli smiles sweetly, a light flush of pink blooming at the praise, before nodding and pulling at one of the marigolds from the first incident. “I knew from before that marigolds can symbolize despair or grief, which is what gave me this idea in the first place. Maybe they were reacting to your distress at the situation.”
It makes sense and Wei Wuxian vibrates with curiosity, pulling and spreading out the flowers that have joined the rather gross bouquet. “What about this one?” He asks, pulling out the pink tulip that had blossomed so wide in his mouth. He still remembers the taste of its petals.
“Let’s see,” Jiang Yanli hums, flipping through the book. “Here, tulips. They can be a declaration of love—“ Something fierce and hot inflames itself across Wei Wuxian’s face, “But the meanings change with colour, with red tulips meaning ‘Undying love’ and pink meaning… ‘Friendship or joyful occasion.’” She looks up at Wei Wuxian with a mischievous smile and taps his nose, “Maybe you were excited to see your friend and that’s why a pink tulip formed.”
“Yeah!” Wei Wuxian agrees quickly, off pitch laughter trailing after it. “Lan—He is my friend after all!”
Across the table, Jiang Cheng eyes him suspiciously but he doesn’t say anything. He weakly nudges some of the others closer to his sister. and asks, “What about these?”
They work through the flowers methodically, classifying them all and arranging them by meaning. Some, like the purple hyacinths—which he practically had to pick from his teeth—have a more negative connotation like sorrow, while others, like the Bird of Paradise flower that bloomed when the trio believed to have broken the curse, have a happier meaning, such as ‘joyfulness or exciting and wonderful anticipation’. It’s easy to hypothesize the flowers have affixed themselves to Wei Wuxian’s emotions and makes the rest of the flowers easier to connect to the incidents that aroused them.
This includes the blue salvia, the first flower to form, which they learn stands for ‘I think of you’. It makes perfect sense, Wei Wuxian argues, pink faced and adamant, since it had been so long since he last thought of Lan Wangji and was looking forward to playing with him again.
Jiang Yanli indulges him; Jiang Cheng doesn’t bother replying, his suspicious look only growing darker.
“This still doesn’t explain why it’s You-Know-Who.” Wei Wuxian says later, playing with a garish yellow flower that had come up during a training session with the disciples. He had been praising Lan Wangji’s sword skills and then had to hack the flower into his sleeve and save his face by insisting he had been remembering the bitter food of Cloud Recesses. “She had to have assigned the curse to a specific name but I don’t remember ever mentioning him to her!”
“Maybe it’s a feeling?” Jiang Yanli offers, distracted as she scans the book for the daffodil, looking happier than it should be, in Wei Wuxian’s hands. “She could be jealous you’re so excited to talk to someone other than her.”
“But he’s not a girl! What’s the point of being jealous over him? It’s not like I’m about to go marry him!”
Jiang Cheng shoots him a look for the sudden escalation of flirting to marriage, but he continues to remain unusually quiet. A hunter, waiting for just the right moment to launch. (Which happens to arrive shortly after.)
“Ah hah!” Jiang Yanli brightens, “I found it! Let’s see, a daffodil stands for… oh.”
Silence. One that lasts for too long and carries the same anticipation that comes from the quiet hiss of the spark going out before a firecracker snaps to life.
“Shijie?” Wei Wuxian prompts, turning to her with a look of concern.
“‘Regard’.” She explains with a barely hidden smile. “‘Unequalled love.’”
And—snap!—just like that, Wei Wuxian turns a firecracker red.
“What!? ” He lunges over the table to claw for the book, ripping it open to the right page to read it for himself. “But I don’t—! That’s not—! He’s just my friend!”
“Just your friend?” Jiang Cheng repeats back to him, oddly calm and incredibly skeptical. “Really?”
“Yes!” Wei Wuxian nearly shrieks, hurling the book at his now affronted brother who bats at it before tossing it back. A new sort of panic is churning in Wei Wuxian’s stomach. He’s never been bothered by such an accusation before, when Jiang Cheng made such claims about the village girls or stall workers, but this time it feels different. Almost dangerous. His mind is left clambering for purchase. He doesn’t— He can’t — “It stands for regard too! I remember this, I was complimenting his sword play! That’s all it is! He’s the only one who can match me, my only equal, it’s not because…! I’m not in love with Lan Wangji!”
Wei Wuxian realizes his mistake the moment the name scrambles past his lips and the feeling of a stem rooting in his chest takes over. The flower is average when it comes to the amount of problems it causes coming up but the flower head that blooms still needs to be plucked from his mouth and when it drops it on the table, its red petals stand out vibrantly against the decay. Without a word, Jiang Yanli pulls it closer to her and regains possession of the book laid bare on the table.
“A red carnation,” she tells them quietly, “It stands for admiration, pride, and love.”
For several stilted minutes her brothers remain stubbornly quiet. Only soft wheezing can be heard between them. But, like all things, this too much break.
“Lan Wangji?!” Jiang Cheng finally shouts, “You have a crush on Lan Wangji?!’
“Shut up!” Wei Wuxian snaps, aiming a kick at him beneath the table. He doesn’t even feel pleased when he makes solid contact with Jiang Cheng’s shin. “I do not! That’s not it!” His voice has gained an hysterical edge. “He’s just fun to tease, that’s all!”
“No wonder you were always bothering him,” Jiang Cheng mutters to himself, as if he hadn’t heard Wei Wuxian at all. He sounds vaguely betrayed. “Following him around, calling him pretty. I knew something was weird! You even went around calling him gege! It was disgusting!”
“Shut up!” Wei Wuxian all but snarls, suddenly furious, “It was not! I wasn’t…!” He’s teetering on a brink and where he’ll fall to is anybody’s guess. He’s scared, he’s angry, he’s confused, and it takes him a good thirty seconds to break from this panic to hear Jiang Yanli’s voice calling for him.
“A-Xian!” Jiang Yanli’s voice chimes like a clear bell in his head, her touch the cooling salve to an angry burn. He’s still breathing heavily, but he doesn’t speak as he turns to her, waiting. “It’s okay, A-Xian. There’s nothing wrong with your feelings.” She brushes stray hairs from his face and smiles. “You’re allowed to have a crush on him.”
“But it’s—!” Jiang Cheng tries to argue, only to be swiftly shut down by a sharp look from his sister.
“Besides,” Jiang Yanli continues, rubbing her hands soothingly down Wei Wuxian’s arms, her tone one Wei Wuxian recognizes from the nights he spent sick as a child, assuring and warm. “If this is true, it explains a lot about the curse. She likely wished for revenge on you for slighting her. Forbidding you from saying your crush’s name is one way to do that.”
“But,” Wei Wuxian still tries weakly, “That fuddy-duddy? How could I?”
Jiang Yanli and Jiang Cheng share a look. Wei Wuxian’s breathing hitches when Jiang Yanli turns back to him and her expression is careful, “You have mentioned him a lot.” She says slowly. “And you did tell me he was very handsome.”
Wei Wuxian suddenly feels like a child. Like a wounded animal they’re trying to bait with coos and treats and promises of being non-threatening. He curls into his back and only vaguely listens when Jiang Cheng speaks up next.
“And you were always following him around Cloud Recesses, even when it was clear he wanted nothing to do with you. We’d be in the middle of a discussion and you’d break off with a Lan Zhan! just because he was walking by and you…” Jiang Cheng struggles for a moment, “You sound weird when you talk to him. You sound like the girls you flirt with.”
“I…” Wei Wuxian tries, even though it becomes apparent he has no destination with his words. “It’s just for fun.”
The echo of insects surround them. Neither Jiang Yanli or Jiang Cheng try to argue anymore.
“We won’t force this on you,” Jiang Yanli says softly, “Let’s just finish eating and rest, okay? The Sect Leaders will be arriving tomorrow. We need to be ready.”
*
Night arrives and finds Wei Wuxian curled into his bed. The moon greets him, spilling into his room to catch his rumpled sheets and the flowers now sprawled across his desk. Tucked into a shadow lies the book, which he had requested from Jiang Yanli, although he’s yet to find the courage to flip it back open and ensure his senior sister had not been lying to him. (She wouldn’t—she would never, but Wei Wuxian’s desperate heart almost wishes she could.)
Lan Wangji is Wei Wuxian’s friend. And Wei Wuxian will admit to liking him a great deal! But loving… The idea of loving him sets off a wildfire in his heart and body, overwhelming and powerful. He tries to tell himself it’s anger due to his regard being confused for something so embarrassing, but this belief is slippery and keeps falling between his fingers. Wei Wuxian groans and tries to wriggle closer into his bed, his mind scrambling over the different thoughts of what people in love do. Holding each other, soft words of affection, kissing—! A garbled squeak erupts from the flushed mass that is Wei Wuxian and he briefly shoves his face deeper into his sheets before hurling himself into a starfish position to try and banish the restless and giddy feeling vibrating down to the tips of his fingers.
The moon holds him through this, her gentle light still tracing him and cradling the budding testaments of his affection. Wei Wuxian turns his head to regard the flowers, who lie limp and waiting. A thought catches him and he takes the chance to roll to his feet and finally take the book into hand. He doesn’t bother to check the old flowers, instead, he holds the book to his chest and closes his eyes. In his head, his memories of Lan Wangji are allowed to play: their fateful first meeting, the brimming silence at the library, the teasing delight of sharing the cold pond, and every other instance in-between. Unbidden, the only clear memory he has of his parents also comes into his head, and he tentatively replaces their bodies with him and Lan Wangji. Something warm begins to unfurl in his chest, different from the hot embarrassment from before. With his eyes sliding softly open, Wei Wuxian whispers, “Lan Zhan.”
It’s a horrible idea, for multiple reasons, but mostly because the flower that he coughs up is unlike the others in that its stem is more of a branch than anything else. It digs into his throat as he tries to wheeze around it, and as it hits his mouth and the flowers begin to bloom, they erupt in a flurry and fill the small space even more than the hyacinths. He tries to swallow on instinct and ends up choking around the blockage and hurriedly decides to simply yank the stupid flower from his throat. It has no roots and Wei Wuxian is thankful, as he’s not sure he would have survived an entire tree taking root in his chest.
The flower is a cut branch of a lilac tree, its soft purple buds drenched in more than just salvia, to Wei Wuxian’s lessening disgust, and for some reason these ones feel special. He gently cleans some of the flower’s petals before laying it in his lap and turning to catch the moon’s light, looking for the meaning written neatly in the tiny book.
“Lilac,” he murmurs upon finding it, ignoring the tremble of the pages and his fingers, “Stands for…” He inhales. “Oh.”
Glowing in the moonlight in fine ink, the words first love stare back at him.
*
Wei Wuxian—finally—admits to his feelings the next morning, to his sister’s smile and Jiang Cheng’s irritated and continued bafflement, but he refuses to delve into why such feelings exist as he doesn’t wish to pry too heavily into them. He has been embarrassed quite enough and, besides, his stupid body is still cursed and still trying to kill him with petals, so he has more important things to think about, please, Jiang Cheng.
“So, what’s the plan?” Jiang Cheng asks once they’ve settled. The sun is already bearing down on them and part of Wei Wuxian is upset they’re hosting the conference so late into the sticky summer. If the other clans hadn’t been here, he could be swallowed up by the refreshing water of the lotus ponds, or, if they had gone to Gusu, he could be sprawled in the dew tipped grass of the mountains, cool and free. It’s a pleasant fantasy that Jiang Cheng knocks him out of, “Oi! Wei Wuxian, pay attention! This is all your fault in the first place!”
“What can we do?” Wei Wuxian whines, rubbing at his now bruised shoulder. “The clans will begin arriving within the hour and we’ll be too busy running around to look into this anymore. I’ll be fine, Madam Yu wants to keep me out of sight anyways, so I can remain with the other disciples and keep busy with them.”
“You know this means you’re going to have to avoid Lan Wangji right?” Jiang Cheng asks with narrow eyes. Wei Wuxian looks utterly miserable, which is answer enough.
“We could always tell him,” Jiang Yanli offers, “Who knows, perhaps Second Master Lan would be able to help. Father has mentioned many times that the Lan clan is particularly adept at curses.”
“No! No, no, no, no, we can’t let Lan— We can’t let him know!” Wei Wuxian’s flustered face glows bright red. “Shijie, please promise me you won’t tell him! It’s embarrassing enough to have you two find out my feelings in such a way, how could I save any face if I had to confess to him like this? No! I won’t do it.”
“Oh, A-Xian,” Jiang Yanli sighs, but she concedes when he repeats his plea.
“i can avoid him! It’s fine! And once this is all dealt with I’ll write a letter of apology for ignoring him and invite him to come play with me again. It’s fine!”
Mercifully, Jiang Cheng does not bother asking why Wei Wuxian feels he would need to apologize, why he’s so sure Lan Wangji will even notice, but this is due to a servant arriving, and has nothing to do with any sort of delicateness. The Sects have arrived and the siblings bid Wei Wuxian farewell. He pushes a smile onto his face, clinging to the look of mischief he typically wears so naturally. He’ll be fine. He has to be.
*
The Lan Clan is the first to show, perfect, polite, and punctual, and the Jiangs welcome them warmly. Lan Xichen, of course, extends his own gratitude while Lan Wangji’s gaze flickers minutely past the family and to the disciples trailing them—although this is noticed by Jiang Yanli alone.
“A-Cheng, A-Li, why don’t you two show GusuLan to their rooms? Jin Guangshan has informed me they’ll be quite late and QingheNie is not set to arrive until this evening.” Jiang Fengmian says, smiling at his children. “It has been many years since GusuLan has visited us here, I’m sure they would appreciate a small tour.”
“Thank you, Sect Leader Jiang,” Lan Xichen says with a small bow and his own benevolent smile. “Young Master Wei spoke often about the beauty of Lotus Pier, I am looking forward to being able to appreciate it myself.” He then makes a small show of glancing around, ignoring the stiffness of his brother’s shoulders when he asks, “Where is Young Master Wei? I am surprised he is not here as well.”
“A-Xian extends his regard to the GusuLan Sect,” Jiang Yanli cuts in swiftly, bowing her head, long since practiced in taming the flare of her mother’s anger in regards to her younger brother, “But he has other duties to attend to, which keep him from greeting you. I hope you can forgive him.”
“Of course. My uncle would be pleased to hear of him taking such things seriously.” Lan Xichen replies, mirth lying in the corner of his eyes. A surprising show of affection. “I’m afraid Cloud Recesses isn’t the same following his presence.”
“A-Ying enjoys making a statement wherever he goes,” Jiang Fengmian agrees with fond exasperation, cutting over the irritated huff of his wife. “The Jiang Sect thanks Grand Master Lan and Sect Leader Lan for their extended patience.”
“Why must we be the ones to thank them?” Madam Yu speaks up sharply, “Wei Ying is the one to have wasted their time. And despite his unseemly behaviour being a direct mark against us, you refused to punish him. Such shamelessness, and not only does it go unchecked, but thanked. Ridiculous.”
The air is quickly stilted, with neither Lan expecting such backlash. High in mountains and free from the worldly bothers of gossip, it is not surprising they remain mostly unaware of the barbed words of Madam Yu. It is all Lan Xichen can do to incline his head and offer peace, “While Young Master Wei has indeed left his mark on GusuLan, it is nothing close to a stain, and my uncle still speaks highly of Young Master Jiang’s work ethic and skills. There is no need for YunmengJiang to worry.”
“Thank you for such kind words, Sect Leader Lan,” Jiang Yanli smiles, “We are pleased to hear it. Shall we lead you to your residence?” It’s a hasty exit, to be sure, but it is allowed and Jiang Yanli offers up distractions as they move towards the northern section of the mansion. It’s recognized as the most peaceful section of the mansion and Jiang Yanli is sure to offer up many spots they are more than welcome to utilize for morning meditation or guqin practice. The specificity surprises Lan Xichen, but before he can express his thanks or anything of the sort, a loud laugh chimes past them, and all heads are turning.
It’s Wei Wuxian, surrounded by disciples no older than ten, who seem to be pleading with him for something that he is very happily denying them. He’s too far to hear, but his mischief is still plain to all.
“As Head Disciple, A-Xian has been spending most of his time helping train the youngest of our sect, which is why he’ll be unable to spend much time at the Discussion Conference.” Jiang Yanli explains easily. While Jiang Cheng too has been protected by his sister’s easy words and half truths, he’s always impressed at how simple she makes it.
Across the field, Wei Wuxian looks up and has to physically hold himself back from rushing them. It’s been several years since he’s seen Lan Wangji, and yet the desire to be at the man’s side and pepper him with teasing remarks and playful banter is as strong as he had seen him just yesterday. It almost bowls him over, just how badly he wants , and even more so, how familiar this feeling truly is.
Maybe the flowers really do have a point.
(Something itches in his chest.)
“This disciple welcomes the GusuLan Sect!” Wei Wuxian says instead of doing anything of the things he aches to do. He gives them his own salute before nudging at the tiny disciples surrounding him who quickly mirror him, their words swelling beside him. GusuLan returns the gesture and only then does Wei Wuxian allow himself the briefest glance at Lan Wangji. He’s beautiful, of course he is, and more than that he’s looking back at Wei Wuxian and Wei Wuxian wants—
Wei Wuxian spins around quickly to find whatever distraction he can. It happens to be his poor and adoring disciples.
“Alright, breaks over! No sect is going to be impressed by sloppy footwork. Repeat the set, five times!”
The disciples’ groans join a new ring of laughter from Wei Wuxian as Jiang Yanli makes to subtly hurry GusuLan along. This time, she misses the quiet look of yearning hidden in the tight corners of Lan Wangji’s mouth and faintly furrowed brow. He’s been ignored, he knows it, and he does not like it. Lan Xichen catches the minute hesitation in his brother’s steps, but Lan Wangji does not give him any opportunity to mention such a stumble. He’s evidently embarrassed himself enough, expecting Wei Wuxian’s full attention, he needs not do any more.
*
The excuse of training disciples works well in Wei Wuxian’s favour, allowing him to also miss what’s sure to be an awkward encounter between the Jiang and Jin Sect. He meanders around the winding docks and hallways, humming half tunes and greeting the already harried servants. He’s assigned the junior disciples a break, the sun too hot for any of them to function properly, and he’s off to see if he can sneak away with any watermelon from the kitchens. They surely deserve such a refreshing treat! And if Jiang Cheng yells it will simply be because of jealousy and the agony of having to deal with Jin Zixuan so Wei Wuxian is hardly concerned.
He is not the only one wandering and delight trills in him when he spots Lan Wangji quietly watching the swaying flowers at the edge of a dock.
“Be careful you don’t fall in!” He says before he can think to stop himself. Lan Wangji startles and turns to him, golden eyes just slightly wider than usual. Any reminder Wei Wuxian could think to tell himself about why talking to Lan Wangji is a bad idea spills from his head, knocked clean out but a single glance. He’s missed this, catching Lan Wangji off-guard. Besides, all Wei Wuxian has to do is avoid saying his name. He can do this.
“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji says in greeting. Wei Wuxian almost fails his mission immediately.
“Laaaa.. Lotus Pier!” He corrects loudly. “Lotus Pier! How are you liking it? Isn’t it beautiful? I told you it was!”
Lan Wangji blinks, and then, “Mn.”
“Is that it? Mn? Come on, L… Now! You could at least pretend like you agree. What do you think of your rooms? I was the one to recommend them! They’re far away from everything so you won’t be bothered by us. We couldn’t put you too close to the docks, after all, it’s always so lively down there! Everyone from GusuLan would hate it!” Wei Wuxian laughs and Lan Wangji feels a tick of annoyance. “Now you won’t be disturbed when you try to sleep. Everything around here is open way into the night, you know, and I didn’t want it to bother you.”
Delicate joy begins to bud in Lan Wangji’s chest, replacing his earlier annoyance easily at such an admission. It’s a kind of thoughtfulness he hadn’t expected from Wei Wuxian, who previously seemed to dedicate his life solely to the abject misery of Lan Wangji. It’s as sweet as the tiny candy treats his mother once snuck him and fills him with the same hidden pleasure. He inclines his head to show his gratitude.
“Well?” Wei Wuxian asks, swaying forward with an impish look, “Lan Zhan, are—”
They to your liking is what Wei Wuxian wishes would come out of his mouth. Instead, he’s taken over by an attack and bent over double. This flower feels different than the others, taking a more hands on approach as it climbs its own way up his throat. The flowers it carries bloom rapidly in his mouth, leaving a sickeningly sweet taste on his tongue. Turning his back, he manages to get enough out his mouth that he can bite and spit half of it into his sleeve and snap, “Don’t come near me,” to a Lan Wangji that looks entirely too worried. Wei Wuxian works to fully clear out the flower and tuck it away. Its stench lingers, bright and sweet around him and Wei Wuxian holds back a wince when he swallows down two of the petals and some of the leftover nectar in his mouth.
“Sorry about that!” He wheezes, “I’m not feeling well! Don’t want to get you sick! Gotta go!”
It’s more than just a little unbecoming, the way Wei Wuxian all but flees, the back of one hand pressed tight to his lips. How could he be so stupid! What if Lan Wangji had seen the flower? What could he have said to explain it? Tears are pricking the corners of his eyes again thanks to the vining flower that had sprouted this time and he wipes them away roughly. Maybe Jiang Cheng was right, maybe this is his punishment.
*
Amidst a honeysuckle sweet fragrance, so out of place amongst the more pleasant lotus blossom blooms, Lan Wangji is left off balanced and stung. Childishly, Lan Wangji feels him puffing up in outrage, thinking of how Wei Wuxian had been the one to approach him and that if he had no desire to speak with Lan Wangji he could have kept walking. It’s an unsavoury taste on his tongue, breaking from the rules of etiquette taught to him, but, as always, it’s all Wei Wuxian’s fault.
(This doesn’t take the ache in his chest away.)
He doesn’t mean to, but as he and his brother begin to settle in for the night, sharing one final pot of tea as they finish unwinding, Lan Wangji voices his concern. It’s not meant to go anywhere, his offhand comment of, “Wei Ying is acting strangely.” It’s nothing more than a statement of fact after all, his brother had even mentioned it earlier. But, because it is Lan Wangji who says it, and Lan Xichen who hears it, Lan Xichen pauses in drinking his tea.
“Did something happen?” He coaxes gently, placing his cup down. He keeps his tone even. He knows his brother can be as easy to startle as the rabbits he dotes over when it comes to Wei Wuxian. Across from him, Lan Wangji frowns petulantly into his own tea cup.
“He’s dismissive.” Lan Wangji says before he has the chance to wrangle the words back into his mouth. Embarrassment seeps into his skin as he hears himself. Is this not arrogance? Believing that he’s someone Wei Wuxian would even bother dismissing? A quiet voice somewhere within Lan Wangji reminds him that Wei Wuxian had promised to play with him at Lotus Pier, but another voice, much louder, reminds him that Wei Wuxian is always saying such fanciful things. That does not mean he means them.
“I’m having tea with Lady Jiang in the morning, perhaps she’ll have some answers for us.” Lan Xichen tells him after a moment of careful thought. “I agree, he does seem a little avoidant.”
Lan Wangji nods, awkward and stiff, both relieved and worried. He’s not sure what answer it is he’s hoping for.
*
The temperature dips to something more manageable by mid morning the next day. Even the Lans, in their heavy layers and mountain acclimatization, can move about without the fine lines of stress hidden on their faces. True to word, Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji both meet and greet Jiang Yanli at her self-described favourite pavilion and settle in nicely. After a conversation that feels as finely tuned as the instruments they play, each sentence and compliment a pleasant chord, Lan Xichen settles and asks, as casually as he can, “Is everything all right with Young Master Wei?”
Jiang Yanli startles, a discordant note resonating between them, but she quickly catches herself with an easy smile and evades with, “Why do you ask?”
“Wangji was concerned.” Lan Xichen admits, to the stifled horror of his younger brother.
“Not… too concerned.” Lan Wangji gets out stiffly, to the tender amusement of Jiang Yanli. Lan Wangji abruptly feels transparent; seen. It’s rather unnerving.
Before Jiang Yanli can give any reassurances—as sweet as Lan Wangji’s shy worry is, she made a promise to Wei Wuxian—a commotion starts on the docks a ways off from them and the trio turn their heads to look. It’s a picture familiar to Lan Xichen, Wei Wuxian with his echoing voice and arm wrapped tight around an indignant Jiang Wanyin and a tentative Nie Huaisang trailing them both. A reunion Lan Xichen knows Nie Huaisang had been looking forward to, which is only due to having listened to multiple grumbles from Nie Mingjue when they met the night before.
“A-Xian looks fine to me,” Jiang Yanli says, watching as her brothers immediately begin to wrestle. However, this scene changes quickly when Wei Wuxian notices them and begins to wave dramatically with a beaming look—one cut short when a look of horror unfurls over his face and he’s stumbling to his knees by a new coughing fit. Everyone leaps to attention and Lan Wangji’s fists curl at his sides. Something isn’t right.
Jiang Cheng is the first to make a move, blocking as much as Wei Wuxian as he can with his own body as he shouts, much louder than necessary, “I told you not to drink so fast! Idiot!” and then, after he’s turned around, “Don’t worry, A-Jie, he’s okay!”
It’s such an outright lie that Lan Wangji is frankly insulted. He’s given no time to argue, with Nie Huaisang taking over as a block, opening his fan to hide Wei Wuxian’s face while Jiang Cheng yanks him to his feet and into a room close by. Both he and his brother turn to Jiang Yanli, whose own fists have tightened into her robes with worry, but she still meets their concern with a faltering smile, “A-Xian, he… He’s just a bit under the weather. He just didn’t want to worry any of the other sects, that’s all.” And while both Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji know this is as much a fabrication as Jiang Cheng’s retreat, neither say anything, and the quiet duet of chatter they had been playing ends.
*
“What happened?” Jiang Yanli says in a rush as she hurries to the now seated Wei Wuxian pathetically cradling an amaryllis flower, a flower with a lengthy stem and extravagant bloom. She frets as she can, brushing back his hair and slipping one of her hands in his, but he barely even tips her head at her.
“The curse has gotten worse,” Jiang Cheng explains grimly, with Nie Huaisang, who had been very quickly and horrifyingly filled in on the matter, beside him holding a fluttering fan. “Now, apparently, all he has to do is think too much about Lan Wangji and he starts hacking.”
“This is so stupid!” Wei Wuxian shouts, kicking out one of his feet and glaring at the mess in his hands. “I can’t say his name, I can’t think about him, what am I supposed to do? Lock myself in a room and cultivate a magical way to rid myself of this stupid curse?!”
“A-Xian,” Jiang Yanli murmurs, her heart aching. Seeing him like this is too much for her to bear, so she swallows and tightens her grip on Wei Wuxian’s fingers. Her next words are slow and careful, “A-Xian, I think it’s time we get help.” His gaze snaps to her with all the terror of a wounded animal and she brings her other hand up to cling to both of his, “We don’t need to tell Mother and Father, but the Lan Sect is known for their curse handling. If nothing else, they can give us something to work with. We don’t have to explain anymore than we need to.”
“It’s a good idea, Brother Wei” Nie Huaisang pipes up, still tucked in close to Jiang Cheng, made wary of Wei Wuxian’s temper. “Xichen-gege is really good at this sort of stuff. I mean, they are known for their library and he can be pretty discreet about these sorts of things.” He ducks behind his fan at the accusatory look Jiang Cheng shoots him while Wei Wuxian continues to wither on the floor.
“I just…” he tries eventually, “I just don’t want Lan—him to know.”
“I know,” Jiang Yanli assures him, trying her best for a smile, “But, A-Xian, you can’t keep going on like this. Let me collect Sect Leader Lan, okay? I won’t tell Second Master Lan, you have my promise.”
Miserable, and out of options, Wei Wuxian nods.
*
Unfamiliar anxiety ripples in Jiang Yanli as she returns to where she had left the two jades of Lan, still quietly sipping their tea and staring into the distance. They both stand when they notice her and her heart clenches when even she can see the worry alight in Lan Wangji’s eyes. She wishes she could ease his concern, but she has a promise to keep.
“Sect Leader Lan,” she begins respectfully and with a small salute, “While this may seem sudden, might we request your help with A-Xian?”
It’s a testament to the integrity of the Lan Clan that Lan Xichen shows no arrogance or self-satisfaction for being right in their earlier questioning and instead, he only dips his head and says, as benevolent as ever, “Of course.” There’s no pretence and Jiang Yanli feels some of her earlier concern ebb away. However, when she and Lan Xichen begin to step away, Lan Wangji promptly falls in line behind them.
“I’m sorry, Second Master Lan,” Jiang Yanli says, praying her apology is as palpable as the hurt growing on Lan Wangji’s face. “But A-Xian has requested that you don’t come along.”
Both brothers wear an expression of shock, but while Lan Xichen is more laced with confusion, Lan Wangji’s is edged with a fine layer of betrayal.
“Why.” He asks, small and quiet, before Lan Xichen has the chance. Jiang Yanli wants to take his hands in hers, like she does when Wei Wuxian is masking his own pain, brush back his hair and soothe him, but instead she can only shake her head.
“Wangji is very talented,” Lan Xichen tries, “I’m not sure what ails Young Master Wei, but I’m sure he’ll be able to help.”
Jiang Yanli’s promise sits strongly in her heart. She refuses them once more.
“I’m sorry, but he only agreed to your help if Sect Leader Lan is the only one who comes.” She meets Lan Wangji’s gaze. “Please don’t be offended, there's a good reason, but I’m afraid I can’t share it.”
“… Alright,” Lan Xichen agrees after a moment of silence, watching his brother with a look of pity when he sees the minute flinch of his shoulders. “There’s still a bit of time until the conference. Let’s go now.”
“Thank you,” Jiang Yanli says, her shoulders dipping as the weight is released from this. “Second Master Lan, please wait here. When this is all over, we will have an explanation for you, I promise.”
*
Hidden away in Wei Wuxian’s bedroom, Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng continue to avoid the rest of the conference. It echoes around then, the chatter of the disciples, the calls from servants, and even the stray shrieking laughter as the town’s children whistle by, following the disciples who have snuck them in. Nie Huisang has left, being hailed away by no less than three Nie disciples no longer able to contain his irate brother—“I would ask Da Ge for help,” Nie Huaisang had said with his fluttering fan hiding a mischievous smile, “But I really don’t think he would be any. However, if you happen across any fairies, be sure to call on us!”—and in his absence, gloomy silence grows within the locked room. The playful energy from outside unable to seep in.
Wei Wuxian is settled on his bed, harbouring his own personal raincloud as he plucks the fragile petals from the newest flower to grow from him. He hadn’t bothered to look up its meaning as he blames it personally for ruining the already delicate farce they had created for the Lans. Across from him, stands Jiang Cheng, stilted and nervous, who watches Wei Wuxian ruin the flowers with a hesitant gaze. It feels wrong to destroy the pretty things, but he’s not about to wrestle it away from Wei Wuxian.
“Do you really like him that much?” He asks, and the words arrive without him realizing it. It’s a question that’s been on his mind since the beginning, but it still feels cruel to pry.
Wei Wuxian doesn’t answer at first, tracing one of the final petals of the amaryllis flower. It looks quite pathetic now, more of a drowned cat than the roaring lion it had first been.
“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian finally replies with a sigh. “I really do.” A weak smile lights his face and it remains as he continues, “Jiang Cheng, I had plans. I was going to show him all around Lotus Pier, take him out to steal lotus pods with me so I could laugh and then save him from being scolded too harshly by the old man who guards them. I wanted to teach him how to swim or race him if he already knew, and show him all my favourite stalls and see if I could tease him into buying me something. And now, now I…”
When this flower blooms, Wei Wuxian hardly bothers with the pain it brings. The branch it carries itself on scrapes up his throat, but he’s practiced enough techniques now to spit it out without too many problems, even if the bright pink head of the camellia tries to choke him as it unfurls on his tongue.
“You could just tell him,” Jiang Cheng grumbles in that way of his, the one that means he’s concerned, not bothered, edging forward to take a look at the blossom. “You know that right?”
“I can’t tell him like this!” Wei Wuxian groans, falling back. “Not with a bloody flower! I need—I need to do it properly! I already have a slim enough chance with him, there’s no need to make it worse.” Jiang Cheng gives him a look and Wei Wuxian huffs. “Don’t even start, you say it all the time. Lan—He probably hates me. There’s probably no point to me confessing in the first place.”
“Don’t say that.” Jiang Cheng bites out, sharper than he means and with more feeling than he intended. He immediately colours when Wei Wuxian turns to him, almost dumbstruck. “He… He would be so lucky to have someone like you! Does he think so high of his Lan Clan? We’re just as good as any of them.”
“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian whispers and the other pointedly keeps his nose high, arms crossed, and gaze averted. “Jiang Cheng! You’re so cute! Praising me like this! Well, go on, I’m sure you have more to say! Shall we discuss my virtue and elegance next?”
“Shut up!” Jiang Cheng demands, and laughter begins to spill anew form Wei Wuxian’s room as Jiang Cheng rushes him to fight, his show of affection both over and ongoing.
The brawl ends quickly, when Wei Wuxian’s wheezing laughter evolves into another coughing fit. Nudging the flower away with the edge of a blanket, Jiang Cheng takes a seat at the foot of the bed and asks, “If Zewu-Jun does come, will you be alright?” Wei Wuxian replies with a blank stare. “They look almost the exact same, won’t that aggravate the curse?”
“They do not look the exact same,” Wei Wuxian huffs, “Lan—Zewu-Jun is very nice looking but Who-Know-Who is much more beautiful.”
Jiang Cheng decides he doesn’t want to know anymore. Which works well, as a quiet knock sounds at the door not three minutes later.
Jiang Yanli and Lan Xichen enter, Lan Xichen’s eyes glancing over the odd amount of flowers now decorating Wei Wuxian’s room, but he doesn’t mention them, even when he takes in the wilted ones still spread on the table.
“Zewu-Jun,” Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian recite as they stand and give mirroring salutes. Wei Wuxian finishes with a sheepish, “Thank you for coming.”
“Of course,” Lan Xichen replies with a smile, “Can I ask what seems to be the problem?”
“A-Xian has been cursed,” Jiang Yanli tells him in immediately, watching as he startles and his kind face drops into obvious concern. “There’s been no effect on his energy or golden core but…” She trails off, Lan Xichen sitting next to Wei Wuxian in order to take his wrist in hand and feel for his pulse and check his other vital signs. “While it wasn’t inflicted by a cultivator, it still seems to have some power and we’ve been unable to find anything that breaks it. The trigger is also very troublesome… it’s..”
Despite the situation, amusement pulls at Lan Xichen’s mouth and he glances up from where he's working to look Wei Wuxian in the eyes and ask, “Wangji?”
Stunned silence, Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian both gape at him.
“How did you know?!” Wei Wuxian asks with a shout, nearly knocking Lan Xichen’s hand right off of him as he jolts.
“I had my suspicions when you personally asked that my brother not join me. It felt a bit out of character.”
Wei Wuxian groans; wilting like the flowers around him. Looking pathetically at Lan Xichen, he asks, “Was he upset? Zewu-Jun, I really don’t want to avoid him! It’s not my fault! It’s just, Lan Zhan is—“
This flower is quick, Wei Wuxian too annoyed to bother with it for long. He only coughs twice and spits it out with ease, but when he tries to return to his conversation with Lan Xichen, the other man is now looking three shades from horrified and shifting his gaze between the three resigned siblings.
“Is this what it does?” He asks, heavily concerned, taking in the thin, wispy purple flower in Wei Wuxian’s lap. Jiang Yanli moves forward with a handkerchief to pluck it from between them and finds the book without a word. Wei Wuxian only nods.
Jiang Cheng starts, speaking as he would for any case, “It used to only happen if he said his name, but now—“, however he’s interrupted quickly.
“Jiang Cheng!”
“Do you want this stupid curse fixed or not!” Jiang Cheng snaps back to a scowling Wei Wuxian, whose face is going a hilarious shade of red.
Lan Xichen smiles indulgently and gently squeezes Wei Wuxian’s wrist, “Young Master Wei, whatever it is, you can tell me.”
He has a similar air to Jiang Yanli, and Wei Wuxian knows he wouldn’t be so cruel as to mock him for such an ailment, but… “It’s embarrassing!” Wei Wuxian whines, falling back to his bed again and covering his face with one arm, “Can’t we just work with it makes me cough up flowers?”
“It would help if I knew why it was Wangji in particular causing them,” Lan Xichen says, and Wei Wuxian can hear the amusement in his voice. He also hears someone shuffle and a quiet murmur that sounds like Jiang Yanli. He squeezes his mouth into a thin line and presses the arm smothering his sight down harder when Lan Xichen speaks up again. “A book on flower meanings? Are they connected?”
“If Zewu-Jun would like to look up the heliotrope flower’s meaning, it would answer a great deal of his questions.” Jiang Yanli explains gently, no doubt casting her dramatic brother a few looks.
“… Alright,” he murmurs after a moment and the gentle rustle of paper is the only thing to be heard. “Ah, here, the heliotrope, it stands for…” A pause. Wei Wuxian lets out a muted sound similar to a dying bird. “I see.”
Wei Wuxian really doesn’t want to see what sort of look Lan Xichen is making.
“And when did this start?” Lan Xichen asks, apparently moving right past Wei Wuxian’s flustered feelings. It feels like a dismissal and Wei Wuxian gets to tangle with feelings of rejection while his siblings continue to fill Lan Xichen in on what they know of the curse. By the time they’ve finished, Wei Wuxian has decided to not entirely hide, but he’s yet to remove his arm. “I see,” Lan Xichen repeats after learning of the entire mess. “It’s quite the predicament.”
Despite it all, Wei Wuxian snorts. Predicament is an understatement.
“I think I might know what curse this was based off of. My reading of it makes it seem quite simple, but if it wasn’t an experienced cultivator who cast it, there’s always a chance that it’s been corrupted and might not react as it should. I would like to do some research before making any attempts.” There’s a general noise of agreement, then, “And, Young Master Wei?” Wei Wuxian risks peeking out from his hideaway. There’s no cruelty or anger hiding in the corners of Lan Xichen’s face, none of the righteous indignation he knows would be burning across Lan Qiren’s, only gentle mirth and concern. “Please don’t fret too much over this.”
Wei Wuxian manages an embarrassed nod and Lan Xichen smiles properly once more.
While there are few things that mark the differences between the Two Jades of Lan, in Wei Wuxian’s eyes, they’re clear enough that it’s easy to tell the two apart. But, with Lan Xichen’s smiling face so close, it’s easy to imagine how such a kind expression would sit on Lan Wangji’s face. To imagine how it would feel to be the one who puts such a pleasant look on Lan Wangji’s face as well, to think of…
When the crimson red camellia is dragged out of Wei Wuxian’s throat, Jiang Cheng rushes about hissing about how he knew something like this was going to happen but Wei Wuxian only threatens to beat him off with the flower now in his hands. Lan Xichen looks entirely guilty, but Wei Wuxian waves him off.
(He still refuses an explanation and it’s all the others can do to humour him on such secrecy.)
*
The conference steals Lan Xichen away for two days, as he tries to delicately balance avoiding his brother’s questions, his duties as Sect Leader, and his own research, but he handles it with grace. Wei Wuxian is confined to his room so he can rest and give his throat a break, and he spends most of the time Jiang Cheng visits him bemoaning his cruel fate.
This afternoon Wei Wuxian is left on his own, meandering through the different scrolls he finds hidden away in the corners of his room. Only a few flowers still remain, his sister having stolen the rotting ones to keep out the flies, but the lilac is still bringing a gentle floral scent to the room, joined by the two camellia flowers crowding it in its vase. He flops onto his bed when he finds a book that promises a little bit of intrigue before he can resume pestering his brother, called away for sect duties, and the energy that hums in his room is quiet. Peaceful.
The energy that surrounds one Lan Wangji is less so. Since childhood, Lan Wangji has never been so locked out by his elder brother. With placid smiles and gentle assurances fluttering down his shoulder, Lan Wangji feels all of three years old. It’s humiliating. And he knows his brother knows this. The Jiangs treat him similarly, distantly, with Jiang Yanli offering sweet words and invitations to tea that Lan Wangji is ashamed he works his way out of. To be left alone with her as she tries to distract him from the obvious fact that not only is Wei Ying avoiding him, but the fact that everyone is helping him, is too much for him. He finds Jiang Wanyin easier to deal with as Jiang Wanyin simply refuses to deal with him.
He wishes they would just tell him what’s going on. No matter what it is he’s sure he could handle it.
The clouds have moved in, and while the sun is no longer weighing down across Lotus Pier, the humidity still drapes itself across everyone’s skin like a heavy blanket. A trickle of sweat is beaded at the back of Lan Wangji’s neck as he makes his way through the shaded hallways to find refuge in his room. It’s as he’s walking he hears a quiet song listing from one of the rooms. The voice is familiar and pleasant and his feet stop him before he knows it.
It’s not a song he recognizes, perhaps it’s a folksong from this region, but he realizes with a start that he’s taken himself closer than he realizes to Wei Wuxian.
Lan Wangji pauses outside the door. He has not been expressly forbidden from seeing Wei Wuxian, he’s only been held back. Surely there’s no harm in a customary greeting or non-accusatory question? He steels himself as the song peters out to more dulcet humming, Wei Wuxian likely distracted by something or another, and Lan Wangji latches onto a spark of courage that lights in his stomach and pushes open the door after two polite knocks.
Wei Ying must be expecting someone, Lan Wangji reasons, as he does not look terribly surprised to be intruded on. Something akin to relief burrows into Lan Wangji’s chest when Wei Wuxian’s face lights up upon recognition, with pleasant delight and a sunshine smile. Lan Wangji wishes this is the expression that stays. Instead, a look of terror shatters this joy and Wei Wuxian, who had been splayed across the floor reading, collapses into a coughing fit. Lan Wangji tries to step forward, to offer his assistance, but a new voice crashes over them, furious and sharp, as Jiang Wanyin marches forward and shoves Lan Wangji back.
“What are you doing here!?” Jiang Wanyin snarls, thrusting him back another two steps. “Who told you you could come here?! Get out! Leave Wei Wuxian alone!”
“Jiang Cheng…!” Wei Wuxian wheezes from inside, still in view of both of them. “Jiang Cheng!!”
“I’m—I’m sorry.” Lan Wangji says. He can hear the tremble in his voice, feel the vibration of humiliation in his fingers. It’s sour on his tongue and burns his ears. He should not have come. He should never have tried. He salutes them both, and hurries back the way he came. He’ll ask a servant for directions, he doesn’t need to go this way again.
As Lan Wangji rushes back, to perhaps find some sort of grave to bury himself in, Wei Wuxian finishes coughing up his newest flower—a bright yellow tulip whose pollen stains his tongue the same yellow—and immediately hurls it at Jiang Cheng.
“Why did you have to say that! Why did you have to say it like that?! Did you see how upset he was!” Wei Wuxian’s anger loses its power when hissed through shallow breaths. A tulip is not hard to cough up, but after a two day relief, the pain is sharp in his throat. “You could have just asked him to leave politely!” He still tries to command, with frustration tearing him up more than his curse. Wei Wuxian has seen many sides of the illustrious Lan Wangji. He has seen him startled, shy, furious, and baffled, but he has never seen him so distressed. After today, Wei Wuxian never wishes to see it again.
Surprisingly meek, Jiang Cheng kicks the flower back into the room, shutting the door behind him and defends himself, “He knows he’s not supposed to see you. What was I supposed to do? His carelessness is going to get you killed.”
“I’m not going to die because of a stupid flower!” Wei Wuxian tries to argue but his breathing is still weak and there are blood droplets dusting his hands that tell a different story.
“Yeah? And what happens if you cough up a rose? Or if the curse gets worse again and your body tries to cough up an entire tree instead of a single stupid lilac? What then?!”
“Then…! Then I’ll figure something out! I don’t need you yelling at him for me!”
A sharp sting—a thorn beneath a fingernail. Jiang Cheng’s fists curl at his sides.
“Fine!” he snaps, ripping the door back open, “Go ahead and die then, see if I care.”
He goes to make as swift an exit as Lan Wangji, but the door opens onto his sister’s frightened face and the fight snarling within him fades to a crackling hiss. Lan Xichen stands behind her and Jiang Cheng doesn’t bother meeting his eyes.
“We,” Jiang Yanli tries after a moment, “Zewu-Jun think he might have the solution.” Jiang Cheng nods, and steps to the side to allow them to pass. But when he attempts to make his exit, his sister latches onto his sleeve with a murmured, “A-Cheng, stay.” Her plea as soft as the summer rain.
“I believe I know what is ailing you. Or, well, at least what the curse is based off of.” Lan Xichen begins to explain, settling on the chair nearest Wei Wuxian, who drags himself back onto his bed. “In Dongying, there is a legend about a disease called the Hanahaki Disease . A terrible illness that afflicts those suffering from unrequited love. It causes a flower to grow in their lungs, and for them to cough up flower petals until their feelings are either returned, banished, or the host is killed.” Wei Wuxian’s skin pales to a white lighter than the robes of Lan and he swallows what few words try to escape. None of them would be coherent anyways.
Lan Xichen continues, “However, I don’t think this exactly is what’s ailing you. I heard from Nie Mingjue that many travellers have been bringing talismans over from Dongying that are meant to imitate this disease, however none of them have been perfectly successful. Young Master Wei, you said you felt as if there was something stuck at the bottom of your lungs?”
“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian breathes out, “At the base, here, where my bruise is. It didn’t feel like it was doing anything, so…”
“I see. I believe this, quite literally, is the root of our problems.” Something twinkles in Lan Xichen’s eyes at his own pun and Wei Wuxian slips into the relief that comes from this like a warm bath. “It’s a seed, from which all the flowers are sprouting. Thankfully, they’re not getting stuck in your lungs, which is why I believe it’s a failed attempt.”
“So… So do we just need to remove it?” Wei Wuxian asks hopefully, fingers still brushing the base of his sternum. To Lan Xichen, he looks all of fifteen again and he can’t fight back the gentle smile that comes to him.
“Yes, Young Master Wei, I believe that’s all we need to do. I can do it now, if you like.”
“Please,” Wei Wuxian says with a laugh, “Please, I want this thing out of me!”
Lan Xichen moves in to take a spot next to Wei Wuxian. In the name of modesty he gives a small apology when he needs to request Wei Wuxian’s robe to open but Wei Wuxian, who has behaved much more shamelessly with far more people, only laughs and tells him to do what he needs to.
One of Lan Xichen’s hands is placed over Wei Wuxian’s chest, the other holding his shoulder in support. Both close their eyes in preparation and the room draws in a singular breath as they wait. And wait. And wait .
Wei Wuxian peeks open one eye. While he’s no expert, he’s sure something should have happened by now . In front of him is Lan Xichen’s face, now pulled tight with a frown of concern and exertion. He seems to be pulling on something, so Wei Wuxian closes his eyes again to focus on his lungs. He can feel the seed Lan Xichen mentioned, but he does not feel it detaching, instead, he feels it dig in deeper. Lan Xichen must sense the same thing, as the glow of his spiritual power fades and he removes his hand slowly. Neither look exactly thrilled.
“I’m going to guess by the look on your faces that that didn’t work?” Jiang Cheng asks from across the room. This time, Jiang Yanli is the one to give him a warning, tugging on the sleeve of his robe with a reprimanding look.
“I can’t remove it,” Lan Xichen confirms, looking just as confused as the rest of them. “I don’t understand…”
Wei Wuxian’s mind buzzes as he contemplates an explanation.
“Maybe it only reacts to—to you-know-who.” Wei Wuxian says, hand clutched against his chest once more. He tilts his head up when he feels the weight of everyone else’s gaze. “Think about it! The only time we could get the seed to react and cause the stupid flowers was when I said his name! Maybe.. Maybe it’s tied to him. So he has to be the one to take it out.”
The logic is sound, but that doesn’t mean it makes the situation easier. In fact, Wei Wuxian begins to look just as miserable as he had earlier.
“Are we going to tell him then?” Jiang Cheng asks when a silence stretches for too long. Wei Wuxian makes a sound like a keening pot and tries to bury himself in his bed as the others continue to talk around him.
“I think we may have to.” Jiang Yanli murmurs, watching the dramatic show of her brother.
“Well, I mean, we might as well get this over with.”
“Is he even going to want to come?” Wei Wuxian asks from his burrow of blankets. “After Jiang Cheng yelled at him…!”
“I will handle my brother,” Lan Xichen interrupts with ease, diffusing the fight quickly and efficiently. “I will only tell him what he needs to know to complete the operation and then—Young Master Wei?” Wei Wuxian blinks up at him. The kind look Lan Xichen always wears is still there, but there’s a warning present behind it. “You will be telling Wangji the truth about all this after, won’t you?”
There’s only one right answer, and thankfully, it’s the one Wei Wuxian was already going with.
“I will tell him.” He promises. “Once I can say his name again, I’ll explain everything to him.”
Lan Xichen nods, pleased. “Then I shall go get him.”
*
In truth, Wei Wuxian isn’t expecting Lan Wangji to agree to help. As righteous as the Lan clan is, Wei Wuxian has first hand experience with how petulant and stubborn Lan Wangji can be. But, within the half hour, Lan Xichen is quietly knocking on his door once more and Lan Wangji is being ushered inside. Jiang Yanli and Jiang Cheng have already left in order to give them an air of privacy. Wei Wuxian is still sitting at the edge of his bed, fingers clutching at the thin bedsheets and his gaze pointedly focused on his shoes. And then Lan Wangji’s shoes when they come into view.
“Hello.” It’s a quiet greeting, wearing the tentativeness gained from their earlier confrontation. “Brother has told me what I need to do. Are you ready?” Wei Wuxian nods. Lan Wangji hesitates. “Have you taken anything?”
A light puff of laughter escapes Wei Wuxian, although it carries very little amusement. “There’s no reason to.” He explains with an indifferent shrug. How bad could a tiny seed be? This seems to bother Lan Wangji, as he doesn’t speak for several moments. Long enough, that Wei Wuxian finally has to look up at him, to see if he had even heard him, only to find Lan Wangji’s pretty face pinched with worry. Wei Wuxian has to smile. Lan Wangji is too cute.
“It’s okay, we’re just going to pull it out of my throat, not cut it out of me. Don’t worry so much!” Wei Wuxian says, feigning his usual cheer, “I assure you, whatever happens, I’ve coughed up worse.”
Of course, this does little to settle the worry brewing on Lan Wangji’s face and only serves to make it worse. Wei Wuxian risks everything by leaning forward to tug gently on Lan Wangji’s hand, pulling him down to sit beside him. “Come on, let’s get this over this.”
They do the same song and dance from before, Wei Wuxian still laughing, even if its pitch is higher, when Lan Wangji’s modesty warms his ears and ducks his head at the sight of Wei Wuxian’s bare chest. Lan Wangj’s hand feels warmer than Lan Xichen’s when it’s placed over Wei Wuxian’s lungs. He also finds himself flustered at the size of it. Did Lan Wangji always have such big hands? How much bigger than Wei Wuxian’s are they? Wei Wuxian wants to tug it back up and compare right away, but he forces himself to take a deep breath instead. Lan Wangji’s hand, that carries the faintest tremor, settles and presses down harder.
“Ready?” Lan Wangji asks in a murmur. Wei Wuxian nods.
“Let’s do this.”
When the florist first threw the talisman at him, it felt like being pelted with a small rock. Hardly a noteworthy experience at all. He’d been pelted with far worse from Jiang Cheng after all.
This experience, however, this experience is terrible. The moment Wei Wuxian senses that Lan Wangji has located the seed, every instinct within him flares with the desire to wrench himself free. It hurts . The seed has embedded itself deep; into his bones, the tissues of his chest, the pull of his lungs, and it clings like a desperate lover. He can feel the tug of Lan Wangji’s energy working to break it out and Wei Wuxian has to fight himself trying to escape. It reminds him of the times Jiang Cheng had to pin him down when Jiang Yanli was working a particularly stubborn sliver from his hands or feet.
But there’s no Jiang Cheng here to hold him safe and grumble out distractions—Wei Wuxian must meet this alone.
Lan Wangji must sense his struggle and lifts his left hand to grab at Wei Wuxian’s shoulder to steady him. His fingers curl tightly into Wei Wuxian’s bicep and the dull pain is a welcome diversion. Lan Wangji pulls again and Wei Wuxian lets out a breath like a hiss.
“You have to endure it,” Lan Wangji tells him, voice soft with sympathy. It’s nice that he’s concerned, Wei Wuxian thinks blearily, Lan Wangji is very, very nice. One of Wei Wuxian’s hands reaches out to tangle with the soft silk of Lan Wangji’s robes as his body sways forward.
The seed makes it show of refusing Lan Wangji, but once it’s been plucked, it only gets worse. Its presence is sharp in the soft flesh of his lungs and it continues to put up a minor fight as it’s forced up Wei Wuxian’s chest and throat. His body reacts instinctively to the newly perceived intrusion and he begins to cough violently between shallow breaths.
“Keep going,” he wheezes when he feels Lan Wangji pause. There can be no stopping now.
Lan Wangji must give some sort of confirmation, and the seed begins to move again, but the coughing quickly grows worse and Wei Wuxian is knocked forward by it. He buries himself into the curve of Lan Wangji’s neck and the warmth he finds there and repeats, “Keep going!” around his laboured and stuttering breaths. It’s about half way up his throat, they’re almost done. The hand gripping his shoulder moves to rest at the back of his neck, damp strands of Wei Wuxian’s hand tangling in his fingers. Half delirious, Wei Wuxian wonders when it was last that he was so entirely at another’s mercy and completely okay with it. He can feel the heat of Lan Wangji’s breath on his ear, he can hear the rabbit fast pace of his heart. Both of Wei Wuxian’s hands reach out to clutch at the parts of Lan Wangji he can find—something in him still desperate to soothe.
They hold themselves here for a moment, as Wei Wuxian works through a particularly bad cough, with the seed nearing the back of Wei Wuxian’s throat. He holds back the desire to swallow, experienced enough to know it’ll only make things worse, and taps at Lan Wangji’s leg when he’s ready. This gentle tap, however, quickly becomes a desperate whack as the seed does hit the back of Wei Wuxian’s throat and he’s hit with the urge to vomit. But Lan Wangji is stubborn or baffled and he doesn’t recognize the hint. He refuses to release his hold on Wei Wuxian as he finally pulls it the final part of the way and Wei Wuxian can only twist like a snake, pulling at the arm encircling his shoulders, and spit the nasty blob onto the bed beside them.
To say it’s disgusting is putting it lightly.
While there’s no bile that comes up, the seed is coated in enough blood and spit to make it vile enough. It’s no bigger than a lotus seed and Wei Wuxian wonders just how it managed to be worse than even the largest flower. Not even the amaryllis caused as many problems! Together, with their bodies still wound close together, Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian stare at the rather innocuous looking thing. Then, when rational thought and a steady breathing pattern finally begin to return to Wei Wuxian, all he can do is laugh.
All this stress, all this worry and avoidance and sneaking around, because of something as tiny as his thumbnail. Truly, the anger of a slighted woman is a frightening thing.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says between barely contained giggles, “Lan Zhan, I can’t believe—“
Wei Wuxian freezes, his body preparing for the enemy it has been faced with for nearly a week. Then, he waits. And waits. And… His gaze snaps to Lan Wangji’s as fast as a lightning strike.
“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian repeats with a shout. Lan Wangji only blinks back at him, startled at the volume. A grin wider and brighter than the clear blue sky above them blossoms beautifully on Wei Wuxian’s face. “Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan !”
“Yes?” Lan Wangji asks, delightfully and adorable confused. Wei Wuxian shouts, nonsensical and wild, and buries himself back into the curve of Lan Wangji’s body.
“Lan Zhan!” He continues to crow, “Lan Zhan, I can say your name again! Oh, Lan Zhan, I’ve missed you! I’ve missed you so much! Lan Zhan, did you know you have a very nice name?”
Lan Wangji, caught utterly off guard, can only manage a fumbled, “I—Thank you?” which is more than enough to encourage more compliments to spring from Wei Wuxian.
“It’s probably my favourite name,” he tells him, “But don’t tell anyone that. They’d be jealous, you know.”
“Okay,” Lan Wangj promises, stunned and pliant. Wei Wuxian looks up from the small home he’s made in Lan Wangji’s arms and beams at him briefly before settling back down. Lan Wangji, who had been expecting to be awkwardly thanked and then waved off, is entirely lost on what he’s supposed to do now. “Wei Ying?” he asks, to which he gets a wondering hum. “What’s going on?”
Silence falls on them. Wei Wuxian shifts awkwardly in his hold.
“Oh,” he starts, then trills with laughter, “Right. I promised you an explanation. Or—well, I promised your brother one. Whoever says you’re the scarier one has obviously never angered Zewu-Jun.”
Wei Wuxian slowly unwinds himself from Lan Wangji, belatedly remembering Lan Wangji’s aversion to touch so he offers a quick apology—“Sorry, Lan Zhan! I know you don’t like… touching strangers…”—and takes a deep breath once he’s pulled himself back into a seated position a respectable distance away from a still wide eyed Lan Wangji.
“So,” Wei Wuxian begins, meeting Lan Wangji’s eyes. This turns out to be a mistake as a dark red blush quickly blooms on Wei Wuxian face at the other’s earnest expression. He doubts he’ll be able to admit to any of his shameful acts when Lan Wangji is looking at him like that, so he immediately hides his face within his hands and tries to continue, “So! Uh, I don’t know if you noticed, but I was kind of avoiding you these past few days.”
“I noticed,” Lan Wangi replies quietly. Wei Wuxian breathes in a sharp breath. Oh Lan Zhan…
“Right! I am sorry about that, by the way, I really didn’t want to avoid you, it's just…” Wei Wuxian groans and fidgets, freeing himself from his self imposed prison behind his hands, shoving them now to grasp awkwardly at his ankles. “Why is this so hard. Okay! I was cursed.”
Worry is something Wei Wuxian is expecting, however, the fury the rips across Lan Wangji’s face knocks him off balance.
“By who?” Lan Wangji demands, fists tight in his lap. Wei Wuxian has to hold himself back from doing something stupid like holding them.
“Just! No one! No one important! It wasn’t a cultivator, it was just! It was kinda my fault. Anyways! Moving on!” He says quickly, oddly uncomfortable with the idea of Lan Wangji being so upset over this. “I was cursed and because of the curse I coughed up flowers every time I said your name which is why I was avoiding you and I am really sorry about that but I couldn’t think of any other way to deal with it!”
“You,” Lan Wangji begins, brows furrowing. “Couldn’t say my name?”
Wei Wuxian releases a long breath, “Yeah. Which you think shouldn’t be that big a deal but it really made a mess of things. So annoying.”
“Why?” Lan Wangji asks, and while it’s a question Wei Wuxian is expecting, it doesn't mean he’s happy to answer it.
“Right, it was because, um, it was because…” Looking at Lan Wangji makes Wei Wuxian feel like he’s been set on fire, ignoring him and letting the wound he’s made fester makes him feel like he’s been boiled in oil, and skipping over this entire ridiculous situation will possibly result in his murder at the hands of Lan Xichen. Wei Wuxian really didn’t expect this to be so difficult . “It was because…” He looks back up and then slides his gaze away when he can feel the embers on his face light back up under Lan Wangji’s scrutiny.
As he distracts himself with the familiar objects of his room, Wei Wuxian catches sight of some of the flowers still homed in it. Maybe…
At first, he had said he didn’t want to confess with a bloody flower but now… now Wei Wuxian isn’t actually sure how he’ll be able to confess at all.
Wei Wuxian turns to dig through the mess of his blankets to look for the book he knows is there, it stabbed into his back earlier, grabbing and moving the seed as he does so. (Lan Wangji makes a hilariously disgusted face and Wei Wuxian laughs and promises he’s picked up worse things to have come from his body.) He gives a small cheer when he finds it and hands it off quickly to Lan Wangji before he can think better of it.
“The flowers that popped up,” he begins to explain, watching as Lan Wangji stares down at the book’s cover with the tiniest furrow of his brow, “They weren’t just random. They were connected to you. Every one that bloomed was a… representation of how I was feeling at that time and…” Wei Wuxian takes a long breath and drags himself in close. “And of how I felt about you.”
He can’t look at Lan Wangji, he’s verging too far into a confession, so he brings his knees in close and buries his face in them.
“They’re all around you, if you want to look. Every flower here came from me.” A slightly hysterical laugh that he tries to muffle. “Uhm, if you want this over with, just look up the lilac’s meaning. But, if you’re more curious, any of them would be a good bet.” A rocking silence echoes between them, with the same safety and unease of being in an unsteady boat. Wei Wuxian can hear the rustle of Lan Wangji’s robes as he begins to turn to take them in. But silence has never been Wei Wuxian’s strong suit, so he begins to babble on, “The camellias are good too, and I also coughed up a blue salvia earlier on. The red carnation makes everything pretty clear as well and… oh, is that one still here? Shijie might have thrown it out… Ah! Remember when I ran away from you the first day? That was because of a honeysuckle. It was awful, it tried to climb out itself and tasted so sweet! Shijie says it’s popular as a tea but I can’t see why…”
Wei Wuxian’s stream of words are dammed immediately when he hears the softest, “Oh.” come from Lan Wangji. Wei Wuxian tightens the hold he has on his legs.
“Which one did you look up?” he asks, as if the answer won’t be terribly embarrassing no matter what.
“Lilac.” Lan Wangji murmurs. Of course.
“Oh, that was one I did to myself. It’s what made me accept, well, what Shijie already told me. We were still trying to figure out why the curse had attached itself to your name and, well, that was really the only explanation that…” he hears Lan Wangji stand and his heart squeezes so painfully he has to bite back a gasp. Is he leaving? Of course he’s leaving, why would.. why would Lan Zhan…
“The tulip?” The question is sudden and Wei Wuxian nearly peeks out of his safe home within his arms.
“Oh! Uh, when you came to see me the other day and Jiang Cheng yelled at you. I coughed up a pink tulip early on too, when I thought about you coming to visit. They’re very annoying to get out.”
“Mm,” Lan Wangji hums and Wei Wuxian finally risks looking up. Lan Wangji’s back is to him, but there’s something soft in the slope of his shoulders as he gently picks up the yellow tulip still caught in the afternoon sun. He gently tucks it in next to the camellias with their proud petals widely splayed. Lan Wangji asks about those next and Wei Wuxian admits to them with a groan. He has to be quick when he mentions offhand it was technically Lan Xichen who incited the red one, and Wei Wuxian receives a rather vicious glare, that is only soothed over when Wei Wuxian insists he had been thinking only about Lan Wangji at the time.
They continue like this for some time, with Lan Wangji slowly moving about the room and collecting the flowers as he researches them and Wei Wuxian explains what brought them into existence. Eventually, they end with the small sprig of the heliotrope flower and suddenly Lan Wangji is sitting himself back down in front of Wei Wuxian, vase in hand.
Wei Wuxian stares at it, blinks, and looks up. He’s really hoping this isn’t some sort of elaborate rejection.
“Yes?” he prompts, because he needs some more guidance on what Lan Wangji expects him to do with this.
“This is…” Lan Wangji begins, pauses, and his fingers twitch—all things Wei Wuxian notices as he’s completely attuned himself to the other, “My reply.”
Wei Wuxian’t finds he can’t give his own as he stares at the flowers being given back to him.
“All of them?” Lan Wangji nods. “Lan Zhan, you… You know what these mean right?” The tips of Lan Wangji’s ears are a delightful pink. He nods. Something in Wei Wuxian’s heart reverberates so loud he’s amazed it isn’t audible. “Lan Zhan…”
Very gently, Lan Wangji plucks the still thriving lilac and places it close to Wei Wuxian’s foot. “From the first night we met,” he murmurs, before pulling out the amaryllis, “In class,” he then tugs on the out the red camellia, the pink in his ears darkening, and lays it beside them both. “The library.” Next is the pink camellia, whose wrinkled petals he gently smooths out, speaking with the same reverence, “When you left.”
Something in Wei Wuxian wildly thinks this must be a dream. There can’t possibly be any other explanation. Lan Wangji is—Lan Wangji …
He picks up the heliotrope and the honeysuckle, still bit in half and rather pathetic, but he still treats them with the same kindness, “When you were gone,” before finally, he grabs the yellow tulip and very delicately hands it to Wei Wuxian, their eyes finally meeting when he says, “When I learned we would be joining you here.”
It’s the most innocuous flower of the bunch, this limp yellow tulip, and yet it perhaps manages to bring the climax of Wei Wuxian’s joy. Lan Wangji had been excited to see him. Lan Wangji had been just as excited to see him.
Within two seconds, the sound of the vase shuddering against the floor, the rustle of cloth, and a bright sharp, “Lan Zhan!” is heard clear across the room as Wei Wuxian flings himself once more into the cradle of Lan Wangji’s arm. He’s too overwhelmed to say much beside Lan Wangji’s name, crowing it into his neck as he cuddles in close. The angle is terribly awkward and Lan Wangji hasn’t a clue where to politely leave his hands, but it’s all quite fine for one Wei Wuxian.
“Lan Zhan, I like you so much!” Wei Wuxian grins into warm skin, the words coming so easily now it seems a miracle he had them dammed for so long, “I really do! You’re really great! So good, my Lan Er Gege!!” The heartbeat that sounds where Wei Wuxian’s ear rests races faster than anything Wei Wuxian has heard before, but no arms have encircled him and when he peeks up, Lan Wangji looks more like a cornered rabbit than an enamoured beau. Wei Wuxian really would be worried, if the man hadn’t just called him the flame in his heart.
“Er gege!” Wei Wuxian whines, wiggling back to place the smallest amount of distance between them. He then takes Lan Wangji’s hands in his and kisses both palms before he speaks into them. “Are you really going to stay silent after such a love confession? Don’t you like me? Did I misunderstand? Were you just teasing me? I’ll be very sad if you were! I’ll cry and go drink myself into a very bad stupor and pester Jiang Cheng, and that will be in no one’s favour!”
“No,” Lan Wangji says on a sharp inhale, “I like you.”
Somehow, it’s worse to hear it. Wei Wuxian turns a vivid crimson and folds into himself—or, at least he tries. Lan Wangji’s grip remains and he only ends up collapsing with his forehead pressed into the swell of Lan Wangji’s cheek.
“You say it so easy! How can you say it so easily? Think of my poor nerves! Such bold words from Lan Wangji, how am I to survive?”
He hears Lan Wangji swallow, then, “I will simply say them more so Wei Ying becomes accustomed to them.” And Wei Wuxian is only given a few seconds reprieve before, “I like—“
“Okay!” Wei Wuxian squeaks, lurching to place both hands over Lan Wangji’s mouth. “I hear you! I believe you! Er gege doesn’t need to stay anymore!” Lan Wangji blinks. Wei Wuxian has never seen him so close. Even his eyelashes are beautiful. “Now, when I remove my hand, Lan Zhan is going to be a good boy and come sit with me, okay? No more bold confessions, I won’t hear them! My poor heart won’t be able to take it, so come sit with me instead. I’m very tired from my day so you have to take care of me.”
Lan Wangji nods—he’s more than happy to. A new flush of pink takes over for the receding blush from before on Wei Wuxian’s face. Lan Zhan is really too good.
They curl up at the head of Wei Wuxian’s bed, book laid open on the table beside them, with Wei Wuxian’s legs tossed over Lan Wangji’s and his head tucked into the crook of Lan Wangji’s neck. Wei Wuxian is regaling his stories of Lotus Pier to him, detailing every sketch etched into his bed frame, as he plays with Lan Wangji’s hands in his lap. It’s so easy, sitting with him like this, that part of Wei Wuxian still wonders if he had been knocked out by some tonic or another.
He says as much into the layers of Lan Wangji’s robes and Lan Wangji assures him it’s all quite real when he gathers him up tight. Like this, it becomes hard to think of the reasons that frightened him away from confessing before and Wei Wuxian lets out a pleased hum, arching with a purr like a spoiled cat. Oh, he’s never letting go of Lan Wangji again.
“Wei Ying?” Lan Wangji asks into the crown of Wei Wuxian’s head.
“Hm?”
“How did they know to curse my name?”
“Ah, we never could figure that—“ Wei Wuxian freezes suddenly, several memories falling into place as he mindlessly seems to connect the last few conversations he breezed through with the florist. One in particular jumps to the forefront of his mind, the one they had shared the day before the entire incident. The one that had come after she had received a batch of orchids. Wei Wuxian buries his face into Lan Wangji’s shoulder and says, with great feeling, “Oh no.”
“Wei Ying?"
“Lan Zhan, you know how lan can also stand for orchid right? It’s the gentleman of all flowers! Well, you see, I may have mentioned that, along with your name, more than once to a florist I was flirting with and—“ The arms encircling Wei Wuxian tighten and Wei Wuxian doesn’t even have to look to know a look of irritation has replaced Lan Wangji’s earlier curiosity, “And I think I might have accidentally made her a little jealous so when she asked me for a meal and I…” Lan Wangji pulls away and Wei Wuxian chases him, pushing himself into his lap and rushing to cradle that pouting face in his hands. “Aiyah, Lan Zhan, please don’t be mad! It wasn’t on purpose! Besides, I turned her down which is why she cursed me in the first place. Shouldn’t you be pleased? Flirting with girls and still all I could think about is you! You should be flattered!”
Lan Wangji is, but he’s not about to admit to such a thing quite yet.
“Hm,” he hums instead, regarding Wei Wuxian with a narrow gaze. “Wei Ying plays around too much.”
“I do not!” Wei Wuxian objects, puffing out his cheeks. “Lan Zhan is simply too stingy with his affections. One should always be nice to girls! Why do you think I keep so many trinkets on me? That way I can leave them with presents no matter what!” Wei Wuxian pokes his fingers into Lan Wangji’s cheeks to try and pull a smile out of him. “Lan Zhan, all you’d need to do is smile and you’d be in their memories forever! You really should do it more.”
“No,” Lan Wangji says immediately, catching Wei Wuxian’s palm and tucking his face into it. “They’re all for Wei Ying.”
“Y-You!” Wei Wuxian splutters, unrestrained delight and embarrassment catching him like a tidal surge. He doesn’t know whether to hide and cover Lan Wangji’s face with butterfly kisses. “How am I supposed to argue that? That’s unfair! You’re being rather rude right now, Lan Zhan.” Lan Wangji only hums again, with no sign of remorse, and presses a chaste kiss to the tips of Wei Wuxian’s fingers. He’s taking great delight in this new found power he has.
“Fine!” Wei Wuxian squeaks, flushed and inviting, “Then I’ll simply have to be twice as nice to all the girls to make up for Lan Zhan’s lack of—“ Another squeak, but this comes after Lan Wangji catches one of Wei Wuxian’s fingers between his teeth in warning. Wei Wuxian gives up with a wail and, “You are impossible!!”
Perhaps, but Wei Wuxian is a treasure, like the flowers he bloomed and the sunlight he carries in his smile. He is a blessing that challenges the order holding Lan Wangji’s passions captive and shows him both the terror and joy that comes with releasing oneself from self-made chains. Wei Ying is Lan Wangji’s heart, so he must always take good care of it.
Lan Wangji does not speak any of this, however, he does not try to explain himself, and lets Wei Wuxian burrow back into his arms with tepid complaints. Tomorrow he will borrow Wei Wuxian’s book, find a different florist, and work to create a proper bouquet that might better represent at least half of the affections that live within his heart.
“Ah, Lan Zhan, are busy tomorrow?” Wei Wuxian interjects, breaking Lan Wangji from these plans. He peers up at him with a delicate promise and brilliant adoration in his eyes. “I still have to show you around Lotus Pier. I did promise you after all!”
“… Mn.” Lan Wangji agrees, nuzzling into the soft brush of bangs kissing Wei Wuxian’s forehead. Maybe they’ve had enough flowers for the time being. “Let’s go.”
|
Bruce sees Mercy’s eyes following Clark as he leaves. They return to pin him with a look, while she maintains position right outside the kitchens by the server room door.
Someone comes up to her with a clipboard and questions. She turns to them with answers, but Bruce notices she’s keeping him in her peripheral vision. He wonders how far Lex has let her into his confidence. Whatever Mercy thinks she walked in on, she’s clearly not letting him wander around unattended, and in fact takes a step further into the room as if to loom over him from a distance.
There’s something distinctive about the way that she keeps her balance that he doesn’t entirely trust. Three places on that outfit where she can hide a knife.
But Bruce is secure in the midst of the kitchen staff; he ignores her and steals a canapé from a side tray.
Scarfs it down.
“This is great,” he compliments the chefs from around his mouthful. They grunt at him, absently working. They’re all watching the TV.
A streak of blue appears and a murmur rises.
Superman.
The anchors are excitedly speaking over the video. A quick patter of Spanish echoing the cheers and prayers from the crew around him. Superman floats gently down and delivers the girl to her mother.
The people on the scene crowd him in a tide and reach towards him as if to touch a statue that’d wept.
There’s a closeup of his face and Bruce sees Superman look around himself, at those reaching hands. The anchors are describing the live scene. Its as if the alien is holy, as if he's giving benediction. The commentators say the expression on that face is happy. That he is full of quiet joy, a reserved grace, using words usually found in descriptions of religious artwork.
Bruce thinks the man look nothing so much as confused and a bit distraught, framed and trapped behind the glass of the TV screen.
He glances away and looks at Lex’s assistant. She is watching the news as well, unamused, jaw hard.
Behind her, a woman in a red dress meets his eyes as she slips into the server room. Bruce picks up two champagne flutes from a tray and walks over to pass one to Mercy.
“A drink? Love your shoes by the way.”
She takes it, but her eyes narrow. “Are you quite done, Mr. Wayne?” She sets the flute down on a nearby table, her gaze averted in order to set the glassware down gently.
Behind her, the woman-in-red moves quickly back up the stairs, tilting her head at him.
Meet me up there, Bruce reads from her face.
Bruce tosses his drink back and picks up another, saluting Mercy with it, “Ok, now I'm good.”
He swans up the stairs ahead of the assistant, quickly losing her in the crowd in time to catch the last of a very awkward speech from Luthor himself.
Bruce takes a minute to unpack the last twenty. It couldn’t have been more than that, the time it took for him to slip into the server room maybe 3 minutes at most, 7 more minutes to download, the last ten to stall and resurface.
It’d felt an eon.
Bruce had always been the most himself as Batman rather than the personality he’d constructed that lives under 'Bruce Wayne'. It was a farce he’d taken up as a necessary evil after he’d came back to Gotham from his years training. He tells himself that it’s no different than the faces normal people put on to go to work with, to talk to customers with, to serve assholes coffee with and then have to smile.
“Thank you and have a nice day!”
Going to these charity events is a type of patrol that leaves him with deeper bruises than those from the Gotham streets. Even ignoring the soul-sucking two-faced deals between various powerbrokers and pocketbooks, the way he has to balance short term losses and completing long term goals, is the grating reality of the glitterati.
The arm candy seek him out like he’s a prize to be fought over and they perform caricatures of the type of people they hear Bruce Wayne is attracted to.
When he was younger, he was better at performing with them. It was like a play where everyone was in on the secret that they were all just after something. Using each other to get by. Increasingly Bruce had been wondering, what was the point?
All these years. Everything sacrificed, everything bartered, everything lost; was Gotham any better?
He’d been venturing out less as Bruce Wayne over the past 18 months and more as Batman, as he’d felt the facade of ‘Bruce Wayne’ worn thinner and thinner. He’d look to Jason’s memorial case when Alfred makes protests for him to go out more and those protests die like so many other things.
He already knows that success from an outing tonight will net him at least a silent, I told you so, and maybe yet another needle about children. Most likely Alfred has a silent bet with himself over the amount of indirect prodding it will take for Bruce to blow up at him over it. To finally shout the words, “How could you,” and “I will not replace him,” and “my son has died.”
Bruce hasn’t called Jason that to his face, let alone—
let alone—
The words are unnecessary, that’s all. There’s no need to say them. It’s maudlin, and they have work to do.
He’s his parents legacy. Bruce can’t be Jason’s… anything.
But he can be a good son. He can still protect Gotham. Barely a month after the anniversary of Jason having been put into the ground, the spaceships came to their world like the some cyberpunk dream, and he had to watch as Gotham’s sister city was pulverized by it. Bruce had to watch as even more people he’d been responsible for died under his watch or were irrevocably damaged in front of him.
(a little girl, crying)
The fact of the matter is that Bruce is past his expiration date. The fact of the matter is that Bruce is setting himself up against a god that he doesn’t trust to be merciful, or good, or considerate. To that alien, Earth must be nothing so much as a house of china, as it stumbles around with its heavy paws. Bruce refuses to let it break anything else.
The leech connects.
Seven minutes, it reads.
And then Bruce finds his wrist in one of those self-same paws.
It takes an instant to realize these facts: someone had followed him, they moved unobtrusively, there is a sense of air displacement from something moving fast, the displacement doesn’t match that of a strike or a punch. Bruce’s reflexes, honed by over 20 years of practice and danger, had not been fast enough to compensate.
And this intruder might’ve been an unknown; but Bruce had done his research. He’d been gathering footage of the alien and attempted to parse its thoughts and the motivations behind its eyes, which were blue.
His eyes are... blue.
Bruce recognizes those cheekbones, that mouth, the furrow on that forehead even though the glasses mute the shape of that face.
Superman.
Some part of him is shrill in terror, completely unprepared. Eighteen months of anger and resentment crashes through him for an instant before he could command himself. Had it been another life, he would have chosen to face Superman first as the Bat, with an armor of anger surrounding him like a shield. His fear had always been forged into anger, into determination, into strength.
But he can't fetch that suit right now. As 'Bruce Wayne', his armor consists of cloth and smiles and deflections; it consists of money and lies and lust and leers. He shoves it all down so that he could have battle clarity.
He needs to survive this.
Superman has a hold of his wrist. The alien could snap it in two like a building girder, he could pin Bruce to a wall like a butterfly, he could—
rub his thumb along his wrist like a lover’s caress.
“Well who might you be?" Bruce Wayne has habits for this sort of thing, even as conscious thought blanks out in that moment while his synapses seem intent on preserving excessive sensory information into long-term memory.
The hand is fine-boned for his size, uncalloused. Soft. Controlled; even though those eyes had been, for a good while, unfocused and not present. The fingers didn’t press hard. The thumb follows his vein blindly, but accurately, as if it’d been seeking Bruce’s pulse.
The fingertips are warm, but not painfully so.
Bruce would still swear Superman left brands behind when he lets go.
The door to the server room is made of glass, he mentally notes. Anyone could see them speak if they glanced in.
Bruce Wayne needs an excuse to linger.
Bruce Wayne, Bruce thought to himself, reels Superman in, reads off a name that made guileless blue eyes blink, flickers of thought suddenly racing in them too quick for Bruce to see.
He looks singularly alien right then; when the moment before, Superman had looked nothing so much as confused, startled, human.
Was it only a good imitation?
He’s leaning in, slightly, because Bruce had tugged him in by the cheap polyester lanyard. Its tensile strength should have been nothing to Superman; he could have broken it simply by not moving.
Superman’s shorter than I am, he thinks wildly, watching from beyond himself as two hands reach up to Bruce’s throat, touching his pulse. If they pressed too hard, at those points, held for perhaps a minute, enough oxygen would be blocked from his brain that even Bruce would pass out despite his training. So easy a 90 lb woman can do it, let alone hands that can smash through rock.
Bruce loses all track of time, feeling fragile, his heartbeat pounding helplessly at those fingertips, waiting for those hands to close tight. Waiting to die.
Waiting to be proven right.
If Superman was following him, did he see into Bruce’s heart? Know what Bruce was after? Did he understand how much Bruce wished to put him down, to pin him beneath his boot? To watch that improbable face twist up in suffering? (or something that looks very much like suffering)
His pulse throbs through his ears and Bruce knows with vague out-of-body horror that he’s moments from getting hard.
“It's better up close.”
Christ.
He asks for clarification. (Bruce has to be wrong about the lust in that voice, he has to, because if there was, why wouldn’t the alien—)
Superman drifts his hand down to Bruce’s wildly beating heart, as if he hears it and wants to pull it out. Bruce’s mind flashes towards the points on his body where the alien had touched, wrist, throat, chest, all pulse points, and comes to a startling conclusion at the gentle taps at his heart.
“...really?”
“I didn’t know who you were. Not by the sound.”
“You didn’t know how to find me?” (—why wouldn't he just take, like any man in power might?)
Superman looks abashed, perhaps a little ashamed. Tentative.
Bruce knows what attraction looked like, sounded like. Bruce knows what he looks like, knows his wealth, knows his status; Bruce knows them as well as he knows all his weapons and his gear. He knows how much people want it for themselves and that the reason people didn’t try to take was because Bruce didn’t let them.
All the power at Superman’s disposal; he could have just took what he wanted.
Instead: this 'Clark' stands there and lets Bruce move his hand away.
While all but drunk, apparently, on the sound of Bruce’s heart, tracked him into this room like a bloodhound for it— “You were searching for me, Clark?”
“Yeah,” Clark answers quietly, like Clark is his real name, and maybe it is. Maybe it was. Did his mother give it to him? Did he grow up with it? Had he lived here, on Earth, like he was just anyone else?
“...For years.”
This changes everything. This makes all of Bruce's plans petty, worthless, useless. This is ridiculous, how Clark is looking at him with awe and trust, as if he’d been looking for Bruce like a man seeking water—
Bruce looks at Clark and feels damaged in comparison. He stares at how he’s trapped Superman’s hand. Bruce's fingers, calloused, knuckles hardened, microfractured, feels like it is touching something that should’ve been set in stained glass.
What do you want of me? he’d thought in that moment, mouth opening. (I’d give it to you.)
And Alfred interrupted them like a shock of cold water.
Good timing in the end, as Lex’s assistant had interrupted them soon after.
And speak of the devil.
“Bruce Wayne!” Lex makes a beeline towards him now that he's finished his speech, looking around like he'd misplaced something. “I wanted to introduce you to, hmm. Where is he?”
“No worries,” Bruce laughs and tips his glass towards the man, “I’ve been introducing myself to your very fine vintages.”
“A fourth hin of wine am I right?” Luthor’s eyes were still flickering about. The tightness around them read as angry. “How rude, where’s a lamb when you need one?”
‘...and you shall prepare wine for the drink offering, one-fourth of a hin, with the burnt offering or for the sacrifice,’ Bruce internally quotes and raises an eyebrow, but drawls with pretend confusion, “Leeex, lamb needs a red, not champagne.”
“You’re right!” Lex crows, throwing a triumphant pointer finger, “If I bring the red then, would you bring the lamb?”
The hell? Bruce files the oddness away in case it might prove significant later.
Mercy appears over the other billionaire’s shoulder, “Lex, the senator would like to speak with you.”
Luthor smirks and bows his apologies and they head off.
As soon as they disappear from sight, a slim hand slips into the crook of his elbow. Bruce looks over and is entirely unsurprised to see the woman in the red dress.
“I seem to be meeting all sorts of people tonight,” Bruce says.
“All sorts of friends, I assure you,” she ducks her head towards him as if for a flirtatious whisper, sliding a hand across his chest, then beneath his jacket. “I think we are not at cross purposes, you and I. There is a photograph Lex has that belongs to me.”
A sudden weight drops into his inner-coat pocket.
“This, I think, belongs to you. I trust you can return the favor.”
“You would?” Bruce doesn’t like to owe favors to unknowns, and his public persona isn’t one to inspire faith. He gives her a rakish grin and puts some space between them. “Whatever gave you that impression?”
“I’ve a job recovering the lost. And I hear things.” She smiles like everyone in the room is naked to her. “I know how to see through damage to find that which is just in need of… some repair.”
A grimace twitches at his mouth, Bruce wrangles it back into a leer. “And you’re the one who’s going to ‘repair me’?”
She laughs and shakes her head.
“You are a better man than I think either of us know, Mr. Wayne. Even if you sometimes forget.” She smiles and pats his face.
For all his age, Bruce suddenly feels very young. And chastised the way he usually feels only in front of Alfred, and in front of the dead.
“You have my information,” she looks towards his breast pocket. “Moreover from what I hear, you already have your hands full.” With another enigmatic smile, she wanders off.
Bruce watches her go, thinking, then lifts up his coat’s left lapel to reach into the pocket. Next to the smooth and familiar plastic of the leech is a business card.
He draws the card out.
Diana Prince, it reads. Curator of antiquities.
*
Bruce, in another life, after he’d extracted himself from maybe another half an hour of gossip and networking, might have found himself staring down the progress bar as his systems decrypt the files retrieved from Luthor.
He might’ve passed out at the monitors.
In this life he finds himself distracted as his computer runs, rubbing his hands, chasing lingering phantom heat. For all the intensity of that moment with Clark, they’d barely even touched; just his throat, his chest, their fingers.
It’s stupid, that’s what it is, to be like this only after one meeting.
Bruce knows he is intense, knows that he processes facts and meaning faster than most people can react, able to solve mysteries that other people cannot; this is what makes him Batman. This is what allows him to do what he does.
This is why he couldn’t be anything than what he is.
This is why he can fight beyond what others can endure, why he is able and willing to do more than an entire police force, why he understood his life’s work that night in an alleyway in Gotham.
Bruce understood in that moment that his own tragedy may as well be all tragedy. That this hurt only echoes other’s hurts, that he was singularly privileged to have never been this way hurt in all his nine years of life before, and that other people spend their whole lives in this fugue and continue their lives walking wounded. (like he is walking wounded) There must be something, something, he can do, must do, is duty-bound to do, to fix this. People can't live like this. (shouldn't live like this. I can't live like this.)
That night watching his parents breathe their last was an extended revelation. It changed everything.
Must tonight be the same, he thought to himself. This isn’t comparable.
He only met Superman. Briefly. He talked to Clark, not even exchanged that many words. It’s not…
It’s not.
(a little girl, crying. lifted out of a building on fire)
It’s.
Bruce remembers a couple nights ago. He’d found out that there had been other holdings belonging to those sex traffickers, other cells than the one where he’d pinned down Santos’ crew. The women had been left unattended, trapped, hidden, discarded like a fired gun; and they were nearing the limit to how long a person could survive without water. When he’d broken in, he’d discovered they'd been lured to this country with promises of work even though they could not properly speak or read English.
If the women couldn’t read street signs or ask directions, they’d need someone to guide them. But there wasn’t enough time to find people who both knew Cantonese and who would be understanding.
He doesn’t trust these women to the police; women who are without language or support, power or documentation, women who ‘were going to be prostitutes anyway.’ He doesn’t trust them not to just ‘disappear’. They arrived in America, seeking hope. Bruce couldn’t just leave them.
So Batman had led them to a shelter sponsored by one of his charities. Their gratitude sank into his ears like awkward touches, like hands reaching out to him as if he was a savior.
(he’s no savior)
Batman works alone out on the streets. Alfred supports him and Bruce is grateful for it. He’s also grateful that he’s the only one receiving a beating, the only one in true danger. There are plans in place, for if Bruce is ever implicated or uncowled, to make sure that Alfred will be safe and free no matter how Bruce failed or has fallen.
(he tries to be a good son)
Clark looked at him like he’s seen the whole of him, and it’s terrible because maybe he did. He’s probably seen Bruce Wayne work the crowd, heard of him through the news; Clark had found out about the espionage, and participated in deflecting Luthor's assistant. He’s been listening to Bruce's heartbeat 'for years,' and how fine had his hearing been? (not fine enough to locate him, but maybe fine enough to know Bruce, hollow and unseemly, except—)
Clark had seemed to know him and still touched his pulse like he wasn’t something contaminated.
Did he even know what Bruce had been looking for, what Clark had been helping with? Did he know that Bruce was seeking a way to kill Superman? To contain him?
Bruce knows intimately how much of Gotham, one of the nation’s powerhouse cities, he controls: a little over half the land and businesses, an incredible amount of social capital, and the attendant leverage Wayne Enterprises has over the nation’s economy as a whole. But with even this much power, Bruce has been unable to complete his mission, despite two decades of constant work.
His parents had done better. In fact Bruce wonders if he’d made things worse.
What Bruce wouldn’t have given for someone he could trust to understand what he sees and say, sometimes, Stop (Or perhaps to see the same thing, and say, Go.)
Could Superman condone such a thing, let himself be constrained by more than a hand on his wrist?
Could Clark?
Bruce walks up to his deck, coat off, cuffs rolled up his arms.
He looks for a long moment at the starless night; their light hidden in Gotham pollution, in the smoke from its industries, in the neon and glitter that Gotham streets throw off.
He sits down and folds his legs, at first slightly chilled by the breeze off the water until he breathed and mastered his heartbeat and core temperature. He’d learnt from monks who could maintain equilibrium while sitting shirtless and barefoot in the snow. This is nothing in comparison.
He breathes deeper and slows down his pulse. Then slows it down further. Further.
The temple masters could slow their hearts to nearly a halt. They could exist for hours in an in-between state that gives the appearance of death.
There’s a streaking flash of color in the sky, as if a star fell, its wake slicing a furrow into the lake, booted feet on wood tap-tapping its way towards Bruce, the thunk of knees falling onto the deck, the sound of breathing gone ragged.
The temperature difference between their hands felt like his burned.
“Bruce.”
He raises his pulse back up, to the pace and tremble of the sound of his name.
Bruce comes back to himself; he had folded his hands in full lotus meditation and found Clark had placed his own hands in the cup of them.
Clark looks alarmed as he takes him in.
Bruce stares calmly back.
There’s a race of thoughts behind Clark’s eyes, and then he relaxes.
“So,” Bruce says. “That happens.”
“You did that on purpose.” Clark states. It’s not disbelieving, as if he’d already processed his disbelief. It’s not angry, as if that had been processed, too. It’s gone right into being a statement, as if he’d already resigned himself to Bruce testing Clark like so, as if he knows him well enough to expect it of him.
And Clark acknowledged his actions only to let Bruce know that Clark knows and sees him, not because Clark was demanding Bruce change.
Bruce can’t meet that idea head on. Can't meet that sort of understanding, of empathy and humanity. “You were listening,” he says instead. He looks at the blue of the Superman uniform, and instead of the simple bright color it’d appeared to be from far away on monitors and cameras, from this distance the fabric is subtle.
It is a mass of refracted edges catching the light, a tessellated pattern, a shifting mask.
“Yes.” Clark looks away. Looks back. Removes his hand. “I can stop.”
“And what would stopping do?” Bruce already sort of has an answer, in how quickly Clark showed up after Bruce slowed his heart, but he wants to see how Clark would reply.
He seems to be trying to hold his face steady, “It would be uncomfortable.”
“Elaborate.”
Clark’s forehead furrows in thought. His eyes race with them. “Say someone told you, asked you, never to eat bacon again. Or maybe never smell a rose. Never look at the stars.”
The cape puddles around them like a strange liquid, rippling in silky curves. Bruce wants to grab it. Wants tug Clark closer.
“You could do that, right? Stop?”
Bruce knows Clark would let him tug.
“If needed, yes.” Bruce commands his hands to stay still.
“There’s your answer.”
Bruce is shaking his head. Those are simple pleasures, human pleasures, and nothing Bruce would deny him. Bruce feels like the true answer is deeper and broader and far more complex than Clark’s words and from Clark’s expression, he knows it too.
“The sound is familiar to you.” My heartbeat is familiar to you.
Clark looks at his face, and presses one hand splayed down on the wood between them, leaning forward. “Given the chance, I’d like to keep listening.”
It hangs in the quiet, thrown like a gauntlet.
Bruce wants to move closer, wants to give whatever Clark might ask, and Clark rises up to meet him but— He pauses, or perhaps Bruce does.
There are things you needs to know. Bruce thinks.
Please let me, Clark silently begs, his mouth temptingly close.
And then the world tears apart to one side.
A man in a red mask and costume sticks his torso through the boiling rip. They flick their eyes over, warily. Both stay frozen so to not invite attack.
“Batman! Lois is the key! Lois is— Am I too early?” The man takes a long look at them, groans, and covers his eyes, “Oh god this isn't even the right dimension!” he peers between his fingers and then covers them again, “It’s like watching your parents, this is awful.”
Clark shifts so that he’s in front of Bruce, as if to shield him, rising. Bruce gets up too, watching the newcomer from over Clark’s shoulder, studying the rip in the world. A storm created of quantum and lightning.
“You know what, nevermind. Superman, they’re coming, he’s going to try to control you.” It spills out quickly, an incomprehensible speed. “I don't even know if Lois is the key anymore. Oh my god, maybe it’s you, prep yourself Batman. I don’t know. Gotta go.”
And then he draws back and the tear closes.
A leaf swirls around the absence, vacuumed in, the only sign of a disturbance.
“Well that wasn’t ominous at all.”
Superman looks down at his feet, bleakly, then across the water. “It’s going to be Zod all over again, isn’t it?”
Bruce pauses and looks Clark over. Lets himself believe in the humanity he thinks he sees; lets himself pretend an alien's features could indicate all the same meanings and emotions his own does. Turns on his heel and opens the door. “Come on, there’s something you have to see.”
*
Bruce takes him down the stairs. Clark’s footsteps are nearly silent on the metal, taking in the cave with long sweeps of his gaze.
He wonders how much Superman can take in at a glance.
Bruce brings him to his monitors, the data had finished decrypting, and pulls up a search for the White Portuguese. He pulls up, silently, the data on the glowing green xeno-mineral. The videos and the simulations of Kryptonian cells breaking apart.
And lets the information damn him.
Clark looks at it. Then turns to Bruce as if he doesn’t understand at all, says, “So what's the plan.”
“You trust me?” The words release on an exhaled breath.
“You could have hid this.”
He couldn’t let that stand. “I was planning on it, yes.” Planning on killing Clark in cold blood; Bruce lets the knowledge of it sit across his shoulders, his face.
“What changed?”
Bruce sees the other man see him wince. He could, in this moment, control his heart so it doesn’t twitch, doesn’t race, isn’t moved.
But he’s already been moved, hasn’t he? Clark had already been listening in.
What is there to lose?
“Everything.” Bruce replies, revealing himself. His metaphorical throat in Clark's hands. Continues, knowing this will hurt, “you were raised here, weren’t you?”
Clark shrugs, “Does Kansas count?”
“Kansas,” Bruce presses a palm to his forehead, not simply Earth but, “What, raised on cows and corn and apple pie?”
“Well, we raised corn, only ever had the one cow for milk, but Ma’s pie is pretty amazing.”
“Your ma’s… pie.” Bruce says flatly and tries to hold the ache in.
“I’ll have you know Martha Kent is the county blue ribbon holder for five years running now and...”
Clark’s voice drifts off as he takes in Bruce’s expression.
Bruce doesn’t know what his face is doing.
Martha. His mother’s name is Martha.
Bruce knows how similar he is to the villains in his city. How he is as much a product of Gotham as they are. Knows that it would take just a small change, some awful twist of fate, maybe one truly bad day, to make him a worse sort of ugly. That if he didn’t have Alfred, didn’t have money, or access, or power, there might be no difference.
But never until today has he felt so goddamned close to the man who’d gunned down his parents.
Never had he fallen so far. (Never did he have so little power, did his access not matter, did his money mean nothing.) He finally understands what Alfred had been trying to tell him these past few weeks.
Bruce would have—
Would have—
“Hey,” Clark says quietly, hands hovering in front of Bruce’s shoulders as if he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch.
“I was planning to kill you,” Bruce admits the whole thing out loud, finally. Finally. And gives himself over onto Clark’s hands, falling against them, letting gravity do what it will.
Clark takes his weight with ease.
It’s unfair. He doesn’t deserve this.
“I figured.” He says this like Bruce has already been forgiven, and Bruce can’t wrap his mind around that. Bruce leans his headache against Clark’s brow, who tilts up into it with a pleased hum.
It’s incredibly devastating.
Too much, too intense, they’re close enough to share the same air. Close enough to see the tiny expressions around each other’s eyes. Close enough to see pupil flare black. Bruce can’t help but see how much he’s been forgiven (how he’s precious, how he’s adored), and can’t help but echo it back, feeling unworthy. Bruce wants to break the moment into something smaller, into a hug, into a kiss, into sex, into something quantifiable. Into something he can contain.
His lungs hurt from how much he’s breathing, and from how much he’s not breathing.
“I don't think I could've.” Bruce says.
“Figured that too.”
Clark pushes up into a kiss and, no, this is actually worse. Bruce feels more pared open and less able to handle this, this whatever it is, that’s hollowing him out and leaving nothing but stars behind.
Clark makes a sound that echoes in his bones and it curls Bruce’s toes, helplessly; makes him lean in to drink that sound straight from Clark’s mouth. Shove his hands into his hair and their bodies up close.
Alfred bangs his way into the cave.
“Excuse me Master Bruce, but I work here.”
And Bruce is... huh, okay, that’s valid— they’re sprawled against Alfred’s table, and it can’t bear the weight of two grown men and Alfred’s disapproval.
His caretaker pointedly sets down a tray with a carafe of coffee and three mugs between them to separate Bruce from Clark when they step apart, sheepishly. After a brief inquiry as to preferences, Alfred presents a cup of coffee to Clark and goes right up to Clark to stare him down.
Clark accepts it, flickering a glance at Bruce, and takes a sip as if it doing so is a test.
“I don't suppose you have any strong opinions on adoption?”
There’s the slightest of pauses, but Clark maintains eye contact and swallows instead of spits.
“Ignore him,” Bruce desperately says with what shreds of dignity he has left.
“I suppose you can get a surrogate.”
“Alfred!”
Clark takes another sip, consideringly. He lets the pause grow long as he fiddles with the mug and thoughts zoom quick through his gaze.
“I’m not opposed to children, but,” watching them both. “Isn’t that more of a second date sort of question?”
“There’s a showing at Gotham’s Museum of Antiquities in a couple days.” The words echo in the cave. Bruce doesn’t quite know where they came from, he has no recollection of deciding to say them. But there they were.
Bruce feels extremely caught out when Alfred turns to stare
Clark smiles, “And you would like company.”
“Hadn’t been planning on it, no.” Bruce pours himself a mug, watching coffee slosh against ceramic.
“Then there’s nothing preventing you from picking me up at 7.”
Clark is blinding, Bruce could barely watch him from his peripheral vision, the knowledge that he weighed the possibility of a future with Bruce and found it not displeasing. That Clark likes the idea of it enough to box-step them into it, and manages to keep up with Bruce’s changes of pace.
“That’s assuming you’re considering tonight a first date.” Alfred’s tone is exceedingly dry and paternally disapproving. But he isn’t entirely incorrect.
“No, that’s assuming Clark will let me take him out to lunch tomorrow.”
He beams his best Bruce Wayne smile at the man.
“How about it?”
Clark, unfathomable, suited in alien regalia, peers at him over his mug and takes a long, slow, swallow.
*
Clark whispers at his side, “So I think we’re counting this as the 9th date?”
The museum curves around them, all arched ceilings and columns and resonance, artifacts housed in delicate glass shells, presented to the Gotham elite as if in tribute. What many don’t realize is that maybe about one in six are forgeries, some that’d escaped scrutiny for decades or even hundreds of years.
But, Bruce muses, there’s something to be said for the value of a flawless imitation. If this is the only way to make art accessible to the general public, instead of keeping them locked away in private labs or bedrooms, then why not let the counterfeits shine?
Why not give them a home here?
“Alfred would say it’s the 6th.” Bruce studies this flipside of Superman. Clark Kent doesn’t exactly slouch but his shoulders are folded forward and thus gentles the line of them, his shirt is tucked to give an impression of paunch, and there’s a weight to his movements that gets the animal hindbrain to register the man as being around 230 lbs.
Superman, meanwhile, gives the impression of being both absolutely weightless and the center of his own gravity. His movements seem infinitely heavy; somehow more real than anything else.
How about it, he’d asked, inviting Superman to lunch and possible future lunches, and Clark later answered, a hot rush of hands mapping Bruce, pressing him against the lakehouse windows. It felt like he’d been shocked into his body for the first time in decades, as he was swallowed to the root. Finally present and real.
“Alfred does not know that I snuck back onto your deck that night.” Clark doesn’t follow that statement with a touch to Bruce's hips, doesn’t defect its meaning with a pat on Bruce's back, doesn’t accent it with a hand on Bruce's arm. Doesn’t let the content or context of the words affect the tone of Clark's voice, or the proximity of their bodies.
Bruce is simultaneously amused and vibrating with frustration. “Are you still counting that as a third date?”
“Well you know what they say about third dates.”
Oh he knows, all right. After Alfred shooed Clark from the cave like a recalcitrant teenager, Alfred gave Bruce a great many looks and silent words on the subject of I Told You So.
Bruce fled upstairs in self preservation. He’d been making himself a snack when Clark knocked politely on the glass from outside, evidently after having circled around again.
Somehow he’d wound up with half of Bruce’s sandwich.
And, after an eventful hour, half of Bruce’s bed.
At least he didn’t hog the sheets…
Bruce vaguely knows what his face is doing and he doesn’t like it, he’s unfocused. He scans the area and finds who he’d been looking for. She’s lingering in the Macedonian section with the museum director.
He catches Clark looking over too, and their gazes meet in agreement.
They head over.
“It’s the sword of Alexander, the blade that cut the Gordian knot. It’s a triumph.” James is passionate about his work; to be honest more passion than willingness to cut corners to get ahead, which doesn’t make him the best museum director. The high level arts are ruthless, as is any field that involves such immense sums being passed around. But the depths of his ruthlessness wasn’t why Bruce wanted him to have the position, the opposite in fact, nor why the Wayne Foundation safeguards Harmon’s job.
Nor was it customer service. Diana Prince is making the polite noises women make when they are indulging a man’s explanations.
Luckily James steps away soon after. Maybe his people instincts are improving.
Bruce takes the opportunity to cut in. “It’s a fake.” Revealing knowledge that ‘Bruce Wayne’ would not be expected to know could help bridge the conversation. “The real one was sold in ‘98—”
“And the metal looks wrong.” Clark agrees, bending down to peer through the case. Bruce raises his eyebrow at him.
“Looks wrong?” She inquires, bringing her attention to Clark.
“The crystal lattice seems too modern.”
They exchange a glance and Bruce is already planning on dragging Clark to his machine shop to test this ability out.
Clark beams at him and his mouth twitches.
“What a useful skill,” the amazon says with faint curiosity.
“I’m very skilled,” the little shithead grins, finally touching Bruce by knocking their shoulders together, when Bruce can’t even do anything about it. “It’s why he keeps me around.”
Bruce’s mouth turn flat. “Who says I want you here.”
“That’s a lie.” Diana says helpfully.
“I know.” The way he smiles should be irritating. It’s not. “He tends to do that.”
“Doesn’t it get tedious?”
“Not really,” Clark glances at Bruce’s expression and pats his shoulder, “Don’t worry you’re very good at it. I cheat.”
“As do I,” Diana smiles, and her gold ribbon necklace catches the light.
Bruce breaks in before they could drag him further, “Regarding our previous talk, I’ve sent some files to you.” To her private email, under several layers of security that will fold back under her identity verification.
“Oh?”
“I’ve attached your item of interest, but there were some surprises in the files you gave me.”
“Surprises,” she says with a hint of wariness.
“Nothing bad!” Clark says, “You could say you’re in good company.”
“We can pull together a team that can tackle some interesting projects.” Bruce continues.
She looks doubtful. For a moment Diana seems a socialite moments from giving a polite brushoff to two strange men who were crowding her.
“We’d really appreciate your support, Ms Prince. But are already thankful for all the support you’ve given. You didn’t have to do it, but it’s helped a lot of people.” Clark is so goddamned earnest that it makes Bruce want to claw at his face. “You don’t owe us anything. Take as long as you need to think about it.”
And of course it works.
She measures Clark. And the smile she gives back to them is ancient and a little self-mocking. “It’s been awhile. I could extend my trip a little.”
“I’ll arrange for a hotel if you need accommodations.” Bruce suggests.
“It’s covered,” she assures him. Then takes another long look at them both, “Hmm, tonight was unexpected, not at all how I’d thought this talk might go. It’ll be interesting to see how this partnership of yours progresses.”
It’s entirely clear to Bruce that she’s not referring to the proposed team but rather to the two of them.
Clark coughs, and blushes, realizing it too.
“Gentlemen,” she nods a goodbye, and a congratulations, and heads off.
They watch her go.
The sound of the museum rises up in her wake.
Clark hums. Quietly asks, “Do you ever get the feeling you’re completely outclassed?”
Entirely too often, Bruce admits to himself. Bravado, and being too stubborn to back down, has gotten him through more situations than he’d like to mention.
But look where it’s got him. Bruce glances at the man standing with him, shoulder to shoulder.
He wastes a moment thinking of what it might’ve been like had they been the same age. Had they taken up their capes at the same time. What would those twenty some years have been like, with someone like Clark there? Maybe Batman would have gotten used to having backup, or maybe they would have both been unmitigated disasters at each other. Maybe it would have taken just as long for them to get to this exact same place.
Or maybe they might have never gotten here.
“You’re in a class all your own,” 'Bruce Wayne' says out of habit, but Clark peers at him until Bruce lets his facade fall away.
He shakes his head. “I think you had the right angle. It might take a couple more meetings, but she’s invested now. You saved it.”
“It wasn’t just me,” Clark scrunches his brows together, “She was testing you. There would’ve been nothing to save if you hadn’t matched her and caught her interest. She’ll be on the team.”
The last word sounds wistful. Bruce himself had never much sought to work with others but he knows people who’ve wished to work with him before. He knows what that can look like on a face. He knows Clark is both more human and less broken than he is, and that he seeks to belong. Bruce will make a team for him; it’s only practical, with the danger that’s coming. Only responsible to leave Clark with capable people if Bruce doesn’t survive the battle.
“One in place, three more to approach.” Bruce gives him a lopsided smile, “Make it so you’re not the odd one out anymore.”
Clark glances back, “‘Us’. Make ‘us’ not the odd ones out.”
His sudden smile has Bruce feeling like vital organs been ripped out. That’s what Bruce tells himself. The words mean nothing.
“God, you’re such a distraction,” Bruce grouses as he checks around them. This entire night proves it, as well as these past couple of wild days where they’d been sneaking around during their bits of free time like teenagers. Clark appears to be very familiar with his schedule. Bruce guesses he should find it creepy, but he has a running tracker on Clark’s phone and a feed of the Planet’s bullpen.
“That’s a bad thing?”
“You make me lose focus,” he tugs so that Clark’s looking at him, “I gotta get over you.”
“And how are you planning on quittin' me?” Clark’s everything is indulgent.
Bruce leans in, to breathe in his ear, “By fucking you in all my favorite positions until the sex gets boring.”
Clark chokes on nothing, and then laughs, “And you think we’ll get there. ‘Boring.’” Smiles some more, “You think overexposure is going to work.”
It’s a valid concern, given this week. “Usually it just takes the one time.” Bruce hums thoughtfully, leading them around various exhibits, finding the quiet spaces. He’s not letting himself think of futures, as he’d never had the habit. He’d honestly not expected to last two decades as Batman, had counted his life expectancy in fragments of years. To let himself get bored of Clark is a horrible indulgence, necessary though it is, because it implies a future.
And Bruce is indulging himself because he knows he has none.
“‘Usually one time’ for you to—?” Clark’s eyes glaze over in thought, “Holy shit, let me guess, you only meet someone new or interesting maybe every month or so? The rest of the time you’re busy with your... hobby or it’s someone you’ve slept with before?”
Bruce’s eyes narrow. “What of it. And how—”
“You’ve been having alot of boring sex.” Clark declares like he’s saying eureka, looking deeply amused, “And you entertain yourself by trying to control your heartbeat through it.”
“I don’t know how you get that idea—”
“Oh don’t you?”
“—But I’m taking the weekend off and plan on keeping you in bed for all of it. In fact, let’s get that started.” He starts dragging Clark to the exit.
Clark peals out in golden laughter and the high ceilings in the museum’s rooms catch the sound, bouncing it around until it is difficult to pinpoint where it came from. It shocks him how he much wants to linger, listening.
The cold night hits them like a slap to the face, when Bruce pushes open the large glass doors, spilling them out into the street. Clark stumbles with it, a sort of simple joy in the act, and Bruce sees the performance for what it is. He slides his foot against Clark’s, just the right way to be caught and stumbling too, and spins them around so they won’t crash onto the sidewalk. His hands are warm at Clark’s elbow and chest.
“Careful there,” Bruce intended the words to be a jovial bark, but it comes out too soft, too fond.
Clark’s pulse is an excited thrum like he’s carrying the light of the rooms they’d left with him into the Gotham air. He belongs back there with everything beautiful. It’s difficult to let him go, to call Alfred for the car.
They wait for it to come around. Their exhales leaving mist in the darkness.
“Why mine?” Bruce blurts out, when his real question is, why me? He knows he’s a mess and a shell of a man. He knows Clark deserves better, and that Bruce is completely outclassed. But he knows he has so much to make up for, and Bruce has always thrown himself into doing what’s needed. Clark wants him here, needs him here, so here he is. But why? Why—
Your heartbeat? asks a thumb at his pulse.
He gives a sharp nod.
“I’d wondered that too.” Clark tilts his head up to examine the sky, not releasing his wrist. “You know there’s louder ones? And ones with more interesting cadences. Slower ones too. From what I can tell the slowest is in Europe or somewhere in that direction. And a lot of them in other places, athletes mostly. Not that you aren’t one, just that none of them…”
Clark’s thumb circles his vein as if absentmindedly, but they both know the careless appearance a lie. The circles complete themselves at each of Bruce’s cardiac cycles. He feels their breaths pace to it, ever slower, until he’s a well of languid calmness.
“I guess you could say yours sounded like a match for mine.”
Clark catches sight of Bruce’s face and starts laughing again as Alfred pulls up.
“You don’t believe me. That’s okay.” He drops a kiss onto Bruce’s startled cheek, and slips into the black limo. “I’ll have time to fix that.”
“I bet you think that’s cute.” Bruce follows him in, shutting the door behind him.
Clark had taken off his glasses, tapping his chin with them as he stares at Bruce, gaze flashing with his thoughts. In this small dark space where they’ve blocked away the world, the man some know as Superman lets his shoulders set more naturally, straightens fully, breathes deeper. And when he tugs Bruce close, Clark's chest to his back, despite all the height and breadth and mass that Bruce had (also) uncurled himself into, Bruce feels small.
And he's already trying to figure out how to work himself free.
“You know, for the longest time I’d…”
Bruce raises an eyebrow at the pause, and pauses too.
“For the longest time I’d imagined I was just a shell, containing the sound of your heart. Silly, right?”
Incredibly so, because how could Clark ever let him think himself empty? How had Bruce ever been enough to fill anything, it must have been a mistake “...and now?”
“Now I don’t have to imagine it,” Clark says, arms holding Bruce within them.
Bruce’s thoughts blank for a long moment, airless and hollow and filled with something that might have been membranous wings, or stars. The words resonate in the space they share. He's horrifically glad that he can’t look at Clark’s face from his position. Nor can Clark look at him without moving his head. Bruce wouldn’t have been able to process the meaning otherwise.
(‘You make me want to be a better man.’)
Or perhaps—
(‘As you wish.’)
Maybe even—
(‘I know.’)
He inhales, lungs straining; understanding and resisting it. If he doesn’t look at it, doesn’t name it, doesn’t stick it in a box, perhaps it’s not there and it can exist for however much longer Bruce has left to give.
“Ridiculous,” Bruce says, and he doesn’t know if he’s talking about Clark or about himself.
“Yep.” Clark nods, in agreement. |
More than ever before, Nico hated Percy Jackson.
“Hey, man,” he greeted. “Where are you? That doesn’t look like the Hades cabin.”
Nico grit his teeth. “I’m kind of busy. And that’s none of your business.”
Behind the image, Will raised his eyebrows and chuckled. Nico motioned for him to stay quiet, but the damage was done.
“Who’s that?”
He glared at Will, which just made him smile. “No one.”
Percy smirked. “Hi, Will.”
“Hey, Percy,” Will replied, still out of sight of the message.
Nico groaned, rubbing his temples. “What is it, Percy?”
“Oh. Yeah. Uh, I just wanted to let you know that my first week of school went pretty well—”
“So, no homework assignments yet, then?”
“—fuck off. I’m coming to visit camp tomorrow morning, and I was just wondering if you were gonna be there so we and Jason can have breakfast together, just like old times.”
Nico crossed his arms. “Old times. Percy, you left a week ago.”
Percy grinned and shrugged. “I’m bad at excuses. I just really wanna see everyone, especially you guys. So, anyway…” He seemed to be studying something past Nico for a moment, and he was tempted to look over his shoulder. “I’m assuming you’re not at camp right now, ‘cause I don’t recognize that wall.”
“You think you know every wall in camp?”
Will snickered, and Nico glared at him.
“Yeah, actually,” Percy replied. “Anyway, I’m just wondering if you’ll be back tomorrow morning.”
The way Percy was smirking set his nerves on edge—it was like he knew some big secret that Nico didn’t. Like he knew exactly what he was going to say. And one thing Nico did not want to be, if anything, was predictable.
“Yeah,” he said. “Of course.”
He felt Will’s piercing gaze, but he avoided reciprocating it.
Percy’s eyes widened just a little. “Oh? Okay. Cool.” He fidgeted with his hands for a moment, and then grinned again, though there was a definitive hesitation about it. “Well, see you then.”
“Sure,” Nico replied. “See you.”
Then Percy swiped his hand through the air, and the image dissipated.
He waited for Will to say something—anything—but he didn’t. And Nico couldn’t read his expression due to the fact that he was too busy picking at a stray thread on his jeans. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything more than wait.
“So,” Will finally said. His voice was still as quiet as it had been during the song, but it had grown more distant. No longer was he speaking to just Nico; he was speaking only to break the silence in the air.
“Yeah,” Nico replied. He rose from the bed, brushing off his shirt even though it was perfectly clean, and still avoided eye contact as if it would poison him. “I—”
“This was really fun.”
The sudden change in volume caused him to glance up and accidentally bite the witch’s apple. It would enter his bloodstream now—Will’s warm gaze that was somewhere between a flickering candle and a raging wildfire—and he knew he had to escape as soon as possible, before it would shut down his heart.
But he didn’t move any further. “Yeah,” he replied. “It really was.”
After a moment of simply staring, Will stood, rushed over to his desk, picked up a pen, and began scribbling something down on a small notepad.
“What are you—”
He then whirled around and held out a torn scrap of paper. “Here.”
Nico took it—a set of ten barely decipherable digits and a haphazard smiley face. Doctor’s handwriting, his mind told him.
“What is this?” he asked.
Will exhaled. “You’re never going to get less dense, are you? It’s my phone number, idiot.”
“But I don’t have a phone.”
He rolled his eyes. “Get one. You’re the son of freaking Hades—the god of wealth, if you forgot. You could buy the goddamn iPhone X if you wanted to.”
“I don’t even know what that is.”
He rubbed his forehead with both hands. “Told you—dense as ever. If you don’t want to buy one, just borrow someone else’s. I have a few campers’ numbers.”
Nico looked at Will, then down at the number, and then back at Will again. “But…couldn’t you just Iris-message?”
Will groaned, further burying his face. “I’m out of damn drachmas, Nico.”
“Oh.”
“And I want to keep in touch, alright?”
“Okay.”
“We need to have at least one phone call every week.”
“Okay.”
“And try to text me every day, even if it’s with different phones.”
“Got it.”
“Sound like a plan?”
“Yep.”
“Good. And I swear to the gods, if you don’t respond—”
Nico decided he’d had enough talking, and he knew by know that he wasn’t very good at it, so he went with actions instead. Thankfully, when he hugged him, Will finally shut up for a few seconds.
“I’ll miss you a lot,” he said after a moment.
“I’ll miss you more, idiot,” Nico replied. His voice came out all weird and hoarse, and he realized his eyes were quickly filling.
Then, all too quickly, Will pulled back. Based on the way he was looking at him and their current proximity, Nico had a fleeting hope that maybe he’d make another, more successful attempt at what they had almost done just minutes ago; unfortunately, it was almost immediately snuffed when Will let go of him entirely and stepped away.
“Take care, Nico,” he said. “I don’t want to come back to the infirmary next—well…whenever I do—and find you even partially translucent. You’re much nicer when you’re solid.”
“Okay,” Nico replied. “The same goes for you. Don’t overheat, Sunshine.”
The nickname felt foreign on his tongue, but Will laughed. “Alright. I’ll try.”
And with one last shared smile, Nico stepped into the shadows, failing to notice the tear that fell onto the carpet as he faded away, the tiny stain it left behind, and the boy who sunk to his knees, pressing it with his finger before it could dry. |
Chapter 15
“What do you do all day?” Sousuke asked, directing his gaze at Pace Laboratory’s front doors. For two weeks, he’d once again accompanied Haru to Pace Labs in the mornings.
Haru paused and weighed his words before he spoke. “I read.”
“You’re alone?”
Haru shrugged. “Rei and Nagisa are busy.”
Sousuke sighed. He’d asked the same question the week before and received the same answer. “They decline dinner invitations from Rin. Have they left Pace?”
“I doubt it. They have an apartment on another floor, I think.”
“Oh.”
Haru stepped away and opened the door.
“I’m coming up with you,” Sousuke said.
“Why?”
“I want to talk to Nagisa.”
Haru studied Sousuke for a moment before accepting his declaration with a single nod. Sousuke followed him into the lobby and past security to the side elevator. “Nagisa gave me my own card,” Haru explained at Sousuke’s frown. “It’s faster.”
“Ah.”
On Rei and Nagisa’s private floor, Haru pointed Sousuke to the left. “Nagisa’s that way.”
“Thanks.”
Luckily the hallway had no intersections between the elevator and where Sousuke spotted Nagisa hunched over a keyboard, scowling at a screen with tired eyes underlined in dark. Sousuke knocked on the opened door. Nagisa looked over without the slightest flinch. It took another beat before he pushed to his feet.
“Sou-chan!”
Like a switch, Nagisa’s exhaustion was swept under a smile and feigned energy.
Sousuke narrowed his eyes. He couldn’t believe anyone would fall for such a blatant farce. “Haru mentioned you guys have an apartment or some place you sleep here in the building.”
Nagisa nodded and rubbed his eyes. “Uh. Yeah. Rei-chan and I have a room upstairs. There are other small, private spaces for other technicians. Why?”
“Show me.”
“Why do you want to see a room meant for sleeping? It isn’t personalized or interesting.”
“Doesn’t matter. Show me.”
Nagisa crossed his arms and grinned. Sousuke braced himself. “You know, Sou-chan, I’m a taken man.”
Sousuke had grown used to Nagisa over the years, but still felt a twinge of embarrassment at the tease. “It isn’t like that.”
“I know.” Nagisa chuckled and wiped at his eyes again. “I can’t show you the apartment right now, Sou-chan. I’m running a few—” he gestured at the computer. “I’m working on Haru-chan.”
“Dr. Hazuki, I can continue the simulations in your absence,” Rei-chan-too offered from the monitor behind Nagisa.
“Oh. Fine. I guess a break is a good thing. Thanks, Rei-chan-too. I’ll be back.”
“Take your time, Dr. Hazuki. There are fresh groceries in the apartment.”
“Vending machines are faster.” Nagisa removed his lab coat and left it in his chair. “This way, Sou-chan. Are you going to tell me what this is all about? It isn’t a surprise party, right?”
“No.” Sousuke followed a step behind Nagisa. “How’s Haru?”
“Didn’t you come in with Haru-chan?”
“He seems fine to me, but that isn’t the case, is it?”
Nagisa’s smile faded. “Haru-chan’s body is fine for now. All the organs are functioning normally. I only missed something in the brain.”
“Can you fix it?”
Nagisa slid a keycard at the end of the hallway and opened a private elevator’s doors. “Haru-chan’s brain isn’t regulating blood flow or fluid flushes. We can repair the fluid flush issue and treat the blood flow problem with medication.”
Sousuke studied Nagisa’s blank stare counting the floors. “Sounds like there’s an ‘however.’”
Nagisa nodded. The doors opened and he led Sousuke down the hall to another keycard access. This one opened a door into a small living space with kitchen, bath, and bed.
“Haru-chan’s brain isn’t like yours or mine. His is combined with a cortex chip. We’re unsure what effects medication will have on the delicate balance between human and computer, so the current treatment can’t be permanent. Plus, the tissue is deteriorating, and we can’t fix that with medication.”
Sousuke raised his gaze to the ceiling. The situation seemed much more dire than he’d previously thought. “How long does he have with treatment?”
Nagisa blew out a breath and dropped into the nearest arm chair. “Two years if the deterioration continues at the current rate and treatment works for the other problems.”
“How long until his quality of life changes?”
“Less than a year. I think. It’ll be a gradual decline.” Nagisa rubbed his eyes. “I really messed up. I wanted to help Haru-chan and Mako-chan, but I only gave them a repeat of the worst part of their lives.”
“You didn’t. I don’t think either one would change the last few months.”
Nagisa nodded but didn’t he look convinced. “Well, this is the apartment.” He looked around the sparse space. “Why did you want to see it?”
“When did you last sleep?”
“I fell asleep in my office yesterday.”
“Have you eaten today?”
“I had a strawberry flavored protein bar. Rei-chan orders them because he knows I’ll eat them.”
Sousuke crossed to the kitchen area and opened the fridge. “I’m going to cook you a proper meal. You’re going to eat, and then you’re going to sleep for no less than six hours.”
“But Sou-chan, I don’t have time—Haru-chan doesn’t have the time.”
“Sit down,” Sousuke commanded. Nagisa wondered how he’d seen him stand with his back turned, but wilted back into the chair without protest.
“It’s my mistake,” Nagisa said. “I have to fix it.”
“You will.” Sousuke closed the fridge and turned toward Nagisa. “But right now your body needs rest and fuel. You can’t help Haru if you continue like this.”
Nagisa smiled. “You really do care about me, Sou-chan.”
“It’s pure selfishness.” Sousuke turned back to the fridge for ingredients. “I’m worried about what reactions a second death will cause.”
“For Rin-chan?”
“Yes.” Sousuke glanced back. “Not only Haru is counting on you, Nagisa.”
“Aha.” Nagisa rubbed his temple. “What pressure.”
“Haru got a second body, but you don’t have that luxury, so take care of this one.”
Nagisa saluted. “You got it, Sou-chan.”
“Is another body an option for Haru?”
“Maybe.” Nagisa lowered his hand with a sigh. “But it isn’t so simple. We can obtain the resources, but the scan—that’s more complicated.”
“Is that what Rei’s working on?”
“Yes. We can rescan Haru-chan and put him in another body if Rei-chan can tweak his scanner to copy a consciousness from two sources: organic matter and a cortex chip.”
“So it’s possible?”
“You’d have to ask Rei-chan.”
“What would happen to the old scan?”
Nagisa shrugged. “Remain stored on a hard drive with the other scans, I guess. Rei-chan feels that deleting a scan is killing a person, so Rei-chan-too hides the files to avoid accidental deletion.”
“Is it murder if the scan isn’t aware it exists?”
“Don’t ask me moral dilemmas when I haven’t slept in two days.” Nagisa transferred to the bed with an exaggerated groan. “It’s what Rei-chan wanted for the scans.”
“The scans are his responsibility.”
“Yeah. The bodies, and parts, are mine.” Nagisa grabbed the pillow and hugged it to his chest. “And I’d deal with any repercussion from the transfer between bodies.”
“Do you mean cremation of the dead?”
Nagisa smiled but it carried a hint of remorse. “Yes. Exactly that.”
“Haruka-senpai, I need to test a theory,” Rei stated in lieu of greeting when Haru arrived at his lab.
Haru lowered his bag onto the nearest desk. “What theory?”
“A few weeks ago, Rei-chan-too told me you wished to live inside of a computer like he does—”
“To stay with Makoto.”
“—but since then, Nagisa-kun has discovered what caused the failure in your cerebral scaffolding.”
“Scaffolding?”
“Think of it as the base used to bio-engineer your brain. Nagisa-kun could grow you a body that won’t have the current problem, and this time he has living DNA to extract from as well, so the process is already greatly improved.”
“Oh.”
“Would another flesh body and new cortex chip instead of a computer be okay, Haruka-senpai?”
Another body would be better than the alternative. Haru could stay with Makoto physically instead of just a voice through a speaker. “Yes.”
“Good. I still need to find a way to scan your consciousness from two points and combine it into one without fracturing it. That’s where the testing of my theory today comes in.”
Huru didn’t quite understand, but he’d do anything to help. “What do I need to do?”
“In theory, I know how to calibrate the scanner. I just need to test whether or not it works.”
“Would you delete my old scan?”
Rei frowned. “I don’t like to delete the files, Haruka-senpai.”
It didn’t really matter, but having two versions of himself in the computer seemed like too much. “Do you have to store a new scan?”
“No.” Rei cleared his throat. “It is possible to do a direct transfer this time, but I would prefer to avoid it. It’s no problem having two scans in storage unless you disagree with it.”
“A direct transfer?”
“Yes. It would be like moving a computer file—a very large and delicate computer file. Nothing would be stored on Rei-chan-too’s hard drives. There would be no copy. Transferring would remove a waiting period between this body and the next.”
Haru liked the idea of cutting out any period of wait. “I want to do that.”
Rei’s frown deepened. “Would you really be okay with that, Haruka-senpai?”
“Yes.” Haru closed his fingers into loose fists. He’d do it today if possible.
“I understand. And I am sorry it’s come to this.”
“It’s fine, Rei.”
“Right.” Rei turned toward the computer. “Then, let’s begin testing. I need to calibrate the scan to account for organic matter and your cortex chip. I wouldn’t want to leave anything behind during the transfer.”
Another week and Nagisa declared he’d begun the process of bio-engineering Haru another body. After politely declining any changes in his DNA—Haru was happy with his hair color—Haru only had to wait. Rei ensured him that Nagisa would be finished before Haru’s time ran out, and Rei’s newly calibrated scanner would be fully functional and tested.
But it was Makoto’s relief that made everything feel right once again.
“Makoto, are you really okay with another body?” Haru asked after dinner when they were still seated around the kotatsu.
“Yes.” Makoto nodded without hesitation.
“You’ll love me in another foreign body?”
“I’d love you in a hundred new bodies. Haru is Haru. Don’t doubt me over a missing freckle on your hip. I don’t love your body, Haru. I love you.”
Haru breathed in and nodded. Of course Makoto would love him. He felt foolish for worrying.
“Oh. It’s raining,” Makoto said with an edge of excitement. “Come on, Haru.” Makoto got to his feet and moved to the sliding glass door. Haru stood and joined him. Rain showered the back yard with large, fast drops. “Let’s go.” Makoto opened the back door, letting in the sound of rainfall and the crisp scent of wet earth.
“Go where?”
“Outside.”
Haru opened his mouth to protest, but Makoto took him by his wrist and tugged him into the covered porch. Haru didn’t mind the noise or rise of humidity. All of it reminded him of water. However, his muscles wanted rest and his head hurt.
“Come.” Makoto’s voice cut through the downpour. Haru opened his eyes. Makoto had jumped the railing and stood barefoot on the grass with his hand out for Haru.
“Makoto?” Are you crazy? Was implied.
Makoto smiled and rain dripped off of his nose and chin. “It’s warm enough we won’t catch a cold.”
“That doesn’t—”
“No one’s watching.”
Haru caved to Makoto’s brilliant smile and accepted the invitation to stand in the rain. Makoto helped him over the railing and into the backyard. His laughter soothed the pain in Haru’s head faster than the water could.
Water collected in Makoto’s hair and traced the lines in his neck Haru loved to kiss. With his lips turned upward, Makoto leaned down and brushed them against Haru’s.
Haru combed his fingers through Makoto’s wet hair and let his kiss make everything disappear. He didn’t fear the rain making it hard to breath. He didn’t care that he was a time bomb with an unknown detonation. He no longer wondered Nagisa wouldn’t be fast enough. In that moment with Makoto’s laughter on his tongue, Haru didn’t have a care in the world.
“Have you seen Haru’s new body?” Rin leaned an elbow onto the kotatsu. “Nagisa’s talented with whatever science shit is needed to do that. It looks more like Haru than Haru, and it’s only been like eight months.”
“I haven’t seen it.” Makoto wrapped his hand around his mug of tea Haru brewed before he ventured into the porch with Sousuke to feed Tuna her evening treat. Spring had cut through the winter chill and brought Tuna back to their porch. “He’ll still be Haru regardless of appearance.”
“Yeah. I know.” Rin watched the two crouched on the porch with Tuna between them. The feline had warmed up to Sousuke over the last eight months, but she still avoided Rin. “Nagisa said the new body is healthier.”
Makoto nodded but had nothing to say. After waiting for the procedure, he’d be relieved to have it finished.
“Is Haru scared?” Rin asked.
“No. He said he’s done it before.” Makoto turned and watched Haru stroke Tuna. His headaches had become a daily occurrence two months ago, and he needed more rest than before, but he could still function. “But I think he’s worried.”
“About the transfer of his uh…brain?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
“Rei makes it sound complicated on the scanning side, but as easy as laying still on the patient side. He said the chance of complications are almost zero.”
Makoto nodded. “I know.”
“So why is Haru worried?”
“The last time he was scanned, he woke up five years in the future. I think anyone would be worried.”
“I guess.” Rin touched Makoto’s arm and took his attention from the two outside. “Are you worried?”
Makoto smiled a less than convincing lie. “I know everything will be fine.”
“Everything will be fine, Makoto.”
“I know,” Makoto whispered. He could tell himself the same thing a hundred times, but it wouldn’t alleviate the feeling of an approaching storm.
“If the worst happens,” Rin continued. “You’ll still have me and Sousuke.”
“Thank you, Rin.”
Haru studied the ceiling and ignored the body beside his bed that resembled him in every way. Nagisa had finished the process in only ten months and Haru’s deteriorating state pushed the procedure forward a month. Rei placed wires and muttered to himself as he worked around the beds and computer. Nagisa monitored the new body and rattled on about accelerated skin growth or something. Haru was trying his hardest not to listen.
“Rei.”
Rei paused and walked into Haru’s view. “Yes, Haruka-senpai?”
Haru swallowed and glanced to his right. His new body took a breath, aided by machines, and Haru looked back at the ceiling. “Is it alive?”
“Of course. It lacks a consciousness, so it isn’t more than a husk. After the transfer, that body will be as human as you are now.”
Haru tried not to think about what it meant to be human, or how Rei could promise the body had no consciousness of its own already. “Will the transfer work?”
“Yes. This time it’ll take longer, but no more than an hour. Nagisa-kun will administer a sedative to help you sleep. I’ll complete the transfer, and you’ll wake up in your new body. Simple.”
Anything needing as many wires as Rei had between the two beds and the computer couldn’t be as simple as Rei claimed, but Haru accepted Rei’s definition of simple with a short nod.
Rei moved away to finish the last checks. “I’m ready, Nagisa-kun.”
“All set, Rei-chan!” Nagisa said from out of Haru’s sight.
A frown crossed Rei’s features but he cleared it before Haru could question it. “We’ll see you shortly, Haruka-senpai.” Rei touched his shoulder. Nagisa came closer and smiled.
“Good night, Haru-chan. See you in a minute.”
Haru flinched at the needle insertion.
“Count to one hundred, Haru-chan.”
Haru started on Nagisa’s request, but he slurred after five and never made it to ten. When he opened his eyes he couldn’t remember what number he stopped on.
“How do you feel?” Rei asked.
Haru blinked until Rei came into focus. “Fine.” Better.
“The process took longer than anticipated.” Rei nodded at Nagisa and Haru felt the bed brakes disengage. “I have to move you into another room where Makoto-senpai is waiting.”
Haru turned his head and caught a glimpse of his body on the second bed. It was strange seeing what he guessed Rei would now refer to as nothing more than a husk.
Rei rolled the bed into the hallway and continued talking. “Everything went well, Haruka-senpai. Are you in any pain?”
“No.” Haru pushed up to just his elbows and flexed his toes. Everything seemed to work, and the constant ache in his head was gone. “Can I walk?”
“Of course you can. I’ll leave you in Makoto-senpai’s care. I need to finish clean up with Nagisa-kun.”
“What will happen to my old body?”
“It’ll be destroyed, for obvious reasons.”
Haru figured as much. It was property of Pace Labs, and not supposed to exist, but Rei’s stoic response felt out of place.
Rei pushed the bed into an extra room where Makoto waited. He got to his feet and helped Rei position the bed. Rei gave him a quick run-down of the procedure and hurried back into the hallway.
“Haru.” Makoto took Haru’s hand and kissed his forehead. “It went well. I’m glad.”
Haru sat up. His muscles protested but not as much as he’d expected. “I have another new body for you to memorize.”
“Haru,” Makoto chastised.
“It’s true.”
“Yes, but don’t say that here.”
Haru swung his legs out and Makoto helped him to his feet. He didn’t feel as tired as he did the first time. Nagisa had done a better job keeping the muscles worked.
“Rin wanted to be here, but I convinced him and Sousuke to wait for us at the apartment. I’ll text him and let them know everything went as expected.”
“Okay. Do I have clothes?” The hospital gown wouldn’t do.
“Yes. I brought you some. Nagisa said we can go home right away if we took a taxi. You probably want a bath.”
“I do.” Haru removed the gown and dressed in the clothes Makoto brought. “How long did it take?”
Makoto looked at his watch. “Two hours.”
Haru frowned. It was much longer than Rei said. “I’m going back.”
“What?”
“I want to thank them.”
Makoto’s smile was bright. For over ten months the two worked long hours for Haru. He needed to thank them properly. “Okay. I’ll wait.”
Haru made his way back to the procedure lab. Outside the door, he heard Nagisa’s and Rei’s voices inside so he opened it and slipped inside.
“I’m so sorry, Haru-chan,” Nagisa said with a sniffle.
Haru froze and let the door click closed behind him. Nagisa knelt beside the occupied bed, holding the lifeless hand of the body Haru had left behind.
“Haruka-senpai,” Rei came up to Haru’s side. “You should be with Makoto-senpai.”
“I wanted to—” Haru’s gaze swept away from Nagisa and found wide, blue eyes staring at him. Haru took a startled step back. “Rei,” he whispered, keeping his gaze locked onto his own blue eyes. “Is it still alive?”
Rei looked over his shoulder at Nagisa beside Haru’s first bio-engineered body. “Of course he is.”
“Wh—” Haru took another step back and hit the door. “I thought you transferred my consciousness.”
“I did. It’s like moving a computer file onto an external drive. The original remains.”
Haru finally looked away from the frightened eyes and focused on Rei. The body—his failing body—still had him in it. “He’s me?”
“Yes. Or you are him. You’re another divergent from the original Nanase Haruka.”
Haru took a deep breath. There was two of him. One trapped in a deteriorating body with only a few months left. “What are you going to do with him?”
Rei gave Haru a confused frown. “Haruka-senpai, I thought you were aware of what would happen.”
Haru turned back to Nagisa tearfully clutching the hand of his old body. That Haru remained silent, still sedated enough to believe everything was a hallucination, but fear had bled into clear blue eyes.
“I didn’t know...” Haru began but tapered off. “He’s still alive, Rei.”
“He won’t be alive for much longer. By the time the sedative wears off completely, his heart will have stopped.” Rei lowered his head. “Nagisa began the termination process.”
Haru faced Rei. “Termination? But he’s alive.”
“The body is dying, Haruka-senpai. We moved your consciousness in order to save you.”
“But that’s still me.”
Rei frowned and swallowed. “I know it is. But there’s nothing we can do for him.”
“But Rei—”
“That was your body until two hours ago. The body is failing. There’s nothing we can do for it. I thought you understood transferring your scan wouldn’t immediate kill your prior body.”
“I thought it removed—”
“It’s organic matter, Haruka-senpai. Nothing can wipe clean an entire brain.”
“But—”
An alarm drew his attention back to his prior body and his prior hand wrapped around Nagisa’s. Rei left his side and went to Nagisa who had begun to cry in earnest. Haru couldn’t witness himself die or hear Nagisa’s whispered apologies. He opened the door just enough to escape into the hallway where the air felt lighter.
“Haru?” Makoto caught Haru by his shoulders. “What’s wrong?”
Haru grasped the material of Makoto’s shirt. He couldn’t tell him. Makoto would never forgive himself. “Nothing.”
A frown creased Makoto’s brow but he didn’t argue. “Did you tell them what you wanted?”
“I will tomorrow.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Haru rested against Makoto’s chest, feeling his solid warmth. He might eventually forget the expression he’d witnessed on his own face across a laboratory. He’d forget the understanding fear that had dulled the blue eyes he knew as his own. He’d forget the feeling of betraying and killing a version of himself who was just as human as he.
He’d forget it all.
“Are you okay, Haru?” Makoto tried to pull away but Haru buried closer to his chest. “Haru?”
“I’m fine,” Haru said. He’d mean it soon enough. He was alive. He was Haru. And Makoto loved him. “Take me home.”
The End |
Percy had told Alister to wake him up if the nightmares were too bad. He hadn't considered what the plan would be if his nightmares didn't involve the screaming, thrashing, or otherwise loud symptoms that signaled the approach of one of those dreams. As Percy slept, he felt the earth shift under him, and send him sliding down into a dark hole. This hole wasn't Tartarus; it was far too cold to be the Pit, but as his dream-form came to a stop amidst a black cliffside, he couldn't help but shake the feeling that if Alister didn't wake him up soon, he was about to see something horrific.
And by horrific, he meant Nicola. Why was he worried about seeing the deceased daughter of Hades in his dream? Because as Percy span around to take in his surroundings, he made out the unmistakable peaks of Erebos, looming over the horizon. This was the Underworld; sleeping or not, he did not want to be here.
Sadly, Morpheus must have been in a foul mood, because Percy couldn't lift his feet to move away. Granted, even if he could, he had no idea where he'd go; backing up would have meant falling off the cliff into the darkness below, and scampering through any part of Hades' realm uninvited was sure to get him flogged by the Lord of the Dead, no matter how agreeable the god had been while on Olympus.
So, when the shadows in front of him shifted into a female form, Percy stayed put. In what little grace he'd ever been afforded by the god of dreams, though, the woman who took shape before him did not materialize into the young, lithe frame of Neeks. Instead, she crested into a taller figure, ebony hair so long it curled down around her waist. She was draped in a thin black cloth that shimmered with the movement of water currents as she unfolded to her full height, her obsidian eyes regaling him with contempt.
"Percy Jackson," the dour woman spat, crossing her arms behind her back and walking threatening circles around him. "The Land of the Dead curses your name, hero. Had you not culled Lamia's spell as you did, we may not be facing the calamities of the last few hours."
With every word the woman spoke, Percy felt like red-hot railroad spikes were being driven into his body with hammers. Her presence oozed of hatred, and Percy found it difficult to hold her gaze without his teeth chattering.
"I don't know who you are," he breathed, the gloomy atmosphere of the Underworld quaking at his words.
"Am I really so unfamiliar to you, Jackson?" The woman stepped right up to him, bringing up a single ethereal hand that she used to stroke his hair. Her touch sent waves of guilt pulsating down his body. "After all, was it not Percie, and you, who flung yourselves into my waters, seeking the protection of Achilles and his blessing? The pain you endured must have not been very substantial, for you to forget my assistance so easily."
"Styx."
The goddess of the river Styx, and of hatred itself. Morpheus really must have being nursing a massive grudge.
Styx smirked at him for a moment, before withdrawing her hand. "Good boy; I'd hate to vaporize the newest ruler of the sea before he ever got a chance to stretch his fins, as it were."
Percy melted under her gaze, the guilt of Poseidon's disappearance and Nicola's death being amplified beyond the point of description just by being near the ancient being. He tried to speak, but his tongue seemed to grow too large for his mouth, and his lips strained at the effort to form letters.
The goddess clicked her tongue at him, watching him struggle to maintain something resembling sanity in her presence. "Come on, Percy. Surely you couldn't expect me to ignore such a blatant broken promise. It may not have involved my dominion exactly, but both you and Percie have towed the line beyond the point of such generosity." Styx's face contorted, and then a new voice sounded out of her mouth: "Please... keep an eye on her. She's... all I have, right now."
Willamina's petrified voice slithered out of the goddess, coiling around Percy's legs and dropping him to his knees. Styx's voice changed again, and this time it was Percy's own words that spewed forth: "With everything I've got."
Styx snarled once she'd finished, leaning down to look Percy in the eye. "How did that go, again? My memory is hazy."
"Why... are you doing this?" Percy asked, having to choke back a coughing fit as the very promise he'd made to Mina threatened to strangle him. "I already blame myself as is; what more can you possibly hope to do to make me suffer more?" He forced his gaze upwards, staring hatred itself in the eye. "I already couldn't protect someone I loved. If you're going to punish me for failing to keep my promises, then just get it over with. Nothing good can come from dragging this out any longer than it needs to."
"Because simply killing you wouldn't be enough. You, the boy who forced one of my oaths on his loved ones, and couldn't even do them the honor of keeping to his own. I have no love for demigods... but even less for hypocrites."
"Then do whatever you have to do, Styx. I'm done running away from my mistakes."
The goddess actually treated him to a somewhat approving look. "How noble; shame it came about one day too late. If it makes you feel any better, at least this kind of display right before your demise is sure to net you some points with the adjudicators in charge of Elysium. I hear Van Gogh's a big fan of self-sacrifice."
This was it? Struck down in his sleep for breaking a promise by the goddess of the Styx? Even under the influence of the deity, Percy couldn't help shaking the feeling that something was off about this. Unfortunately, whether the woman before him was Styx or not became irrelevant when her hands sparked with power, and she went to blast the son of Poseidon into smithereens. Percy desperately hoped his last conscious thought would be something heartwarming, like his mother's eyes, or maybe Annabeth's words to him on the Argo. Instead, his brain latched onto giant crabs, for some unknown reason.
Luckily, Percy was spared from being condemned to history as the boy who died thinking about seafood when he felt a new presence rush to his side, one that caught Styx's strike before it could annihilate him and pushed her back with enough force to level a mountain.
The new arrival's voice boomed throughout the realm, and Percy eyes fluttered open at the familiar cadence. "You're not Styx," Hades bellowed, standing between Percy and the obsidian pretender. "Nor are you one of mine; do you have any idea what I do to trespassers in my domain?" The Lord of the Underworld crackled with dark fire as he approached the goddess, who suddenly looked a lot less smug than she had a few seconds ago.
"Well? Answer me, and I might not rip you into pieces and scatter them throughout the deepest pits of Asphodel," Hades barked, casting a single worried glance at Percy before unleashing a truly demonic stare at the invader. It was only noticeable for a brief second, but when the god had checked on him, Percy saw an emotion he'd never seen within Hades before: desperation. Desperate... for what? He had to have known Nicola was dead by now; Percy was expecting fury, and grief. Not... something as frantic as what he'd just witnessed.
To his frustration, "Styx" hissed and teleported away, most likely as far away from the Underworld as she could get. Hades sneered at her cowardice, before kneeling down next to Percy, taking a moment to dispel the sorcery she'd used to force him to choke on his own regrets.
"Could she have been Lamia?" the demigod sputtered, one hand going to his chest to feel for a heartbeat. He still had one, thank Hades.
The god of the dead paused, then frowned. "No; she's too powerful to be that pathetic creature. Only another god could have taken on the shape of Styx and waded into my realm without coming onto my radar sooner." The frown melted away as Hades rose to his feet, getting replaced by another look of worry. "Forgive me for rushing off, nephew, but I'm... just a little preoccupied, at the moment. I can return you to the waking world... but I must be off now."
"Wait; Nicola. How is-"
Hades' gaze jerked, before he shook his head violently. "No." Before Percy could ask for clarification, Hades snapped his fingers, and the son of Poseidon was shooting up in the bed at Rey's home, jolting Alister out of his own sleep.
"Seaweed Brain?" the child of wisdom queried, sitting up and wrapping a protective arm around Percy's chest. "What happened? Was it a-"
"Nightmare? Yeah, you could say that," Percy snapped, instantly regretting his tone when he saw Alister flinch. "I... sorry. That was unworthy of me; I just... wasn't expecting something like that to happen." Taking a moment to compose himself, Percy recounted his dream to Alister, making sure to include his own observations about Hades' attitude, and the phony Styx.
The son of Athena furrowed his brow as he listened, cupping both hands under his chin. He looked adorable when he did that; like he was a kid trying to answer a really tricky math problem without help from anyone. "So someone took the shape of Styx in an effort to get to you, and Hades concluded that whoever they were, they had to be a god themselves?" He shook his head in frustration. "Every time one thing laxes, another takes its place."
"Tell me about it," Percy grumbled, sliding both of his legs off the bed. The few cracks in the blinds on the window were allowing plenty of sunlight in, so his nightmare must have been stretched out over the course of the entire night. "Any idea what time it is?"
"Late morning would be my estimation; we didn't get to sleep until pretty late."
Alister then put his hand to Percy's own, his face taking on a concerned look. The unasked question went unasked because it was obvious. Sighing, Percy shook his head, and the son of Athena snuggled into him, drawing light circles on Percy's back with his hands.
"Do you want to stay in today?" he asked the son of Poseidon. "I don't think Rey or Faith, or any of the others for that matter, would blame you for taking the day off, as it were."
"As much as I'd love to, I'd like to check in on everyone. Hayden... and Mina, especially." Percy swallowed a lump of bile coming up his throat. "Besides, Rey said they'd be making the funeral preparations today; I can't miss that."
Alister considered it, before nodding. "Okay. Let's go give him the news, then. I'd hate to just vanish from his house without letting him know where we're going." Standing up, Alister crossed over to the closet of the room, opening it up and giving the shirts and pants a once-over. "All three of us are pretty close to the same size; I doubt Rey would raise a fuss about us using some of his spares."
Alister's comments about clothes brought Percy to an unfortunate realization: he was still wearing those dumb orca pajamas Hades had dressed him in after changing him out of his vomit-covered camp outfit. He'd fought Demosthenes and his posse, and vainly attempted to save Nicola's life at the Maximus, with Teddy the smiling orca plastered all over his lower body.
"Good idea, Wise Guy."
As they changed, Percy couldn't help recalling some of the events of the previous night after they'd arrived at Rey's house. As eye-opening as the conversation he'd had with the praetor had been, Percy wasn't the only one who ended up embroiled in a serious talk last evening.
"How... did everything with Thomas shake out?" he asked, testing out the collar on one of Rey's polos. Really? Polos? The son of Bellona did not strike Percy as a polo guy.
Alister hesitated for a moment as he stretched the waistband of a pair of skinny jeans, giving Percy a stricken look. "Which one? The part where one of my closest friends admits he hid a drug problem from me for months, or the part where that same friend confesses that he's been in love with my girlfriend for the better part of a year?"
"Either. Both. Or whichever one you feel most comfortable talking about."
The child of wisdom grimaced. "Not great, to be honest. Don't get me wrong; I love Thomas. He's like a brother to me. But... there are some things that I can't just accept on the fly like that. It's got me questioning every interaction they ever had after that mess with Kronos. I'm... unsure." Alister's face fell. "And I hate being unsure of things."
Percy tilted his head. "What are you unsure of, then? Clearly not Percie's feelings for you; so what?"
"I don't even know where to start, to be honest."
Percy crossed the room, running one of his hands through Alister's blonde cut. The son of Athena leaned into the touch, bringing his own hand up to Percy's arm. "Wise Guy... for all the years we've known each other, I like to think I've gotten at least marginally decent at getting a feel for where your head is. With that being said, may I be so bold as to offer my own conclusion?"
"Only if you're willing to risk a knee to the crotch, Seaweed Brain," the blonde responded, thankfully, with a smile.
"I'll take it." Percy took a moment to run a finger along Alister's jaw before he spoke again. "I don't think you're mad at Thomas, per se. I know you're kind enough, and compassionate enough, to understand how he would develop an addiction, and why he'd keep it a secret from you. Also, as shocking as it had to be, I don't think you're really upset by his feelings for Percie, either. He never acted on those emotions, and gave the two of you space. And as you said; he's like your brother."
Alister went still, but didn't reject Percy's touch.
"All in all, I think the person you're upset with.... is yourself," Percy finished. "For not seeing what you think should have been obvious, now that you know what to look for."
The room was lifeless as Percy concluded his thoughts, and he had to wait several seconds for Alister to finally respond. "And people say I'm the invasive one," he lamented, glancing down at the floor in acknowledgment. "I don't know why it took me off guard like it did. For a while there, it felt like every other guy I ran into was crushing on Percie. On you. Why would Thomas be any exception?"
"I know it's a lot to take in. But... there's no one who really deserve any ire, be they you or him. If anything, we could probably blame this whole mess on Eros, if we really wanted. Besides, even if I did have to wade through a horde of admirers for longer than I would have liked," Percy pressed a kiss to the other boy's neck, "all it really did was confirm just how much I felt about you."
"Stop," Alister bleated, his face flushing, and his tone indicating he wanted Percy to do the exact opposite. "Okay; I get it. I'll try not to think about it; Thomas is a good guy, and doesn't want to come in between us." His gaze flickered for a moment. "Shit... I still need to apologize to Rey for all the things I said to him while Minerva was... well, you know."
"About him making his own move on Percie?" Percy guessed, thinking about the praetor's confession to him the previous night. As much as he knew hearing that would repair any damage Alister's outburst had done to the relationship he had with Rey, Percy knew that only Rey had the right to tell that story to anyone. He might encourage the praetor to do so, but the choice was still the son of Bellona's.
"Yeah. He had a point; how was he supposed to know about me?"
Percy nodded, then caught something: a very slight tremor went through Alister's body as he spoke, the demigod looking away as he finished and mumbling something. From this angle, the only word he could make out was "Dad".
"You okay?" the child of the sea asked.
Alister blinked. "Yeah; I'm fine."
"You didn't look fine just a moment ago."
Silence.
Percy pulled the other boy in, noticing that Alister didn't immediatly return the embrace. "Something about your dad?"
"And if it was?"
"Wise Guy, it's me."
Alister winced, before putting his head under Percy's chin. "Okay... I probably should've asked you this a lot sooner. I don't know if it was my own weakness that prevented me, or if I just didn't think about it over the chaos of the last few days, but...-" He sighed. "Does Annabeth have a good relationship with her father? Like... a relatively positive one, at least?"
Percy thought for a moment. "Not always, but it's gotten better with time. They try to communicate at least somewhat regularly, anyway. And when I dropped by on the way to deal with Atlas, both he and her stepmother seemed apologetic about how things had gone down in the past."
Alister's voice cracked. "Apologetic?"
"Not with you?"
"Did... did my dad even want Annabeth?"
Now Percy was confused. "No, actually. Athena fell in love with Frederick, then gifted him with her. Dr. Chase wasn't very happy with a child getting plopped into his lap like that, and insisted Athena raise her on Olympus. Of course, the goddess chastised him for that, and while things weren't easy, Annabeth mentioned to me that she felt stupid for hating her mortal family as long as she did, especially after her father said she always had a home with him."
Alister crumpled against Percy as he talked, which broke the son of the sea's heart. "Did... that not happen with you?" Percy asked, keeping his voice gentle.
"No... my dad hinted strongly to Athena that he was on board with a child born from her. When the West Wind delivered me to his doorstep, my mother told me he was ecstatic, burning several academic papers to her as thanks." The boy shivered. "He wanted a son... a son who would one day surpass the greatest military minds in the world, and throughout all of history." A painful laugh escaped his lips. "He got me; a cautionary tale that you should be careful what you wish for."
"What happened?"
"What always happens when parents try to live vicariously through their children; nothing I did ever matched his expectations. It was always the same: "Alister, you're too brash! You're a child of Athena; for crying out loud, think things through before you leap into action." Just repeating the words seemed to stir him up. "Like I don't do that enough! I see what needs to be done, and I do it! There's no point in waiting around pointlessly when the answer is right in front of you."
"Easy there," Percy soothed, nuzzling into the boy's cheek. "So, that's where the 'don't overcomplicate things' philosophy came from, then."
"Yes. I watched my father languish in his own dreams for so long, he missed any chances of making them a reality. Frederick Chase... is a man who will sit in a fire and complain about it being hot."
"And that's how it's always been?"
Alister scoffed. "After Percie and Thomas defeated Atlas, you'd think my dad would be just the tiniest bit proud of me. Holding up the sky, venturing into the Sea of Monsters, all that jazz. He even decided to put one of his old planes to use, vaporizing an entire army of monsters in seconds. But what was the first thing he said when I finally got to see him again: "Alister, have you reconsidered this foolish notion about being an architect?"
Percy let out an exasperated sigh, letting Alister fume for a second before he responded. "And that's the last time you guys talked?"
"Yeah, and if the Fates are kind, it'll be the last time, period."
The son of Poseidon knotted his brow. "I'm... sorry."
Alister's face softened. "I know, and it's appreciated. I just... see people like Sally, and ask why I couldn't get a mortal parent like that. Sure, my mother has been there before, but she's never been... that. At least, not until the incident with Minerva."
Percy finally pulled away, letting them both finish changing in silence. He had to bite his lip when Alister changed out of his pants into the jeans he'd been checking out (don't stare, don't stare) but otherwise, they made it out of the guest room without any more conversation.
"Let's tell Rey we're heading out," Alister said, stepping into the living room and pausing. Percy saw why when he joined him; while the couch in the living room had been set up to be used as a makeshift bed, with a pillow and a blanket, the furniture was lacking a praetor.
"Guess he's already out," Percy concluded, heading across the house to where Rey had directed Thomas to his own room. "I'll see if Thomas is still here."
The door was closed, so Percy was sure to keep his movement quiet as he turned the knob and pushed the door in. The main bedroom was just as tidy and ordered as the rest of the house; nary a hair out of place in the carpet whatsoever. On the dresser next to the bed was a pair of metal leashes, probably for when Rey decided to take Aurum and Argentum out for a walk. He hadn't seen either of the two metallic canines since he arrived, which was fine with him. He had enough dramatic experiences with dogs from Cerberus and Mrs. O'Leary, thank you.
None of that was surprising; at all. The real surprise... was in the bed itself.
Percy had been expecting Thomas to be there; the son of Zeus had to have been exhausted from the events of the previous day, so it was no big reveal that he was still asleep. However, he wasn't alone. Rey had crawled in next to him, and was currently acting as the big spoon to Thomas' little spoon. Percy stood aghast at the door for some time, which clued Alister into something going on as well, since he snuck up behind Percy, observing the cuddling demigods with bafflement in his eyes.
Percy recalled Rey saying that he'd go to Thomas if it became too much, and judging from how tightly Thomas was clinging to the praetor, odds were good they had gotten pretty bad. Not wanting to risk disturbing them, Percy closed the door, making his way back to the living room with Alister on his heels.
"We... can wait for him to wake up," the son of Athena dismissed, still looking taken-aback. "I'd hate to interrupt... whatever that was."
Percy felt his face warm a little, but he held his tongue. Considering Rey had basically caught him and Alister doing the exact same thing just yesterday, it would have been poor taste to needle the praetor about what they just witnessed. Besides, for Rey to actually seek out some support, and end up spending the night with Thomas... yeah. He wasn't going to say a word about it.
Instead, he folded himself onto the couch, with Alister snuggling in next to him. As much as the son of Athena's warmth could alleviate some of Percy's inner turmoil, he couldn't get Nicola's dead-white face out of his mind. When had she passed? Was she really gone before he ever got her on the table? Was there anything he could have done?
Alister must have known how much Percy was grappling with these questions, but he also knew that Percy couldn't be dissuaded from questioning himself with words. So, he made do by wrapping the son of Poseidon's hands around his waist, and letting Percy tuck his chin on his shoulder. They both stayed there, Percy not bothering to hide his own melancholy, for a while, until they finally heard the bedroom door open.
Rey stumbled out, the bandage he had been wearing around his torso now unwrapped, and passed by the couch without comment, before abruptly turning on his heel to look at the two boys in surprise. "Are you guys... wearing my clothes?" he asked.
"Sorry," Alister answered, Percy still too grieved to speak. "We needed to change, but didn't have anything with us."
"No problem," the praetor said, a look of both confusion and acceptance coming over him. He wiped his eyes, stepping into the kitchen, before leaning down on his countertop in exhaustion. He didn't say anything about coming out of the bedroom, and luckily, neither did Alister. "Guess... I had better start assisting with the funeral preparations," Rey murmured, burying his face in his hands.
"Rey," Alister began, before sharing a look with Percy. "If you need some time, I'm sure Faith and everyone else here at camp would understand. The preparations might be starting today, but..." the son of Athena stumbled over his words, "they're probably not going to be ready for a few days. Assuming you'd want them all held together, of course."
Rey staggered at the implications; there were so many dead, preparing funerals for them all would be a multi-day event. But... the son of Bellona didn't reject the idea right away, either. "Alister... I understand your concern. But I'm praetor; I have to be-"
"What you have to be is strong, I know. But answer me honestly: Are you strong enough to go out there and face that kind of tragedy without putting yourself at risk?"
Rey's voice dropped. "At risk of what, Alister?"
"You tell me."
More silence. Rey stared down at his countertop, then back up at Alister. "You... you'll tell Faith?" he asked, softly.
"Of course. She'll get it; you need some time. Go back to bed."
The half-naked praetor shuffled back towards the room, unaware of anything, until Alister spoke again: "Rey?"
"Yes?"
The child of wisdom teared up. "I'm sorry."
"You? For what?"
"For telling you and Faith to stay back. I knew Demosthenes was targeting you specifically, but even so... I can't help but feel like things might have gone differently if I allowed you to stay near the main lines of the fight."
Rey exhaled, shaking his head. "No; I get it. And you were right: Demosthenes deployed his sharpshooter to the downtown district. If we'd been there, we'd be dead."
"Even so-"
"Alister!" Rey's voice was strained, but stable. "Hush; we're both children of war. We both made a call... and if you hadn't, none of the First Cohort would have survived. As tempting as it is to sit back and ask ourselves what we could have done instead..." he shook his head again, "that's not going to help anyone. That guilt we're both carrying? Holding onto it won't make us feel any better, or change what happened. Do yourself a favor, and try to let it go."
With that, the praetor returned to his room, shutting the door behind him.
Alister wheezed in Percy's arms, but that was nothing compared to the chill that ran through the son of Poseidon. Let it go? How could he? If anything, trying to let go of his guilt would... it would diminish Nicola's sacrifice. Wouldn't it?
Even as he had the thought, he could hear the daughter of Hades scoffing at him. "Nothing you do could ever diminish me," she'd argue. "Besides... I don't regret my actions. You were in danger, and I protected you. Now you've got Katoptris, too. I can think of worse things to die for."
She shouldn't have died at all... but maybe Rey had a point. Kicking himself was the last thing Neeks would want him to do; that was the single biggest thing he could do to diminish her, if he could.
He felt Alister shift in his arms, and let the son of Athena stand up. "Ready?" he asked Percy.
To face the camp? No. "Yes."
The destruction was still overwhelming; walking through the downtown area, Percy had to constantly watch his footing to keep from tripping over some uprooted concrete, or a splayed out store sign. A bonfire was burning to the heavens off at the Field of Mars; speaking with a few beleaguered survivors confirmed that the bodies of the undead were being disposed of there.
The first of the fallen demigods were still being gathered together, underneath the aqueduct. Several legionnaires were being as gentle as they could, unloading veiled bodies by hand. None of them looked even remotely okay. The line of fallen continued for several feet, but the sight of a familiar pink-haired boy caught Percy's attention, kneeling next to one with tears pouring down his face.
"Lucian?" Percy asked, the son of Terpsichore flinching at his grief being interrupted before turning to both him and Alister with a sniffle.
"It's you," was all he said, looking back to the covered body with anguish.
"Someone... you knew?" Alister asked, kneeling down next to him.
Lucian wobbled, then nodded. "Yeah; Ezra Belman." He went to uncover the body's face, but stopped before he did. "He... he was someone I was talking to. He was a son of Melpomene."
"Muse of tragedy."
Lucian broke out into another string of tears, wiping at his face with his sleeve. "Don't remind me! I used to joke with him about being destined for each other since both of our mothers were goddesses of the arts. He'd always laugh, but-" Another pause for tears. "-he never showed signs of being into guys. He'd just picked me up from bathroom detail when the word got out about the undead forming on the other side of the river. I had to get my crossbow; he had to report to the commander's tent. The last thing I said to him... was to not get into any trouble. His response? "I like trouble."
Percy's heart broke for the teen. "Lucian... I'm sorry."
The son of dance collapsed next to the body, weeping even louder. "He died using his body to shield some kids from that trigger-happy daughter of Apollo. Took one to the throat, another to the liver. He didn't even have a weapon... and she just..." Lucian's voice died out, and he curled into the fetal position.
As Alister tried to comfort the grieving boy as best as he could, Percy simmered with anger. Jane... he'd only heard her name, but the more he learned about her, the more he felt a desire to drown her in a toilet. Shooting during a battle was one thing, but shooting an unarmed teen trying to protect kids from stray fire? She'd better pray he never faced her in a fight.
Try as he might, Alister learned Lucian was inconsolable. After spending a few more minutes with him, one of the demigods helping unload bodies motioned for them to leave the son of Terpsichore alone. Percy wanted to argue, but Alister stopped him. This kind of pain wasn't something that could be healed with just support; the boy needed time.
Similar scenes of anguish littered the streets and pathways of the camp. Percy had to force himself to keep moving every time they came upon a wailing demigod, or a mourning parent, or a small child asking where their brother or sister was. Alister wasn't faring much better either, even though he had been the one to come to the earlier realization first.
"Know where Faith will be?" Percy asked, trying to ignore a legionnaire sobbing into her hands as a centurion broke the news about someone who hadn't survived a surgical procedure to remove an arrow from their neck.
"I... have an idea," Alister answered, his face turning the same shade of grey as his eyes. The son of Athena led Percy over the lake, and around a hilly pathway, before facing the son of Poseidon with agony in his face. "Faith will be where Hayden is; and Hayden will be where Nicola is." He was taking them to the temple of Pluto up on Temple Hill.
Percy's limbs sagged as he climbed up the slope. Knowing the practices of the Romans... they'd keep Nicola's body in the shrine to her father. As they walked, Percy prayed that someone had at least cleaned Neeks up. If he had to see her... open... again, he'd faint.
To no one's surprise, Alister was right on the money in his guess. The daughter of Mars was standing outside the entrance to Pluto's temple, her hair worn down for the first time since Percy had met her. She looked like she'd been up fighting demons all night; technically, she probably had.
"Gentlemen," she acknowledged, closing her eyes for a moment. "How are you?"
"Miserable," Percy admitted, feeling a sob lodge in his throat.
Faith only frowned in sympathy. "Join the club; Hayden didn't sleep a wink all night. Nor did I. He's been in there ever since," she choked up," ever since they brought Nicola in there. So has Mina. I've been trying to give them some privacy, but..." her voice wandered off for a moment. "We're gonna have to prepare her last; Willamina can't be convinced to move from her side, and Hayden's been accidentally summoning crystals every five minutes or so."
Any further conversation derailed when the door to the temple creaked open, revealing a very haggard-looking Hayden Levesque. The son of Pluto was dressed in all-black, which was something Percy had never seen Hazel do before.
"Is it... Percy?" Hayden asked, his voice tight.
Faith motioned him forward, and Percy stepped into the demigod's view.
"Hayden.... I'm-"
"Sorry? Beside yourself? Wishing you could go back and change it?"
"Yes."
Hayden was apparently struck silent by Percy's blunt answer, but it was the truth: Nicola had been his friend, just as Nico had. She'd died in his arms; with a smile on her face, right before she lost consciousness for the last time. That smile... he'd see it for the rest of his life, in his head.
"Hayden," Faith warned, stepping behind Percy. "We talked about this."
The son of Pluto sucked in a harsh intake of breath, before opening the door fully. "Yeah, we did. Which is why you need to let me finish, Faith."
"Then go ahead."
Hayden stepped out of the temple, his amber eyes shining in the light of the sun, regaling Percy with an unreadable look. Then... he lunged. Not in attack, though. The smaller teen wrapped his arms around Percy's chest, sobbing into his shirt.
"Hayden! But... why? I thought you'd be furious with me!" Percy forced through his own emotions.
"For what? I was there, Percy. Nicola interfered of her own free will. She knew the risks... and accepted them. As devastated as I am, I can't be mad at you... or her. After all," Hayden shuddered against Percy, "I'd have done the same thing."
Percy felt his stomach drop. "You... you would?"
"We all would, Percy," Alister said behind him. Faith nodded her answer as well.
"But... why?" He couldn't believe it. Here he was, having made some of the biggest mistakes in his life, and the people who should have hated him the most for it were instead saying they'd all do it again. For him.
Hayden stared up at him, in both sorrow and acceptance. "Because you're our friend, you idiot." Hayden's southern twang got more noticeable as he talked. "I was wrong, you know; what I said about you back in the Senate Hall. I was upset, and not being fair. Nicola clearly thought you were worth keeping alive; that wouldn't have happened if you didn't have kindness in you. So as sad as I am, I don't hold you responsible for what happened yesterday. And if I can do that... you can heal, too."
Healing... Hayden thought he could heal from this? What did he do to inspire this kind of confidence in people he'd only known for a few days now?
"But you haven't known them for just a few days," a voice in his head countered. "You all saved the world together, didn't you? The faces might have changed slightly, but your feelings clearly haven't."
Easy for this voice to say. It hadn't been forced to witness the death of one of its closest friends right after finally feeling like he'd made a genuine connection with her.
"Percy, there is nothing wrong with letting people who love you help you. This idea you've got in your head, that the only way to protect them is to keep them at arms' length, is blatantly untrue. You wouldn't have defeated Kronos and Gaea on your own; you had help. Help that wants to help. I suggest you let them."
What, so they could die, too?
"Too?"
Huh? Percy waited, hoping for more, but the voice in his head was now infuriatingly silent. He got nothing else, which meant he had to refocus on the conversation he'd been having before... someone started talking to him in his head.
In fact, now that he was paying attention, no time had seemed to pass in the thirty seconds or so it took to have that exchange inside his mind. Hayden had just finished talking about how he could heal, but wasn't looking discouraged by Percy taking more than half a minute to answer him. Neither did Faith or Alister.
Yay. Another potentially malevolent force to worry about.
"Maybe I can... but I'll need time," Percy said, in response to Hayden's statement.
The son of Pluto nodded, a concerned look in his eyes, but didn't comment on anything else. Instead, he turned to Faith. "I think... I need to head home, for a bit. The funeral won't be for a few days, so I'll need to start preparing myself for that."
Faith took her boyfriend in her arms, letting him shudder against her, before looking back up at the boys. "If you want to head inside, go ahead. Mina's still in there, though, so be mindful of that."
"We will," Alister promised. "Also, Rey's going to be a while today; he's... still recovering, as it were."
"No problem. If you see him later, tell him I'll be going in-between the Maximus and the temples for most of the day. Once we run out of room near the aqueduct... well, we may have to make a few extra tributes to Jupiter to earn some goodwill for putting the dead in his temple."
The Romans left, Faith supporting Hayden as he broke into another series of wails. Percy watched them go, then turned to the doors of Pluto's temple. "I... don't know if I'm ready," he said aloud.
"We never will be," Alister so eloquently responded, paling at what had to come next. With that cheery thought to guide them, they stepped in together. Pluto's temple was, to put it lightly, glorious beyond words. As god of wealth to the Romans, his shrine had been decked out with enough precious metals to make any crystal-healer collapse in ecstasy. Rubies, emeralds, sapphires, garnets, jades, amethysts, and dozens of others lined the walls and ceiling, which had been painted a crisp shade of light blue. Pluto's statue stood at the head of the room, gazing out over the wealth with a look of refinement on his face.
Great for a temple displaying its riches... less so for a room currently serving as a mortuary. Right at the foot of the statue... was Nicola. Or... what was left of her. She'd been sewn back up, by the looks of it, and her signature jacket and jeans combo had been replaced by a simple black dress fitted down to her knees. She was laying on her back on a bed of flowers, her hands folded over her stomach. Her skin was a horribly sickening shade of white, and the flowers she'd been laid on were giving off a smell akin to sweet cinnamon.
Kneeling at the foot of the flower bed was Mina. The daughter of Apollo hadn't changed; her white tank top was stained with blood and tears, and she was still wearing the bottom half of her surgical uniform; turquoise pants.
She had to have heard them come in, but didn't acknowledge them in any way.
After waiting for a moment, Percy realized he'd have to take the initiative. Problem was... he didn't know what to say. Thank the gods, then, for Alister.
"It's a beautiful arrangement," the son of Athena said, walking up to the healer. "Persephone herself couldn't have done better."
"She did," Mina sneered from her face-down position. "Came in, took one look at the flowers I had arranged for, and threw them all out. Said Nicola deserved something better than that." The daughter of Apollo vibrated with anger. "I think she's the last person in existence to talk about what Neeks did and didn't deserve."
Alister's face fell. "Gods... I'm sorry, Mina."
Willamina teared up. "The flowers I got... they're still over by the door, if you want to see."
Percy turned around, spotting a bouquet of purple, white, and pink bulbs nestled away on a bench against the wall. Taking them in his hand, he brought them over to Alister, whose eyes widened at them.
"That's... hyacinth," the child of wisdom stammered.
Percy's mouth opened, before he could think: "Like, Hyacinthus? The guy Apollo fell in love with, and got killed by Zephyros out of jealousy?"
Mina spun towards him, her face contorting into a scowl before she broke down again. "Yes... I know how poetic that must seem... but the connection was completely accidental. They were just the ones I knew Neeks liked the most." Her lip trembled. "She thought... she thought hyacinths could be a symbol of how love could continue even after death."
All three of them had been crying for most of the past two days; at some point, you'd think they'd run out of water in their bodies. But no. Mina's tears were somehow the strongest of the bunch, despite how evident it was that she'd been bawling nonstop over the course of an entire night.
The flowers in Percy's hand jilted at his own sobbing, but that was not the noteworthy part. Rather, as all three demigods shared in another emotional moment, the flowers seemed to breathe, then constricted. The wind outside picked up, blowing the bouquet out of his grip and next to the flower bed supporting Nicola's body. The petals wilted, then joined together, shooting up and up into the figure of a middle-aged man, dressed in a black tuxedo and outfitted with a platinum tie. The man stared down at Nicola with intensity, before turning to the teens.
Percy knew him the moment he saw him; or rather, knew who he was. He had Hades' angular features, foreboding countenance, and pale face, but was clean-shaven instead of sporting a mid-length beard.
"Lord Pluto," Percy mumbled, less out of shock, and more out of numbness. "You... honor us with your presence."
The god did not speak at first; rather, he regarded Percy and Alister with severity, before turning a truly grieved face to Mina. He once more turned back to Nicola, putting the back of his hand to her forehead, and hissed at the touch. "Wait here," he commanded, and vanished into a puff of black mist.
They didn't have to wait long; not fifteen seconds later, the mist returned, but this time it came bearing more than just Pluto. A charcoal-black figure was shoved out of the smoke, careening through the air and slamming into a collection of jades that had been growing out of a window. The man rose to his feet as Pluto appeared again, cursing to himself.
Yet again, Percy knew exactly who this way... but his presence here unnerved the son of Poseidon even more than Pluto's had. "Thanatos."
The golden-eyed deity rose on shaky legs to his feet, black wings curling against his back in pain.
Mina's eyes bugged out. "Like... Death itself, Thanatos?"
"As opposed to what? Thanatos Logs? Thanatos Bumper Cars?" Alister quipped, too stunned by the arrival of both gods to quell his sarcasm.
Fortunately, neither Pluto or Thanatos seemed all that interested in the demigods. The Roman Lord of the Underworld snarled at the winged personification of Death before hooking a clawed hand at him. "Tell them, Thanatos! Tell them what you told me not ten seconds ago!"
Death growled, shaking his head clear of the impact he'd taken. "My lord, must we engage in this display in front of these... children? This is not their business."
"Oh, but it is, my old friend. Now, start talking."
Thanatos sniffed, adjusting his chiton before regarding Percy and the others with a stressed look. "Fine; as I'm sure you're all well aware, I'm in charge of overseeing dead souls. Specifically, that all dead souls stay in their rightful place once their lives have ended."
"Like the Doors of Death; we know," Percy cut in, now beginning to get very interested. "So, why did Lord Pluto just karate-chop you in here, with us?"
"Because..." the deity fished for his next words, "because someone... was not where they should be."
Instantly, three pairs of eyes swiveled to Pluto. "My lord," Mina began, her voice unstable, "is Thanatos saying what I think he's saying?"
The god of the dead nodded once. "Yes, Ms. Solace. The someone my friend refers to... is my daughter, Nicola."
Alister shared a freaked out look with Percy. Despite the intensity in the room, though, Percy felt a wave of something else flood his system: hope.
"So what happened, exactly?" he pressed.
Thanatos grumbled. "Nicola di Angelo did not appear on my list for yesterday's reaping. I was keeping a close eye on her; no matter how intense her injuries became, she never once entered into the domain where I was to claim her. Yet... here she lies. Dead."
Pluto shook with fury. "Myself, and my Greek form, have been scouring the Underworld for hours now. I've checked Elysium, the Isles, Asphodel, the Fields of Punishment, even Erebos itself. Charon confirmed it; Nicola did not appear for judgment after her supposed death. In fact, she did not cross into the Underworld at all. I would have sensed her the moment she did."
Hades' frantic expression that Percy had seen in his dream came rushing back. If this was true, and Nicola had been wrongly reaped... oh, gods. What did this mean?
"I'll tell you what it means, Percy Jackson," Pluto said, startling Percy so much, the son of Poseidon almost tripped backwards. Damn mind-reading abilities. "It means... I do not know where my daughter is." |
They wake before the city does.
He had promised to show her the world in which he grew up and though she senses there is part of him, the part that snarls whenever anyone dares to come too close, that would prefer to spend all the time they have left entangled in the bed, she is too greedy to keep from taking him up on yesterday’s offer.
She is greedy for more of his memories. She is greedy for as much as he is willing to give her.
--
She should fear recognition.
She does not doubt that the Resistance’s holos have made their way to Chandrila. If Ben had seen them, she does not doubt that every corner of the galaxy knows the face of the last Jedi even if they do not know what she is called.
But the Jedi in the holos is always ready for battle with her hair tied up and her hand wrapped around her saber.
Rey hardly resembles the woman with her face. Her hair is down although she wears a tie at her wrist. Her belt is empty even if she recognizes how careless such a choice may be.
She is a nobody, just as she always was, but she has never been so pleased to be only that.
The Jedi in the holos always stands with the Resistance.
A nobody can go where she pleases. A nobody can share a bed with whomever she wants.
--
And she wants the man dressing just beside her.
Ben slides on a shirt that she’s never seen in all the time she’s known him, something faded in a way that belies its age. Something almost gray that must have been hidden in all the years the galaxy forgot his true name.
It doesn’t quite fit him. The sleeves expose a little too much of his forearms and the length is a little too short, but she likes it all the same. She can pretend he has only ever been Ben Solo in it.
He has never been anybody else.
His beard is more than just a shadow now, dark enough where it draws almost more attention than his scar. It emphasizes the jut of his chin and the pout of his lips and she cannot decide whether she prefers his face like this or without.
She is content with liking both. She likes him every way she gets to have him.
--
Ben is more notorious than she is, known and noticed since the day he was born, but he still ventures out into the world below with his face just as bare as hers.
He has been in just as many holos, the face of a new age he has promised to build. The man that conquered a galaxy.
But the ghost in the First Order’s holos still wears a mask. His ghost always stands alone.
--
The ghost in the holos would never dare to hold her hand.
--
They are on the ground and it is as though the rain never fell.
The air is warm and she only realizes then how much she missed the feel of sun on her skin. The breeze is mild, almost friendly, and she relishes the feel of it wafting through her hair.
They walk hand in hand on quiet streets, undisturbed as they draw closer and closer to the shore. The city is still sleeping and so is everyone in it, unaware of the travelers taking full advantage of the silence.
She prefers the world like this, with only Ben to share it with. She likes everything frozen, the way it would be in her dreams.
--
The shore is just as empty as Ben said it would be. She can smell the salt in the air, can hear the steady pulse of the waves as they crash against the earth, but he leads her past the sea and down a rockier path off the main trail.
It leads them to a cliffside. It leads them to a cave.
The cave is open and inviting, as different from the one on Ahch-To as the light is from the dark. It calls to her just as the darkness had, welcoming her in in a soothing, soundless voice, and she is not at all afraid to answer.
Not with Ben’s hand in hers. Not with their shadows looming together against the wall.
Not with the water inside to invite them.
--
The water of the hot spring glows blue, bluer than the crystal tucked safe in their room. Brighter almost than the sun whose light steams in to guide them.
Ben lets go of her hand, stripping down to his skin, and she follows suit, focusing more on his body than the feel of the air on her skin.
The light embraces him as he undresses, highlighting every cord of muscle. Emphasizing every wound.
His eyes are soft when he catches her looking, but he is beautiful in an almost feral way. He is solid and he is scarred and she wants his fangs on her neck. He is bare and he is bruised and she wants his hands knotted in her hair.
She can only hope the cave stays empty as he promised. The thought of anyone else getting to see him like this, the way only she has seen him, is almost enough to make her skin crawl.
The spring is still enticing and she is hesitant, unable to see the beyond the surface no matter how brightly the light shines. She dips only her toes at first and though the water is just as warm and lovely as she thought it would be, she is content to watch him as he rediscovers the hot spring.
Ben swims far enough out where she couldn’t reach him even if she wanted to, slipping his head underwater and emerging with it slicked back against his face. His eyes are smiling when he spots her on the water’s edge and she sees the boy he must have been the last time he was here.
A boy whose limbs were still too long for his body. A boy without the scars.
He makes his way back to the shore, arms moving in broad, graceful strokes until he is almost close enough to touch. The water is shallow where he stands, barely up to his waist, and she is finally brave enough to join him.
She feels the soil beneath her toes, the water’s embrace grasping more of her body with each step, and all of him is smiling as they stand face to face.
--
He teaches her to swim. At least he tries.
He explores the water further, moving deep enough where the water is at his chest, and holds out his hands.
“It’s alright,” he says. “I’ve got you.”
She makes her way toward them, trying and failing to seem graceful as she kicks her feet out behind her. Her arms splash loudly each time they break the surface and she is clumsy, no matter how hard she tries to copy his movements.
What had taken him no time at all seems to take her forever, but he is only pleased when she reaches him. He kisses her with no hesitation, a smile still on his lips, before he dares to move even deeper and they begin again, working until her body starts to remember what to do of its own accord.
--
He is a good teacher. Patient. Encouraging.
Months ago, she would not have believed herself for thinking such a thing.
Months ago, she would not have allowed him the chance.
--
She decides then that her children will know how to swim at an early age.
After all, they will have their father to teach them.
--
She is drowsy, her limbs sore in an unfamiliar way as they rest on the water’s edge.
The light covers her like a blanket, heating every inch of her skin as she leans against him. Her eyes flutter closed and contentment floods her veins, warming her even more than the sun.
They are still alone. Unseen. Undisturbed.
And she can’t remember ever feeling like this.
She breathes him in and she knows she never has.
--
“I wish we could just stay here.”
She only means to think this, but the words leave her mouth before she can stop them.
“We could,” Ben says. “Nothing’s stopping us.”
He presses his lips against the top of her head and her eyes snap open even if she doesn’t pull away.
She lets his offer linger, giving herself a moment to pretend what he says is even possible. Pretends that it is anything other than a fantasy.
“The Resistance sent me here,” she says. “Chandrila would be the first place they looked if I didn’t come back.”
He is undeterred, speaking with an earnestness that suggests he has planned for exactly this response.
“Somewhere else then,” he tells her. “Wherever you wanted to go.”
The island the Force had shown her, the one she can only hope is more than a dream, is suddenly the only thing she sees.
She does not know where it is, does not even know what it is called, but she has no doubt that they could find it.
“We could leave tonight, Rey," he says. "Nothing in the Resistance is fast enough to catch my ship. It’ll be more than enough time for a head start.”
His eyes are shining and his voice is clear and she still can’t believe him, no matter how badly she wants to do exactly that.
"You shouldn’t make jokes,” she says. “It doesn’t suit you.”
"I'm serious, Rey,” he says. “We can leave right now if you wanted.”
He links their fingers together and her heart races when she speaks.
"What about the First Order?”
“What about it?”
“You would just abandon it,” she says. “You’d leave it all behind?”
“I would,” Ben says. “I’d leave it all if you promised you would stay.”
He kisses her hand and her blood sings.
She is speechless, unsure of an answer, and her mind races.
The Force had led her here, led her to him even when she chose another path. The Force had brought them together, had brought them peace she knows they both have never felt, and it becomes nearly impossible to doubt.
Perhaps it is a sign.
Perhaps she was always meant to stay.
“We’ll see,” she says and he is beaming.
--
It isn’t a no. It isn’t a yes.
It is a maybe, the thrilling possibility that they might keep one another.
It is the dream of a future she thought they could never have.
--
Ben kisses her then and it tastes like a promise.
Rey kisses back and wants nothing more than to keep it
--
He pulls her onto his lap and they desecrate their oasis with the promise looming in the air.
She leads him into the spring afterward and they cleanse their bodies with the promise lurking in the water.
--
The sun beats down and her hair is almost dry by the time they are back in the city.
She spots a park on the way back to the room, filled with gardens even lovelier than the one they found on the rooftop, and he does not seem to mind diverting from their path to take a closer look.
Her stomach rumbles and Ben buys her something from one of the peddlers, something frozen and red and sweet. They sit on a bench as she finishes it, and she laughs when the few bites she offers him stain his lips almost crimson.
He kisses her and his lips are sweeter still.
--
The people she sees walking by walk past without sparing more than an occasional glance at the plants, knowing nothing else other than the splendor that surrounds them.
She is inclined to ignore them, to focus only on the man at her side.
She is trying to do exactly that when she is compelled to listen to the grievances of two women standing only feet away.
--
“Did you hear about what the First Order did in the Western Reaches? Another planet. Gone just like that.”
The woman speaking snaps her fingers and Rey's ears burn as she leans in to listen closer. The woman's face is wizened and her hair is dyed almost the same orange as the sun, bright and unnatural. Her nails are the same shade and they are long, long enough to suggest that gossip is the most exertion she has ever undergone.
Her companion raises her pink eyebrows and the older woman takes it as an invitation.
“Nowhere important. Just Jakku,” she says. “Still it’s terrible business though. Just terrible.”
The other woman clicks her tongue with a detached sort of sympathy, something marred by the relief that it was only a wasteland that the First Order destroyed, before the terrible business is all but forgotten. The older woman starts complaining about the rain, how dreadful it was that her shopping trip was postponed, and her friend is more than happy to commiserate about such a grand tragedy.
--
Ben squeezes her hand and she is frozen, trapped in a nightmare.
She cannot pretend even now that she would have ever returned to Jakku. Ben had offered to take her anywhere in the galaxy and the world she imagined was green and lush. Beautiful.
Not Jakku.
She could have lived an entire lifetime without going back. She had every intention of doing just that.
Not even to find what was left of her parents.
Not even to stop their ghosts from haunting her.
If her parents had graves, they would be unmarked. Even if they bore the names of the unlucky bodies hidden underneath, she would still not be able to find them.
She cannot remember their names although there must have been a time when she did. She cannot remember their faces although there must have been a time when they were the finest treasures she ever owned.
She thinks of what little she left there, what had been so easily abandoned the moment his ships had tried to gun her down.
A helmet belonging to a dead man. An AT-AT too rusted to be worth anything more than the shelter it provided. A tally of the days and months and years she wasted on a family who was never coming back.
Those had been treasures too.
The women are right. Jakku was a wasteland.
But it was her wasteland.
And now it is gone.
--
Jakku is just as forgotten as it was before it was destroyed.
She will be one of the few to remember it. She might be the only one who mourns.
--
Ben says her name and it stings like a blow.
He is holding her hand, tethering her to the ground with sadness in his eyes.
He says her name again and it is steeped with pity.
She does not want his pity. She does not like the taste.
It tastes like ash, the charred remains of a planet destroyed.
It tastes like death, the screams of millions suddenly silenced.
His pity lingers on her tongue and the idea of running away dies almost as quickly as it was born.
The dream of leaving the only life she’s ever known melts under the heat of Chandrila’s sun.
She wants to scream, but her throat is nearly closed. She wants to dissolve, but her bones refuse to break.
She can only flee, casting away his hand as though it burned her. She can only run, trying to focus on anything other than the lump she is trying so hard to swallow.
He calls her name, yelling it loudly enough where she hears the women titter amongst themselves, but she does not turn back.
She runs, going as fast as her feet will take her. The gardens she had been so keen on seeing are now a blur, disappearing into nothingness all around her.
The dark gets closer with every step, keeping time no matter how desperate she is to avoid it.
The dark screams in her ear. The dark whispers in her soul.
--
The sun is almost setting now.
She does not know how much ground she’s covered. She does not know where she is hiding.
She knows only that she can’t run anymore.
She knows only that he finds her.
--
Ben is scarcely out of breath.
He does not touch her, standing at a distance like they once did each time the Force brought them together.
She can’t decide whether or not to be grateful.
--
“If you knew about this, I will never forgive you.”
Her voice is shaking and so are her limbs and her arm is empty for the first time in days. Her body aches with needing the staff. Her soul is torn with the pain of dooming an entire world.
“I didn’t know.”
It hurts to look at him, but she can see the truth in his eyes.
He takes a step closer, but the hurt doesn’t fade.
“I would never do this to you,” he tells her. "I had no part in this."
“You had every part in this,” she snarls. “You’re the Supreme Leader, Kylo. Or did you forget?”
He is silent when his false name leaves her lips, and it hurts more than his protestations ever could. He looks as though she struck him and she should apologize, should beg for his forgiveness.
She doesn’t. Even if she should. Even if she will regret it.
“I was gone for four days. Only four days and this is what happens,” she says. “What would the First Order do to my friends if I stayed away any longer? What would they do to the rest of the galaxy?”
Her legs are close to collapse and he takes another step.
“It doesn’t matter,” he says. “It won’t matter once we’re gone.”
"It matters to me.”
Her voice breaks and she starts to sink to the ground.
Ben catches her before she can.
His arms feel the same as they always do and she wishes then that they never left the cave.
She tries to hide herself in his embrace and she knows then that they never had another choice.
“I love you.”
Her voice is small, quiet if only to keep from crying, but he hears her nonetheless.
“I know.”
He kisses her forehead and she does not deserve his blessing, does not deserve to touched when all she brings is ruin.
“I can’t leave, Ben,” she tells him. “I want to, but I can’t.”
Her voice is smaller still, weak as though she is fading away.
“I know,” Ben whispers. “Rey, I know.”
He does not try and fight her.
He only holds her tight.
--
It is nearly dark.
Her eyes are stinging and her cheeks are damp and her heart is throbbing in her ears.
Ben holds her hand as they make their way to the only sanctuary they have left.
They walk in silence.
His touch is the only thing she feels.
--
She will leave him in the morning as she always intended.
She will leave him and it will be the cruelest thing she’s ever done.
--
They are on the bed and she is pressed against him and it will never be close enough.
The stars are shining, but she barely notices. The moon is bright, but it hardly matters now.
Rey only looks at him. Ben is the only thing she sees.
--
“You could come back with me,” Rey says. “Nothing is stopping you.”
The words feel foolish even as they leave her lips.
“There would be a blaster pointed at me from every angle the moment my feet touched the ground,” Ben says. “I’m the monster who killed Han Solo. If they had any sense at all, they’d try and dispose of me as soon as they could.”
“I wouldn’t let them,” she insists. “I’d stop them before they could hurt you.”
There is a sad sort of smile on his face, and she needs him to believe it.
"And how would you stop them?” Ben asks. “You’re not the only one with a price on your head.”
She stammers and he only stares.
“You wouldn’t kill them,” he says. “We both know you couldn’t.”
“I’ve killed before, Ben,” she says. “You’ve seen me do it.”
His smile is all but gone and he tucks her hair behind her ear.
“You’ve only ever killed to keep from dying,” he says. “You still don’t know how real killing feels.”
--
Hux’s men, his men, had tried their best to strike her down.
He had seen it in the holos. He must not have heard their cries.
They had begged for their lives, pleaded with her as she slew them one by one with only the Force to arm herself.
They had used their last breaths to ask for mercy she had no desire to give.
She had done it because she had to. She had killed them all because she could.
One of them, the one who had been last to fall, suddenly has Finn’s face. He calls to her with Finn’s voice and her blood runs cold even though she knows he is already a ghost.
--
Ben is right and she resents him.
Ben is right and still she loves him more.
--
She tries to burrow even closer, to melt into his body. Their faces are almost touching, and she breathes him in, memorizing his smell. Memorizing the feel of him.
“You would grow to hate me if you killed them for my sake,” he says quietly. “You would resent me for turning you into what I chose to become.”
His eyes are lost, and she pulls him closer still.
"I could never hate you,” she tells him. “I never have, Ben. I never will.”
She kisses his forehead. His nose. His cheeks.
--
She kisses his lips, and it is an apology. One she is too afraid to say.
He kisses back, and she pretends to be forgiven.
--
They stay awake all night, stealing as much time as they can.
They refuse to shut their eyes, pretending that it is enough.
--
But morning comes as it always does.
--
The sunrise is a beautiful one.
She’s never been so angry to see it. |
Santana's blasting Thrice when she pulls up in her Lexus and rolls the window down, before spotting the Fairlane in the parking lot. "... you know what? That thing is a lot more likely to get jacked than my car is, so why don't we switch."
Quinn's starting to shiver a little, but she can't go back in there and get her coat; Artie and Sam will both just apologize some more and she doesn't need that, not now. Instead, she nods and watches as Santana pulls up in the space next to her, stepping out with the CD.
She'd protest, but maybe hardcore emo is kind of how she feels right now; they drive until Silhouette comes on, and with every repetition of the verses, she feels a little more sick to her stomach-because all she can see is Rachel's expression, her eyes turning from gently amused and open to so hurt that-
She bites her lip and stares out the window as they exit the city limits, and Santana pulls up at a diner out of town called Sally's.
"They do really good shakes," she says, when Quinn looks at her questioningly. "Rach and I used to um, bike out here every Saturday and hang out together. It felt... I don't know. Where else, right?"
Quinn doesn't have anything to say in response to that, and follows Santana into the old-time diner, sliding into a booth while Santana orders them two chocolate milkshakes and a basket of curly fries. She plays with the salt and pepper shakers aimlessly, and forces herself to not think. She's great at it, these days. She's been forcing herself to not think about something for at least a year and a half now.
Santana sinks down into the booth across from her heavily and shoves a shake across the table, before folding her hands together-almost like she's praying-and taking a deep breath.
"She was your best friend," Quinn supplies, because it's as good a starting point as any.
Santana nods. "Yeah. We um, both went to the same music school. My parents enrolled me because, I don't know. Doctor's kid, you know? It just sort of happened. But Rachel-she was a prodigy. Her dad was crazy about her piano playing; he's the one who got her started on it but I don't think anyone really expected her to be as good as she was. Least of all Shelby, who was just hoping for a little girl just like her. Someone who'd crave the spotlights of Broadway."
Quinn takes a careful sip of the milkshake, even though it tastes acrid to her, and then frowns. "Rachel's dad. Nobody talks about him."
"He's not around anymore. He left when she was ten," Santana says, and then sighs deeply. "That's when... I mean, the Rachel I met when I was eight was a real daddy's girl, you know? And Hiram was cool-super relaxed, compared to Shelby. So she had fun, and they weren't even really religious. But after he left, everything changed. Rachel was still my best friend, but... she also got close to God, in a way that I can't really explain, and only on Saturdays was it like my Rachel was still around, y'know?"
Quinn licks at her lips briefly, and then wonders why her first question is this: "Why did her dad leave?"
"I don't know. She-even right after it happened, and she cried for almost two days straight, she wouldn't tell me," Santana says, before narrowing her eyes. "Why do you care about any of this, anyway? I thought you just wanted to hear about what a bitch she turned into."
"Is that all you remember about her?" Quinn asks, pointedly.
Santana mumbles a thanks at their waitress and then steals a curly fry from the basket, chewing on it slowly. "No. I wish I could, sometimes, but the only reason I didn't beat her into a hospital that summer is because... I've known her since she was eight, and I keep hoping that she'll just tell her mother to go fuck herself and …. be herself again. But it hasn't happened."
Quinn waits patiently, and after a moment Santana tugs her jacket around herself a little more tightly and sinks back into the booth. "So, anyway. We still did a lot of stuff together, when she wasn't off to Bible camp or whatever, and then obviously tried out for show choir together when we got to high school. I mean, I did it to support her, mostly, and it wasn't a choice for her."
"Because of her mother."
"Yeah, Shelby … I mean, the piano was Hiram's thing, and Rachel didn't play for a long time after he left, but when she picked it back up Shelby really wasn't happy. So-she joined VA to like, make her mom happy and keep the peace at home. And, I mean, don't get me wrong-we had some great times during that first year, but there was always that idea that it wasn't just a singing competition for Rachel. It was like, the difference between her mom loving her or thinking of her as a total failure, you know?"
"That's..." Quinn says, and trails off before she can really say something to piss Santana off.
Santana smiles wryly. "Not an excuse to be such a fucking asshole, even though it sucks."
"So you and Brittany," Quinn prompts, and Santana's face contorts for the briefest of moments before she drinks some of her milkshake and then nods.
"Yeah, me and B. I mean. You're gay as a Chippendale, so I don't need to explain this to you. She's super hot. I saw her dancing once and it was like, bam, everything I thought I knew about myself was out the window. I mean, I like guys, but..."
Quinn makes a small noise, because it's probably better to keep Santana going.
"Anyway, one afternoon, Shelby like, totally goes off on her. Because she can't remember the words to La Vie Boheme, which like-are you kidding me? Normal people can't remember all the words to that song, full stop. But B missed her cue like three times, and Shelby calls her a moron and I just lose it, completely. I mean-she's not stupid. She's just not … y'know. Good at school, and anyway, what the fuck kind of teacher calls a kid..."
It's impossible to not share in Santana's outrage, even if in Quinn's head, it's immediately paired with visions of Rachel being told that she's not good enough, that she'll never be good enough, and... God, why does she care at all? Rachel's in some community center right now, destroying what is left of her reputation at her old school and...
Santana snaps her fingers in front of Quinn's face and says, "If you're going to make me talk about this, you better at least..."
"Sorry. It's been a long day," Quinn says, and rubs at her face. "Anyway, I'm guessing we're at the part where like the best knight in shining armor, you get reamed out by Shelby but Brittany appreciates what you've done for her and then there's kissing."
Santana snorts. "Hardly. Britt told me that the only thing worse than being called dumb was people thinking that she couldn't stand up for herself, and then told me I could make it up to her by taking her bowling that Friday."
Quinn laughs unwillingly. "Man. How hard did you fall?"
Santana smiles, clearly lost in at least part of a memory, and then sighs. "Yeah."
"And it was a secret," Quinn says.
Santana nods. "Oh, yeah. I mean. VA money has always been Christian conservative; and it's pretty low commitment, in general. I mean, Shelby's a fantastic manager. We sing a few gospel pieces over Christmas, and do some Switchfoot at a show choir competition, and all of a sudden the money comes pouring in. I don't think anyone had really ever considered about what was expected from us until... Kurt came to a rehearsal wearing sequined skinny jeans, one day."
The visual is abruptly hilarious, and Quinn sort of laughs before just picking at the fries for a moment. "God. I can't imagine..."
"Well, let's just say that he disappeared out back with Shelby for twenty minutes, and afterward we all pretended that it had never happened. He started 'dating' Mercedes shortly after that, and..." Santana shrugs. "I tried to talk about it to Rachel once, but I mean, geez. You know what she's like when she's stuck on something. I ended up just leaving her house and not talking to her for three days. And that was before Britt and I were..."
"Just call it dating, Santana. God."
Santana puffs out her cheeks for a second and then smiles softly. "Yeah. I mean, that was what it was. And I didn't care it was a secret; neither did she. It sort of made it more special, you know? Everyone thought we just hung out a lot and she helped me with choreo, or whatever. It was totally fine."
"Until the summer."
Santana's expression clouds over abruptly again. "Rachel was supposed to be at Bible camp for another weekend," she finally says, after a long pause during which Quinn awkwardly finishes her milkshake. "But, Shelby pulled her out early to go and meet with some admissions people at Tisch and... then they came back. She was so excited about the meeting that she came straight to mine, and... well, I mean. We'd been friends since we were eight. She didn't need to ring the doorbell, and the worst I could be doing in my bedroom was smoking-which like, yeah, talk about a headache-inducing lecture from hell, but..."
"She walked in on you," Quinn exhales, and then slumps down on her bench. "Um. Doing..."
"It," Santana says, without elaborating.
"Christ," Quinn says.
"I would've given chase if not for, y'know, being buck naked, and instead just ended up calling her a million and one times, but... it was too late. Monday morning, Shelby stops by my house to talk about next year's competition, as far as my parents know... and..." Santana winces visibly and pushes her half-finished milkshake towards the center of the table before running a hand through her hair. "It was simple. Either I stopped seeing Brittany, or we'd both get thrown off."
Quinn wants to question that statement, but she can't. Not after what else she's seen of Shelby Corcoran, or what she's heard about her from Kurt. "You told her to go to hell, obviously."
"Well, yeah. And she pointed out to me that while I could probably take my chances with her, I had to remember who my partner in crime was. And what Brittany's chances of ever following me anywhere would be if I ruined her chances for a music and dance scholarship."
Quinn swallows hard, and doesn't even realize her eyes have welled up until Santana glares at her a little and says, "Jesus Christ, can you spare me the sentimental bullshit?"
"Sorry," Quinn says, discreetly wiping at her eyes. "It's pregnancy hormones."
Santana laughs after a second. "Fuck off; you don't have those months after pregnancy."
"No, normal people don't, but I don't really know how to explain what's going on with me," Quinn admits, shakily, and then looks directly at Santana. "You bailed, didn't you."
"Quit the team, because-what the fuck was I going to do? Break B's heart and then sing and dance with her every day for three years? Not to mention that … I'd have to sing with Rachel, and I can't honestly promise that I wouldn't have killed her, last year, if she'd even so much as tried to talk to me."
"Why didn't you ever tell Brittany?" Quinn finally asks, in a tired voice.
"Because I was afraid she'd say that … it wasn't worth it. Not being together. She's like that, sometimes. You know? All in, without thinking about the future, and... fuck, Quinn, I can't be responsible for something like that. Not even now. I definitely couldn't when we were like, not even sixteen and barely together and..."
"Would you have done things differently if you'd known you'd still be in love with her now?" Quinn asks, staring at the table for a second before glancing back up at Santana.
Santana's eyes darken and she visibly swallows, before looking away. "I don't know."
There isn't much else to say, after that, and Quinn plays with her napkin and watches as Santana shifts the curly fries around in the basket, before finally looking back at her.
"Whatever this is shit you have going on right now, where … you think Rachel can be saved, or whatever, or Shelby can't actually be this bad, or everything will fix itself if we just hug it out-forget about it, Quinn."
"I don't..."
"You just had a fucking fight with a girl who thinks that...something that is at the heart of you is immoral and disgusting, and who is now off to out you to a guy you had a baby with without your permission, and you're sitting here feeling sorry for her."
It stings, mostly because it's true and it makes her feel like an idiot.
"I know that she's done terrible things, but... she regrets them, Santana."
"Has she said that to you? Like-out loud? I'm real fucking sorry I destroyed my best friend's life and by the way, that whole gay thing, that's a-okay with me too?" Santana asks, sharply.
Quinn feels her shoulders slump. "I don't think she can say it that explicitly. I mean. Look at her life. You hate Shelby, but you don't have to live with her, okay?"
Santana works her jaw for a moment and then says, "If you're actually saying that I should show her some fucking sympathy-"
"No," Quinn says, immediately, her fingernail scratching at the edge of the table. "What she did to you was awful, and undeserved, and … she needs to apologize to you. But she's not wrong, about what she said about me today."
"Bullshit. Who you're out to is your business, not hers."
Quinn smiles faintly. "It doesn't quite work that way when … Beth is his baby, too, Santana."
"Beth?" Santana asks, carefully, and that icicle inside of Quinn's chest makes its presence known so abruptly that she almost swoons with the pain.
"Um... that's..." she manages, before finally taking a shuddering breath. "I can't talk about this, I'm sorry, I just-"
"Hey, it's okay," Santana says, reaching for her hand across the table and squeezing for a second. "You don't have to."
"Well, you did, but-"
"Because I was ready to, okay? So-whenever you are, I'm here," Santana says, before groaning and rolling her eyes. "Can we … stop being so gay together now and talk about how we're going to beat the crap out of Berry, or something?"
"Santana," Quinn says, a little warningly. "We're not..."
Santana grins weakly, but it's something. "Bitch, please. If I was going to kick her ass I would've done it years ago. But seriously, stay away from Rachel, okay? She's not worth it. I know she's a great singer, and now that she's not addicted to plaid anymore, I guess she's all right looking, but she's also the most self-serving and sanctimonious asshole on the planet."
"I know that. Why are you telling me this?" Quinn protests, and Santana shoots her a knowing look.
"Only girl I've ever been this stupid over, I've also fingered to within an inch of my life, so-"
"Oh my God," Quinn exclaims, covering her ears.
Santana laughs and flicks a curly fry at her. "I'm kidding. Because c'mon. You're not stupid enough to actually have fucking feelings for a prude, Christian straight girl who hates your guts for a wide variety of reasons. I mean, there's being a masochist and then there's like, hugging a grenade."
Quinn shuts up, before she can do or say anything else to encourage this line of thinking, and after a second Santana just slaps the table.
"Puck's got a six pack of Mike's Hard waiting at his, and I figure it's time we teach you how to play Call of Duty. Murdering some shit will make you feel better than any conversation can, just trust me on that."
"Okay," Quinn says, because at least Santana's done insinuating that she likes Rachel Berry.
It's the most insane thing she's ever been told, honestly.
It's just not possible.
...
It's not possible, because the next day, Rachel is back to pretending Quinn basically doesn't exist, and it's almost a relief at this point-to be ignored, rather than to be stuck in this space that isn't really friendly and isn't really antagonistic either.
Things aren't that simple with anyone else, though; Sam and Artie apologize profusely until she has to basically yell at them that they can stop now, and then there's Jesse, beckoning her over to a lunch table-occupied only by him.
She doesn't even really know why she's walking over. He's definitely also not her friend, but he's got his arm slung over the seat next to his and looks very relaxed and-whatever. She needs a break from Santana as well, because Santana gets all pissy about the sympathetic looks directed at her that she can't control, and at least Jesse is kind of a predictable .. jerk.
Her tray hits the table and she sits down across from him. He raises his eyebrow at her and says, "Time of the month?"
"I don't know how you get girls to sleep with you," she says, shaking her head and digging into an apple.
He smiles after a moment. "How are you, really?"
"I didn't realize you cared."
"I don't; just trying to get the opposing perspective on what was going on with Rachel last night, and I thought you'd be as good a source to try as any."
Her teeth crunch through the apple hard and she chews on it for a long moment, before swallowing and shrugging. "I don't know what to tell you."
"Well, she seems to think you're a lesbian and that your ex-boyfriend deserved to know that that's why you gave up your baby..."
"Yeah, there is basically zero correlation between those two events," she interjects, and Jesse smiles at her again.
"Rachel is … okay. You didn't hear this from me, but-has anyone told you about her father?"
She doesn't want to care. She doesn't want to know anything else about the girl, but there are still so many things that don't make sense that it's almost inevitable, the way she sighs and admits, "Just that he left."
"Yeah. The fact that he left to be with another man is the part that she plays pretty close to her chest," Jesse adds, calmly.
Quinn almost drops her apple. "Shit. You're-"
"Deadly serious. I only know because I walked in on this gigantic fight between her and Shelby once, about whether or not she could accompany me on piano when I did Bohemian Rhapsody in our sophomore year, and..." Jesse whistles low. "It's a mess."
"He-wait. So her dad left because he's gay, and that's why Rachel hates..."
"I don't think hate is the right word. She's just... not gotten the best impression of the gay lifestyle, and a lot of that is because Shelby's kept this under wraps. I mean, it's pretty embarrassing; a former Broadway talent who gives up the stage to marry, for love, only to then get left behind with a kid for another man." Jesse pauses and then smiles. "Someone should write a musical."
He's such a jerk; she glares at him, hard, and after a second he holds up his hands in apology.
"Sorry. I suppose if you are gay, it's less of a punchline."
"Why are you telling me this? Really?" Quinn finally asks, staring at the mystery meat for a moment and then shoving her lunch tray to the side.
Jesse sobers considerably and leans forward. "Because I was there to pick up the pieces after her friendship with Santana crashed and burned-"
"That's a very generous way of describing what she did."
Jesse rolls his eyes at her. "She was a fifteen year old girl confronted with something that she had been told for years and years was wrong. She panicked, and talked to her mother, about how to make Santana not turn into her father. She's not the one who decided to issue Santana with an ultimatum, and …"
Quinn sighs and rubs at her cheek. "Yeah. Even so."
"Rachel's not perfect, but … she likes you, Quinn, even if she has no idea how to reconcile that with the rest of her beliefs. What she needs is a friend who will force her to reconsider those. Not someone else who will turn their back on her and-"
Quinn scoffs and shakes her head. "I'm not her friend."
"Maybe not by your standard, but you're one of maybe three people in this school who aren't too afraid of her mother to talk to her," Jesse says, with a gentle shrug. "That means something."
When she looks away from him, her eyes find Rachel almost immediately-and they stare at each other for a long moment until Quinn forces herself to look back at Jesse.
"I'm sorry, but you're delusional if you think I have any desire to ever talk to her again after what she did yesterday." Her voice shakes a little on the sentence, but it comes out clean anyway, and Jesse's face falls for a microsecond. Then, he straightens and reaches for his own tray.
"It's a shame."
"What is?"
"That you're not as willing to be different as you make yourself out to be," he says, before getting up and carrying his tray over to the VA table and sliding down next to Rachel, pressing a kiss to her cheek.
She has no idea why the sight of them makes her chest hurt, but it takes her exactly two more minutes to get out of the cafeteria and head to the band room.
...
Her own song for Holly's concert project is still undecided. She has a few random ideas floating through her mind, but nothing that really speaks to her the way that the Bieber song had to Sam. Artie's reworking a Jay-Z song a jazz ensemble performance, and it's actually really impressive, but it's also not her thing.
She doesn't know what Rachel's working on, but suspects it's a modern take on something from Broadway-before remembering that Rachel likes art punk and modern emo and … honestly, she doesn't know her at all. Despite spending more time with her than any other person at Carmel who isn't in the band, she has no idea what's going through Rachel's mind a lot of the time.
Except that... Rachel's father is gay. And left them, when she was ten.
She doesn't even know what part of that stings; the part where nobody should have to put up with a parent disappearing like that, or the part where Shelby apparently blamed it all on 'the gay' rather than accept that her marriage was doomed from the start, or the part where Rachel feels so terribly rejected over it that she's been lashing out at people and keeping them at a distance ever since.
Is this what Beth is going to feel like, because of the choices she made?
Her iPod is on shuffle, and she clicks past Black Flag and the Ataris before finally pausing on a Stars song she doesn't know very well-they'd been more Amy's thing than her own, and she remembers hours of gently arguing about whether or not Metric or Stars were the better Canadian alternative band. She's always liked Metric, but...
The lyrics of the song she's currently listening to-and she glances at her iPod, only to find out that it's Your Ex-Lover Is Dead-are the first ones she's heard in ages that actually feel like they apply to her. In fact, they wrench something loose in her chest and she bites down on her fist as the singers sing about what is apparently a failed relationship but the words are entirely about giving up on something despite loving it.
She doesn't even realize she's crying until Sam appears in her peripheral vision with a concerned look on his face.
He pulls out one of her ear buds and sits down next to her, shoving it in his ear and she restarts the song automatically.
"I'll need you to sing it with me," she says, her voice cracked and exhausted, and he pulls her into a one-armed hug that she sinks into.
"Of course," he says, and presses a kiss to her forehead. "It'll be okay, Quinn. I mean, now it's all out there, right? No more secrets."
She nods against his neck and doesn't tell the truth, which is that it's entirely possible that there's one more that she really can't talk about right now.
Rachel likes her, and...
God help her, she's drawn to Rachel like they're opposing magnetic poles.
When they crash together, it's going be awful.
...
Holly calls them in for a check-up session on Friday, and she follows Rachel out of the AV room towards the band room, noting with some regret that Rachel scans up and down the hallway quickly before heading out there.
Shelby must not know about her participation in this project, and if Quinn weren't so exhausted, she'd probably say something supportive. Like, do what you want, but it would be like telling a wall to breathe, the way Rachel gets through life.
It's harder than ever to ignore her back, even if that's the simplest thing to do, because despite their total fall-out, Rachel's giving her more freedom with the paper than ever before and they work together seamlessly.
It would all be so simple, if it wasn't all so hard. As it is, she heads after Rachel into the band room and watches as Holly sits them all down on pillows on the floor.
"So; rumor has it that there's some tension between all of you, and I thought we'd try to work through that, because nobody wants to see the next Beatles fall apart because nobody's willing to talk about Yoko, you know what I mean?"
Quinn smiles briefly and then stares at the pillow she's sitting on.
"Why so serious, kids?" Holly asks, looking at all of them in kind; nobody answers, and after a second pan and scan of the room, Holly sighs. "Okay-we'll do this the hard way. Quinn, according to the grapevine, you're gay, and Rachel, according to three years of observing you, you're not entirely comfortable with alternative sexual orientations."
Rachel sputters audibly, but doesn't manage to formulate a response. Sam laughs awkwardly and then scratches at his hair, and Artie stares at the ceilings, his hands fidgeting.
"That about covers it," Quinn finally says, because someone should say something.
"I don't..." Rachel starts, and then clams shut again.
"Here's how I feel about this; regrettable as your bigotry is, Rachel, it's also not really the point right now? Let's face it, the fact is that Quinn doesn't make music with her lady parts, and consequently who or what she's attracted to basically doesn't concern you at all," Holly says, calmly.
Quinn can't help but watch as Rachel flushes a dark shade of purple; she looks ready to start snarling, but Holly puts her hand up to get her to be quiet.
"Similarly, Quinn, no matter how repulsive you might find Rachel's religious views, they again don't affect your working relationship. I mean, the long and short of this, ladies, is that unless you're hoping to sleep with each other-"
"Oh, my God," Rachel finally stammers out, and stares at Quinn. "Why would you even suggest that I'd be interested in... have you talked to my mother about this theory or..."
Quinn blinks rapidly and then looks back at Holly, who is looking back at her with an unreadable smile.
"Of course not, Rachel; I want you two to get friendly. Getting you transferred to a convent mid-year wouldn't really help me there, would it?"
Rachel swallows hard but shuts up again, and after a second Sam sticks up his hand. "Um. Why are we here?"
"Because you're both terrified of Rachel and it's not exactly getting the right vibe going in this group either," Holly says, with a smile. "So... I thought we'd set up a little bonding exercise."
"Prayer?" Artie asks, and Quinn muffles some laughter into her hand before Rachel can get upset all over again.
"Prayer doesn't usually take place on decorative pillows," Rachel says, a little snippy, and Holly rolls her eyes.
"They're just for comfort. But-seriously, guys. This is now a safe communication zone. Okay? It's a sacred sharing circle. Whatever's said in the circle, stays in the circle."
"Okay, please don't take this the wrong way, because I respect your authority, but have you been snorting Elmer's somewhere?" Rachel asks, before glancing at Quinn. "The minute anything interesting is said, it'll be all over the school. I don't trust them."
"We don't trust you either, Rachel," Sam says, before shrugging and looking at Holly again. "How are we going to make sure that the stuff we say doesn't get spread over the entire school?"
"Easy," Holly says, smiling at them brightly. "If a single thing said in this room makes it out, you all fail band."
"You can't do that," Artie calls out, sounding shocked.
"Can, and will," Holly says, before looking at Quinn. "So, chicas and dudes-what do you say?"
"Forced bonding; my favorite," Rachel murmurs, and Quinn smiles before she can stop herself.
"I'm in," Sam says, and after a second, Artie adds, "Why not?"
Quinn finally just nods. "Not like things can get any more awkward, is it?"
"I was hoping you'd feel that way," Holly says, and whips out a list of questions that she shows them with a flourish.
At least they have something in common; they all look equally terrified, Quinn thinks, and fights the urge to nervously laugh.
...
"I sucked my thumb until I was nine," Sam says, flushing brightly.
Artie laughs a little but holds up a hand in apology and then swallows hard. "Um. Until about two years ago, we weren't sure if I'd be... functional. It was pretty terrible, to have to talk about that in front of my mom."
It stops the slightly amused laughter they've all succumbed to, and opens up the floor for Quinn, who closes her eyes and says, "The entire school found out I was pregnant because my ex-boyfriend told his best friend about the fact that I'd broken up with him, who then decided to have his back by writing pregnant slut on my locker."
Rachel's eyes are boring into hers when she opens them again, and then Rachel takes a deep breath and says, "My mother's been offering me a nose job for my birthday every year since I turned twelve. It's... supposed to be a career investment, but it doesn't exactly feel like one."
"Damn," Artie says, after a moment. "I'm sorry."
"Yeah, I mean. There's … you don't need it," Sam says, awkwardly. "I like your nose. Not... like, like your nose, but..."
Quinn takes a deep breath and says, "Your mom sucks."
Rachel looks over, and then finally ducks her head and says, "Thank you, but-there's no need to make me feel better. I know I'm not … unattractive, and that my voice will carry me through to the top."
It comes out lacking in Rachel's typical bravado, and nobody really comments on it.
Holly glances down at the list of questions she's whipped out, and says, "Biggest regret."
Sam frowns and says, "Um. I guess... not really taking my instrument more seriously sooner. I mean. I know I'm late. I should've been taking more intensive lessons and looking into conservatories or whatever, but... it's just something I love, you know?"
Artie nods and says, "I know what that's like. I mean, it's obviously not my biggest regret, but it's hard to regret an accident you don't even remember being in. I guess..." He shrugs helplessly after a moment, and then offers them a sad smile. "It is what it is, right?"
Quinn exhales shakily and says, "I slept with my ex-boyfriend because we were at a party, and my best friend-who I was in love with-told me that she was ready to lose her virginity to her boyfriend. I got really drunk, and took Finn upstairs, and … the next day, barely remembered any of it. Though I did land a pretty solid reminder." She pauses for a second and then looks directly at Rachel. "I don't regret having Beth. I wish I would've had her in different circumstances, but I don't regret that she exists."
Rachel blinks furiously for a moment and then stares directly at the ground in front of her, and says, "I regret that I'm not stronger. That I don't know how to stand up to my mother more, when she takes decisions I don't agree with. And I regret that..."
She trails off, looking desolate, and Holly clears her throat. "Happiest memory?"
"My first real guitar; a second hand Les Paul, and the minute I touched it I knew I was sold," Sam says, immediately.
"Um... finding out I was functional," Artie says, blushing furiously, and everyone chuckles for a second; Sam shoves at his shoulder but then holds out his hand with a fist-bump, and even Rachel gives him a small smile.
Quinn feels them all turn to her, and she freezes on the spot, because...
She can only think of one answer, and it's not one with a happy ending.
"Seeing her for the first time," she admits, before closing her eyes. "She was perfect. Unlike everything else in my life, she was right, and... I've never been happier. Not before, and not since then."
The room is silent for a long moment, until Rachel says, "Winning Nationals with my best friend."
Quinn and Sam exchange a quick look, and then Holly says, "There. An entire hour spent without yelling at each other. I feel like a proud parent, or at least less like I'm guarding the zoo with you guys in here."
Rachel rolls her eyes a little before Quinn can, and then they stupidly smile at each other, until Sam says, "This actually didn't suck, and um. I think we should-play something, together. Artie, you can handle basic guitar, right?"
"Yep," Artie says, and watches as Sam carries over an acoustic cut-away and his own electric-a 72 Telecaster that he's customized to within an inch of its life-before looking at Quinn and Rachel.
"Rach, this has a piano part-I hope you know it, because I know what kind of stuff you and Santana used to listen to, so..."
The casual way in which he references their friendship seems to make it okay for Rachel, who just nods and heads to the piano, her fingers trailing the keys as Quinn watches.
Sam tosses her her sticks, and she catches them before heading over to the drum kit in the room.
Holly moves to sit over in the string section, and after a second of showing Artie two chords, Sam counts them off softly.
Quinn's chest hurts the minute it's clear what Sam has in mind for them to play, and then he mouths, you sing at her, like she's even remotely capable of emulating Jeremy Enigk's voice-but he's too pitchy and nasal for Rachel by far, and the boys can't handle his high ranges, so she guesses it is up to her.
Sam smiles at Rachel next, who nods before shifting on the piano bench and-even before she starts playing, and when Quinn has barely started singing, she feels something. Like this is what's missing from Untitled Band-someone on keyboards, which would open up a world of music for them.
As it is, her voice trails through the last part of the first verse, and then Sam starts playing through the electric harmony automatically; bass lines are missing a little, but they still sound surprisingly good, and after a moment of contemplating with a frown on her face, Rachel starts compensating for the lack of depth with a piano harmony that's pretty close to perfect.
Every Shining Time You Arrive is far from her favorite Sunny Day Real Estate song-the drums are nothing compared to the drum work on Seven, which is still a little out of her range even with how good she is-but she can understand why it's the one that Sam picked.
They play through it seamlessly, before Sam calls out, "We're going to have to skip the instrumental bridge unless one of you has a harmonica somewhere" and Artie mumbles, "Whatever, it's not like my part changes" and Quinn chuckles before she can help it-but then the actual bridge starts, and she can't help but look at Rachel as she starts, because the piano break near the end has never not given her goosebumps.
As it is, she ends up staring straight into Rachel's eyes on the entire thing, until she finally reaches the key lines in the entire song: tearing me down every time you smile, every shining time you arrive-and there's that little piano harmony that gives her goosebumps every time, even on the album recording. It does so much more than that in this moment, though, and Rachel's mouth falls open a little on her last repeat of the same phrase, and...
An almost electrical current runs up her spine when they play out, and she has to look away, until finally Sam jams out a chord that signifies the end; they can hardly fade out, with all the instruments playing live the way they are.
Holly gives them a slow round of applause. "And that is what you guys need to pull of this concert. Do you see what I mean?"
Quinn nods without looking over, because-it's just too much.
She's never felt about anyone the way she did with Rachel in that twenty second count-down with her sticks still on the drums, and her voice gently soaring over Rachel's intricate piano playing.
A part of her wants to believe it's just the music, but it's not, because the part that made her almost forget the words wasn't the music. It was the almost open look on Rachel's face, and...
She didn't need know that she apparently wants to hug hand grenades. She just really didn't need that, on top of everything else that's going on, and with a quick, "Yeah, thanks" to Holly, pockets her sticks and heads out the school as fast as she can without running.
...
She cues her favorite Metric album on the way home, hoping it'll pull her out of her own head, but all it does is remind her that Metric's best songs all incorporate piano, too, and …
Her hands slam against the steering wheel at a traffic light, and she breaks at least six speed limits in getting home, but she just really wants to talk to her dad right now. He'll know how to make her sort this out, even if he can't give her answers, and she needs a starting point.
Anything to stop whatever it is she's feeling about Rachel in its tracks, because Santana's right. It can't ever go anywhere good, given who Rachel's mother is and given that it's not like she's going to stop being gay even if they do start getting along in a real way.
She's gay, and Rachel's not, and that's just going to have to be okay.
It has to, she thinks, as she pulls up on her drive and shuts off the engine, killing Emily Haines mid-lyric, and with one deep breath she's out of the car and heading up to the porch.
It's only then that she spots him, and freezes abruptly again.
"Hey," Finn Hudson says, straightening and shoving his hands in his pockets. "Can we talk?" |
Emma’s POV
It had started raining. The kind of rain that wasn’t quite heavy enough to require full speed window wipers, but enough to have them on. And the motion of them was what was keeping Emma calm at the moment. As she drove from the police station to the docks, she didn’t know what she expected to find there but she hoped beyond hope that somewhere lurking in the shadows was Gold. The very man she was after.
Her mind was still reeling from all she had found out just moments before from Belle and Milah. Who had been so refreshingly and painfully honest, it was hard to even have them sitting in a police station like she knew they were right now. Ruby had gone in with the women and offered to keep them safe, along with some other officers who needed a break from hunting down Gold. Now that they knew who had killed Moira and Brennan and that Belle and Milah had been responsible for the clues there was only one puzzle piece left to find. Robert Gold.
The night was now fully dark, and Emma drove faster than she ever had in her little bug trying to make it across the 2 square mile town of Storybrooke where the shipping port was. Despite its small nature in size, the coastal town of Storybrooke, Maine held its own trade wise. Which was exactly what Emma was afraid of. If Gold had been missing since sometime late last night and the sealing off of all entrances/exits didn’t happen until this morning, he could potentially be gone already.
“Hey I got here as soon as I could…” Emma said, out of breath when she finally made it to the spot on the edge of the wooden docks where David and Graham stood. Clothes lightly coated in the misting of rain coming from the sky. Police tape covered the surrounding area. The normally calm space flush with activity. The flicker of blue and red cop lights.
“We have some people already searching the cargo ships. Only two went out between the time he escaped and we sealed off exit, so he has to be here somewhere,” David declared. Probably more for himself than anyone else.
“I can take one,” Emma offered, though with the sheer size of these things it was likely a fruitless endeavor to send just one person to search it. “Any word from Neal?”
David looked like he didn’t want to provide the answer, sucking in a deep breath before saying, “No, Em, I’m sorry. No one knows where he is.”
“I don’t understand how if there were people watching his apartment that he managed to get out and take his car?”
“He isn’t in there, we already checked,” Graham said. He looked tired. Like the investigation was finally getting to him.
“How long ago was it that the person called to spot a mysterious figure?” Emma asked.
“Half an hour?” Graham guessed.
“Interesting…” Emma knew it wasn’t the person who left the clues. She had been with Belle and Milah the whole time. Someone wouldn’t have just called anonymously about the docks. Which were conveniently the furthest point from…. “I’m gonna go radio Ruby and see if she’s had any other calls at the station. Maybe get an idea for who this person was. I’ll be right back.”
He wasn’t here. Emma knew he wasn’t here. She just hoped no one would catch onto her speeding away. Whatever her next move was it had to be done in an extremely quiet way…
By the time Emma reached the block of businesses on Storybrooke’s main street, the rain had picked up. Her legs were just the tiniest bit tired. She had run most of the way here from the docks all the while trying to remain unseen by her own investigation team. This couldn’t be more than a one person job. And if there were sirens and police tape and loud noises involved, Gold could slip away again. For the briefest amount of time, Emma had to think like Robert Gold and if she were him she would have created a distraction.
The thing with having all of the small town businesses on one block meant that, physically, in some way they were all connected. Like a puzzle. So essentially one could travel between buildings without ever having to use the outside street.
In that bank of businesses, were apartment units on the second level. One of which belonged to Neal. If she was in any way on the right track, he would be somewhere along that block. No one had seen him leave. He could be in the building somewhere. Still on the right side of things. She could only hope.
Slowly Emma approached the fire escape to the building on the end. A hardware store that had darkened its windows and put up a Closed sign as most businesses here locked up early. She yanked down the ladder and one by one climbed the narrow steps to the roof. She had spotted and accounted for the minimal police detail that was still on this street. A calculated move orchestrated by Gold whom Emma was almost sure had called in to report on the mysterious figure at the docks. Giving him ample space to maneuver in the dark on what would normally be a crowded street.
The rain made the railing of the fire escape slippery but Emma kept going. Despite her hands getting slightly cut up from the rough, rusted edges of the ladder. When she finally reached the rooftop she laid low behind the tall brick that enclosed the outer surround of the flat roof. Only five more to go until Neal’s building, she thought, and seven more until Gold’s shop.
Seven roofs later she had carefully slid her way to the rooftop of the building that held Gold’s shop. Now completely soaking wet, the weather had turned stormy. With thunder beginning to rumble lightly in the distance. Emma pushed the wet hair out of her face and off her forehead, taking a few deep breaths to calm her fast beating heart.
While there wasn’t a direct door on the roof, if it was anything like Neal’s building, there would be a small grate that would lead to the attic inside. And Emma had been right, because as soon as she righted herself she spotted the trap door, in the farthest corner of the roof. They weren’t very large, and highly impractical. But she had used them often when she and Neal were younger. Sneaking around over his dad’s shop. Sipping alcohol from a stolen metal flask. It was a place that offered total privacy (unless you were in a helicopter above).
When Emma opened the small door, she peered into the hole. The fold up ladder that led down into the apartment space had been removed. Of course it had. Preparing her limbs for the drop she stretched a bit and took the leap. Landing hard on her feet in the hallway of that apartment above Gold’s shop.
The entire hall was dark, the rain had really picked up as the storm continued to roll in and large droplets were falling in above her head from where she had just jumped. If there was anyone in this apartment they had most definitely heard her come in. But they weren’t making themselves known yet.
She was completely soaked from climbing across all of the buildings. Her jeans and shirt sticking to her like a second skin as she quietly tiptoed down the hall. A clap of thunder and a bright bolt of lightning illuminated the whole hall. A summer storm. Emma rounded the corner to what would have been a bedroom at some point but was now empty.
“Oh my god!” she whisper-yelled. Her heart stopped. Sitting in the corner of the room, on a wooden chair, hands and arms tied was Neal. His eyes widened upon realizing it was Emma, the room dark except for the flickers of lightning every few minutes.
“How did you get here… what are you doing… are you…” Emma had one thousand questions she could ask him right now but she couldn’t finish a single one. Focused entirely on trying to free him from the ties as she rushed to be near his side. She knelt down in front of him, surveying the knots that bound him. They were good.
“Mmmm hpmmm mmm,” was all Neal could get out, as his mouth was covered with a cloth. She reached up and moved the cloth from his mouth so he could talk. But all he did was take deep, long breaths. Sweat covered his forehead, his facial features hung heavy.
“Em, what are you doing here?” Neal asked when he finally caught his breath.
“I remembered the weird passages in tops of these buildings from when we were young and when I realized your dad was probably the one who anonymously tipped off the police… it all clicked.”
“Well… I don’t know where he is but he’ll probably be back, Em. You have to go get your dad and the others…”
“Did he bring you here?”
“Yeah. I was in my apartment and then he showed up and that’s the last I remember. I woke up here.”
It was all part of an elaborate scheme. A way to throw off the scent of the police. Gold was a mastermind. He had gotten away with a gruesome crime for years and years. So why Emma was surprised at his most recent actions (i.e. kidnapping and tying up his own son to make it look like he was an accomplice) she didn’t know. The man was capable of anything to get himself out of the fire.
“How long ago did he leave?” she asked. Working her fingers in at least one of the ties, wishing she had literally anything useful on her. Phone. A key. Her gun. Taser. Something. But it had all been left in her car. All she had were her hands… and raw intuition. So she tried to pull as much information from Neal as possible before his dad showed up again.
“I don’t know… it wasn’t storming when he left.”
So twenty-ish minutes. He would be back soon for sure.
“When he gets back, you run and go get the others. They’re at the docks. I will take care of your father,” Emma said as she worked the ropes on his ankles loose but making them appear to still be tied. She knew she had to be the one to trap Gold. Neal could never do it. It was his father.
“No… Em you can’t. He’s insane....” Neal tried to argue. But they were interrupted.
Crash. Emma spun her neck around to find none other than Robert Gold standing in the doorway. All of her insides tightened. The sight of him so disgusting to her that she wasn’t sure she had been this immediately nauseous since her morning sickness she was pregnant with Henry.
“Ah, you’ve called in reinforcements I see,” Gold’s slimey voice filled the empty room. A clap of thunder. A burst of lightning. The pounding rain on the heavily blinded windows moving in time with Emma’s pounding head. Contemplating her next move.
“Dad… just, leave her alone,” Neal pleaded.
“I can’t do that, Neal.” Gold took a few steps toward them. Slow, measured, taunting. Like each noise the man’s shoe made were nails on a chalkboard to Emma. She contemplated her next move, knowing she had one shot to make the correct one. She was still knelt down on the floor, it would be difficult to tackle him from here but she could do something else.
When the man was a few feet from her she took advantage of another boom of thunder and strike of lightning to pull the cane out from under his hand. Jumping to her feet Emma took the long stick of wood and lifted it to his neck, pushing him against the wall as the lightning flickered. It revealed the barest hint of fear in Robert Gold’s eyes.
“It would be in your best interest to cooperate with me,” Emma spat out through her gritted teeth. He wasn’t weak, and she had to use a lot of her arm strength to hold him in place against the wall. She didn’t have much time.
“And why would I do that…”
She used her remaining strength to shove the cane further into his neck. Emma found it difficult now to even speak to him.
He grunted at the contact of the cane and bent just barely at the waist. Emma released him just the smallest amount, because she wasn’t a cruel person by nature but that was just enough for him to take off. Running down the hallway and reaching the door that led out of the apartment into another hallway she followed him. Hair matted to the sides of her face, lightning flashes offering the only light, chances were that he knew the inner workings of this building more than her but she kept chasing.
“Son of a bitch,” she breathed, chasing him down the steps into what she assumed was the antique shop he owned. Emma stopped, realizing she had lost sight of him. There was enough crap in this store to fill a cruise ship. She listened carefully but all she could hear was the rain.
And then she heard it. The faint sound of a door closing. But she was near the only two doors. The front door and the one to the basement. Where could he have possibly gone?
Emma tip toed through the dark room. Surveying the candelabras, antique tea sets, chests of drawers, anything she could use as a weapon. Trying not to bump into anything. The noise had come from the other room. The room where she had found the knife Gold had used to kill Moira and Brennan Jones. What other kind of sick paraphernalia he had stashed away in this place.
Slowly she trailed the way to the room, looking around even in the dark it seemed almost the same as the day they had arrested him. The false floor board had even been placed back in it’s spot. But Emma’s eye caught something. A large clothing trunk in the corner of the room, tucked behind rows of antique toys and baubles. It was out of place.
Emma stepped toward the trunk, drawn to it for no reason other than it gave her a weird feeling in her stomach. Reaching out toward it she gulped, because the trunk would not move. It was stuck in its spot. She shook harder, and harder. It was attached to the wall. So she tried to pry the locks open and after a lot of pulling they clicked out of place.
When she opened the top of the trunk, it took her a few seconds to get her bearings. Because it led to another staircase. Hidden beneath the confines of this harmless item. She couldn’t see what the steps led to but she knew this was exactly where Gold had gone. Crossing her fingers that Neal had been able to get away and find help, she went down.
The steps were dark and narrow, leading into a part of this building not even the thunder could reach. She was completely underground. And a sitting duck. Gold had gone down the steps moments ago but knew where he was. Emma on the other hand had no clue how to navigate. All she could hear was the slow drip of a pipe onto the dirt floor of this room. The air was damp and musky. Her heart raced even faster with every step she took forward. Her boots sloshed around in the mud on the ground. This technically wasn’t even a room probably. It was more like a.. Hole.
“Miss Nolan, I suggest you give up now.” Gold was somewhere not far from her. Even though her eyes had adjusted to the darkness she still couldn’t see where he was. But she could hear him. She just had to keep him talking.
“And why would I do that?” she stayed still. “I’ve already come this far.”
“Of course if you let me win, your boyfriend will never forgive you.”
“Neal and I aren’t together anymore…” She just barely inched toward where his voice was coming from. A subtle enough movement that it was covered by her reply.
“Oh I think you know I’m not talking about you and my son…”
She inched another movement closer. Just a few more.
“It’s none of your business…” she said, slightly more defensive though she knew she shouldn’t be. There was only one terrible person in this hole and that was Robert Gold.
“No, but that doesn’t mean it won’t hurt your career if it gets out,” he replied. All the more close to Emma now. Her senses on guard. Her boots slowly sinking into the muddy ground. “Think about it… you were one of the lead investigators….”
“Stop. It’s not like that.”
“His parents’ murder.”
“That you committed.”
“Ah yes but you were supposed to be solving it, and here you are running around with him. Having sleepovers. Bringing him along on joy rides.”
“You can’t possibly know all of that.”
“Ah but I do, dear.”
Her skin crawled, the hairs on her neck physically stood on end. She couldn’t hold in her anger any longer if she tried. Knowing he was so close to her, she lunged for where she had pinpointed his voice to be. All of her body weight thrown in that direction. And she hit right into the hard body of Robert Gold, taking him down to the ground. The only weapon she had was her desire to prevent him from doing anymore damage to good people.
It was hard to tell which way was up. Down there on the ground. The dirt and mud marking her clothes and skin. Hair getting caught in different directions.
She clawed at him, he at her.
She rolled on top of him and pinned him then he flipped her.
Fingernails dug into the dirt.
Her breath heavier with every motion.
Was that blood she tasted?
Her arms and legs swung.
Was she standing up or laying down?
Her head spun, darkness engulfing her.
Chest heavy she pushed through. Knuckles wet with blood or was that mud?
Was her vision getting blurry?
It was so hard to tell in the dark. But then her mind was filled with a new kind of darkness. The kind that happened when your eyes were closed not open. And that was the last thing she remembered. The darkness.
When Emma opened her eyes again it took her a moment to realize she was no longer on the dirt floor. The place she was in was brightly lit, evenly spaced ceiling tiles were in her direct line of vision. She blinked, adjusting to the fluorescence of the space. The light beep of a monitor matching her heart. Her whole body was sore, not a limb that wasn’t achey. Lifting her hands she noticed they were heavily bandaged in clean, white gauze.
Emma no longer wore the light blue shirt she last remembered herself in. Instead a white gown with small gray flowers in an even pattern across the fabric.
“Mom…” was the first voice she heard. And she hoped it wasn’t a dream.
“Henry,” she breathed. Her heart feeling a thousand times lighter when she looked at her kid. Henry was in the chair next to the bed. Not two feet from her and he still felt too far. She reached out for him, he grabbed her in return. Her eyes swelled with tears. So relieved to see Henry.
“I’m so glad you’re awake!” He leaned back and Emma saw that behind him on the couch was her mother and father. Her whole body in a decent amount of pain after what happened. What did happen? Everything was so foggy....
“How did I… how am I… where’s Gold?” she had about a thousand questions but the most important was that somehow Gold had been caught.
“We found you in an old storm cellar at Gold’s shop, unconscious. You both were,” her dad said as he stood from the couch to walk toward her bed. “You’ve been out cold since last night, Em.”
“And Neal…?” she asked. Remembering a bit of the night. A storm, trying to free him.
“He’s okay, honey. Nothing major. They’re evaluating him now, he’s being discharged,” Emma’s mom said walking over too. Now she was surrounded by people she loved. Her son. Her mom. Her dad. Mary Margaret reached out to touch her daughter’s hand and Emma did her best to latch on despite the bandages. Emma couldn’t help but notice the absence of someone. Though she did love her family, very much, she almost wished perhaps Killian could be here too.
“You were right about Gold, he was the one to call in. It served enough of a distraction for him to get Neal out of his apartment and move his car.” David looked stern now. Going from concerned father to cop in mere seconds. “We got him though. He’s in max security until his trial.”
Henry took her hand as he sat back down in his seat and looked at her with all the admiration in the world, “All because of you, mom.”
Emma untensed just a little bit. The last thing she remembered was being in that dark room underneath Gold’s shop, and then she woke up here.
“What about… Belle and Milah…?” Emma asked trepidatiously. Not sure if the news had gotten out yet about those two being the ones to send the clues.
“We’re working with them to get their official statements… fact checking…. Before we disclose any of this to the public…”
“Go easy on them, dad. Hear their whole story, okay?”
“I know, Em. I will.” He leaned forward and pressed a light kiss to her forehead. “I’ve got to get back to the station. I’m so glad you’re awake and in one piece. You just rest, please. Henry…. Make sure she rests.”
Emma sighed. She wished she was going back to the station to work. Instead of being stuck in bed. In a hospital. But Gold was caught, Milah and Belle were working on a deal, the trial would start soon. There was very little more she could do. As her dad was walking out though, someone else was coming in. Doctor Whale.
The doctor was happy to see she was awake and coherent. Doing some basic tests to ensure there was no internal damage. Later they would take her for more scans and tests but for now she could stay in bed. Given strict instructions to rest and not overexert herself. Emma tried not to roll her eyes. But was relieved to know she would be okay. When the doctor left the room he finished his speech by telling Emma she was quite the fighter and it was a wonder her injuries weren’t more severe. It was a compliment, to be sure, but she had been reckless with her decision to hunt down Gold on her own and she knew that now.
“Alright, I’ve got a decaf for the lad and…” Emma heard the familiar lilt of a comforting English accent come closer to her hospital room and her heart fluttered. When Killian stepped into the doorway he froze, nearly dropping the tray of plastic cups of steaming coffee in his hand.
“Hi,” she said. Taking in his appearance. Killian looked tired, and his blue eyes were a bit stormy. As if he had been crying or on the verge of it. He wore wrinkled sweatpants and a dark hooded sweatshirt that made him look about five years younger and unreasonably handsome.
“Emma…” he said, gaze lighting up as he got closer to where she lay on the bed. The coffee cup tray still in his hands.
“Why don’t I give you a hand with those,” Mary Margaret offered from behind Killian. Taking the cups of coffee and setting them on the bedside table.
“I’m so glad you’re alright, I was so worried.” Killian pulled a chair to the opposite side of the bed from Henry. “Ruby called me from your phone last night when she got here. I drove right over. How are you feeling, love?”
“A little sore, but I’m still in one piece.” Emma surveyed her arms and legs, they had a pretty good range of motion for how sore they were. “I guess it’s fair to say the two of you have been introduced?”
Emma looked back and forth at Henry and Killian on either side of her as they both nodded yes. She had been so worried for such a long time, most of his life actually, about bringing men around Henry that weren’t his father. It was a big part of the reason she had steered away from long term relationships and dating. But looking at these two now, she realized she didn’t have anything to worry about with Killian.
“Grandma brought me here last night,” Henry said, a little smile on his face. “Killian’s been here with us the whole time.”
Emma glanced over at Killian, who was looking a bit bashful. His hand going up to scratch behind his ear. Were his cheeks red?
“Why don’t I give you guys a little time. I need to make a few work calls anyway.” Killian stood from his seat, taking his steaming cup of coffee into the hallway with him.
“So…” Henry started, mischief in his face now that Killian had left the room. Emma could see her mother biting back a smile. If she recalled correctly one of the last times Mary Margaret had seen Killian, was the morning she and her dad showed up to Emma’s house... unannounced for breakfast.
“I’m going to give Neal a ride home, I’ll be back in a bit though. I can stop at your house to pick up some things for you, need anything?” her mother said in her sing-song voice, looking down at Emma with her round and kind face.
Emma smiled, “Maybe bring him in here before you leave.” Emma had some things to talk to her ex about. “Just bring me some sweats and a t-shirt.”
“Of course, honey.” Mary Margaret stepped back, “Anything for you Henry?”
“No thanks, grandma. I’m alright.”
Mary Margaret quickly left the room. Trying to be subtle about leaving Emma alone with her son to have the long overdue talk about dating… well about her dating Killian. Specifically him.
“I know it’s a little sudden, and you’ve never really seen me date anyone before but Killian and I well, we…” Emma started, not quite sure how to word this.
“You’re together.”
“Yeah.”
“I want you to be happy. He’s really great,” Henry said softly, reaching out and grabbing her arm instead of her bandaged hand this time. “And he really cares about you.”
“I know. I just, I’ve kind of tried to keep you away from this sort of thing unless it was serious and it never was.”
“You do realize dad has dated people and I’ve been okay with it.”
Emma bit her lip. Not sure if her son was just being courteous because he was… well an incredible kid.
“I love you, mom. I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this but you’re a bit closed off.” Henry smiled again. “If it’s serious with Killian then he must be really special.”
“He is.” She smiled back, easing her worries just a bit and watched as Henry eased himself.
“Knock, knock,” Neal said as he entered the room. He certainly looked worse for wear. But still wore a semblance of a smile. Emma remembered finding him tied to the chair in the empty apartment above Gold’s shop. “I heard you were awake.”
“And you look better than the last I saw you…” Emma eyed her ex-boyfriend. Trying to survey the damage. Physically he was in better condition than she was but emotionally Neal would have a lot to overcome. Who could you trust if you couldn’t trust your own father?
“You look worse.” Neal looked at her bandaged hands and bruised cheek bone. Her purple and blue arms. The gash just above the collar of her hospital gown.
You should see the other guy, she thought to herself.
“I’m so sorry… about all of this.” Neal stepped closer to her hospital bed and Henry sensed that this was an adult conversation, standing to go over to the couch in the corner. Enough space to be out of earshot if they whispered.
“Neal, it’s not your fault. None of this is.” Emma pictured him again tied up, manipulated and tricked by his own father.
“There were probably signs… ya know, that he had done all of these terrible things. But I missed them, or didn’t want to see them. He did raise me, he was all I had.”
And then Emma remembered something else. His mother. She wasn’t as he had assumed she was either. But in a different way.
“Look, Neal. Last night I met…” she wasn’t sure how much she could actually say. David said they were still negotiating with Milah and Belle. But no matter what the information would be available to the public by the end of the week. “Your mother. She’s here in town.”
“She is?” Neal looked incredulous.
“Yes. And the reason she left all of those years ago… well…” Emma also didn’t want to speak on behalf of Milah. It was her story to tell her son, not Emma’s. “I know she has tried to contact you in the past and you weren’t interested but I think you should hear what she has to say.”
He didn’t say anything. Still maintaining that look of surprise he had from a few moments ago. He wasn’t arguing with her, which Emma supposed was a positive sign.
“I think it’s important you give her a chance to explain herself.” She added, “You may change your mind about wanting her in your life.”
Neal softened a bit before attempting to be closed off to the idea again. His face turning from mush to stone within seconds. Just watching the slightest amount of confliction Emma knew he would end up giving his mother a chance. It would take time, but he would do it. And that was enough for right now.
“Your mom’s waiting, I should go,” he muttered, giving Emma the barest hint of a smile. The genuine kind that reached his eyes. “I know it’s hard for you but try to get some rest.”
Emma fake sighed, but gave Neal a warm look and said, “You too.”
“Thank you for everything, Em.”
“I should go with him, mom, if that’s okay?” Henry said as he stood from the couch. “I’ll come back with grandma in a little don’t worry.”
“Alright, kid. If you’re sure.” Emma waved from the bed. “I’ll just be here.”
And like that she was alone. Sitting in an empty hospital room, the only sound being the beeping of the machine she was hooked up to.
A few seconds later, Killian reappeared. Still looking exhausted but missing his cup of coffee he had walked out with.
“Henry said you wanted to talk to me?” he said stepping closer to the bed, his soft voice laced with genuine concern. Emma had to roll her eyes at her son’s attempts to put them in the same room. It was cute, and made her feel a bit better about this new relationship.
“Will you come sit with me for a little?” she asked. The whole night prior had been such an event. She still felt tired. But she also felt like she just wanted to sit still for a while, with Killian.
“Sure, love.” He smirked as he sat down on the edge of the bed. The furthest point he could potentially be from her. It wasn’t exactly what she had in mind.
“Killian you can sit closer I won’t break.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, blue eyes wandering. Probably trying to see where he could fit in this tiny hospital bed without disturbing her. She would make it easy for him.
Emma scooted over to one side of the bed, trying not to wince as she did so, but once she settled in the new spot she was actually quite comfortable and now there was plenty of room for Killian to lay next to her.
“See. Now you fit.” She patted the empty spot, hoping he would just give in and hold her for a while.
Slowly, and with the most care she had ever seen him do anything he crawled into the spot behind her. Resting lightly against her back. She turned toward him and wrapped his arm around her waist. The feel of his touch reminding her of all the warmth and light he had to offer even in dark moments.
“I was so worried, Emma,” he croaked out after a few moments of silence. Pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, like she was made of glass, “I’m so glad you’re alright for the most part.”
“The whole night was so terrible. There was a point I wasn’t sure if I would make it out with my life,” she whispered against his chest. It was an admission of vulnerability, of uncertainty that she never liked to show anyone. But with him, she knew she was safe and free to indulge in any emotion she had. “I thought of Henry, and my parents, and you.”
“You do so much for so many people, love. If anything were to have happened… if you didn’t… a lot of people’s world’s would stop turning… Including my own.” He brushed the hair from her face, his soft touch probably drawing the blush right from her skin.
She didn’t know what all he knew of the night before, but from the permanent expression of worry that had been on his face as soon as he walked in here she assumed he knew most of it.
“I don’t know many people, well really anyone else but you who would go completely on their own in hunt of a known murderer during a thunderstorm,” his eyebrow went up as he said it, as if he was in some way not pleased with her. But it didn’t last long.
Emma blinked up at him and almost felt him turn to a puddle.
“I know,” she said curling closer to him. Hoping he wasn’t expecting her to feel guilty for doing that. “I’d do it again though.”
“You’re impossible.”
“And you love me for it.”
“Aye, I love so much, Emma.” She noticed a tear begin to slip from his eye.
Emma wiped the droplet from his long black lashes, taking in his face. Memorizing the curves and planes that made up Killian Jones. For the briefest second her mind flashed back to what Gold had said in his shop. That it would be awful for it to get out that she and Killian had come together during the investigation. Insinuating that in some way it made her insufficient at her job. He was wrong though. In her bones she knew Robert Gold was wrong about everything and anything he had ever done in his life. With that certainty she pulled Killian’s forehead down to meet hers and just rested them upon one another. Content to stay that way with him for the rest of the day. Maybe even the rest of forever.
“I love you,” she whispered against his lips.
Emma spent the next two days in the hospital. More preventative than anything else. She hadn’t been gravely injured during her struggled fight with Gold but at the time when they found her knocked out in the basement of his shop, the hospital was the best place for her to go. So during her time in the hospital she was subjected to test after test to check for concussions, internal bleeding, fractures, and so on. Emma almost had a panic attack when Doctor Whale asked her if there was any chance she was pregnant. Of course there was, with all of the time she had been spending with Killian, yes, for the first time in a while there was a chance. But her tests came back negative and as much as the prospect of a future with him was less and less intimidating, this wasn’t the time for a child of theirs.
“Ready to go mom?” Henry asked Wednesday morning. Her kid was on summer break, and had spent most of those two days with her in the hospital. Killian came in and out, when he was able, which was quite often. Usually showing up with some stuffed animal or get well soon card or cluster of balloons that someone had left at the front desk for her. One of which was from Liam and his wife, which made Emma smile. To think that Killian’s family had thought so much of her to send a card and flowers.
“Yeah, kid. Let’s get out of here.” She stood from the bed. Wearing a change of clothes her mom had brought her along with some other things. The ones she had been wearing when she was admitted to the hospital were… well they were a wreck and she never wanted to see them again. “Where’s Killian?”
“He’s pulling the car around.”
It was interesting to see Henry so warm toward Killian. It almost made Emma feel silly for not introducing them earlier. Emma lifted her small bag of things and wrapped her arm around Henry’s shoulder as they walked out of the hospital and into the bright summer morning.
The fresh air felt good on her skin. Her time in the hospital had been jarring for her, Emma rarely had down time. Especially during the past few months. But now things were coming to a head. Gold was in a maximum security holding cell. Chances of him escaping slim to none now that he had already done it. Neal had been discharged the day before and was back in his apartment. Milah and Belle were awaiting trial. A topic Emma would have to talk to Killian about but not right now. Right now, as he pulled his shiny black Audi around to the hospital entrance she just wanted to breathe a little.
Emma smiled, biting back a laugh as he sprung from the still running car to grab her bag from her and open the passenger side door. Her hospital bracelet was still on, and rubbed against his skin as she grabbed his hand on the door.
“Relax, Killian,” she whispered so Henry wouldn’t hear. Her son crawling into the back seat of Killian’s car with the many gifts she had been sent during her stay. “I’m okay.”
“I know, love.” The worry wrinkle in his forehead released just a tiny bit. “I just want to help make things as easy as possible for you. Even just a little.”
Emma relented. Giving his hand a slight squeeze and offering a smile to him before he closed the car door for her. And when he sat down in the driver’s seat getting ready to pull away she grabbed his hand again. But held it the whole drive back to her house. The warmth of his palm, the humming feeling when her skin met his was just right on her healing hand.
Killian’s POV
On the blue skyed Wednesday morning, Killian pulled the car into Emma’s driveway. Parking his Audi behind her bright yellow bug. Her father had dropped it off the day before. Killian wasn’t clear on the whole story from Monday night, so much had happened in such a short span of time, but he did know that Emma’s car had been left at the docks when she ran chasing after Gold.
Henry was the first to leave the car, carrying as many of her gifts as he could fit in his arms and walked to the door to unlock the house. Killian reluctantly released Emma’s hand. Still bandaged but she wasn’t wincing anymore when pressure was applied to them. His heart sank at the thought, of her being in any pain at all. Emma was such a strong person, someone you could forget was even susceptible to pain because of the superhuman armor they put up. A lump appearing in his throat as he rounded the car to open her door for her. Surprisingly she let him.
“Thank you, Killian,” she said in her soothing voice as she stood from the seat. Their eyes locked for a second too long and he lost all train of thought. Emma’s clear green eyes had returned to their lively appearance. “Why don’t you come in and stay for a while?”
“Are you sure?” He looked over to where her son was unlocking the front door. Balloons blocking half of Henry. Killian had assumed he would just drop them off and leave them be for a while. He didn’t want to intrude.
“Yeah,” she said, her voice catching a bit. “Besides… we need to talk about some things.”
Killian felt his face fall. Perhaps he had read her wrong, in assuming she would like if he were around now that the case was essentially over. Maybe it was best he hadn’t told her he had been apartment hunting Monday night while she was hunting down the man who had killed his parents. He took a deep breath and waited for her to say something that would ease his mind but she didn’t. Instead she led him to the front porch where her son was.
“Henry, why don’t you go inside and start some coffee. We’ll be in in a minute.” Emma gave her son a forced smile, that didn’t make Killian feel any better about what was coming next.
The lad nodded quietly, heading inside leaving Emma and Killian alone on the front porch. The bruise on her cheek was beginning to yellow as it healed. Despite the ordeal she had been through, despite the bandages that covered her hands she still looked like the strongest person he had ever met. And right now she was staring daggers at him.
“Listen… there are some things that happened the other night. Things that I need to tell you about before you hear from any other source,” she started, taking a seat in one of the wooden rocking chairs.
He nodded. Not daring to move. His mind was too busy imagining the worst to control his movements.
“I met Grace… Milah the night I went after Gold.”
“You what?”
“She’s here, in Storybrooke because she and Belle were working together to send the clues as to who killed your parents.”
“Grace is… she’s here?” Killian’s feet automatically carried him toward a seat. Feeling suddenly like he was the one who should have just been discharged from the hospital.
“Yes. She’s at the station. David and Graham are working on making a deal with her and Belle. So they get a minimal sentence.” Emma paused. “At my request.”
Killian could hardly believe what he was hearing. His ex-girlfriend had known. Grace had known her ex-husband was who killed his parents. He felt like an idiot. But why was Emma trying to get her off easy?
“We came to a bit of an understanding… Milah and I. She didn’t know about the murder until… well that was why she ended things with you.” Almost as if reading his mind Emma answered the question he had been thinking.
“I think that it’s something you need to talk to her about. She can tell you everything when you’re ready,” Emma said taking his hand.
“You think I should talk to her?”
“Yes… it’s not my place to speak on her behalf. This should be between you and her.”
He looked over at her. Emma. Always confident in her work but right now looked so unsettled. She had made such a conscious effort to stay unbiased when it came to Grace. However, at the moment it appeared to be weighing heavily on her very capable shoulders. And then he realized...
“Emma…” Killian brushed his hand against her face. Catching a piece of hair between his fingers. “It’s you, darling. Always.”
He carefully pulled her from her seat and eased her onto his lap. The gentle hum of excitement whenever they touched was still there. And he willed himself to behave when all he wanted to do was keep her in his arms all day. Rarely was Emma ever insecure and he hated that she was feeling unsure of him right now. Because there was absolutely no reason to be.
“At one point I really did love Grace. I won’t deny that.” He wanted to be as honest as possible, knowing she could read him anyway. To even compare his relationships with Grace and Emma was so difficult it was so different. His time with Grace, and the aftermath, had plunged him further into darkness. Whereas Emma had made him a better man. “And I would like to have a conversation with her to get some answers. So I can face that part of my past and move on from it completely. But you…. Emma you’ve changed everything for me.”
Her eyes darted down, as she usually did when she was trying to hide the blush on her cheeks. The perfect rosy color that came involuntarily.
“Hey,” he said as he lifted her chin with his index finger so she would meet his eyes again. “My love, you don’t ever have to worry about me. My heart is completely and utterly yours, Emma Marie Nolan.”
For the first time in days Emma moved quickly, grabbing his head and pulling him into a deep kiss. One that wasn’t appropriate for a front porch. But neither one of them cared. It was like electricity jolting through as he kissed her. Emma’s soft pink lips promising that she felt exactly the same.
“We should uh… we should go inside,” she whispered against his lips breathlessly. He loved the sound of her voice when it was this way. Like it was work to stay away from kissing him.
“We should,” he whispered back but made no effort to move. After all she was the one sitting on top of him, and she hadn’t moved either.
“I need coffee,” was the next thing she said but still remained on his lap. Forehead resting against his. Eyes hooded with desire for what they couldn’t do… right now.
“You can bloody well have whatever you want.” Emma deserved the world. He nipped at her lip. Knowing they couldn’t do anything else. At least not at the moment. Plus if she was still sore he didn’t want to hurt her.
“I think, what I want, is to just have a normal afternoon.” The way she said it, coming from her mouth, made it sound like the best idea in the world. “With you and my son.”
“I think that can be arranged, love.” He stood her up and followed her inside the house. He would follow her anywhere. And soon he would work up the courage to tell her that.
The three of them spent the day camped out on the couch. Emma was still supposed to be resting, and was under strict instructions not to work. This was easier said than done. More than once either he or Henry had to remind Emma to relax. To keep her feet up. That if she needed anything they could get it for her. Emma’s parents came over for a while to visit, her mother insisting that Emma stay away from her laptop. Or any other kind of paperwork she could scramble up. Her best friend, Ruby, also dropped by to bring food. Unsurprised the Emma was completely antsy on bedrest. She was a stubborn lass, but it was all part of her fire. The steadfast way in which she worried about everyone around her… even right after getting out of the hospital and single handedly capturing a wanted murderer. Yeah. That was Emma.
In the afternoon Killian went home to go let his dog out, but at Emma’s suggestion brought Princess back to her house. Her boy was quite taken with the idea of having a dog and Henry kept busy taking her for walks and playing in the yard with her throughout the day. It felt almost domestic, but Killian was careful not to cross any boundaries. Offering to cook them some dinner and giving Emma and her son time to spend together. Though Killian thought Henry was a great kid, the boy had a father.
Liam had driven well over the speed limit to get Killian to the hospital. After he hung up the phone with Ruby there was no time to spare. Emma was hurt and he didn’t know how severely or what would happen next.
When he arrived Killian found that Emma was very bruised and cut up. Found unconscious in a storm cellar along with Robert Gold. To think the two were even being treated in the same hospital made Killian sick. So did the thought of that bastard laying a finger on Emma. His Emma. The woman he was madly in love with.
Hooked up to a machine she was resting now. It didn’t make Killian any less tense though. Especially because sitting next to him on the couch was Emma’s son Henry, whom he had never met.
“So, you’re the one with the dog?” the boy asked. He didn’t look exactly like Emma but enough to see the resemblance. The boy had dark hair, and a kind face.
“Aye, Emma tells me the two of you got along quite well when she stayed with you.”
“I was wondering when I would actually meet you,” the kid said smugly. As if he had known for a long time the nature of Killian and Emma’s relationship. Wait did he? “My mom and I are close. So I know when something’s different with her. I have to. She’s pretty private.”
Killian looked down at his feet. He felt nervous, though this kid could not have been more than thirteen he was still intimidated.
“I’m sorry that it’s this way we have to meet, I just needed to see that she was going to be alright,” Killian began to stand. The doctor had come in a little while ago to inform them that while Emma had been awake for a short period upon arriving at the hospital she was stable, and just asleep now.
“Wait.” Killian felt the tug on his sweatshirt from the lad sitting on the couch. “Stay for a while. At least until she wakes up.”
Killian looked down at Henry, who seemed to have the emotional intelligence of a much older person. Without another word, Killian resumed his spot on the couch and they sat together. Passing the time together as they waited for Emma to wake up.
A while after Killian made dinner, Emma’s parents went home and Henry went to bed. The boy had been sleeping at the hospital when Emma was there and it had clearly worn on him. The bags under his eyes dark and purple by the time Henry made his way up the stairs. Kissing his mother goodnight on the forehead. Killian didn’t miss the fact that his dog followed Henry upstairs when he went.
“Well, love, how about I run you a nice warm bath. The doctor said it would help sooth some of the soreness in your joints,” Killian offered, expecting her to dismiss it.
“I would like that,” she said looking up at him. Her own green orbs tired as well. Killian kissed her forehead and stood. Before Emma could stand Killian hauled her into his arms and carried her up the stairs to her bedroom. Where he laid her on the soft bed while he ran the bath water.
“Why don’t you get in with me?” Emma asked innocently as she sat in the warm bath water. Twirling her toe along its surface. All bandages removed, all scars bared. She had black and blue marks on her legs and arms, nothing dire but they were still reminders of what she had gone through. And his heart ached again at the thought of her ever being in pain. Killian was still clothed, wetting a washcloth with some soap to help her clean off.
“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” he said, dragging the washcloth carefully along the skin of her arms. Her hair had been piled on top of her head to avoid getting wet, but wild tendrils fell around her face. God was she beautiful. “Besides… if I get in there I may be tempted to…”
“Have your way with me?” she finished for him. Her eyebrow going up and a smirk on her face that said she wasn’t opposed to the idea.
“You need to heal, Emma. The doctor said not to… overexert yourself. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Hey.” Her hand went to his cheek. The space where her delicate palm met his skin was alight with admiration. Heat. Love. “You never have.”
“I know but…”
“I trust you, Killian.” Her hand moved to his chin and pulled him close to her so their faces were only inches apart. “You’re a good man.”
Emma tugged him in for a kiss. One that began as chaste and quickly turned heated. An inferno of desire that always burned below the surface and ignited further at her command. He was completely at her mercy, this goddess that had bewitched him. Bewitched wasn’t the correct word, there was absolutely no trickery involved. His love for her was pure and true. Nothing like it had ever taken him this way.
“As you wish,” he murmured against her lips. And it was, her wish was his command. Slowly removing his shirt with the help of her hands. Sliding his jeans and briefs down his legs and off of his body. He climbed into the water behind her. Careful not to be too abrupt. Then spun her so she faced him. She was perfect. Her breasts resting just above the water as she sat on his lap. Her messy blonde hair framing her beautiful face.
“I called you my boyfriend the other night...” she said, laying her hands on his chest.
“You did?” Killian could hardly hold back a smile. “You haven’t even given me the chance to properly wine and dine you yet.”
“I believe I was promised a date for tomorrow night…”
“If you’re feeling up to it,” he said maybe a little too sternly. Emma could make her own decisions. It was her body, but he didn’t want her to feel obligated and push herself.
“I think it could motivate me to make a speedy recovery…” She scooted closer on his lap, so that her breasts touched his chest. He groaned and she smiled. Emma’s hands reached up behind his neck and tugged him in to kiss her. And before he knew it was trailing light, delicate kisses along her neck, shoulders, chest. Covering the bruises with his lips. Wishing that his love for her was able to heal the physical pain as it had healed his wounds that were below the surface.
“If at any time you want me to get out or you’re in pain just say so and I will,” he broke from massaging her skin with his mouth to reassure her.
“I know,”she said running her hands through his hair to rest on the back of his neck. She spun the other way and eased into a position where her back was to his front. Killian remained still allowing her to get comfortable.
“You’re like a human sized pillow,” she said later that night when she curled up next to him in bed. After staying in the bath for a while, Killian had softly rubbed lotion onto her skin and helped Emma dress in a comfortable nightgown so she could get a good night’s sleep in her own bed. Tucked snugly beneath the covers with him, of course. The sound of their bodies hums of happiness as the perfect lullaby.
“Excuse me, I think I’m a bit more rugged than a pillow,” he feigned offense. Killian could feel her giggle rumble through his body. It was the most delightful sound in the world.
But then she stopped, grabbing her ribs, where one of the larger bruises had been.
“Emma do you need more bandages? What’s wrong?” he shot up from where he lay, reminded of all she had been through and wanting to make it all go away.
“It’s okay, it just stings a little still. Go back to where you were that helped support my back.” she tugged him back behind her, where he was content to stay for as long as she needed. To provide all of the support she wanted.
The next morning he stayed at Emma’s for a while to help with breakfast. Emma was doing a lot better, her spirits were up. She was moving more easily. Though the night before had been one of the first nights they had a sleepover and not made love he found he felt no less intimate with her. Waking up in the same bed as her, making coffee together, taking the dog out with Henry. Eating their weight in waffles and sausage and eggs, but eventually he had to leave.
“It’s high time I get ready for a date with a certain blonde tonight.” He eyed her as she leaned against the front door frame. Her head tilted and smiling. “That is, if you’re still feeling up to it.” “I wouldn’t miss it,” Emma leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. Even the simplest motion getting him excited.
Before he could think too much about what he was doing he had gotten into his car, dog in tow, and began driving. The midsummer’s day hot so he had opted to stay in his athletic shorts and t-shirt instead of his usual.
About twenty minutes later Killian had driven around a bit and ended up in a place he hadn’t ever been. The green of the trees blocked most of the surrounding land but the wrought iron sign flanked by cement pillars made it clear where he was. Bloomfield Cemetery.
Tulips lined the pathway to where he drove his car. Past the rows and rows of plots of people who had passed. Some adorned with floral wreaths and arrangements. Others bare from neglect. There was a new feeling in his stomach, he was nervous but for an entirely different reason. But he knew if he ever wanted to feel like a whole person again he would need to face the fears he had cultivated in the wake of the tragic death of his parents. Especially his mother.
Killian slowly drove through the nearly empty cemetery. A Thursday afternoon not necessarily a time that attracts a lot of visitors for mourning. He remembered coming here to his grandfather’s plot every father’s day but it was hardly considered a visit. Usually consisting of whispered arguments between his parents during the drive and passive aggressive silent treatments the way home. Killian hadn’t been back since. Princess was in the passenger seat staring out the window, probably wondering where they were going.
“It’ll be quick I promise,” he said to his dog. Though she wasn’t necessarily a human companion, she was a companion nonetheless and that dog had been there for him during a very difficult time in his life. And still was to this day. “Here we are.”
The Jones family had a section of the cemetery all to themselves. It had been a bit ostentatious. His ancestors choosing only the most elaborate headstones to mark where their bodies now rested. When Killian got out of the car he felt an uncharacteristically cool breeze for June. Walking to the other side of the car to let the dog out, he put the leash on her collar and grabbed the parcel of brown paper wrapped flowers he had picked up down the road. He lead Princess up the grassy hill where they finally stopped in the place his parents’ headstones were.
A simple tree separated the graves of his mother and father. It must have been planted after they died because Killian had no memory of the thing having been here when they came to visit his grandfather’s grave. Had the tree been there then, he could imagine Brennan Jones making a huge scene about how much money he paid to have the plot of land and how there should be no natural greenery. It would have been the kind of thing his father considered to be a big deal. When in reality, the tree was quite lovely and casted shade over the area.
Killian rubbed his jaw feeling the prickle of his beard getting too long. He had neglected to shave a few days in a row now. Something he had been doing more often than not, slowly losing his obsession with appearing put together and perfectly groomed each day. It seemed to come along with not feeling the need to hide what he was thinking or feeling anymore. An honest approach to life that could be attributed mostly to Emma, who had done him the courtesy of being nothing but truthful with him.
Remembering the parcel of sunflowers in his hand he righted himself, as if his parents were alive and well before him, and he wasn’t visiting ghosts. Though he knew they weren’t here, a symbol of them was, their souls probably lingering in some other part of their past life that was more suited to them. Not these characterless headstones that gave no indication as to who they really were. Nevertheless, it was the closest he could get.
“I used to always say I would never come here.” He looked down at his dog who was now laying on the ground, chewing on a stick she had found. “I wouldn’t be one of those people who went to a graveyard every year on your birthdays… this isn’t where you are.”
Physically or otherwise, he added to himself in his head.
It felt a little awkward, talking to the wind. But there was no one within earshot so he continued, “Since you two have been gone… obviously a lot has happened. I’ve done quite well for myself, I’ve had a wonderful career. Um… not unlike dad’s. You have one grandchild and another on the way, both Liam’s of course. I myself have never taken that plunge.” He thought to add the word yet but decided against it.
He cleared his throat, the back of it feeling a bit foggy as he continued to speak, trying not to let his voice crack though no one was there to hear it. “They finally have an answer as to what really happened to the two of you…” he felt his hands shake as he held back the dam of emotions that this topic often brought forth. “For a while, no one knew. And then clues started to show up again a few months ago, so the case was reopened and I’ve returned to town.”
“I’ve been back to the house… it’s a bit of a mess. Something should be done with it, the land belongs to Liam and I. But we don’t want to…” he couldn’t find the right words. That house, though it was filled with some awful memories, is perhaps the only remaining piece of his family’s history. The house his mother did her best to make a home.
“It’s been hard not having either of you around. And for a while I ignored all of the…. sadness that came with that.” His shoulders untensed the slightest bit as he realized he was getting better at verbalizing what he once was not able to. “And every day I will hate that the two of you had your lives taken from you by an evil and despicable man. But it doesn’t mean I have to live my life based on that hatred. Someday I hope to find forgiveness.”
But in order to find peace and forgiveness he needed to take steps toward acknowledging the pain in his life. He took the sunflowers from the brown paper and set them inside of the small, empty vase built next to his mother’s headstone. Their fresh yellow color brightened the space, and Killian thought then that perhaps he should come back and swap them out in a week. For fresh ones. Perhaps Liam could come too.
“I got sunflowers… your favorite, mum.” She used to keep them all over the house. Though Moira Jones most certainly could have afforded far more extravagant floral arrangements, she still preferred to get simple bouquets of sunflowers from the farmer’s market. “I’ve learned more about you in the past few months than I ever knew growing up… I had, no idea you were going through so much.”
He had once been angry at both of his parents, for a long time he felt nothing but anger toward them. But the more the case and the clues revealed the more he saw them for who they were. Human.
“I’m so sorry the two of you were so unhappy and that you were robbed of happy endings.”
His father made poor choices, and was a bloody awful husband. Killian wasn’t entirely sure he could ever forgive him for that. But his mother, Moira, had been a light in his life when he felt there wasn’t one. And then too quickly she was taken away. They both were. A small tear escaped his eye though he was trying not to tear up, it was near impossible for him at the time.
“So listen…” he was feeling more ridiculous by the minute. “I’m facing a bit of a dilemma. It’s, well, it’s about a woman.” His hands went to his gym shorts pockets, fooling around with the pocket watch his mother had given him right before she died. Give it to someone special, she had told him. But the thing had stopped ticking years ago and was damn near useless in 2017.
“She’s well, she’s become very important to me. But she lives here, she has a son, and I live in London most of the time.” He took a deep breath. “The two of you died when I was just 16, so I didn’t really have a mother or father to consult on matters of the heart. This is the first time I’m feeling… open enough to do that, because I’m terrified of messing anything up. With Emma. That’s her name. She’s… everything. And I wish the two of you could meet her… we have our first real date tonight.”
He paused again, nerves kicking in,“So I suppose I’m asking for a sign that staying around, considering relocating back to the North East is something that I should talk to her about. Seriously.”
Killian said his peace and looked around, for what he wasn’t sure. The world looked the same as it had a few moments ago before he had started talking about Emma. The only sound was the light rustle of leaves from the wind and the gnawing of his dog’s teeth on the wooden stick she was chewing. His heart fell a bit, feeling stupid for putting himself out there like that.
Just as he was about to say his goodbyes he heard the noise of something. It was coming from his pocket… the quiet and melodic tick, tock, tick, tock. Back and forth ever so faint he probably wouldn’t have noticed it if the whole cemetery wasn’t so quiet.
Taking the silver pocket watch out he clicked open the relic and smiled. Because sure enough Killian found that the hands were moving in perfect measured clicks. For the first time in years. |
She learns the feel of the letters before the meaning of the words.
The blank script, slanted and rushed, that layers down over her ribcage. There’s so many words, words she has no way of understanding just yet. But she will stand there, staring at her reflection in the mirror trying to make sense of the backwards letters. As she traces the curve of each letter with her fingers.
It is proof, that her soulmate is somewhere out there.
That her soulmate will one day leave her, his final words, a rush upon her flesh.
One night when she’s feeling particularly bold, she asks Angelica what the words upon her skin mean. Her sister is older than her by just a year, but wiser and well-read. If there’s anyone she trusts with the identity of her soulmate it is her sister.
Though she is so caught up in her own hopes, her own longing for her future, that she misses the way her sister freezes ever so slightly at the sight of her soul mark. The way her hand hovers just over her own side for the briefest of moments, before falling limply to her side. Before reading Eliza the words written on her body.
---
They say it is impossible to know who your soulmate is until the last moment. That one simply has to trust that the person they love with all their heart has a soul that is twin to their own.
But she knows who hers is within moments of meeting him.
Hamilton. It has to be Hamilton.
He speaks in paragraphs, never stopping to even take a breath. He is eloquent, never stopping, always rushing for him. That will be the way he dies, unable to stop talking for a moment, to remember to struggle for one last breath.
She knows that with certainty.
Call it woman’s intuition or a lovesick heart. As she reads his letters in her room late at night by the glow of the candle. The endless pages that he writes for her, declarations of love from the front lines. He tells of a longing he feels deep inside of himself, a longing that she feels in her own heart mirror by his words.
This is surely what they’ve talked about, in all the stories, knowing another’s soul at glance.
And she feels, through reading his letters, the essence of his character.
She knows that Alexander Hamilton belongs to her. That God has given her this man to love with all of her being.
---
She does not see his soul mark until their wedding night.
As a precursor to their impending union, she hunts on his body for words that sound like her own. Proof of their fate. Stilling as the moonlight hits his skin and she finds the words.
There’s just one, in a handwriting that reminds her of her own, if she focuses on it long enough. His name, Alexander, written across his bicep.
She presses a kiss to the mark, a promise of her own. She’ll call him Alex or dearest or Mr. Hamilton, if she’s feeling coy, but never his full name. She won’t force him to hear her last words, until it’s too late to take them back.
Only then does she feel him sigh underneath her, hands tightening desperately at her waist, where they had been tracing her own mark moments before. As he pulls her down towards him, showing her the ways of his love.
It is later, once their marriage has been consummated, and her very soul reborn anew with Hamilton guiding her into his own sense of absolution. That she finds the other words, written in a hand unfamiliar to her, across his lower back. Her husband turns over before she can properly read them, but the impact is there, and with a pang she knows at once that those words were not hers.
She does not ask about those words, whose they are or what they say, she does not dare to.
Though years later, when a letter brings her husband to tears, she finally beings to understand what he had never been willing to admit to her.
The words on his back will have long faded before she is ever given a chance to read what is transcribed upon him.
---
Her fingers scrub at her skin until they bleed. Until she’s rubbed raw, and it hurts, everything hurts, but it’s still there staring at her as dark as day, in a handwriting she wishes she didn’t recognize anymore.
Tears make the letters blur in her eyes, but she knows they are still there, and when the tears subside there his words will be.
The water is unable to wash away the marks that are forever branded upon her, the mark of him. The man that she had loved, that a part of her believes one day she might love again, but at the moment cannot even stand to look at him.
If this is what it means to have a soulmate then she wishes that God would take it all back.
She says his name deliberately that night, forcing the words tight out of her throat. One word, Alexander, just to see that brief hint of hope mixed with worry in his eyes. Then refuses to say anything else to him.
The house feels stifling in the silence, but this is the only revenge she can take, short of forcing him out from his home. And for all the shame and disgrace she feels, even she is not so cruel as to cast her soulmate out.
For she knows eventually she will find a way to forgive him.
It will just take time, and loss.
---
This is the moment she loses him.
A moment she had known was coming from the beginning, since she was a little girl staring in a mirror trying to read the letters on her skin, but now to hear them from his lips – feels as though she is the one bleeding out upon the ground.
She presses one last kiss to his lips, willing him to stop speaking to save his strength, whispers, “Alexander,” across the space between them one last time. |
Jeongguk calls for them to go inside, and he gets up from the porch swing to approach a teary-eyed Yoongi. The other boys congregate by the back door, while Yoongi continues to sit on the edge of the patio.
As Jeongguk nears the two-year-old, a sweet, high voice says, “Excuse me!”
Everyone freezes until Jeongguk spots the source of the voice. It’s a beautiful, slender woman of medium height with chestnut brown hair, and she holds her arm out awkwardly beside her as she peeks around the house.
“Hello!” Jeongguk calls, bowing as much as he can with an armful of Seokjin. “Are you—”
“Just here to drop off Hoseok-ah,” she interrupts, pulling her arm gently until the boy timidly steps into Jeongguk’s line-of-sight. “We rang and rang and rang, but nobody ever answered. Since it’s not Wednesday or Friday, Seok-ah recommended we check the yard to find you, and now, here we are!” The woman grins brightly, and Jeongguk understands where the boy gets his energy from; not from the sun that Hoseok constantly tells Jeongguk he loves, but from his radiant mother.
“Ah, you must be Hoseok-ah’s mom!” Jeongguk steps toward the gate of the fence and unlocks it, welcoming them. “It’s wonderful to meet you,” he says, bowing again.
“I assume you’re the boy Yugyeom told me about, then.” The woman’s eyes track down Jeongguk’s body, a smile settling on her face once she spies Seokjin in his arms. “A bit more handsome in person, not that that’s a bad thing!” she says, giggling while covering her mouth.
“U-Um,” Jeongguk stutters, blushing. “Th-Thank you? We’re, uh, just about to go inside, so I’ll, um—” He tilts his head toward the house and the other boys before looking down at Hoseok, cheeks still warm, and Seokjin pats his cheek mockingly in consolation. “—keep an eye on him.” Jeongguk smiles hesitantly, but the woman’s grin just gets wider.
“No, thank you! I’ve got to get to work,” she says, bending down next to Hoseok to give him a hug. “I love you, baby!” she proclaims, tucking a kiss between the hood of Hoseok’s jacket and his temple. “Be good!” she says, standing. After leaving through the gate, she waves, yelling, “And don’t forget that Halmeoni and Dawonnie are picking you up! Love you!” and disappears from view.
Jeongguk stands there for a moment, wondering what just happened while Seokjin squirms in his arms, and Hoseok runs up to Yoongi, then, and plops down beside the younger boy. This gets Jeongguk to shake his head, dispersing his thoughts and pulling him to the present. He looks at Yoongi and Hoseok, watching as Hoseok reaches forward to gingerly dry Yoongi’s tears with the sleeve of his jacket. The three-year-old goes to swipe at Yoongi’s nose too, but thinks better of it. Next, he’s turning to Jeongguk, with a serious call of “Hyung!”
Surprised, Jeongguk tentatively replies, “…Yes?”
“You has titchews?” Hoseok asks, blinking innocently.
Jeongguk tilts his head. “You mean tissues, Hobi? For Yoongi’s runny nose?”
Nodding, Hoseok yells, “Uh-huh! Yoongi sad an’ Hobi needs fix it! Tis— Tish— Titchews fix it!” He grins at Yoongi, who flashes a watery grin of his own.
Jeongguk heads to the Emergency Supplies Bag™ to get the requested ‘titchews,’ and asks for the boys to huddle around him, Yoongi, and Hoseok on the patio.
“Hyung needs to ask you guys something, okay?” Jeongguk is armed with a tissue as he goes to wipe the snot from Yoongi’s nose. “And he wants your honest opinions, so…”
Yoongi wiggles away from Jeongguk, who’s asked him to blow his nose to get any more boogies out.
“Don’t lie and say something because you hear somebody else say it, okay?” Then, Jeongguk pulls Yoongi into his lap with Seokjin and asks him to blow his nose again. When Yoongi just makes sound effects with his mouth after Jeongguk places the tissue over his nose, Jeongguk sighs, dabbing at any visible snot on Yoongi’s upper lip.
“Just tell hyung what you think,” he says seriously, wadding up the partially-used tissue and hastily stuffing it in his pocket.
“…Are we in trouble, hyung?” Taehyung timidly questions before Jeongguk can ask what he needs to. “Were we bad?”
Jeongguk shakes his head. “No, buddy.” Raising an eyebrow, Jeongguk continues, “Not unless you did something you shouldn’t have?”
Denying Jeongguk’s implication with a shake of his head, Taehyung says, “Nuh-uh. That worm wanted me to eat him.”
Jeongguk laughs, tickled by Taehyung’s accidental admission and unsure of how to respond to such a statement.
Then, Jimin is tugging on Jeongguk’s shirt, like he did before they came outside. “Whaddya wanna ask, hyung?”
“Now that Hobi’s here,” Jeongguk states, ruffling Hoseok’s hair while the boy just beams, “do you want to stay outside some more, or do you want to go inside?”
Namjoon is the one to respond this time. “A-A-And d-do wha-t-t, hyu-hyung?”
“Well, Joonie,” Jeongguk begins, “I have some fun stuff planned today, and we could start it by coloring inside—”
“But coloring is for girls!” someone screeches, but Jeongguk quickly pinpoints the screeching came from Jimin (who loves coloring, despite voicing his dislike for it).
“Yeah!” Taehyung agrees, and soon the rest of them are nodding, certain that coloring is only for girls.
“So, everyone wants to stay out here?” Jeongguk questions and is met with more nods. “Okay,” he acknowledges. “Then, we’ll stay outside until lunchtime, alright? Go play!” he shouts, dismissing the boys. “And no more eating worms, or you won’t be hungry for lunch!”
Taehyung and Jimin race to a spot near the tree where Taehyung claims to have found the worm and ate it. Namjoon bends down to kiss Seokjin on the head first, the baby squealing excitedly. Then, the four-year-old joins Hoseok and Yoongi, who are lying down on the grass to cloud gaze. Jeongguk holds onto Seokjin, whose cheeks are rosy from the constant breezes blowing by, as he travels to the porch swing again and takes a seat.
The boys play around for over half an hour, everyone enjoying their time in the backyard, soaking up the sunshine that seeps through the clouds. The controlled chaos doesn’t last for much longer, though, because of someone’s ingenious idea to chase Hoseok with a grasshopper.
It starts after Taehyung and Jimin come near the three unsuspecting boys on the ground, shrieking about showing off ‘Mr. Grasshopper’—with Namjoon stammering out a comment about the grasshopper actually being a girl (‘c-c-cause of, of h-her b-bo-t-tom)—and it abruptly ends after Jeongguk rushes toward the boys when he hears screaming (and not the happy, giggle-induced kind).
As Jeongguk, who is still holding little Seokjin, gets to the crowd of boys, he spies a frightened, tearful Hoseok, a guilty-looking, shifty-eyed Taehyung, a remorseful, pouting Jimin, and a wide-eyed, open-mouthed Yoongi all standing around a scraped up, teary-eyed Namjoon.
“Boys, what happened?!” Jeongguk asks worriedly, crouching down.
Namjoon starts to cry quietly, his wails gradually increasing in volume until he’s sobbing, and the people in the adjoining neighborhoods can probably hear him. His knees are scraped, as are both of his palms, and he has grass and dirt stains on his shorts. There’s even a smudge of dirt and a small cut across one of his cheekbones, and Jeongguk immediately recognizes the marks of a battle lost against the ground.
“Did Joonie fall, or did someone push him?”
No one answers for a brief moment, but then everyone seems to answer at once:
“Teacup cheeks!”
“He tripped, hyung!”
“‘Oonie-‘ung faww!”
“T-Tried to st-stop ‘em!”
Jeongguk says, “Whoa, okay, one at a time! And TaeTae, hyung needs you to hold Jinnie so we can get Joonie inside, okay?”
Taehyung nods once, and Jeongguk hands the infant to the eldest boy. Then, Jeongguk scoops up Namjoon as gently as he can, the four-year old’s cries quieting to sniffles. Jeongguk instructs Jimin to open the back door, and the boys file in behind him and Joonie.
Jeongguk immediately heads to the bathroom, where he’ll find a first-aid kit. He hears Jimin yell, “Hyung, your shoes!” but Jeongguk ignores him, Namjoon’s injuries his first priority. His second is Hoseok’s tears, but that will have to wait until he treats Namjoon’s scrapes.
“Joonie,” Jeongguk coos, once he’s set the boy on the counter of the sink. “I need you to tell me what hurts. From what I can see, it’s just your knees and your palms, right?”
Namjoon nods slowly in confirmation. “M-My knee, knees h-h-hurt mo-most-mostest, hyu-hyung. H-Hurt b-b-bad,” he stutters, a hand coming up to wipe the tears away. Instead, the boy just cries out because his salty tears irritate the raw skin on his palm. “B-Burns, hyu-hyung. S-So b-b-bad!” Namjoon howls, more tears collecting in his eyes and leaking down his face.
“Okay, buddy, okay. Hyung’s gonna try to make it better, but first, I need to wash off the dirt.” Jeongguk reaches beneath the sink for a clean washcloth and wets it with warm water. He knows this might hurt more, but getting anything infected would be more painful in the long run, and he hopes Namjoon understands his logic and forgives him for what he’s about to do.
“Namjoon-ah,” Jeongguk calls, and the boy looks up at him, hiccuping between whimpers. “You remember when I said you were strong yesterday?”
Namjoon nods, tears still streaming down his face and making patterns in his dry t-shirt as they land.
“Well, I meant it, and I need you to be strong today.” Jeongguk reaches up to smoothe Namjoon’s hair and make his cheeks tear-free. “This may hurt a bit, okay? And hyung wants you to squeeze his hand if it hurts, alright?”
Jeongguk slips two of his fingers into Namjoon’s less-scraped hand and kneels down so he’s face-to-face with one of Namjoon’s scuffed knees. His eyes flit up to Namjoon’s, and the sight of his tear-stained face breaks Jeongguk’s heart. The noises Namjoon lets out as Jeongguk carefully dabs at all of the chafed areas break his heart even more, and the two fingers Namjoon has squeezed in a death grip are starting to tingle, but that’s a small price to pay when the four-year-old is smiling afterward as he shows off the many Ryan bandages like a proud, wounded warrior returning from battle.
Jeongguk puts away the antiseptic, bandages, and washcloth, readying himself for a discussion of what happened and thinking of methods to calm Hoseok and the rest of the boys down.
Once Jeongguk makes it to the living room, he finally takes off his shoes, placing them near the others by the back door, and walks to the six boys, who are sitting on the floor or on the couch, surprisingly silent. Jeongguk decides to join the elder boys and Namjoon on the carpet and pries Seokjin from pouty Taehyung’s grip.
“Now that Joonie’s better, someone needs to tell hyung what happened outside,” Jeongguk prompts, choosing to look at each boy and watch some of them squirm beneath his gaze.
“‘ung,” Yoongi starts, and Jeongguk shift his attention to the toddler. “TaeTae-‘ung nean to ‘obi-‘ung, ‘n ‘Oonie-‘ung twy ta ‘ewp.”
“I was not!” Taehyung argues. “Hobi’s face looked funny every time Chim and I showed him the bug! It was funny!”
“But you was too, hyung!” Hoseok counters. “You was making fun of me and—”
“Boys!” Jeongguk interrupts, sighing. “So TaeTae was mean to Hobi, which I will address later,” Jeongguk says, leveling his gaze at Taehyung. “But how did Joonie get hurt?”
When Namjoon whispers, everyone turns to him. “I-I fell’ded, hyu-hyung, ‘c-c-cause I, I—”
“‘Cause he trips, hyung,” Jimin finishes for him. “He trips aaaaaaall the time, and Yugyeomie-hyung has ta kiss his boo-boos ta make him better.”
Jeongguk turns back to Namjoon, who has a tiny Ryan bandage placed over the small cut on his cheekbone, and watches as the boy nods sheepishly, his cheeks red. “I-It tr-true, hyu-hyung.”
“Okay, so Joonie fell because...he fell. But you were trying to stop the teasing, right, buddy?”
Seokjin crawls across the floor to Namjoon, who nods once more, patting the baby on the head. “Uh-h-huh. T-To tea-tease i-is n-not, not n-ni-nice.”
“That’s right, Joonie. Because teasing hurts people’s feelings.” Focusing on Hoseok next, Jeongguk asks, “Hobi, how did you feel when Taehyung was chasing you with the bug?”
Hoseok shivers, seeming to remember the incident. He shakes a bit as he stutters out his answer. “B-Bad, hyung,” he says, frowning. “An’ scared…”
Turning towards Taehyung, Jeongguk asks, “What’s something that scares you, TaeTae?”
Shrugging, Taehyung admits, “Not bugs.”
“You’re scared of girls! ‘Specially Dawonnie-noona!” Jimin yells insightfully, and Taehyung splutters that it’s just ‘cause sh-she has cooties! which transforms Hoseok’s frown into a close-lipped smile.
Jeongguk wants to ask why the name ‘Dawonnie’ sounds familiar and why Hoseok smirked when Jimin mentioned it, but Yoongi turns with wide eyes to Hoseok, asking “Wonnie-noo’a conin’?”
A nod from Hoseok has Yoongi jumping from the sofa, tackling the older boy with a shriek of “Wonnie-noo’a conin’!” and Jeongguk recollects something Hoseok’s mother said before she left:
“And don’t forget that Halmeoni and Dawonnie are picking you up! Love you!”
Jeongguk figures that Hoseok and ‘Dawonnie’ must be siblings, and that ‘Dawonnie’ must be older, since Jimin calls her ‘noona.’
“Why does ‘Dawonnie-noona’ scare you?” Jeongguk questions, his interest piqued.
Taehyung’s ears and cheeks are scarlet. “N-No reason, hyung,” he mumbles, picking at a rough patch of fabric on his shorts.
“He like-likes her, hyung!” Jimin squeals, laughing when Taehyung scoffs, and the red spreads to his nose and his neck.
“Oh,” Jeongguk says, drawing out the syllable. He grins. “I see.”
Taehyung whines, a pout forming. “Hyung!”
Jeongguk clears his throat, suddenly serious. “You know what you’re feeling? Like you’re kinda embarrassed and wish the teasing would stop? That’s what Hobi felt. Now, do you understand why he didn’t like it when you chased him with that bug?”
Understanding dawns on Taehyung’s face. “Oh…” He slouches, his shoulders drawn up to his ears.
Jeongguk nods. “Hobi didn’t like that feeling, and neither did you, TaeTae. Please respect Hobi’s fears, and don’t make fun of him for them, okay? And if you do that, others should do the same for you, alright?” Jeongguk’s words are intended for Taehyung, but he hopes the other boys understand the importance of them as well.
“Now.” Jeongguk unfolds his legs, stretching them out. Then, he rhythmically pats his stomach, grinning at Seokjin. “You guys ready for some lunch? ‘Cause I know I am!” |
“Why do you need to buy perfume?” Marci asks, as they walk through a well-lit store that Foggy’s completely sure is way out of his price range. “I thought you and Murdock were finally getting all cozy.”
“How did you know that?” Foggy asks, frowning at her.
“How did I—a rainbow exploded and rained glitter down upon us at whatever moment you finally kissed,” she says, dryly, laughing at the same time. “Also, you keep being disgustingly affectionate in public, like—way more than before, which is saying something because you’ve practically been sitting in each other’s laps since undergrad. Everybody knows. It was hot gossip for about two days.”
“It’s not hot anymore?” Foggy asks.
“Nope, you’re old news, kid,” she says, stopping in front of a display full of delicate looking perfume bottles, boxes of them stored neatly underneath it with price signs that make Foggy cringe.
“Did you forget that we’re starving law students?” Foggy asks, picking up a box. “This is thirty milliliters and it costs more than the sum total of all my assets.”
“Well, to be fair, that’s got to be a negative number at this point,” she says, picking up a sample bottle and dabbing a little on her wrist. “We’re not buying anything here, anyway, you’re just going to pick what you’re into and then we’re going to take a trip this weekend to that outlet in Jersey where I get all my brand name shit.”
“Fun,” he says, obediently smelling her wrist when she holds it up to him. “Are we going to do a makeover montage?”
“Hell yeah,” she says, distractedly, reading a box with abstract looking leaves on the front. “How do you feel about notes of frankincense?”
“Oh, biblical,” Foggy says. “Matt might like that.”
“So—you’re buying perfume for your boyfriend?” Marci asks, sitting down the box to favor him with a curious look.
“I don’t know if he’s my boyfriend,” Foggy says, hoping to find a good way to backtrack. He was going to say it was for his mom’s birthday, but it’s too late now. It might be weirder that Matt would care how his mom smells.
“He’s your boyfriend,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Back to the question at hand, though: does Murdock want to smell like a spring breeze or something?”
“I think that’s an air freshener,” Foggy says. “Hey, we could just go buy some of that instead, way cheaper, still smells good, let’s go—”
Marci lays a perfectly manicured hand on his arm.
“. . .the perfume’s for you, isn’t it?” she asks.
“Uhm, no,” Foggy says.
“You want to smell like wildflowers because your boyfriend will like it,” she says, sounding delighted. “Foggy. He wouldn’t want a masculine cologne? I could put you in something that smells like cigars and campfires.”
“He likes—pretty things,” Foggy says.
“Pretty things,” Marci repeats, smiling with teeth. “Tell me more.”
Marci does this thing with perfectly aimed questions and raised eyebrows that makes people divulge all their secrets, especially their weird sexual ones. She’s going to be an amazing lawyer; short of that, she has enough blackmail on people in their class that she can retire exclusively on dirty money.
They talk about it right there in the middle of the store while she keeps picking perfumes for him to smell, and she’s very restrained about making fun of him.
“You’re into it, too, right?” she asks. “You’re not just letting him doll you up to appease his weird fetishes?”
“No, uh—the fetishes are also my fetishes,” Foggy says, aware that his face is probably pink. “A mutual fetish. He doesn’t even know I’m doing this, anyway, I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“Well, I could help you buy some other things he’ll like, if you want,” she says, opening a bottle and pulling a face before putting it back.
“Like what?” he asks, and she takes a moment to look him up and down, appraisingly.
“Pretty things,” she says, grinning when she meets his eyes again.
*
Matt pouts when Foggy tells him that he’ll be gone all day on Saturday, says, “Didn’t you say Saturdays were for staying in bed? You know what we get to do if we stay in bed, right? Let me remind you—” He slips fingers into Foggy’s hair to pull him gently into a kiss, and Foggy smiles against his mouth, turning his head.
“I’ll be back Saturday night,” he says, kissing Matt’s cheek. “Maybe with gifts.”
“For me?” Matt asks.
“Mmm hmm,” Foggy says. “Maybe for us.”
“Do you need money?” Matt asks, running fingers through Foggy’s hair, from his scalp down—he does it almost compulsively, lately, anytime they’re standing close and he doesn’t have anything to do with his hands. “My stipend for textbooks ended up being more than I needed.”
“It’s cool, I can just break out my bad decisions credit card,” Foggy says.
“Are you sure?” Matt asks, curving his hand around the back of Foggy’s head, scratching at it lightly. “I don’t mind.”
It only takes a moment for Foggy to recognize the look on his face.
“Do you get off on that, Matt?” he asks, laughing, moving in a little closer. “Do you want to be my sugar daddy?”
Matt’s smile goes a little hesitant, finger clenching in Foggy’s hair.
“I can’t afford the sugar part,” he says. It takes Foggy a second to get what he means and he thinks his brain might shut down for a second before it supplies, emphatically, in big red flashing letters: daddy. Matt licks his lips, turning his head away, and Foggy touches fingers to his jaw to make him look up before he steps in to kiss him, opening his mouth but letting Matt turn it dirty.
Once Matt’s got his hands on Foggy’s ass, Foggy pulls away just long enough to ask, in a soft murmur, “You want to be my daddy?” before he keeps kissing him. Matt groans into his mouth, grazing his teeth over Foggy’s bottom lip as he pulls back.
“Yeah,” he says, hotly, using his hands on Foggy to pull him closer.
Foggy answers him with another kiss, thinking about the quickest way to get Matt out of his clothes when he happens to open his eyes and notice the clock on the wall.
“Shit, I’ve got an appointment with my advisor in, like, ten minutes,” he says, letting go of Matt to throw real clothes on and shove his keys and laptop into his bag. “Dinner tonight? You can pay.”
Matt laughs and nods. “I’d love to.”
Foggy’s got his hand on the doorknob, ready to leave, when he suddenly rushes back to crawl into Matt’s lap and kiss him roughly, punctuating it with one last kiss and a hesitant, “Bye, Daddy,” before he runs for it.
*
“Daddy?” Marci says, looking like it’s Christmas.
“If you use this to keep me from becoming Attorney General someday, I’ll tell everyone that you cried while we watched The Notebook,” he says.
“Uhm, you were the one who made me watch The Notebook but your secret’s safe with me,” she says, sorting through a clearance rack of lingerie in roughly Foggy’s size before she pulls out a silk negligee, light pink and cut low. “You like pink, right?” Foggy nods and she thrusts it at him. “Try it.”
They go through a similar process until he’s got an armful of soft and slick fabrics and lace in pale colors. There’s no attendant with the dressing rooms, so Marci slips in with him, perching on the chair and looking at him expectantly.
“Thought I could do this solo,” he says, raising his eyebrows.
“Nothing I haven’t seen before, honey,” she says, smiling, crossing her legs. “Besides, somebody’s got to give you feedback.”
“It’s not like it matters what I look like,” Foggy says, gamely taking off his shirt, anyway. Marci and him did some pretty intimate stuff while they were together and this honestly can’t get any weirder. “Matt can’t see me.”
Marci hands him a silk camisole—lilac with little flowers stitched into the bottom, thin straps.
“You can see you, though,” she says, smiling almost kindly. “Also, I’m a part of this now, so I should get a free show.”
“No video or flash photography,” he says, pulling the camisole on over his head and smoothing it over his stomach, making a face at himself. “What do you think?”
“It’s cute. Kind of low cut—have you thought about shaving?” she asks.
“Shaving what?” he asks, raising his eyebrows at her in the mirror. She makes a face like she’s thinking really hard about it.
“I was thinking your chest, but maybe. . .everything?” she offers.
*
Matt makes him try on everything he bought for him—soft camisoles and negligees cut right below his hips and pantyhose, several pairs because he was both expecting and hoping that Matt would rip them. Every time he changes, he gets Foggy on his back and touches him everywhere but where he wants to be touched until Foggy’s begging and arching underneath him with his erection trapped under nylon.
The best sex of Foggy’s life and one pair of pantyhose completely trashed later, Matt holds him close and says, “Holy shit.”
“Yeah,” Foggy agrees, laughing breathlessly. Matt laughs, too, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.
“You’re—god, Fog, you’re amazing,” he says. “I can’t believe I get to have this with you. With you.”
“You can’t believe it?” Foggy asks. “I’m still not convinced that this isn’t one long beautiful, surprisingly kinky dream.”
“All real,” Matt promises.
They lie quietly, both half-asleep, before Foggy asks, “Hey, Matt, are you my boyfriend?”
“I—assumed so,” Matt says, amused. “Are you mine?”
“Yeah,” Foggy says, smiling. “I am.”
*
A couple of weeks later, when he’s got enough spare time, Foggy spends what feels like forever shaving his whole body. Halfway through, he takes a break to text Marci and apologize for society enforcing this on women and she replies pics or it didn’t happen.
When he’s finished and dried off, he reaches down to run his fingers from his ankle to his knee and his breath catches.
Matt’s going to love this. |
“You – you’re pregnant?” Killian stutters, voice going up in pitch in the middle of the word pregnant like it’s a foreign language to him.
It’s kind of a foreign language to her.
“Well I don’t know, Killian,” she bites out even if he doesn’t deserve her callousness. She hasn’t had a lot of time to process this, but she’s had a little bit more time than him. “That’s what the test is for.”
He doesn’t say anything else, just gets out of the car with this glazed over look in his eyes and walks into the store like he’s moving on auto-pilot. Emma handled that with all of the grace someone should when telling the father of their potential baby that they’re going to be a potential dad.
Of course, there is the possibility that he doesn’t realize it may be his baby. Obviously he knows that they slept together. Neither of them were drunk, having only had a max of two drinks each, so he definitely hasn’t forgotten the fact. But he’s only known her for all of two months, and she did sleep with him on the day she met him. For all he knows she does that all the time, and it could be anybody’s baby.
But it’s not. It’s his.
If she actually is pregnant. A part of her is still holding onto the fact that maybe she isn’t while an even tinier part of her that’s starting to get larger every minute she waits for Killian to come back hopes that she is.
Killian returns fifteen minute later with a bag bursting with pregnancy tests and what looks like a few bottles of water.
“Did you buy the whole aisle?”
“I didn’t know which kind was best,” he answers, self-deprecating smile tugging at the corners of his lips even as his eyes dart all over her body like he’s scared to look her in the eyes. She doesn’t blame him. “And I got some water because, you know, you have to pee to use them. I didn’t want you to be lacking anything. And also some kind of chocolate bar that was at the counter. I don’t know why. I just kind of grabbed it.”
“That’s very sweet of you,” she tells him, placing her hand on his forearm and squeezing, giving him the best smile she can, even if she’s tight-lipped and doing everything she can not to have a meltdown in the parking lot of a CVS. “Is Liam at work?”
Killian tilts his head at her, squinting his eyes in confusion as his right brow rises to the top of his forehead. “Why do you care where Liam is?”
“Because I need to take these tests, and I’m not going to do it at my parents’ house. And I don’t really want anyone else to be around when we find out if we’re going to have a baby or not.”
Emma knows that logically, Killian pretty much knew he was the hypothetical father. She’s already been through this while waiting on him. He’s a smart guy. He can put together the pieces, but with his eyes blown wide and his breath laboring, she realizes that it didn’t truly hit him until that last sentence.
“Okay,” he breathes out as he puts the car in drive, pulling out of the CVS parking lot and driving back to Liam’s house like a man on a mission.
They’re silent on the drive, but Killian keeps looking over at her as she drinks one of the water bottles. He’s going to drive off the road if he doesn’t start keeping his focus between the lines, so she just gabs his right hand and holds it against her leg, squeezing every time he looks over to her to try to let him know that everything is going to be fine, even if she’s not sure that’s the truth. Eventually, he’s only doing it every other minute instead of every thirty seconds, and that’s progress, she guesses.
When they get to the house, Emma waits for Killian to unlock the front door before she makes her way up the stairs to the guest bathroom knowing that Killian is following right behind her with the plastic bag full of pregnancy tests.
“I’m going to go pee on some sticks, and then I’m going to come out into the hallway and wait with you, okay?”
“Okay.”
Three minutes and fourteen seconds later, with a hell of a lot of telling herself to breathe in between, Killian and Emma are staring at four different pregnancy tests that all read variations of positive or pregnant or have two pink lines. Basically, they’re all screaming you’re having a baby at the two people sitting on the hallway floor of the home that neither of them technically live in.
“Well, at least we know the conception date without any question.”
Emma looks over at him, and he just shrugs, cheeky smile on his face as he wiggles his eyebrows at her, and she begins to laugh hysterically, giggles running through her body as she leans forward to place her head against her knees. Leave it to Killian to make her laugh when she should be having a panic attack. Maybe she is having one and just doesn’t know it.
Better here than the CVS.
“What the hell are we supposed to do, Killian?” she finally asks when she’s calmed down from her laughing fit and is able to think a bit more clearly.
“Well I supposed we’re going to have a baby.”
He says it so simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the entire world, that she almost believes it. But it’s not the easiest thing in the world. It’s one of the most difficult, and it’s not like the two of them are married. Hell, they’re not even together. This is just a mess.
“Killian, do you even hear yourself?” She slaps her legs, red marks appearing before quickly fading away, and leans her head back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling. Liam needs to touch it up with some paint…is this already that nesting thing that people talk about? “What are we going to do? I’m a waitress at a seafood restaurant who can’t even stomach the smell of seafood. I live with my parents. You live with your brother. Oh God,” she sobs out, hand covering her mouth, “Killian you don’t even live here. You’re going to have to go back to Maine, and I’m going to have to raise the baby by myself. I can’t do this by myself.”
Her body starts to shake with her sobs, giant alligator tears streaming down her face as Killian pulls her into his side, running his hand up and down her arm as he whispers soothing words into her hair, placing kisses at her hairline every now and then to punctuate a point.
“Emma, love,” he finally says when she’s stopped crying and moved to rest in his bed across the hall, “You’re not going to be by yourself. I’m going to move here. I was thinking about it already, and it’s not like I don’t have an office here. I’ve been working there all summer. So that settles that. I’m not going to leave you or this child.” He’s putting his thumb against her chin, lifting her face to make sure she looks into his eyes. “I need you to understand that.”
Emma just moves to rest flat on her back, arm thrown over her eyes wondering how in the world this happened? What’s that saying? Broken condoms, broken dreams.
Not that this feels like it’s a broken dream. It’s overwhelming and terrifying and really kind of a messed up situation, but she’s going to have a baby. It’s not something she ever really wanted for herself, but she now realizes that may have been a result of who she was with and not wanting to have a baby with him rather than not wanting to have a baby at all.
But this is still complicated and messy and she doesn’t know what to do.
“Killian,” she finally responds, not bothering to uncover her eyes to look at him, “you have to think these things through. You can’t just make snap decisions. Your life is in Portland. Are you really going to up and move to Florida of all places because your one-night stand ended up pregnant? Aren’t you going to end up resenting me or, God forbid, resenting the baby for taking you away from all of that? From your life?”
Before she knows it, her arm is being removed from its place on her face, and all she can see is blue. She hopes the baby has his eyes. And wow, not the time to be thinking that.
“First of all,” Killian begins, voice even as he stares down at her from his place sitting next to her at the edge of the bed, “if my entire life was in Portland, why would I have gone away from it for three months?”
“To visit your brother?”
“Aye,” he confirms, rubbing his thumb against her palm in soothing circles, “but I could have done that for a week. Instead I arranged a way for me to work from here and planned on staying for a quarter of a year. I didn’t have anything left there, but I have a lot here.”
“Yeah, your brother and your one-night stand and an unplanned baby.”
“Second of all,” he continues, still tracing random patterns against her skin that send tingles through her entire body and how she didn’t notice that her hormones are all fuzzy is beyond her, “you’re not just a one-night stand and you know it. You’re my friend and someone who I deeply care about, so I’m going to need you to stop saying you’re my one-night stand, yeah?”
How the hell is this guy so calm? Any other guy would be running away as quickly as possible in this situation. Killian is not any other guy, a tiny voice inside her head whispers. And she knows that voice is right, and she knows that Killian really is her friend, but that doesn’t make her feel any better or any less dramatic right now.
“And third of all, it’s not an ideal situation, but is it awful for me to say that I’m kind of excited to have a child?”
She looks over at him for the first time since he made her move her arm, and he looks so goddamn hopeful. He looks like he’s trying to hide that hopefulness, but it’s shining through, timid smile pulling at the corners of his lips.
“No,” she sighs, sitting up and grabbing onto his hand, “because I’m kind of excited too.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay so,” he begins, soft smile still on his lips, “we just take a few days and keep it between us, let it sink in, go to the doctor to double check, and then we talk about how we’re going to tell our families because I’m assuming your parents don’t know that we slept together.”
A soft chuckle passes through her lips. “I’m pretty sure my dad thinks that I’m still twelve, so I’m thinking that he’s going to hate you for a little while.”
“Dave?” he laughs, like she wasn’t being deadly serious in her last statement. “Hate me? No way.”
“Since when do you call my dad Dave?”
“We talk. Our offices are across the street from each other.”
What is her life? This is insane. This is all insane. Her one-night stand…nope, sorry, wrong term. Her friend who she happened to have really good sex with, which is totally not the point currently, is now the father of her baby. And the father of her baby is also apparently friends with her father. But not the same kind of friends he is with her. Oh no, the world friend is going to have a totally different meaning in her mind now.
So no one told you life was going to be this way, indeed.
She just throws her head back down on the bed, the mattress bouncing a little at the force of it. “Killian?”
“Yes, love?”
“Will you go get your laptop and bring it up here so that we can watch a movie or something?”
“Of course.”
When Killian returns with his laptop, he crawls into bed behind her, tentatively wrapping his arm around her waist and resting his hand on her still-flat stomach. She doesn’t acknowledge the gesture at first, just looks for something to watch, and when she settles on Mamma Mia ironically enough, she shuffles back into him and rests her hand on top of his, the two hands connected and resting on the place where their child is growing.
After making a doctor’s appointment and confirming the next week that she is, indeed, nine weeks pregnant, they decide to tell Liam first. It’ll be easier, and she needs easier right now. This morning sickness thing sucks. And it sucks that it’s called morning sickness because that’s a lie. It’s all the damn time. She’s still tired all of the time, the sudden withdrawal of coffee not helping, and she had to quit her job because they wouldn’t give her the week off and she couldn’t handle the smells. So now she’s jobless and pregnant and lives with her parents who don’t know she’s jobless or pregnant. It’s the dream.
When they tell Liam, he thinks they’re joking. Literally asks them seventeen separate variations of are you guys joking or how drunk were you when the two of you came up with this plan? Not drunk actually, she thinks. But she doesn’t say that. Nope, she does very little of the talking while Killian tries to convince Liam that they’re being deadly serious. He still doesn’t believe them, and every person in this room has stubbornness running through their veins.
Finally Killian gets frustrated and storms upstairs, stomping back down with heavy steps a minute later with a little gray photo that doesn’t actually show anything because the baby is too small, but it’s enough to convince Liam that they’re telling the truth, his jaw slacking open, and Emma’s not sure it’s not going to hit the floor.
“I didn’t know the two of you were seeing each other.”
“We’re not.”
“Oh, well I didn’t know the two of you were sleeping with each other.”
“We’re not.”
The jaw definitely hits the floor then, confusion etched across his face, and when Emma tells him how far along she is, she can see the gears turning in his head. Despite the fact that Killian is a thirty-two year old man and is in charge of his own life, she already knows that Liam is going to scold Killian when she goes home and leaves the brothers alone. She’s always thought Liam acted a bit fatherly to Killian, but it wasn’t until she asked Killian if they would have to tell his parents that he told her neither of them were around – dad left, mom died – and that Liam was more of a father to him than anything, despite only being three years older.
Once the confusion clears and Liam understands, he rises from his seat to hug Emma, whispering in her ear that she’s good for Killian and then more loudly telling her that she’s going to be a wonderful mother, much better than Killian will be as a father. The last part is a joke, but Killian’s face contorts, just the tiniest bit, unnoticeable if you’re not looking, but Emma was looking, and she makes a mental note to address that later. It’s probably not her place, but he needs to know that even after only knowing him for a little over two months, she’s sure that he’ll be a wonderful father.
That time comes a few days later. She’s jobless now, but since her parents don’t know that, she has to find a way to leave the house in the few hours when her mom is home after school when Emma is usually at work. The beach seems to be her favorite of her hiding places, lounging on a towel in the sand with a book resting on her stomach and sunglasses perched on her nose.
“Care for some company?”
She looks up to see Killian standing above her, clad in only seersucker swim trunks. They look almost out of place on him, but she knows that the shops around here don’t really sell anything in dark colors. Her bikini is black, and she had to order it online to get it.
She doesn’t say anything, just sits up and scoots forward, indicating that he can sit behind her, legs on either side of her body. When he settles behind her, she leans back to rest her head on his lap, arms stretched out on his thighs as she curls her fingers around the hair there.
“Are you feeling better than this morning?” Killian asks her, gathering her loose hair together to play with the strands at the nape of her neck. It feels so goddamn good, and she wants him to do that for the rest of the day.
“Mhmm,” she sighs, closing her eyes at his touch, “I even ate a regular breakfast.”
His touch stops for a moment. “Poptarts?”
“No,” she answers, pinching his thigh. He doesn’t even flinch. “I had oatmeal and a bowl of fruit. You and baby should be happy.”
“Very,” he tells her, beginning his ministrations on her hair again.
They sit like that for awhile, just lounging on the beach like they don’t have a care in the world. She has a lot of cares, but it feels good to just not worry for a little while. She’s about to fall asleep, she can tell. The sun beating down on her skin and Killian’s fingers running through her hair lulling her into a sense of comfort. He doesn’t have to be, but he’s so caring, so good with her. And that’s when she jerks into alertness, suddenly remembering his pained face at Liam’s joke a few days earlier.
“Killian?”
“Yes, lass?”
“You’re going to be a good dad.”
His hand stills in her hair again, and she reaches back to grab his hand, having to slightly twist her arm to intertwine their fingers. “I can already tell,” she adds on, adjusting her arm a little more so that this position can be comfortable. “You know I’m a little rough around the edges, but you’re so good with me. And you’ve been so good with this whole…situation, much better than I would expect, and I just thought you should know. I think you’re gonna be great.”
He’s silent for a moment, and she wonders if she’s overstepped. They’re friends, and she hates using that word but there’s not really another word to use, so she thinks that it’s okay for her to say things like that. At least she hopes it is.
“Thank you, sweetheart.” Sweetheart, that’s a new one. She kind of likes it, but no one’s ever going to know that but her. “You’re going to be great as well.”
When she’s ten weeks and six days – it’s really easy to keep track when you know the baby was conceived on June first – she gets tired of lying to her parents and having to go out to random places around town to fake going to work. She’s tried to find another job, but everything that she’s qualified for isn’t hiring. She’ll just have to keep looking because she needs money and, you know, health insurance. And it’s on this sixth day of the tenth week that after emptying herself into the toilet for what felt like hours, she decides she doesn’t want to go anywhere today. It’s a Saturday so both of her parents are home, and she knows that Killian isn’t working today. It’s probably their best opportunity, so Emma texts him and asks him to come over for an early lunch.
She’s helping her mom make some salad to go along with the chicken David is grilling outside when Killian knocks on the front door. Emma tells her mom that she’ll get it, putting down the knife she was using to chop up cucumbers.
“Hi,” she greets when she opens the door. He’s wearing a light blue button-down tucked into a pair of dark wash jeans. Meanwhile she’s in yoga pants and a tank top, not even having bothered to brush her hair or put on a bra. “You look nice.”
“Thanks, love,” he accepts her compliment, scratching behind his ear. He’s nervous. He’s dressed up because he’s nervous. It’s cute, she thinks, but he’s probably also right to be nervous. She is, too, her stomach rolling for a whole other reason than her hormones being all out of whack.
“He’s not going to murder you, Killian,” she soothes as she grabs his forearm and guides him into the house. “This isn’t the 1950’s, and I don’t have to ask my father for permission to leave the house once the sun sets.”
A light chuckle leaves his lips, a little breath of air following it. “I still managed to get their daughter pregnant after knowing her for less than twelve hours.”
“Hey,” Emma turns to him, stopping him in the foyer out of the view of the kitchen, “my parents are some of the most understanding people I know. I abandoned them for eight years and just showed up one day, and they accepted me with open arms.”
“You’re their daughter, and they love you.”
“And you, mister, are the father of their grandchild, so they’re going to love you, too.”
The giant elephant in the room lets out a loud roar at that, the fact that the two of them don’t even love each other glaringly obvious in light of her words. They’re friends, and while Killian causes butterflies to flutter in her stomach, and has been causing them since she met him, she’s got other things to focus on right now. She doesn’t need to focus on her relationship or lack thereof with the father of her baby. This is weird. This is all so weird.
“Emma, who was at the door?” her mother yells from the kitchen, and when she looks at Killian, he just nods his head and smiles.
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
Emma walks into the kitchen first, Killian’s hand lightly placed on her lower back like it’s not even there, just a hairsbreadth of a touch, but it is there. Mary Margaret’s surprised to see him, eyes going wide before she rearranges her face to look normal, asking him if he’d like to butter the bread to put in the oven. That’s what he’s doing when David comes inside, plate of grilled chicken breasts in his hand. He doesn’t even bat an eyelash at Killian being in the kitchen, just smiles and pats him on the back. Emma hopes he still feels that way in about an hour
The four of them sit down to eat lunch, and it’s normal, all things considered, conversation flowing among them. When there’s a lull in the conversation, Killian reaches over to squeeze Emma’s knee, their signal that it may be time. They planned out a way to do this, things to say and the order in which to say them. It’s just…Emma’s never been very good at following a plan.
“I’m pregnant.”
Forks and knives stop clanging against the glass of the plates, and when she looks up from where she was staring at Killian’s hand on her knee, it’s to one pair of green eyes and one pair of blue eyes staring at her. There’s probably also another pair of blue eyes staring at her on her right, but she’s not going to look over there right now.
“You’re pregnant,” David repeats, like he’s testing out the words. Like he’s never heard the English language before. Almost a mirror of the reaction Killian had.
Her mother doesn’t say anything, but Emma can see her lips quivering. And it’s not because she’s about to cry. It’s because she’s trying to hold in a smile, and bless Mary Margaret for being the most optimistic person in the world.
“Yes,” Emma confirms, placing her hand over Killian’s under the table, “I’m eleven weeks pregnant, and in case you need me to spell it out for you, Killian is the dad.”
Mary Margaret finally lets her lips form a smile, while her dad’s mouth hangs open, and much like Liam, she thinks his jaw is going to hit the floor. Apparently one parent did need it spelled out for them.
After they’ve had a minute to think about it, she can see the gears turning in their head, the math being calculated and backdated.
“So are you two together?” Mary Margaret asks while David is still thinking things through. And this was the exact conversation Emma didn’t want to have but knew was coming.
“We’re not,” Killian answers for her, and why did those words cut her when he spoke? “And I’m sure you’re doing the math in your heads and I know this was the part Emma was nervous about, but Emma and I were together on the night I first moved here. And while we’re not together now, we’re friends. We’ve been friends this entire time, and after getting used to the fact that we’re having a child together, we’re both excited. So I guess we were hoping that the two of you could be excited as well.”
“Of course we’re excited!” Mary Margaret squeals, actually clapping her hands together in excitement before getting out of her seat to squeeze Emma in a hug so tight she can’t breathe. “I’m going to be a grandmother!”
“Mom,” Emma gasps, trying to get away, “I can’t breathe.”
“Oh!” her mother exclaims, pulling back and placing her hands on the sides of Emma’s face, cradling her cheeks and looking at her with something that looks like awe in her matching green eyes. “I just can’t believe my baby is having a baby.”
“Are you going to be like this the entire time?”
“Oh, even worse, sweetheart. I’ve waited my entire life for this.”
A laugh that sounds more like a sigh passes through Emma’s lips, and that’s when she remembers that her father and Killian are still in the room. David is just sitting in his chair staring at his plate, and Killian is furiously scratching behind his ear looking at her for some kind of help. She squeezes his shoulder for reassurance.
“Dad?” Emma prods, making her way to squat next David’s chair, placing her hands on his forearm. “Are you okay?”
He doesn’t say anything at first, but he does eventually look over at her, tears shining in his eyes and she’s not sure if these tears are good or bad. “Are you happy, Emma?”
It throws her. Very rarely has anyone asked her if she was happy, and she doesn’t quite know what to say, even if she is happy. Her hormones are bouncing around the inside of her like a pinball machine gone haywire, but she still knows that she is happy, despite all of the other conflicting emotions bouncing around.
“Yeah,” Emma tells him, reaching up to wipe the tear that’s fallen from his eye, “I’m happy…are you?”
A chuckle passes David’s lips before he grabs Emma’s hand, clasping it tightly. “I’m very happy, and I’m excited that you two are having a baby and that I’m going to be a granddad. It’s just a lot to take in.”
“You’re telling me,” Emma jests, rolling her eyes, “but I think we’ll all be able to handle it…Oh, also, I need to find a new job. I can never smell sea food again.”
Later that day, Emma, Killian, and Emma’s parents are sitting in the living room with the television on in the background. Mary Margaret has baby fever, apparently, and she’s gotten out every photo album the Nolans own, telling Killian the story behind each and every photo. It’s embarrassing, but it’s sweet. And Killian is taking it all in stride, looking over at her with a smile on his face and laughter in his eyes every time there’s a particularly unflattering or funny picture of her.
“You were very cute in middle school, love,” he teases, looking at a picture of her with braces and frizzy hair dressed in one of those tight striped Abercrombie t-shirts with light-wash flare jeans. How anyone ever thought that was a good look is beyond her.
“Hey now,” she chastises, poking him in the side as he laughs, “your child could look like that, so I wouldn’t make fun of me too much.”
His laughter dies down as he contemplates her with a serious stare, like he’s trying to decide if he should make his next move or not. He must decide to go for it because he’s tugging her to his side and placing a lingering kiss on her temple, shocks running through her entire body. “I hope the little lad or lady looks like you, middle school years and all.”
It’s one of the sweetest things anyone has ever said to her, and that might say more about who Emma has surrounded herself with in the past than anything else, but a blush still rises on her cheeks and butterflies still take flight in her stomach. Of all the people in the world who could have ended up being her accidental baby daddy, she’s glad that it’s Killian Jones.
The next week, her dad tells her there’s a job opening as a secretary at the police station, and it may very well be the last job she wants – besides serving sea food – but it pays okay, there’s health insurance, she works with her dad, and she works across the street from Killian. So all in all, it’s not a bad option. She’s always enjoyed talking about her dad’s work with him, and she’s not going to be a secretary forever.
This week also means that she’s twelve weeks along, and she swears her stomach has a slight bump. It could also depend on how much she’s eaten or what time of the day it is. But on Wednesday morning when she knows Killian is in the office, she waits outside for him before work carrying a cup of coffee and a hot chocolate despite the September heat.
“Well to what do I owe the pleasure, love?” he asks, strolling up to the office in a pair of navy pants and light blue checkered button-down. He looks attractive, and it’s not just her hormones telling her that. She’s attracted to her baby daddy, and while that may seem like the normal course of events, it’s not in this case.
“I wanted to show you something,” Emma answers, handing him his coffee. He mumbles a thanks and then raises his eyebrow, nodding at her cup. “It’s hot chocolate thank you very much.” He’s been reading baby books since they found out, and he’s always watching to make sure her caffeine consumption is minimal. Normally she would find it patronizing, but she specifically asked him to keep track after she found herself forgetting that she had to be careful about it.
“Is the coffee what you wanted to show me?’ He looks happy this morning, blue eyes brightened against the colors of his outfit.
“No,” she answers, distracted by him, and maybe a little bit of it is the hormones. “I like this outfit on you. You should wear it more often.”
She honestly can’t believe she said it, but his cheeks flush just the slightest bit red under his tan and his stubble so she doesn’t feel too awkward about it. She does feel the slightest bit awkward when she goes to adjust the collar of his shirt. She’s pretty sure when they say your body isn’t your own when you’re pregnant, they don’t mean it this way.
“Thank you, love,” he answers bashfully, looking down at her and tucking a piece of hair behind her ear when she’s fixing his shirt. When she looks up, their faces are so close that if she were to stand on her toes, she could kiss him. And if she remembers correctly, he’s very good at that.
It’s that thought that reminds her what she wanted to show him, what that kissing led to the last time. “Oh,” she exclaims, clapping her hands against his chest, “I think you can see my belly a little bit!”
He looks so excited, blue eyes going wide as his eyebrows go up, bright smile on his face. “That’s fantastic, sweetheart.”
“Do you want to see?”
“Out here?”
And that’s the flaw in her plan she didn’t exactly think through. She can’t exactly lift her shirt up in the middle of the business district at eight thirty in the morning.
“Maybe in your office?”
He just nods his head, opening up the building door for her and walking in behind her, hand on the small of her back guiding her to his office. It’s only really a half wall, somewhere in between a cubicle and an actual office, but it’ll work well enough for this purpose.
Once they’re in the office…office-adjacent, she lifts her shirt up to expose her bare stomach, looking up at him with expectant eyes.
“You look exactly the same.”
It’s not what she was expecting, and she won’t lie, she’s kind of disappointed in his reaction. She feels tears start to prickle in her eyes, and she’s not going to cry because Killian can’t see the baby bump she’s not even sure she can see when she looks. She looks up to try to blink the tears away, not wanting to seem like some kind of crazy, unstable woman.
“Oh don’t cry, sweetheart,” he pleads, moving to pull her to him, wrapping his arms around her as she buries her head in his chest. She’s not crying, she swears. “I’m sure that the baby bump is there. You’re just so slight, and I don’t see you every day so I’m not going to notice day-to-day changes. But if you see it and if you’re excited about it, I know it’s the most adorable little baby bump I’ve ever seen.”
So Killian can’t see the baby bump that week, but when he picks her up for her ultrasound exactly eight days later, he can. She’s not ready when he pulls up to the house, so he comes inside, making his way to her room only for him to find her standing in front of her mirror in just her jeans and her bra.
He can also see that her boobs are significantly bigger than they normally are, and she laughs when she can tell that Killian is doing his best to look at both her eyes and her stomach while avoiding what’s in between. She has to tell him it’s okay. They’ve got the weirdest relationship in the world, and him trying not to stare at her breasts is probably the least of her concerns, especially when he walks over to her and places his hand on her stomach, covering basically her entire front. His skin is warm contrasted to the cool of hers, but nothing compares to the heat of his lips when they touch her cheek, his teeth showing in a smile when he pulls back.
Everything is fine with the baby at the appointment, and everything is fine as the weeks progress.
Emma continues working during the day, and she’s never been so giddy as she is when she realizes that her morning sickness has subsided. She still hates most of the food she used to love, but she’ll take that any day as long as she can keep the food she does eat down. She and Killian spend most of their nights together, most of them discussing plans for the baby but some of them just spending time to get to know each other a little better.
If she falls asleep at Liam’s house, Killian doesn’t sleep on the couch in his room anymore, instead crawling into bed with her. And they’re crossing so many lines of whatever it is that they are that she’s not really sure what’s up and what’s down when it comes to the two of them.
“So I found a house,” Killian admits on a Saturday in October, taking a sip of his second cup of coffee as he shuffles through news articles on his phone. As much as Emma isn’t ready for her baby quite yet, she really wants to be able to drink massive quantities of caffeine again.
They’ve talked about this more times than Emma would care to count. It stresses her to no end, not knowing what they’re going to do with the whole living situation. Killian made it clear that he would be getting his own place, not wanting to weigh Liam down with the responsibility of his brother and a newborn. Liam’s a single man who has his own life, and it’s not fair to him, no matter his protests. Emma, however, is not getting her own place, her parents insisting that it’s more sensible for her to stay at home with them.
So they’ve got places to live but no clear realization of how they’re going to handle the baby and its living situation. Neither of them have any experience with newborns, so Mary Margaret suggested that Killian stay at the Nolan household for at least the first few months because “it takes a village” after all. Emma’s entire life is up in the air, but this is a new normal she’s learning to adjust to.
“Yeah?” Emma asks from her position on the couch, stretched out so much that Killian is sitting on the floor in front of her, arm stretched back to rest on her thigh.
“Mhmm,” he mumbles, taking another sip of his coffee. “Would you like to go look at it with me today?”
“That sounds nice.”
The house ends up being in her parent’s neighborhood, just a block away, and she’s sure that’s why this is the first house Killian’s asked her to come look at with him. It actually reminds her of her house, same white siding with oversized windows and an open floor plan that just screams beach house at you.
There’s three bedrooms, and when Killian tells her it’s one for you, one for me, and one for the baby, she feels tears pooling in her eyes because the amount of thought he’s put in his house search is more than she would have expected. He’s more than she’s expected.
What’s also more than she expected is the first time she feels the baby move. She’s at work twiddling her thumbs because it’s not like there’s a lot of traffic coming through the Seaside police department, and she feels a little flutter in her stomach. Well, flutter is the wrong word. It feels more like a fish is flopping around in there.
The fish stays flopping until the weeks progress and the fish starts to feel more like a kick or a punch than anything else. A welcome punch, but a punch all the same.
They find out they’re having a girl the week of her twenty-seventh birthday, and she’s not saying that Killian cries in the exam room, but he definitely does. She’s learned a lot about him over the months they’ve known each other, but the most surprising thing is that he’s a big sap.
And the man is gone for their little girl.
His little love, as he says.
By the time the Christmas season rolls around and she’s almost seven months pregnant, she is ready to have her little girl. Terrified because she’s learned far too much about what actually happens when you give birth and then what happens after (the movies totally lie to you), but also ready to meet her child. Plus, her feet have gotten to that swollen state where she can’t wear her favorite boots, but at least she’s heavily pregnant in the winter and not the summer because she wouldn’t survive having to wear anything other than leggings and stretchy sweaters.
In the years that she was away, living some kind of false life that was no life at all in Boston, she hated the holiday season. She hated the constant music and the decorations and people asking if she was going home to be with her family. She didn’t even have a Christmas tree. Neal never wanted one, and for some reason she just let things like that slide, always following what he wanted instead of doing things for herself.
This year, though, she’s sitting on the kitchen counter, Killian having helped her up there, while he and her mom make dinner, Liam and her dad in the living room hanging wreaths on the windows. Mary Margaret has taken this whole having her daughter home for Christmas thing to a new level compared to last year. She knows it’s because she’s pregnant and her mother is somehow also doing the whole “nesting” thing. Emma wakes up almost every day to her mom having bought something else for the baby. Sometimes she’ll find Mary Margaret sitting on her bed in the morning just running her hand across Emma’s forehead. It’s sweet, but it’s also extremely creepy. She once did it when Killian was staying over, and he refuses to sleep in her room without locking the door from now on.
“Do you want the gravy on your potatoes or not, love?”
“I can fix my own plate, Killian.” Sometimes he coddles her, which she has definitely taken advantage of a few times, but sometimes it’s just ridiculous and makes her want to slap him upside the head. She’s not helpless. She’s just pregnant.
He doesn’t say anything, just walks over to her and kisses her cheek, hand resting against her stomach. “I’m only asking because I was going to go ahead a pour it in the serving bowl and didn’t know if you were amenable to gravy or not today.”
“Oh,” she mumbles. “Then I guess gravy.”
“Good to know.”
The rest of the night the now family of five (almost six) sits around the television watching Christmas movies, the glow of the Christmas tree lights enveloping the room. Mary Margaret prefers the Hallmark movies, but there’s nothing like National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation to get Emma in the Christmas spirit. Killian laughs and makes comments in all the right places, enthusiasm on his face the entire time, and that’s when she realizes he’s never seen the movie before. It’s tradition in her house. They have the moose mugs and everything, so it feels kind of like a right of passage for Killian to join the family, so to speak.
That night they’re in bed, Emma trying to get comfortable, when Killian leans over and starts kissing her belly through the flannel of her pajama top. It’s something he’s done before, but tonight seems different.
“Can you believe that next Christmas you’ll be here with us, little love?”
The baby always moves when he talks to her stomach like that, almost a daily thing now with the stories he regales Emma and baby with. She knows her dad’s voice, and it’s Killian’s way of bonding with her.
Emma just reaches down to run her hands through the hair at Killian’s forehead, causing him to look up at her. “Merry Christmas, Killian.”
The new year passes, January fading to February, and by the time mid-February rolls around, she’s ready to smack every single person who passes her on the street and tells her she looks like she’s ready to pop. She is about to pop, just not in the way everyone expects.
Time is passing at a glacial pace, especially since she’s on maternity leave from work, and when she’s one week past her due date she thinks that she’s never been so miserable in her entire life. She goes for a walk twice a day, eats spicy food, anything to try to induce labor. At one point she asks Killian if he’d be willing to have sex with her because she is so desperate to just have the baby that she’d do anything. He just laughs at her, leaning down to kiss the side of her head, but she knows she’s not imagining it when he pulls back and there’s red painting his cheeks.
Exactly thirteen days after her due date at a little before three in the morning, she feels her first contraction, and to put it simply, it sucks. It sucks, and every person who told her this was a magical experience is a liar.
“Killian,” she yells, rolling herself off the bed to make her way to his room down the hall. They’d been staying at his house the past few days because she couldn’t sleep anywhere other than that bed by herself. If Killian even tried to slip into bed next to her, his body heat alone would be too hot for her to be comfortable. “Killian!”
By the time she makes it to the hallway, he’s stumbling out of his room, pulling on a pair of jeans over his boxers. “Is it time, sweetheart?”
“It’s time.”
Emma Nolan has known Killian Jones for nine months thirteen days and a few hours. Emma Nolan also has a squirming, red-faced newborn baby girl with Killian Jones named Finley Hope Jones who she loves more than everyone told her she would. It’s not a conventional path, how she got here, but she wouldn’t change it for anything.
The first few months are rough, to put it simply. Finley doesn’t sleep well, and when she does sleep, it’s when Emma wants her to be awake. Her mom was right in having them stay at her parents’ house because as great as Killian is with the baby, there are times when all Emma wants is her mom to be there with her. Her body doesn’t feel like her own sometimes, just like it’s a feeding machine for Finley, and it doesn’t matter how old she gets, sometimes a girl just needs her mom to be there with her.
Plus, it does things to her to see Killian holding their daughter, and sometimes she just needs a break from that.
When three months have passed her maternity leave runs out, and she finally understands what everyone is talking about. You so desperately want to get out of the house while also being heartbroken over leaving your baby. She hasn’t been away from Finley for more than a few hours when Killian takes her out to go get something to eat just so that she can have a conversation that’s about something other than a baby’s eating habits.
“I just don’t want to leave her,” Emma moans, trying on a pair of her pre-pregnancy jeans to see if she can get them zipped up as Killian walks Finley back and forth, humming something under his breath. “How did you do it?”
“I didn’t really have a choice, love,” Killian tells her, moving to sit on the bed so that he can look at her while they have this conversation. “And I definitely didn’t like it. I pretty much stared at my phone for updates from you all day long for two weeks straight. I don’t know how I didn’t get bloody fired.”
She doesn’t respond to him, remembering the time when he would text or call her at every opportunity he could, finding ways to come home early every day even if it meant pushing back a potential sale. God forbid he ever had to go out of town to meet a client because that always ended in him clinging to Finley the night before, giving up his own sleep to just run his fingers over her peach fuzz while he whispered how daddy loves her until she fell asleep. Not that Emma could blame him or judge. The only reason she wasn’t clinging to Finley right now was because Killian was holding her while she got ready for tomorrow.
She shimmies the jeans up past her hips, managing to get them over her ass and buttoned without too much work. They don’t fit her like they used to, which is disheartening, but she can get them zipped at least.
“You’re a hot mama in those jeans, sweetheart,” Killian praises, and when she turns from the mirror to look at him she finds him perusing her, eyes raking over the fit of the jeans and the lack of a top besides her bra. It both makes her blush from flattery and embarrassment over not looking like she used to. Logically she knows it’s not something to be ashamed of, but sometimes logic doesn’t win.
Right now, though, she’s mostly concerned with hiding the red on her cheeks from Killian’s compliment and subsequently checking her out. She’s not going to lie and say that she doesn’t have feelings for Killian. She most definitely does. When she was pregnant, she thought she might jump his bones on a daily basis. Now that she’s blocked out the whole having a human being come out of her body thing (not really, that’s never going to go away, but it was worth it), she thinks that not having someone to relieve the tension and frustration she felt all throughout her second trimester and a little bit into her third was the most difficult part of pregnancy.
But it’s not just that she’s attracted to him for his looks. She’s attracted to him for who he is as a person. She’s always known that they were compatible, similar enough to have things in common while being different enough to have things to talk about. They get along like she’s never gotten along with anyone, so the natural course of action would be to date right?
Seems simple enough when you love someone – and she does love him – but then you add in the not so simple fact that they have a child together. Anything they do relationship wise affects their daughter, and nothing has held Emma back more than that. It’s not just the two of them. It’s the three of them. Finley will already grow up with her parents apart. The last thing she needs is for her parents to have a stilted relationship because her mom went and told her dad that she loved him when he didn’t feel the same way.
And there’s always the possibility that Killian could feel the same way – he most likely does not – but if love has taught her anything in the past, just because you love someone doesn’t mean it’s going to work out.
Besides, why would Killian want to be saddled with her when he could have any other woman in the world?
“Have you ever thought about dating again?” she asks him, the words just falling from her lips like someone else has taken over her body. She’s scared to know the answer, but he doesn’t deserve to have to put his life on hold just because of she and Finley. He hasn’t dated anyone since they met, and he’s an attractive guy. There’s no reason for him not to. “I mean, there’s nothing holding you back. Yeah, you’ve got a newborn, but it’s not like you have saggy boobs and a messed up stomach because of it. And you don’t get the whole stigma of having a kid that women get. You’re a guy. People will think it’s cute that you have a baby. It’ll honestly make you more attractive. So have you thought about it? I don’t want you not to because of us. I want you to be happy.”
He studies her for a moment, jaw ticking as he debates something in his mind. “Emma, darling,” he begins, not moving from his spot on the bed, Finley asleep in his arms, “I’m going to share something with you, and I need you to promise that you’re not going to freak out, okay?”
She can’t promise that. She’s already freaking out. Is he already dating someone else? Oh god.
“Okay,” she says anyways, like a liar.
“I am happy. Happier than I’ve ever been. Finley is the love of my life. I didn’t know that I could feel that way about someone who can’t even speak to me, but I do. I love her with my entire being. But you know what else?”
He’s staring at her so intensely that the heat of his gaze makes her worry that it might make Finley too hot in his arms. It’s irrational, but she can’t help it.
“What?”
“I also love her mother. And I don’t love her mother simply because she carried my child and nurtures my, our, child. Though, I think a new type of love comes from those things. But I love her…I love you, Emma, for who you are outside of being a mother. I love you for being Emma, and I think I’ve loved you since the night when you first experienced morning sickness, though we didn’t know what it was at the time. It was disgusting and painful and you yelled at me like you never had before. But despite all that, all I could think of was how wonderful you are. How brave and how strong and how beautiful. All I could think was that I didn’t mind taking care of you because I loved you. And I love you still.”
He’s bearing his heart to her, every thought she’s ever wanted to hear, but the words she says in response are not nearly as graceful.
“Even with the saggy boobs?”
“Especially with the saggy boobs.”
“Oh Killian,” Emma cries out, tears falling down her cheeks because even if she hadn’t just heard a declaration of love from him, her hormones still make her cry at even the slightest emotional moment. “I love you, too. Maybe not since the same time as you, and definitely not just because you’re Finley’s dad. But I love you all the same.”
She can’t stop her crying, the tears wetting her cheeks, and when Killian gets up she thinks he’s going to comfort her, wipe away her tears with the pad of his thumb like he always does. He doesn’t, though. He just walks right out her bedroom door with Finley, and Emma’s never been so confused in her life. Didn’t he just say that he loved her? Did he mean just in a friendly way? How could she have screwed up this whole thing in a matter of minutes when she’s worked for almost a year to avoid this very thing?
But then before she knows it, Killian’s walking back into the room, no Finley in his arms, and he’s walking toward her with a purpose she’s only seen in him one time before. Then he’s kissing her, lips warm and pressed hard against her own as his hands cup her cheeks, holding her lips to his like he never wants them to be separated. It takes her a moment to kiss him back, still recovering from her internal freak out a moment before, but then her lips start moving against his, softness she’s been craving. It’s been one year, seventeen days, and one baby since they last did this, and that’s one year, seventeen days, and one baby too long.
At some point she ends up with her back pressed against the mattress, Killian on top of her supporting his weight by his forearms, and as soon as she feels his erection pressing against her thigh, she has to pull back, even if she’d rather do anything else.
“What’s wrong, love?” Killian asks, brows furrowed and lips pursed as he looks down at her, his hips no longer touching hers.
“Um, so as much as I want to do this,” she motions between the two of them before pointing down to his prominent desire, “and as much as I love Finley, and you know, you…” He smiles at that, giving her cheek a quick peck before looking her in the eye again. “…Finley is the welcome result of a broken condom, and while that’s not likely to happen again, I’d like to be on birth control as well. And we probably have some things to talk about, you know?”
They do have things to talk about, and that’s what the next few hours, crying baby interrupting every hour like clockwork, are spent doing, talking out the logistics of the potential of them being together. It’s not romantic, but sometimes – a lot of the time – relationships aren’t. And that’s what they’re trying to be, a couple in a relationship.
She hasn’t had fears of Killian leaving if he gets upset with her in months, but that still lingers at the back of her mind, no matter how many times he reassures her otherwise.
But as the days and the weeks go by, that thought lingers a little less. She likes this, being together with him. She likes that he’ll take any opportunity to kiss her, sometimes grabbing her by the waist and pulling her into another room to plunder her mouth while her giggles turn into moans just because he can. She likes that they take their lunch break at the same time every day so that they can have an hour together with absolutely no other interruptions. She likes that on the days where his hours are shorter, he picks up Finley from daycare and brings her to work so that she can hold her while she answers phones. She likes that on weekends once the weather has cooled to make it safe for Finley, they go to the beach together, their baby covered with that special sunscreen and a hat and a frilly swimsuit that Emma may or may not have bought more than one of. She likes that somehow her room at his house somehow becomes their room at their house without either of them ever really noticing.
She doesn’t like that her baby is growing up without her ever really noticing, even if she watches the girl like a hawk. No, like a mother.
“Killian, she’s getting so big,” she complains one night when Finley is asleep, the child finally sleeping through the night, while she and Killian catch up on all of the TV they’ve been missing, “and I know you’re probably tired of me crying all the time, but I can’t help it. Our baby is basically an adult.”
“She’s not yet seven months, darling,” he comforts her, pulling her into his side and kissing the crown of her head. “But I understand. She’s growing rather quickly. Her hair has a slight curl to it now. It makes me think she might take after Liam.”
Emma just rolls her eyes. Liam has been egging Killian on since Finley was born that she takes after him more than she takes after Killian. It’s a lie, and everyone but Killian seems to realize it. That little girl looks exactly like Killian in everything but the lightness of her hair.
“Do you…do you ever, eh –” Killian begins, stopping before he ever really starts.
“Do I what?”
“Do you ever think about having another?”
She has to turn her head to look up at him, but he’s looking up at the ceiling, avoiding her gaze in the most obvious way.
“I do.”
That gets him to look down at her, blue eyes so intense that she doesn’t understand how she withstands the intensity of his gaze sometimes.
“Not right now, obviously. I want some more time with just her, you know? And also with you. We’ve technically only been together for four months, so I think I might need to wait for us to have another baby. But I do so enjoy practicing with you.”
Killian finally smiles at that, eyes bright as his laugh lines appear, laugh lines she loves so very much.
“In fact,” Emma grins, moving from her spot against his side to straddle his lap, kissing him slowly as her hands play with the hair at the nape of his neck, “I think now would be a really good time to do some of that practicing.”
“Bloody brilliant idea that is,” Killian tells her, before scooping her up and throwing her over his shoulder on his way to their room, the loveable, dramatic ass.
Emma and Killian have done in everything in their life together out of the conventional order. Sleep together, become friends, have a baby, move in together, and fall in love somewhere along the way. It’s messy in every way possible, but it works for them, two people burned by love who somehow found each other in a small coastal town far away from where they’d lived most of their adult lives.
But now they’ve got their families and each other and Finley. Emma’s taking classes to become a deputy with the police station, her dad having put in a good word for her even when she told him not to, and Killian’s continuing working as a boat salesman. He finds that he likes it more when he’s able to buy a boat of his own that he takes them all out on any chance that they get.
Finley has a life vest fit for an almost two year old that Killian may or may not have gotten personalized to say first mate across her chest. Emma took offence that she wasn’t his first mate when she first saw it, but he told her that she had a gemstone on her left hand’s ring finger that indicated that she is a different kind of mate entirely. He’s a ridiculous man who she loves with everything she has, and she’s okay with how things in her life have changed. It’s been for the better.
Their boating adventures become Emma’s favorite family pastime, even more than running around with Finley in the backyard just for Killian to scoop them both up and cause continuous giggles from both of his girls that never seem to fade away from the walls of their home. But out here on the ocean, watching Killian in his element while Finley tells her about all of the animals that live in the sea and the noises that they make, effectively making a screech that’s supposed to be a whale, this is something else entirely. It’s like finally coming home after all of those years of being away.
It helps that she doesn’t get seasick anymore.
Well, she is today. But that’s a story for another time. |
It is early to hunt, but I am hungry and, to be honest, the hunt has lost much of its appeal for me. I am glad that it is likely to be the last time, and want it to be over as quickly as possible.
I find myself wandering along the bank of a river, and I choose to sit at a pavement café, which overlooks the water, for a light lunch.
One of the waiters catches my eye. He is very dark, and I would not be surprised if he has Spanish blood. He smiles at me, with teeth that are very white, contrasting with his flashing chocolate eyes, and raven curls. We flirt during dinner, and when he brings me my coffee, I ask what time he finishes work. Shyly, he volunteers that it will be within the hour, so we arrange to meet near the bridge.
There is a bar nearby, with shady and secluded booths, open to the air at this time of year, and with a wonderful view of the river.
I sip a cold drink and watch the word go by.
As I do so, my attention is caught by a large, black car that pulls into the kerb, at the other side of the road. I can't see what is happening on the other side of the car, but when, a few moments later it screeches off, it leaves a young man scrabbling on the ground for pieces of paper, which are scattered around him. I smile. How interesting.
Leaving my drink, I hurry over to help him. I catch a ten pound note, which has blown into the road, and he flinches defensively when I hand it to him. Hmm... good choice, Luma. The boy is glorious. He is not as beautiful as Aqua but, with his red gold hair, and eyes that are an unusual shade of emerald green, it is close. His face is disfigured by a large ugly bruise, but bruises fade.
I find myself reaching out, to lightly brush the bruise on his face, with my fingers. He shies away.
"It's alright. You don't have to be afraid of me. I was just wondering who would have been so foolish as to mar such beauty, in so ugly and brutal a way."
The boy frowns."It's none of your business."
"You're right. It's not. Your pardon, I was rude and overly familiar. If you are alright, and have recovered what was lost, then I will take my leave, and apologise for bothering you at what is clearly a difficult time for you."
He stops and stares at me. I smile back warmly.
"You know what I am." He says flatly and turns away. I put a gentle hand on his arm. I have no intention of letting him get away, but I would prefer to treat him with gentleness. That way he will settle to the life more easily, and I have a promise to keep.
"You are young and beautiful and in pain. You are lost and hopeless, and you do what you can to live for another day. I think you are strong and brave, and your beauty dazzles me. Will you let me help you?"
He stares at me nervously, for a moment, then sneers. "What can you do to help me?"
"You would be surprised. What would you say if I told you that I could offer you a home, companionship, a warm bed, regular meals, clothes and a chance to study and learn?"
"I would say that you are a liar, and wonder what you really have in mind for me." He looks anxious now, and his eyes are darting around, noting escape routes.
"What I have in mind for you, is exactly what I have said."
"And what would you expect from me in return?"
"No more than anyone else who pays for your services. I will take you into my home, share what I have, and take you to an ecstasy you never imagined existed, and all I ask in return is that you grace my bed when it pleases me."
He stares at me, through narrowed eyes. "How do I know you're not going to hurt me?"
"You don't. But I swear to you that I never will."
He runs his eyes over me, weighing up the way I look, the way I speak, the sincerity in my face, shining through my eyes. He looks scared but desperate, and his fingers rise uncertainly to his cheek.
"I..."
Knowing I have already won, I move closer and cover his hand with mine. He winces, but doesn't pull away. Slowly and gently I take him into my arms. He resists, but not too much. When he is encircled by my arms, he starts to shake and cry.
"Hush now. There is no need to cry. There is no need to cry anymore. You are safe now." He looks up at me with pleading, frightened eyes, which are even more beautiful now they are bright with tears. I smile gently, but he can't return it. He is so frightened. I don't blame him.
Raising my hand, I brush the hair away from his face, and bury my fingers in it. Although it is dirty and tangled, it still feels soft under my hands. The boy shivers, and allows me to tilt back his head, exposing his throat. I ponder my options. I am hungry, but I don't want to feed in the open, in broad daylight. As much as I want it, it is going to have to wait. Instead I run my thumbs down his neck, on either side, releasing a very carefully controlled amount of venom. The boy shudders, and his eyes flicker. I watch awareness and, more importantly will, fade, but not to the point where he is in danger of losing consciousness.
I put my arm around him and steer him gently off the road, towards the bridge. In the shade underneath the bridge, I kiss him and he responds eagerly. He is an accomplished kisser, more so than most of the boys I have taken. I can imagine what he will feel, and smell, like when he is clean, and Chancey has worked his magic.
As he presses against me, I feel his inevitable arousal pressing against my leg. "What do you want, little one? What do you want of me right now?"
"Take me. Take me, please. I... I need..."
"I know what you need," I whisper into his ear, as I press him back against the wall, and start to kiss his neck. "Tell me."
I let my hand trail down to rest on his hip, my thumbs pressing deeply into his abdomen, finding pressure points that make his legs tremble, and his body twitch. He gasps, and throws his head back, giving me even more access to his throat.
"Tell me what you want."
"You," he gasps. "I want you."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Touch me."
"Touch you? Here?" I let one hand wander down to brush his arousal, on the outside of his trousers.
"Yes... yes there..."
"Like this?" He moans, pathetically, as I massage him, and lets his head fall forward onto my shoulder. "You don't get this very often do you? You don't have people pleasuring you."
"No."
"Do you like it, little one?"
"Yes... oh yes." He gives a little cry, as I slip my hand down inside his trousers, and start to massage his hot flesh, with long slow strokes. With my other hand, I stroke his hair, soothing him.
"Do you want me to keep on doing this?"
"Yes," he snaps, anxiously looking up at me, as if expecting me to stop. I don't.
"Do you want me to do this to you many times?"
"Yes." He is hopeful now.
"Every day?"
"Yes."
"And what if I said I would give you this and more, much, much more... what would you give me in return?"
I brush my thumb over his glans, and he groans deeply. "Anything," he gasps. "Anything."
"What about everything?" I ask softly, speeding up my strokes.
"Yes. Yes, everything. Everything I have."
"All I want is you," I murmur, as I press myself against him, leaving room for my hand to speed up. He makes a strained little sound, gasping with anticipation, as he starts to shake and clings to me.
"Ssh now. Ssh, little one. It's going to be alright. It will all be alright."
"Ah...ah..." he gasps as his balls tighten in preparation for release.
When I slide my fangs into his throat, he is already lost; his body pumping with his orgasm, his mind slipping beneath the blanket of my venom. He tastes sweet, very sweet. He is young, possibly the youngest of my boys, late teens at most, and yet I can taste despair in his blood, deep depression and a hopelessness that would have ended his life soon, one way or another. There is sickness there too, diseases that he has picked up through casual sex, and life on the streets. And a deeper, more insidious sickness, that has very, very nearly extinguished his light. That is no problem for me, however. It does not taint the feed, and it will soon be washed from his body by my essence and Chancey's unique talents.
For now, I take a little, enough to slake my thirst and leave him undamaged. Then, I withdraw letting him remain clinging to me, his head on my shoulder.
"What are you?" he whispers, when he is able to speak.
"Your saviour."
"Am I still... as I was?"
"Still human? Yes, and you will remain so, although as long as you are with me, and as long as you receive my blood regularly, you will not age."
"Will you hurt me... kill me?"
"I promise that you will be safe with me."
"What does the promise of a... a... How can I trust you?"
"Because I am a vampire?"
He raises his head and nods anxiously.
"If I had wanted to kill you then you would be dead. I need to feed and I prefer to do it in the throes of pleasure. I do not seek to feed from any one person enough to harm them, and so I maintain a group of boys at my home, from whom I feed in rotation. In the meantime, you are taken care of and are free to love between yourselves, as long as you are always prepared for my needs.
"I will never hurt you, and my venom will provide you with pleasure that you can only imagine. You will be safe, and warm, and cared for. There is plenty of food, a warm bed to sleep in, a doctor to care for you if you are sick. There is a library where you can read..."
"Please don't... don't say any more. I can't bear it. Please... please take me there."
I smile at him and stroke his cheek, where the bruise is already beginning to fade. "In a little while. I have something else to do first. Someone else to collect. Wait for me here."
He grabs my arm, as I turn away. "Promise you will come back."
"I promise."
"You won't leave me, not now?"
I turn back and smile at him. "I promise," I whisper as I kiss him, and breathe into him a little, just enough to cause him to crumple to the ground and sleep... just sleep, until I return for him.
I am sitting back at my table by the time my beautiful Spanish boy arrives. He stands by the table and looks down at me, shyly.
"Please, be seated."
Over drinks I learn that he is, indeed Spanish, working as a waiter to help pay himself through University, where he is in his third year of a degree in medicine. I smile; Chancey will like this one. He informs me, with regret, that he does not have many friends, as his busy life does not leave room for them. This is good. Although it has never bothered me in the slightest that one of my boys might be missed, it is easier to take those who will not be missed and, more importantly, will not have anything or anyone to miss.
As we drink, and I notice that he is careful not to take too much alcohol, I brush his hand with mine often, releasing a tiny amount of my enzyme into his blood. Bit by bit, entirely unnoticed by him, he falls further and further under my thrall. He is genuinely good company; witty, intelligent, bright. He will rail for a while against his situation, but, once he sees the possibilities, he will become enamoured with the opportunity, and will soon appreciate what I can offer him.
Chancey will handle his anger, and by the time I see him again, he will be complacent. I will make sure of it.
After a time, he falls silent, unable to focus on conversation. I move my chair closer to his and slip my arm around his waist. We watch the light on the river together. He rests his head on my shoulder and I stroke his neck. Eventually, he is so intoxicated, not by the alcohol but by me, that he no longer knows where he is, or who he is, or what he wants. He no longer cares.
I murmur close to his ear. "Are you ready to go now?"
"Go? Where?" He is not really curious. His eyes are glazed and he is incapable of rational thought.
I caress his cheek and smile into his eyes. "You are coming home with me. I am going to take care of you now."
He smiles distantly. "Oh. Okay. Is it far?"
"No, not far, not far at all."
I get to my feet and help him to his. He only sways a little. I leave enough to cover our drinks, with a hefty tip, on the table and then, with my arm around his waist, I lead him across the road to the bridge.
"Wait here." I command and then go to collect my other catch, who wakes at a touch, smiling into my eyes and willingly giving me his hand. For once, this makes me sad. What could have happened to this beautiful boy, that he would so willingly throw his life away on someone such as me? He knows. I see in his eyes that he knows and understands, and yet still he comes willingly.
I stroke his hair lovingly, and he looks confused for a moment then tries a hesitant, shaky smile. With my hand in the small of his back, I draw him close and kiss him. Whilst I usually breathe intoxication into my boys, that is not all I can do, and this time I breathe sunshine. When I lift my head he is glowing with it.
"What... what did you do?" he asks, his eyes glazed, not with intoxication but with joy.
"I gave you a taste of what you can expect in your life from now on. You will not have your freedom and you will be subject to my desires, but I am not a harsh master." ('now' I add silently to myself) "I will take care of you and whatever I take from you will be paid for with ecstasy."
His eyes are enormous, mesmerised by my words, and not because I have exerted any control. "I think that you have not had an easy life." He flinches and tries to look away. "That is over now. You are with me and you will be taken care of. No more worries; no more stress; no more struggle. No more lying with sweating old men, exposed to pain and disease by the dregs of this sick society."
He gasps, and shakes his head. "No. I can't. I am... I have... I can't go with you." He half turns away, his face twisted with pain, but I turn him back.
"I know that you are sick. I can heal you."
He shakes his head, sadly, and lets it fall forward in shame. "No one can," he whispers.
"No human can." I correct, and he looks up again with desperate hope in his eyes. "I am not asking you to follow me, so that I can make your last days comfortable, little one. Have I not told you that my blood in your veins will extend your life? It will scour from you any sickness or disease you have and you will not have to suffer for another day."
"But I can't... there's no cure."
I can't help but smile, and ruffle his hair. "You are in no place to understand, little one, but I promise you that if you take a little from me every day, if you let me take from you, then within the week you will be strong and well."
"It is possible for you?"
"It is more than possible for me. Let me show you."
Before he can react, I take his hand and turn it palm upward, then smoothly slide a knife from my belt and slash lightly across it. The cut is shallow, but it makes him cry out in shock.
"Ssh, little one. Trust me."
I raise his hand to my lips, keeping my eyes locked with his shocked ones, and lap at the droplets of blood that are squeezing out of the wound. Gradually I work my tongue up from one end to the other. Then I repeat. By the end of the second time, there is no blood. By the end of the third time there is no wound. He stares at his hand when I release it, turning it over and touching the palm with his fingers.
"Was it real? Was there really a cut there?"
"Did it feel as if there was?"
"Yes... I felt the pain, saw the blood."
"Then it was. And trust me, if I can heal that with just a touch of my tongue, I can heal whatever assails your body." I stroke his temple. "And your mind." He smiles, a completely open smile and nods his head.
"Are you ready to go home?"
"Oh yes. Yes I am."
He follows me up onto the path, where we find my Spanish boy leaning against a lamp post, with his eyes closed, humming a song tunelessly under his breath.
"Who is he?" There is no jealousy in his voice, merely curiosity.
"He is my second catch tonight."
"Is that what I am, a catch?" There is a light teasing tone in his voice, that is so refreshing it makes me smile.
I reach out and stroke his hair. "Oh yes little one, beautiful boy, you are quite a catch."
Supporting the intoxicated Spanish boy, one on each, side; my beautiful boy; whom I name Bridge, much to his amusement; and I meander our way home. It astonishes him when we cross the bridge to find, not the other side of the river but the gate to my estate.
"Where is this?"
"It is my home."
"I know but... where is it?"
"That is not so simple to explain. It is here, but not here, tucked into a fold in the blanket of existence which exists everywhere and nowhere at the same time." I chuckle. "But time has no meaning here. Come and meet your new family."
I hand Bridge and Mario over to Chancey. As I walk away, I turn, to find Bridge staring after me with a look of loss on his face. I smile at him.
"You can trust Chancey, Bridge. He will look after you. I'll see you tomorrow, and every day after that, at least until you are well. This is your home now, and all the boys are your family. They will love you as I do." He smiles brightly and nods, going willingly with Chancey towards the baths.
I have a feeling that he will soon be very much a part of the family and everyone will love him deeply. Somewhere under the pain and distrust, there is a sunny personality, and a truly beautiful soul. I can taste it.
|
Huai'an is a fortunate man: his inn is (relatively) well-maintained, his business is good, and his wife is clever. It is this last part that he likes to brag about the most, when he is a little too far into his drink, because her beauty, her martial skill and aptitude for business are, plainly, almost too good to be true. It is usually at this point that Smiley Yanxiao smacks his back for being too infatuated, or Verr Goldet herself swoops in to finish the last of his drink and leads him back to their rooms.
Yes, Huai'an is quite fortunate indeed.
...well, if there is anything that Huai'an is less pleased about, it would perhaps be his wife's penchant for collecting strays. Stray workers can be trained (especially when they all come with such martial talent), but stray animals are... more concerning.
Wei, the cat that sits upon his wife's reception desk, has the habit of sitting primly when in eye sight, and then promptly getting into mischief when your back is turned. Huai'an replaces many pieces of furniture, their legs scratched and bitten; replaces open boxes with heavy drawers; and eventually, eventually-- he enters an armistice with the feline. Wei squirms atop Verr Goldet's desk, harmless to the innocent furniture during the day, and in the evening the cat deposits itself over Huai'an's face during his sleep. (It’s a work in progress, but it makes his wife laugh. Huai'an will take his victories where he can find them.)
In comparison, Richie is a delight that plays with the guests and knows how to stay out of the kitchen where dogs are not allowed. He never made a mess, and tended to remain on the lower level where he could steal a quick pat from Huai'an or Verr Goldet between customers. Now, Huai'an would never voice his preference to his lovely wife, but surely it was apparent to all involved that of the two creatures, it was Richie who truly brought their inn value.
In retrospect: this was a mistake. If Huai'an had voiced his preference earlier, then perhaps he could have avoided the additional cat that joined their group of strays.
---
It takes a few days before he even realizes that there is a second cat around. It isn't until he notices Wei... well, Wei marking his territory, that Huai'an begins to understand. When he mentions it to Verr Goldet, his stunning, brilliant wife, she tilts her head and says, "Ah, that would be because he doesn't like Xiao."
Huai'an, feeling a small amount of dread that he associates with breathing in cat hair, questions, "Who's Xiao?"
"The cat who lives on the roof," Verr Goldet says, and then taps him aside to help a customer check in.
And so Huai'an finds himself climbing onto the inn's highest roof, chasing a shadow that he thinks is a cat's tail, but instead turns out to be a child's lost toy. A series of small golden trinkets, strung along a length of pink ribbon. It is a lovely thing, and the innkeeper imagines that the guest would be happy to have it returned.
Except, when he reaches out to collect the item, a shadow bursts out from the darkness beneath the rafters, claws unsheathed.
Huai'an may not look it, but he was once a well-renowned martial artist. So in response to the attack, he collects the ribbon swiftly and descends to the eave of the next highest roof. He twists to meet the face of his attacker, lifting his fist to guard his face. An enemy that can come out of the shadows with such speed and malice can only be--
A cat.
The cat is a very handsome feline, Huai'an can admit. Unlike Wei, whose coloring was an ordinary black and white, this cat has coloring that reminds Huai'an of the sky at night. Aside from the splotch of cream that is his face and chest, the rest of the cat is a deep color that shines teal and purple in the sunlight; bright gold eyes stare at Huai'an.
And as he is a cat, and on the inn's roof, this must be the Xiao that is tormenting Wei with his presence alone.
Huai'an moves the ribbon away from his body, and watches the cat's eyes follow. He flicks it forward, letting it arc closer to the creature, and watches a dark paw swipe for the end of it. Throughout it all, the cat does not make a sound, but continues to play with Huai'an and the ribbon. In truth, Huai'an could have tied the ribbon to the rafter and the cat would have enjoyed it all the same.
However, that the cat allowed Huai'an to play with him was already quite a difference from his... previous experiences with cats.
---
Xiao was a wary, distantly affectionate cat. When the innkeeper was on the higher levels of the inn, Xiao would follow him from guest to guest, tucking into the nearest rafter and peering out at him. When he descended to fix the stairs, broken by exuberant guests, the cat would linger on a railing or (more rarely) on the wooden stairs behind him, tail flicking. Yet this shadowing was not to be interpreted as a desire for affection; if Huai'an approached, Xiao would lash out or flee.
Despite his skittishness, the cat was attuned to humans in a way that Wei was not. When the children of guests lost toys or balloons, Xiao would descend from the rooftops to return them; if the child was crying, he would coax them with little mrrw noises until they gave him a rough pat. Xiao would then flee to the rooftops, quickly enough that Huai'an would think he was shy if such a thing could be true. It was probably the cat sulking at his meticulously groomed fur being shoved out of place with snotty hands.
Xiao traversed the different levels of rooftops with ease, tiny body erupting into motion without a sound. He had no interest in the toys that Wei guarded possessively: he turned his nose away from catnip mice and dismantled treat mazes; his teeth tore apart plush animals and he hung string toys from the rafters like warnings not to test his wrath. The only toy he seemed to appreciate was the pink ribbon, whose owner fortunately never came to claim it. (Wei had reluctantly accepted the leftovers, after having peed all over them. Huai'an did not appreciate the smell.)
Xiao was also a hunting cat, in ways that Huai'an had thought was a myth after his time with Wei. However, he did not hunt the birds that nested on and near the roofs of the inn. (In fact, the birds seemed to take advantage of Xiao; as time passed, Huai'an watched the birds meticulously collect Xiao's shedded hair and their previously brown nests took on a distinctly black hue.) In the evenings, Xiao would leap from the rooftops down to the base of the inn, and scurry through the patio and then out to the plains. The first time Huai'an saw it, he regretted that cats could not be taught martial arts; it was clear the small creature had an aptitude for it. The first morning after, when he found a collection of small... corpses... at the entrance to the top floor, like a gathering of treasure, he had looked up to meet Xiao's solemn eyes and flicking tail. Then the innkeeper had collected the wasps, beetles, and mice for disposal.
A different kind of value for the inn, Huai'an had mused: pest control.
That evening he had offered the cat Matsutake Meat Rolls in praise of his efforts. (When Xiao threw it up, Huai'an accepted it was his own mistake.)
---
Some days, Xiao hides. He still eats his food, still leaves carcasses on the top balcony, but he stays out of sight.
Huai'an figures that he is entitled to his bad days, too, and makes sure to leave a little extra Almond Tofu out on those days.
Then he returns to the lower level, and runs a hand through Richie's fur, scratching the dog behind the ears. Richie pants, licks his wrist, and stares up at Huai'an adoringly. Dogs are truly wonderful creatures, Huai'an thinks, and then sends a pointed glance at the counter where Wei is lounging.
As if responding to the innkeeper's stare, Wei twists to lick at one of his back paws.
Verr Goldet laughs at Huai'an's scrunched face, when she sees him, and it is a reminder of all the reasons he loves her.
---
Visiting Xiao becomes a part of Huai'an's routine, for all that the cat does not like to interact with humans. It becomes a point of pride in some ways-- if Verr Goldet has her Wei, then Huai'an has Richie and Xiao. And when guests ask about the lovely black cat on the rooftop, he is pleased when his wife says, "You've already seen Xiao? Not bad. It's not often that he's in a good enough mood to let people see him." (Huai'an gets to see Xiao nearly every day.)
At some point, Huai'an's heart has grown bigger: his wife, his inn, his friends, his dog-- but also his cat (--okay, Huai'an can begrudgingly admit, cats).
It is precisely for this reason that he notices one day that Xiao is missing. There is no small pile of carcasses for him to deal with when he wakes up, no golden eyes and soft padding following him as he completes his daily tasks, and no cat.
At first, he dismisses it as needless worry-- Xiao is a very independent cat.
But then the cat does not eat the Grilled Tiger Fish he leaves out at breakfast time.
And worse still, the Almond Tofu left out at midday is untouched.
Huai'an climbs the roof an hour before sunset, searching for signs of Xiao, and finds nothing but bird's nests, shining black.
---
"Huai'an," Verr Goldet says, when she catches him leaving another plate of Almond Tofu out on the top balcony.
Huai'an smiles at her, lifting his hand to his chin. "We are fortunate that Xiao never gets tired of Almond Tofu." Over the months that the cat had stayed with them, they had discovered his very sensitive palate; food heavy with oil and meat was disdained, while fish, vegetables, and Almond Tofu were swallowed without trouble. It was probably that the small cat had trouble hunting the larger creatures in the wild, Huai'an thinks, and so grew to like the foods that could be gathered without excessive battle. He lifts the plate of Almond Tofu he had set out the previous day, to be scraped into the trash and cleaned.
Verr Goldet looks at him, quiet, and agrees, "You're right."
It is a new part of Huai'an's routine. One that stretches a season without him seeing that small cat, and he ties a new ribbon with dangling bells on it to the top of the roof. A new toy, and his favorite snack: Xiao would be foolish not to return.
And then, one spring day, the cat does.
(But he is not alone, and just like that: Wangshu Inn has four cats.)
---
The first signs of Xiao's return are not actually from Xiao, but from one of the two companions that have returned with him.
Loud, high pitched meowing from up above, and Huai'an finds himself climbing the inn stairs before he fully processes it. Finds himself staring at a set of three cats-- two cats and one kitten-- lounging on the rooftop.
One of them is his small Xiao, no doubt, from the way the dark ears flick towards him and the slight tilt of his head. The others are new. One long-haired male cat, of size or a bit larger than Xiao, with eyes and hair the color of honey. And one small female kitten, pale silver, with deep blue eyes. There is only one conclusion.
"Oh my god," Huai'an says, stunned, "you got another cat pregnant." No wonder Xiao had been gone for so long-- parental responsibility was no small matter.
"Huai'an," his wife's voice comes from behind, exasperated, "those cats are all different breeds." Verr Goldet is smiling, though, as Huai'an registers the truth of her words.
"Right, of course," he says.
The kitten is chatty: she plummets off the rooftop with little concern, mrowing to them as she looks at them, rubbing against their legs and sniffing at their shoes. She nibbles at the hems of his pants before Verr Goldet lifts her, scratching her belly.
"Hungry, little one?" Verr Goldet says, and the kitten squirms in delight under his wife's agile fingers. "Let's get you fed."
The kitten meows in agreement, and then twists her head to look at the pair still on the rooftop. Huai'an follows her gaze and sees, perhaps, the most surprising thing yet: Xiao is letting the golden cat groom him.
Xiao is lounging on the rooftop in his customary position, eyes and ears forward and focused on the couple. At his side, however, the golden cat has slung a leg over Xiao's back and is carefully licking up the side of his neck. Xiao, who swipes at approaching hands and animals, who reluctantly only allows the touch of crying children, is being cuddled and groomed by another cat.
This, Huai'an thinks, speaks of character growth.
---
Verr Goldet, Huai'an, Yuhua, and Smiley Yanxiao decide to call the golden cat Aether and the kitten Paimon, through a long and passionate decision making process full of secrets that Huai'an could never dare to speak.
(Perhaps there is alcohol involved. But the cats are named.)
---
Aether is very persistent in his pursuit of Xiao.
He shadows Xiao on his trips across the rooftops, down to the plates that Huai'an and Smiley Yanxiao set out, over the ledges and into the fields in the night. While Aether initially leaves a careful distance between them, the distance shrinks steadily over time until he trails behind the other cat like a shadow.
Paimon tries to follow them, the first few times, but eventually gives up by virtue of her smaller stature. She seems content to play in the dead bugs that the other cats return with, although they end up in her mouth more times than not. Aether very helpfully piles up the carcasses when he sees Huai'an approaching, and they strike a new sort of routine.
Xiao seems perfectly content to allow this to continue. When he naps in the sunlight, his limbs tucked under him, he seems unbothered by Aether rubbing him with his face and merely swats at Paimon if she tries to wiggle under him. Sometimes, if Huai'an is very lucky, he can hear the dark colored cat purr.
If Xiao follows Huai'an during the day, as was their custom, the golden cat is quick to follow. And where the pair goes, Paimon is sure to stumble behind. It is like this that Huai'an finds himself with an entourage of cats, stretching out over rafters and railings and bookshelves. They become his own crew of little helpers, eye-catching and adorable enough that guests sometimes seek him out to sneak them snacks.
Wei hates it, even though the other cats are courteous enough to stay out of the areas he considers his territory. (Though Huai'an suspects that Wei's territory has been shrinking, bit by bit, since Xiao arrived.)
It is unclear how much of this resentment is due to the fact that Paimon and Aether have reclaimed many of the toys that Xiao ignored; the small kitten especially likes the stuffed plush that looks like a juicy meat roll, and often carries it around with her. (Verr Goldet had laundered them very carefully to remove any smell.)
As for their relationship with Richie: Richie enjoys playing with Paimon, who flees from him with all the fear of a small animal being hunted. In contrast, Aether humors the dog's sniffs and licks, and even sometimes sniffs Richie in return. (As for Xiao, well-- Xiao avoids Richie, and there is nothing more to say.)
So, in general, the inn's collection of strays is very peaceful.
---
"Have you ever considered that Aether," Verr Goldet muses, "doesn't seem much like a stray?"
It takes a few days for Huai'an to agree; his wife has always been much cleverer than him when it comes to these kinds of things. But eventually, he notices it: the way that Aether eats slowly, savoring bites and watching the other two scarf down their food. If Xiao finishes and doesn't immediately depart, the golden cat will nudge part of his remaining food to the other, careful to rub his face against Xiao's in the process.
And unlike Paimon, who strategically shows her belly anytime she wants a tummy rub or food, Aether stretches out in the sunlight with all the confidence of a predator. Reaching out to pet through the long strands of hair will not result in scratches, the way it would if you tried to pat Xiao's belly, but it does make the cat twist out of reach and turn an unnerving stare on you.
In truth, Aether is a very friendly cat who is happy to greet Huai'an with mrow sounds and rubs against his legs. He is happy to receive strokes to the head and along his back, to dart underfoot and watch them go about their day. But the thing about Aether is that the longer he stays at the inn, the more Huai'an suspects that the golden cat could fit in anywhere, not just their little inn of strays. A true traveler, accepted by whatever place he decided to rest his paws. And...perhaps it is strange, to think so hard about why a cat would want to stay. The answer should be easy: consistent food, shelter, and affection. And yet it feels incomplete.
"Why would a cat like Aether come all the way to our inn?" Huai'an asks, staring at the cat laying on the sun-warmed wood of the balcony. As he stretches, the sunlight gleams gold off of his fur. Even with all the wiggling, though, his head is carefully angled towards the roof and he's blinking slowly.
Verr Goldet laughs at him, and nudges him to look at the roof. Over the edge, they can see Xiao's tail, flicking lazily in the sun.
"Huh," Huai'an says, and Verr Goldet kindly pats his arm.
---
"Do cats fall in love," Huai'an asks Smiley Yanxiao in between bites of their dinner.
"Are you talking about Paimon," the chef says, "because I think she may be in love with my kitchen."
"I was actually talking about Aether," Huai'an replies, and then thinks about the other's words. "Is that why you put up a toddler gate?" It was a short thing, barely up to his knees.
Smiley Yanxiao looks at the innkeeper seriously, "It will work until she starts leaping from the upstairs platform." Then he tilts back his glass, swallowing the last of his beer.
"Back to work then?" Huai'an says.
"That's an honest man’s life," Smiley Yanxiao says, but before he returns to the kitchen, he pauses. "Oh, and about Aether: Xiao's definitely in love with him." And then the chef just saunters back into his kitchen, pulling his dirty dishes with him.
Huai'an drops his chopsticks.
--
"Yuhua," Huai'an greets, when she comes in for the day. He thinks about how to casually bring up Xiao and Aether.
"Yes," the inn waitress says, politely, "I do think your cats are in love."
While Huai'an stares at her in shock, Verr Goldet gives her a nod of approval from the reception desk.
---
Truly, Huai'an doesn't see it until the day Smiley Yanxiao brings a squid into the inn, privately purchased for his culinary training. The results of the chef's last training session was a crispier and more aromatic Golden Crab, and so he has a lot of freedom in his pursuit of greater delicacies.
Along with the squid, he brings in several new types of herbs, all quite fragrant.
And like the days when Huai'an first discovered Xiao, Wei is the first warning sign. The black and white cat sneaks into the kitchen, an area he has previously never shown interest in, and sticks his face into one of the plants. He manages to bite off several leaves before they find him, chewing slowly and licking the air continuously.
Thinking nothing of it, Smiley Yanxiao collects him and returns him to Verr Goldet's desk. Except, for a short period, Wei seems boneless on the counter: he slumps onto his side, stretching a paw out to lick, and then continues licking the air.
Huai'an knows nothing about it. In fact, he doesn't even make his way into the inn proper until late in the day, after he has carried up lumber and repaired yet another hole in the inn's staircase. This one had been particularly tricky because it required the placement of extra supports, and it had been exhausting to scale the side of the cliff again and again.
So when he opens the toddler gate and wanders into the kitchen, followed by his usual tail of cats, he pours himself a glass of water and doesn't notice them converging on a single plant. The same plant, in fact, that Wei had been lured by earlier that day.
Smiley Yanxiao is the one to notice, to pull Aether and Xiao away before they can get more than a few large sniffs of the leaves. He puts them on the floor before reaching for Paimon. The kitten is too fast for him to catch at first, and Paimon swallows several leaves before she, too, is caught. She twists in his hands, kicking up at him with her pupils blown, and seems entertained by her own paws. It is quite cute, Smiley Yanxiao concedes, and sets her down before moving the offending plant into a less cat-accessible space.
Before he can pat himself on the back for saving his herbs, however, he hears a large crash and turns to see Aether dragging the squid out of its bucket, mrowling around a tentacle as its remaining tentacles wave futilely in the air, trying to hit him. The cat manages to free the sea creature from its watery confines, and drops it in front of Xiao proudly. When it squirms, he steps on its head.
Xiao stares at him, eyes wide, and blinks very slowly. His tongue is dipping in and out of his mouth in tiny licks, and he, too, steps on the squid.
Huai'an lifts the two off them off the squid, even as Smiley Yanxiao bemoans the fate of his precious ingredient. He eyes Paimon, still wiggling on the ground, and makes the executive decision to remove the two larger cats first for the chef's sake.
When the innkeeper sets them down on the top balcony, Aether stretches out, sulking. He doesn't look at Huai'an, and huffs, biting at the air. It is the least friendly that Huai'an has ever seen the golden cat, and he finds it strangely heartwarming.
It is not, however, more heartwarming than Xiao-- his small, unsociable Xiao!!-- reaching out to grab Aether's head between his two paws, rubbing his own face against the fur before licking it down at a steady pace. Aether’s eyes go wide, almost rolling back in an attempt to see the other cat, before he settles down. His tail is swinging lazily in contentment, and it is at that moment that Huai'an realizes his cats are adorable together.
In fact, they are so wonderful that he would watch them for longer, if not for Smiley Yanxiao calling out a distressed Paimon, no from below.
He looks at them once more, at the way that Aether has turned to groom Xiao's leg while the darker cat licks his head, and thinks: cats can fall in love.
---
In the early morning, before the guests of the inn start moving around, the top balcony is very quiet.
Huai'an very carefully sidesteps the mess of dead bugs to peer at the rooftop, where he sees the two older cats curled together. He ignores Paimon, batting at his shoes, to take in the sight of a half-asleep Aether, tucked into a ball, and Xiao twisted against him.
One of Xiao's ears flicks at him as he approaches, but the cat doesn't stop grooming carefully behind Aether's ear.
"I'm very happy for you," Huai'an says, as softly as he can.
Aether's eyes crack open at the noise, and the golden cat lifts himself out of the snuggle. Xiao's nose wrinkles as Aether's poofy hair passes his face, staticky from the night of rest. Aether nudges the dark cat with his head once before jumping down from the rooftop, ready to start piling the bugs up after Paimon’s play.
Xiao looks at Huai'an, blinking slowly. The innkeeper reaches out, and scratches behind his ear.
|
Though there are many pairs of eyes on him when he accepts Caleb’s invitation into the tower for the night, Essek doesn’t feel any of them quite as keenly as he does Jester’s; she is positively vibrating with excitement. Inside, he takes in the impressive entryway and soaring colorful windows representing the nine schools of magic, the gently rotating interior, as Caleb tells him how to move from floor to floor (“Fjord is the only one who has to verbally say the commands—you are free to think them”) and also which floors hold which necessities.
“I’ll ask you not to go beyond the seventh floor, please,” Caleb says. His eyes are gloomier than usual, and while he has not met Essek’s gaze head-on much, Essek feels how often Caleb watches him covertly, has caught him several times already. “Other than that, you are welcome to explore whatever you wish.”
“You want me to turn you into a cat so we can run around together?” Jester asks, grabbing his hand. It takes some effort not to shake her off. He feels awkward as they all stare at him in amusement.
“No, thank you,” he says, dipping his head in what he hopes is respect. She squeezes several times. “I...was hoping for a hot meal and some rest.”
“We have a hot tub here too,” Beauregard says, starting up the stairs leading to a wide brass platform. Everyone begins to follow.
“Do you build hot tubs wherever you go?” Essek asks, trying to figure out for a moment exactly how he ended up here. Each step was quite small. He gave a little as a lure, as bait, but didn’t see himself baited in return. In fact, he thinks it all started when he let Jester hug him for the first time; he’d thought about her warm, strange, awkward touch for a while. The second time it happened, it was less awkward but still strange. The third was almost expected, familiar. The fourth, embarrassed but deeply relieved.
“We’re a little spoiled,” Caduceus says, “but boy, if it isn’t nice to have. Can we have that tonight, Caleb?”
Essek, after a moment, still holding Jester’s hand awkwardly (her grip is too strong to avoid making a scene of letting go), follows her up the stairs. The rear is brought up by Caleb, his presence unexpectedly close at Essek’s back. He wishes he knew what Caleb kept searching for with each of his sharp looks. In the absence of an answer, Essek keeps his expressions open in this safe space to safeguard himself against any possible lingering uncertainty that he was the wrong choice. He thinks he is the right one. He has to hope he is.
“I don’t see why not,” Caleb says. “Perhaps after dinner.”
“Hot tub nightcap,” Veth says. “I can do that.”
When they reach the second floor landing (Jester still has not let go, and her hand is a little sweaty), Essek sees why cats were mentioned and watches in wonder as cats of all sizes dart around the little tunnels set into the stately wood. First Frumpkin, now this. Caleb seems to be a cat person, as Essek has heard it described.
“Essek, why is your hand so cold?” Jester asks, looking at their joined hands in suspicion. “What’s that about?”
He flushes under the attention of the others. “Drow are naturally cool to the touch, even in hot environments. It takes much for us to sweat.”
“Does it,” Veth says. Essek doesn’t know what to make of that statement. “So if you were to run in, like, a hundred and fifty degree weather, just full tilt, would you sweat then?”
“Probably,” he says. He tries to extricate from Jester without luck. She is very strong and clearly determined. He gives up. “That would be much effort in an extreme environment.”
“What about fucking?” Beauregard asks.
Essek is still not entirely used to a group of people laughing at his expense. He gives thought to a response that will end the line of questioning and not encourage them to attempt further. But as he opens his mouth, he realizes what he’s about to say will have the opposite effect. They will ask more questions.
“Cat got your tongue?” Caleb asks. Essek glances at him very briefly.
“I am merely...hmm. Trying to decide how much...of this...particularly brand of friendship I can handle tonight. I’m not usually inclined to...speak about myself.” No one has ever so persistently wanted to know before.
“Oh boy,” Jester says. “You better get used to it.”
“We find you so interesting,” Yasha says. “Really, we just want to get to know you, like, a normal person. We’ll share things about ourselves too, it won’t just be. You. Talking about yourself all night.”
“So about the fucking thing,” Beau says, and Fjord slaps himself in the face. “Seriously, do you—do you sweat when you fuck, at least? I feel like you should, if you’re doing it right.”
Essek sighs. “I...wouldn’t know.” He has now resigned himself to whatever may come. He can’t predict any of them anyway; if he could, he wouldn’t be friends with them.
“You wouldn’t know? If you sweat during sex?”
“Correct. I wouldn’t know.”
“Awkward,” Fjord says. “All of this is awkward and we should be ashamed of ourselves.”
“I wouldn’t know either, don’t worry,” Jester says, squeezing Essek’s hand several times. “I mean,
I
sweat, but if I were a drow I would definitely not know if I sweat during fucking.”
“Neither would I,” Caduceus says, smiling. “Three’s a good number, I like three.”
They float up one at a time (Jester side by side with Essek), through the salon, which Essek is interested in and tries to glimpse more thoroughly as they glide ever upward to the fourth floor, where the central eye closes behind them.
The scent of baking bread and spices and warmth wafts toward them from the open door of what looks like an elaborate kitchen...tended by cats. Essek tilts his head and watches as one of them flips something in a skillet using its tail to hold a spatula. Jester tugs on his hand. “This way, Essek! Come see our dining room!”
Shaped like a pie wedge, the dining room immediately becomes his favorite room so far (outside of the salon, which he has yet to explore); it’s warm from a large fire, there are several skinny tables piled high with a wide variety of dishes, and the large oak table in the center of the room looks particularly welcoming. He’s so hungry at this point he almost doesn’t mind what food they have—he’ll eat anything.
Jester finally lets go of his hand, giving him a pat on the back before grabbing a plate and serving herself what looks like flat round pastries. She pours syrup on them. And adds sprinkles?
Beau and Yasha also attack the buffet, loudly proclaiming hunger, while Fjord and Caduceus pick seats first—across from one another, so they can play cards. Veth, standing next to Essek, says, “What do you think? Caleb’s amazing, isn’t he?”
The amazing person in question is standing off to the side and speaking to a large wolf-sized amber cat, who seems to be listening intently. “He is,” Essek says. “This is quite spectacular magic.” Certainly more whimsical than anything he’s ever done himself, which has typically been utility only—or, when he can manage it, to impress people. To put his understanding of a complicated, little studied magic into an obvious spectacle of prowess. He does not create simply to create, and certainly never specifically or strictly for beauty’s sake.
“He’s capable of more amazing things,” Veth continues. “I know he is. And I think you can help him get there.”
“Me? I—thank you for the confidence, but I think Caleb is quite capable of getting himself there.” He’s been wondering what it was he used that tipped Ikithon onto Essek’s scent. The basics of dunamancy are understood by the high few in the Assembly, from their own research. It had to have been something more complicated. An Echo, perhaps.
“Oh, sure,” she says, sounding genuine, “I know he can. But I think you can help him more. And I think he can help you more.” She pauses, and when he looks at her now, as she watches Caleb, there’s an expression on her face he’s never seen. He thinks it’s love. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence, the way everything has happened. I think you’re meant to be with us. Because I think you’re meant to—to be with him. Not...maybe not in
that
way, like a romantic way, I don’t know where either of you are at there, but. This is how it’s supposed to happen, I think. So that makes it a little easier.”
Essek looks over at Caleb again. He has never considered that of Caleb, or any of them, or anyone before—he’s young enough that he’s not been pressured into thinking about it, and solitary enough that a natural kindling had never occurred. In Caleb, he thought he’d found, for the first time in all his life, an intellectual equal, someone who not only understood what he talked about but enjoyed it, reveled in it, became breathless with it—then pursued it doggedly until he understood it and had mastered it. Essek can afford to set something down and work on another project. Caleb, with his human lifespan and personal obsession, cannot. He worries problems and unknowns with his teeth like a wolf until he makes them make sense to him. It’s an admirable skill to have. If Caleb had time like Essek does (though arguably he will have far, far more time than Essek), the things he could do with it are astonishing.
“Makes what a little easier?” he asks Veth, drawing his eyes from Caleb to look at her. She’s already looking at him.
“Leaving.” Her eyes are very steady on his now. “After this, if I’m still alive at the end of it, I’m going home. My family there needs me more than this one here. So. I’m going home, and I am going to miss these fuckups, but I am most going to miss Caleb, and I think leaving would be a lot harder if I thought he’d be alone. But if you’re with us, somehow...if you can maybe stay with us...I think you’re good for him. He has a tendency to jump into the fire, if you know what I mean. I know
you
think you’re a coward, but I think you’re smart. We need someone with self-preservation in this group.”
Essek measures his words before he releases them, looking over the room and trying to imagine what it would be like to always have this. There’s a block in his imagination, somehow; he can’t quite make it click into place. “You do me a great honor in trusting me with such a...a precious parcel. If...if I am alive at the end of this, I don’t see where else
to
go if you all will not have me.” He hesitates. “But. Whatever I can do to...protect him, or teach him, or pull him back, I will do. If I have a choice, I...I think I will choose this.” It’s the first time he’s voiced such a thing. Veth’s hand, very small, slips into his for a moment and squeezes before letting go.
“It’s a good choice,” she says. “It’s the best choice any of us ever made.”
There’s a bump of warmth against his hand; Essek looks down in surprise to see the cat Caleb had been speaking to twining once around his legs before tugging at his heavy coat with its prehensile tail. Understanding, he removes it and drapes it across the cat’s broad back, murmuring a thank you. The cat then tugs at his mantle. Hesitating, if only because it offers him a layer of protection he feels he needs right now, he removes the mantle as well. Says thank you a second time. Watches the cat slink off.
“That will be in the guest room for you,” Caleb says, approaching him sans coat as well—there is a similarly sized cat carrying his out, and other cats approaching the Nein for their outer garments too. When Essek turns to include Veth in whatever conversation is about to happen, he’s surprised to find her at the table playing boulder, parchment, shears with Beauregard for first cannonball into the hot tub. Essek had not heard her leave, silent as a ghost.
“Thank you,” he tells Caleb belatedly, unsure of where to put his hands. He normally stands with his arms folded or hands clasped in front, underneath swaths of fabric so he doesn’t have to think about what he looks like. He finally decides on folded arms, needing any barrier between him and the outside world. “I appreciate your hospitality.”
While Caleb’s brows are drawn in his usual expression of worry, his mouth softens in a smile. “Of course. There’s also some wild rice and stew with vegetables from your homeland on that table over there.” He indicates with his thumb, and Essek’s eyes hone in on it. He can see the nearly-black, steaming stew from here. It looks authentic. His stomach grumbles audibly, enough so that Caleb‘s smile widens. Then he reaches out with both hands and grips Essek’s shoulders. “No need for this,” and he tugs lightly, breaking the gravity Essek maintains to hover. It’s a strange sensation; no one’s ever done it before. “Set your feet down and relax. You are welcome here.”
“It is easy to forget,” he says, making the effort to keep himself grounded, “when you’ve done it among the company of others for nearly a century.”
“That long? Really?” He looks impressed as he heads to the table he’d pointed out. Essek follows, led by his empty stomach.
“I exaggerate maybe by a decade or so.”
Caleb fills a bowl with rice and stew and holds it out to Essek, who takes it with a grateful bowed head. “How did you work this out? What enables it? It doesn’t seem to be concentration. I have never seen you use components.” Surprisingly, he serves himself a bowl as well. “I admit, I have tried to come up with it on my own based on your generous tutelage, but it eludes me.”
Essek begins to eat, still standing, closing his eyes at the first hint of complicated, smoky flavor and the melding of well-cooked vegetables. It takes him several moments to speak again. “It is...a complex yet simple cantrip I can cast at will that uses a very small measure of my magic despite having such a large impact on the nature of the world.” Many people have asked before, but nobody, not a single one, had the ability to understand it. As Essek looks up into clever eyes, the knowledge that Caleb can understand it, that he might even be able to duplicate it, makes his heart race. He’s never had a peer. He thinks it over and over again: He’s never had a peer. “So,” he says with a smile, feeling the spirit of cooperation, “imagine that you have around you a—”
“Are the wizards sitting with us or not?” Beau interrupts, breaking whatever spell that has caught Essek’s eyes to Caleb. Essek glances at her and wishes he had the confidence to say what he’s thinking.
“Not,” Caleb says, definitively. “He has piqued my interest, so I think we will have our dinner in the salon and do wizard things.”
Essek raises his eyebrows, having not anticipated such a plan, but he thinks it sounds a little better than spending more time in the company of all of them, only because of how exhausting it is to navigate so many different personalities tossing questions at him. He doesn’t blame them, of course—he’s a new entity, and he interests them, and they want to know more about him. But they are very much more...outgoing than he is. Historically, he does best when one-on-one or in a close environment.
When Caleb says, “Come,” Essek follows. There’s much noise made at this interaction. Jester asks if she can join, and Caleb tells her, “Nein. We will meet you in the hot tub.”
“We will?” Essek says, when they have floated down to the salon.
“Oh, sure,” Caleb says, setting his bowl on a table and pulling his books from his pocket dimension, along with extra parchment, pens, inks, and loose papers that are covered with very small writing. Essek tries not to show too much of his exhilaration, instead occupying his mouth and brain with more food. “Tomorrow may be a big day, depending on what we find when we reach your people. Relaxing is important.” He looks up suddenly at Essek, who is embarrassed to be caught with a stupidly full mouth for a moment. “I have a bathing suit for you to wear, if you like. Very modest yet chic, I promise.”
Swallowing, Essek licks his lips before setting his own bowl down. “I suppose,” he says, “I can agree to that. What are these notes here?”
Caleb pushes the pages toward him, and Essek looks over them before picking them up, smiling slowly. The understanding is nearly there; perhaps more of a traditional spell than what he uses, needing components and a casting time of ten seconds. But it is close, very close. “Caleb, this is extraordinary.”
“You did it first,” he says, somewhere behind him now as Essek reads further into Caleb’s equations for manipulating gravity around himself to hover a short way off the ground—a foot, by Essek’s guess here, more than what he personally does. But still so impressive. “I am just a copycat who pays attention.”
There is something here he hasn’t quite seen before, and he is interested in what that might mean for his own currently incomplete research. Perhaps, if they are very lucky, he will have time to show him later. “You are anything but.”
Hands touch his shoulders and push. Essek’s feet hit the floor before he realizes he’d begun to float as his attention took his mind elsewhere. Caleb’s notes still in hand, he turns around, looks up at blue eyes, and floats deliberately back to his usual height.
Caleb watches him closely, first his eyes, then his hands, then down at his feet. He crouches and reaches out, but before he can actually touch him, Essek is pushed back. “Interessant,” he murmurs, a word Essek has heard many times from Caleb’s countrymen. Standing, Caleb steps closer to him than he ever has. Essek can count freckles if he wants, and there’s a tightness in his stomach that speaks to discomfort of proximity. “Interessant,” he says again. “The force is concentrated at your feet.” Here he steps back, rubbing at his chin, forehead wrinkled in thought. Essek tries to remind himself that other people moving in his space doesn’t have to feel threatening simply because it rarely happens.
“Think of it as my feet are the point of the singularity, which extends in a small radius to the ground,” he explains. “When I wish to move, I lean very fractionally,” and he demonstrates by floating closer, “and I move. I wasn’t always so good at it, of course. It took much practice before I was comfortable attempting it in front of anyone. And it used to be much more difficult to maintain.”
“It seems...unconscious, now. You do it instinctually.”
“Yes.” He picks up his bowl and takes another bite.
Caleb, as though Essek said something verbally, moves with a start to his own bowl. They eat in silence for a few moments, Essek taking in the splendor of the salon with appreciative eyes, enjoying the quiet crackling and soft scurrying of cat paws. The stew is delicious. He nearly licks the bowl clean.
“I think I can complete your spell,” Essek says, thinking aloud more than anything as he paces the nearby area and looks at the spines on the book shelves. His Zemnian is insufficient as of yet, a new acquisition for him so he can better read some of the Aeor scrolls he found, but enough that he recognizes some words: magic, transmogrification, equation. “If you wish, I think we could also weaponize it, either as a boon to yourself or damage to an opponent.”
“I wish, yes.” After a moment, Essek feels Caleb’s presence behind him, then beside him. There’s a tug on his elbow. He acquiesces and settles to the floor. “And if you have any other neat tricks you wish to teach me before tomorrow, I wish for that as well.”
“Hmm.” He thinks again of two things he currently has unfinished. If they could finish it, together, tonight, perhaps they’d have a better chance. He turns to Caleb, surprised to see him already looking. Long looks. Searching ones. For a moment, Essek has lost whatever words he’d been about to say aloud.
“I don’t want to die tomorrow,” Caleb says. Something about his tone is...it almost implies as though Caleb thought otherwise until this moment. “Or the day after that.”
“Nor do I,” Essek says. “Vehemently so. Are you trying to persuade me?” He’s a little amused by the way Caleb regularly attempts to convince him to do things he often half-wishes to do anyway. “You don’t need to. I have something I can teach you tonight. But I may also show you something unfinished to see if you can click it together for us.”
“I wasn’t trying to persuade you,” Caleb says. Then he’s quiet again. They’re looking at each other. Essek doesn’t know what for, and the tension makes him nervous. Then, Caleb says, like a falling stone, “I am trying to decide if I would like to kiss you.”
Essek stares at him, thinking he must surely be joking, but his face is even more pensive than it usually is, and the fire is louder than it was before, or that could be his understanding of it. Everything is louder, and brighter, and warmer, and sharper, and Caleb has red hair and clear blue eyes and a mind far more assiduous than Essek’s will ever be. It took Essek nearly eight years to complete his initial floatation cantrip. Caleb has done a more technically perfect approximation of it, while making it wholly his own, in a matter of months. He’s never met anyone like Caleb, with such a sharp mind but soft kindness too, and a sense of humor as quietly refined as his spellwork.
There’s a strange moment where Caleb takes half a step closer and Essek does too, reflexively, like when Caleb beckoned him down here and he simply followed.
Then Essek exhales a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and remembers himself, leaning back. “Why...would you wish to do such a thing?” he asks at last.
“Because I want to,” Caleb says, as though it’s easy. “Because you are attractive. Because your intellect entices me. Why else?”
“It makes things complicated.” And messy, and changes people fundamentally by reducing them, then combining them into something unrecognizable. He’s seen it enough times to know he doesn’t care to be involved.
His intellect entices Caleb.
“It doesn’t have to,” Caleb says. “Sometimes a kiss is just a kiss.”
“Perhaps for you.” Essek wishes to return to their earlier moments, before Caleb said that word. It’s all he can think now, as if it’s chanting across his mind in bold letters. He feels abysmally young, cursing himself for only ever being interested in nonfiction. If he’d read even a single romance novel, he might have at least an
idea
of how to...handle this.
Caleb reaches out and touches his shoulder. Pushes gently.
He’d floated again.
“Essek,” Caleb says, and Essek’s heart begins to hurt, “have you ever wanted to kiss me? At any point?”
No
, he wants to say.
I haven’t, because I haven’t thought about it
.
But he’s thinking about it now, obviously.
And Caleb said at any point, which includes these unbelievably uncomfortable moments right here. To say no would be a lie. “I have,” he says, with difficulty, “just thought about it.”
“And?” Caleb takes a book from the shelf, then another, then peruses a third. Casually, as if they are routinely studying. The disparity between what Caleb has initiated in conversation and his continual effort toward knowledge is breaking his mind. He never considered this. And now he is.
“I rather wish we could return to discussing like interests,” Essek says at last. It has been a very long time since he’s been so frustrated; there’s an inadequacy in him somewhere that makes it nigh impossible to verbalize what he feels, easier instead to fall back on silence instead of attempting speech. Part of him thinks back to his childhood, brief and long ago as it was, and he tries to think of moments that may have led to this, where he has so much more to say but no words with which to say it, and he finds only a deep and intrinsic conviction that he has always been like this and so he knows no other way of being. For so long, he observed what was expected and conformed to those expectations because that freed up space in his mind for other things. Without such a script, he founders, worries about how he sounds and looks, second guesses what he says and how he says them because there has always been something markedly Different about him compared to others his age, and he has worked, desperately at times, to be as normal and accepted as possible. The Nein have brought out his uncertainty more than anyone he’s ever met, but Caleb was his anchor in that storm, his familiar path he could follow whenever he felt off kilter from the rest. They understood one another. Perhaps Caleb had a reckless streak Essek did not, but that meant they were in good balance, Caleb encouraging bravery and Essek encouraging survival. Essek even had thoughts, at one point, when he could forget everything that led to them meeting in the first place, of a time decades in the future and what they might accomplish by then. What Caleb might do with more lives.
At no point had there been any kissing involved.
And now, because Caleb said the word a total of four times, everything Essek has ever imagined with them now involves it. Kissing. It sounds embarrassing to his ears, makes his stomach hurt in an unknown way. Kissing. Kissing Caleb.
“Do you think,” Caleb says, with his mouth, which can be kissed, “that you have to choose one or the other? I intend to learn whatever you are willing to teach me tonight, whether or not you let me kiss you, so—”
“
Please
stop saying that word.” Essek unbuttons the two buttons of his high collar at the throat, hoping that enables him to breathe better.
“Which one? Learn? Or tonight? Or do you mean kiss?”
He feels legitimately ill and light-headed, and as though to prove its incompetence, his brain makes him look at Caleb’s mouth again. Essek then takes the several steps away to sit down. “Yes, that last one.”
“Put your head between your knees,” Caleb says, his voice tilting into teasing. “Deep breaths. Someone is talking about kissing you.”
“Nobody ever,” he starts, and stops, because Caleb is not Verin, Caleb does not know him, not truly. Nobody does. But he speaks so...comfortably of him. Why? Why? Essek does not know. He rubs at his face. And then he does put his head between his knees with a groan, hands clasped together on the back of his neck.
Caleb’s laughter echoes lightly across the tall chamber, growing closer, but Essek stays where he is and briefly wishes he thought to cast a spell to reverse time just enough to avoid all of this. But Caleb shocked him and it took his brain too long to reconnect. Of course. Caleb is quicker than he is, after all.
“Herr Thelyss,” he says, with a mouth Essek cannot currently see but which could be kissed, by him, if he wanted. “You clearly do not know me if you think I will let your pretty face stop me from my research. Besides, I said I was trying to decide if I would like to kiss you, not that I would. I may not. Would that relieve you?”
No!
he wants to yell.
You can’t give me this anxiety and then not—
His brain stops there. The next word it supplies is
reward
, but then the rest falls apart. Reward whom? With what? He shies from it. Caleb has said it and he shies from the very thought of it.
He has worked very hard to never feel this young.
“Essek,” with a voice turned even gentler than before, “we are friends. We can simply work, there is no pressure. If I knew I would create such a...quandary, I would not—”
Essek stands abruptly, particularly for himself. “If you don’t kiss me, I will never stop thinking about it now.” He levitates because he feels like he should, hands clasped together in front of him. He’s not looking at Caleb directly but he can see the general shape of him in his periphery: Shoulders broad in his double-thick tunic, his waist narrow but not as narrow as it was once, long legs with muscled thighs. Caleb, who has always seemed vaguely malnourished, is the healthiest Essek has ever seen. He hadn’t realized. There’s a lot he hadn’t realized.
Caleb moves, Essek freezes. He expects it to happen then, with the way Caleb is looking at him, and he shuts his eyes, holds his breath, and waits.
But it doesn’t happen.
First, books are pressed to his hands, which he takes automatically.
There’s a familiar squeeze on his shoulders, gently tugging down. He resists at first. Opens his eyes. Caleb is looking at him with a loosened easiness, something he has regarded the others with but never him, Essek, not even when they completed the transmogrification spell for Veth. Then, it was more like boyish starry-eyed admiration, which Essek found enjoyable. Deeply. Very deeply. Now, Caleb looks at him with something maybe like affection.
Essek lets his feet touch the ground.
“Now,” Caleb says, and Essek finds he can’t look away from his face, “I find it very interesting that I was previously quite consumed in my thoughts regarding tomorrow and dying and whatnot but now you have completely distracted me because you are, unfortunately, very cute. You shouldn’t have that right, you are supposed to be our confident, floaty hot boy.”
The phrase is familiar enough that Essek, for the moment, forgets about kissing. “Yasha said that to me...is that what you all...call me?”
“Sometimes. When Reani met you for the first time, Jester had warned her you were hot.”
Ah. He remembers Reani. Now it makes more sense. “I did not know I needed a warning,” he says, thinking now that maybe Caleb will decide not to kiss him, which would be infinitely worse (he thinks) than if he
does
kiss him. Why is it taking so long? Has he done something strange or wrong that has put Caleb off now? Should he ask? What is an appropriate amount of time to wait before asking someone why they haven’t kissed you yet? Goodness, Caleb has nice eyes.
“You are high strung,” Caleb says, and he reaches out and cups Essek’s cheek with his hand. He’s done this before, but he’s never lingered until now. “We should work on that.” And with that, finally, he leans in, a little down, he is closer, the heat of him overwhelms Essek for a moment, Essek who has to force himself not to step back, who straightens with a sharp intake at the touch of Caleb’s other hand on his back, who clutches the books to his chest with all his might, and then there’s a moment before it happens where everything seems to go quiet—
And then they are kissing.
It is simple.
Caleb’s lips are a little damp. They cling to Essek’s.
Essek goes very still with wonder.
Then it is over.
“There,” Caleb says, and Essek can’t read him, which is the worst.
“Ah,” Essek says. “All right.”
“Disappointed?”
“No, of course not,” he says, still holding onto the books Caleb passed him before, as Caleb still presses at his back, both hands now. “But. It was very fast.”
“I could try a second time,” Caleb says, and Essek hears something different in his tone, deep and pleased. “Or we could look at whatever you think I might be able to tinker with. There’s still time yet before the hot tub.”
The hot tub. He’d forgotten about that. There’s no way he can sit in the hot tub with the rest of the Nein and not think about Caleb and kissing, which would tip him off in some way to someone—probably Veth or Beauregard—and he’d never hear the end of it. But then perhaps Caleb would outright tell them. Would he do that?
That
would be the worst. He wouldn’t do that, though. He wouldn’t.
“I think I need to kiss you again,” Caleb says. “You really are wound up tight, aren’t you.”
“It is...a near constant state of being,” Essek admits. “I’m not sure how...kissing would change things.” That
word
.
“Well,” Caleb says. “Let’s find out.”
After, Caleb looks over Essek’s notes and Essek looks over Caleb’s. The time they spend together then is much more familiar than before, though Essek, with some new experiences under his belt he didn’t exactly expect to get in the Biting North, finds that when he and Caleb bump shoulders or brush hands reaching for books or ink, they smile at one another briefly but otherwise there’s no awkwardness, not even when Caleb winks. It...rather feels like it always has, when working with Caleb. Productive and exciting and very thorough. There are no unpleasant pauses, and they finish one another’s sentences as though deftly batting a shuttlecock back and forth. Kissing, it seems, has not interfered with them the way he worried it would. He thinks there might have even been a moment where he dreaded allowing it to happen despite (grudgingly) recognizing how much he wanted it, so worried at losing his previous relationship with Caleb for what really seemed like a stupid chance encounter. This is where he struggles most with shorter-lived species, and he wonders if Caduceus feels similarly at all.
He finishes Caleb’s notes and writes down a few alterations to give him the most flexibility with the spell. Caleb takes longer with Essek’s problems, poking again and again and again at the same section Essek has been stuck at for four years at this point. There’s a reason he has so many projects going; sometimes, you have to take some time away, better yourself, and try again with more educated eyes.
“You dally with the very fabric of the cosmos, you know,” Caleb says, nearly an hour later. Jester has already sent a message to each of them, first cajoling Essek to grab Caleb and come join them, then threatening Caleb with bodily injury to his squishy bits if he and Essek don’t show up in five minutes. “I felt pretty smart working on my own notes there, and then I see yours and I’m just.” He puts his face in his hands. “I feel like a numpty.”
“You haven’t spent much time with it,” Essek reassures him. “I can...let you keep them tonight, if you wish to have more time in private. Who knows. Something may come to you unexpectedly.” He pushes Caleb’s completed spell toward him as he stands. “I’m going to meet the others before, I don’t know...Yasha lassos me with a golden whip.”
“Wouldn’t be gold,” Caleb says, not looking at him as he reviews Essek’s edits with an increasing fervor in the lines of his face. He gets excited so easily. “More like lightning.”
Essek takes his leave, pausing at the entrance and glancing back. Caleb, head bent, writes feverishly, fingers tapping on the table as he mutters to himself. Even from this angle, Essek can tell he’s agape in wonder.
Inside the guest room, Essek is surprised to see two things: A painting over the well-stacked fireplace depicting a scene he’s quite familiar with, and a dark gray bathing suit with purple polka dots draped over a long, reclining chair in violet velvet.
The painting is focused on himself, just beginning to dip a bare foot into the Xhorhas hot tub, surrounded by his friends in varying states of undress. It was one of the most raw, honest moments he’d ever shared with another person, and he had it with
seven
of them. He looks up at it for several moments, noticing, as he does, that the painting has a magical effect to it; the focus changes from person to person. Now, it is Beau—highlighted is her scar, her half smile wider on one end than the other. She’s looking toward Essek—they all are—and her eyes look fond. He swallows several times and watches Nott the goblin, the only one without a limb in the water, smile at him from her spot on high ground, then Caduceus give him his usual wide, unselfconscious grin, before turning to the bathing suit to inspect it.
Caleb did not lie; it is chic and modest, in an outdated style that he secretly likes of a short-sleeve bodysuit with short pants, two decorative buttons below his throat. As he looks more closely at the fabric, which feels richly woven and expensive, he realizes the polka dots are not polka dots at all but Luxon beacons. Essek laughs aloud before changing and making his way to the hot tub.
This room, which looks like a small piece of a jungle has been cut out and placed here, features a large, sunken rock-like hot tub with underwater dancing lights and two different slides. He’s a little relieved to see that Caleb hasn’t arrived yet, as the fanfare the others give him, having talked about who knows what for an hour, is downright embarrassing. There’s clapping (Jester and Veth, rating him 10/10 and 7.5/10 respectively), catcalls (Beau), heartfelt compliments (Caduceus), and apologies (Fjord).
“Thank you,” Essek tells them all, sliding quickly into the bubbling water with a sharp intake of surprise. It is
hot
, very hot, and feels tremendous on his aching muscles.
“See?” Caduceus says, looking pleased. Essek sinks down until everything is in bubbling water but his head, and it is glorious. “Great idea, huh? You needed this. This is good.”
“He is really cute in his little swimsuit,” Beau says to Yasha, as though Essek isn’t next to them. They are all naked; Essek does his best to keep his eyes in neutral areas. “With his ankles and wrists all out and everything.”
“He is,” Yasha says, then to Essek, “You are. Very cute.”
“Thank you,” Essek says. He likes this water. It is easy to hide in.
“I bet if we had swimsuits they’d be cute,” Jester says.
“I prefer to be as close to nature as possible,” Caduceus says.
Fjord makes a so-so hand motion, then says, with genuine interest, “Essek, what have you and Caleb been working on? You were gone an awfully long time.”
“Yeah,” Jester says, “we started taking bets.”
When Fjord holds up a hand to forestall whatever Beauregard has stood halfway out the water to say, Essek nearly dunks his entire head under in confused sensibilities. He has not exactly experienced a tremendous amount of nudity in his life. “I only meant that we know he was planning to show you something, and I’m hoping it worked out. You...look like you’re in a good mood?”
He’s guessing a little, which is rather sweet. Essek inclines his head politely. “Yes, I would say...I am in a good mood.” He was wrong about the hot tub—as long as he doesn’t stutter, he might be able to get away with anything. There’s much to distract them all, and he is not so much of a focus as he has been before. “He completed something interesting that he may choose to demonstrate. I have given him a couple of my projects that I haven’t been able to finish in the hopes that he might be able to help. His research for Veth’s transformation was remarkable, and he’d mentioned he’d worked something out of mine on his own. I thought he might offer an unexpected perspective.”
“Oh shit,” Beau says, “that’s right. He did the thing, the crunchy thing.”
“Oh
shit
,” Jester says, turning to Essek with a dramatic sweep of her arm. “Essek, it was fucking crazy, the whole thing, we nearly
died
like
so
many times—”
“Should we tell him from the beginning?” Caduceus asks.
“No, no,” Fjord says, expression distasteful. “We fucked that up too bad, just tell him about Caleb—”
“It was the torso thing you did on that Scourger, Essek, you remember? You crushed her all up? Like this?”
Essek feels very dizzy for a moment. It’s his heart—it moves double time and hot in his chest. “Yes,” he says, faint, “I remember.”
“Yeah! He did that! He said he figured it out from watching you. Is that, like, normal or is Caleb like a once in a lifetime wizard or some shit?” Beau.
Essek’s vision is shrinking down to a pinpoint. It took him seventeen years to make that spell, and as many more to refine it. Yes, Essek had to do everything on his own, figure out every building block with no one to guide him in any particular way, and yes, all of Caleb’s knowledge came from Essek’s foundations, but—
“That is incredible,” he says, near breathless.
“It is, right?” Veth says. “We’re not just saying he’s great, he’s like really,
really
great, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” Essek says, putting a hand to his mouth as he recalls Caleb’s somber words, modest in hindsight:
my use of things I have learned with you, and my own noodling
. Caleb made a sinkhole by watching Essek do it once. “That is extraordinarily incredible. I have never done such a thing so quickly. I do not know of many who have—certainly none personally.” A copycat who paid attention indeed.
Beau and Jester and Veth and Yasha all high five together, congratulating themselves on getting confirmation that they did indeed have the coolest fucking wizard. Caduceus and Fjord are both watching him.
“You look quite impressed,” Fjord says. “That doesn’t happen often, does it.”
“No,” he says, honestly. “But with you all...I suppose I should not be surprised. You are all quite exceptional, too often.”
Caleb made a sinkhole by watching Essek do it once.
The phrase has replaced the word ‘kiss’ and all its various permutations in his brain.
“What are you all going on about?” a new voice says, and Essek tries to both sit on a higher ledge and sink lower at the same time. He chooses the higher ledge, since there’s less room in here than the slides insinuate, and it would make sense for Caleb to climb in on this side since it’s closest to him.
He does do that, in fact. Unconcernedly naked, with the red eye—two red eyes visible.
“We’re talking about how great you are,” Veth says. “Mr. Essek was just telling us how impressed he is with you.”
“Was he, now.”
Essek stares at the lights in the hot tub. If he’s lucky, they will blind him.
“
Yeah
,” Jester says, with force. “We told him—we didn’t tell him all of it, don’t worry, but we told him how you did that collapsing death cage thing that you saw him do that one time.”
“Ah,” Caleb says, and Essek can feel blue eyes on him now. He’s maybe a foot away. Essek keeps his body in as tight as he can, makes himself as small as possible without being too obvious.
He was right to distrust the hot tub.
“To be fair,” Caleb says, “you gave me enough building blocks. I did not begin with nothing.”
“Your modesty,” Essek manages to say, “is more remarkable than your prowess.”
“Mm,” Caleb says. When Essek chances a look at him, Caleb winks.
“You know,” Caduceus says, stretching his arms up and over his head, “I bet Essek might like to hear our Rumblecusp story.”
“Oh my fucking god,” Beau says, looking at Essek now. “It’s a wreck, it’s wild.
Jester was the leader of a cult
.”
Essek thought that nothing would be strong enough to shake kissing and Caleb made a sinkhole by watching Essek do it once leave his brain, but this—this. He regards Beau with interest. “Now you have my full attention.”
He enjoys his time with them for the rest of the evening so much he forgets to be on guard and doesn’t notice Caleb moving closer until they pressed together, Caleb’s shoulder tucked against Essek’s side. He also notices only now, having been caught up in Beau’s extravagant descriptions, the way Jester and Fjord keep looking at each other, smiling, looking at Essek, smiling, then smiling at each other again.
Caleb, quiet and serene and chiming in only to clarify something utterly baffling, is a firm anchor at his side. Essek thinks,
What if I can’t have this again after tomorrow?
and finds he is less concerned with what the others think of him. When Caleb meets his eyes, he doesn’t look away.
“I think we’re gonna head to bed,” Beau says, climbing out and reaching for a towel. Yasha follows.
Other excuses are made—and that’s what they are, excuses, Essek can hear them most particularly in Caduceus’ stilted
I’m gonna go...do a...elsewhere
.
“You will be awoken for breakfast,” Caleb calls to them. “Beauregard, I am sending Kostja to wake you up as a treat, do not abuse him.”
Then, like before, they are alone.
It is a blessing and a curse.
“Your magic is beautiful,” Essek tells him truthfully, heart pounding again as the bubbles quiet some, the lights dimming more. “Your mind is—you are very—” What can he possibly say that might reflect what he actually thinks of everything Caleb has shown he can do? As always, he is lost.
Caleb reaches out and takes him by the arms, unfolding them from their crossed and locked position. Essek feels laid bare and almost likes it. “You,” Caleb says, “gave me a complete spell that I can adjust in several different ways, and I came out here when I couldn’t understand what I was seeing anymore in your projects. My apologies. But if you think me so smart, perhaps I will figure it out with more time.”
Essek thinks of Veth’s words from earlier, about Caleb being reckless and jumping into the fire. “You can’t do that if you are dead,” he says. “I propose you do not end up that way. Imagine what we can do with no assassins or Astral Plane cities chasing after us.”
“There is still my mentor to dispose of,” Caleb says, and when Essek reaches out to cup his cheek, they are both surprised by it.
“I will assist,” he says, drawing Caleb closer with fingers on his jaw and a slight tug of dunamancy. “Of course.”
Caleb made a sinkhole by watching Essek do it once.
He is indulgent in his kissing.
Essek, his decades of loneliness having made him isolated and unyielding, allows himself surrender.
fin
|
Chapter 1
She walked into the room, wearing all black. No one had seen her before. That was not unusual, everyone in this class was new. Professor Anthony Sadore watched her. This was not his first time teaching Mythology if the eighteenth century. However, he had never seen any female like her. She sat in the front row, her eyes hidden behind a dark pair of sunglasses.
Sadore was captivated. She looked so familiar. If was a man that believed in myths, he'd say she was the woman he dreamed of. And she did have the same features of the mystery woman in his dreams.
She looked around, her mane of black hair cascading across her shoulders. Her ruby red lips were plush and ripe. Her skin, so pale, it was almost eerie. Then he cleared his throat and everyone sat. He looked around and was about to welcome his students when her eyes zeroed in on him. She removed her glasses and he choked.
He'd seen those eyes before, fairy eyes, in his dreams. She was the fairy he dreamed of. Composing himself, Anthony forced himself to focus.
He told himself.
Then he heard a feminine voice giggle,
His eyes flew to her once more, as she seared him with her vision. Anthony shook his head. Now he was imagining things, He heard her laugh. He shook his head and introduced his curriculum.
"Good morning, Ladies and Gentlemen, I am Professor Anthony Sadore. I am your guide through mythical creatures of the eighteenth century. We will learn the truth behind the most famous characters of all time. This won't be a fluff course. As future writers, directors, producers, and entertainers, you need to be aware of many things. Know your craft as some would say. So for the next four months, sit down, buckle in, and get ready for an amazing journey."
She smiled, and his body reacted. Chastising himself, Anthony reminded himself that she was a student. No matter how sexy she was she was off limits. Some of the students had questions. He answered and day one ended. Everyone stood to leave, except her. She sat and watched him. Soon the very last student left, leaving the two of them alone.
Anthony walked over to her and said, "Miss, class is over. Unless you needed to talk about something, you can go."
She faced him and smiled, "I'm not leaving. When I do leave, you'll come with me. Anthony, for four years you have delved into our world. I allowed it, but now it's time for you to decide. This will be your last term teaching this class because in six months, I will come for you. You will join me in the world of fae. You are the one I choose, my companion, my lover, my mate."
Anthony was rendered speechless. She smiled as she stroked his cheek and sauntered out of the room. He sat at his desk, staring at the closed door. At forty years old, he had never felt so aroused by any woman. Anthony was not new at this. He dated several women in the past. He was not a player though. He never was involved with more than one woman at once, and the women he dated were bookish types. The young woman that just walked out of his classroom was definitely not bookish.
*****
"Rhyannon, where have you been?" A deep voice asked. Rhy fluttered into the throne room and bowed before her king. The throne room was gold, with two gold plated thrones in the center. She loved being in this room, when she and her sisters were little they would sneak in ad sit in their mother's seat. Their caretaker often chastised them, but she never stayed mad long.
"Sire, I was on top. I went to see him." Before he could chastise her, she hurriedly and spoke. "Sire, I am of age now. If I plan to have a family, then I must mate soon. Anthony is my companion. I need to be with him"
"Rhyannon, you know they cannot know we exist. For a human to join us, he has to leave his or her old life. He will be dead to all of his loved ones. For you to have your happiness, are you willing to rip his family apart?" He asked.
Rhy looked at her king, her father and opened her mouth to speak. "Father, am I condemned to be barren and alone? Can I not have a life with the man the fates have chosen for me? Give me six months, if he falls for me, I will tell him of us and give him a choice. However, if he does not succumb, I will come home and live as you wish."
"Daughter, you make this harder than it must be. I know of one male that has loved you for as long as I can remember. He is our kind, and he will be able to protect you and your children. Who's to say a human can adapt, and if he does, you will have to be the protector." King Alfendae sighed, "I don't want that for you. Your sisters chose men from other fae families. They are happy. Give up this human, and choose one of our kind."
Rhyannon sighed. Her father meant well. However, she did not want to settle. Anthony was hers and from his reaction tonight, he was going to be fun to chase.
"Father, I know I have come to you many times with many schemes. You and all of our people have been tolerable. But this time, I know Anthony is my companion. Yes, I was wrong in the past, but this time I'm sure." Rhy smiled and her father gave in.
"OK, six months, but you cannot use magic to persuade him." He exhaled. "You will live as a human. No one here will contact you and only your mother or I will reach you mentally. I have arranged an apartment for you and covered the cost for you to attend his class. At the end of six months, if he is not hopelessly in love with you, and is willing to give up everything for you, then you must return home, never to interfere in his life again.
But, if he loves you, then you must reveal yourself to him and ask him to give up his life to live here. He has to choose. If he has an ounce of doubt, then you are to free him. I will erase all memory of you and you will be just another girl in his class. You then will find a companion amongst our kind." He stopped.
Rhy smiled, "Thank you father. You will see. Anthony is my life mate. We belong together." She hugged her father and rushed to tell her sisters.
As she rushed out, her mother, Queen Fezira entered. "You should stop this. That man is not her soul mate and we both know this. Why are you allowing her to expose herself to such heartache?"
King Alfendae faced his upset spouse. "She won't listen, my love. In life there are three ways to earn. One is to watch someone go through something and two experience it yourself. Our daughter is the latter. She has to experience to learn."
The Queen understood, but her worry did not lessen. What if someone else recognized her daughter as fey? She would be in danger. She would recover from a broken heart, but if a vampire, wolf, gargoyle, witch, or God forbid, a Demon decided to take her. On top, she would be defenseless.
Queen Fezira joined her daughter. "So, you are going above ground. Up there is not like it is here. You will be on your own Rhyannon; I want you to think about this."
"Mother, I know what I'm doing. I knew who he was the first night I spied him through his window. He was so handsome and bored." She spoke dreamily, "I decided to liven up his evening and made his date spill her drink. She was mortified, but at least he was not bored." Rhy giggled as she lay across her hammock.
"That sounds awful. Really Rhy, you know better." The Queen sighed, "I don't like this, but your father has decreed it, so I will be silent. Just remember, you can always come home."
Rhy squealed and hugged her mother. Traveling to her new home was quick and easy. She appeared in her apartment and was greeted by the landlord. The landlord was the only person who knew what she was. He had his own secrets. Being a gnome, he would not say anything. Rhys loved her small one bedroom home. It wasn't decorated like her room at the palace, but that didn't matter. She had to devise a plan to woo her male.
*****
Warren was on a mission. The king was concerned about the humans destroying their fields. Human annoyed Warren. They were so selfish and inconsiderate. They thought only humans and the animals they held hostage existed. He was stalking a small family in a park. Their children were digging holes, destroying a flower garden that was a source for nectar for their drinks. The parents said very little. Then one of their pets spotted him. The big furry, slobbery animal charged him and he had to fly into tree to escape. His fellow soldiers did the same. He watched the dog then fluttered down to meet him. The poor animal was miserable.
. Warren sent. Looking at the family, he sent a glamour. For a second, they did not see their dog. The dog was right before them, watching as the father , mother, and children frantically searched.
Warren laughed,
The dog whined.
Transporting the animal, one of the girls screamed. The dad couldn't reach him and the authorities were called. When he was rescued, each member hugged him and promised not to be so careless again. Warren watched the exchange and smiled. The dog looked at him and barked. Warren sent, You're welcome.
He and his men head home when he heard her. The guys looked at each other. They all heard her.
They wondered.
More than curious, Warren flew to the surface and saw her. She was living on top, as a human. She didn't see him, could not hear him. He felt strange, threatened. It made no sense. So sending an all call, he and his soldiers returned home to report to the king.
King Alfendae welcomed them. He knew something bothered the young warrior, so he waited. Warren started to question, but dismissed his thoughts. The king told the men to rest for the day.
Rhyannon loved being in the park. Humans were so simple, and apparently they had never seen a beautiful woman alone before. Well, they could flirt, but her mind was on her professor. His class was tomorrow and she was sitting in the front row.
*****
Rhyannon finished her evening stroll and realized she had not eaten since morning. Returning to her apartment, she was surprised to see no one had left her a meal.
She sent.
The queen said,
Rhy was shocked. She had no idea how to cook, then she smiled. She'd call and order something. Then she realized that she could go out. However, she was tired from her excursion earlier. So she opted to call and order from a local diner. After selecting a local Thai food establishment, Rhys relaxed and waited for her food to be delivered.
One of the guards assigned by the Queen would handle her deliveries. Thirty minutes later, a pimply faced kid knocked. Rhys opened the door. She frowned, the guy looked familiar. Then she smiled and paid him, giving him a generous tip. He thanked her and left, reporting the the queen.
*****
After their outing, and meeting with the King, Warren lighted on the petal of a flower watching the fae dance around and play. Laughter filled the forest floor.
"Warren, come, Krystal wants to dance with you." His best friend Roan called. Warren laughed and drifted to the ground. He joined in on the fun. Nearby, at the center of a great oak, in the throne room, the King and Queen watched their subjects frolic. They were not alone long, as their two oldest daughters flew in.
"Mother, Father, we have heard about Rhyannon. Did you really send her on top?" Aria asked.
The king was about to answer when his middle daughter, Rue, spoke up. "She always does as she wishes. You should have refused this. If she messes up and expose us, you know what could happen."
"My beautiful daughters, how on earth did I rule for a century before either of you were born? I am so relieved that you ladies have such faith in my judgment." King Alfendae sighed.
Queen Fezira laughed. "Husband, we all know that Rhyannon has you wrapped around her finger." Then she faced her daughters, "She is being watched. Your father and I have sent several guards on top with her. She thinks she is unguarded, but they have been authorized to interfere and bring her home at any time."
The girls sighed in relief. Their mother asked about their husbands. Like a bad joke, both guys joined them, each kissing his wife. Tyler, Rue's husband, hugged the queen as King Alfendae entered grumbling about young thunder cats. He released the queen and bantered with his father-in-law. Aria's husband, Brock, greeted his mother-in-law as well. He loved his queen dearly. Queen Fezira laughed and told them to join her and Alfendae at their table for dinner. They were happy to stay. Soon the group grew hungry and everyone flitted to the palace to share a meal.
*****
The next morning, Rhyannon arrived at class a few minutes early. She wanted to see him when he came in. The object of her musings arrived early. Anthony entered his classroom. It was a large studio. This term, he was overloaded as many non-theatrical majors were taking this class. The different departments decided that their students could benefit from the exposure.
He saw her sitting in the front row. He'd have to be blind, dumb, and crazy not to notice her. She was gorgeous. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, her petite frame filling the small sun dress she wore. She was sitting, reading a magazine. It was not time for the class to start. They had at least thirty more minutes before everyone was in. Anthony walked over to his desk. "Good morning, Miss Devale. I see you are early."
Rhy looked at him, her eyes smoldering, "Good morning, Professor. I couldn't wait to see you."
His collar heated, every cell reacting to the sound of her voice. Knowing she had his attention, Rhys dropped her sandal from her foot. The shoe tumbled and she giggles as that action directed his eyes at her legs. Anthony swallowed.
Unable to coach his reaction, his eyes traveled upward to the short hem at the top of her thighs.
"Oooops," Rhys gasped. "Silly me, let me get that." She stood, and he could not help but notice how her tiny dress barely covered her small frame. "Professor, will you help me?" She asked, walking toward him. Stopping as his desk, Rhy hoisted her bottom on his desk. "Professor, will you fasten this for me?" She lifted her foot. Anthony cleared his throat.
"Ms. Devale, this is inappropriate. Please remove your body from my desk." He ordered as sternly as he could as all of his blood rushed to a certain part of his body.
Rhy laughed. She lifted her foot, placing her foot against his crotch. He could not hide the obvious affect she had on him. The evidence was front and center.
"Just fasten my sandal professor. That's all, nothing more." She whispered as she massaged his crotch slowly.
Anthony stepped back. This was not going to happen. "Ms Devale, return to your seat. I'm sure you can fix the shoe without my assistance."
Rhy sighed. She'd move but not because he was so stern but others were coming. Rhy sauntered back to her seat and sat. Reaching down, she claimed her sandal. She saw him staring at her legs once more.
She giggled as several more people entered. She knew he heard her. She smiled and class began. Rhyannon watched her mate. He loved this material. He was so animated, so alive. She noticed that several females were enamored by him as well. She didn't blame them. He was simply perfection.
Anthony forced himself to focus. His second day in class went by easily. He had two more classes today, then he could go home. He dismissed class ten minutes early, and everyone filed out, except her. Soon the two of them were alone.
"Ms. Devale, I apologize for my reaction earlier. It was not called for. I'm asking that you please refrain from approaching me in that manner again. It was unbecoming." Anthony explained.
Rhys laughed, "You're right. I was unfair. I'll stop by your office later." She blew him a kiss and then walked out. She knew his eyes never left her taut behind.
Anthony decided and then dialed his best friend.
Chapter 2
"Hello, Anthony, what's going on?" Roddrick asked immediately. He knew his buddy. If he called something was up.
Anthony sighed, "Look, I need help. There is this girl in my class. She has come on to me twice. You know my situation. I can't go to the dean. He might find out about Kinlock. We buried that shit, but I don't want to fan the flames. I need you to come down here. She's meeting me at my office at four. I want you there."
Roddrick nodded. Anthony had no idea that nothing that happened at Kinlock was his fault. Roddrick staged the incidents to secure his loyalty. Then he went out of his way to cover up the fake crime. By the time the police came and went, Roddrick helped the police rule the situation an accident, sealing the loyalty of Anthony. That was over five years ago. Then to make sure he had him, he revealed his secret of not being quite human. That was when he told him that other beings lived amongst them.
Others were drawn to the professor, which suited his needs. He could feed and free Anthony from unwanted attention. Since he believed he participated in a crime and Roddrick saved him, then he was forever loyal. Roddrick smiled to himself and replied. "I'll be there. Tell me this, is she human?"
Anthony sighed, "I think so. You know I can't tell. Just meet me, alright."
Roddrick consented, "Don't worry. We'll sort her out."
Roddrick hang up the phone and looked at the mirror which reflected his true form. He was Briar Demon. Not a high level demon, but strong enough to be successful on this plane. When he met Anthony a decade ago, he latched on to him. Anthony was a magnet. He attracted mythical creatures. He unknowingly kept Roddrick fed. Roddrick needed to feed again. A few years ago, Anthony had a she wolf stalking him, he fed from her for days. He was certain this female was some type of other as well. He wondered what kind.
He looked at the time. It was only two. He had a couple of hours, so he'd rest. The time flew, Roddrick morphed into his human form. His human form was a charming bastard. Deep mahogany skin, a low fro and goatee, he was a handsome devil and he knew it. His body was a sculpted piece of work. He exited his building, climbing into is BMW and head to the college. At three fifty, he was at Anthony's office. He sat and waited on his friend.
Soon Anthony walked up. "Hey, Rod, thanks for coming. Come on in." They entered his office.
At four ten, Rhyannon headed to his office. A lady stopped her. "Miss, are you going to see Professor Sadore?" she asked.
Rhy smiled, "Yes, ma'am I told him I'd stop by." She explained.
The woman eyes glowed, "That's not a good idea. As a matter of fact, you should leave right now." She warned.
Rhy was confused."Excuse me, do you work here?" she asked.
The lady answered, "No, but if you see him right now, your life will be forfeit. I beg you, on your father's throne, leave now little fairy." Rhy gasped. No one should know what she was unless her parents had her watched.
The woman realized she would be difficult so she called the Queen.
The queen sent. This scared the willful fairy princess, and she ran.
Queen Fezira called her husband. "This human is friends with a Briar. We need to get her out of there."
King agreed. Most of the time, he allowed his youngest child freedom, but a demon was nothing to play with. If the monster caught her scent, he would capture her and feed on her essence. The King and Queen vanished to her apartment. Rhy was home, afraid and furious. She thought about it. Her parents must have set this up. They really didn't want her with Anthony. Anthony was her mate and she would not be denied him.
"Rhyannon, are you alright?" The king asked concerned.
Rhy lashed out. "You did this. You don't want me with him. You hate him because he's human. So you scared me and made me run home. It won't work mother; he is mine. I will have him."
"Watch your tone, young lady." The King ordered, but Rhy was not done.
Rhy continued her rant, "You had me watched. I've only been here a week and I'm being babysat. You did not do this with Aria and Rue. No, but they dated men you approved of. What was so bad that you had me to run from him, mother? What?"
"Rhyannon, something is not right about this man. His friend is dangerous." Rhy cut her mother off.
"Mom, you don't even know him. You are so prejudice, so judgmental. I can't believe you." Rhy vented. King Alfendae heard enough.
He spoke, "You can be upset, but I won't sit here and let you abuse your mother. Did we send guards? Yes, and it's a good thing we did. But daughter, if one more vile word spews from your mouth, I will give you the all desired freedom you claim to want. I will leave you in this world for the rest of the allotted time with no protection at all."
Rhy turned on her father, "Ha, I wish you would. Because then I can have a real life. Just go home and leave me alone." The Queen tried to speak, but Rhy yelled once more. "Just go!"
Queen Fezira pushed back, "No, you are young and being very foolish. This place is not like the forest. We can protect you there, but here there are too many other dangers. A Briar Demon is here and he will drain the life from you if he gets his hands on you. You silly girl, we are trying to save your life." She grabbed Rhy's shoulder, and her daughter wrenched away, shoving her mother back.
King Alfendae caught his wife and made sure she was OK. He was disappointed in his daughter. And his next action broke his heart, but it had to be done. "You are free. Live your life as you choose. We will no longer interfere." The Queen gasped. Rhy felt cold. Soon her parents left, and she felt alone.
Cleaning her apartment, she went to bed. Her father placed money in her account to take care of her needs so she didn't have to worry about money. But then she remembered, he said he was releasing her. She wondered,
She didn't panic. In a few weeks her rent was due, and she had the funds to pay it. Usually money uploaded to her account bi-weekly, so if she got a message, she'd know that at least she was still receiving her bi-weekly allotment.
An entire week passed, and she never got a message. She called the bank and was told the account had only enough in it to keep it from closing. Angry that her father thought this was a suitable punishment, Rhy called out to her parents, Mother Dead air.
Dead air.
She rushed to her landlord and asked if he had spoken to her parents and he laughed at her. "You foolish girl, they are done with you. They have covered your tuition for school and that's all, the rest is now on you." Rhys was shocked. She looked around, and realized, many of the people that were there a day before were missing. She was really alone and on her own.
Meanwhile, Roddrick was checking in with Anthony. The girl was a no show, but when he left his office he scented fairies. She was a fairy. Fairies were a delicacy. If he could get his hands on her, he could use her to control her father. A fairy King would give his life to save his daughter. If Anthony had a fairy in his class then he needed to sit in that class.
*****
Rhy rose the next morning. She had to get to class. She dressed and rushed in, arriving early as usual. When she arrived, he was not alone. A gorgeous male was with him. Rhy sauntered in and she felt his companions eyes zero in on her. Not sure how to deal with this new attention, Rhy simply sat in her usual seat. The other students filed in. As she sat, she realized so much in her life had changed. The class had actually gotten smaller. She felt alone. Shaking her doldrums, she focused on her mate. His friend joined the class and sat right next to her.
Leaning over, he whispered, "I'm Roddrick. I want to talk with you after class."
Rhy deliberately ignored him. Roddrick was persistent. "You smell divine little one. Now, be a sweet girl and nod if you understand me little fairy."
Rhys gasped, and nodded. Roddrick said one more thing. "Don't leave, we need to talk."
Anthony started the class. Rhy wasn't interested in anything he was talking about. The man next to her made her uncomfortable. She shifted in her seat, and he sent,
Rhy was nervous now. He had to be something else. She knew he was not fey. Was he vampire, wolf? He wasn't ugly, so definitely, not a gnome.
Soon, class ended and Rhyannon wanted to get out of there. Roddrick sent again,
So she sat frozen.
It was at this point she needed to call her parents. She also realized that they were right; she was in some sort of danger. She called to them again, and got no response. Roddrick walked over to Anthony and spoke to him. Anthony left, leaving them alone.
Walking towards her smiling, he seemed none threatening at first, so she relaxed a little. "I knew a fairy once. She was the only female that ever got close enough to me to hurt me. I let her live and she ran from me. I won't make that mistake again."
He faced Rhy, "I don't really want you little fairy. I want your Dad. What would he give to have his little princess back?"
Rhy, never on to hold her tongue, spoke back. "My father is done with me, so you won't get anything. What are you?"
His eyes flashed as he smiled, "I'm Briar. I feed on all mythical kind. You, my dear will be my next meal. Fortunately for you, I don't have to feed for a few months, but when I do, understand that your sacrifice will be well worth it. As for Anthony, forget him. You're with me now. I will always find you my fairy. My people are watching."
If Rhy was not afraid before, then she was terrified now. She was going home. She realized her parents might still be upset, but they would not want her eaten by a demon. "You can't go home. I have it on good authority that for the next few months, you are on your own. Forget the forest, love; you'll be with me now."
His cockiness ticked her off, "Oh really, I guess I'm supposed to quiver in fear, run and hide. Think again, Demon. The only man I ever feared is my father, and you are not him. Yes, you may be bigger, stronger, or even more powerful than me, but you don't own me demon. You never will."
Roddrick had to step back. Only one other ever spoke to him like this and she got away. He missed her, but learned from his mistake. The heart makes you weak.
"Well played fairy. I'll see you around." He left. Other students started entering, and Anthony returned. She looked at him. His head was downcast, as if he was to afraid to face her.
Never one to back down; Rhy walked up to his desk. "Your friend is bold isn't he?" She took a deep breath. "Why won't you talk to me? I'm not giving up on us." She walked out.
Anthony exhaled. Something was not right. He had no intention of leaving her alone with Roddrick. He wasn't sure what Roddrick said to her. But from her reaction, it was not good. In the past, Roddrick was great at helping him, but now he worried about putting this young girl on his radar.
Anthony was not naïve. He knew Roddrick wasn't human. From his reaction today, the girl was something other than human as well. His next class was starting, so Anthony cleared his thoughts and focused on teaching.
Rhy was looking for work. Roddrick scared her, but she still had to survive. It was obvious that her parents were done with her for now. She had to figure this out on her own.. She wondered if this is what Felicity had to do. She never met her, but the other fairies often talked about the lost princess.
When she was younger, she asked about her sister and her mother left the room. Father told her that Felicity was not one of them anymore and to never ask about her again. He left to comfort mother. Aria and Rue sat with her and shared what they remembered of their oldest sibling.
Felicity was beautiful and willful. She would often go on top without permission causing father and mother great stress. Rue remembered that she left one day and father went after her. He and mother returned and mother grieved for months. She never saw Felicity again.
She didn't have time to think about that now, she needed work. She applied at several places, and left not feeling every hopeful. Then she saw a small pub,
she thought as she entered. They were about to turn her away when a beautiful woman stopped them.
"Let's give her a shift." She smiled, "I'm feeling generous."
Not sure what she would have to do, Rhyannon was just grateful to have found work. She thanked her new employer who invited her back to her office. The office was not big, and it was crowded. "Hey, Fifi, the beer guy is here."
"Sit, I'll be back." She ordered. She took care of that order and returned.
"So, you are looking for work. I bet you have never worked a day in your life." She laughed. Rhy began to get upset. What was this? Pick on the small girl day?
"No, I haven't but I'm willing to learn." Rhy replied.
Fifi faced her, "You can start tonight. I'll have Macy train you. Turn in all bill payments, tips are yours to keep. You will find that the tips will be needed, because what you earn won't cover your expenses."
Rhy waited, and then her new boss went and retrieved her uniform. "You have to make sure it's clean, and you can order a second one. If you quit though, you must turn one back in."
"Thank you, Ms.?" Rhy paused.
"Just call me Fifi." She smiled, "See you at five." Rhy left her office. She had a job. She would certainly be there on time.
After Rhy left, Fifi closed her eyes,
A worried voice asked.
Felicity replied.
Queen Fezira sighed,
Felicity sighed,
She went back to work. Decades ago, Felicity declared her independence, much like her foolish younger sister had done. Her parents begged her to come home, but she was a free woman. Then she met him, Roedan. He was everything a girl dreamed of. He was tall, handsome, sexy as hell. He was also a smooth talker and her first and lover. Father met him and forbade her from seeing him. She defied her father and moved in with her lover.
The first few months were heaven. Then she started feeling tired. She would be so weak, and never knew why. One night, she came home early and found a Briar demon feeding on a vampire. She panicked and he changed form. She was done, it was then he told her that he drained her almost to empty, but let her live. He had to kill the vampire because he needed the energy to survive. He didn't have to feed from her anymore.
She stayed. She trusted Roedan. Then one night, they were out and a group of others came in. He looked at them and smiled. His eyes flashed and the group became angry. They opened fire, killing everyone in the place. Roedan loved it as his body absorbed their souls. He was a monster, a demon and she had to get away from him.
She ran and he followed her. Soon, he found her and convinced her that he loved her. Being young and foolish, Felicity believed him. She stayed. Then she witnessed an attack and ran from him. Luckily, she got away. She lost track of him and went on with her life. Now a Briar Demon might be tracking her baby sister. She didn't know what to do then, but now she was prepared. Rhyannon would not be harmed on her watch.
She studied the Briar, learned their weaknesses. There were only a few in the world, because unless they married another mythical being, they could not reproduce. He married her, not for love but to continue his bloodline. Felicity recalled holding her son months after she left Roedan. The baby was born too early and did not survive, but he was a replica of his father. Roedan never knew he fathered a child, and she would never tell him. She buried her soon in the forest. She knew father did not approve because he banned the fairies from that area and it was now a dead spot. Grass never grew on his small grave and there was rarely shade, but when she ventured out she would walk past to see his grave, to see her son that never had a chance to live.
*****
In the forest, Queen Fezira was relieved. She could not interfere with her daughter, but at least she had someone watching out for her. Her husband entered the room. He knew she was upset, and he wanted her to understand.
"She has to learn, Fen. We have given our children every opportunity and she takes advantage. I had to cut her off to teach her. I can send spies to watch out and if she is ever in real danger then we can I intervene."
The queen nodded, "I contacted Felicity."
Alfendae was shocked. "She answered?"
"Yes, and she's giving her a job. For right now, Rhy is not alone." Fenzira left the room
King Alfendae watched her walk out. His worst mistake was the way he treated their oldest child. However, as much as it hurt him, he had no choice. She had found her mate in an unlikely kind. There was no way he could allow a Briar near his family. True Felicity didn't know, and some hurtful words were said. She chose to leave with her demon.
Years ago, he watched as she grieved and buried her child. The child was part demon. He could tell from his coloring. He could have forbade her to bury him in the forest, but despite it all, this was is grandchild. He needed to be with his family. Not wanting his resting place disturbed, he banned the Fae from frolicking in that area. He wished he had at least spoken to her then, maybe she would have come home.
Alfendae had not spoken to her since. He was surprised to know the queen had. But then, she was her mother. A mother's love knew no boundaries. Alfendae sighed. He wanted a chance to talk to his oldest daughter, make amends if he could. But she never called him and even if he tried she would not answer. Deciding to chance it, King Alfendae reached out to his daughter, and was overjoyed when she answered. King Alfendae was assured that both of his girls were safe for now.
*****
Warren was out on patrol again. Rumors flew throughout the forest about Rhy and her parents. Weeks past and nothing was heard. It bothered him, but she was not his girlfriend and it was not his business. He liked her, but obviously she was not interested in a fairy so he let those thoughts die.
The king asked them to go on top. He knew that he wanted them to check in on Rhy, but he didn't directly say so. So he and his men did, and saw her. She was wearing a pair of butt-hugger shorts and the tiniest top imaginable. As a fairy, she was beautiful, ethereal even, but here as a human, she was freaking hot.
The guys let out a whistle and Warren reminded them that despite everything she was still royalty. However, his eyes never left her tight little frame.
"Let's get back." Roan stated.
Warren didn't move. He watched her until she disappeared inside of the building. He flew to the building, stopping when a group of there demons walked past. They approached the door and growled. It was then that he noticed the inscription on the frame.
So powerful was that inscription that no demon dare cross.
Warren took off in flight. Every entrance was covered with the inscription. He smiled,
The fairies returned to the forest.
*****
Rhy reported to work. Fifi met her and introduced her to Macy. Macy was a girl about her age. She had worked at The Fae for a few years since she moved here. She must have been trustworthy as Fifi seemed to trust her implicitly. She took Rhy under her wing and showed her the basic. Tonight was a good night for a rookie; the crowd would not be very big.
Rhyannon listened carefully to everything Macy said. She followed her instructions to the letter. She had four tables and she kept the drinks flowing. Three gave her a tip where the fourth table left nothing.
As her shift ended, she felt pretty good. She saw Macy talking with Fifi. She felt the owner watch her all night. Macy was impressed. Fifi was not surprised, after all her kid sister was a fairy.
The night ended and they cleaned up. Fifi offered to drive them home. Macy knew not to refuse, but Rhy told her it was OK. Fifi stopped her. "Look, sweetheart. There were several men that watched you all night. Once you walk out of these doors they can be lurking anywhere. I'm driving you home. At least then I'll know you got there safely." Rhy smiled and thanked her boss. The bartender a big guy named Gus accompanied them. He agreed with Fifi, but she failed to understand she was just as vulnerable.
Climbing into the car, the four took off. Gus cracked jokes as they laughed; He noticed that Fifi was watching something out of the window. The dropped Macy off first, and as was her way, Fifi waited until she was safely inside her small apartment. She looked around once more.
Then they drove Rhy home. It was then she saw them. Demons waiting, watching. She picked up her knife and she and Gus walked Rhy to her apartment. Rhy thought that was strange as Gus carved a small inscription above her door. The left, but Felicity knew her sister was not safe there. A Briar was stalking her.
"What do you want to do, Fifi?" Gus asked as he drove away.
"She's a babe. She really has no clue. I won't let them take her." She answered.
This surprised Gus. He looked at her. "She's my sister, Gus. I can't let him do to her what he did to me."
Gus nodded. He heard enough. She was Fifi's sister, then she was now under his clans protection.
He sent. His coven responded and descended into his liar.
Gus waited as his brothers and sister came in. His father, Anton Svennick, was already there. As the oldest vampire, Anton had the final say. He governed the coven, but his children and other members could call a meeting when they needed to. He sat in the back, nursing a cool drink, as his children gathered around. He wore a sad smile. It was moments like this that he missed his wife, Velinda. His beloved was no longer a part of this life and his youngest daughter was gone as well. However, his remaining children were here. He sat and prepared to see what the issue was now.
~~~~~
|
Vince and Thomas set out to Vince’s hiding spot to visit the fairies shortly after lunch. They had told everyone that they were taking a long hunting trip and would be gone all for a few days. Everyone believed that they were hunting in areas away from the foothills so no one gave them a hard time about where they would be. Their plan was to camp for a few days near the clearing and let the fairy gobblers milk them dry night after night. It was Thomas’ idea to stay multiple nights. He told Vince that for every night that he camped and didn’t see a fairy, he would screw Vince’s sister. He pledged to stay an entire week and would make Vince watch him fuck his sister 7 times. Vince was getting tired of the constant reminders that Thomas wanted to fuck his sister, but he knew the fairies would be there so he tolerated it.
The two set up camp at the site where Vince has spent so many evenings enjoying his fairy friends. It was still early, so there were no fairy’s around to distract them or entertain them as they set up camp.
“Where are the fairies, stupid Vince?” Thomas goaded.
“Be patient, we have a few hours. Let’s set up camp, eat and go for a swim.” Vince replied.
“I don’t want to swim, I want to fuck a fairy. I want to fuck a hot one and make her have half human half fairy babies.”
“That’s not how it works, Thomas. They will come to us to eat, not for fucking as you call it. Just be still like I told you and let them do the rest. If you try to touch, she may bite you.”
“If it bites me, I’m going to fuck it in the ass and kill it!” Thomas barked proudly. “And when I’m done with it, I’m going after your sister to fuck her in the ass. That’s what you’ll have to watch for me getting bit.”
Vince was regretting bringing Thomas to the foothills. He knew Thomas was a bully, but was hoping that having an outlet for his pent up sexual frustrations would help him.
“Suit yourself. I’m going to eat and go for a swim. Go hump a rock if you want, but the fairies won’t be here for another few hours. Hopefully one will bite your dick off.” Vince said angrily.
Thomas knew he’d crossed a line, but didn’t know what he’d said that made Vince angry. He knew to stay quiet for a bit to let Vince cool off. They finished setting up camp, had an early dinner and went for a swim. Vince said few words until after they were back in camp, each laying on a blanket waiting for the fairies to arrive.
“You can have the first fairy that comes out. I’ll warn you again, keep your hands still and just let her do everything.” Vince said with a stern tone. Thomas knew to stay quiet. He still didn’t believe any fairies would come out but he didn’t want Vince to be angry with him any longer. He was hoping that by the end of the night it would be Vince sucking his dick and that the fairy story was just a way to get him to go camping.
They heard the bushes rustling and looked across the clearing. Ianaa peeked into the clearing but didn’t come out. She knew Vince was there but was wary of Thomas.
“Hello, Ianna, come eat.” Vince said gently.
“Thank you, fairy hungry” she said cautiously, “fairy safe, Vinsch?”
“Yes, you’re safe, this is my friend, Thomas. Friend. You can eat.”
“Thank you Vinsch, Thank you Tomsh.” Ianna said as she walked toward Vince.
“Me first!” Thomas demanded, frightening Ianna. She ran back to the edge of the clearing and waited cautiously.
Angrily, Vince looked at Thomas. Thomas knew Vince was not to be pushed when he was angry.
“Thomas, shut the fuck up, lay down and don’t move or say another thing for the rest of the night. I don’t care if you catch on fire. Do. Not. Move. Or. Say. Another. Fucking. Word.” Vince whispered. Thomas had never heard a whisper that had such an ominous tone. He immediately laid down with an angry grunt.
“You said I was first.” Thomas mumbled.
“It’s OK, Ianna, this idiot means no harm. He has brain damage and may not make it through the night, but he won’t hurt you. Come eat.”
“Fairy not understand. Fairy hungry. Thanks Vinsh. Fairy not understand first, not understand.”
“Its OK Ianna. Thomas wants you to eat. Come eat.” Vince said soothingly. He motioned Ianna to go to Thomas to eat.
The little fairy moved cautiously to Thomas and Thomas stayed still except for lifting his head to watch her as she came closer. She was healthy and had a lean but well fed body from Vince’s many visits. Both Thomas and Vince could see the hunger in her eyes. Her breasts bounced and swayed hypnotically when she walked. Thomas opened his legs and she lightly touched his feet with each hand as she dropped to her knees and moved between his legs. Thomas pulled the blanket off his body and the fairy smiled when she saw how hard his tool was and saw the twinkle of pre-cum at the opening of his cock. She tossed her head and flung her hair so that it was off her shoulders and rested on her back.
Vince was getting horny watching the little fairy getting ready to go to work. Thomas’ cock was throbbing and he couldn’t take his eyes off the fairy whose face was getting closer to his erection. His cock was so hard that the skin of the head was stretching and purple. He was so horny that he could feel his prostate starting to spasm and his anus was puckering almost painfully. The little fairy barely got his cock into her soft little throat before Thomas exploded his tension into her mouth. Ianna stayed still as wave after wave of cum filled her stomach. She was happy to have so much warm food in her stomach without having to work for it. She giggled a sweet little laugh as fairies do when they’re eating but Thomas was embarrassed at how quickly he’d cum and took insult to the giggle. He pulled abruptly away from her and covered himself with his blanket.
The sudden movement frightened her, and she jumped away and onto Vince for safety. Vince laid still and let her relax. He consoled her and told her everything was OK. The pretty little fairy calmed down quickly and sat on Vince’s leg .
“Thank you Tomsh, for fast meal. Fairy was hungry, fairy was tired.” Thomas said nothing.
“Are there other fairies close by, Ianna?” Vince asked
“Many fairies. Hungry fairies.” she replied
“Tell them to come eat. We will be here waiting. We will feed the fairies.”
“Thank you Vinsh, Ianna will tell.”
Ianna made some innocent and sweet chittering sounds. Thomas and Vince couldn’t tell where the sound was coming from, only that Ianna was making the sounds. She walked to the edge of the clearing and disappeared for a few minutes. There was more rustling, more chittering and Ianna came back into the clearing with another fairy. She was smaller than Ianna and was very thin from not eating as well as Ianna. Ianna was helping the fairy walk.
“Vince, this fairy hungry. Fairy tired. Can you feed? Fairy frightened of humans. Fairy hungry, fairy tired.”
“Yes. Of course.” Thomas said. He felt bad for the pretty new fairy and slid his blanket off to let her eat. Ianna helped her walk close enough and Vince reached out to help. The weak little fairy was startled, but Ianna made more chittering noises and the fairy relaxed and Vince pulled her to him.
Vince laid on his back and watched Ianna and the new fairy get comfortable. Ianna held the smaller fairy and scooped her hair back and held it in her hand. With the other hand, Ianna grabbed Vince’s cock roughly and pulled it to her friends mouth. Ianna was very aggressive in holding his cock and was more aggressive in pressing her friend’s mouth over the swollen tool. Vince enjoyed watching as the little fairy’s throat swelled around him and Ianna pushed her head down hard onto him. He could feel Ianna’s little hand tickling his balls and taint while the other hand held the other fairy’s head in place. Ianna knew playing with Vince’s balls and taint would make him release his seed faster so she rubbed her hands and little body on him as much as she could.
He moved to get a better view and could see the pretty fairy breasts pressed against him. He could feel the little hand scrubbing his taint and could see that the weak and desperate little fairy was trying to move her hands around to help get him off as quickly as possible. She moved her little hand over his balls and down his taint. Vince’s head rolled back. He loved having the tickle of tiny hands on his taint. He tensed his body and all of the cum that he had been saving for the last few days erupted into the fairy’s mouth. He could see the fairy’s little tummy swell as he unloaded into her.
The little fairy collapsed and fell beside Vince and Ianna moved to keep her head up so she wouldn’t vomit up the stomach full of semen. Vince gently helped move her onto the warm soft pile of clothing nearby.
“Ianna, what’s her name?” Vince asked “Poor thing is starving.”
“Fairy name Rittne. Fairy hungry, fairy tired.” Ianna answered.
“Rittneycan stay here and I will feed her again soon.” Vince replied.
“Other fairies here, hungry fairies.” Ianna told him.
Thomas and Vince looked to the edge of the clearing and saw three other little faces peering out of the brush.
Thomas was already hard from watching Ianna and Rittne feeding from Vince.
“Tell them to come eat!” Thomas bellowed, frightening all of the fairies back into the forest.
Ianna immediately started chittering again.
“Dumb Tomsh, loud Tomsh.” she scowled. “They come back. Tomsh stay quiet?” she asked.
“Dumb Thomas, loud Thomas will stay quiet or Vince is going to hurt Dumb Thomas.” Vince said with certain edge in his voice.
One of the frightened fairies came out and after some chittering from her and Ianna, she went to Thomas and began swallowing his cock. Rittne crawled from her napping place back to Vince and knelt between his legs. The two little fairies went to work trying to milk the humans. The two men lay there enjoying their second orgasm of the night and watched the fairies work. When they were done, they said goodbye to the humans and walked away with full bellies.
Thomas and Vince lay still gasping for air and sweating from the orgasms they’d just had. It was dark now and they were exhausted. They drank some of the cheese and bread that they’d saved, and Thomas produced some wine from his pack. They rested and ate, content and happy.
“I think I have one more in me, then I won’t be able to cum again for a week. One more hungry fairy and I’m going to sleep” Vince said with a yawn.
“Me too.” said Thomas. “I hope the next one has big boobs and can say my name right.” he complained. “It will take big boobs to make me cum again. After that I’m done until tomorrow morning.” he boasted.
“There won’t be any fairies in the mor..” Vince stopped when he saw two new fairies walking into the firelight.
Vince had never seen fairies this tall and well built before. They were lean and strong with thicker legs and arms than the other fairies. Their stomachs were flat and hard. They carried small spears and shields. Their breasts were small but perfectly shaped. They had the faces of beautiful, but angry angels. Immediately they knew that these fairies were warriors and were the best fed fairies in the tribe.
“Fairies hungry.” one of the fairies announced with authority. “Humans friendly?”
“Humans friendly.” both answered. They were a little frightened themselves now, despite being much bigger than both fairy women.
The two fairies set their shields and spears down nearby and tossed the blankets off the humans. They looked at the only slightly engorged cocks and knew that it was going to take effort to get a meal.
“Humans tired?” one asked sharply
“Thomas not tired.” Thomas said looking to both of the beautiful powerful newcomers. “Humans can feed fairies all night.”
“Thank you human.” the other replied and chittered.
The fairies sat on the ground between them men’s legs and started pulling the soft penises into their mouths. The fairies sucked and swallowed forcefully to get the cocks hard again. Slowly the blood started filling the shafts and heads and the warrior fairies’ jaws dislocated slowly with a soft pop and they filled their mouths and throats with cock. The warrior fairies slammed their heads up and down on the cocks to get their reward as quickly as possible, but the humans were slow to deliver after a night of being sucked off by other fairies.
They didn’t have interest in pleasing the men and only wanted a meal. They didn’t want to expend a lot of energy for the calories but were putting in the effort to get fed. Vince could tell that the sounds coming from his partner were sounds of impatience. Thomas knew the same. Vince opened his legs to allow for more space for his fairy to work. He laid back and though about his last time with Toric and how she looked laying on his belly with her legs spread in front on him and her smell as he slammed into her throat. He could feel one of the tiny hands rubbing firmly but gently on his anus and the sensation was more than he could handle. He looked up in surprise at this new sensation.
Thomas was having a difficult time maintaining an erection cumming as well. The night had exhausted him. He was holding onto his blanket and pressing upwards into the fairy’s face. She was becoming more impatient and more aggressive.
Thomas and Vince were enjoying this increasingly rough treatment when they heard the two warriors making their chittering sound to communicate. They didn’t know what was being said but they could tell that there was impatience in the sounds. The sounds stopped and both fairies pressed their faces hard into their partner’s crotches.
Suddenly both fairies swallowed hard and the humans felt the fairies tiny fists penetrating roughly into their asses. The fairies were driving their fists and arms in and out of them like pistons. The fairies knew where the prostate glands were located and were punching into them with each stroke. The fairies got what they wanted and the humans groaned loudly into the night as the last of their energy and the last of their cum was drained from them.
Having always been well fed, the fairies didn’t hold the cocks down waiting for every drop of semen. They took the majority of the load and when the spasms and ropes of jizz stopped, they stopped. They tore the cocks out of their mouths, picked up their spears and shields and walked back into the forest.
“Thats kind of… gross.” Bec said with a sly grin on her face. “Did you just make that up, ya perv?”
“Nope, that’s how the story was told to me. I am just repeating what I heard.” I replied.
“Your aunt told you a sex story about two guys getting fisted by fairies? Your aunt? Told you this?” Bec asked. “You have a f’ed up family, telling things like that. Hahaha!” Bec laughed.
“No, that part of the story was told to me last night by the old guy at the pub after you went to sleep. He was a funny old guy. He warned me to stay out of the foothills. You still want to go?”
Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think.
|
The palace swallows her up, so as she walks she chokes it with livid teeth.
Thoughtless, Cassandra abrades the decorated halls with malignant growth; the crack of polished stone, the splinter of wood and glass. So close, and the stones shine so brightly, so beautifully; a swan-song lullaby that fills her head and her chest to bursting with zealous light .
calling, calling her home
Home is a ruined cottage, abandoned and hidden away from the world. Home is a gilded cage of towers and lines and lies. It’s the open sky and the moonlight that follows her and chases away all shadows of denial; it’s a briar-patch, warm and fetid; the knife-edge, the chase, the breath and the break in the skin—
I want.
The sun stares down at her from the center of the throne hall doors; an eye unblinking. The rocks grind like crepitus to a halt as she places both palms against the carved wood, tracing the grain. The opal keens.
“Take what belongs to you.” Zhan Tiri murmurs; stroking up the length of her spine. “Your star.”
Ours.
Cassandra leans forward, and pushes.
“I wouldn’t worry.” She once hears one of the older guards say to a trainee, in passing.
“The first test is always fixed.”
She stands before her father and the King with bloodied knuckles and can’t meet either of their eyes. The tension in the air is stifling. The ache in her shoulders, the bruise blooming under her eye. Her hands sting.
“You are privileged to be here, Cassandra.”
Attention from the royal family was rare. It usually left her...ambivalent; embarrassed, or rather, striving to please. On occasion the Queen would grace her with a wistful smile; an offer of tea. The King, well. He never did quite meet her eyes, the first few years.
changeling
“This… conduct is unbecoming for the daughter of the Captain of the Guard. There are rules, and there are systems; and the palace courtyard is no place for childish scrapes.”
She is silent, she does not speak. She listens and she doesn’t say that they should see the other guy; who couldn't keep his grimy hands to himself. Her father is silent; but she knows the conversation will repeat later. She is young, and so desperate to prove her worth to these men who have already judged her.
A voice, raised. “— visiting diplomats! These incidences will not continue. There are places enough outside of this castle for that. Do you understand?”
The convent; the proper place for stray young girls, scrabbling for a foothold. Thoughts for her well being. Doubt. Daughter of the Captain of the Guard, indeed.
“Yes, your highness.” Cass says, through the fear and indignation. She looks up. “I’m—”
The apology fades on her lips. The light turns, slowly. Shadows ooze from the windows, pooling onto the floor in shimmering slicks. King Frederic opens his mouth and jerks, ever so slightly. A verdant green vine spindles from the corner of his eye and bursts into bloom.
Cass steps back, with mounting horror, and something else. The monarch gives a great shudder as his mouth fills with soft mushrooms. A great swelling of bone; the skin bursts and the skeleton bends , held together by wraps of necrotic hawthorn. Arms spread wide and welcoming, like a scarecrow.
Cass turns, and her father falls, bleeding and sprouting on the carpet.
safe
From behind the thrones a shadow coagulates and steps down before her; a regal glide. Curled horns dripping green light, a gown worming with shapeless shadow. A smile; razor-sharp and full of promise.
The crown slips from the straw-king’s head and bounces down the steps; rolling to a stop at her feet. The night licks at the tips of her toes; searching, watching, waiting. Waiting, for her.
And Cassandra—
Cassandra leans down to brush her lips against the hem of the dress and the tendrils creep in past her teeth; down her throat and she is happy she is loved she is
perfect
The song ceases at last. One last whistling, winding note that fades into hushed silence.
Rapunzel stands barefoot between the thrones; hair slipping through her fingers like water-gild; glowing. Royal. Her green eyes snap forward at the sound of the opening doors; a righteous spark that flickers low with instant doubt; a damp shine. Shoulders set; standing tall; on her lips are practiced words that dissolve into a slow, whispered release at the sight of her friend.
“..Oh, Cass.”
Through the peaked stained glass, the evening gloams the room in shades of blue. Outside, the lanterns float, casting seething shadows. Cassandra steps into the hall and comes to a stop in the center of the long carpet, where she’s stood dozens of times before. Pale and sickly, eyes bruised; dark veins just beneath the surface of her skin. Her hair, longer now and disheveled.
Rapunzel, waiting. Rapunzel, searching; her eyes flickering over Cass, her lips parted in silent shock, or maybe pity. Pity. Beneath the stone, she can feel the veins in her withered arm pulse.
look at me, look what you did
Loathing claws its way out of her chest. Cassandra tips her head down and lets out a sharp, wild bark of laughter that echoes in the din. The princess cringes.
“And here I had hoped you’d lead in with missing me.” she drawls, sly and slick with venom.
Rapunzel blanches. She takes a hesitant step forward, one hand outstretched as if attempting to calm an animal. “Cass, of course I do.” Green eyes, searching. “What—”
“You sent everyone away.”
“It was a choice I had to make.” The princess says, immediate, sure.
“But you stayed.”
Rapunzel, softly; “I’m not leaving you again.” No running; not from this. Another step, and she pauses when the rocks barb lightly around Cassandra’s feet; hackles raised. A growling silence. Rapunzel continues.
“Cass this isn’t you.” So many things to say between them, so many potential pitfalls, mistakes . Sleepless nights, and her own nightmares. “I know you’re not acting like yourself, because you’re not yourself.”
Cassandra’s lips twitch, once.
“I don’t know if it’s the moonstone or if it’s..something else.” Rapunzel says, hedging another step.“But I know this isn’t you, Cass. You are brave, strong, and kind, and so much more.” She swallows. “More than..more than I knew.” Her face betrays the sorrow; the hope. Please please please. Rapunzel reaches out. “But you’re not a monster. You’re my — you’re my best friend and I love you.”
Lightning crackles from her armor like a spitting snake. Rapunzel flinches; and the noise roars .
“No.” Cass hisses. Shouts. “I am—I was a servant, a buffer; replaceable, discarded. I’m not going to be shunted to the side; left to rot. I was rotting!” she screams. “You don’t— you never knew me, no one; no one does.”
enough
She wasn’t content to simply exist any longer. She won’t be forgotten, she won’t be caged, won’t be denied . And if the light scorched her; ruined her, than at the very least the darkness it — chose her. It wanted her. Oh to be wanted , and how she gave of herself, if not freely than eagerly. She knew what she was for; she would claim her right to use this power, she would prove herself worthy.
“She chose me. ”
Liar, liar, lying. Such pretty words from her princess. Her pockmarked memories are full of bitter smiles; easy condescension and mistrust; golden feathers, pain and fire and a hunger for the light inside. A possessive love, a tender hate.
And Cassandra doesn’t know why she’s speaking . The words don’t mean anything any longer, but she spits them all the same.
“This place— the memories. They come for me, and choke me, and I can’t breathe . Rapunzel, you don’t know what I’ve done.” Terrible, wonderful; lives reduced to bloodless dust and tangled bone. A laugh; sharp and grisly climbs up and she wraps her arms around herself. “You don’t know, and you’re going to die not knowing.”
“Cass please.” Hurt and worry well up within the fear. “I want to talk, we can talk together; please —”
Cassandra shakes her head. “You don’t listen , Rapunzel.”
The shadowblade releases easily from its sheath, a low crackle. The ghost of her reflection in the blade. The opal crawls apprehensively in her chest and she grimaces, tightening her grip. Her power. Mine.
TAKE
Rapunzel stops. She’s so close now, a charge and a swing away. Her long hair wisps with golden light, movement without a breeze. The princess stands taller, her fists clenched at her side, eyes wet with unshed tears and bold determination; an anger not directed at her but for her.
“I’m listening now.”
Cassandra lunges forward.
Black rock claws curl at the ends of her fingertips. Hissing, she grips at the princess’s shoulder, the blade arched out. There is a flicker, an animate curl of gold at the edge of her tunnel vision.
A sound; an electric snap. Like a cascade of shattering glass. Or maybe they’re both screaming.
There is;
Light.
When Cassandra opens her eyes she is on her knees underneath a sky of endless black. The silence is sharp, resounding. A blink, a glance down. Dark water laps at her legs, gentle and still. The only movement is a ripple when she lifts her fingers; a noiseless drip.
Her reflection stares back, gaunt, and fractured against a sea of stars. The sky above is empty but the water swims with multitudes; stardust spun nebulas, an unfathomable astral expanse. Tiny flowers with stick-thin stems and tightly sealed blossoms bud up from the water like lilies, and stretch on forever.
She tries to breath, tries to stand, but something tugs her down. Cruel thickets of thorn; red and dripping, bind her legs, her waist, and sink below the surface, down, down to a place she cannot see and cannot bring herself to look.
“Cassandra—”
A voice, an echo, across the unsounded sea. Rapunzel stands across the water, eyes wide in shared shock. Her hair radiates golden sunlight; and it spills beneath the mirror surface of the lagoon and continues on and on and on, pulled along a milky-way river like petals in the tide.
“Rapunzel.” she whispers.
Like a drowning woman swallowing her first breath of fresh air; Cassandra gasps . A sensation, like surfacing after a long time under cold water; water so cold it could have stopped your heart and still kept you alive. The opal shudders in her chest; a long lost harmony, a sad song, and she is awake on a sudden wave of terrible, wonderful, overwhelming clarity.
Cassandra reaches out, and she screams.
“ Help me!”
Her obsidian claws scrape across a shield of spun gold, and Cassandra snarls.
A cord of hair tries to curl around the wrist that wields the blade and pull her sideways. Rapunzel yelps her name again and ducks out of the way as she tugs the sword free and brings it smashing down against the floor, shredding the carpet.
She curls her hand into a fist. Black rocks jags out of the polished marble; searing with moonlight; and Rapunzel, a golden glow, tries to weave between the teeth. Her hair snaps against the stones and the opal jitters madly; a want, a longing; whole. Perturbed, excited; in two minds. Listen it cries, and she is. Isn’t she?
Thorn tickles at her throat as she growls.
They dance across the throne room; stone splitting the room in half; a messy corral up towards the steps. Rapunzel is quick on her feet; capable; but she’s not a warrior. No weapon, no intent , not to harm, only to still. No shield, no sword. Her eyes flick towards the windows, the doors; more often as the sound grounds , up through the flowerbeds, through her shouts for Cass to stop.
The princess, one foot balanced on a tier; wraps her hair around her hands like cable, stretched, to intercept the overhead swing of the shadowblade. The gold flares and holds strong against the cold iron, (strength that belong to her) but Rapunzel’s knees and arms buckle under the force of the blow. Her foot slips, and she goes down hard against the steps; arms raised in struggle, shaking. A grimace of her own, a desperate serpentine tug of hair around Cassandra’s wrists; and the light flickers.
Lightning surges; the gold rips away, and with a crash the shadowblade flies from her grip and embeds itself into the floor feet away, shining.
Rapunzel’s eyes widen.
Without pause, Cassandra claws down at her shoulders and pins her princess back against the steps with a pained cry. Power dances across her skin in sparks. She feels like she could combust at any moment. She feels like she could do anything.
A purr rumbles; predatory, in the back of her mind.
They’re both panting. Cassandra’s hands slip up, against Rapunzel’s neck. Her right hand twitches, the fingernails digging in and drawing blood. The vines cinch tight against her shoulders, in taught anticipation. A shudder.
Sparks; and dagger of cool stone crackles and slides it’s way out of the armor at her wrist. It fits perfectly in her palm.
Rapunzel darts across the surface of the sea; leaving behind noiseless ripples in her wake. She drops to her knees in front of Cassandra, gasping, and without hesitation pulls her into a tight hug. Cass reaches up, clinging to her shoulders, head bowed. Her hands tremble.
“I’m so sorry, Cass. For everything.” Rapunzel says, head buried against her neck. “I never meant for any of this to happen; and then I hurt you and even with everything else I didn’t want to see, I was so—”
The princess leans back, tears dripping down her face, wincing at the bramble as it sinks into the firmament. Cass holds her there. She breathes out.
“I’m the one who should be apologizing.”
“That’s not true.” Rapuznel says, but there is less confidence behind the words; a different kind of hurt. Cass understands, she does.
“Yes.” she says firmly, because this is for herself. “It is. Not for..everything. But for..a lot. For this, for now .” This space; this flash of..lucidity. Her own thoughts, untethered. A separation; and she can feel the demon still, clawing at this sudden divide; a door suddenly slammed shut. But she’s not blameless, and she doesn’t want to be. A garden still needs to be fertilized first. Time, missing; memories scraped away like turpentine on oil canvas. Her memories. She knows.
Cassandra cringes, a sob welling up. “I’ve lost so much.”
Her pain, her past, her mistakes. Her choice. Betrayal. That part of her that is still angry, still so unsure of herself. A wild longing; in that even this brief contact is nearly overwhelming. So much between them; how could they say it all? Cass shivers, and rests her forehead against the princess’s. Rapunzel curls a comforting hand in her hair and she almost breaks. “Rapunzel.” Cass whispers. “..Do we regret each other? Deep down, do you regret me?”
“No.” Rapunzel says, with certainty. “Never.”
They’ll never be the same again. Nothing will. The future is still clouded and riddled with thorn. But maybe they can do better. Maybe she can. Cass smiles into her hair, a smile that cracks as she hiccups, the tears spilling out. Rapunzel holds her tighter. The opal wanes, brightly. The flowers twitch, petals opening and releasing little motes of dusty light.
“I’m afraid.” Cassandra murmurs, as the stars begin to swallow them up. A changing tide. Monstrous choice.
“Me too.” Rapunzel strokes the side of her face. “But not of you.”
She rests the tip of the dagger against the patterned sun in the center of the princess’s chest. So close. The light singing underneath. One hand, two. Pressure against the pommel.
Glory. A destiny snatched, a seed planted. An end to the eclipse.
Who is she?
Now.
why?
Who does she want to be?
“Cass, please.” Rapunzel lifts her hand up; the lightest touch against her cheek. Even now; Cassandra has never understood how she could be so bold. Blood wells up in the scratches on her neck and beads down under her collar, pooling.
Another cliff. Another spear, another stone. Choice. To paint this picture of herself in blood. To write her own story. Her hand wavers. Power. Mine.
For a moment, every single piece of black stone flickers red and the room is cast in a bloody, crimson aurora.
Tears run hot down her cheeks, and spatter against the fading glow of Rapunzel’s hair. She tightens her grip on the knife; so tight she is sure it would break if it was made of anything else.
“I see you.” Rapunzel whispers. The ache in her eyes reaches beyond pain.
Cassandra’s vision swims, and she nods. A rattle of thorn and teeth, a desire. Immense. She takes a deep breath. Her voice doesn’t waver.
“I know.”
And Cass spins the dagger backwards, angled up, and plunges it into the space beneath her ribs.
You foolish girl.
Cassandra gurgles. She stumbles back from Rapunzel; the princess shouts; a rising wail.
“ No, no no, Cass, no —”
A twist and a pull. The knife slips out, and Cass watches the blood spill across the ruined floor in bleak fascination. Red, still, at least. But there’s no time. The pain is enough to jolt her into action with purifying sharpness. With wild, ragged movement Cass brings the blade up, shredding the clasp on her cloak. A snick as the tip slides under the vines, the sticking burrs and the thorn.
She cuts.
She cuts and cuts and cuts and cuts —
Cassandra shreds the tendrils that crawl under her skin and drink deep like a parasite, she pulls at them with her fingers, digs in with the dagger; the black rock giving way like bits of ribbon-shale. She screams and she slashes until the weight lifts and tears away, and the crawling ceases and she is left gasping on the ground, her back arched and she laughs .
It’s like respite. It’s like loss. Air hunger and grief. She is so tired.
Rapunzel collapses beside her, shocked out of tears; pulling her hands away, her own pressing firmly against the wound in her abdomen, trying, trying.
“Cass why did you do that—”
How to explain? How to even start. She’d really rather just lie here, breathing. Faintly, she can hear something that sounds like birdsong.
Oh.
There is a twitch of movement at the edge of her spotted vision. Cass flies up and shoves Rapunzel to the side with all the strength she has left, spitting red, as a large dark claw snags into her shoulder and drags her bodily across the ground.
“Well, well, well. ”
Zhan Tiri looms over her like half-rotted corpse; black fur sloughing off her driftwood bones, dripping swamp-water. Tendrils and tentacles twitch at the end of her transient form, whips of wire-thin thorn. Recurve horns that seep red sap; her skull-maw open wide. When she speaks the growl of it digs so deep inside her head Cass feels like she might come apart again right there.
“Now, isn’t this familiar.” The demon purrs. Her talons dig deep against Cassandra’s shoulder, making her stay. “Another fickle declaration of independence; your miserable egress.”
A long green-black tongue flicks at the blood-vine mess on her shoulders. Zhan Tiri shimmers, and the pitch of her body reforms; the striking facsimile of something human and lovely. Less lovely now, oozing, infectious. Her mouth is full of serrated teeth, her hair shedding black feathers. She sneers, jerking her grip a little. Cassandra gasps in pain.
“This...nascent little rebellion in your twilight hour.”
“Get away from her!!” Rapunzel, standing, scratched and bloody ( alive) , fists clenched at her side and a look of fury on her face that Cass has never seen before. Dizzily, Cass appreciates the effort. She wishes she would run, finally. Just go please.
A begrimed hand slides up the side of her chin, none too gentle. Sharp claws tangle in her hair. Cass has the faculty left to grimace.
“Rapunzel.” Zhan Tiri purrs; like gravel underfoot. “ Darling, I’m so sorry we haven’t been properly introduced.”
A painting, a lotus-dream. The demon gestures, a jerky, mocking little bow. “Best laid plans, you know.” A sharp little smile. She yanks, turning with fluid grace, and Cass hisses.
“But Cassandra dearest and I need to have a conversation. A little tête-à-tête. I’m sure you understand.”
Rapunzel’s eyes widen in sudden, terrible understanding. She shoots Cassandra a look that’s somewhere between perplexed and panic-stricken. “You...you’re Zhan Tiri — ”
Lantern light curls over her horns in weeping shades. She grins wide over her shoulder at the princess. A musical bounce. “The one and only.” Her head cocks to the side, then down at Cassandra.
“Now.”
“No —”
Two things happen.
Cass reaches out, and calls up some of her waxing power (the opal is screeching in her head, in her chest, trying to figure out how to staunch the life leaking out) and black rocks slam up haphazardly between Rapunzel and the demon, a paltry barrier, a chance.
Somewhere in between starting and finishing that, Cass finds herself airborne.
Whatever breath was left goes out of her as she slams past gossamer curtains and into the far wall of the throne room. Her vision goes black for what feels like a minute, and then she gasps awake when claws dig deep into her side.
“You’re hurting again, dear-heart.” Zhan Tiri says in her ear. A smooth lift, as if she were a child’s play thing; another toss. Cass rolls, smearing red, choking. Fresh clarion pain. No fair hand for this.
“And for what?” The demon pulls her head back by her hair to look her in the eyes. Pinprick green on vacuous black. “For this? A paltry cage of brick and mortar? Your sunlit princess?” Zhan Tiri jerks Cassandra’s head forward like a marionette, around at the desolated throne. Rapunzel, a yellow flash, trying to navigate frantically between the rocks. She gasps, wetly.
A lowered voice. A deeper purr. “That future… that doesn’t exist. Not for you, Cassandra.”
Zhan Tiri holds her aloft again, cupping her chin. Cass scrabbles at the hands on her throat, the sounds, the colors assaulting her vision. Black lips press against the shell of her ear, a hissing melody. “You took the moon, but only I can give you the sun .”
Cassandra, her feet on the ground again, tiptoed and still held. The demon curls over her, and there is a drag in her chest; an unseen traction. “..We know. Deep down.”
Her sanity, slipping like warm honey. This base, primal hate; that carnal, primitive love. Craving, confused and desperate for attention, for power. What am I for?
“How it pains me to see you falter.” Fingers, soft on her chin. A gasp for air, a blessed pause. Cassandra blinks away spots that buzz like flies. She licks her lips and they taste like iron.
Zhan Tiri tilts her head.
“..You’re furious.” Cassandra whispers. Her voice is raw, her body broken. Bleeding. But it’s her turn to speak. “Because I’m taking something away.”
The demon’s eyes narrow, lidded. Cassandra grins up at her, feral and bloody and alive . The laugh chaffs at her throat. “Because I surprised you. ”
She closes her fingers around the ones that grasp her neck, tight. As tight as she can. It’s hard to think. Her words are slurred; the pain a growing fog. But it’s something. She is something, at least. Her choice. Her tirade.
Cassandra.
“I’m still here. You can’t erase me.”
The moment hangs between them; a garden of eternity.
And then Zhan Tiri smiles, oh so wide.
“Oh, Cassandra..” A gentle caress, a flick of talon. Her voice is so, so soft. “I was never trying to erase you, darling.”
The demon begins to squeeze. Over her shoulder, edges dimming, Cassandra can see Rapunzel, coming closer. Dragging something heavy behind her, gritting her teeth. A fierce light in her eyes; a fire.
“You opened a door.” Zhan Tiri whispers. “And I gave you a gift. Our little secret .”
A network of tunnels; the veins of a city. Ripe and fed on old conflict, a garden in waiting. A piece, nestled in the black pit of her heart, supping on the coal of her rage.
“I have shown you for you, my dear. The seeds of change, sown. Spreading, flourishing, deep inside. An instinct; your primacy, unleashed. Everything grows.”
An affirmation. Cassandra grimaces, wheezing, and then; a gasp. Zhan Tiri relaxes her grip. Blood bubbles out of the corner of her mouth, and the creature dips a tongue against it, so close. The words; old roots.
“You will always belong to me .”
Her vision has tunneled. Cass shudders, and rocks forward on her toes, so her forehead touches the demon’s, framed by her curling horns. A beat. A rest. She opens her mouth, and spits the words out with a venomous rattle.
“You love to talk.”
“—Way too much.” Rapunzel snarls from behind, and swings the shadowblade.
It takes some effort. The princess holds and heaves it with two hands, and the swipe itself doesn’t travel far; a glowing whistle that slices across the demon’s center like so much shadow.
And yet.
Zhan Tiri drops her and Cassandra crumples to the ground in a heap. The demon looks back over her shoulder again, her lips parted in a row of sharp fang. Her eyes slide down, and the cut writhes like shadow torn; dripping a red, viscous ichor that reeks of pine and smoke and stagnant water. Her legs appear to spindle out into vine; disrupted.
Rapunzel drops the sword, the handle still slick, and dives for Cassandra.
Zhan Tiri appears to fold over, her body unfurling; a clack of fangs, and shells. The skull splits open, rows of angry teeth and she roars , a hissing scream that makes both of them cringe. Dripping acrid sap; the shadow rises, until it’s claws are embedded in the walls and the ceiling and the rotting tongue dangles down from above.
Rapunzel pulls Cass close and her hair winds around them in a searing cocoon. Dazed, Cass can only watch the shadows narrow; agonize and distort, a storm inside. It feels like her lungs are about to burst; her head split open, a murky anger, a bitter tantrum.
Parting.
Every single window in the throne room shatters, inward.
And then, they are alone.
“Cassandra.” Rapunzel kneels over her again, her hands pressed down on the wound. The princess’s shoulders heave and shake; and she shouts into the night, for help, help now.
“I’m here, Cass.” Cassandra blinks up at her ( alive, she’s alive) and remains still. This is fine; this is right; she’s so tired . A year, months of exhaustion; of pain and struggle and hate and this is. Fine. The opal croons, and she shushes it. Enough . She is tired.
Obliging, as it has always tried to be, the moonstone relaxes. The dark armor begins to crumble, and fold back into the stone where it can. It covers her like black plaster dust; brittle in Rapunzel’s lap. Too exhausted to be mortified; Cass whimpers in relief. It’s nice. A weight, lifting.
It’s..different.
There are voices now, other voices. Doors, thrown open; a veritable stampede. Maybe a literal one; with the horses. Her sluggish thoughts settle funnily. It doesn’t even hurt much, anymore.
Rest.
“Cass, hold on, please.”
Sleep. Cassandra’s eyes flutter closed. A bone-deep sigh, a tingling numbness where she’s being grabbed. Cold, then warm again in Rapunzel’s embrace. Someone’s embrace. Rocking movement. Sleep.
Her own dreams maybe, or if she has her way, none at all.
It’s been a long year.
She’s tired of sharing.
|
Because of the last attack, Christmas break came sooner than scheduled and the students were given three full weeks of holidays.
When the time to return for the second half of the year came around, Aya wasn’t looking forward to another semester filled with petrified students. She could only hope they took advantage of the Christmas break to investigate and resolve the matter, but somehow she had a feeling that wasn’t the case. If Voldemort managed to spend an entire school year right under Dumbledore’s nose, it certainly wouldn’t be a stretch to say that whoever the culprit was this time, they could potentially get away with the crimes they’ve committed so far.
As expected, the headmaster informed them that, sadly, they have not been able to find the culprit responsible for the attacks, despite their best efforts. In turn, he was pleased to inform them about the new DADA professor and DADA classes returning for all years.
Apparently, the Board had finally appointed a replacement for Lockhart, one Remus Lupin. That meant that DADA classes were back in session and since they had skipped on the entire first half of the lessons, the higher-ups have decided to add supplementary lessons of DADA until the rest of the year if they wanted to catch up with the subject curriculum.
…
The beginning of January also reminded Aya of Snape’s birthday and that she still owed him both a Birthday and Christmas presents for his amazing performance. But what does one get for a Potions Professor? Potions supplies? Potions equipment? He probably already had both, but still.
She ended ordering a set of empty vials and bottles. Once they arrived, she did a bunch of tiny silver and emerald-green origami stars and placed them in the bottles to make it look like candy. For the final touch, she made a green origami snake and a yellow badger with their names written on it.
She went to Snape’s office after class on the ninth. She yelled, “Happy Birthday, Professor Snape!” enthusiastically, as soon as she burst through the door.
Snape was speechless and stunned for a few seconds, but then quickly recovered. “There is no need for yelling, Miss Potter,” he said, “I can still hear perfectly well … but I appreciate it,” he added softly.
She smiled. “Here,” she walked up to his desk and presented his gift. “Your Christmas and Birthday presents in one.”
“You shouldn’t have bothered, Miss Potter,” said Snape, but accepted the present nonetheless. “You gave me your gift, you can go now,” he commented, when she didn’t move to leave.
“Open it,” encouraged him Aya, excited. “I want to know what you think.”
Sighing dramatically, Snape unwrapped his gift and was pleasantly surprised. He first unboxed the vials and bottles filled with stars.
“I wanted to give you something a Potions Professor would need, so I ordered you a set of vials and bottles,” she commented, excitedly.
“And the stars?” he asked, amused. “I doubt the stars came included.”
“Until you fill the bottles with smelly and nasty tasting potions, I wanted to make it look like a candy jar, so I made a bunch of stars in Slytherin colours, because you know, you’re the Head of Slytherin, and it fits,” she explained, smiling. “Besides you can see each star as a small thank you for all the times you’ve helped me.”
He looked at the quantity of stars and a small, amused grin tugged his lips. “I sure have been helping you a lot this past year and a half if there are enough stars to fill five entire bottles,” he commented, chuckling lowly.
“There’s more,” encouraged Aya.
He set down the bottle he was holding and held up a paper snake and a paper badger. The first had his name on it and the latter bore Aya’s name. “And this?” he questioned.
“The snake, which is the symbol of Slytherin, is you and the badger, the symbol of Hufflepuff, is me. Together they form a wonderful friendship.”
Snape didn’t expect any of it, but he looked pleased and even happy about it. He smiled softly as he thanked her.
Aya returned his smile with a soft “You’re welcome, Professor.”
…
January passed without incidents. Professor Lupin seemed to be a competent teacher who treated his students with kindness and equality, which was something Aya really liked about him. His face was marred with scars, but he was mild-mannered, and he seemed to be well liked by students and teachers alike. Only Professor Snape seemed uncomfortable and downright displeased by his presence.
Curious as to why that was the case, she asked Snape about it.
“Professor,” she began, “why do you dislike Professor Lupin?”
Snape stiffened at Lupin’s name. “I don’t have to tell you a thing, Miss Potter,” he snapped at her. “It is none of your business.”
Not one to get discouraged by Snape’s curt and biting remarks, she persevered in her investigation. “I know,” she conceded, “but that doesn’t mean I’ll stop pestering you until you tell me.”
His eyes narrowed as he glared at her, but she was unfazed. After a staring contest and a lot of pleading later, Snape succumbed to her insistence.
“Fine, you little menace,” said Snape with a defeated sigh. “Lupin and I went to school together. I was in Slytherin and he was in Gryffindor, as well as his friends James Potter, your father, Peter Pettigrew … and Sirius Black,” he spat Sirius’ name as if it was venom.
Whoever Sirius Black was, he did something to Snape. Something bad.
“They called themselves Marauders and spent their school lives pranking and bullying students, usually Slytherins,” continued Snape. “Because I was a Slytherin, I automatically became their target. Their favourite target in fact.”
Aya was completely quiet, and there was a feeling of dread rising in her chest and stomach. She didn’t like where this was going.
“At some point I started defending myself and even fought back. In my sixth year, I started suspecting that Lupin was not entirely human. Black took that opportunity…” he struggled to find the words, “to set me up and Lupin attacked me.”
Aya gaped. “Professor Lupin attacked you?” she exclaimed, outraged.
“He wasn’t human at the time, but I cannot tell you what he is because of the vow I was forced to take after the incident.”
Professor Lupin was not entirely human. Unbelievable.
“Can you maybe give me a hint?” pressed Aya. She was determined to know what exactly Lupin was.
“His condition only worsens around full moon.”
‘A creature that relies on the full moon,’ she thought to herself. ‘You should know this, Aya. You’ve read so many fantasy books and watched so many fantasy movies. This should be easy.’
She frowned in thought.
“Wait,” she breathed, coming to the realisation, “Professor Lupin is a werewolf.”
Snape nodded.
“There’s a werewolf in the school,” she whispered, looking dazed. “Does anybody else know about this?”
“Only Dumbledore and Black, but he’s in Azkaban,” answered Snape. A confused frown appeared on Aya’s face. “Azkaban is a prison for witches and wizards.”
Aya nodded in understanding.
“Miss Potter,” he continued, “now that you know this. What are you going to do with this information?”
She looked stumped. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “On one hand, I want to expose him, because he could attack the students at any time, but on the other hand, I don’t see the need to do it, since there hasn’t been an incident yet.”
“Ah, yes,” said Snape morbidly amused, “herein lies the moral dilemma, Miss Potter. Is the livelihood of Lupin more important than the livelihood of hundreds of students? Should we risk potential attacks until finally exposing the threat or do we remove the threat before it has the opportunity to do any harm?”
“Ooph, Professor,” heaved Aya, “you’re asking me a very difficult question.”
“True, Miss Potter,” agreed Snape, “although I would use this as justification to simply get back at Lupin for nearly killing me or turning me into what he is as well.”
When she said nothing to that, a self-deprecating smile appeared on his lips. “Do you think I’m being petty for trying and wanting to ruin Lupin’s life, Miss Potter?”
“No,” she said without hesitation. “I would probably want to see the person who attacked me ruined and completely and utterly destroyed,” she narrowed her eyes in determination.
Suddenly, he began laughing, taking Aya completely by surprise. It was deep, rich and velvety. ‘He should laugh more,’ was all she could think.
He looked at her as if she was a wonder.
“You know, Miss Potter,” he began, after recollecting himself, “I’m going to be honest with you, because you deserve it.”
Oh, oh. This didn’t sound good.
“Before I met you, I was determined to hate you … After all; you were the spawn of James Potter, my chief tormentor during my school days. I expected you to be the same as him. That I’ll look at you and see him in you … but you couldn’t have been more different from him. You’re nothing like him and I’m glad you are who you are, Aya Potter. Don’t ever change.”
When Snape stopped talking, Aya’s eyes were filled with unshed tears. She tackled him in a ferocious hug and buried her face in his robes.
“You too, Professor,” she sniffed. Reluctantly, he circled his arms around her shoulders and squeezed back.
“I hope my father is rotting in hell for what he did to you,” she said completely serious. “I don’t care if he’s hailed as a hero for fighting Voldemort, nothing will erase the horrible things he’s done to you and many others, simply for being Slytherins.”
She looked up. “Maybe next time I should thank Voldemort for killing him,” she thought aloud.
At the mention of the Dark Lord’s name, Snape stiffened, but nonetheless, he said pensively, “Yes, maybe you should.”
…
After that conversation, Aya and Snape agreed to let Lupin be for the time being. Snape would continue to make his Wolfsbane Potion, and Aya would keep an eye on him during class. At the first sign of danger, they will act immediately.
With Valentine’s Day around the corner, the school was covered in pink and red hearts. Boys and girls were a mess, panicking over their crushes and about how to confess their feelings. Girls even went a step further. Some of the older female students talked about love potions and putting them in sweets … and that didn’t sit well with Aya.
She couldn’t understand why some people wanted to force these things. Why couldn’t they accept that someone they fancied might not fancy them back? Why couldn’t they let it happen naturally? Why did they have to force a date rape drug down their crushes throats disguised as candy? And the worst part of it all was that that kind of violation of human free will was not punishable by law. It wasn’t even considered a criminal offence that could lend you in Azkaban!
Simply put, Aya was disgusted.
At least her friends seemed to be immune to that kind of stupidity … for now.
…
During one of Aya’s bathroom trips, she stumbled upon flooded bathroom floor. She grimaced. “Now my shoes are going to be wet,” she complained.
Carefully she walked towards the cubicles. “What happened here?” she wondered.
After doing her toilet business, she decided to have a look around and in one of the cubicles; she encountered a black leather-bound book floating in the toilet.
She took a paper towel and carefully, but quickly, extracted the book from it and held it between her thumb and forefinger at arm’s length.
“Yuck,” was all she could say, when holding something that smelt like toilet water.
How someone could have lost a book this big in a toilet was beyond her, but hey, Dudley dropped a mobile phone into the toilet by accident during one of the school breaks, so she could see something like a book falling out of the robe pocket when trying to manoeuvre that shit happening.
Although she was tempted to rinse it with soap, she didn’t want to damage the book beyond repair, so she simply dried it off and wrapped it in at least a dozen paper towels before putting it in her school bag.
Returning to her dorm, she decided to inspect her find to see to whom it belonged. With gloved hands and sheets of old Daily Prophets covering her bed, because she would be damned if she let a toilet smelling book spread it’s vicious smell on her bed and hands, she found a golden tag with T. M. Riddle engraved in it.
‘Was there a student with those initials and surname?’
She wasn’t particularly knowledgeable on that front … and let’s be honest, why should she know every single person in the school? It’s not like she interacted with ninety percent of the school populace, so she was fine with knowing only a handful of names.
Flipping through it, she noticed it was empty.
‘Well,’ she thought, ‘whoever this Riddle person is, they sure didn’t write in the notebook.’ An idea crossed her mind. ‘Maybe they used invisible ink.’
She looked for a candle, lighted it and passed some of the pages over the flame to see if there would be any writing.
‘Pft, nothing,’ she sighed, feeling disappointed.
Well, maybe since this was a magical notebook, it could be enchanted to appear empty … Or it was just empty and there was nothing special about it.
Or … it was a talking book. Some novels used that trope in their stories.
After debating whether to write in the book or not, she decided to try.
“Hello,” she started, “is anyone in there?”
The words she wrote disappeared before her eyes. “Well,” she said, begrudgingly, “that explains why there is not a single page with any ink on it.”
A response in elegant cursive writing appeared on the same page. ‘Hello,’ it read.
“Wonderful,” she wrote back. “Listen, I don’t know who you are or who you belong to but I need you to answer me something VERY IMPORTANT.”
She could feel caution and hesitation on the other end. ‘If it is within my knowledge, I will answer whatever question you need.’
“Would you mind if I washed this notebook with soap and water?”
‘No,’ it answered, ‘but I do not understand why you would want to do such a thing in the first place.’
“Because somehow you, as in this book, have ended in a toilet in one of the girls’ bathrooms. Yuck, I tell you. Now I’m afraid that if I let you lie around my belongings you’ll end up spreading the stench of toilet all over them, and I cannot allow that to happen. I hope you understand.”
‘Perfectly. But I am surprised that you found me in a toilet.’
“Oh, believe me, I was surprised as well. I mean you aren’t exactly small, but with how big the school robes’ pockets are you would fit inside one. So I thought that, if my clumsy cousin can lose a mobile phone in a toilet, someone else can be just as clumsy to lose a book in it too. Anyway, I wanted to wash it immediately, but I didn’t want to damage it beyond repair, so I just dried you off and brought you back with me to my dorm. Now I’m handling you with gloves and old newspaper.”
There was a pause, before the entity in the book wrote again. ‘Well … to answer your original question, yes, you can wash this book with soap and water. The pages won’t be damaged in any way.’
“Good.”
‘May I ask to whom I have the pleasure of speaking?’
She thought for a bit. Was it a good idea to tell the book her real name? Probably not, but hey … what did she have to lose?
“Aya Potter.”
‘Nice to meet you, Aya. My name is Tom Riddle.’
“Oh, so you’re the owner of this book then?”
‘Indeed I am.’
“Wait a minute … If you’re the owner … and you’re a male … what the hell were you doing in a girls’ bathroom? I mean I know it can get crowded on toilets during breaks but for one to be so desperate to go to the opposite gender’s bathroom to get to the toilet is a new concept to me. Did you get lost or something?”
‘Nothing of the sort. Allow me to explain the confusion. It is true that I am the original owner of this journal, however, before you found me, I belonged to someone else and the one who was in possession of my journal was a girl.’
“Oh, that makes sense. Can you tell me which girl? So that I can return you to her as soon as I freshen you up with some soap.”
‘That won’t be necessary.’
“What won’t be necessary, to freshen you up or to return you to the girl?”
‘The latter. I am afraid the girl didn’t lose me as you speculated earlier, but rather … she was trying to get rid of me.’
“And why is that? Did you say something to upset her? I wouldn’t put it past some of the girls in this school.”
‘… I might have … said something to upset her, I mean.’
“Ohoho. Care to share? I’m always happy to read about people getting upset.”
‘As much as I would love to share, I have sworn secrecy over the matter as well as the identity of the girl.’
She lamented herself. ‘And there goes my source of entertainment,’ she thought, dejectedly. ‘Oh, well.’
‘What about you, Aya? Would you mind sharing a bit about yourself with me?’
“Sure, I don’t mind. What would you like to know?”
‘Well, for starters, what House are you in?’
“Is that important?”
‘I don’t think so, but for every Hogwarts student the House they’re sorted in plays a great and important role in their lives.’
“Well, I don’t really care about that shit, but if you must know, I’m in Hufflepuff. You?”
‘I was in Slytherin. Is there any particular reason, why you don’t … give a shit?’
“Not really, I just think it’s a stupid system that only breeds animosity between the students. Apparently, Hufflepuffs are lame, Slytherins are evil, and Ravenclaws and Gryffindors are the school jocks.”
‘How old are you?’
“Twelve. This is my second year and it just might also be my last.”
‘Why is that?’
“You don’t know what’s going on at Hogwarts?”
‘Oh, are you referring to the mysterious attacks?’
“Yes. No one knows who or what is behind the attacks, and every time an attack happened I heard a voice no one else had heard.”
‘A voice?’
“Yeah. A bodiless voice that talks about blood, killing … and being hungry. At first, I thought I was tired and hearing things, then when it happened the second time and the third time … let’s just say I thought my auditory hallucinations had something to do with the culprit … But it’s not just this year that has me eager to leave this place. The shit has been piling up even before I came here.”
‘How so?’
“That, my dear Tom, is a long story. Look, not to be rude or anything, but my hand feels like it’s about to fall off and I still have homework to do. If there were a way for me to talk to you personally, that would be extremely helpful, because it really would be much easier to tell you than to write you about it. Besides, there’s also the bonus of getting to hear my charming voice and seeing me gesticulate like a monkey. So, goodbye until then, and now I’ll go wash you, because you really stink and it’s making me nauseous and dizzy. I’ll probably have to air the room as well.”
With that, she sighed, stretched and closed the journal and went to the dorm lavatory, where she scrubbed the living shit out of the covers and pages. When she was sure there was not a trace of toilet smell on them, she dried it off, and put it away, until she was getting ready for bed.
…
It would seem that womanhood had finally decided to pay a visit to Aya … right in the middle of her shower. In other words, she finally got her period. After an eternity wondering when she will also start menstruating, she was not happy to look down her legs and see a bloody trail going down her inner thighs. She thought she was injured and was now bleeding out!
Luckily, her friends had some hygienic pads to spare, so she could sleep without bloodying her panties and bed sheets.
However, just as she was finishing her homework and getting ready for bed, she started to experience a blunt, persisting and uncomfortable pressure in her lower abdomen and back. Susan and Hannah advised her to drink some special tea witches usually drank during the first two days of the period and to press a hot water bottle against the lower abdomen. Aya figured that since they and Hermione already had periods, they knew what they were talking.
So, just before curfew, she went to Professor Snape (because hell, if she was walking all the way up to the infirmary to get to Madam Pomfrey) to get some of that special tea or any other type of shit that would ease the pressure she was experiencing. Because now not only her lower abdomen and back hurt, her bones did as well and instead of feeling like herself, she felt like an eighty-year-old grandma with rheumatism.
Thankfully, Professor Snape had what she needed, but as he told her, it would take a few hours before she would notice any difference. She didn’t care, as long as she woke up feeling like she had before the period.
She returned to the dorm and returned to bed with a hot water bottle pressed to her pelvis and decided to write a few quick lines to Tom and excuse herself.
“Hey, Tom.”
‘Welcome back, Aya.’
“Listen, Tom, while I was showering, I finally got my first period and now I feel like shit. I did drink some special tea and I’m pressing a hot water bottle against my pelvis, but it will take a while to take effect so, I don’t think I can talk to you tonight. I’m sorry. Maybe tomorrow?”
‘I understand. However, I know a method for us to meet and talk without you being affected by what ails your body.’
“Really? Tom, you’re a saviour. Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it. Anything if it means escaping this feeling of dull and persistent uncomfortableness.”
‘Just lie down; press me against your chest with pages spread and relax … I’ll do the rest.’
That didn’t sound complicated.
She wished her friends good night, then snuggled under the blanket and did as Tom had instructed her.
…
As she drifted off to sleep, she found herself in a small and austere room with a desk, a couple of bookshelves, a bed, a closet, and most importantly, a person sitting on a chair behind the desk.
“Tom?” she inquired carefully, as she was facing a teenage boy in Slytherin robes, with short but slightly wavy dark hair and dark eyes.
“Welcome, Aya,” he greeted her with a smile and a velvety voice, “to my humble personal space inside the journal.” He spread his arms to encompass the room.
She looked around one more time and noticed that everything was in sepia undertones … even Tom.
“What can I say?” she stated rhetorically. “It’s a nice place. Small but cosy.” She looked at him. “And you look good as well.”
He chuckled lowly at the praise. “I’m glad you like it.”
A beat of silence passed between them.
“How are you feeling?” he asked her.
For the first time since she appeared in Tom’s room, she looked at herself and examined her appearance and how she felt.
“Well,” she began matter-of-factly, “this sepia tone makes me look like I’ve been sifted through a photoshop filter, but otherwise I feel like myself again not like an eighty-year-old grandma with rheumatism.”
Tom laughed amused. “That’s an oddly specific simile, but I’m glad I could make you feel great again.” He gestured towards the bed. “Please, sit.”
She looked cautiously at the bed. “Can I actually do that?” she questioned him. “I mean, I won’t fall through it?”
Another chuckle came from him. “You can touch everything inside the journal … even me should you feel like it.”
An awed expression settled on her face. “Awesome,” she breathed amazed and sat on the bed, then bounced in place a few times to see how springy and soft it was. She was tempted to jump on it, but refrained herself this time. Surely, there were going to be more meetings like this between Tom and her, if all she had to do was sleep with the journal open and close to her chest.
He gently cleared his throat.
“So …” he began tentatively. She looked at him. “Now that we’ve met in person, I am dying to hear what you have to say about your … disastrous Hogwarts experience so far.”
“Ah, yes,” she said, excitedly. “I did promise to tell you, didn’t I? Well then, my dear Tom, make yourself comfortable because this ...” she emphasized dramatically, “is going to be a long one.” She paused and made an unsure grimace. “Are you sure you don’t mind me talking all night?”
“Oh, no,” he hurried to reassure her, “not at all.”
“Good.” She bobbed her head once for good measure. “Okay …” she sighed. “Where to begin? … I suppose the beginning would make the most sense, but do I really want to bore you with insipid and uninteresting details of my life at the Dursleys?” wondered Aya aloud.
“The Dursleys?” interjected Tom, confused.
“My muggle relatives,” she clarified. She hummed with a scrunched up face, deep in thought, until her face lit up. “Oh,” she exclaimed, “I know. We’ll begin with how Aya Potter has talked her way out of certain death at the end of her first year, or how I somehow managed to convince Voldemort to let me live.”
That intrigued Tom and a hungry gleam crossed his eyes. “Voldemort?”
“Apparently, he is a very infamous Dark Lord,” elaborated Aya, “also referred to as You-Know-Who and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named by the general populace. I say apparently because I never knew him personally before the end of my first year and all I’ve ever heard about him is from other people, so I can’t really say much about what he’s done and if he’s as bad as people portray him to be.”
She took a big breath, before continuing.
“Anyway, Voldemort and I have a history. A brief one, but history nonetheless. You see, when I was just a baby, for some reason he decided to come to our house, kill my parents and then kill me as well. However, something somehow went wrong and the magic he used didn’t work how it should. I survived with a scar on my forehead and he vanished.”
“You mean he died?” interjected Tom, confused and curious.
“Well I can attest that he is very much alive, resembles something out of a horror movie right now, but he’s alive nonetheless,” said Aya, dramatically. “However, some people believe him dead, yes, and they are convinced I did something to ‘defeat’ him.”
She rolled her eyes and made an annoyed expression.
“I don’t know why they would think that,” she continued, “but people who believe he still lives want me to repeat whatever voodoo hoodoo I apparently did that night, because they are of the mentality,” her voice got high pitched as she said in an exaggerated tone, “‘if Aya Potter managed to defeat him once, she can doing twice’.”
She added a little, and exaggerated, lady-like cough for good measure, just to show how ridiculous it sounded.
“Personally,” she returned to her normal, no-bullshit, voice, “I think that is a load of bullshit and have absolutely no interest in fighting Voldemort when he manages to get a body and if he decides to start a war again,” she stated. “Hey, as long as he lets me live in relative peace, he can sow all the madness and destruction he wants. Hell, maybe I’ll even sit and watch the show with some popcorn,” she added with a pensive expression … As if that idea and image appealed to her and was seriously considering it.
“Anyway,” she shook her head slightly, returning to the story she was telling before she was side tracked, “what I was saying. After he disappeared, the same populace who came up with a ridiculous substitute for Voldemort, declared me the Girl-Who-Lived, I was left with my muggle relatives and didn’t know magic existed until my Hogwarts letter,” she enumerated with her fingers. “At first, I didn’t want to come to Hogwarts, you know?”
“Really?” Tom’s eyebrows rose in surprise.
“Yeah,” she nodded emphatically, “especially after learning someone from the wizarding world tried to kill me and might try to do it again, and I’ll have you know,” she wagged her forefinger at him, “that I have no interest in dying young.”
She sighed, defeated.
“But McGonagall insisted, and I finally thought to myself ‘Oh, fuck it, give it a try, maybe you’ll like it’. But no, bitch, I wanted to quit after the first month!” she exclaimed, waving her arms around for emphasis, making her braided hair bounce.
Tom’s eyes widened at her display. “What happened?”
“Several shits happened, that’s what!” she said, agitated, still waving her hands all over the place.
“During my first DADA lesson,” she began, “I was so damn nervous that I got stomach cramps. Then … my scar started to hurt and it gave me a massive headache. This combined with the other shit made me sick and I almost barfed on Quirrelmort.”
As she was talking, she was also showing some of it in real time.
“Quirrelmort?”
At the confusion on Tom’s face, she stopped and tried to think of an explanation.
“Uh … Quirrelmort … It’s a combination of the names Quirrell and Voldemort. Don’t worry,” she assured him, “I’ll get to that in a minute.”
Another stray thought occurred to her.
“Now that I think about it,” she meditated aloud, but mostly to herself, “it’s a good thing I didn’t end up barfing on him, because then my chances of survival would’ve been significantly lower. Anyway, back to the main plot.”
She inhaled deeply again, readying herself for another bout of rambling and gesticulating.
“After spilling my guts out in front of Quirrelmort, they had to carry me to the infirmary. I ended up missing the rest of my classes that day. The next disaster occurred during my first Potions lesson. It started fine; I was acing the questions Professor Snape was throwing at me, I felt good, because I didn’t have to do magic at all, and then,” she paused for dramatic effect, “we started brewing a potion. It wasn’t difficult to follow the recipe written on the blackboard, but apparently, for a lot of people it was, because fumes of all colours started to fill the classroom … and the smell … it made me light-headed and the next thing I know … BAM … I’m on the floor, unconscious and being shipped off to the infirmary again,” she exclaimed, again.
Tom only limited himself to nodding with amused eyes, although it was more than obvious he wanted to laugh openly at her.
“The third incident happened during my first Herbology lesson,” she continued, after inhaling again. “Again, just like Potions it started fine … Until twenty minutes in, my eyes started to itch and water … then my nose was all stuffy and runny … until I was having difficulties breathing and I wanted to scratch my skin off.”
She paused for a bit.
“You can imagine what followed next … another trip to the infirmary,” she exclaimed. “Apparently, I’m allergic to some magical plant, but because there are so many fucking plants in the greenhouse, they still don’t know which plant almost killed me that lesson. So now, every time I have Herbology, I have to wear a suit that makes me look like something from fucking outer space!” she added, raising her voice at the end.
Tom winced for a bit.
“And to close it off,” she exhaled, annoyed, “the fourth and final incident happened during my first flying lesson.” She addressed him directly. “I hope you’re seeing the pattern here.”
It was mostly a rhetorical question, so she didn’t wait for Tom’s reaction or comment.
“Anyway, I’ve never flown before and I’m not particularly fond of high places, so you can imagine how that ended,” she narrated sardonically. “I managed to get in the air, and I thought that would be it … but no, Hooch wanted us to do a circle around the castle grounds, and I was like, ‘hell no, Bitch! I’m floating in the air for three seconds and then I’m going back to solid ground’. But I panicked and forgot how to get down. As a result, I suffered a severe panic attack and had to be escorted to the infirmary … again.”
Huffing and puffing, she put her hands on her hips. She turned to Tom again.
“And keep in mind that all this shit happened before September was even out,” she complained.
“But after that point, everything settled and the rest of the year passed without a hitch. Unless you count that incident during Hallowe’en with the troll, but I slept through that shit, so I only heard about it,” she added in a quieter and less excited tone.
“Regardless, May came, exams were right around the corner, me and my friends were studying like crazy … And one day, I wanted to take a break, you know, go to the toilet, go to the kitchen to grab some snacks to get some sugar in my system, and the next thing I know … BAM … Something hits me from behind. When I came to, I was in a room with my possessed professor, Voldemort and a huge ass mirror.”
Tom’s attention was piqued again.
“Of course, at first,” she explained, “I didn’t know Voldemort was also there, nor that he was possessing my DADA teacher. I thought it was just Quirrell and me … until Quirrell took off the turban he’s been wearing all year long and there was another face stuck to the back of his head.”
Tom’s eyebrows rose in surprise again.
“It was Voldemort’s face, of course,” she said, “and believe me, Tom, when I tell you he looked like something straight out of a horror movie. I mean, I’ve seen some pretty fucked up shit, but even I couldn’t look at him for more than a second at first. Then, of course, I got used to how he looked and all that shit … but still.”
She sighed.
“Anyway, he wanted my help in getting the Philosopher’s stone, I agreed, but just as I was about to hand over the stone, I thought to myself ‘Hold up! You’ve seen this shit too many times to just give the stone to him without some guarantee to live to see another day.’ So, I started talking, I don’t even remember what exactly I said to him anymore, but whatever I said must have worked because, when I finally gave him the stone, he was like ‘Nice doing business with you’ and I was like ‘Yo, you’re welcome and good luck with your future endeavours’. And just like that,” she snapped her fingers for illustrative purposes, “he was gone, and I was still breathing.”
Tom seemed intrigued by this, and she couldn’t blame him.
“Fast forward to the present,” she proceeded, realizing she’s been talking for quite a while now, and Tom must be getting tired of listening to her. “I seriously need to speed this up, otherwise we won’t be done before sunrise,” she commented.
“Yo, Tom,” she said, tentatively, looking at him, “are you really okay with me talking so much? I mean, even I would’ve been fed up with myself at this point.”
“Don’t worry, Aya,” he offered her a sincere smile. “I like listening to your voice. You have a way of telling a story that despite the length it makes it extremely interesting to follow.”
“Aw, Tom,” she sighed, moved, “the things you say. I don’t know how you can still listen to my ramblings, and without so much as moving and interrupting … You have the patience of a saint I tell you. I mean, here I am gesticulating like an ape and moving around like a paper kite, all over the place, and you’re just sitting there.”
Okay, maybe she should shut up before she ended up insulting him accidentally.
“Thank you,” she said instead and with a smile of her own. “It means a lot.”
“You’re welcome,” he returned with a slight incline of his head, still smiling gently.
Before she completely forgot what she wanted to say, she returned to her narration. “Okay, where was I? Ah. After being warned by a house elf of mortal danger at Hogwarts, I tried to do the reasonable thing and stay the hell away from the school, but apparently, people at Hogwarts really want me here, because this time they sent Professor Snape to pick me up. Don’t get me wrong,” she added, as a manner of footnote. “I enjoyed Professor Snape’s company very much. We spent a lovely morning and early afternoon shopping and even ate lunch.”
She cleared her throat to return to the main point.
She told him about the party she attended dressed as a skeleton, the animalistic, disembodied voice she heard while she was trying to freshen up a bit after a debate concerning mummification process in Ancient Egypt, human sacrifices in Pre-Columbian civilisations and different physical and psychological torture techniques and which were better, and the petrified cat.
She also told him about her relief when the second attack happened and it was Colin Creevey who was petrified. In her words, “I could kiss the culprit for relieving me of that walking menace with a camera.”
At Tom’s incredulous head shaking, she added in a defensive tone, “What? It’s true! He was like a fly that no matter how much I swung my hands at it to make it go away, it kept coming back to annoy me some more.”
However, when the third, and so far final, attack happened, she got scared shitless again, because if ghosts weren’t immune then no one was, because as she put it, “No talisman or amulet can protect you from this OP beast, whoever and whatever it is.”
It was close to sunrise, when they finished talking.
…
After that conversation, Aya and Tom met every night inside the journal.
Usually, they talked about mundane topics to learn more about one another, things such as likes and dislikes; their views on life, humanity, supernatural forces, blood purity, the stupidity of the wizarding community as a whole and many more.
In between those topics, they sometimes discussed things related with Aya’s schoolwork and magic in general. Given that Aya had an extremely limited and poor grasp on magic, Tom made sure to broaden her horizons during their nightly chats as well. Which, Aya figured, came in handy before the finals, even if it could have been considered a form of cheating.
There were also no more attacks and culprit remained a mystery. The petrified students, the ghost and Mrs. Norris were back to normal just before the exams.
By the time Aya left Hogwarts with her group of friends for the summer, she considered Tom as a good, but secret, friend. Mostly because it was something Tom had asked of her, and with how much he helped her during the second semester, she figured, it was the least she could do for him.
Tom, however, didn’t know what to make of the enigma that was Aya Potter.
When he first spoke with her through the journal, he wasn’t exactly sure what to expect from the person who had allegedly defeated his future self as an infant, but he wasn’t expecting the whirlwind of confusion that Aya Potter evoked in him.
After Ginny Weasley discarded him, which was to be expected (however, he would have never imagined being thrown into the fucking toilet), the one to find him couldn’t have been any other than the Girl-Who-Lived herself.
He’d heard about Aya Potter from the Weasley brat, but he wanted to get to know her himself. He planned to gather information, search for weaknesses, anything he might use against his nemesis, or if he played his cards well enough he might have corrupted her and used her to further his goals.
But from the first conversation about toilet stench and soap and water, he was intrigued. Then, during their first face-to-face conversation she ended up completely fascinating him. His other self must have been just as fascinated with her as he was, if he simply let her live instead of killing her when he had the chance.
She was extremely casual, talkative, had some questionable morals, was quite vulgar for her age, if the little glimpse into her … juicy vocabulary was anything to go by, and she came off as straightforward and smart. She was also more than willing to share personal information, but that didn’t necessarily make her look too trusting.
In their subsequent conversations, which were never dull, he learned she had a dark and morbid sense of humour, deriving fun from watching people get hurt. She liked to read, mostly novels, but she recently became interested in manga, because apparently when she read blood and gore, everything was much more explicit in the latter and therefore more to her liking. She liked videogames, but couldn’t play them, but if she could, she would play those where she got to kill a lot of virtual people and monsters. When it came to music, she listened to pretty much everything, but preferred Rock. Oh, and when she was old enough, she wanted to marry a Demon Lord and have lots of little demon babies.
She also talked a bit about her life with the muggles, and unlike him seemed to have had a normal experience. As she liked to say, “It could have been worse. So I’m not complaining.” And he supposed she was right.
In turn, he slowly started revealing things about himself, his past at the orphanage, his tastes, his beliefs, his desires …
When he revealed himself as a dark wizard, she didn’t judge him, and her acceptance meant more to him than he anticipated. But even if she accepted him as he was, he was reluctant (afraid really) to tell her that he was the one behind the school attacks, that he and Voldemort were once the same person, that he had planned to kill or use her for his own selfish gains.
No, no matter how open and accepting Aya was as a person, there were some thing she was better off not knowing about him.
He started to see in her an accomplice, a partner, a confidant … a friend. A true friend, not what those pureblooded pricks he had for classmates called friendship.
To think it took five decades of being stuck in a goddamn book to, finally, encounter such a bond. And Merlin knows just how desperately he needed some entertainment after so many years of silence and solitude … even if it came in the form of a twelve-year-old girl. |
All of a sudden, Brienne thinks she might have a boyfriend.
They haven’t talked about it—the word. The status. But she thinks she might have one.
It’s been just over a week since her very first date. Her very first kiss. Her very first time having a man over to her apartment for the purpose of kissing. Her very first time being at his apartment, which wasn’t supposed to be for the purpose of kissing, but became a location at which they had kissed, nonetheless. People don’t have boyfriends within a week of doing all those things, do they?
But it feels like she might have one.
She’s not seeing anyone else, obviously. And she knows he’s not, at least not in the past week, because—well, they’ve been together almost all the time. Unless he went on dates after work last Monday and Tuesday. Or in the middle of the night. Or after they had breakfast on Saturday, or before he was at her apartment on Sunday afternoon. Or maybe on Sunday night. Or those couple of times he went out for business meetings. But one of those times he took his assistant. He could be dating his assistant? But Peck is dating Pia in accounting, isn’t he?
Anyway, she supposes all those scenarios are plausible. But it sounds quite tiring for him, in her opinion, if Jaime is really doing any or all of that. And he probably wouldn’t have sent her sad face emojis on Monday evening, when she left for the gym in a hurry, right after work. She just—she needed some time to herself, to internalise everything. When she checked her phone after, she found that he had also texted her, I have a gym in my building, if you ever need to use it. That isn’t something you’d text someone if you were dating people in addition to that someone, right?
Then, on Tuesday morning, she had actually given Jaime advance notice about going over to Margaery’s that evening. Which is something they do now, apparently—tell each other about their schedules. It’s not that she was avoiding him per se, though she did feel guilty when he sent her a sad face emoji again, the one with the single tear. But Brienne just needed someone to be there in front of her—so she could externalise everything, this time—and Margaery told her Loras wasn’t going to be home that evening. So Brienne went over, told Margaery all that had happened since, Gods, since two days before, and sat through an indecent amount of shrieking in the process. She had to make Margaery promise not to do any of that shrieking without Brienne present, not even to her brother, and not to Renly.
She especially couldn’t do any of that shrieking in the office.
On Wednesday, and Thursday, and Friday, however, Jaime was all—See you after work? or Going to the gym tonight, wanna join? or Come by later. I’ll cook dinner. She had said yes to all of those things, even the last one, though she had been very suspicious of Jaime’s culinary skills considering he only had a single almost-empty container of milk on Monday morning. But he managed, something simple that still tasted wonderful, more wonderful because he had cooked it specially for her.
And then there was wine.
And then more kissing.
And then she slept on his couch this time, in the clothes she lent him when he slept on hers. He hadn’t asked her to share his bed—she had this feeling that he wanted to ask, even though he didn’t— but he had offered to sleep on the couch so she could have the bed all to herself. She said no, I couldn’t possibly, and he said please, you’re my guest, and they went back and forth about it for far too long, until she decided to just lie down on the couch and not move. He laughed in defeat, and had the concierge send up an extra blanket.
In the morning, he drove her back home. They had breakfast together for the very first time.
At the office, though, for this first week after their first date—Brienne didn’t know what to do. How to act. Jaime still came by her desk, but now there was something different to his smile, the way he said her name. It was this, this undercurrent of—I know. I know what it feels like to have your lips on mine. And she knew the same, could barely look in his eyes because she knew. It was because she knew that she felt she could no longer dance with him. She stopped walking by his office.
By Wednesday, he’d noticed. When he walked by her cubicle, smiled at her, said her name, it now had an undercurrent of—Where have you been? Dance with me, Brienne. What’s wrong with a little dance? But he didn’t bring it up on Wednesday evening, or Thursday evening, or Friday evening.
When she woke up on his couch, realised it was a Saturday morning, she felt awash with an immense relief. It was ridiculous, this relief of Saturday, as if she had survived some perilous ordeal. But it was just five days of—of working in the same office as the man who might be her boyfriend. The man who is also, technically, her boss. On the scale of ordeals, this was hardly perilous at all. But she felt the tension leave her body all the same, at the realisation of the significance of a Saturday. There wouldn’t be a need to step into the office on a Saturday. There wouldn’t be a dance. Jaime was there by her side, anyway—on Saturday morning, on Sunday afternoon.
The second Monday after their first date, Brienne decided Mondays would always be her night to go to the gym on her own. She told Jaime so in no uncertain terms. She wanted to see him, she did—out of his suit and his slicked back hair—yet something in her told her it would be good to have that one night to herself, every single week. She would go to the gym where she actually had a membership, not to the gym in his apartment building. Although she had to admit that his gym was really, really, really nice.
But today—today is Tuesday. She’s sitting at her cubicle on a Tuesday morning, has no plans with Margaery tonight, has no plans with anyone. And now she has the option of having plans with Jaime, who might be her boyfriend.
Right on cue, he texts her: Do you have plans tonight?
No, she types, then thinks. She follows with, Movie? They haven’t gone for a movie yet. That’s something people do on dates, isn’t it?
Sounds good, he replies. She notices he’s typing his next message for a while. When she receives it, it says: Which cinema?
Which cinema? There’s one just down the street, and another about fifteen minutes walk away. She’s seen colleagues at both of those. They could go to the one that’s nearest to her apartment, but he’d have to drive all the way there in traffic. And where would he pick her up? Would she wait for him outside his apartment building? There’s also the one that’s about halfway in between here and the office. It’s not too far from the train station. Would she take the train, and have him drive there? That seems safe, but also—she doesn’t think Jaime would be pleased about that. They could take the train together, she supposes, or maybe—she’d leave first, and he’d follow—Gods, does he even know how public transport works? She actually doesn’t know the answer to that question. Would he get lost?
And just like that, one question became a hundred. She’s still holding onto her phone, looking at different cinemas on the map, trying to work out all possible permutations of watching a movie with Jaime in public, when he walks by her cubicle.
“Brienne,” he greets, and pauses at her cubicle. He doesn’t—he’s not supposed to pause. His eyes dart to her phone.
“Jaime,” she replies, keeping her voice steady as she can. Margaery’s chair is rotating towards them—Brienne can see it out of the corner of her eye—and she glares at Jaime. Keep walking, she tries to communicate with her eyes. He looks at her for a few more seconds, then walks away.
She immediately opens her messaging app and types, I’ll let you know later. I’m looking up the timings. Deciding on the venue is part of looking up the timings, isn’t it?
Jaime starts typing, stops, starts typing again. But when his message arrives, all it says is, Okay.
Then, Brienne gets an important email. And another, and another. She has to reply to all of those important emails. It’s just a cinema—it’s just movie timings—but isn’t there so much to do? She has so much to do. She has to eat lunch at her desk, she has too much to do. Next thing she knows it’s four-thirty in the afternoon, and her phone vibrates with another text from Jaime.
It’s looking like I’ll have to work late. Don’t think I can do a movie, but would still like to have dinner. Can you wait for me?
Well, I guess that solves the cinema problem, Brienne thinks, though she knows it doesn’t. The cinema problem will continue to exist. They can’t just—avoid movies. But what would it look like—the employee going for movies with her boss, whom the employee had punched? The employee who didn’t lose her job after, because of that boss? Which cinema? is just another way of asking What would it look like? And they hadn’t figured out the answer to that question at all.
But she doesn’t say any of that. Of course, Brienne replies. Have some work to finish up, too. I’ll be at my desk.
At five, Renly comes by her cubicle to invite her for post-work drinks. She declines.
At six, Margaery asks, “Are you sure you don’t want to join us?” Brienne says, “No, too much work to do,” but she looks pointedly in the direction of Jaime’s office anyway. Margaery just nods and flashes her a grin. Brienne returns that grin with a weak smile.
At seven, there are just a few people left in the office. Brienne stands up, on the pretext of stretching after a day sitting at her desk, walks to where she can see the entrance to Jaime’s office. The lights are still switched on. Not that she expected otherwise.
At eight, her phone lights up with: Twenty minutes, I promise. There’s one, maybe two people left that she can see, and they’re packing up to leave for the day.
Why don’t I go get takeout? she texts back. Meet you at your place at 8.30?
Sure, he says. Anything’s good, as long as it isn’t spicy.
Brienne thinks of shrimp dipped in hot sauce and smiles.
At eight-thirty, Brienne sits herself down on a bench in the lobby of Jaime’s apartment building, two bags of takeout beside her. She nods at the man sitting at the concierge, who’s seen her with Jaime three times already in the past week, as did the doorman who very kindly let her in. At eight-forty, Jaime bursts through the main doors.
“I’m so sorry.” He leans down to kiss her on the cheek, to Brienne’s surprise. He hasn’t kissed her in public before, even if just on the cheek, even if this is just the lobby of Jaime’s apartment building. “You must be starving.”
“Oh—it’s fine,” she says, still a little stunned. “Sorry you had to work late.”
“Yeah. Had to go through some contracts. Sometimes that takes me awhile.”
Brienne wants to ask Jaime what that means, why going through contracts might take awhile for him specifically. But he’s already picked up the takeout bags and held out his hand, so she takes it and follows him into the elevator.
They put on a movie while they eat, something they’ve both been planning to watch but haven’t gotten around to, and Brienne can’t help but think this is much safer than a cinema. The movie isn’t as good as they had hoped, not even bad enough for them to rant about—it’s just so much more ordinary than they had expected. But they agree to sit through the whole thing anyway.
When they’re done with their food, Jaime puts his arm around her, and she curls into his side. It’s something she never imagined she could do—curling into a man’s side—and it’s not exactly the most comfortable position in the world for someone built like her, but she does it anyway. They’re both still in their work clothes, of course, but Jaime’s taken off his jacket and tie, unbuttoned a couple of buttons. Most importantly, he’s rolled his sleeves up past his elbows. Brienne wraps her hand around his arm absently.
“You like doing that,” Jaime murmurs, his eyes still on the TV.
“Hmm?”
“Touching me there.”
Brienne pulls her hand back. “Should I not?”
“I don’t mind,” he says. “Just an observation.”
She finds she can’t touch him there now, though he’s said he doesn’t mind. She folds her hands in her lap, stares straight at the TV. “I just—they’re nice.”
“My forearms?” he asks, bemused.
“Yeah. Is that creepy?”
Jaime laughs. “No, I’m flattered. I like them too.”
Brienne rolls her eyes. “Of course you do,” she mutters, feels Jaime’s low chuckle travel from his body into hers. She leaves her hands in her lap.
It’s only when the movie ends that Brienne thinks to look at the time. “Oh fuck, it’s late,” she exclaims, jumping up from his couch. “I hope I can still catch the train.”
“I’ll drive you home,” Jaime offers.
“It’s too far. It’ll be past twelve—maybe almost one by the time you get back.”
“I could—” and then he falls silent. “It’s fine,” he says instead. “I’ll drive you.”
What was that? “Hold on—what were you going to say?”
“I was going to say—” Jaime looks somewhat sheepish. “I was going to say I could stay over. Then I could drive you to work tomorrow, too. Or drop you off somewhere, if you—if you don’t want us to be seen together.”
“Oh.” Oh. “But you’d have to sleep on the—”
“I don’t mind. Only if you don’t mind.”
“I, I don’t mind. Would we need to leave at six, though?” It was fine that one time, and she usually has to be up by six forty-five anyway, but she’d definitely appreciate that extra bit of sleep.
“I could—I could bring my clothes. Get ready at yours. If you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind.”
Okay then. Since neither of them seemed to mind any part of this arrangement, Brienne finds herself in Jaime’s car, driving back to her place past eleven at night. As she looks out the window, the height of the buildings getting shorter and shorter as they travel towards the outskirts of the city, she thinks, once again, that Jaime really might be her boyfriend. She supposes today counts as their sixth date. Or seventh, if she includes the breakfast on Saturday morning, though it was really sort of an extension from Friday night. All of that in—what, ten days.
“Did you figure out which cinema, in the end?” Jaime asks abruptly, when he stops at a red light.
“What?”
“Which cinema would we have gone to? If I didn’t have to work late?”
“Oh—I—I got caught up with work—”
“Oh.”
Brienne sighs, looks down at her hands. “The truth is, I didn’t know which one to pick, Jaime. I was freaking out about who would see us, if we went to the ones within walking distance of the office, and then it seemed like too far to go to the one near my apartment, although I guess we’re heading there now anyway so I suppose I could have picked that—”
“Brienne—”
“Sorry. I’m rambling. It’s stupid.”
“No—it’s fine.” The light turns green, and Jaime accelerates just a little too quickly. “I just wanted to say—I’d like to watch a movie with you. At a cinema, in public. I’d like to do that with you at some point, without having to worry. I’ll drive to the one in your neighbourhood, if that’s what you’d prefer. But still, I think—this is—it’s something we need to sort out. Being seen.”
“I know,” Brienne mumbles.
“I know I said I’d work something out but—is there anything to figure out, really? Are we doing anything wrong?”
“No—I suppose not. But people will talk, anyway.” Brienne picks at her fingernails, thinks of how she came to punch Jaime in the first place, thinks of Brienne the Beauty.
“I—it’s not that I don’t understand it, but—does it matter?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think we’ll know if it matters until they start talking.” She’s always tried to brush off people’s words, but—has it ever really worked? Truly worked? Haven’t those words always found ways to burrow underneath her skin, stay there?
“We can’t hide forever,” is Jaime’s response.
Brienne looks over at him. Jaime’s eyes are still firmly on the road. Forever. Isn’t it too soon for words like that? Yet, Jaime’s about to stay over at her apartment again, for the second time in ten days. He has a change of clothes in his back seat. He’ll be sleeping on the couch, but—he has a toothbrush waiting for him at her sink. How did this all happen? In ten days?
The rest of the drive is quiet. So is the walk from the car to her apartment, though Brienne holds his hand, anyway. He’s sitting on her couch, hands clasped together, when she brings her extra blanket out to him.
“Two months,” she announces, as she sets the blanket down beside him. Two months—it feels like a long time compared to ten days, but—
Jaime looks up at her. “Two months?”
“We… we keep it quiet for two months. Then—we’ll review the situation.” She doesn’t want to be so businesslike about it, but it’s best to have some kind of timeline. She thinks it’ll help Jaime feel settled, somehow, even if she is making him wait.
“Okay,” Jaime exhales. “Two months. If my father doesn’t—”
Oh. She forgot about that. She sits down next to him, slips her fingers between his. “We’ll assume he won’t. If he does, and we want to—to continue. Then we… work something out.”
“Okay. Two months.” He turns to look at her, grips her hand tighter. “Will you do something for me, Brienne? Will you—at least not treat me like a stranger? At work?”
“Oh—oh gods, I’m so sorry about that.” Brienne buries her face in Jaime’s arm. “I guess I just—I don’t know how to act around you now.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. I just think I’ll—I’ll smile too much or something.”
Brienne feels Jaime’s fingers brush her hair away from her face. “I wouldn’t mind that.” Gods, will he ever not make me blush?
“How about this.” She perches her chin on his shoulder. “I’ll promise to try not to treat you like a stranger. Is that good enough?”
“Hmm,” Jaime says, attempting to sound aloof and failing miserably. “We’ll see how you do this week. Then we can review the situation.”
Brienne gives him a playful nudge just before she stands back up. Her hand is still in his. “Goodnight, Jaime.”
“Goodnight, Brienne,” he replies. She takes a step away, two steps, but he won’t let go of her hand. As she rounds the couch, Brienne remembers the first morning she spent in Jaime’s apartment, waiting for him to get ready. She leans over, rests both their hands on his shoulder. “Please, for Gods’ sakes,” she whispers in his ear, “wake up early if you’re gonna spend an hour in the bathroom.”
“I will,” he smirks.
Brienne thinks for a moment, or stops herself from thinking, then gives him a kiss on the cheek, just as he had kissed hers in the lobby of his apartment building. She attempts to walk in the direction of her bedroom—except Jaime’s fingers are still entwined with hers.
“Goodnight, Jaime,” she repeats, looking meaningfully at their hands.
Jaime says nothing. He only brings her hand to his lips, kisses it like a knight of old, and lets her go. |
Erik was right when he had said he was not easy to live with.
He had apparently gathered a number of habits that were well suited to a person who was constantly alone, and adding another person into that mix was... Interesting.
Living underground, especially, seemed to lend itself to a certain lack of regard for the time due to the absence of natural light.
It's not even a full week of sharing a bedroom when it happens - she feels him wake during the night and her half sleeping mind registers the fact and doesn't think much else of it.
He, however, is faced with quite the dilemma.
It's not that he wants to leave the comfort of this bed and the woman sharing it, no it's not that at all - he could stay here forever, he feels.
But he's just awoken from a dream - such a beautiful dream! - and he now he has a piece of music in his mind that he simply must write down. This was a common occurrence for him, and it never had posed any kind issue before - he'd just get up and write until he was finished then simply go back to bed, regardless of the hour.
But now there was Christine to think about. Namely, about how terrible it would be to leave her side while he was writing. Who knows how long it would take for him to write this - why, she might even have already left for work by the time he got back! That was unacceptable. But this music must be written...
So he devises a compromise. He regretfully leaves the bed for a few short minutes - just long enough to grab the inkwell, quill, paper, and a large book to write against. He takes them back to the bedroom, and hesitates before setting the inkwell on the side table near the bed. The little table happens to be Christine's side, but he certainly cannot have the ink spilling all over the sheets - he would have nothing to write with, in that case.
The candle that Christine insists on keeping lit during the night gives off just enough light for him to see the staves with a little effort.
He settles back into the warmth of the bed, Christine shifting slightly despite his best efforts not to wake her.
He takes the quill and attempts to dip it into the inkwell - a task for which it is necessary to reach over his wife and lean towards the table. She doesn't seem to notice. Success!
He begins to furiously scribble the notes out onto the lined paper, biting his lip. He can't wait to play this for Christine.
Naturally, the quill runs out of ink, so he repeats the action of leaning and reaching and dipping it in the inkwell.
He continues writing. It runs dry. He reaches.
Her mostly sleeping mind was aware that he had left and come back, but there was nothing so terribly unusual about that. It was the odd motion of him leaning over her that her sleep addled brain had trouble comprehending. Was he reaching for her? But she felt no touch at all. An odd anomaly, nothing more.
But he does it again. And again. She opens her eyes. He's sitting up and appears to be writing something. And now, it happens again. He reaches over her for something that she can only assume is on the little table. His torso comes within scant millimetres of brushing against her nose, and even in the midst of her annoyance she must admit she's rather impressed at the amount of talent it must take to be able to get so close without actually touching. As he pulls back to sitting, she sees that he's holding a quill. So he's writing, then. But still-
"Erik." she says in an even tone. "What are you doing."
"Nothing, my love. Go back to sleep."
She leans up on her elbow, watching him as he's absorbed in his work.
"Do you often do nothing in the middle of the night?"
"Perhaps, I suppose." his answer is absentminded, as though he were only half listening to her.
But then he snaps his head over to look at her, as if realizing for the first time that he's disturbed her sleep.
"Ah, Christine, forgive me. I did not mean to wake you. Please, go back to sleep. It will not happen again, I promise."
She sighs and rolls to face away from him, closing her eyes once more. She's just drifting off again when she feels the ever so slight dip of the mattress, and sure enough when she opens her eyes there's an arm above her. She turns to face towards him again, and not only his face but his entire body takes on an expression of guilt - but he keeps writing nonetheless.
"Why don't you trade sides with me, Erik? Then you won't have to reach."
He shakes his head.
"That is your side of the bed - you have always slept there and I know that you prefer it."
She rolls on to her back, staring up at the ceiling in the near darkness.
"They make pens that hold a fair deal of ink inside of them, you know." she says after two more reaches. "I could buy you one the next time I'm at the store, then you wouldn't have to worry about the inkwell anymore."
"I would much prefer if you did not, my dear."
She considers his possible aversions to such a thing.
"They make them with red ink." she offers.
He pauses, not sure how to explain.
"It is not merely about the color of the ink. A fountain pen would- well, I'm afraid a fountain pen would quite ruin the aesthetic of the whole thing." he gestures widely to the staves. "It's simply out of the question."
She huffs and shakes her head, finding it equal parts frustrating and endearing. That damn feather quill pen, with all its outdatedness and toil, here to bother both of their lives for the foreseeable future because of Erik's dedication to the aesthetic.
"Perhaps we can get you a table for your side, too, then."
He nods and she's not certain that he's heard her, but the quill once again requiring ink reminds her that this solution is of no use to them at the moment regardless.
She bites back her next suggestion when she realizes how it would sound out loud - after all, there's surely a reason that he's here in the bed with her and not at his organ where he normally composes. To mention asking the possibility of if he could take his writing to a different room please? - he would surely take that as her casting him out, and she already had had enough trouble getting him to feel comfortable with sharing her room. So she tries her best to ignore what's happening.
Her poor, dear husband. She loves him so, but she also loves being well rested.
Finally it becomes too much.
"Erik Francis Daae, switch sides with me this instant." she slams her hands down on the blankets.
He's startled out of his work and looks at her, narrowing his eyes.
"Where the devil did you get the name Francis from?" he asks suspiciously.
He's never used that name in any of his many aliases and is utterly confused.
"I don't know." she replies. "It's surely the sleep deprivation. I just came up with it."
He's still confused but he complies with her demand, getting out and then getting back in, now taking up the space Christine had been occupying. Surely this will fix it, she feels, as her eyes slide closed once more.
Except-
Except now that there's no distractions from his movements, she can hear the scritch scritch scritch of the quill against the paper and the tap tap tap of the quill against the inkwell, and that's when she realizes that when one is married to a genius, one must learn to cope with the eccentricities that come along with that, such as composing at three in the morning.
She knows that she is not perfect, of course - she'd be the first to admit to that. Her hypothetical situation of leaving dirty laundry around the room may have been less of a hypothetical per say and more of a constant in actual fact. It's understandable that such a thing is off-putting to him, and she does attempt to do better in that regard. There are myriad little actions she herself performs that she knows can be annoying as well - some she's aware of and some she is not. She taps her foot as she washes the dishes, and Erik has never brought it up to her but it never ceases to make him nervous because the movement reminds him of his mother. They agree that honesty with each other is typically the best policy, however, so for almost any other habit he gently explains why it bothers him, and she typically stops or lessens whatever it is, and she feels comfortable doing the same to him - and it nearly always works out quite well. But she's sometimes surprised at what, exactly will be the thing that sets him off, because often times it's nothing she would have imagined to be a problem, and on some occasions an innocuous action or noise will occur at a most inopportune moment when one of them is irritable and the other is feeling sensitive.
She was merely sitting in the reading room preparing to drink a cup of tea like she has nearly every day of her life when it happens.
Erik is sitting across the room, reading intently. It's some stuffy old tome that Christine can't make head or tail if despite having peeked at it's contents before, so he's reading it silently. He had offered, quite generously, to read it aloud if she so desired, but she had not taken him up on the offer. Still, it's nice to be in the same room, she thinks, so she had decided to drink her tea in here.
She's simply stirring the sugar in, as she always does, when she notices his eyes are no longer on the page and instead on her. She smiles sweetly at him, but this garners no response. No matter. She continues stirring, waiting for all the sugar to dissolve.
"Christine." he says presently. "Surely the sugar is sufficiently mixed by now."
She stills.
"Well... The first spoonful is, yes."
Erik knows perfectly well that she takes far more than spoonful and his jaw clenches.
"Would you like me to stir it for you?" he offers, and she isn't certain what he's getting at.
"No, thank you though."
"Are you very certain, Christine?" his voice is tight.
"I know how to stir tea, Erik." she continues to do just that.
"You are certainly stirring it, yes. But have you tried stirring it so that the spoon does not touch the sides of the cup, perhaps?"
She frowns.
"I've always stirred my tea this way, and we've had tea together nearly every few days for the past years. You've never said anything about it before."
"There have always been other sounds to distract, quite often talking. It is different now, here in the silence."
He feels rather rude to bring it up, but that awful clinking noise is so hateful to his ears, he can't bear it.
Christine tries her best to comply with his wishes. In truth, she had barely ever noticed that she stirred in such a manner - and really, who would? The drink got stirred - was that not the point of the action? So what if the spoon clinked against the side of the cup in the process? This new way takes focus, more effort, but she can tell it bothers him even if she doesn't fully understand so she tries her best.
Her mind wanders after the fourth spoon of sugar, and her fingers slip.
Clink.
He pins her with his stern gaze.
"Well it was not on purpose." she huffs.
He sets the book down and closes his eyes, trying to calm himself. His voice is only slightly raised when he replies.
"This would not have happened if you simply let me stir it for you."
The words were said almost calmly, just a bit on the loud side, and really - he had had a very trying day that had cumulated in quite a headache that was only just now waning, but that wretched clinking was threatening to bring it back on at full force.
For Christine, however, the day had also been very trying - a fact he was not aware of, just as she was unaware of his headache. She had dropped a large stack of papers to be filed and they had become hopelessly mixed up, a fact that had not pleased the lead accountant and had led to her being called a bit of name. It stung of course, and she spent the rest of the day thinking about it - to the point that she had mixed up a ticket order, knocked over a pitcher of juice on the carpet, and tripped over her own feet in front of some customers and rather embarrassed herself. The rest of the day she had felt quite sorry for herself, and in the midst of her moping her mind turned to some very dramatic thoughts.
The accountant was right, she had thought sadly, she can't seem to do anything right. And as she often did in times of sadness, she thought of her husband - a topic that usually cheered her very well. But today - today her thoughts had drifted to how capable he was, such a quick learner with hardly any topic or skill he was not knowledgeable about and adept in. He would never have had these kind of silly problems she was having - mixing up a simple order, for goodness sake! What was wrong with her? So different than Erik... It was a wonder how he tolerated her bumbling ineptitude. Surely it irritated him at times, she thought. How could it not? Not when he was so skilled and she so... Simple. She had stopped her work every so often to brush away a tear of pity for her own plight. She was only ever good at singing but now that that's gone-
And now- now, she could not even stir a cup of tea correctly. Is she so much of an oaf that she must have someone handle a spoon for her because she'll mess it up otherwise? Apparently so.
Erik exhales after his words and opens his eyes once more just in time to see her face crumple.
She sets the cup on the table in front of her and rises, smoothing down her skirt with shaking hands. She attempts to quickly exit the room before the tears start up again, and she realizes they're coming sooner and more numerous than she had thought and she leaves as fast as she can.
Panic shoots through Erik. He hadn't intended this - hadn't intended this at all! He sits for a moment, stricken. It's finally happened - he finally drove her off in a fit of tears. And all over a blasted tea cup!
He jumps out of the chair and races after her. He had said he'd let her leave if she ever wished it, but he hadn't intended it all to end like this - please, not like this.
She's standing in their bedroom with her hands pressed against her face, trying to stifle her pitiful weeping. She vaguely hears Erik as he hesitates in the doorway before striding across the floor - expertly avoiding the clothing strewn about there - and approaches her from behind.
He wraps his arms around her and rests his forehead on her shoulder.
"I am sorry, Christine. Please forgive me. You can stir your tea however you want."
A trembling plea for her not to leave him is on the tip of his tongue but he bites it back.
"Oh, Erik." she sighs as she scrubs at her face. "It's not just about the tea cup."
His heart twists, because surely she's about to recount his numerous sins against her-
"It was the lead accountant."
He pauses as he digests this new information, his arms tightening around her just slightly as his mood shifts from penitent to possessive.
"What did he do?"
His voice holds a faint undercurrent of darkness, and for a brief moment Christine is once again glad not only of his more stable temperament of late but his long ago vow to not kill anymore - because at the tone of his voice she suddenly has an image in her mind of the accountant meeting the wrong side of a Punjab Lasso. It's so terribly wicked of her - a sin, surely - but her lips twitch into a small smile at the image before she can burry the awful thought. It was not that she wished any harm on anyone, of course not - but it was just slightly flattering, was it not? The thought that Erik would fight anyone that offended or harmed her?
"I was carrying a rather large amount of files that had taken ages to sort, and I- I dropped them everywhere, and he was very cross with me over it. And I felt so clumsy for the rest of the day, like I'm not very skilled at anything, and then the tea cup-" she cuts off to sniff.
"I'm not a very skilled person in general, I suppose." she sighs.
Erik hums.
"You know that is not true, my dear. You're just having a bad day. Anyone could have dropped those papers. Do you think that insolant account boy could write an opera, as you have done?"
She nods, thinking about his words as she leans back against his chest.
"Besides," he murmurs. "I daresay you are quite skilled at putting up with me."
A grin creeps across her face.
"You are quite right in that regard, my love."
Yes, they both find the transition of living with another person to be an adjustment, and there are small arguments peppered here and there, and concessions must be made every now and then. Neither one one would say that the other is particularly easy to live with - but both of them would not have it any other way. Any moments of discord are far outnumbered by moments of sweetness, moments of love.
She'll gladly put up with every pointed look at her discarded petticoats lying in a corner in their room if it means she gets evenings of coming home after a long day to a meal that's been beautifully prepared just for her, she'd take endless disagreements about the lemon to sugar ratio in tea if it also meant she could also have an endless amount of mornings where she awoke with his arms around her, she'd endure every one of his odd quirks and then some as long she could continue to play and compose music with him.
He didn't care so terribly that she was somewhat absentminded when it came to laundry or dishes or various items lying about - not when she hung on his every word and kindly remembered the things he had told her, whether it be something small like mentioning a favorite whiskey (of which she later bought for him as a gift) or something more important like how she did her best to overcome her fear of spiders so she could simply put them out of the room instead of killing them after he had told her about how he felt a sort of kinship with the creatures. She could crack her knuckles and pop every joint in her body with that horrible noise constantly (although at times it seems she certainly does) as long they could continue to share those soft touches and sensuous caresses each night. He would endure her tapping her fingers with no discernibly consistent beat against every hard surface of their home for a thousand years just to be able to keep seeing that look on her face when she'd glance over at him in random moments and smile, her eyes full of love.
No, they would not have it any other way. |
May 1969
The wild-haired witch scowled at the note in front of her, shoving her fingers into her black curls, barely able to resist the urge to pull at the strands. With a dark look on her face, she stared across the Great Hall to the Gryffindor table, where that mudblood sat, with her nose shoved so far into a potions book, it was a miracle that she was even able to walk anywhere.
What in Salazar's name was wrong with the mudblood, Bellatrix wondered?
Bellatrix had thought that she would be easy to manipulate into doing exactly what she wanted, but Hermione Granger had been resistant from the beginning. A little flattery here, some lies about how she and Rodolphus were star-crossed lovers, she was certain that the mudblood would have folded at some point in the two years she'd known Rodolphus. After all, Rodolphus was a good looking wizard and a pureblood to boot - what wasn't to like?
For someone other than her, that is...Bellatrix wouldn't touch that idiotic jock with a ten foot broom even if his father was highly regarded by the Dark Lord.
Why couldn't her dumb father see that Bellatrix was clearly destined for bigger and better men? She'd known it, felt it in her magical core from the first moment that she met the Dark Lord at her grandfather's Yule party in her fifth year. The way that he spoke, the way that he looked, Bellatrix knew right then and there that she would never accept anyone but him.
And the Dark Lord had noticed her as well. He'd laughed with her by the fireplace, sipping brandy, and told her about how he knew that she was a special witch, and he knew that she would do great things if she only just followed his path, followed his instructions. She was ready to take the Dark Mark then and there, just like her father had, but the Dark Lord had simply laughed and laughed, and praised her eagerness, and promised that he would mark her the moment that she graduated Hogwarts if that was what she wanted. He told her he would make her the first female Death Eater.
But Bellatrix just knew that she would never get such an honor if she had to marry Rodolphus Lestrange, no matter who his father was! She would be expected to pop out babies and keep their home and participate in society garbage like her mum did. And there was no way that Rodolphus would see the Dark Lord's cause as the necessity it was, not now that he was such a muggle lover!
She was tempted to stomp her feet in frustration. Couldn't her parents see what a terrible mistake that they were making? Didn't they hear the disgusting rumors that Rodolphus was fucking a mudblood in his family's home in Paris? Surely that would have been enough for them to break off the betrothal.
Apparently not, based on this utter drivel that her mother had sent to her that morning. Leave it to Druella to focus on place settings and guest lists and flower colors and robe fittings. Bellatrix would never consent to even stepping into Madame Malkins to let her mother dress her up in silk and lace, trussed up like a Yule turkey only to be given to that imbecile Rodolphus Lestrange to languish for the rest of her life.
No - she would not! And if her father made her, well...she had been practicing her unforgivables, and she would see to it that Rodolphus wouldn't be around for long. But then...what was to stop them from marrying her off again. Edmond Lestrange could always insist on marrying her to Rabastan. And, while Rabastan certainly was a better pureblood than his older brother was, there was no way that she was going to marry a twelve year old little twerp.
She was broken out of her homicidal musings by someone clearing their throat. Looking up from her mother's flowery handwriting, Bellatrix say Narcissa sitting across the table from her. She wondered how long her little sister had been sitting there, patiently waiting to be noticed. Narcissa would wait forever, if that was what was expected of her.
"What do you want, Cissa?" Bellatrix snarled, not caring if she hurt her little sister's feelings.
Narcissa's corn silk blonde hair was delicately curled in at the ends, with a big black bow that matched her uniform perfectly. "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed," Narcissa countered, sniffing to show her disapproval. "Anyway, mother wrote to me and said that you still hadn't selected colors for your wedding ceremony to Rodolphus, and well, I just wanted to know if you had any thoughts about what you would be choosing, because, after all, I'll be your maid of honor, right? And I just want to make sure that my robes will flatter me because I want to make sure that Lucius will think that I look beautiful-"
"Cissa, shut up with your vapid, insignificant little worries about Lucius bloody Malfoy," Bellatrix snarled, her dark eyes snapping to where that little worm was sitting, laughing with his friends. "If Lucius Malfoy doesn't think you are beautiful all the time than you should destroy him."
"Bella! You shouldn't talk about him like that," Narcissa gasped, clearly aghast. "He's going to be your brother-in-law soon."
"Well, you should remember that you are a Black, and you are the prize," she answered, rolling her eyes. "The Black family is far more important than some silly little Malfoy, whose family has only just gotten an ounce of political power in the last fifty years."
Narcissa blushed under her sister's admonishment. "I know, Bella, I just..I really like Lucius," the fourth year answered, her face going a little bit dopey when she thought of her betrothed. "And, come on, can't you just pick green and be done with it so I can start looking for robes. There's only less than two months left before your wedding."
"There isn't going to be a wedding, Cissa," Bellatrix answered, feeling her rage bubble up once again when she thought of her short sided parents. "Or if there is, it certainly won't be to Bellatrix Lestrange."
"But Bella - mother said," Narcissa tried to argue back, only to be cut off once again.
Bellatrix growled in annoyance, before setting the letter from her mother alight. "I don't care what mother says, Narcissa," she argued back, her chin gutting out in defiance. "I am not marrying that oaf Rodolphus Lestrange, and I won't hear another word about it, understood?"
"Ahem - Miss Black?" Professor Slughorn's voice boomed. "I think you know as well as I that using an incendio at the breakfast table is not acceptable."
Putting on a fake smile, her dimple showing in one cheek, she agreed effusively with her Head of House. "Of course, Professor Slughorn, my apologies," she told him. "My emotions just got away from me for a moment...you see I got some unhappy news about my upcoming nuptials from my mother today," she lied.
Slughorn's face lit up at the mention of her betrothal to Rodolphus, perhaps still hoping for an invitation to the event, a joining of two influential families. "Of course, Miss Black. Perfectly understandable. It's a big day for you."
"Actually, I was wondering if I could make a floo call in your office, Professor? I am sure that a quick chat with my father will get this all sorted out," she said sweetly, twisting her fingers together. Narcissa started to pipe up, but Bellatrix stomped on her foot under the table. "I promise that I will be quick."
"Certainly, I was just about to return there now!" Slughorn said, his jolly voice booming down the table, gathering unwanted attention.
Bellatrix practically leapt up from the table, following the portly man back down to the dungeons, pointedly ignoring small talk that he was making, chattering away the whole time, not even bothering to see that his student was utterly bored.
When they got back to his office, he handed her a jar with some floo powder, before sending his wand at the hearth, a fire immediately starting. Slughorn made no move to leave the office, though.
"Um, Professor, would you mind if...well, could I please have some privacy when I speak with my father?" she asked. He looked somewhat uncomfortable with her request. "I promise it will only take a few minutes and I will come get you the minute I'm done."
Slughorn laughed. "Of course, Miss Black," he agreed eventually, only to leave the office.
It did not take long for the image of her father to come into the green flames. "Bellatrix? What an unexpected surprise to hear from you today. Did you get your mother's letter?" he asked.
"Yes, I did get mother's letter," Bella answered tartly.
"Good," her father said, smiling broadly. "Are you ready to put some effort into your wedding now? We have a lot of decisions that need to be made and not a lot of time to make them happen. Money can do a lot of things, Bella, but it can't do everything."
"No, daddy," she said with a frown. "I'm not going to be getting married to Rodolphus."
"Bellatrix, you are acting spoiled. I really expected better of you, especially after what happened with your sister," Cygnus snarled, clearly angry. "First Andromeda with that filthy muggle, and now you with this fit of pique over a perfectly good husband that I found you. Is Narcissa the only one of you three willing to do what's right for this family?"
"Don't compare me to Andy, daddy!" Bellatrix complained, feeling tears come to the edges of her eyes. As if she would dishonor her family the way that her sister had. "I'm trying to not make the same sort of mistake that she did."
"What on Earth are you talking about, Bella?" he questioned. "The Lestranges are a perfectly respectable family, and I won't hear you talk about them that way."
"But daddy, I've...I've been hoping that it wouldn't come to this," she said looking down into her lap. "I was hoping that I wouldn't have to tattle on Rodolphus, and what he was getting up to...I had hoped that you or his father would see what he was doing and would make the right choice, but...but I can't throw my life away on someone like him."
"What do you mean?" her father said, his face suddenly serious.
"I mean that...Rodolphus has been dating a mudblood here at Hogwarts. They go out in public all the time, not caring who sees them together, not caring that it dishonors me...he even took her to France last summer," Bellatrix said, letting her angry tears pour down her face. "And well, I don't know how to say this delicately, daddy, but I think it's no secret that he's...that he's had relations with her."
The thunderous look on Cygnus's face was exactly what Bellatrix had wanted. "Who else knows about this?"
"It seems like an open secret here at Hogwarts, daddy, and well...I thought that other society people knew about it, too," she answered honestly. "I had hoped that it would get back to his father and he would do the right thing and dissolve the betrothal, but daddy, please don't make me marry him. I couldn't bear the thought of letting the same hands that had touched a mudblood touch me, too."
She could see the muscles in his jaw working, trying to get ahold of his anger. "Tell me, Bella, what is this mudblood's name?" he asked. "I need to look into it, but I promise if it's true, you won't even have to look at Rodolphus Lestrange ever again."
"I knew you'd see it how I see it, daddy," she said brightly, wiping the tears off her cheeks. "The mudblood's name is Hermione Granger. And I think she's been living with the Weasleys." |
Regis stepped into his private office after the long council meeting. It felt like nothing but bad news these day. Kingsglaive were barely holding the frontlines down and Niflheim continued its advance. They were losing and it was only a matter of time.
This was the legacy of blood that Regis was going to leave behind wasn’t it? Nevermind the prophecy, Regis would be gifting his son a kingdom on the brink of ruin. He rubbed his hand over the Ring of Lucii and felt the strain of the Crystal continuing to drain.
“You look tired.”
Regis felt his heart jump as he realized he wasn’t as alone as he had thought. “Ayame,” he said.
It had been a month since her arrival. She fit well enough into Noctis’ group of friends, never trailing too far. There were whispers about her, about who she could possibly be. Cor continued to watch her with wariness. Clarus was also reserved about her. Yet despite it all, she had done nothing. Regis understood that despite being given her own rooms, she could always be found the following morning in Noctis’ bed. But beyond her strange arrival, it was as if she was another friend of Noctis simply hanging out.
“What can I do for you?” Regis asked.
“I’ve been pestering Bahamut for a month,” Ayame said flatly. “And looking into further, the other Gods are slumbering or dead.”
Anxiety bubbled in Regis’ stomach.
“So,” Ayame said, golden eyes blazing with that same fire on that first day she had arrived. “Will you please tell me the exact words of the prophecy?”
Regis staggered. It was enough that Ayame had rushed to catch him, easing him into one of the many seats Regis kept in his office.
She sighed once he was seated, shoulders slumping. “Look, I can’t help if I don’t know what I’m working with,” Ayame said. “Exact words, no vague truths.”
Regis felt the tears bubble but refused to let them fall. He wasn’t alone and a King did not publically weep.
He closed his eyes and mourned.
“When darkness veils the world, the King of Light shall come,” Regis said.
“That’s not the fully prophecy because you wouldn’t be reacting like I had gutted you with your sword,” Ayame said.
“That… is the public version,” Regis said. “This is what the Oracle says:
“The Stone, chrysalis to the soul of our star, cradle to the King Destined to serve as vessel of its light. Gods and men alike awaited the coming of the Chosen as they fought to fend off darkness’ blight. For he and he alone would possess the power to purge our star of its scourge. Once the sacred Ring is replete with power, the True King will complete his ascension. Only then can he banish the blight upon our star. By the power of light alone is the Chosen King made manifest. With the Glaive of the Kings, the Stone of Legend, and the Ring of Light in hand, the Chosen’s power will surpass that of even the gods themselves. By that selfsame power, with the True King as its vessel, the darkness shall be purged from our star, and dawn shall return to our world once more.”
“And,” Ayame pressed once more.
Regis smiled bitterly. “This is what Bahamut says:
“The fate of this world falls to the King of Kings. His Providence consecrated in the divine Light of the Crystal, so it is ordained the revelation of Bahamut. The Providence is the sole means to ending the immortal Accursed. A power greater than even that of the Six, purifying all by the Light of the Crystal and glaives of rulers past. Only at the throne can the Chosen receive it, and only at the cost of a life: his own. The King of Kings shall be granted the power to banish the darkness, but the blood price must be paid. To cast out the Usurper and usher in dawn’s light will cost the life of the Chosen. Many sacrificed all for the King, so must the King sacrifice himself for all.”
Silence. And Regis let the tears fall. He hadn’t said that aloud in years, not willing to admit this truth.
Ayame looked at him with dawning realization. That fury that burned so bright snuff out, replaced with a quiet horror. That was the exact thing Regis feared that would happen to Noctis. The weight of the truth would kill his brilliant young boy.
“Noctis is the Chosen King, the King of Kings,” Ayame said slowly.
“Yes,” Regis said, so bitterly and so angry because he would give it all up if it meant that Noctis would be safe.
“Right,” Ayame said, lips pressed into a firm line.
“Please,” Regis begged. “Don’t tell him. Let him be as happy, as normal as a Crown Prince can be until it is time.”
Here Ayame gave him a look full of pity. “Everyone deserves to be happy, but it should also be a choice. Ignorance is not always bliss,” she said.
“I will tell him,” Regis said.
(He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.)
“You won’t,” Ayame said. “You love Noctis too dearly to shatter his world like that.”
“Is that wrong?” Regis asked hoarsely. Frustration mounting, the bitterness seeping into his bones. What could he do? What could he do? Damn to hell the crown, the kingdom, what could he do as Noctis’ father?
“No,” Ayame said softly. “No, there’s nothing wrong with that. That’s your duty as his father.” She went silent for the moment, collecting her thoughts.
“I won’t tell him directly,” she said finally. “But in the end, it is Noctis’ choice.”
She gave him a short bow and swiftly left.
Regis bowed his head and mourned.
-.-.-
Noctis grunted as he blowed Cor’s heavy blow. Instead of training with Gladio today, Cor had insisted on evaluating his skills.
And much like Gladio, Cor was relentless and unforgiving. There was no holding back, each blow as heavy as they could be. Noctis felt his arms turn to jelly.
“You can’t be lagging already,” Cor said.
Noctis grit his teeth and dug deep for the extra stamina.
But before he could push back and launch an attack, the training doors flew open and in stormed Ayame.
“Noctis!” she shouted.
She looked every bit of angry as the day of her arrival. Noctis mentally panicked. Why was she angry? Was it because he had won last night’s round of Mario Party? Or maybe the pudding cup? Probably the pudding cup. The pudding cup wasn’t his fault.
“If this is about the pudding cup, it’s Prompto who ate it,” Noctis blurted out.
Ayame faltered. “Prompto? Prompto,” she hissed.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Wait, that’s not why I’m here,” she said.
“Why are you here?” Cor asked, curious.
“Sorry for interrupting,” Ayame said. “You can go back to beating up Noctis after I have this real quick short talk.”
Cor gave her an amused look, raising his eyebrow but let Kotetsu fade away.
“Ayame?” Noctis asked.
“Three roads lay before you,” Ayame said. “The first will let you be as happy as you can be. Any regrets you will have, is because of ignorance and not out of malice or inability. When the time comes you will step forward with pride, love and hope.
“The second is selfishness. Deny it all and live with the consequences but worry not for another will rise to the occasion. It is a path that will ultimately let you be just Noctis.
“The third is long and painful. It will not be easy and you will struggle every step of the way. But you will live.”
Noctis felt as if a cold bucket of icy water was dumped over him. This… this was about the prophecy, the one that his father wouldn’t, couldn’t tell him.
“Ayame,” he started.
She held up her hand, cutting him off. “Think about it and give me your answer tomorrow. Go ask your father, ask Ignis, Gladio, even Cor here. Ask anyone you want to ask, but in the end, you must decide.”
She gave him a sad smile, the same smile when she told him that he deserved to be happy. “It is your choice, Noctis.”
She left, leaving him alone to his thoughts.
-.-.-
A month since Ayame’s arrival and Cor was no less worried than the day of her first arrival. He probably would have been more accepting if she hadn’t appeared in Noctis’ bed.
Given that he remembered guarding Noctis’ cradle when he was a baby, that was an old nightmare coming true.
And then she blew into their training room, delivered the most devastating news she could have delivered. The damn prophecy. The one that would deliver the child he had swore to protect to an early grave.
“Cor?” Noctis asked, so quietly that Cor felt his heart ache. It was like before him was the teenage prince, but rather quiet toddler who wanted his Uncle Cor to chase away the monsters hiding under his bed.
He would be strong, for his prince.
“No more training,” Cor said. “Not in this mindset.”
Regis had told him that Noctis was still unaware of the full details, but aware of the prophecy was not necessary a good thing. And if it was wrecking Noctis just knowing that something terrible loomed for him in the future, then yes Regis was right all these years to keep the truth from Noctis for as long as possible.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Cor asked.
He wasn’t the most emotional reassuring person, but if Noctis wanted to talk about it.
“I- I don’t know,” Noctis said, looking deadly pale.
Cor guided him to the empty benches and handed him a bottle of water. Noctis guzzled it down, wiping his mouth.
“Do you know what the prophecy says?” Noctis asked.
Cor braced himself. “Yes.”
“Ignorance is bliss,” Noctis said. “I don’t even know it, I couldn’t ask dad, I knew he wouldn’t tell me, but just knowing it’s something more complicated than what the public knows is scary.”
“If your father could swap places with you, he would have done so in a heartbeat,” Cor said. “You’re the most important person to him, even more than all of Lucis itself.”
“Dangerous thought for a king,” Noctis said with a light laugh.
“Very,” Cor agreed, happy to see Noctis in a better mood. “You’re the light of his sky, Noctis.”
Noctis gave him a watery smile. “What do I choose?”
“Break it down,” Cor said, falling back onto his training. “What do you know?”
“I know it’s about the prophecy,” Noctis said. “I don’t know the prophecy in full.”
Cor braced himself. “Do you need to know the prophecy in full?” If Noctis asked, he would tell him. It should fall onto Regis, but no, let Cor be the bearer of bad news.
“I die,” Noctis said, eyes squeezed shut. “I don’t know what the prophecy says, but the only reason why Dad wouldn’t tell me is because I die somewhere in it.”
Noctis was always frighteningly perspective when he wanted to be.
“The second option is tempting,” Noctis said. “To be just Noctis. But I’ve always been more than just Noctis. If I cannot run and let someone else just take my place. That’s… that’s not befitting a Crown Prince.”
And here was a glimpse of the king Noctis would (should) become. The king he would be, if fate and destiny didn’t destroy it first.
Cor could only feel a swell of pride.
“And?” Cor gently probed.
“She said… I deserve to be happy. But is remaining ignorant really the best option here?” Noctis asked.
“Do you want to remain ignorant?” Cor asked. There was some bliss in just, not knowing. Maybe not all the time, but growing up was learning about the harsh realities of life. Sometimes too much knowledge was paralyzing. It was the reason why Cor didn’t always tell his men every little detail about their mission. It was why very few know the truth about the MTs.
“What I want doesn’t really matter does, not in the grand scheme of things,” Noctis said bitterly.
“You cannot always sacrificing everything for your mantle as Prince,” Cor said gently. “It’s okay to be selfish, Noctis. Maybe not about everything, but it’s okay if you want your father, if you want more time to think, if you want to eat those ridiculous unhealthy sweets.”
Too young. Noctis was too young to deal with destiny, fate and Gods. He would always be too young in Cor’s book.
Too young to die to save the world.
Cor had the sinking suspicion that unless he died on the field, he would outlive his King and Prince. The Crystal would claim Regis, the Gods would claim Noctis and it was always when he looked back at that, that he hated the ridiculous nickname others had bestowed upon him.
(What good was immortality if you watch everyone you love and care about die before you?)
He watched Noctis continue to woolgather, no doubt thousands of thoughts swimming through his head.
“Ayame said the something similar,” Noctis finally said. “That what I want should still play a part, regardless of the titles given to me.”
Cor felt his respect of the strange girl rise a little bit.
“Thanks Cor,” Noctis said, getting to his feet. “I think I’m going to go back to my room.” He looked tired, weariness written all over his face. Cor felt his heart squeeze at how similar to his father he currently looked.
(Destiny was not kind to the Lucis Caleum Line.)
“Anytime, Noctis,” Cor said.
He didn’t know what Noctis had decided, alone in his thoughts. But Ayame was had a point. It had be Noctis’ choice. |
...
Kurapika stood in silence. He had absolutely no idea how to respond, because the pressure that Gon was putting on him made him feel that he couldn't tell him anything but the honest truth. And, the honest truth was that Chrollo wouldn't hurt him, because they were mates. That was the only thing that would protect him in such a situation... but, that was exactly the information he wanted to avoid telling anyone right now.
"... uhm..." he said nervously with a slight shake in his voice.
Kurapika refused to look back at Gon, and instead began to actively avoid doing so as he stood up straight and held the trash he had picked up in his hands.
"Kurapika... what aren't you trying to tell me? Why are you avoiding that specific piece of information?" Gon asked, his tone very sharp and intense, even if it was said in his childlike voice.
...
"I..." Kurapika practically squeaked, as he felt he was unable to speak.
Killua watched from the sidelines as his presence seemed to have been momentarily forgotten by the other two. His expression turned to worry, having seen Kurapika reduced to a silent and nervous wreck when he was usually confident and in control of his composure. It was clear to him that he wasn't telling Gon what he was asking about because it was something difficult to say. Not to Gon necessarily, but for himself to say in general. And, Killua could see that much just from the simple fact that Kurapika would let this pressure crack his calm exterior before he would even try to explain himself to Gon.
... it was a bit hard to watch, in Killua's opinion. Because, Gon was probably the last person that Kurapika wanted to hide things from. But he had his reasons to do so, and Killua thought that if that was the case, Gon should get off his back.
"... Gon." Killua called out to his best friend after Kurapika hadn't said anything for a while.
"..."
"... You're making him uncomfortable. Maybe you should have this talk another time." He suggested, even if Gon hadn't answered him.
...
As if he had come to a realization, Gon's expression softened up into a mildly surprised one as he turned to look at Killua.
"Oh!" He said, his intensity having vanished, just like that.
"... ah-"
"..."
Turning to look at Kurapika, Gon felt immense guilt for putting so much pressure on Kurapika out of nowhere. He reminded himself that he wasn't exactly angry at Kurapika and didn't mean to be so intimidating... he was just upset at the implications of that odd scent that he was emitting. Because, it implied that he was either trying to leave their pack by choice or being forced to do so by another Alpha. Both cases upset him because it hurt that it could possibly be Kurapika's own desire to leave. But, he wanted to ignore that possibility. And if it wasn't that, then the other possibility made him angry at whoever would dare to take away Kurapika's choice to be with his friends.
"... sorry Kurapika! I didn't mean to be so mean..."
"..."
Sigh...
"... it's fine." Kurapika replied in an exhausted but relieved manner before hurrying over to a nearby trashcan to throw away the trash in his hands.
...
Gon and Killua watched as Kurapika walked away in such a defeated yet fleeing manner. It looked as if he were a mouse who narrowly escaped the claws of a hungry Lion with his life. The sight made Gon feel so horrible that he visibly slumped and groaned in guilt.
"Aww... I really didn't mean to..." he whined outloud.
"I feel horrible..."
Just as he admitted his guilty conscience, Killua would place a hand on his shoulder in consolidation.
"You Alphas really don't realize how scary you can be sometimes." He said, purposely making Gon feel even worse.
"I'm sorry... I'm really sorry!" Gon expressed to his bestfriend.
Killua looked at Gon with understanding. Of course he knew that he didn't ever mean to be scary. But, he still upset Kurapika... so he would now need to make it up to him and apologize with more than just "sorry."
"You should talk to him later when he's calmed down and isn't scared of you anymore."
With that, Gon sulked and a large frown formed on his face as he nodded.
"... You think he's scared of me?..." he asked in a defeated manner.
Killua didn't exactly think Kurapika was scared of Gon. Rather, he was scared of telling Gon what he was asking about. Anything that would make him so angry was obviously not the best news in the world to have to deliver. But Gon needed to learn to control his emotions. After all, life was full of unpleasant news.
"Probably. You probably made him want to cry, too. That's probably why he ran away like that." Killua continued to guilt trip Gon.
"Hhhh... what do I do? I'm sorry... how do I make it better?" Gon apologized yet again.
...
"I dunno." Killua said as he picked up the remaining trash and headed towards the trashcan to toss them.
"But, maybe you shouldn't be so pushy next time. Have a little bit more patience."
With that, Killua slid his hands into his pockets and walked over to the car, leaving Gon to finish up the rest.
"... okay..." Gon replied with a tired sigh.
... man. The ride to the carnival's gonna be pretty awkward. Killua thought as he stopped for a moment.
Hopefully it won't be long... maybe I could pick on Leorio to help lighten up the mood.
Waiting for Gon to toss the trash he picked up, Killua looked back to him as he walked towards the trashcan. His expression was rather gloomy, and it was a bit amusing to Killua, albeit because he knew in the end that Gon would be forgiven and he didn't need to beat himself up about everything.
... idiot. he thought as he watched Gon sullenly drop the trash into the trashcan and make his way over to the car to catch up with him.
---
Kurapika had already gotten into the car by the time the boys were on their way over. Leorio stood just outside of the car, leaving him to sit by himself for a moment and think. In all honesty, Kurapika wasn't so much upset as he was a bit startled. He knew that Gon wasn't going to hurt him or anything... but, his anger was triggered by something, which meant that he probably has an idea of what's going on with him.
... Gon is an excellent Alpha even if he is only a child. There's no doubt that he wouldn't miss subtle changes in my scent. Kurapika thought to himself.
I'm probably not making a very good decision in choosing to withhold information from him...
Sitting in the seat of the car, Kurapika sat back and sighed. His headache seemed to linger and he was arguably more stressed about his dilemma than he planned to be today. Of course, it was wishful thinking to expect such a big change to go unnoticed. But he didn't want to have to tell everyone before he could fully come to terms with it himself. The fact that the change has made Gon react in such a way meant that Kurapika needed to be careful about how he goes about telling him. Because, in reality, the pack was at risk of collapsing already. And, if Gon and Chrollo ever butted heads over this, that would be another thing against the stability of the pack.
... damnit...
The situation was starting to get extremely exhausting for Kurapika. He was tired of all the changes that were happening all at once. He was tired of the emotional rollercoasters he has to be on almost daily. He was tired of not feeling well, and tired of thinking about Chrollo. He was tired of hoping things would start to turn around, only for them to get even worse. He wanted things to get better, and he wanted it to get better now.
...
... when I find you... he started, flashes of Chrollo's face and memories of his voice running through his mind like a sped up movie. The image of the root of the cause was always fresh in his mind, almost as if he saw him in person every day.
When I find you, I'll make you regret ever even laying eyes on me.
As he thought about all the things that he would make Chrollo do to repay him, Kurapika leaned his head on the headrest of the seat and closed his eyes. The thought of things returning to normal felt like a relaxing fantasy. And, before he even knew it, he began to feel a bit sleepy from how exhausted he actually was.
...
... something really is wrong with me. he thought as he fell into a deeper lethargic state.
I tire way too easily, lately.
.........
A soft and even breath in and out could be heard only seconds later.
.........
CLUNK
GASP!
...
Suddenly, Kurapika bolted awake as the sound of the car doors opening woke him up from his fragile slumber. Even though it was only a few seconds, he felt as though he was in a few minutes of a deep sleep. He was quite annoyed at the rude interruption, but he didn't let it be known to the others. Shortly after that, the car shook slightly as Gon, Killua, and Leorio all stepped in and settled into their seats. Gon and Killua were relatively quiet, as Gon had been dealing with his guilt and Killua had been thinking about many other things that just happened during their stay at the park. Leorio seemed to be the only one making so much noise, which was ultimately what distracted him from the atmosphere that was created between Gon and Kurapika.
...
The three stayed quiet as Leorio started the car and buckled his seatbelt. Kurapika had already decided to go back to resting his eyes, having rested his arm against the door in order to lean his head on his fist. But, Leorio didn't realize that talking would just wake him up and cause him to be irritated.
"Alright!" He said aloud in a sigh to indicate that he was ready to get going.
......
The car was silent, save for the hum of the car's engine. It felt a bit out of place for everyone to be so quiet to Leorio.
"... Hey." He called out eventually.
"... did I miss something?"
...
"Hello??"
"Yes you missed something, stupid! You missed a lot because you left and didn't help us clean up!" Killua finally said.
Leorio gave Killua a glare, as he didn't appreciate being called stupid. But, knowing how Killua was, he decided to ignore the insult in favor of having a look at Gon for answers. However, he could only see Gon's sulking posture and a lost in thought expression that told him he probably wouldn't get any information from him. So instead, Leorio looked at Kurapika, who he knew hadn't moved much since they all got in the car. But to his surprise, Kurapika had dozed off.
"... huh?" Leorio questioned in utter confusion.
"What's going on here? What happened? What did I miss?" He asked Killua, who was the only person who could shed some light on the situation right now.
...
As the car moved into light traffic, Killua watched the cars that sped past through his window with his chin in his palm and his arm resting on the car door. He took his time answering Leorio, but when he did, he was as vague as you could possibly get in his explanation.
"Something happened." He replied nonchalantly.
...
"... Yeah... but what happened?"
...
"Something." Killua repeated.
Leorio was starting to get annoyed. He huffed as he glanced between Killua from the rearview mirror and the road in front of him.
"Something like what?" He asked more specifically with a furrowed brow.
"..."
"..."
"Huh?" He asked again in response to Killua's silence.
"... huh?"
Leorio grumbled in irritation.
"What. Happened?" He asked a third time, this time with a clenched jaw.
"... oh..." Killua replied, as if he didn't hear Leorio's questions the first time.
......
"... Something."
"WOULD you... please tell me the events that occurred whilst you three were cleaning up?" He asked in an extremely irritated tone as he became even more specific to let Killua know that he wanted to know the details of the "something" he was speaking of.
"Oooh!" Killua said as if he finally realized what Leorio's question was really asking of him.
"You want me to tell you what actually happened?"
"Yes..." Leorio responded in relief.
.........
"No."
Hngh-
"WHY!?" Leorio shouted, waking Kurapika up and snapping Gon out of deep thought.
"Leorio!" Kurapika scolded, having been startled out of his sleep yet again.
"What are you yelling for? Why what?"
"Why won't you tell me what happened!?"
"... huh?" Gon looked to Killua and asked, completely perplexed.
Killua shrugged and shook his head to indicate to Gon that he was just as confused as he was. In reality, though, Killua knew exactly what was going on, and it annoyed Leorio to his core that he kept pretending to be clueless.
"What. Did. I. Miss?"
"... huh?" Gon and Kurapika replied in unison.
Killua snickered as Leorio raged and Kurapika watched his driving. Gon was the only person who could hear him, and as such, he questioned whether the confusion was his doing or if Leorio was just crazy.
"Killua." Gon called in a hushed voice.
"What's going on?"
"THAT'S WHAT I WANNA KNOW!" Leorio interrupted.
"He knows what's going on, he said I missed out on something because I didn't help clean up. He knows exactly what's going on! But WHAT DID I MISS?! HUH?!"
...
"Oooooh!" Gon and Kurapika said together.
......
The two of them would look at each other, then look at Killua, who was grinning with his smug little cat grin to himself as he looked out the window. Then, they looked back at each other... and their faces softened into light hearted smiles. They finally knew what was going on. And, frankly, it was a bit silly. The mood had lifted quite a bit and Gon and Kurapika had already put what happened behind them, even if it did just happen a few minutes ago. They would decide that it wasn't worth ruining the fun by explaining, and would instead play along a bit in messing with Leorio.
Finally, looking at their friend and smiling, they both laughed as they would speak in unison once more.
"Something~" they said, only to be met with random sounds of rage and frustration from Leorio.
"YOU KNOW WHAT? I DON'T EVEN CARE ANYMORE!" He shouted as he angrily pouted and kept his eyes on the road.
With that, the car filled with laughter, followed only by Leorio's salty protests.
"It's not funny!" He shouted over everyone.
---
About 10 minutes later, the four friends would begin to make their way out of the now parked car and into the small crowd of people at the entrance of the carnival's central ticket booth. The line looked fairly busy, but it was moving along at a bearable pace. There was about 6 people ahead of them, so while they waited, Kurapika and Leorio would discuss how many tickets to purchase and how to make use of them, while Gon and Killua would look upwards at the towering buildings just behind the Welcome banner.
There were a few interesting rides that seemed pretty mild but still fun for the boys to try out. There was a large tilt-a-whirl (or wave swinger) style ride with screaming people, a Ferris wheel farther away from the entrance, and a few staple games all visible from outside of the carnival with a few creepy clowns walking around and blowing balloons to make animals with as a bonus. The cherry on top was the slightly modernized version of the traditional carnival music playing through a few speakers that were scattered throughout the place, with one just outside to blast directly into the ticket booth line.
Killua thought the music was a bit obnoxious, but the smell of popcorn and the thrilling screams of carnival riders made up for it. He's never been to a place like this before. So, he couldn't wait to see what it was all about. Gon on the other hand did see his fair share of carnivals on Whale Island. None of them had the rides that this one does, but the Ferris wheel in the back was quite nostalgic to him.
"Let's go on that one first!" Gon excitedly exclaimed to his bestfriend as he pointed to the large wheel.
"... that big slow wheel?" Killua questioned.
"Why that one first? It looks kind of boring."
Gon chuckled a bit, as he had a good point.
"Well, maybe we can try out the faster rides first."
"Like that one!" Killua excitedly shouted as he pointed to the large tilt-a-whirl.
"Those people are screaming, so it's gotta be fun!"
The boys would look at each other with as much excitement on their faces as there were people at the carnival today. Surely, if they could see some rides from outside, there would be even more rides that they couldn't see, just waiting for them to try out. Kurapika could see that they would want to be able to play and ride as many attractions as possible while they still had time together. So, he suggested all day passes for them to Leorio.
"Gon and Killua seem to be interested in a lot of the rides and games." He started.
"Maybe we'd do well to save a bit by getting them a day pass. Since you're only here for food, we shouldn't need too many tickets."
...
"Mmmh..." Leorio hummed as he rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment.
"... I... maybe want to get on a few rides too..." he reluctantly admitted.
Kurapika hummed to himself as he thought about what to do. The line would move up twice before he would give another suggestion. Now, they were fourth in line.
"Maybe you should get a day pass too?" He suggested, looking up at Leorio.
"I can get the tickets and one day pass, while you get the other two day passes. That way, we can all do a little bit of everything we want."
Kurapika wasn't planning on getting on any rides, as he feared upsetting his headache and nausea. So the most he would probably do is get something to eat and play a few games. That meant that they'd save more on just getting day passes for anyone wanting to do more than what Kurapika was going to do, while Kurapika himself could do with a couple bucks worth of tickets just fine.
"The sign says that day passes are $15 each, and tickets are 50 cents each. So, I think I can do with just 30 tickets for $15. That should be enough for you and I to get something to eat, and for me to play a few games. We would both only need to pay $30 each for everything, but we'd be able to do everything we want during our stay."
Thinking about the math was a bit tedious, but Leorio trusted Kurapika's judgment and didn't really double check. He could easily afford $30 in exchange for access to virtually every attraction at the carnival. The line moved up once again, making them third in line before he would respond.
"You don't think you'll like to get on any rides?" Leorio asked, wanting to make sure 30 tickets was indeed enough.
Kurapika awkwardly smiled as he chuckled at Leorio.
"... I have a bit of a headache right now. I don't even care to play many games today. So I likely won't be on any rides."
Ah... that's right. He's got trouble with nausea as well... he thought, a bit guilty of having forgotten that detail for a moment.
The way he's been passing out lately, it's a wonder he even suggested coming to such a crowded area. Food smells and loud noises are inescapable here.
... Leorio looked at Kurapika for a bit to assess his current level of health. All he looked like to him was slightly tired... but otherwise, he was as awake and aware as anyone else in line.
... maybe I should hold back on the rides to keep him company. He thought.
Just as he began to consider it, Kurapika would take a step forward. This indicated that the line had moved up yet again, which prompted him to reach for his wallet and open it to get what he needed to pay.
Leorio would follow suit, reaching for his wallet and shaking off his thoughts for now. After all, he wouldn't be getting on any rides before he's eaten something. So, he would probably be keeping Kurapika company for a good portion of the stay anyway.
All that was left to do was purchase the tickets and head inside, now. Then, the fun could begin.
---
The main four made their way down a wide open walk space as they went passed some general games and attractions targeted to children. There were simple and easy games like darts and basketball shoots all in the first few areas, while the more difficult games were just before the food truck and stands. Followed by that were some of the rides, with the carousel being placed right in the middle. It was a simple layout, so no one needed to fear getting lost if they separated from the group. And within just a few minutes, Gon and Killua would run off to do something that caught their attention, Leorio would go to get himself that pretzel hot dog he's been craving, and Kurapika would find a food truck with tables in front of it that he could sit at for the time being.
Having split the tickets between himself and Leorio, Kurapika held 15 tickets in his hands, contemplating what to do while the group was dispersed. The food truck behind him let off sounds of sizzling food on a hot skillet and happy shouts of warm welcomes and thank yous. The smells were heavy and smoky, cheesy and greasy, and even slightly sweet and pastry-like. It made his mouth water and his stomach began to growl... but, it also made him feel a bit sick.
Why do you have to be so confusing? Kurapika asked his own body as he frowned to himself.
Thinking that he might as well get something to eat, Kurapika stood up and made his way over to the food truck to at least see if they served anything light enough to keep down. Luckily for him, they had a few things, and his only issue was deciding what exactly to get.
The menu was decorated with colorful pictures of every food item available. There was typical carnival foods like funnel cakes and fries, but there were some nice dry and too classic to fail options, like parmesan cheesy breadsticks and sandwiches of many kinds.
Kurapika decided to get the breadsticks in the end. He asked for a lemon lime Gatorade and a bottle of water to go with them, which were all for a total of 5 tickets. All that was left to do now was see if the food would stay down or if he was too optimistic to have chosen to eat again.
With a quick and polite thank you to the chef/cashier, Kurapika headed back to his table, just as Leorio was making his way over with his own handful of food to eat.
"... I guess he's changed his mind about the pretzel hot dog." Kurapika commented as he took his seat.
Leorio had a large sized serving of some loaded baked potato fries, some onion rings, and a funnel cake, with a Moutain Dew soda just barely able to keep from falling out of his arms as he stumbled over to Kurapika's table. He looked frustrated, which gave Kurapika the impression that his pretzel hot dog probably didn't turn out the way he had hoped it would.
"That looks yummy." He jokingly called out to Leorio as he got closer to the table.
"No pretzel dog?"
"No!" Leorio replied with an attitude.
"That line was ridiculous. Every person leaving it left with a pretzel dog, as if there was nothing else to order from that one food stand! I figured they'd be all out by the time I got to order mine."
Placing his food on the table, Leorio was able to narrowly avoid dropping something.
"So, I didn't even bother." He pouted as he plopped himself down into the chair opposite Kurapika.
The smoky bacon and cheese smell coming from Leorio's fries mixed with the buttery and fried onion smell of the onion rings and invaded Kurapika's senses like a slap in the face. They smelled both heavenly and disgusting at the same time, causing Kurapika slight discomfort that he hoped would have mercy on him enough to allow him to still eat something. Leorio took his wrapped up plastic utensils pack and ripped it open to get the fork he would use to eat his fries with. Then, he opened his soda, took a sip of it, and set it down as he turned his attention over to Kurapika's meal (or snack, rather) of choice.
"Is that all you can manage?" He asked as he gestured to Kurapika's breadsticks.
Kurapika looked down at his breadsticks for a moment before picking one of the two of them up with a cautious look on his face.
"I don't know, actually. We'll just have to see, I guess." He said, right before bringing the breadstick to his mouth.
The smell of the buttery crust and warm parmesan cheese sprinkled on the breadstick was actually quite nice, compared to the greasy smells of Leorio's food. Taking a small bite from off the tip of the breadstick, Kurapika was pleasantly surprised with a mild but delicious flavor of cheese mixed with the soft and fluffy texture of the insides. It was a nice contrast from the crunchy golden outside that held all the butter flavor, and chewing the small bite seemed to be easy and pleasant, with a slightly chewy texture at the end right before you swallow. The taste was wonderful, and with Kurapika's empty stomach, he hardly even realized how much he enjoyed it. A small "mmm" sound escapes him as he closed his eyes for a moment, noting all the things that made the bread delicious.
"..."
Leorio watched as Kurapika's expression of caution melted away like ice in flames. His face was now one of pleasure and happiness, and it looked as if he's never tasted anything so good in his entire life.
He must of been really hungry... he thought as he watched Kurapika chew.
...
Pfft
Kurapika was a bit too distracted to notice the small noises that were the beginnings of full on laughter coming from Leorio. It was only after he began to chuckle out loud that he snapped out of it.
"Hahahaha!"
"... huh?"
"You look like you're in love!" Leorio teased as he laughed at Kurapika's expressions.
Kurapika blushed with embarrassment before looking away from Leorio in a flustered and stubborn manner.
"W-why are you watching me eat!" He asked to shame his friend, pouting to himself shortly afterwards and refraining from taking another bite until he knew Leorio wouldn't tease him anymore.
"Haha... yeah yeah, I'm sorry. Go ahead and eat." Leorio finished before taking a forkful of fries into his mouth.
Kurapika would reluctantly take another bite of his breadstick, this time being more conscious of his expressions.
"... it seems like no matter what, you and I always end up all by ourselves." Leorio started after a small stretch of silence.
"I hope Gon and Killua remember we exist before it's time to leave."
"Ahaha... I'm sure they will. Maybe they're leaving us be for now because they've eaten already."
"... hmph." Leorio huffed as he takes another bite of his fries.
"Well, anyway... I'm going to play some games after this. We should go catch up to them, if you're feeling up to it."
Kurapika grabbed his Gatorade before twisting the top open.
"Games?" He asked with an interested tone.
"I never pegged you as the type that'd want to play the games at a carnival. You seem more like you'd be the one running them instead."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Leorio asked as he gave Kurapika a look of suspicion.
"Are you saying I seem like the type to trick people out of their money?"
...
"Well, yeah."
ACK-
Taking a sip of his Gatorade, Kurapika pauses for a moment before adding on to his statement.
"... but, not in the scummy way like most people who work at carnival attractions do. You just seem like you'd be good at hiding the secrets of a game that was difficult to win. But, you wouldn't make it impossible to win."
"... hm." Leorio hummed.
"At least, I hope you wouldn't."
"Of course I wouldn't!"
... Kurapika looked at Leorio suspiciously as he tilted his Gatorade and took a sip of it once more.
"I believe you." He said, setting the drink down and taking yet another bite of his breadstick.
"... it doesn't look like you do."
"... what's believing you supposed to look like, then?"
"It's supposed to look like no judgment!" Leorio explained as he gave Kurapika a playful glare.
"... are you implying that I'm judging you?"
"Yes."
"..."
"..."
"I have no idea what you're talking about." Kurapika eventually admitted as he took another bite and chewed it as if he truly had no clue.
"You're smart, and you know exactly what I'm talking about. To say you don't is to say you aren't as smart as I know you are." Leorio defended as he took another bite of his fries.
...
"Flattery won't make me believe you any more than I already do, you know."
"I WAS MAKING A POINT, NOT TRYING TO FLATTER YOU!" Leorio exclaimed as soon as he had swallowed his mouthful of food.
Kurapika gave Leorio a look as if to say "yeah right" as he took the last bite of his first breadstick.
"... oh I see. My mistake." He said, blinking with an expression that clearly contradicts what he was saying.
"You-" Leorio started.
"... you're annoying."
... Kurapika picked up his other breadstick and took his first bite out of it with a casual look on his face, as if to imply that he didn't care. Leorio, annoyed but still in a rather good mood, continued to eat his own food. The two of them would spend the next half an hour together, finishing their food, playing some games, and finally catching up with Gon and Killua.
It's been an hour since the main four arrived, and Gon and Killua had accumulated four prizes in total. Killua won himself a giant sticky snap hand toy from a water gun race game and a large choco robot from a basketball shoot stand. Gon won himself a new game to play on his game console back at home from a shooting game and a small teddy bear keychain accessory from a ball toss game, which he kept in his pocket. Kurapika and Leorio, on the other hand, each had one prize, simply because Kurapika only played one game, while Leorio tried and failed to win a total of three games before winning a large bag of caramel popcorn from a strength test game that he couldn't possibly lose, thanks to his weight training at the Zoldyck's home on Kukuroo mountain. Kurapika held a stuffed teacup poodle dog in his arms. It was almost as big as his head, so it was easier to carry than Leorio's 5ft bag of caramel popcorn. So as they sought to meet up with Gon and Killua, Leorio struggled to carry his prize with him, as it almost felt like carrying another person around.
"That amount of popcorn is absolutely unnecessary." Kurapika commented as he watched his friend struggle with it's size and weight.
"How are you going to eat all of that all by yourself?"
"... I think I'll just get how much I want from the bag and give out the rest to anyone who wants some." Leorio explained.
The problem truly lies in if anyone would even want any of the caramel popcorn, and how many people would need to get some in order to keep from wasting the bag once it's open. From the sheer size of the bag, it would take quite a few people to help with that.
"... I'll take some off your hands, if you can't find anyone who will." Kurapika offered.
"... are you sure?"
"... no." Kurapika replied rather awkwardly as he gave the bag of popcorn another look.
The sweet popcorn seemed to disgust him, given that there was so much of it. He could barely even tolerate the smells of sweets in the carnival's air. There was no way he'd be able to take some of the caramel popcorn without wasting it all.
"But, at least you'd have less of it to worry about."
Leorio sighed.
"Thanks, but I'd rather not put that burden on you. Maybe Killua will eat some. He's got a pretty big sweet tooth, right?" He asked as the two of them found a bench near the carousel ride.
After a few minutes of sitting down, Kurapika and Leorio could see Gon and Killua on their way over. They were surprised to see that the two of them didn't really have many prizes in hand, considering they were out playing games this entire time. Leorio stood up to wave at the boys and let them know that they were there, only sitting down again when Gon waved back to let them know they could see them.
"It looks like Leorio and Kurapika won some big prizes!" Gon said with a surprised tone, as he didn't even expect them to 'want' to play any games.
The boys could see the 5ft bag of popcorn sitting beside Leorio, as if it were a person. The sight was both amusing and confusing.
"Popcorn?" Killua asked.
"Is that a big bag of popcorn?"
Gon took a longer look at the large object sitting next to Leorio on the bench.
"... Leorio must really love popcorn." Gon concluded as the two of them drew ever closer.
By the time the four were reunited, Leorio already began to scold them again, this time for leaving the way that they did.
"What happened to spending the day together?" He asked with a raised brow.
"You two run off like a couple in love!"
Killua visibly cringed at Leorio's implication and immediately thought to make him take the comment back. Meanwhile, Gon didn't mind either way. What he was really concerned about is what they'd do now, since it looked like everyone's done at least one thing already.
"You could have followed us, you know! Maybe it's you two who like to run off like a couple in love!" Killua sarcastically snapped back, much to Leorio's dismay.
"What choice do we have but to spend time together when you two leave like that?" Leorio questioned as he crossed his arms and pouted.
"Well, we can all spend time together now that we're all here, right? What are we gonna do next?" Gon intervened to keep the two from pestering one another.
Killua and Leorio stopped bickering for a moment to suggest some more activities, while Kurapika sat in silence, waiting to see what everyone else wanted to do first.
"... I have to go to the bathroom." Leorio said all of a sudden, his tone slightly irritated.
"... me too." Killua added.
The four of them would then scan the area for a bathroom sign... only to see that it was right next to them, with one of the longest lines in the entire carnival.
"It looks like you two had better get in line before it gets any longer." Kurapika suggested as he took a look at just how many people there were in line.
"There's no way that's the only bathroom in this entire carnival." Killua complained.
"We might as well go all the way back home and use the bathrooms in our hotel rooms!"
"It'll take us forever, standing in that line." Leorio declared.
Gon gave Killua and Leorio a sympathetic look before speaking again.
"Maybe there's another bathroom outside of the carnival. You could go check, right?" He suggested.
"And maybe one of you can hold a spot in line to this one just in case the other doesn't find one somewhere else?"
Killua and Leorio looked at each other for a minute.
...
"We can stay close by to keep you company if you'd like." Kurapika offered to Leorio as he pondered over if waiting in line would be worth it.
"... sigh... nah. I'll go look for another bathroom." Leorio finally decided.
"I guess I'll go get in line, then." Killua added.
"Call me if you find one before I get up there, okay?" He said as he left to get in line.
"Sure." Leorio replied as he walked the opposite way from the line.
"Keep an eye on my popcorn." He said to Kurapika and Gon.
... I don't think anyone would want to steal such a large bag of popcorn. I don't even think they could steal it. Kurapika thought to himself.
As the other two left to go on their journey to find a bathroom to use, Kurapika and Gon were left alone. Gon would take Leorio's seat next to Kurapika shortly afterwards, making the small stretch of silence a bit awkward.
...
"..."
"..."
Kurapika wanted to say something, but he didn't know what to say, exactly. He began to feel a bit of social anxiety as the thought of how angry Gon was back when they were at the park played through his mind again. What was he supposed to talk about? Was it okay to bring that up again? And if not, was it really going to be okay to just act like that didn't happen?
It was hard to tell for Kurapika. All the things he'd been thinking had played a part in keeping him from saying anything at all. And, after a full three minutes of nothing, he began to feel a bit embarrassed.
... sigh
Gon made a small sound and slumped a bit in his seat, swinging his feet a couple times before speaking and breaking the silence.
"... the line hasn't moved at all since Killua got in it." He mentioned as he looked over at the line to the bathroom.
He could see that Killua was a bit distracted with his sticky snap hand toy, and probably hasn't even noticed that the line hasn't moved even an inch yet. Meanwhile, there had to be at least 5 more people who had gotten in line behind him.
"... it looks like we're in for a really really long wait, if Leorio doesn't find a bathroom." He continued.
Then, after looking at Killua for a while, Gon turned his attention to Kurapika.
"Should we go do something to kill time?" He asked Kurapika, all of a sudden.
"U-uhm..." he stuttered.
"Sure. What do you have in mind?" He asked, shaking off his awkwardness in hopes that he could just talk to Gon normally.
Gon sat up in his seat and turned his head to look around the area again.
"You don't have a day pass, right? How many tickets do you have left over?" He asked.
Kurapika shifted his stuffed poodle to one arm so he could reach into his pocket and get his remaining tickets out to count.
"... I have 7 left. Why?" He replied.
Gon gave him a big smile before leaping out of his seat and pointing to the Ferris wheel behind them.
"Let's go get on the Ferris wheel, then!" He happily exclaimed as Kurapika followed the direction in which he was pointing.
Kurapika hadn't noticed the Ferris wheel, to be honest. He's never been on one, either. And, seeing how large it was, he was a bit worried about getting on without knowing what to expect.
"Ferris wheel?" He asked himself outloud.
"Have you ever been on one before?" Gon asked after hearing Kurapika's question.
"... no, never. What's it like?"
Gon grabbed Kurapika's hand and guided him over to the base of the Ferris wheel. There, a small line of about four pairs of people moved up to leave only three pairs, with the pair in the front being escorted onto the last available car before the operator would move the Ferris wheel along.
Kurapika watched the wheel as the cars went by, one after the other.
"... hmm." He hummed as he watches the steady pace of the rotation.
"Those are the cars. It looks like inside are the seats, so you can get up and walk around inside the car while you're still riding." Gon explains.
The Ferris wheel was humongous, now that they were closer to it. Kurapika looked up, only to see that he would need to lift his head all the way back to see the very top of it.
"You go around about five times before it's time to get off." Gon added.
"That's all! It's really nice at the very top. I think you'll enjoy it."
Kurapika looked at Gon and smiled.
"That sounds rather easy going, unlike the other rides around here." He replied.
Gon looked straight ahead as the Ferris wheel finished its third rotation.
"... it's a really nice ride. Back at home, when you're at the very top, you can see everyone on the ground and the waves on the surface of the ocean coming from the horizon. When I was younger and aunt Mito would take me to the carnival, she always used to take me on the Ferris wheel to see that view."
Gon's gaze up ahead looked like he was day dreaming of the memories that he spoke so fondly of. The way he described the details of the scene helped Kurapika to imagine how beautiful it must of been.
"... I see." He said, looking forward and away from Gon as he Invisioned the sight along with his younger friend.
Gon turned to look at Kurapika again, this time giving him a friendly smile before talking about his memories even more.
"I used to wonder how big the world really was back then, whenever I'd see the ocean from that height. It was always so fun imagining all the adventures you could have exploring it."
With a light hearted giggle, Gon looked forward once more as the Ferris wheel made its last rotation. After hearing how nice it was for Gon back home, Kurapika was excited to see how it must have felt for himself. Over the next few minutes, the line would move again, and the two of them would give some words to the carnival employee helping them into the car.
"That's one ticket each!" She said, right before Kurapika would hand her a ticket. Then, Gon showed her his day pass, and she let the two of them walk into the car.
"Enjoy your ride!"
Gon and Kurapika got in the Ferris wheel car and took their seats as the carnival employee shut their car door. Then, they began to move, only to stop shortly after.
After a while, the Ferris wheel would be full again, and would start its five rotations. The slow and steady pace was nice to Kurapika, and the view of the entire carnival was nice, too. The higher they went, the more they could see. While he wasn't too keen on moving around too much at the moment, Kurapika did look out the window and down at the ground. Gon did the same, only he had gotten up to stand.
"I see Leorio!" Gon announced, right before Kurapika would take a look for himself.
Gon pointed down and moved his finger to follow Leorio as he walked towards the bathroom line.
"It looks like he couldn't find a different bathroom." Kurapika replied.
"But Killua is a bit further up the line than before. So, the line must have moved up a bit, right?" Gon added, trying to at least look on the bright side of things.
Their car continued to move up until it was hard to make out their friends from the rest of the moving specks on the ground. Gon would eventually move from the window on his right to look through the one on his left.
"..." Kurapika watched as Gon looked out the window as if he were day dreaming again. He had his arms crossed, but his eyes remained straight ahead.
After a while, Kurapika decided to get up and see what Gon was looking at. What he saw was the large stretch of the city's tallest buildings and the complex network of streets and sidewalks where people were walking.
"... ahaha... it's not exactly the same, with this view." Gon awkwardly said as he noticed Kurapika standing next to him.
"But, it's still pretty amazing, right?"
Kurapika thought the view was beautiful, even if it wasn't what he had imagined it'd be. He felt like the world was a lot bigger compared to him, and his every day ground perspective hid the true scale that he could only see in situations like this.
"Yeah... it's really pretty, I think." He said as he stood still so he didn't rock the car too much.
...
...
The Ferris wheel eventually brought them back down again, completing their first rotation and causing Gon to direct his attention to something else. They were closer to the ground again, so he thought he'd go back to the other window to check if Killua and Leorio had gotten closer to the bathroom yet. But, as he rested his arms to his sides, he felt a lump in his pocket that made him remember something.
"... oh!" He said in realization as he began to dig into his pocket.
Kurapika didn't notice that Gon had even said anything until he turned to him expectantly. The feeling of being looked at caught his attention enough to make him look at Gon, who was holding something up to him.
"... here." He offered.
Gon held up a small, light brown teddy bear keychain accessory. It had black dotted eyes that seemed to have glitters embedded inside, a white bow with light brown details, and soft, curly fur that made it look a bit like Kurapika's stuffed poodle.
Kurapika took the teddy bear with a confused look. It was cute, he had to admit. But, why was Gon giving it to him?
"... I'm really sorry about making you so uncomfortable at the park earlier today." Gon finally said as he scratched the back of his head in guilt.
"I was just... a little angry. But it wasn't at you. So I'm sorry. I hope you can forgive me."
Kurapika was surprised, to say the least. He wasn't expecting Gon to be beating himself up about it. But the gift and the thought he seemed to be putting into it made him appreciate it all even more than he normally would.
"Of course I forgive you." Kurapika reassured his friend as he firmly held the teddy bear in his hand.
"Thank you for thinking about me."
...
"You know... I... really want to ask you something." Gon started again, after a few moments of comfortable silence.
"Hm?"
...
"Back then, at the park... the questions I was asking you... I asked them because I was really worried."
"... worried?"
... Gon paused for a moment, taking the opportunity to look at the view of the city they had once more as the Ferris wheel brought their car up to the top again.
"... your scent keeps changing. It's normal for the most part. Like now, when you're fine." Gon said as he took a moment to look at Kurapika.
"... you are fine, right?"
Kurapika nodded nervously, as he didn't know where Gon was going with this.
"But, your scent changes when you aren't fine. When you picked up the trash that had food in them, you looked disgusted by it. Like you were going to throw up. And then, in that moment, your scent changes."
"..."
"And, you smell more like the phantom troupe. You smell more like their leader, and two other people that I don't know."
Kurapika's heart sunk into his stomach, and he began to feel a bit sick.
He knows.
He knows everything.
All the worries and the worst outcomes imaginable began to play through his mind as his heart started racing.
Two other people? What other people? He thought.
I'm not prepared for this conversation at all.
"... I know you probably aren't ready to talk about it yet." Gon said, interrupting Kurapika's beginnings of a panic attack and providing some comfort for him to latch onto.
"... right?"
"... right." Kurapika answered.
Gon sighed.
"... I understand."
...
... thank god. Kurapika thought, relieved that he seemed like he wouldn't press for answers anymore.
"... but, Kurapika... I really can't help but worry about what that new scent means."
Just as he thought he would be able to leave the situation without having to face the topic any more, Gon brought it up again, making Kurapika worry that he'd ask for answers after all.
"... what do you mean by that?" Kurapika asked with anticipation, hoping that he didn't have to say anything he really wanted to avoid right now.
"The scent made me wonder about a lot of things. Like, how did you come to bond with another Alpha so much that their scent is starting to replace mine?"
hngh-
... shit.
"... I thought that the only way that could be possible... is if you were leaving the pack, or if that Alpha was forcing you to leave."
...
Forcing me to leave? Kurapika asked himself.
... Gon... how did you come to that conclusion?
"I know you probably don't wanna talk about the details. That's fine. I'll wait until you're ready... but..."
...
...
"You're not going to leave, right?"
... Kurapika turned his head to look at Gon after he had asked his question. What he saw was a look of concern that could almost be described as sadness. It made Kurapika want to comfort him and get rid of the thought that he would ever leave for another pack. After all... he loved being with Gon and the others. He couldn't even imagine ever trading them for a group of criminals like the Phantom troupe.
"No. I'd never leave. This is the pack I belong to." Kurapika said firmly.
...
Gon's expression didn't change, however. And with a short moment of silence to allow him to process his thoughts, he finally voiced his persistent concerns.
"Your scent still bothers me, though." He insisted.
"So, if you aren't trying to leave on your own... are you being forced to leave?"
...
"No, I'm not being forced." Kurapika replied rather certainly.
"And, I'm not leaving. Never planned to, and never will."
"... okay. Good."
...
"... yeah."
"So... I guess you're just not ready to tell me what's really going on, then." Gon said in conclusion, his expression softening up a bit.
"... I feel like you have a pretty good idea about what's 'really' going on."
...
Gon looked at Kurapika with a raised brow as he blinked once with surprise.
"I don't know. Maybe." He said.
"Do you?" Kurapika asked with curiosity.
...
...
"I won't assume anything." Gon finally decided.
"That way, you don't have to feel bad about not telling me. You can just take your time... But in exchange, you have to promise to tell me what's going on, when you're ready to say it. And you have to let me help you. Okay?"
Kurapika felt like he wanted to refuse the offer. He truly didn't want Gon to be involved. But, he couldn't shake the feeling that Gon knew what he was hiding already, even if he says that he won't assume... and, that would defeat the purpose of keeping him out of it in the first place. If he assumed that Gon knew everything from just his scent, then that meant he knew that Kurapika was mated now. And, if he knew that, then he knew the reason why it was important for him to know where Chrollo was.
... I guess, I didn't have to tell you. You probably know more than even Leorio knows, at this point. Kurapika thought.
... for a moment, he felt a sense of relief. He didn't have to keep the situation a secret from Gon, at least. But his worries about his new Alpha and his pack leader bumping heads over him still had a leg to stand on. It was possible because he was currently the only Omega in his pack, and he is also the Omega of another pack's leader. It was a recipe for a fight that he didn't want to happen.
... but, keeping Gon at a distance is probably going to make it worse. Because, if I do that... he might start to get reckless. He thought, trying to convince himself that he doesn't need to refuse help anymore.
Remembering all the reckless things Gon has done in the past, Kurapika knew that he would feel helpless to know that his pack member might end up leaving. It made him angry to think about, after all. So, it was entirely possible that Gon would do something reckless to combat his feeling of helplessness.
... it might be better to let him help. Because, at least he wouldn't feel that he was powerless in the situation.
...
"Alright." Kurapika finally decided.
"I promise to tell you everything. And I promise to let you help me."
Gon looked up at Kurapika, this time choosing to take his eyes away from the city view.
"Pinky promise?" He asked, holding out his pinky to Kurapika, much to his surprise.
...
"Pinky promise." Kurapika said as he locked his pinky with Gon's.
Gon gave Kurapika a bright smile. It made him grateful to have such a person for a leader. And for a moment, he felt that he had the support he needed to deal with his situation. Even though he didn't tell him everything, it felt better that Gon at least knew he had something he needed to tell him. He didn't have to hide anything anymore, at least not from the one person who had a say in how a situation like this would be handled. Kurapika was grateful that he was being given the opportunity to work things out on his own before having to ask for help.
... Thank you, Gon. He thought, as the Ferris wheel made its way to the top on its fourth rotation.
10 minutes later, the ride would be over and Gon and Kurapika would make their way back to the bench where Leorio's popcorn still sat. By the time they returned, Leorio and Killua seemed to have finally been able to use the bathroom. The rest of the day was spent playing more games and watching each other get on rides. The four of them had the most fun they'd have together for a long time. And, by the end of it all, the sun would begin to set, and they would all begin to wrap up the day by heading back to the car.
Kurapika gently opened the door to his hotel room. Inside, everything was as he left it this morning. It was a bit cold, but he felt that he had an eventful day and the chilly temperature wouldn't bother him once he was asleep.
Sigh...
Setting his stuffed poodle and teddy bear keychain on the bed, Kurapika sighed with an exhausted tone as he began to undress. He had a good time, even though the day didn't start off very nicely. It was refreshing to have spent the day catching up with Gon and Killua. So, he thought that he'd end the day with a nice, long, relaxing shower before going to bed.
First, he removed his shoes and set them at the front door. Then, he removed the blue scarf around his waist and tossed it into the hamper, which he noted would need to be emptied soon. After that, he took off his top and training suit and headed into the bathroom.
In the bathroom, there were new towels and washcloths that seemed to have been replaced by room service while he was away. The bar soap, shampoo, and conditioner were all replaced as well. And finally, Kurapika took a look at the trash bin, only to see that it was emptied.
...
For some reason, Kurapika felt as though he shouldn't have thrown away his pregnancy test, after seeing that it was now gone for good. He felt a small sense of comfort in knowing that he at least wasn't pregnant, but something still felt off that he couldn't put his finger on. Was he hoping that it was positive? Did he expect it to say "pregnant" instead? Or, did he just like the confirmation of having the results on him? He couldn't tell for sure if it was any of those possibilities. But it felt odd not having it anymore.
... stop worrying about that. he told himself.
You're not pregnant. You didn't want to be pregnant. And, the results say you aren't. That's a good thing. So, stop worrying about it already.
Turning to the mirror, Kurapika grabbed his toothbrush and toothpaste to brush his teeth before he'd get into the shower.
You've got enough to worry about already. Don't waste your energy on something that isn't even a real reason to worry.
... looking at himself in the mirror, Kurapika scrubbed his teeth firmly as he took in his appearance. His chest looked a bit puffier than it usually did... so, he placed a finger there and pressed gently.
... maybe it's just in my head. He dismissed, thinking he was just making things up, since he felt no different when he pressed his chest just now.
Removing his brush from his mouth to spit and rinse it off, Kurapika took his brush and set it aside to scoop some water in his mouth and rinse.
...
Sigh...
Once he was done, he took another look at himself in the mirror. Then, he brought his hand up to the bite mark on the base of his neck.
"..."
Running his fingers over the mark, he felt the small scabs on the surface that look like they were a bit faded, now that he could see them.
"... is this how it's supposed to look?" He asked himself.
It was common for people to talk about their marks and how theirs healed up to look like. But, Kurapika always assumed it was different for everyone. And, while he didn't appreciate the mark very much, he still at least wanted it to look decent, since he was the one who had to live with it for the rest of his life. And while he wouldn't say he hated the way it turned out, he did wish it would at least look like his mother's. Or anyone from his clan, for that matter.
... whatever. He thought as he moved to get in the shower.
While he took his time to let the water run down from his head to his feet, Kurapika thought about what he'd find out at the doctor's office tomorrow. It was the only thing he really had to think about now, other than finding Chrollo. Part of him was a bit nervous, because he knew that the doctor's office could give him news that would make things worse. All the horrible diagnoses he could think of felt like they each had an equal possibility. His symptoms varied, but it didn't stop him from trying to self diagnose with illnesses and diseases that he had no real professional experience to actually back him up on.
... I swear if it's just a head cold or something... he thought in irritation.
In reality, he knew it wasn't that, though. His real guess was actually that he could have something called Alpha poisoning, which he's only ever heard about from people who claimed they've had it in the past. It was like food poisoning, where you feel nauseous and exhausted all the time. But it was caused by the venom of an Alpha, especially if you don't like them for some reason. So, if you were mated to an Alpha you hated, it was possible to develop that illness, from what Kurapika could deduce. And therefore, he thought it was a good possibility that he had it.
But, he'd leave the diagnosis up to the doctor, for now. And to keep himself from worrying about it, Kurapika went on with the rest of his shower for a total of 20 minutes before stepping out and putting on some lotion. Instead of wearing pajamas, Kurapika chose to sleep naked, since it would allow him a better night's sleep.
Climbing under his blanket, Kurapika sat his stuffed poodle on the other side of his bed before grabbing his phone and laying down. He thought that it would be a good idea to set his alarm so that he'd wake up on time in the morning. But, as he moved to do so, he noticed that he had unread text messages
"... 2 unread text messages." He read as he opened the first message.
Leorio- I hope you had a good time today. See you tomorrow, okay? Good night.
Sent at 9:42 p.m.
"..."
...
Kurapika - I did. ...- I hope we can do things like that more often. It was really fun!- Good night. See you tomorrow.
...
With that, Kurapika checked the other message, which turned out to be from Gon.
"Gon sent 1 photo" the notification read.
Kurapika opened the message to see a picture that Killua had taken while Leorio and him weren't paying attention. In it, Kurapika could see himself in the far left, eating an icecream and laughing at Leorio who was giving a glare to him. On Leorio's cheek was Killua's giant sticky snap hand toy, which he had attached to his finger, indicating that he was the one who flung the hand onto Leorio's face. And finally, there was Gon, who was giving the camera a big happy smile as he held an icecream in his hand.
The picture made Kurapika smile fondly. It was a cute moment of all four of them, and it was a nice reminder of the day that they had together. Wanting to hold onto the picture forever, Kurapika saved it to his gallery before texting Gon a reply.
Kurapika- ❤
After setting his alarm, Kurapika put his phone on the nightstand and turned in his spot to get comfortable and go to sleep.
Despite the day he had, he didn't have any dreams. But, he didn't mind that. The memories he was able to create were more than enough to get him through the night.
---
RING RING
Zr Zr
...
RING RING
Zr Zr
...
RING RING
Zr Zr
"... sigh..."
RING RIN-
...
Kurapika's arm seemed to move entirely its own as he moved it to reach for his phone. It was ringing, so that meant it must have been time to wake up. The deep and comforting sleep he was in was interrupted, and that would make anyone a bit grumpy. But regardless, he knew that he couldn't exactly choose to stay in bed today, despite it being the weekend.
Fluttering his eyes open, he winced at the bright morning light peaking through a small crack in the curtains. The birds were chirping quite loudly, now that he was awake to hear them. And, it seemed like there weren't as many people out as there normally is, since the streets weren't cluttered with noisy cars.
"... hmph." Kurapika huffed as he sulked at the idea of having to get up out of his warm and comfy bed.
Judging by the temperature of the tip of his nose, he could tell that the room was freezing cold. But the thick blanket covering him shielded him completely from that cold. And, he wasn't willing to get out of it and subject himself to a chill.
... I should've worn clothes to bed. He thought, regretting his decision to sleep naked, now that it was time to get up.
Kurapika inhaled deeply before letting out an exasperated sigh.
"HAAAA..."
...
Okay. My robe is over there. He thought, making sure he could see the white robe that the hotel provided him, hanging on the bathroom door.
It's on the bathroom door. Awesome... so, now all I have to do is get up, grab the robe, and I'll be mostly saved from the cold. But then I can get in the bathroom and turn on the shower really quick. I can be warm for at least 10 minutes before I have to get out again.
Having thought out a plan to tread the cold temperatures without having to suffer as much, Kurapika looked around for a better option before deciding that his plan was the best.
Then, he set it into motion.
WOOSH
He threw the blanket off of himself and ran for his robe, which he put on in one swift motion before opening the bathroom door and shutting it once he was inside. But then, he noticed a fatal flaw in his plan.
... the floor is cold. He thought, as he looked down at the bathroom floor.
The rest of the hotel room had carpet on the floor. So, he didn't need to worry about the floor being cold. But because the bathroom couldn't have carpet, he ended up having to make himself uncomfortable anyway, choosing to be in the bathroom.
... oh well. It'll get warm soon enough. He dismissed as he turned on the hot water in the shower.
Kurapika completed the rest of his daily routine and stepped out of the bathroom shortly after. Next, he would need to pick out some warm clothes to wear, since he was almost certain that the cold temperature in his room was the result of the cold temperature outside.
Looking through the clean clothes he had, Kurapika picked out a white long sleeve turtleneck sweater and some black cargo pants that were fitted at the waist and calves and had a soft cotton lining on the inside to keep him warm. He tucked in the sweater, so the outfit seemed to highlight his curves and give him an hourglass figure. To hide this, he picked out a long black cardigan to wear over his sweater. To accessorize, he picked a dainty gold cross chain necklace and the matching dangling cross earrings to go with it. He only ever wore one of the earrings at a time, but he liked to hold onto both in case he ever lost one of them.
With his clothes on and his accessories picked out, Kurapika put on some white socks so he could put on his black combat boots. They had gold chains on them and they looked nice together with the cargo pants, so he never really wore one without the other.
Once he was done getting dressed, Kurapika checked his phone to see if Leorio had messaged him yet. After seeing that he had two notifications, he immediately went to check them.
Leorio - Good morning.
Sent at 10:37 a.m.
- I'll be there at 11. Try to eat something before we leave, okay?
Sent at 10:45 a.m.
...
Kurapika - Good morning... I'll try. Call me when you're outside.
...
With that, Kurapika looked at the time.
10:52... I have enough time to go downstairs and see what's for breakfast, I guess. He thought as he grabbed his wallet and shoved it into his pant pocket.
Kurapika straightened up the place and set his dirty hamper on the outside of the hotel room door before heading downstairs. There he would be able to get free breakfast, which was available for those who were staying at the hotel. He knew he was a bit late, so he didn't expect there to be much left for him to get. But, he didn't need much, anyway.
As Kurapika reached the lobby, he could see that the cafeteria area looked a bit vacant. There were fruits and bread products left over, along with a condiment area that still had a variety left. But the hot breakfast items were practically empty.
... I guess I'll have some toast and fruit. Kurapika thought as he walked over to the bread section.
To prepare the toast, Kurapika placed two slices of white bread into the available toaster. Then, he grabbed a plate, a cup of butter, and some strawberry jelly packets. Then, he set them all together next to the toaster while he went to grab some fruit.
At the fruit section, there were still plenty of fruit to choose from. Strawberries, pineapples, apples, grapes, pears, peaches, bananas, watermelon, honeydew, cantaloupe, and many, many more. But Kurapika chose to just get some sliced red apples, watermelon, and grapes. He put his fruit in a bowl and prepared to leave. But, just before he did, he caught a glimpse of some sliced lemons.
...
Kurapika took the serving tongs and grabbed himself three slices of lemon. Then, he left to get his toast as planned. Once he got his toast, Kurapika placed his bowl of fruit on the plate and carried his plate to a table, where he'd take the time to spread the butter and jelly on his toast. He had about 3 minutes left until he would need to head out. So, he started eating his toast, as it took him less than a minute to finish the two slices.
With 2 minutes left, Kurapika checked his phone to see if Leorio had sent him anything yet. But, when he didn't see a notification, he turned his attention towards his food again. Especially the lemon slices.
...
Kurapika wanted to have something warm to drink. But, he didn't care to have coffee or tea, like what he'd normally get. So, he thought that some warm lemon water would be enough to satisfy the need to drink something hot.
Standing up from his seat at the table, Kurapika picked up his bowl of fruit and took it over to the coffee section. There, he simply took a coffee cup, placed the lemons inside, and then placed the cup under the coffee machine. Then he searched for an option labeled "hot water." Once he pressed it, he waited, picking up a grape and eating it as he watched the hot water pour into the cup.
Once it was done, the machine let out a small beeping sound. Kurapika took his cup and swirled it around a bit before grabbing a coffee cup top and leaving the section. The whole process took more than a minute, but, he was still left with a couple seconds. Deciding that he'd wait to go outside, Kurapika sat back at his table and enjoyed his fruit.
The meal wasn't much, but it was satisfying for him. He looked forward to his lemon water the most, and, with two minutes passing after 11 o'clock had hit, he was able to finish his food and finally begin to sip at his warm water. Being late to breakfast had its perks, as there weren't many people downstairs anymore. So, he was able to enjoy some peace and quiet... until-
RING RING
Zr Zr
RING RING
Zr Zr
... sigh
The ringing of his phone had rudely interrupted his peace and quiet. But, the annoyance dissipated quickly, and he picked up his phone to answer it, taking one more sip of his water before speaking.
"... hello?" He said, expecting to hear Leorio's voice.
"... hey, sorry. I'm a bit late. But I'm pulling up right now." Leorio said from the other side of the phone.
Kurapika stood up once again, this time taking his now empty plate with him to throw away.
"You're not that late. Only about 5 minutes, right? The appointment is at 11:30. We have more than enough time." He reassured his friend.
"Were you able to get something to eat this morning?" Leorio asked as Kurapika threw away his trash and walked towards the front entrance with only his cup of warm water in hand.
"Yeah..."
"... awesome. I guess we'll all good to go."
... with that, all there was left to do was to drive to the Doctor's office. It took about 15 minutes, not including the light traffic. But Kurapika ended up making it right on time.
---
Leorio pulled up to the building rather slowly and stopped the car in front of the entrance for Kurapika's easy access. The two of them looked out the window to have a better look at the building itself.
It was tall and seemed to be pretty legitimate. The idea that doctor Emy had an office here made Kurapika feel like he was at least in good hands.
"... alright." He sighed, unbuckling his seatbelt and placing his hand on the door handle.
"I'll call you when I'm on my way back."
"... I could go in with you, if you'd like." Leorio offered after hearing Kurapika's sigh.
Kurapika gave Leorio a genuine smile before politely declining.
"... no, that's okay. I think I'll be fine... but I'm not sure how long I'll be. So, feel free to get some errands done while I'm gone."
"..."
With that, Kurapika left the car, and Leorio watched as he made his way into the building before driving off.
Once Kurapika was inside the building, he made his way to the floor that Emy indicated on the note she wrote. The building was like any other office building, but there seemed to be less people. Each person, from what Kurapika could deduce, were either male Omegas or nen users, with a small percentage being both a male Omega and a nen user.
... I guess this is an office with a specialty practice for nen users and male Omegas. Kurapika concluded as he made his way through the building's many floors.
Kurapika didn't think that nen users and male Omegas even needed their own medical practice to treat them in the first place. So, he began to wonder why. Of course he knows that male Omegas needed special care. But, he always thought that was just as common as female Omegas and female Betas. Why were male Omegas so different? And, why were nen users different? They were just like every other non-nen user. So it was strange to see that they needed special practices.
Despite his questions, though, Kurapika was glad to have such a personalized option for his needs as a male Omega and nen user. He thought that he would surely be able to get to the bottom of whatever ales him in this doctor's visit. So, as he finally reaches the floor, Kurapika would enter the waiting room area.
Inside, there were seats and a front desk.
"Good morning, ma'am! Please check in at the front desk and have a seat anywhere you'd like." The lady at the front desk called out to Kurapika in a cheerful but professional manner.
... lately, a lot of strangers have been addressing me as ma'am instead of sir. He thought as he nodded to the lady and made his way over to her.
... I wonder why.
Taking the provided pen, Kurapika signed his name and filled out the sign in sheet before giving it to the woman at the front desk.
"... oh! Mister Kurta. My apologies... you're just on time. You can go ahead into Dr. Emy's office. She shouldn't be seeing anyone right now." The lady said as she gave Kurapika a polite smile and gestured towards a door to her right.
Kurapika followed her gesture to the door as she gave him directions.
"It's the door straight ahead when you walk in. You should see her name on the door's label, so you'll know which one when you see it."
"... thank you." Kurapika said as he left to go inside the door.
Once he was inside, Kurapika heard practically nothing. It was dead silent once the door he had came from had closed completely. All the office doors were closed, and as he walked down the hall towards the door straight ahead, one of the doors to his left would open, only for a small Beta woman with a white lab coat to walk out of it.
"Oh. Good morning, ma'am." She said in passing as she politely excused herself and moved out of Kurapika's way.
"... Good morning." Kurapika said before continuing down the hall.
As he approached the door, he began to feel nervous. The silence and the idea of knowing that he was in a medical space just seemed to make him feel a bit... out of his comfort zone. He's never been to the doctor's office for himself. And it felt like he should have been expecting something serious to happen.
As he reached the door, Kurapika could see his reflection in the small rectangular window of the door, which seemed to be covered by a white sheet of paper.
... I suppose I do look like a woman, at first glance. he thought to himself as he gently knocked on the door.
...
Knock knock
...
Even though a second had passed since he had knocked, he felt as though he was waiting for an answer for at least a minute. And then, 2 minutes when 2 seconds passed.
"Coming!" A voice called out from the other side of the door, suddenly.
Kurapika's heart began to do all kinds of things. His anxiety rose tenfold as he heard the click clacking of heels on the cold floor get louder and louder from the other side of the door. And then...
Click...
Creak...
...
"Good morning, Mr. Kurta!" Emy warmly greeted Kurapika as she opened the door wider to invite him inside.
"You're just on time! Please, come in. It's a bit chilly out today, I know. But, please set your cardigan on the hook there for me, please." She instructed as Kurapika walked into the office door.
It felt comforting to see a familiar face for Kurapika. He gave Emy a polite smile as he walked past her and took off his cardigan as she had asked. Then, Emy shut the door, and he began to feel a slight tinge of anxiety once again.
"..."
"..."
Emy walked over to her rolling stool as she looked at some papers on the counter where the stool was placed.
"... alrighty then. Please, have a seat wherever you'd like." She began.
Kurapika took a seat in one of the two chairs available to him, instead of sitting on the exam bed that patients would sit during a physical. Then, Emy began to write something on the piece of paper, before directing her attention to Kurapika again.
"... so, how are you doing lately, Mr. Kurta?" She asked in a professional manner.
"Are you feeling better? Worse? The same as before?"
"... Um... I guess I'd say I've been doing better than before." Kurapika answered with uncertainty.
"That's good to hear. I'm glad you're feeling better." Emy replied.
...
Kurapika sat still, not really sure of what to say as Emy wrote something else down on her paper.
"... Alright. Let's start from the very beginning. What are some of your concerns that you wish to address in today's visit?" She eventually started again, this time keeping her eyes on the paper.
... Kurapika took a moment to think.
"... well..." he started.
As he thought about where everything began, he started to feel more and more anxious. Having the opportunity to explain what he was going through felt like relief to him, but, he was nervous to find out what it all came down to, in the end.
"... Well, it started on my first day back from taking a week off for my heat. That was Monday, September 10th." Kurapika started.
Emy wrote something down on her paper before asking another question.
"And how many days ago did your heat end by the time Monday rolled around?"
...
Kurapika thought for a moment.
"... um, about a day, I think."
...
"Okay... and, what happened Monday?" Emy said as she wrote even more on her paper.
"... Monday, I was on a mission. But something happened, and I encountered an Alpha with heartbreak syndrome, I believe?" He recalled, unsure if he had used the term correctly.
"... his scent was unbearable, and he attacked me. I was able to push him away, but I threw up shortly after, and then I blacked out for the rest of the day."
"Mhmmm..." Emy hummed as she continued to write.
By this point, Kurapika assumed that she was writing down what he was saying, and he was more comfortable with continuing with what's happened for the past week.
"Then, I went home. Since then, I've been feeling really nauseous and tired whenever I'd do strenuous activities or smell food. Sometimes I could smell and eat sweet things, and other times I couldn't. But, Tuesday, the day I met you, I tried to use my nen during our mission and I felt really sick after failing to summon my hatsu ability. You know the rest... Thursday, I scheduled the appointment, went home, and on Friday, I went out to do some errands. That was only for the first two hours of the day since I woke up, though. And... I..."
...
Kurapika paused as he remembered the next part of his story.
"And um... when I was doing those errands, someone told me something that made me think that I..."
...
"... I'm listening." Emy encouraged as she finished writing the first part of Kurapika's story.
"... um... that I might be... pregnant."
...
"Okay..." Emy said.
"... and I... picked up a test to see if I was or not. I got home shortly after that, and I took the test."
...
"... and the results of the test... do you feel comfortable sharing them with me today?"
"..."
Kurapika hesitated for a bit, but eventually, he would be okay to continue.
"... it was negative." He finally said.
Emy wrote more on her paper before looking up to examine Kurapika's expression.
"... and how did that result make you feel." She asked all of a sudden.
Kurapika thought back to when he first received the results of his pregnancy test, and how thankful he was when he saw that it was negative.
"... I was... relieved. I was so happy that I didn't have to worry about another problem. I really didn't want to be pregnant..." he finally admitted.
Emy scanned Kurapika's expression in silence for a moment. Her own expression remained relatively unreadable before she'd finally say something.
"Okay... I see..." she said, almost as if she was looking for something.
"... and, would you say that you agree with the results of the test? Do you feel that it was accurate?"
...
"Yes."
...
"Okay... please, continue."
...
"After that... I went to sleep. And I slept an entire day away. I had woken up around the same time as I went to sleep. So, I thought that I didn't sleep for very long. But my friend told me that I was asleep for a while, so I concluded that I must have slept through the day." He continued.
...
Emy continued to write down what she was hearing as Kurapika finished up the last of the details related to his health.
"Um... I went out Saturday, yesterday... and the only thing that caught my attention other than the usual nausea and tiredness was an odd sensation after I had begun to develop a headache."
"Mhmmm... go on." Emy hummed as she nodded.
"... It started as a weird ache at the back of my head, and the pain traveled to my bond mark here before slowly moving down to my chest and stopping at my stomach, where it slowly faded away. I felt it only once, and it was right after I had been talking about some pack related things with my pack members and our leader... and, that was pretty much everything leading up to today." Kurapika explained, as he gestured to his neck where he knew his bond mark would be under his shirt.
...
...
"Your bond mark?" Emy asked, right after she had set her pen down.
"You have a mate?"
Kurapika felt a bit weird about the question. But, the reason was because he preferred to disassociate from Chrollo. However, he knew that he was probably the reason he was here in the first place. So, he decided to explain.
"... yes, I have a mate. We were mated Saturday, last week. The first day of my heat."
"Ah! So you're newly mated?" Emy asked with interest.
"... yes."
...
"Okay..."
Emy then took her pen in hand once more to write that new piece of information down.
"... and, did you run into any irregularities during your most recent heat before you were mated?"
...
"Um... yes... I remember waking up in a lot of pain. It got worse over time, but it suddenly went away once my Alpha had returned from being out for a while."
...
"... okay..."
...
"... do you mind if I have a look at your bond mark?" Emy asked eventually, gesturing towards Kurapika's shirt.
Kurapika hesitantly reached to his turtleneck to stretch it out as far as it would go before pulling it down his shoulder to expose his bond mark. Then, Emy took a closer look at it.
"..."
"..."
"Hmm... alright. Thank you kindly, Mr. Kurta."
...
After Emy had sat back down and gone back to writing, Kurapika fixed his shirt to be the way it was before... then, he sat in silence for at least a minute.
...
...
...
"... Now then." Emy suddenly announced, breaking the long silence.
"... from what you've told me, your symptoms are extreme nausea, tiredness, and possibly headache. Correct?"
Kurapika looked up at Emy as she stood up once more, this time with the papers in hand. Nodding a bit, he confirmed what she had just said, right before his eyes followed her towards the counter where some medical gloves were sitting. Emy took two gloves out of the glove box and slid them on her hands before she would say something else.
"Well I think we can at least do a bit of testing to get to the bottom of things, in that case. Does that sound good to you?"
"... of course." Kurapika responded rather curiously.
"We're both nen users in here, right? Do you mind if I speed up the process a bit?... Trust me, it'll save us a lot of time." Emy asked as she sat back into her seat.
"You're able to use nen to perform medical tests?" Kurapika asked, rather amazed.
"... Well, as long as the patient is a nen user as well. I find it to be more reliable, in situations like this. But if you prefer traditional means, I don't mind at all."
"... I don't mind." Kurapika said, wanting to see how Emy could use her nen to conduct tests.
"What do I have to do?"
Emy stood up and walked towards the door before taking her papers and placing her hand on the door knob.
"I'll step out for a moment. All I need you to do is remove your pants and shirt. Give the door a knock when you're finished, and we can get started!"
With that, Emy left the room for a moment.
"... alright." Kurapika sighed to himself as he began to undress.
After a few minutes had passed, Emy was now back in the room, this time with a few new sheets of blank paper and a couple black ball pens. Kurapika sat on the exam bed and awaited her instructions.
"Alright." Emy started.
"I'll give you a quick rundown of what's going to happen for these tests."
Emy took a piece of paper and a pen to show Kurapika as she explained.
"The nen ability I'll be using today is called Speedy Diagnosis. I'll have you stand up, and every 45 seconds, you will turn 90 degrees, until you complete a full rotation. Meanwhile, my Speedy Diagnosis will be pulsing throughout your body, and I'll be automatically recording my findings on a sheet of paper.
You can expect to see multiple sheets of various things on these papers. For example, a full body X-ray. Whatever pops up will be filed in the records and we'll go from there. Does that sound good?"
Kurapika imagined how the ability would look, and he began to feel excited. Getting up from his seat, he reassured Emy that he was ready for the test.
"Sounds good." He said calmly.
With that, Emy straightened the papers out, took the cap off of the ball pen, and gave Kurapika a thumbs up.
Then, Kurapika stood still until he could feel Emy's nen ability activate.
Around Emy's free hand was a light yellow aura that slowly grew in size. Shortly after it started to grow, Kurapika could feel a warm tingling sensation starting at the center of his chest and quickly spreading in all directions until it reached the tip of his fingers and toes.
He began to count 45 seconds. And then, he noticed a light scribbling noise coming from Emy's pen.
Ah... he thought, as he counted.
She must be recording things now.
Kurapika turned to his right after reaching 45, and then he began to count again.
He would do this two more times before stopping. But, Emy hadn't deactivated her nen ability yet.
...
...
Kurapika waited as he focused on the scribbles he heard, wondering what they could be writing down on the paper.
...
...
Soon after, Emy would stop scribbling, and her hand stopped glowing. Then, Kurapika felt the warm and tingly sensation vanish, just like that.
...
...
"Alrighty!" Emy cheerfully clapped as she took a look at the papers before her.
"... I'm going to go process these. I'll be about 20 minutes. You can put your clothes back on and wait for a bit until I get back..."
Emy stood up and took the papers with her once more before leaving the room. Then, Kurapika heard her heels clicking and clacking away, until he couldn't hear them anymore.
...
With Emy gone again, Kurapika began to dress himself, grabbing his shirt to put on first and thinking about what may have been written on the papers.
... I wonder what the test came up with. He thought to himself as he pulled his shirt over his head.
After a while, he began to feel anxious again. Even after putting on his clothes, Kurapika couldn't stop thinking about the results of the test he'd just taken. What would it say? Does he have some kind of illness or disease? And if so... was it curable? Is it at least treatable? So many questions had begun to pop up in his head, causing him to get lost in his own thoughts.
Sigh....
Please, just tell me I'll be okay. Kurapika finally thought, in attempts to quiet his concerns before they got out of hand.
The office was quiet. Dead silent... and, he felt extremely nervous. He felt that he needed something to keep him grounded. Secured. Something to keep him from cracking under the anxiety he was feeling.
... maybe I should have had Leorio come in with me, after all. He eventually began to regret.
Despite his wishes, it would probably be a bit weird to have Leorio in the room for only a select few moments. After all, he would have to leave the room quite often, considering how much private information was being shared between him and the doctor... it's just that, now, he wished he had a friend to wait with him, so he wouldn't feel so alone waiting for his test results.
...
Sigh...
...
...
20 minutes of Kurapika being alone with his thoughts had passed. And, soon, he began to hear the now familiar click clack of Emy's heels draw close. Snapping his head up with anticipation, Kurapika's heartbeat reached new heights.
Click...
Creak...
...
Emy opened the door, giving out a gentle, "coming in" before poking her head through the door.
"... Hello again, Mr. Kurta... I have a summary of your results." She announced, her expression still hard to read.
...
Kurapika watched as Emy entered the room and closed the door in silence, her eyes leaving the papers in her hands only once, when she had greeted him.
...
Click clack click clack her heels went as she suddenly walked over to her seat.
Fwomp
...
Emy sat down on her stool, sitting the papers on the counter and writing something on it.
...
Kurapika waited for her to say something else. He waited with so much anxiety and anticipation that he could explode.
What are the results?
What are the results?
...
...
Creeeeak Emy's chair went, as she turned in it slightly to face Kurapika.
"Ahem..."
...
Kurapika scanned Emy's features for any kind of emotion to try and read as he desperately wanted a hint of what to expect.
"... all results conclude that you're pregnant, Mr. Kurta." She finally informed him.
...
Kurapika's heart sunk to the deepest depths of his stomach.
...
"... And, the X-ray and hormonal testing suggests that your bond mark isn't a bond mark at all. It is merely an imprint mark." Emy continued.
"... so, you aren't mated, unfortunately."
...
Kurapika stared at nothing. The shock of the news seemed to have frozen him in place, as if he was hit by a bullet and had blacked out.
Emy watched Kurapika's reaction with laser focus as she patiently waited for him to verbally respond.
... but, Kurapika said absolutely nothing.
Nothing at all. |
After a few days, some late night video calls, and plenty of snapchat exchanges, Dream went back to his regular routine. This was hardly some great affliction, with such a temporary separation, he could admit he might have been a little dramatic.
Since he had a bit of an absence lately, Dream decided to hop on a call with Sapnap and a few others who were just casually playing, not on stream.
/Dream joined the call./
"Hello."
Sapnap immediately spoke up. "Long time no see, Dream. Have a good time canoodling with George?"
Dream rolled his eyes, though, his face was red as the comment hit way too close to home. "Oh, shut up. It was the same as when you visited."
"That's means you guys definitely had sex then, since, that's all we did when I was there."
Karl giggled, "Is this true, Dream? Can you confirm?"
"We did not. Come on, I have standards here, after all."
They laughed as Sapnap protested against that, the subject quickly moving on to someone saying something else, Dream breathing a quick sigh of relief.
He did feel a little guilty about being kind of off the radar that whole time. He and George still would join the occasion stream or call, but they would do their own thing and wouldn't stay long. Dream was pretty preoccupied, forgetting about the rest of the world and even though he knew Sapnap was joking, he knew there was a reason he brought up how Dream wasn't around.
He played with them for a while, Sapnap's banter with Dream not seeming to stray from that initial subject.
"So, let's hear the dnf update. Did you guys seal the deal yet?" Sapnap chuckled.
Dream scoffed, "There isn't one, I can assure you. Why do you want a detailed recount so bad, anyway, weirdo?"
The other laughed, surprised at the odd answer. "What? Does that mean you actually did? Dude."
"You're such an idiot."
Either Sapnap was just cluelessly messing with him or he actually had suspicions. Dream had no idea which was true.
Soon, the hours ticked by, everyone else signed off, leaving just him and Sapnap on the call. It was pretty late, Dream checked the time, seeing that George was going to be awake at any moment now.
"I think I'm going to head out, Sapnap," Dream said, rubbing his eyes.
"Yeah, same here," he agreed. "And, you know, like, thanks for playing today. It got kinda boring without you," Sapnap mumbled.
Dream grimaced, "Sorry, man. I was just... distracted. But, know that I still love you," he teased.
He could feel Sapnap's eye roll, "Alright, Dream. Just not as much as Ge-''
Sapnap was cut off when the little ding went off, indicating someone entered their call.
/GeorgeNotFound has joined the call./
"Hey guys," he murmured, voice still low from sleepiness.
That was hot, Dream thought immediately.
"Hi, George," he said sweetly, instead of his mind's first reaction.
"So, I happened to hear from Dream that you guys fucked," Sapnap said casually.
George choked, mouth falling open in shock, "Dream!"
"What? I absolutely did not. I never said that I swear!" Dream shot back.
Sapnap chuckled shortly, "Geez, why are you two so defensive? I'm starting to think something actually happened."
Dream and George were quiet for just a moment too long.
"Of course not," George scoffed uncertainly, the weak excuse falling flat.
"Hmm," Sapnap muttered, "I'm just gonna assume you guys did it. Bye," he said, leaving the call abruptly.
Dream didn't know what to say for a moment. I mean, what do you even say in this situation? With one of your best friends guessing correctly that you and your other best friend were having some kind of love affair. And, having to explain it wasn't you who let him in on the secret, all over video call, no less.
Cough, awkward.
"I really didn't tell him anything," Dream said, breaking the silence. "I think he can just sense it or something, I genuinely don't know how."
George sighed, "Yeah, Sapnap would figure it out. But, I mean, we're gonna have to tell people, like, eventually."
Dream groaned. He was not looking forward to that. Not like everyone would be like shocked or reject them or anything, they would just never let him and George live it down. Making a relationship out of a meme and all.
"I know, but, that's for later. I like just having this to ourselves for right now."
"Yeah," George agreed. "Seems like a problem for future you."
Dream rolled his eyes. "Me? Isn't it supposed to be us, telling them together?"
George giggled. "You came onto me, it's only fair."
"Nuh-uh, George. I came in you, get it right," he scolded playfully.
"Ugh," George groaned, dropping his face down into his hands, embarrassed, "I just know it won't be long until we get caught with you being how you are."
Dream just laughed, "No one's around to overhear, I can say whatever I want."
George shook his head in exasperation, muttering to himself, which made Dream smile fondly. While so much had changed, this still felt like how they've always been, their dumb jokes and flirting, but, now, it didn't end there anymore.
-
"We're so out of sync," Dream complained to George a few days later. It had already been a week since the other left, the time passing much quicker than Dream thought.
"I know, but, the time zones are terrible and I had super bad jet lag. Everything got all messed up."
Dream sighed dramatically, "I'm dying here without you, George. I haven't got any action in a whole week."
He rolled his eyes, "What happened to your hand? Is it broken?"
"Well, no, but, I want your hand. Well, I actually want your ass but you know what I mean. It's just not the same," he grumbled.
"Well," George said slowly, looking around him like someone could suddenly appear in his room, though, after finding nothing he offered out, "Do you want to do it now?"
"Like, over video?"
"Uh, duh, can't really do it any other way."
Dream didn't take too long to consider. "Okay," he breathed, lightly palming himself already.
George laughed, "That eager, Dream?"
He flushed slightly at his readiness, already turned on and ready to go just thinking about doing this.
"Are.. are you gonna do it, too?"
George coughed slightly, "Well, I mean, I was kinda planning on it."
Dream grinned, "Oh, you must have been wanting to do this for some time, then. Now who's eager? Already hard, George?"
The other's eyes widened slightly, a blush settling over his face as he denied the claim. But, that reaction was all the answer Dream needed.
"You can only see my arm moving. Do I make you that hot and bothered?" Dream breathed teasingly, still just rubbing over his pants.
"There's this great thing called imagination, Dream," George muttered, the other watching as his arm started to move as well. Dream greedily wanted more as he took in the sight.
"Do you want to see, so you don't have to imagine?"
"Oh, um," George stuttered, his pace picking up a little bit. "Yeah."
Dream smirked, angling the camera down so George could see his lap, moving his chair back in order to still keep his face in the frame.
George's eyes were locked on the obvious erection in Dream's pants. He brushed over it lightly, that, combined with George's gaze, made him shiver.
"Why are your pants on?"
Dream chuckled. "Do you want me to take them off?"
George nodded, and Dream complied, slowly sliding them off, leaving him in his underwear. The fabric was straining against the confines. Dream touched himself lightly, slightly embarrassed at how hard he was.
"I wanna see you too, George."
George shakily panned his camera down, showing Dream his dick in his hand, casting his eyes away with his face heated and flustered.
Dream watched captivated as George stroked himself. This was so hot.
It was such a compelling sight. George only had on an oversized hoodie, a sleeve over his face to cover up his embarrassment. And then, the hurried hand over his dick, jerking himself off. Dream tried to burn the image into his memory. Maybe he always had some slight fantasy of this exact scenario that he always tried to push out of his mind. But, now...
Dream was interrupted from his thoughts when George let out a choked gasp. "Dream," he murmured, slowing down his motions. "Take it out, I wanna.. wanna see," he murmured, breathless.
Dream swallowed thickly, the words going straight down to his dick. He was painfully hard, every touch amplified with how the other was watching as he took off his underwear. George's eyes were locked onto him, mouth parted slightly as he continued to jerk off.
Dream let out a long breath, stroking himself slowly as he raked his gaze over George. It was insane how horny this was making him.
They both sat there, breathless and panting, eyes transfixed on the other.
"Ugh, so, George," Dream said with a mischievous edge to his voice, "If I just so happened to click the screenshot button, on complete accident of course, would you let me keep the picture?"
George let out a strangled noise at that, movements becoming more hurried. "Well, if I can accidentally take one of you, then, I'd consider it," he offered hesitantly.
"Yes, a trade, I'm all for it," Dream agreed, snapping a quick photo of George. Oh yeah, he was definitely going to jack off to that again later.
George whimpered slightly, then leaned down to take his own screenshot. "Move your head to the side a bit," he directed. Dream rolled his eyes, but did so anyway. George was really posing him for something like this. "Yeah, perfect. And then, look up at me."
Dream dragged his eyes upwards, his face pink, mouth opened slightly. His head was bent, exposing his neck suggestively. He had one hand planted on the seat for stability, the other one, of course, gripping his dick.
George grinned, happy with the results, "Alright, now, next let's do the next with your shirt off."
Dream rolled his eyes. "Just one," he tsked.
George pouted, sitting back in his chair. "Always impeding my artistic vision. I wanna take plenty of pictures with you in compromising positions when I get back."
"Oh really? And what are you going to do with them?" Dream smirked.
George hummed. "Hmm. Well, probably the same thing you'll do with that picture of me," he teased back.
Dream coughed at that. Imagining George getting off to lewd pictures of him was getting him dangerously close to the edge.
"Shut up," he muttered weakly, increasing his pace.
Dream was really close. He didn't want this to end, he wanted to keep looking at George how he was right now. Panting and flustered and getting himself off right in front of Dream, at Dream. But, it was becoming too much, too hot to handle.
Dream was sent over the edge when he saw George come apart, whimpering as the other stroked himself through his orgasm. He finished, watching as the other regained his composure, coming down from his high.
George quickly angled his camera back up to his face, then got himself back in order.
"Pretty good idea, George, I have to admit," Dream smiled, adjusting his camera as well.
George looked up, a light laugh leaving his lips at how ridiculous this situation really was, but enjoying it anyway. "Yeah, it went better than I expected."
"That's because you like watching me do stuff. But, I will say, it is pretty hot, so I understand why."
George's blush deepened. "You should see how you look doing it. I'll have to take a video and show you because it's like," he shook his head, unable to find the words, "I dunno, addicting."
Dream's breath caught in his throat. Hearing stuff like this from George was pretty overwhelming. He did really like praise... Ahem. Anyway.
"Sure, right, film our sex tape," he laughed breathlessly. "You do that."
"Just saying, that's a viral video right there."
Dream rolled his eyes, "Face reveal in our new porn channel, never considered that one."
George laughed, "Wouldn't it be weirder if you wore the Dream mask, though?"
"Yeah," he conceded, "We'll have to keep this as the back up plan."
Maybe that's their reality in some strange alternative universe..
-
George was swamped for the next week, barely able to talk and text Dream. He had already sent the first of the shipments to the other's house, but he still had a whole other load to complete before his flight.
Dream was bored. He should have just convinced George to let him come with him. Then he wouldn't have been as stressed and hurried packing.
But, it probably was too soon for that in their current situation, going to the George family house, being so new in their relationship and all.
So, Dream just spent a lot of his time on calls with the other streamers, making up for all he missed while he was messing around with George. Though, it was a pretty good excuse, and definitely a fun distraction from his usual life and work. But, now, it was back to that grind.
It was also good anyway because he missed everyone. Especially Sapnap. They did a couple of streams together and called quite a few times.
"I heard George is moving in with you now."
"Yeah," Dream replied. "Next week."
Sapnap hummed thoughtfully. "I thought we were all gonna live together as the Dream Team. What happened to that?"
"You're the one who moved to the total opposite side of the country," Dream pointed out. "I'm still for our plan of living together."
"Well, you could have done more begging," Sapnap teased.
Dream rolled his eyes, "There's always a room for you here, you know."
Sapnap's eyebrow quirked up, "Mm, especially since you and George are sharing one."
"Yeah, no," Dream faltered a bit, forgetting that Sapnap doesn't actually know yet, even if the things he said sure sounded like he did. "That wouldn't even make sense, I have more than two rooms."
"Oh, you don't share out of necessity."
Dream sighed, "You're so convinced I feel like at this point, we might as well get together."
"Trying to tell me something, Dream?"
He almost wanted to, since Sapnap was right about it anyway, but, Dream thought it best to keep everything on the downlow for now, also sparing himself from the endless jokes at how Dream fell right into the shippers trap. "Only that I'm rescinding my generous offer for you to live here."
Sapnap laughed, "Always so dramatic, Dream."
Though, they both knew he wasn't going to take Dream up on it anyway, since Sapnap would already be here right now if that's how it all worked out. But, things just didn't line up that way.
Dream would have been more than happy if Sapnap did decide to move in, but he was relieved that he didn't live here with him and George, uh, doing what they were doing.
He was sure they would get caught in literally no time at all if that was the case.
-
"I finally finished!" George beamed, relieved.
Dream smiled, "I'm so proud of you, George. Do you know when your stuff will get here?"
"I paid for the express shipping and I think it said a week and a half. It should start arriving soon after I get there."
"Sounds good. Ready for your flight tomorrow?"
George sighed, "Definitely. It's very hard without all my stuff. I've been living out of a suitcase for too long, it never ends."
"What? Did you pack all your clothes and essential everyday items first or something?" Dream chuckled.
"Yeah.. I don't know what I was thinking. That was the first thing I shipped and I had like three shirts and my toothbrush for the rest of the time," George complained at his own lack of foresight.
Dream shook his head playfully, "Oh, George. You're lucky you left some clothes here."
"Yeah, I'll just say this was my plan all along. Not because I was making you do my laundry or anything, nothing ridiculous like that."
Dream rolled his eyes, "Of course."
The other just grinned.
George was going to be back with Dream tomorrow night. They made it through this tragic adversity, and everything was just falling right into place.
It was more permanent, which Dream liked. But, it was also more permanent, which in turn made him nervous.
He just wanted everything to go perfectly all the time! Was that too much to ask?
This is an no angst story after all.
- |
Virta turned the relic this way and that in her slender fingers. She finally set it back in the box at her feet and looked up at the General.
He was taking another drink of scotch.
"You said I'll have a real Earth assignment, besides Athan. There's a girl in trouble?"
The General nodded grimly. "Yes, and you know her well. It's Mandi."
Virta felt as though her heart had been kicked from her chest. Surely he was not talking about the same girl she'd begun to think of as a sister.
"Mandi? MY Mandi? What's wrong with her?"
"Just look for yourself." He turned his computer monitor around so that Virta could see it too.
It was the Watch Over program, only a much more sophisticated version than she'd seen before. The amount of detail available in the General's version was incredible. There were controls to monitor everything from the temperature in the room to heartbeats, smells, and probably even the number of flies on the wall.
Virta peered at the scene before her.
Mandi was out to dinner with a guy. It looked like a very swanky establishment. They sat in a corner by themselves, their hands entwined across the table. His plate was empty; Mandi's sat untouched. The girl's face was strained and had an unhealthy pallor.
"I'm sorry, I'm just not feeling that well, Heath," Mandi said.
A slight sheen of sweat clung to her forehead. She removed one hand from his so she could dab at her forehead with her napkin. Her big brown eyes stared listlessly up at her date.
Heath was really big. Even though he was sitting in a chair, Virta could tell he was tall. Muscles bulged against his shirt. He had short, spiky, blond hair, dark brown eyes, and a healthy, even complexion. It was no wonder Mandi was out with this guy. He was just her type.
But Virta recognized something about him that set her heart racing and her stomach burning in anxiety. Unable to tear her eyes away from the screen, she addressed the General.
"S-Sir? Am I wrong here? He looks like an angel to me! Is he there to help her?"
The General grunted. "Good eye, Virta. Yes, he is an angel. But I'm sorry, no. He's not there to help her. Far from it. He's a Fallen One."
Virta gasped. "Oh god, no. That's what I was afraid of ..." her voice trailed off in shock.
Virta's eyes were locked onto Heath. The demon was casually sipping a glass of champagne across from the unsuspecting human.
No, not just any human, Virta thought angrily. MY human!
"Heath is one of Athan's top men," the General said as he watched the monitor. "Athan trained him personally. Plus, Heath is just a cruel prick who enjoys his work."
The General sighed and leaned back in his chair. "We have intel confirming that Athan sent Heath on this mission... to Mandi."
"To do what, Sir?"
"To hurt her, of course."
"But, why would Heath want to hurt Mandi?"
"Don't be an idiot, Virta," the General growled. "Why? Because he can. Because he was commanded to - and he follows orders. But more importantly, we think Athan is using her to draw you out. He knows you're watchful of Mandi, that you feel protective of her."
"Don't you have an angel you can send to save her?"
"Yes, we do." The General turned his sapphire eyes upon her. "It's you, Virta."
"Me? Mandi is my assignment?"
"Athan and his people want you down there. They're going to keep hurting innocent humans because of you, until they get you on their turf."
The General pounded on his desk, making Virta jump in her chair.
"Don't you see what's at stake here?" he thundered. "They have their eyes set on you, and they won't back down until you're twice the child of hell as they are. If they have casualties like Mandi along the way, it's nothing to them."
"No," Virta cried. "They're hurting people because of me? Oh my god, I couldn't bear that." Tears slid down her cheeks as she turned to the handsome couple on the screen again.
"It looks like they're just out for a nice dinner," Virta said, puzzled. "Other than Mandi not feeling well, things look fine. So what is he doing to her, poisoning her or something?"
"Just watch."
* * *
"Ready to go back to your place, sweetheart?" Heath whispered.
He had moved around to her side of the table, leaning down behind her with his lips brushing against her hair. His big arms were gently draped on her shoulders. He kissed her softly on the temple.
Mandi tried to smile. She had one hand clutching her lower abdomen. She was shaking in her chair. The look on her face registered pain.
"Yeah, I am. Could you take me home now? I just need to lie down for a bit. Maybe I'll start feeling better." She sighed. "Sorry about dinner. I know you spent a lot of money on me tonight."
He knelt down beside her, stroking her hair gently as he looked into her face. "Don't worry about that. You're what's important to me. Let's get you home."
He helped her up, holding her steady on her feet. He threw some large bills down on the table. Then, tucking her under his arm, Heath held Mandi against his body, supporting her as they left the restaurant.
His Aston Martin was waiting at the front, and he set her down carefully in the passenger's seat. After buckling her in, Heath climbed into the driver's side and took off, peeling out of the parking lot.
Suddenly, the scene switched to Mandi's small apartment.
Heath was carrying Mandi through the door. Her face was pressed against his broad chest for comfort. He held her like a baby, as if she weighed nothing. Heath shut the door with his foot, then freed one hand to turn the lock.
"Let's get you into bed," he crooned. She mumbled and buried her face deeper into his chest. He chuckled down at her.
Crossing the floor in a few large strides, Heath smoothly set her down on the bed. Removing her shoes, he carefully position her body and then covered her gently with a blanket.
Heath sat down on the side of the bed next to her. He supported himself with one hand on the bed, while the other was softly stroking her face and hair.
"Heath, I don't want you to go yet," she said, opening her hazy eyes to gaze up at him. She placed a hand on his bicep, which didn't even begin to wrap around it. "Will you stay with me tonight? I mean, just hold me; talk to me?"
His warm eyes looked down at her. "Of course I will, Mandi. You didn't even have to ask. I was going to stay and watch over you; take care of you."
She nuzzled her face against the warm hand that was cupping her cheek. "Thank you," she murmured.
Then she tried to sit up a little. "I was going to talk to you about some things tonight, if the evening had gone better for me."
"Take it easy, Mandi," he said, gently easing her back down onto her pillow.
"I know - " She paused; swallowed; and started again. "We've just known each other for a week. But, I feel like I've known you forever. Like you are the guy I've been looking for all my life. And... I have to confess something to you."
He pushed a tendril of hair behind her ear. "Go on, sweetheart," he said, a soft smile on his lips.
"I normally don't... wait...to, um, you know...BE with any guy I'm attracted to." Her eyes were cast downward and her lip shook as she struggled to get out the words.
"But, I sensed something different about you from the moment we met. I wanted to get to know you first... let you get to know me, and see what developed. I wanted more from you than a one-night stand. And I get the sense that maybe, you feel the same way I do."
Her eyes finally looked up at him, searching his face for a reaction.
Heath was smiling sweetly down at her. "I do. I feel exactly the same. I was going to have this same talk with you over dinner at the restaurant... and afterward. I wanted to tell you and show you how I really feel."
"Oh, I'm sorry, Heath. I wish I didn't feel so beat up... I feel like I've been hit by a Mack truck. I ruined the evening by being sick."
"No. We're still together. It's perfect. Except for you being sick, of course. You should let me take you to the ER. Are you sure you don't want to go?"
She nodded. "Just as sure as the last twenty times you asked me." A small smile found its way to her face.
"I've got a doctor appointment in the morning. This doesn't seem to be getting better on its own. It's like... oh god, I don't want to gross you out. But, I'm bleeding... down there, and it's not my time of the month; it's not the same at all. I hurt too, inside and out."
She sat up a little more, pulling the blanket off her. "And look at this," she raised the hem of her dress up just enough to show him her bruised thighs. "I don't understand where this came from. I, uh, haven't had sex in weeks, so... it's not that."
"Good god, Mandi," Heath gasped. "You need to get to the hospital right now. Maybe you were drugged at a party and abused. I'll call the police."
"No," she cried, grabbing ahold of his arm again. "That's not it. These just showed up over the last few days, and I haven't been anywhere since I met you on Friday. Besides work, I've only been with you."
Her eyes took on a playful glimmer. "And it's not like we've even been intimate yet." She managed a little smile as she pulled the hem of her skirt back down.
She gasped in pain then, clutching at her lower abdomen. Heath stroked her back, soothing her.
After a moment, she said quietly, "My Mom had a blood disorder and Grandma had it as well. I don't remember what it was, but they had easy bruising, bleeding, pain... Maybe I inherited it, and I'm getting the symptoms. I don't know. But the doctor will run tests tomorrow. I know I'll be OK."
Heath eased her onto her back and tucked the blanket around her again. Then he went back to caressing her face and hair. "You better be OK," he said, his eyes full of worry. "It makes me sick, the thought of something happening to you..."
She nodded. Then suddenly, her demeanor became shy, hesitant. "I know we're both ready to take this relationship to the next level, physically. And... I want you," she whispered, "very much. And I know you want me. I thought tonight would be it... our first time. But, I'm afraid we'll have to put it off until I get healed up."
"Ssh," he soothed her softly. "Don't even worry about that right now. Of course I want you. God knows I want you so much. But the important thing right now is, that you get better. I'm willing to wait as long as necessary to be with you."
She smiled appreciatively. "I'm glad you understand. And I'm so sorry. I was, uh, wondering if you wanted me to, you know, RELIEVE you?" She looked seductively at his eyes and then to his crotch. Her trembling hand slowly reached toward it.
He caught her hand, holding it just where it was, poised over his lap.
"Nah, baby," he said, raising her hand to gently kiss the back of it. "Not now. I'll be fine. I just want you to rest, concentrate on feeling better. You need a good night's sleep."
He kept her hand near his mouth, caressing the back of it with his warm lips. The look in his eyes was tenderness, love.
"Ohh," she moaned.
He reached out and laid the back of his hand on her forehead.
"Damn, you're burning up, baby," he said, frowning. "You've got a fever. Let me get you a cold, damp cloth to put on your forehead; get you some water and aspirin."
"Oh," she breathed, clutching at him, trying to hold him onto the bed with her. "No. I mean... in a minute. I wanted to tell you something.... Heath, I'm, uh, really falling for you. I think I..." Her voice trailed off.
She closed her eyes in concentration, as if trying to will the words out of her mouth. "What I mean to say is..."
Then she pulled her hand back from his, pressing it against her face, which was etched with embarrassment. "I'm sorry," she said in an agitated voice. "I don't want to say too much too soon. I don't want to scare you."
He pulled her hand away from her face and turned it over. With the finger of his other hand, he gently, lovingly, traced patterns on her hot, damp palm. His touch was whisper-soft.
"You can't scare me, you know."
She sighed. And sighed again.
He looked down at her through his dark lashes, his eyes sweet and tender. "Come on, we both know there is something intense... serious... huge... between us. There's no use holding anything back."
His beautiful brown eyes held hers gently as he spoke. "The truth is, Mandi, I love you."
He paused to let his words sink in.
Mandi's full lips were slightly parted, her eyes widened. Her pulse increased, and her feverish body trembled.
"From the moment I met you, and this whole week that we've spent together... I heard your voice, your laughter... saw your intelligence, how good your soul is – the person you are inside... Don't even get me started on your outer beauty," he said, chuckling.
She smiled, but didn't speak.
"Mandi, I love you. I hope that doesn't scare you either. I know it's crazy to say that after only a week. But it's just how I feel. And, like you, I've never felt this way about anyone before... "
He paused, looking down at her. Then, a big, dopey grin came over his face.
"Could you say something before I feel like a bigger idiot than I already am?" he laughed. "I mean, tell me I'm a moron, tell me to get the fuck out of your house, just say something."
Her eyes brightened and she giggled up at him. "Don't be silly," she said, smiling ear to ear. "Everything you're saying is exactly what I wanted to hear; it was the best thing I could ever hear."
She tugged at him and he leaned down and kissed her fully, deeply on the mouth.
When he pulled back and looked down at her, she was still smiling. "You're right, we both feel something amazing between us," she said.
Then, she looked up at the ceiling as she spoke, her tone of voice more sober. "But I wondered sometimes if I was just imagining it. I was nervous about telling you. I thought I'd lose the best thing that's ever happened to me... scare you off for sure. "
"I've told you before – I don't scare easily," he said, leaning down again to brush her feverish lips with his own.
"Oh, Heath, I'm so happy."
She reached for him; tried to sit up to hug him. Mandi winced as the movement caused her pain.
"I've never felt this way about anybody in such a short amount of time," she said, just before Heath kissed her tenderly, careful not to press too hard against her aching body.
When she could think and speak again, she said, "Hell, I don't think I've ever felt this intensely about anyone, period. I guess this is what they call a whirlwind romance or love at first sight. I just never thought it was real."
"I feel the same." He pulled back a little and looked down lovingly into her deep brown eyes.
"Oh, damn," she said tensely, her forehead wrinkling between her brows. "I've been blabbering on, haven't I? Now who's the moron? I'll just blame it on my fever."
He kissed the lines on her forehead until they relaxed. "Let's finish this conversation later, after you've had a good night's rest. You look so tired, baby." He stroked gently around her shadowed eyes.
"Oh, I know," she said. "I think if I could just get a good night's sleep, it might cure most of this illness, whatever it is. I haven't been sleeping well lately. I mean, I'll start to drift off, but I never seem to get into a deep, refreshing sleep."
"You want me to get you some warm milk or anything?"
"Oh, no, thanks. I'll be fine if I just can lay here. I could doze off right now. This feels so good to me, just lying here all warm with you next to me. Are you really gonna stay with me tonight? "
Heath kissed her tenderly, then he pulled back, just staring down at her, stroking her damp hair from her face. "Of course. I told you I'd be here, watching over you. I'm good at that."
She moaned softly in pain, clutching at the blanket that covered her sweat-drenched clothes. Then she wrapped her arms around him as best she could.
"Just rest. I'm going to get you that glass of water and something for your pain."
"In the medicine cabinet in the bathroom..." she moaned. "Just don't be long, please. I'm so cold without you." A slight smile escaped her shivering lips, despite her pain.
"I'll be back in a second. Don't worry, I'm not leaving you. I'll drive you to the doctor in the morning too."
"Oh god, Heath, thank you. I don't know what I'd do without you. You're like my guardian angel or something. I don't have anyone in my life that's half as good a friend as you've been to me this past week."
"Go to sleep, baby," he said softly. Her eyes shut; she sagged on the bed as exhaustion took over her.
Heath slowly untangled himself from her arms and pulled the covers over her, tucking them in around her. Then he got up and stood by the side of the bed, just studying her sleeping form.
A provocative smile spread across his face. He began to undress slowly, quietly, by her bedside.
After he'd shed the last of his clothes, he reached down between his legs and gave himself a few strokes with his hand. Then he turned to the sleeping girl on the bed.
"Hey, Mandi," he called. "Get up, bitch."
Mandi obeyed, sitting up groggily in confusion.
"What? What's going on?" She wiped her eyes and then gasped as she took in Heath and his big, naked body. She shrank back on the bed as the large man advanced, his huge cock jutting out at her.
"Oh my god," Mandi breathed, eyes locked onto Heath's erection. "What's going on? What are you doing, Heath?"
"If you can't tell what I'm going to do, then you really ARE a stupid cunt," he said.
Seeing the fear and confusion in her eyes, he smirked.
"I'm going to fuck you, of course. Nothing hundreds of other guys haven't done already. Nothing – I – haven't done hundreds of times already!" He grinned lewdly.
"What's the matter with you? I told you I don't feel well... and I need to get some sleep."
She gasped as he pushed her back onto the bed roughly.
"Get your hands off me, Heath!" She began to struggle.
"Now, Mandi," he said in a scolding voice, "you fucked me every night since we met... and you loved it!"
"No, I've never had sex with you, and you know it!" she cried as he forced her flat on her back. "Ow! Stop hurting me!"
His voice began to taunt her. "OK, maybe I get a little carried away - you get a few bruises here, some internal injuries there - but come on, can you blame me? You're just SO hard to treat like a lady!"
He grabbed her small hand and forced it onto his huge cock. As soon as he released his hold on her, she tried to jerk away from him.
Heath quickly snatched her hand again, this time locking it into his much larger one. He began to squeeze slowly. There was the sound of delicate bones crunching together.
"Oww – stop - please!" she shrieked in desperation, her voice going higher with each word as the pain increased.
He let go of her hand and began to rip her clothes off instead.
"Don't scream!" he snarled as he tore through her lingerie. "I'm not a big fan of the screaming."
She physically couldn't scream after that, but she cried and pleaded with him to stop, over and over again. It seemed to fall on deaf ears.
One second she was wearing her dress and lingerie, and the next second, they were lying in shreds on her floor. She was completely naked.
"You're crazy!" she gasped, clutching at the blanket to cover herself. He yanked it away from her and threw it across the room. Mandi tried to get up, but again, he pushed her violently backwards.
"Let's see, do I want you to fight me tonight or not?" He seemed to be thinking out loud to himself, trying to make a decision.
She stared up at him, eyes huge, trying to catch her breath. "No baby, please," she said, gasping. "What are you doing? I wanted our first time together to be special."
She was crying.
"But, all our first times have been special to me," he said in a mocking, tender voice.
Her bottom lip was trembling as tears rolled down her reddened face. He moved in with surprisingly gentle fingers to wipe them away. She watched as he licked her tears, one by one, off his fingers.
"I don't understand what's wrong with you... I don't want to do this," she whimpered.
"Hey," he caught her shoulders in his hands, giving her a shake. She raised her puffy, tear-filled eyes to look at him.
"We're going to do this whether you want to or not. I've tried it both ways all week long. I like it when you struggle. But I also like it when you're all wet for me; ready for me to plunge in...
"You're an insane rapist," she said.
"Oh, Mandi, you know you want me. You even told me so just a little while ago, of your own free will. I'm not forcing you to do anything you don't already want to do. You know what I'm saying is true in your heart... and in your pussy." He grinned cruelly.
"You're really sick," she hissed. "I can't even believe you're the same person. What happened to you?"
"Just lie back and shut up, bitch. You're going to spread those hot, sexy legs and let me fuck you six ways to Sunday."
Then he flipped her over and gave her a sharp smack on her smooth, rounded ass.
"Oh!" she jerked with shock at the sudden way he'd handled her, and the intense pleasurable sensations that it sent through her lower body. The expression on her face betrayed that she liked it.
Heath kissed his way down her spine. His hands felt up the sides of her breasts: the swell of their curves pressing against the mattress. Then he traced down the length of her graceful hips and thighs... and back up to the shapely roundness of her thick, taut ass.
Mandi moaned at his expert touches. Her legs were spread for him, waiting, and not because he'd commanded it.
Suddenly, he jumped up. "I'll be right back," he said, brightly. "Don't go anywhere."
Heath turned and looked directly into the celestial camera of the Watch Over program. There was a sick, sadistic smile on his face.
"Virta... General," Heath said politely as he gave a nod and a mocking salute.
"I know you like to watch, Virta," he said into the camera. "Sorry if you've missed out on all the fun this past week. But if you're watching now, it won't take you long to get caught up."
Virta gasped, her body already shaking from the terrifying turn of events in Mandi's small apartment. Her eyes flew to the General, looking for answers.
Banner looked unsurprised at the events on the monitor, maybe a little bored even, as he emptied the glass in front of him.
"He's talking to us! He knows we're watching now? What is he doing?" she gasped.
"There's no feedback from us to him," the General said as he pointed back to the monitor. "But yes, he knows we're watching."
Heath continued to talk as he swaggered toward the camera.
"Think of this as a recap of the week-long, Heath and Mandi Fuck-a-thon," he said with a huge grin. "Let's see how the bitch handles all she's gonna get tonight."
He stopped walking forward; his beautiful face now filling the camera lens. "Oh, you know she loves me, right? You heard that too?" He laughed. "Poor slut thinks a rich, young guy really wants more from her than just a good lay? She's such a dumb cunt."
"Anyway, as usual, I'm going to erase her memory of the night, and do it all over again tomorrow night. And the next, and the next. Until I get bored with her. And then, well..." his eyes took on a murderously shiny glare, "then, she's just... fucked."
Heath laughed again, a deranged laugh that sent shivers down Virta's back
Heath backed up and made a few outrageous poses in front of the camera. Then, he gestured over his shoulder toward the brunette waiting on the bed. He winked lewdly at the camera.
Mandi appeared not to have any realization of the strange, one-sided conversation going on just feet away from her.
A glance at the girl showed that her frightened eyes were still locked onto the spot where Heath had been moments before, brandishing his cock like a sword at her.
The monitor indicators showed that Mandi's body was in the beginning stages of sexual arousal.
"No, Mandi, no," Virta breathed.
Mandi's body had responded to Heath's sexual advances. But Virta knew that Mandi's heart and mind wanted nothing to do with this psychotic bastard... she was terrified of this lunatic monster that somehow took over the body of her loving boyfriend.
Heath sauntered a little closer to the camera again.
"Athan wanted to be here to do the job himself," he said. "But, I volunteered. I knew I had to get a piece of this fine ass the moment I saw her picture. Wish you were here, Virta. A threesome would be a blast."
Virta could only stare back wide-eyed, non-breathing, as she watched Heath turn and stalk back toward Mandi.
"Hope you enjoy the show," he threw over his shoulder.
The General reached over and turned the monitor off. He turned in his chair, looking to see Virta's response to the whole thing.
"We've got to stop him!" Virta cried. "Let me get down there, now."
"You've got to stop Athan as well. That's your first priority."
Virta's eyes narrowed. "Of course I'll stop that bastard. Look at the suffering he's responsible for. You'll be lucky if I don't kill him myself before I hand him over to you."
The General glared down at her. "Do not mess around once you've put the relic on him, Virta," he warned. "There have been a few others who tried to bring him in as well... but they failed when they made a little 'pit stop' along the way. It became their undoing."
"I'm not going to fail my mission. I want to see Athan and Heath - and anyone else working with them - suffer for what they've done. Just let me go to Earth now."
"All in good time, Virta."
The General pulled a thick, sealed envelope from his desk drawer.
"This is the packet with your mission profile. It contains all the information you need for success. Make sure you fully understand all the details. Oh, there's also an extra relic in there, just for Heath."
"Good," she said. "When can I leave? Mandi needs me now."
The General flung the packet across his desk toward her. "Are you ready to choose your human body?"
"Yes, Sir. I'm ready."
|
It’s late afternoon, and Anne is nowhere to be seen.
Logically, Marcy and Sasha know she’s probably fine. She didn’t survive a month in the wilderness for nothing, (a fact that Marcy hadn’t learned until it was far too late to remedy) and she’s most likely the most resourceful and gritty one of them all.
Also, they’re in Wartwood. Anne is
okay.
She’s probably off visiting Ms. Croaker, or hanging out with Wally or doing errands. This is her element.
Still, it doesn’t stop them from worrying. Sasha in particular has been pacing in circles for the past 5 minutes, brainstorming. They’re supposed to go back to Newtopia tomorrow- or rather, what’s left of Newtopia- and no one is looking forward to it. It’s half for revenge and half out of necessity, and they’ve been preparing for weeks. Anne and Sasha had offered to Marcy that she could stay behind, but she had insisted on coming along anyways, despite the horrors.
It’s her city. She might as well defend it the best that she can, despite… well, everything.
And besides, they’re a trio. Marcy doesn’t want to spend another day sitting and wondering what’s happening to them- they fought too hard to find each other just to be separated again. Marcy is
tired
of being ripped away from her best friends over and over, and Sasha shares the same sentiment.
Yes, they’re a little co-dependent. But they’re working on it.
Still, they have no idea where Anne is. She had been in the kitchen for breakfast, and then they hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her since. Not even a note as to where she was going. So understandably, it was a little concerning. Especially since Sprig was missing too- the whole house was abnormally quiet without his presence.
What’s less concerning though, is that Hop Pop seems unbothered by Anne’s absence. And there’s a reason for it, Sasha and Marcy find out- as he was the only one Anne told as to where she was going.
“She’s out in the woods trying to get a hold on her powers,” he tells them, unfazed as he calmly looks out the window and leans on the new cane that Loggle had made for him. “I sent Sprig to look after her, because goodness knows she gets worn out and bent out of shape when she uses them. She’s alright though. You two shouldn’t worry so much.”
“But she didn’t even leave a note!” Sasha protests. “How were we supposed to know that she was out training?”
“Was there a reason she didn’t tell us?..” Marcy offers instead, opting to go a less accusing route. She sits down on the Plantar’s couch as she asks, resting her legs. They’ve been achy and sore and hard to use ever since she got out of the tube- and being possessed by a hivemind that had to manhandle her body in order to move certainly didn’t help either. But it’s getting a little easier to walk every day, so at least there’s that upside. “If she didn’t want us to go with her, she could have said so. I would have listened to her.”
Sasha nods vigorously when Marcy doesn’t mention her. She should be offended at Marcy’s lack of trust in her, but she can’t find it in herself.
“Funnily enough, I think that was
her
way of trying not to worry you. She hid her powers from her parents when we first arrived in the human world. And even though you two clearly know those powers exist, she doesn’t want you fretting over her. It’s just what she does. She should be back soon, though. Sprig is with her. I trust him.”
“You think he can carry her body all the way to the town when she inevitably passes out?” Sasha replies, deadpan. “How in the world-”
“Sasha, Anne can handle herself. Stop that,” Marcy says, cutting her off and reaching over to gently nudge her arm. She knows it comes from a place of worry, but it’s still overbearing, and both of them have been checking each other on their worst traits ever since Marcy got back. “You’re not the one with active calamity powers. I’m sure she knows her limits.”
Hop Pop steps away from the window and goes to take a seat next to Marcy. The old frog has gotten slower since the last time she was with him, but there’s still a sense of alliance between them. As for Sasha, she’s still not sure how she feels about him, but the least she can do after all he’s done for Anne is give him respect.
Hop Pop sighs, his breath rattling in his throat.
“She knows her limits as long as Sprig isn’t in danger. She’s truly a force of nature, that girl- whether or not she needs her powers anyways. You should have seen her when we were back on Earth. She was overworking herself day in, and day out, and I’m afraid it took me far too long to realize.” His tone is cheery, but it has this added weight to it- Sasha likes calling it “grandpa energy.” Marcy is simply concerned. She knows the feeling of regret like the back of her hand.
“Why was she overworking herself?” Sasha asks, and it’s only when it has escaped her lips when she realizes just how much of a dumb question it is. The answer is right in front of them. Sasha and Marcy are a piece of work, and so is Andrias.
“She never really said it after that first day, but it was pretty obvious she was trying to get back to you two,” Hop Pop offers, and the words hang themself in the air and plunge straight through Sasha and Marcy’s guts with the weight of it. There’s a difference between hoping, thinking and
knowing,
and what sets it apart is the undeniable guilt it causes, because you can’t pretend anymore that you are innocent. “She was so determined. She said,
Marcy is alive and Sasha is still over there so we’ve got to get back,
and that was the end of it. She’s always been very stubborn, our Anne.”
“Even after everything, she still chose us…” Marcy whispers, and it doesn’t feel real, not at all. Sasha just stands there, processing. The two of them have always had this unsaid agreement, even before there were swords and betrayal and shouted, harsh words. Maybe they were the ones whose strengths were more defined, but it was Anne who was the force of good. Especially now, when Marcy put the weight of this world on her shoulders on purpose, and Sasha ran recklessly without considering others until she had no one left, and she was the one responsible for it. Anne is
good.
Anne is the one who forgives and forgives and forgives, and gives everything until she can’t do it anymore. Sasha and Marcy only
take,
or at least, that is their perception of themselves. “...Are you sure?”
“Well… it’s complicated, I think,” Hop Pop offers, and he hesitates before speaking again. “She undoubtedly loves you two. That’s the most simple way to put it, and it’s true. But maybe part of it was that she was in denial. What happened- to you especially, Marcy- is a horrible,
horrible
thing for anyone her age to see or experience, and she was coping with it the best that she could. I have no doubt of her intentions, but I believe she was also desperately trying to convince herself that everything would be okay again.”
“I’m sorry-”
“Don’t.” Sasha cuts Marcy off immediately, and even bends down to press a finger to her lips. If it were any other situation, Marcy would blushing from head to toe. “It was
not your fault.
Don’t even
try
to blame yourself for this, I see what you’re doing.”
“Anyways- my original point still stands,” Hop Pop assures, patting Marcy on the shoulder sympathetically. “Despite the nature behind her reasons, she’d do anything to stay with you two. And she did. She said she wanted to get us home, but it didn’t really make sense, see- me, Sprig and Polly were having the time of our lives in… what do you call it? L.A? And she still insisted on researching and gathering info at every second. And besides, even if I hadn’t told you… well, it’s obvious even now. I’ve seen the way she looks at you two. She wants you. And you’re right Marcy- she did choose you. And I have no doubt she’d do it again, as many times as needed. She’s
that
persistent.”
Hop Pop laughs, and Marcy feels a warm twinge of something alight in her chest while she considers his words. Sasha simply lets herself soak in the reality of it for a moment, before there’s a light knock on the door, and Hop Pop gets up to let whoever it is, in.
Turns out, it’s exactly who they were looking for.
Anne stands in the doorway, in all her lanky, stubborn glory, slightly hunched over. Sprig holds onto her hand. Her hair has some familiar leaves and sticks in it, and there’s an obvious look of tiredness in her eyes that reflects in her sluggish movements. She still manages to smile though, when her eyes travel past Hop Pop and land on Sasha and Marcy.
“Her arms are kind of tired right now, so I had to knock on the door instead,” Sprig offers, gesturing to the thin bright blue tendrils snaking their way across her skin. “But it’s okay.”
“Anne!” Sasha yelps, and within a second, she’s crossed the threshold and informally nudged Hop Pop aside so she can gently hold Anne’s face in her hands. “Girl, you look
exhausted.”
“I am,” Anne confirms tiredly, although there’s a slight hint of warmth to her voice as she looks at the girl in front of her. She doesn’t do anything to stop the way Sasha’s thumbs gently run across her cheeks. She almost seems to lean into it, even. “But hey. I made it back.”
Marcy gets up from the couch, and makes her way over to the door the best that she can, stumbling a bit on the way. Sprig lets go of Anne’s hand as he sees her approach and heads inside, like a seal of approval. Marcy takes up the space that he left, and takes Anne’s cold, slightly twitching hand between her own. Anne relaxes considerably when she does, as if
this
is truly where she’s meant to be- held and taken care of.
“Sorry I didn’t tell you guys,” Anne whispers, like it’s a secret just between the three of them and they’re back in the hallways of their middle school again. “I didn’t want to risk you getting hurt.”
“She can be very destructive when she wants to be,” Sprig says from the kitchen, and Marcy watches him take his hat off to remove a splinter of wood from his hair. Sasha mutters something about Sprig having an awfully convenient sense of hearing. “Pretty impressive though.”
“We’re tough, don’t worry,” Marcy offers, and tugs on Anne’s hand to lead her inside. Sasha gets the message and lets go of Anne’s face with a petulant expression. As soon as Anne sees it, she starts giggling, and the blush that rises on Sasha’s face is easily compared to high quality tomatos. “But if you didn’t want us to come along, you could have just told us. It’s alright. Also, you need rest. C’mon.”
Anne lets herself be led over to the couch, and it’s an unsaid agreement when Sasha and Marcy sit down on either side of her, like it’s their destined place to be. And maybe it really is, when she leans back, but weakly tugs at both of their arms so they lay back with her too. Eyes are pointed towards the ceiling, of course. This couch was made for small frogs, not average humans.
“You ready for Newtopia?” Marcy asks quietly, leaning her head into the curve between Anne’s neck and shoulder. Sasha almost does the same, curled up and gently holding onto Anne’s hand. “We could probably postpone it, if you’re not.”
“I’m okay, I think. Just as long as I have you two,” Anne assures softly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
It sounds a little ridiculous at first, when Sasha and Marcy consider it. It still doesn’t seem to make sense to them, that
their
presence of all things would be the deciding factor.
But after all, they didn’t try to get to this point for nothing.
In the end, all they’ve really wanted is each other. And if there’s stuff that gets in the way of that, so be it.
Newtopia or not, thousand-year old prophecies or the halls of a middle school, the three of them are sticking together now, and the universe cannot try and tell them otherwise no matter how hard it tries.
|
He had fallen asleep while reading. Again.
John Grey opened his eyes and saw the book resting in his lap, still open to the page he was on. He had taken to reading books from Jamie’s library whenever he visited Fraser’s Ridge. Most nights when he stayed, Jamie and him would try to find time at night to have a drink in the library and at the end of the evening, he would pick a book to read in his room before going to sleep.
Last night while they visited, John had noticed this book out on one of the tables, which usually meant that Jamie had been looking at it recently.
After a few rounds of chess, Claire had come into the room and announced she was going upstairs. She came to stand by Jamie’s chair and placed a hand on his shoulder as she inquired to John as to whether he wanted anything before she retired. He assured her that he had everything he needed.
“As the first to test out the newly completed guest room upstairs, I am honored. I feel confident it will be a most comfortable night, indeed.” He told her and she nodded and smiled at him in response. She squeezed Jamie’s shoulder and he looked up at her as she now directed her attention to him.
“Since we will all be on the second floor tonight, I think we will be warm enough with just the fires in our rooms. Will you be sure to put this one out before you come to bed?” She nodded towards the hearth next to them.
Jamie reached for her hand on his shoulder, “Dinna fash, mo nighean donn, I will take care of it.”
They exchanged a look that implied they were sharing a common thought. John, of course, did not understand the meaning behind it and felt momentarily that they had forgotten he was there. To be honest, he was quite used to feeling left out when Jamie and Claire were in a room together.
Jamie brought her knuckles to his lips for a chaste kiss. She smiled lovingly at him and looked relieved as if the kiss was actually some kind of hidden promise he was making her. When he released her hand, she let her knuckles graze briefly across his cheek before turning to John again.
John had been watching their hands intently and jerked his eyes up awkwardly when he realized that Claire had turned back to him.
“Goodnight.”
John stood and bowed quickly, “Madam Fraser.”
Jamie stood as well as Claire turned her back to them and walked out.
John sat down and looked over to see Jamie remain standing and watching Claire’s retreating form until she had gone out of sight after the first few steps on the stairs. John cleared his throat to remind Jamie that it was his turn to move in their game.
Jamie straightened his shoulders, sat down, and shook his head slightly to re-focus his attention. As a semi-regular visitor of Fraser’s Ridge, John had many times been a witness to Jamie’s frequent spouts of distraction whenever Claire was around.
If John and Jamie were on the porch, Jamie was almost always clocking Claire’s whereabouts with his eyes. Whether she was in the garden or doing laundry, if Claire was anywhere within Jamie’s peripherals, he was watching her.
Once, they had been having a discussion in his office when Jamie cocked his head to the side as if he had heard something. Before John could ask, Jamie had smiled, stood up, and gone into the hall. Claire had arrived back home from a day of collecting herbs in the woods. Jamie had heard her voice before she even made it to the front steps. Apparently, Jamie Fraser had some kind of sixth sense when it came to his wife. John had watched as Jamie reached up to pick a twig from her hair, gathered her into his arms, and kissed her deeply, almost knocking the basket out of her hands. She smiled comfortably at him in a way that made John assume this was the normal greeting she received when having been away all day.
Yes, John had witnessed these moments many a time, but he still felt that low sense of jealousy deep in his core every time.
With Jamie and John both now focused back on their game they were soon finished. John grabbed the book from the table while Jamie stayed to smother the fire.
Hours later and now awake, John looked again at the book in question. This particular book was in Latin, which John could not read. This detail did not matter, in fact, because the real reason John picked up books from Jamie’s library was actually because he had found that Jamie liked to write in his books.
John, always wanting to feel closer to Jamie, found great enjoyment in seeing his friend’s notations in the margins. Most of the time, they were just short thoughts which didn’t make sense to John if the book was not in a language he understood. Nevertheless, he felt closer to his friend after seeing a book through his eyes.
John stared down at the page which only had two markings on it. The first marking was simply one of the Latin words circled and in the margin Jamie had written, “femur”. Presumably, it was a translation that Jamie had felt the need to note. The second marking was a sentence at the bottom of the second page that was underlined. In the margin, Jamie had written, “Ask Claire”. (This was a note that came up at least twice in every book John had seen so far.)
The sentence in question continued to the next page so John turned the page to see if there were any more notes. In the top margin was a note written in Claire’s handwriting. It was a quick explanation of something to do with muscles in the leg. In such a small space, Claire had condensed the explanation into short phrases that didn’t make sense to John.
Again, this was something that John had seen several times: a notation from Claire that was always short and never seemed to make any logical sense but obviously Claire and Jamie had a shorthand with each other that she was able to write the least amount possible and knew Jamie would understand.
Clearly, it was some kind of medical book and John wondered if Jamie was reading it in order to better understand what Claire does or if Claire had gotten the book and Jamie was translating it for her.
He suddenly remembered a time not too long ago when he had been staying at the ridge and couldn’t sleep due to a massive headache and had found his way down to Claire’s surgery to see if he could find something to relieve the pressure in his head. While downstairs, he heard voices and peeked into a doorway to see Claire curled up in Jamie’s lap. Her eyes were closed peacefully and her head was tucked intimately into his neck with a hand running patterns on his chest. Jamie had one arm around the back of her neck and his fingers were playing with the ends of her hair. The other hand held a book that Jamie was reading aloud to Claire.
Thinking back on it now, John thought about how he had stood there listening to Jamie’s rough voice and imagined what it would be like to hear that voice read to him as he drifted into sleep.
John yawned and closed the book and set it aside. He stood up from the chair to tend to the fire in his room before settling to properly go to bed. Just as he was about to take off his pants, he heard a noise that sounded like it was coming from outside. He turned to his open window and walked over to it. He looked down at the ground surrounding the house and couldn’t see anything. He was just about to walk away when he heard voices.
Sticking his head out the window, he turned his ear to the sound. He distinctly heard a deep and low voice: Jamie. Turning now so that his face was towards the sound, he saw the window open that was attached to Jamie and Claire’s room. Guess I’m not the only one still awake, he thought to himself.
Just then, Claire appeared in the window. Actually, her body appeared and was plopped down onto the ledge of the open window.
John saw two things at once: he saw Jamie’s arms wrapped around her back and he saw Jamie’s face plastered against Claire’s. Before he had much time to process this sight, Jamie’s face broke free and John watched as his head lowered down his wife’s body.
The next thing he knew, John was seeing Jamie’s red hair between Claire’s legs. Claire had both of her hands gripping the window ledge below her as John saw Jamie grab a creamy white thigh in one large hand and prop it up. John couldn’t quite see that far into the window, but he assumed her leg was now on top of Jamie’s shoulder.
John watched as Claire looked down at the top of Jamie’s head and sighed. He saw Jamie’s face move across the inside of her thigh and judging from the second, much louder, sigh that Claire let out, he was kissing the skin there.
He watched intently as Jamie’s fingers gripped her thigh and then grazed upwards to move her shift up higher so he could get his face closer to her center. As soon as Jamie’s face disappeared underneath the fabric, Claire tilted her head back and let out a deep sigh.
John was absolutely frozen. On some level, he knew he was intruding on something clearly not meant to be seen by him. However, he was completely transfixed.
Claire leaned back slightly into the open air and as her breathing increased, her back beginning to arch. John wondered if she was scared to fall which then led John to think about how often Claire and Jamie engaged in such risky activities. Did they not fear that someone would see or hear them out in the open like that? Immediately after this question, John realized the answer was that they probably did know that was a possibility. They just didn’t care.
John could not see much of Jamie save for the top of his head and his hand which was wrapped tightly and reached around almost her entire thigh. John allowed himself to wonder for a moment what that large hand would feel like on his thigh.
The hand in question moved up and down, caressing her skin. His hand then grasped her hip bone and if John had been able to look at anything else, he would have seen Claire’s lips part and her hands tighten their hold on the ledge. He didn’t have to look at her, though, to hear the long moan she let out.
John nearly lost his breath when Jamie followed her moan with a sound of his own. Nuzzled deep between her thighs, Jamie seemed to groan into her but the sound was low and muffled. John might have even thought he imagined it except for the fact that Claire shuddered deeply at the same time he heard it. John felt himself shudder just thinking about how Jamie’s moan had probably vibrated through Claire’s entire body.
She was sighing with almost every breath now, with small moans intermixed every few moments. Her back was continuing to arch but she was struggling to move much due to being in such a precarious position.
“Jamie—” she said breathily while her body reacted naturally by trying to roll her hips. She clearly had to force herself to stay still for fear of falling backwards into nothingness.
John was surprised and not surprised to see that Jamie seemed to understand exactly what Claire was saying she needed. He immediately stood up and wrapped one arm around her back to hold her between the shoulder blades. The other hand went to replace his mouth between her legs.
“There, mo ghraidh.” Jamie said into her neck. Claire was able to release her hold on the ledge beneath her and moved her arms out beside her to grip the edges of windowsill next to her. This new position allowed her to roll her hips against Jamie’s hand.
Finally able to move as her body wanted, Claire let out a long and satisfied moan. Jamie suckled at her neck, going from one spot on the far side of her neck and moving to suck on the column at the center of her throat. She leaned her head back to give him more room and he began to suck on the exposed skin greedily.
John was leaning so far out of the window that he, too, might be in danger of falling but he didn’t even notice. As he watched Jamie’s lips and tongue eagerly lap at his wife’s neck, John felt himself swallow a lump in his throat imagining those lips doing the same to him.
A small part of his brain recognized that if Claire suddenly decided to turn her head, she would see him hanging out of his window watching them. He tried to connect with that thought and convince himself to go back inside. He might have done it, too, if it weren’t for what happened next.
Halting the suckling for a second, Jamie lowered his head as far as he could into the top of her shift, pushing the fabric out of the way to get his mouth into her cleavage. John watched as Jamie’s tongue poked out of his mouth and he pressed it right in the valley between her breasts. He then dragged his tongue in a tortuously slow line all the way from between her breasts, up her sternum, between her collar bones, into the little dip at the bottom of her throat, and then all the way up her throat until he reached the bottom of her chin.
Claire, for her part, lifted her chin to help him create the longest line possible and when he reached the end, she smiled with all of her teeth and choked out a laugh. She bit her bottom lip and moaned deeply a moment later when Jamie dipped back down and repeated the line using the scruff on his jawbone. He finished his teasing with another kiss on her neck and she smiled again.
Just watching that, John practically moaned.
Jamie released her neck and Claire lowered her head so their lips could meet. The two of them once again knowing exactly what the other wanted. Their lips seemed to align perfectly and they both moaned into the kiss. They held the kiss for so long that John actually began to wonder if they would pass out from lack of oxygen. When they did finally release each other’s mouths, they both were panting loudly.
Claire moved her hips in a quick and hard motion, seemingly growing impatient with whatever Jamie was doing, or not doing, between her legs.
“Please.” She said into his mouth.
He kissed her again and replied, “How many do ye want, Sassenach?”
Without pause, Claire looked him directly in the eyes, “Three.”
John had the briefest of seconds to be confused and then he saw Jamie smirk at her and make a thrusting motion with his hand between her legs. The result of this maneuver made Claire cry out and slam her eyes shut. Jamie, pleased with her reaction, smiled against her open mouth and began giving light thrusts with his arm.
Ah…of course…three fingers…John realized to himself, feeling foolish and slightly embarrassed at his small moment of confusion. He blamed the absurdity of what he was currently witnessing for his brief ignorance. He felt a blush creep into his face at the realization that he now knew exactly what Jamie’s hand was doing.
Claire was still panting against Jamie as they tried unsuccessfully to continue to kiss each other. Neither of them had enough air in their lungs to accomplish this task. Moments later, after another large back arch from Claire, Jamie let out of groan of his own.
He growled against her mouth, “Christ, Claire.” He had to pause his thought as he let out a deep breath.
There weren’t many times that John would hear Jamie call his wife by her name. Most of the time, he called her Sassenach. From his understanding, Sassenach was a rude way of calling someone an outsider. At least, that’s how it came across every time he heard someone use it. That is, everyone except Jamie. When Jamie called Claire by the name Sassenach, it was different. Maybe it was the way he said it, usually looking at her with oceans of love beneath his stare and a tiny lift of one side of his mouth into a smile. Maybe it was the sweet tone of his voice when he said it that made it seem more like a declaration of love than a taunt. Maybe it was, like so many other things, simply something that was understood between the two of them and nobody else.
If he didn’t call her Sassenach, he called her any number of affectionate Gaelic phrases. John had looked some of them up one time and found mostly variations of things like, “my love” and “my heart” and “my own”. What John wouldn't give to hear Jamie call him something with that level of affection in it.
The few times John had heard Jamie say “Claire” was when he was introducing her to someone or when he was referring to his wife while in conversation with someone else. I guess he could now add “while in the throes of passion” to that mental list.
“I canna hardly breathe with how good ye feel around my hand.” Jamie gasped against her lips. He proved his point by taking several shaky breaths as Claire continued to grind against his hand, letting out loud sighs of her own.
“I keep thinking about how good ye felt against my mouth…how ye always taste like heaven, mo nighean donn. Lord, I want to open my mouth wide and let myself drown in ye. Plant myself between your legs and bury my face in your silk and never come up for air again.”
Wide eyed, John stood and listened as Jamie poured these erotic declarations into Claire’s smile. He felt his own breathing speed up as Jamie continued, “Aye, and how good I know you feel around my cock.”
Claire’s eyes snapped open and fixed pointedly onto Jamie’s and when she responded, John just about fell out of the window.
“Then why don’t you stop thinking about it and get inside me?”
If John was not in such close proximity to them, he would have gasped out loud. He did tighten his own grip on the edge of the window and found that his palms were sweating.
Jamie moaned his approval of her words before he roughly shoved his lips against hers to kiss her fiercely. He released her between the legs and she let out a deep sigh. He brought her body to a more upright position again so she could keep herself steady while he quickly undid his breeks and pushed them down just enough to free himself.
John, too far gone to stop watching now, leaned as far forward as he dared as he shamelessly tried to catch a glimpse between Jamie’s legs but Claire’s body was blocking most of it. John wished briefly that he could see through walls.
After only a moment, Jamie was apparently ready, and grabbed Claire again. She wrapped both legs around his waist and guided his hips between her legs. Jamie wrapped one arm around her back and the other disappeared between them as he lined himself up.
John held his breath and waited.
And waited.
Realizing that Jamie was pausing, he looked up to see if something in their faces could explain the hesitation. Jamie was not looking down at what he was doing but was looking instead at Claire’s face. Her eyes were closed tightly and her lips were parted just a bit. Her cheeks all the way down to her chest were flushed with pink. Her arms, still out to her side as she held on to the sides of the windowpanes, were shaking slightly in anticipation. She opened her eyes, perhaps also wondering why he was pausing.
John’s heart pulled painfully as he thought that Jamie seemed to be waiting because he wanted to look into her eyes when he entered her.
His theory proved correct when Jamie caught her eyes on his and then flexed his hips forward. He must have been right at her entrance because the second his hips moved forward, Claire gasped. As Jamie completed his thrust all the way, they both moaned as if they had gotten into a hot bath after a long day. John was surprised to see that both of their eyes stayed open.
Jamie was looking at her so passionately that it occurred to John that they were literally holding each other’s eyes open with just their intensity. The absolute fire behind Jamie's eyes as he stared at Claire took John's breath away.
After he was in all the way, Jamie and Claire spent a moment just breathing with each other, eyes still locked furiously together.
“Let go, Sassenach.” Jamie said so quietly that John almost wasn’t sure if that’s actually what had been said.
In the next moment though, Claire continued to look at Jamie and after seeming to make a decision, she released one hand from the windowsill beside her and grasped the collar on Jamie’s shirt. Jamie tightened his hold around her torso and that seemed to give her the confidence to let go with her other hand as well. Now both of her fists were gripping tightly to Jamie’s shirt.
Jamie, his eyes never leaving hers, leaned forward and tipped her back a few inches. She let out a small gasp and gripped his shirt even tighter. He paused. She closed her eyes briefly and then opened them again. As soon as they met with Jamie’s, she nodded.
Understanding this nod, Jamie pressed on and leaned against her again until she was hanging very dangerously far back. She released a deep breath.
John was taken aback. The level of trust they shared, the silent communication he had just witnessed…all of it was making John feel a mixture of emotions from jealousy to embarrassment to sadness. He knew now he was seeing a connection between two people that most would never experience in their lifetime. He certainly had never gotten to this point with anyone. John was not able to dwell on this point for too long before Jamie reared back and thrust into Claire.
In this new and slightly alarming position, Claire cried out as their bodies moved together over nothing but air. Jamie began to moan as he developed a rhythm and began thrusting into her at a steady pace. Focused aggressively on making sure she felt safe and secure, he held her so tightly that there would be bruises in the morning.
John couldn’t decide where to look. His eyes darted back and forth between Claire and Jamie’s faces. Jamie’s face was harder to see as he kept pressing his face in her neck and chest. Claire had closed her eyes again and was moaning now on every thrust.
Jamie lifted his head again and John switched his gaze to watch as Jamie bit his bottom lip and grunted several times in a row. He couldn’t be sure from such a distance but it looked as though Jamie’s forehead was damp from exertion. John felt his whole body flush at the sight of Jamie like this.
Their bodies were acting in complete tandem all the way from the roll of their hips into each other to the way her arching back fit perfectly into his chest whenever they met in the middle. Claire opened her eyes and tugged on Jamie’s shirt until he lifted his head level with hers again.
She brought their faces together and their lips fell fluidly into a long-practiced dance. Her grip on his collar never wavered and their kisses grew more fierce. Even at the distance he was, he saw Jamie’s tongue snake out and plunge deep into her mouth. John had always fantasized that Jamie was good with his tongue and after everything he had seen tonight, he was confident that those assumptions had been correct. Even now, Claire moaned at whatever he was doing with his tongue in her mouth.
John concluded that she indeed had liked it because a second later, her tongue was slipping into his mouth and the moan that rose up from deep in Jamie’s throat suggested that he, too, enjoyed it.
Shortly after, they both had to release the other’s lips because they were panting too much to stay connected. Claire’s moans were getting louder and after one well-placed thrust, she yelled out, “Oh fuck, Jamie!”
John was not sure what “fuck” meant but he could gather enough from the situation to get the gist of its meaning.
Jamie, with no free hands, pushed his mouth as close to hers as he could, “Quiet, Sassenach,” he grunted into her mouth, “Remember we are not alone here tonight.”
John stiffened, worried that this reminder of him would make them look around. Luckily, it didn’t seem to affect them much at all.
Claire, to her credit, did press her lips together tightly and the next few thrusts John could see her neck muscles straining as she tried to contain her vocal pleasure. After only a few silent thrusts, she moaned again. While it was a quieter moan than before, John knew that even if he had not been at the window watching, he definitely would have woken up by now and heard them.
In fact, they were both panting very heavily and crying out on every other thrust.
Jamie looked at Claire right as she opened her eyes to look pleadingly at him. Apparently, Jamie knew that this look meant that she was close to the end, and he smiled at her.
“Aye, just a bit more,” he said against her mouth. “Do that thing I like, Sassenach.” She returned his grin with a mischievous one of her own and now they both smiled against each other’s lips.
What thing does he like?! John questioned. His heart started racing at the thought of finding out something that Jamie liked in bed. A moment later and he had his answer.
Claire tilted her face up into his neck and John saw her mouth open wide against his skin, her teeth bared, and then she bit down into the skin with force. At the same time, she did something with her lower body because her legs squeezed Jamie tightly and her hips pumped up in to his aggressively. Those two events combined, and John watched as Jamie’s face broke into a huge smile as he laughed and cried out loudly, “Oh God!”
She smiled into his neck and then lifted her face to be level with his again. He opened his eyes to look at her as his thrusts started turning more sporadic. She lifted a hand to cover his mouth, “Shhhh…remember we are not alone tonight.” She repeated his warning back to him with a sparkle in her eyes and a giant smirk on her face.
His eyes darkened and he opened his mouth and took three of her fingers in between his lips, leaving just her pinky and her thumb resting on either side of his mouth. First, he sucked on them harshly and then he bit down on them. She gasped as she watched him.
John gasped almost as loudly.
The two of them were now barreling to climax together. Their bodies were pressed tightly, not an inch of space between them anywhere. Even their foreheads stayed pressed together, breathing in each other’s air like oxygen.
Just as they both cried out and Jamie’s hips paused in his deepest thrust, John felt all of the breath leave his body. John watched as Claire and Jamie’s faces were taken over by looks of pure ecstasy and they continued to breathe out moans even as Jamie grunted out his last couple of thrusts, milking himself into her. Jamie’s mouth had gone slack and so Claire’s fingers were now just resting on his tongue as his mouth hung open. Claire’s chest pumped up and down as she continued to try and fill her lungs.
John noticed that they were both shaking quite noticeably. He thought briefly that they were cold but then he realized that it was warm outside. The more the shaking continued, the more he realized that their aftershocks were both so intense that they were still spasming long after their climaxes had peaked.
Another pang of hurt gripped John's chest as the thought occurred to him that he would never be able to give Jamie the amount of pleasure that he so obviously had just gotten from Claire.
At last, Jamie brought Claire back into an upright seated position. Her fingers wandered out of his mouth and into the hair on the back of his neck. John had always wanted to feel the curls that were in that spot.
Jamie, in turn, pressed their foreheads together again and placed a gentle hand on her cheek. He traced her jawbone with a finger as they both continued to breathe heavily.
They looked upsettingly intimate, John felt. In fact, out of everything he had seen tonight, he almost felt the most uncomfortable witnessing this moment.
They continued to caress each other’s faces and nuzzle their noses together, refusing to look away from each other’s eyes. Jamie looked at her as if she was the only thing he ever wanted to look at for the rest of his life. Again, John felt a sad pull in his chest. They stayed that way for so long that John almost began to finally tear himself away from the window. But after a few minutes, their breath had finally returned to normal.
Jamie ran a finger along her lips and then bent his head to kiss them. She responded and opened her mouth to him. They kissed deeply, but slowly. After breaking apart again, Jamie dipped to leave small pecks on her neck and sternum. Claire let out a long sigh of content, a small and sated smile on her lips.
The next thing John knew, Jamie had grabbed the edge of her shift and pulled it off her shoulders until her arms were free and the shift rested on her hips. John saw the fastest glimpse of her breasts before Jamie wrapped his arms around her back and pressed her body to his. He shoved one hand underneath her ass and stood up. Her legs still wrapped tightly around his hips and her arms now following suit around his neck, he turned and John watched as his hand began to roam the span of her naked back as he walked them away from the window and back into their room.
For a moment, John stood there, motionless. So many things went through his mind but mostly he just stood there in utter disbelief at what he had just seen. He had spent a lot of time around Claire and Jamie and it was never easy to see them being domestic and so clearly still in love with each other even after all this time.
He had, on several occasions, caught them in the middle of passionate kisses or saw them from afar, wrapped up in each other’s arms. He had seen them sneaking away to their bedroom or the woods when they thought no one was looking. Christ, he had even heard them making love before. He, on one end of the house, hearing distant but also distinct sounds of moaning and a bed squeaking. But this, to actually see it, was a whole different experience.
It wasn’t just those moments that hurt, though. He found himself feeling pangs of sadness at even the small things that they shared together.
Jamie, on his way to the still, crossing the span of the entire front yard just to give her a quick peck in the garden before going back on his way.
They would hold hands as they went to the clothesline to make doing laundry seem like a romantic walk in the fresh air.
She would bring herbs into his office so that she could pull apart stems or crush leaves in a bowl while he would look over the numbers of the ridge. They wouldn’t even talk much, they just seemed to need to be near each other.
John didn’t know if it had to do with the fact that they had been separated for so long or what. All he did know was that he had never seen any other couple in his life that came anywhere close to what they had together. He had accepted long ago that he would never have these kinds of things with Jamie, and was content to be his friend. But it didn't make it any less painful to see how happy he was with someone else.
He didn’t have much longer to ponder because he was suddenly taken out of his thoughts by a manly grunt followed by a Scottish curse and then the sound of giggling. It took John only a moment to realize that they were evidently going for round two in bed this time.
It was then that John realized his own excitement. He looked down at the very obvious bulge in his pants and took a deep breath before retreating from the window at last. He felt that he had heard and seen enough already tonight so he closed the window, got into bed, and blew out the candle on his bedside table. Of course, John should have known that closing the window would do no good. This house was nice but no amount of wall could mask the sounds coming from the master bedroom. At one point, it sounded like something had been knocked over and broken but mostly he just heard very loud grunts in Jamie’s deep cadence and slightly higher pitched but just as deep moans coming from Claire.
John spent the next hour listening to their moaning, shushing, laughing, and what sounded like a bedpost against a wall, while trying to ignore his own raging boner. Eventually, he couldn’t be strong anymore and finished himself off to what he tried to imagine as only Jamie’s sounds. Feeling embarrassed after, he finally drifted to sleep, a pillow over his head and ears.
The next morning, John went for an early walk, hoping to avoid being invited to breakfast with the happy couple. After last night, he was still feeling quite awkward and didn’t feel ready to face them yet. Unfortunately, fate had other plans.
Arriving back from his walk, he entered the house and found himself just outside of Claire’s surgery. He could hear the conversation going on inside.
He was pleased to hear that Claire was trying out the new lenses that he had brought for her microscope. He even considered entering the room knowing that they would have a neutral and scientific topic they could discuss. But then he heard Jamie’s voice and his mind immediately took him back to hearing that voice discussing some very not neutral topics last night.
My Lord…did she just say male reproductive cells? And Jamie—seed…Claire was looking at seed in her microscope??? John’s ears perked up, immediately intrigued.
“Who’s are they?” He heard Jamie ask, sounding off-put and nervous.
Claire laughed, “Well, yours of course! Who else would they be?”
John felt his cheeks blush thinking about Jamie’s seed.
Sounding dubious, John heard Jamie ask exactly what he had been thinking, “How did you get them?”
John could practically hear the smirk in her voice as she replied, “I woke up in custody of them this morning.”
John felt his face go from blushing red to stark white. He heard them continue their conversation but he didn’t hear what they were saying. He was too busy thinking about how Claire had apparently woken up this morning and…he couldn’t even finish the thought. Picturing Claire doing that was not something he was in a hurry to imagine.
Just then, he realized that they were both quiet now. John chanced a peek around the corner of the doorway and saw them wrapped in each other’s arms. Claire had her head pressed to Jamie’s chest and he was resting his chin on the top of her head. They were swaying together as they stood.
It took only a moment for John to recognize that he wouldn’t be able to walk by the large doorway without them noticing. He took a deep breath and walked backwards halfway down the hall. Then, he began walking towards the surgery again, stamping his feet heavily on the floor in the hopes that they would hear him coming.
Arriving at the entrance and stating loudly, “Good morning!” John walked in just a step to see Claire and Jamie still wrapped around each other but were now facing the door. They released each other’s bodies with their arms but they stood only an inch apart.
They seemed only mildly frustrated to be interrupted but they still smiled at him and greeted him warmly.
“I trust that you slept well?” Jamie asked politely, as one would typically do with a houseguest.
John cleared his throat and looked around the room awkwardly, anywhere but at Jamie and Claire. “Um…yes, quite. Very well.”
A moment of awkward silence followed until Claire broke in, “The new lenses are lovely, John. Thank you for bringing them for me.”
He did his best to smile normally at her, “Oh! I am pleased to hear it. I am always happy to assist your research in any way I can.”
A moment after he spoke, John felt color rise to his cheeks when he realized what he had implied. But then he remembered that Claire and Jamie didn’t know that he knew what her current “experiment” was.
“Oh, would you like to see for yourself?” She offered, pointing a finger to the microscope and quirking an eyebrow up.
“No!” Jamie practically yelled, looking like he might get sick at the thought. Claire looked at him, amused more than anything and John wondered if Claire had only offered in order to gain entertainment while teasing Jamie.
Jamie continued, more quietly but not any less awkwardly, “Uh…I was hoping John would assist me in the library with some of the new books he brought with him.”
John was happy to jump in and accept that offer rather than spend another moment in this conversation.
Claire chuckled to herself, not embarrassed in the least. As Jamie walked over to join John, he turned back suddenly to Claire.
“Sassenach…could ye maybe…” He struggled to find the words and glanced briefly at John before looking back at her. “Just—take good care of yer wee experiment, would ye?”
Claire smiled sweetly back at him as she lifted her cup of tea to her mouth, “Of course, darling. I always do, don’t I?”
They shared a look of amusement, grinning sheepishly at each other, and John was actually quite disturbed that, for once, he knew exactly what they were thinking. |
Jinwoo was stressed. Between his schedule and the group’s comeback, he had no time to slip. Well, he did, but his caregivers were already stressed taking care of Myungjin and Eunwoo. The last thing they needed was to worry about him. And so, Jinwoo holed himself up in his room and his studio to avoid slipping.
It was two weeks into the comeback and Jinwoo forcing himself to stay big when his caregivers called him on it. “Hyung, are you doing alright?” Sanha questioned.
Jinwoo perked up, having apparently fallen into a trance staring at the floor while the other two littles played before their performance. “Uh, yeah, I’m good,” he muttered, brushing his hair back.
Moonbin frowned. “Hyung, please be honest. It’s okay if you need to slip.”
“I’m fine, Moonbin,” Jinwoo argued. When faced with skeptical looks, he sighed. “I swear I’m fine.”
Minhyuk pressed his lips together into a fine line. “Hyung, you haven’t slipped in a few weeks. It’s not good.”
“I’ll be fine,” Jinwoo retorted, his voice getting an edge to it. “Can we please drop it?”
The three caregivers shared a concerned look, but they didn’t say a word. Even if they wanted to, the manager came in to announce they were going to film their stage. Jinwoo let out a sigh as he rushed out of the room. He would be alright.
One stage later, and Jinwoo could safely say he wasn’t going to be alright. Not only had he missed his cue, but he had also tripped in the middle of the stage. He had managed to recover, but it was still embarrassing. He knew why too. Myungjin and Eunwoo had done beyond well since they weren’t stressed and running on four hours of sleep. So as soon as the stage was done, Jinwoo ran.
The little turned off his mic and booked it down the hallway. He couldn’t see his caregivers. They would be mad at him. If not for holding off on regressing, then for messing up that badly on the stage.
However, with this mess of emotions and stress came the crash right into his headspace. Jinwoo started stumbling over his own feet as he ran, slipping deeper and deeper into his headspace. He kept going until he ran right into someone. Jinwoo fell flat onto his bottom while the guy he ran into, Chris, stumbled back into Felix’s arms.
“We’re so sorry,” Felix stated. “Neither of us was paying much attention to where we were going.”
“’m sowwy, hyungie,” Chris whispered, clearly regressed.
Jinwoo, however, couldn’t respond. He started to sniffle and whimper as he slipped the rest of the way. Felix’s eyes widened, rushing to kneel beside Jinwoo. “Hey, little guy, are you alright?”
“J-JinJin b-bad boy,” Jinwoo whimpered.
“Why are you a bad boy?” Felix asked, his voice soft. “Chris and I are just fine, isn’t that right, duckie?” Chris nodded, his hair flopping into his face. Jinwoo’s bottom lip started to quiver before the dams finally broke. The short boy let out a loud sob and curled up into a ball.
“Bad boy!” Jinwoo wailed.
Acting on instinct, Felix pulled the sobbing little into a tight hug, letting Jinwoo hide his face in his chest. “Oh no, no, no, don’t cry, little one.”
“B-but, miss and twip on stage,” Jinwoo argued.
Chris gasped, eyes sparkling. “Chwissie do dat too! Mummy and Dada say it’s otay!”
Jinwoo sniffled but his sobs did not cease. “Poor little guy,” Felix cooed as he combed his fingers through Jinwoo’s hair. “Hey, JinJin, do you know where your caregivers are?”
“N-No,” Jinwoo whimpered before bursting into a new round of sobs. “Eomma! Appa! Dada!”
“JinJin?!” Sanha called out, rounding the corner. The caregiver looked frantic, and the other members of Astro did not look much better. Myungjin and Eunwoo had regressed again, and they ran right towards their headspace brother.
Jinwoo sprung up and turned around to peer at his caregivers through his tear-filled eyes. “Eomma?”
Sanha rushed right over to the small group, and the sobbing little let himself be pried from Felix’s arms. Minhyuk joined Sanha in comforting Jinwoo as Moonbin kept Myungjin and Eunwoo at bay. “Felix, what happened?” Moonbin questioned.
“Is JinJin otay?” Eunwoo asked, a deep frown on his face.
Chris let out a small whine. “Chwissie wan in’ta JinJin. ‘m sowwy!” Felix stood up and quickly brought his little kangaroo into a hug.
“It’s like Chrissie said,” the young Aussie admitted. “Neither of us was paying attention and he ran into JinJin.”
“JinJin sowwy!” Jinwoo wailed. “Bad boy!”
“No, you aren’t, baby,” Minhyuk argued. He furrowed his brow, visibly confused and saddened by his baby’s state. “Where did you get that from?”
Jinwoo let out another sob as he listed off, “J-JinJin mean ‘n didn’t swip ‘n feww on da stage.”
“Aw, baby, that doesn’t make you bad,” Moonbin argued.
“Why didn’t JinJin slip?” Myungjin asked. The little, while no longer being held back by Moonbin, still looked upset. “JinJin needed ta slip, and Eunwoo and Jinnie did, so why not?”
“Too much,” Jinwoo whispered. “Wots’a wowk and JinJin too much.”
Sanha pressed a gentle kiss on his smallest baby’s forehead. “You’re never too much, baby. We might be stressed, but we love taking care of you.”
Myungjin pulled Eunwoo close, a bright smile on his face. “An’ Jinnie and Eunwoo love playin’ with JinJin!”
Jinwoo, who was now starting to calm down, gave a small nod. “O-Otay…Chwissie pway wi’ JinJin, MJ, and Eunwoo?”
Chris let out a loud gasp and started bouncing up and down in place. “Mummy! Mummy! Can Chwissie pway?! P’ease, pwetty p’ease?!”
With a chuckle in his voice, Felix responded, “I don’t see the harm in it if JinJin’s caregivers are okay with it.”
“You kept our baby boy from running off to God knows where,” Moonbin stated. “Feel free to join us. We need to get these babies cleaned up first, but they can play after.”
Jinwoo let out a small giggle, slipping further into his headspace. Relaxing against Sanha’s chest, he realized just how much he needed this. |
March 2012-
“Alright sweetheart, follow me. Press holding area is this way.”
Karen tried desperately to keep from rolling her eyes as she trailed after the man with “Barclays Center Manager” written on the back of his shirt. If he called her “sweetheart” or “baby” one more time, she was going to lose her shit. She was going to grab the very heavy, very expensive camera from Foggy’s hand and just bash Mr. Manager’s fucking head in. Or maybe forgo the weapon altogether and claw his eyes out with her perfectly-manicured nails.
But no—she wasn’t. She couldn’t. Because aside from the fact that assault is generally frowned upon in a well-ordered society, freaking out over something like being called “sweetheart” would ruin her image. The image she had worked all year to cultivate: Karen Page, sports reporter for CBS NY; cool girl who could hang with the boys and throw back shots. Hot chick who was into wings, beer, and locker room talk. Who didn’t mind being patronized to, because (again) she was a cool girl. Not like other girls—no. Better than other girls.
She felt a bit of bile rising up in her throat at that thought. The things she did in the name of getting ahead in her fucking job. To occupy her hands—the ones itching to strangle someone—she reached up to throw her hair into a ponytail.
“Y’know, I’m a little offended that he doesn’t call me sweetheart.” Foggy leaned over as they followed Mr. Manager through the pulsating crowd of boxing fans, each of whom seemed to have a drink in their hand. “Am I not—I mean, do I not look sweet to him?” He gestured to himself with the arm not gripping his camera: khaki cargo shorts, D&D t-shirt, flip-flops, and messy blonde hair tangled around his shoulders. “Look, I know I’m not traditionally beautiful, sure. But I could pass as some kind of…stuffed éclair, maybe?”
Karen snorted, cracking a smile and smacking him in the arm. “Don’t make me laugh when I’m trying to be angry here.”
“I thought that was my job. To wait until I see that little tick in your jaw and then say something to make it go away. Defuse the tension and all that.” He pointed to Karen’s still visibly-clenched jaw, eyebrows raised.
“Your job is to point and shoot, my friend.” Karen reached out and tapped his camera. “My job is to not fuck things up.”
And that job was extra important on this particular day: the 2012 World Boxing Association Convention.
Karen had been working as a sports reporter for CBS NY for a little over a year, and this was the first time she’d been sent to an event as important as the WBA convention. And the first time she’d been assigned to cover boxing. No matter what happened, she was not going to fuck it up; she’d worked too hard for this chance to let anything sour it.
When she’d graduated a little over a year ago from Columbia University, earning her M.S. in Broadcast Journalism, Karen had immediately set out looking for jobs as a sports reporter. While the rest of her colleagues from the program were still hemming and hawing about what field they wanted to enter, there was never any question in Karen’s mind about what she was meant to be. She was a pure sports fanatic—basketball, baseball, hockey, soccer, tennis, boxing—you name it, and Karen was probably into it; could talk about it for hours, ad nauseum. It was a by-product both of growing up in a rural town which, like most rural towns, worshipped their athletic teams, and spending all of her time with an older brother and a father who were very into the ideal of the strong, male athlete. Her entire childhood, when she looked back at it now, felt like one long string of Saturdays spent sitting in front of the TV, wedged between Kevin and her dad, watching sports. (The memories were bittersweet—though more bitter than sweet these days—for a number of reasons).
And yet, despite the fact that she was practically a walking encyclopedia of statistics and sports history, finding a job in her chosen field had proven very, very difficult. For months after graduating, she’d lived on the paltry wages of a bartender while searching for work. But none of the respectable newsrooms wanted a female sports reporter—especially one with an actual brain in their head. She’d received so many rejection letters, that she could have wallpapered her bedroom with them. Of course, she’d also received numerous offers from sites like Barstool Sports, who were looking for a blonde willing to wear skimpy clothes and interview athletes about their love lives. She’d turned them down—hard.
It had been a rough few months, as friends and family alike had begged her to look for any other kind of job. To take a post as an anchor for a local channel, or work as an administrative assistant in one of the big newsrooms—anything to get her foot in the door. But Karen had said no—it was either a position as a sports reporter, or nothing.
Her only saving grace had been her friendship with Trish Walker, her old roommate from the undergrad years at Columbia, who was currently working as a head anchor at CBS NY Nightly News. When a position in the sports department had popped up, Trish had gone straight to Mitchell Ellison, the sports news director, and had lobbied hard for Karen. Luckily, Trish was enough of a big name at the station to have some pull.
And when Karen got that call from Ellison—the one she’d been waiting and hoping for—she’d been ecstatic. Overwhelmed; the way people are wont to feel when their dreams seem to be coming true. She’d gone out that night and bought Trish the most expensive bottle of champagne she could reasonably afford. Her enthusiasm, however, was incredibly short-lived, because working for CBS NY sports news was nothing like she’d imagined it would be.
First of all, Ellison only seemed to trust her with the most boring, pointless stories. Fluff pieces about semi-famous golfers donating a bunch of clubs to a children’s center; interviews with no-longer-relevant baseball players reminiscing about their days in Yankee stadium; coverage of events like the Rangers’ Family Day, in which she interviewed hockey WAGs about what it was like being married to a famous athlete. It was obvious discrimination—only giving her human interest stories that he clearly felt were within the “female” scope of reporting. (Despite Karen begging—begging—to cover sports like boxing; to let her unleash some of her considerable know-how on an assignment actually worth a damn).
And secondly, when she was allowed to interview real, honest-to-god athletes, they treated her like she had the plague. It was like pulling teeth, getting the short stop for the Mets to talk to her, or convincing the coach of the Knicks to look her way. Eventually, the only other female sports reporter that Karen knew—Danica Stewart from NBC—pulled her aside with a little advice. Apparently, Karen’s elegant chignon and pressed, silk blouses weren’t doing her any favors. The athletes wouldn’t talk to her as long as she looked like an outsider—like some strict schoolmarm there to scold them. All her high heels and red lipstick were doing was reminding them that she was a woman, which, apparently, was not conducive to getting good interview material. It had rankled at her—the idea that her appearance was the only thing keeping athletes from talking to her—but the advice had rung true. Sports, no matter what sport you were talking about, was a boy’s club. And that meant that she had to fashion herself in such a way as to appeal to the boys.
And thus began the era of the “Cool Girl.” Of wearing jerseys and jeans and sneakers; backwards baseball caps and war paint on her face. Of pretending to like Adam Sandler movies and laughing whenever an athlete made a crude joke. It felt a bit like selling her damn soul, sure, but as soon as Karen adopted the stance of the cool girl—who could hang and throw back beers—athletes started actually talking to her. Not treating her any better, or with any measure of respect, mind you, but at least talking to her. In a way that Jess back at the station could edit together to create a cohesive interview for air. Her stock began to rise—marginally.
Which was how she ended up finally getting the opportunity to cover the WBA convention. Well, that and the fact that the Anderson Fray, the guy to usually cover these events, was out with mono.
“Don’t worry, Kare.” Foggy bumped into her as he swerved to avoid a large, brawny man walking around with what looked like his girlfriend on his shoulders. “You won’t fuck it up. And even if you do, it’s not the end of the world. We’ll just go back to covering golf!”
“Wow. Great pep talk, Fog.” Karen ducked to evade the blows of a very drunk boxing fan, who was swinging his arms around in an imitation of a jab.
“I try.” Foggy shrugged. He’d been her assigned camera man since day one, and it had been the only good thing about the job. No matter how shitty things got, at least Karen always had a friend at her back. Or, in this case, smooshed against her side.
They were shoulder-to-shoulder, squeezing through the crowds of the over-packed convention center, which was filled with booths selling boxing gear and merch, or else little pop-up stands with energy drinks and various kinds of no-doubt horrible alcohol (Mountain Dew Smirnoff? Yikes.). Foggy hated conventions—of any kind—as they always seemed to bring out the most overzealous of the sports fans. But a boxing convention was his nightmare. So much Ed Hardy—everywhere he looked, more Ed Hardy. Of course, he should have known what the crowd was going to be like the second he stepped into the parking lot; he’d counted twelve window stickers of Calvin peeing on the backs of souped-up trucks. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why Karen loved the sport so much.
“Okay, so here’s how it’s going to go.” Mr. Manager, whose name tag read ‘Antoni,’ led Karen and Foggy down a side hallway, drawing them away from the mass of bodies gathered in the main lobby of the stadium. “We’ve got some of the boxers in the press room, sitting behind a table—panel style. Reporters lined up outside. You’ll have a few minutes to prep them for your questions before you start rolling, then as soon as the camera’s on, you got five minutes to interview. Okay, dollface?” He turned to look at Karen over his shoulder. She bit her lip so hard she was sure it was going to bleed.
“Perfect. Thanks.” The sugary coating on her voice was beginning to wear thin. Foggy shot her a glance, somewhere between sympathetic and warning.
“Alright. Well, this is where I leave you.” Antoni led them down one more hallway, turning to deposit them in front of the press room, where a line of reporters and camera men were already waiting.
“Uh thanks,” Karen nodded to Antoni’s back, as he was already walking away. She took a deep breath before facing the gathered reporters, many of whom she recognized. And did not particularly like. Just a row of inoffensive, Chad-looking assholes with their perfect, white teeth and spray tans.
“Woah, hey guys! Look at little Karen, finally covering some real action!” Brad Whittington, of Fox News, was the first to spot her, jabbing his elbow into the guy next to him and pointing her direction with a jerk of his chin.
Karen’s hands flexed at her sides.
“So they bumped you up from baby puff pieces, huh?” Another reporter, whose name Karen had purposely forgotten, raised his brow at her.
“I don’t know if you’re ready to handle the real shit, darling. Some of these boxers can be tough cases. Not your usual beat.” A crew cut with a smirk spoke up. “I know you’re used to interviewing your little tennis players and soccer stars.” The derision in his voice was maddening.
But Karen ignored them all, gesturing for Foggy to follow her as she stood at the back of the line, avoiding eye contact as she went. She’d learned, very early on, that the best way to deal with these assholes was to pretend they didn’t exist. Now, it wasn’t her preferred way—her preferred way involved a little bit of verbal carnage. But she knew the second she opened her mouth, it would be over. Her reputation would be ruined. So it was better to just go on, head-down and mouth closed, as much as it hurt her to do.
“Ah, leave her alone.” Drew Wash, Brad’s camera man at Fox, shook his head. “Poor thing’s probably intimidated enough as it is. Don’t need to pile on to her, huh?” He shot Karen a pitying smile, giving her a thumb’s up. Somehow, it was more infuriating than the shit talk from the other guys.
“See, this never happens to us when we cover golf.” Foggy leaned over to whisper in her ear. “I love golf. Everyone is so nice when we do golf.”
“For the last time, Fog,” Karen nudged him in the side, a little sharply, “I am not going to start asking for more golf assignments.”
“Your loss.” He grumbled, shifting his camera from one shoulder to the other.
Karen opened her mouth to retort, but was cut off by the door to the press room swinging open; a man dressed in a navy suit and sporting a Prime Time haircut stepped out, trailed by a camera guy.
“Hey, Alex!” Brad pushed off the wall to get Navy Suit’s attention. “What’s the atmosphere like in there, huh?”
“Uh, well it’s Marshall Lee, Grant Hass, and Frank Castle. So you can probably guess what that’s like.” Navy Suit—Alex—shook his head, shoving his hands in his pockets. Karen squinted at him for a moment, trying to place him. He was from one of the smaller, local channels, she knew that much. But she wasn’t sure which one.
“Let me guess—Marshall and Grant cracking jokes the whole time and Castle sitting there stone-faced, as per usual?”
“Yep. Think I got one syllable out of Castle the whole time.”
“Jesus. Why do they keep picking him for these panels?” Brad sighed, slumping back against the wall.
“Because he’s well on his way to the number one spot, Whittington. He may be a surly asshole, but the guy can box.” Alex rocked back on his heels, looking over his shoulder at his camera man, who was turning down the hallway. “Well good luck.”
“Yeah. Gonna need it with Castle for sure.”
Karen’s heart rate ticked up as she followed the conversation, spiking when she heard Frank Castle’s name mentioned. She’d thought—hoped—that she’d get a chance to meet him, but she hadn’t banked on it.
Frank Castle was the hot-ticket boxer on everyone’s lips. He’d shown up on the circuit about a year ago—out of absolutely nowhere—and had taken the WBA by storm. Part of his appeal was the fact that he was so damn versatile; nobody could agree on the style of boxer he was. Some matches, he was pure counterpuncher: stunning footwork, ring smarts, playing defensively. And other times he was all slugger—relentless power, damn the finesse and damn the strategy, he was out for blood. But no matter how he chose to box, his style was explosive. Raw voltage the likes of which the WBA hadn’t seen in years.
With a trainer that nobody had ever heard of, and managed by the most obscure company in the game, his rapid ascent to stardom had been the intrigue of the hour. There were rumors, as there always were with the upstarts, that he’d come up through the underground circuit. Or that he’d been in prison, and had learned how to box from the inmates. Or, alternatively, that he was an ex-Marine, who’d taken up fighting overseas. None of the rumors could be confirmed, though, because Castle was notoriously private. Nobody even knew if the guy had a family. But that didn’t stop the rumor mill from buzzing like crazy.
Karen had followed his career obsessively, watching his matches in between rounds at the PGA Tour and looking up his stats when she should have been doing research on whichever retired tennis player Ellison wanted her to interview. To say she was a fan would be an understatement—the man was a god in the ring. Had earned the name “The Punisher” due to how many of his opponents got carried out on a stretcher.
And now she’d have the opportunity to interview him. It was all a little overwhelming. Glancing over at Foggy, who had been fiddling with the settings on his camera, she took a deep breath. She could do this.
Frank was tired. Not physically tired, as he tended to be after a day of Curtis training him into the ground, but mentally tired. The way he felt after sitting through endless, draining interviews. One after the other—all the same—fussy looking guys with perfectly-coiffed hair and pressed suits, asking him about what he thinks his chances are in his upcoming match against who the fuck ever.
It was exhausting. Press was the worst part of his job—trying not to lose his mind at getting the same “hard hitting” questions over and over again, as if anyone really cared about his answers. Nobody wanted to hear him speak—to hear what he had to say. They just wanted to watch him box; to see his fists fly. And that was just the goddamn truth.
“You know, we haven’t had one chick reporter all day.” Grant, who was sitting to Frank’s left, grumbled.
“I bet if we were fucking baseball players or some shit, we’d have lady reporters around here all the time.” Marshall, lounging carelessly in his chair at Frank’s right, piped up.
“Yeah. But nobody wants to send in the babes to talk to our ugly mugs. We’d just scare them off. Especially Castle over there.” Grant folded a paper football out of the interview schedule that had been sitting on the table in front of him all day, flicking it off of the raised dias where they sat. It fell limply to the middle of the floor.
Jesus Christ. Frank clenched his fists under the table. The other terrible part about sitting for press was dealing with the assholes he called his colleagues. Trying to tamp down his natural instinct to start some shit every time they opened their mouths and something unbearably idiotic popped out. He had a reputation for being laconic and unsociable—for keeping to himself—but who could blame him when Grant Hass and Marshall Lee were the only people he had to talk to? He’d rather cut his tongue out than go with them to whatever douchey bar they were sure to frequent after their matches. (He’d seen the pictures they posted on Instagram, of shot girls pouring liquor down their throats as they tore their shirts off on top of a table. Not his scene.)
The door to the press room opened, and both Marshall and Grant shifted forward in their seats, expectantly. It was the final interview of the day, and they were eager to get it over with.
“Fuck. Spoke too soon.” Marshall whispered under his breath.
Frank looked up, and almost did a double take. Blonde hair, blue eyes, legs for miles; dressed in jeans and a WBA t-shirt, the woman looked less like a reporter and more like a boxing fan’s fantasy come to life. Her eyes scanned the table, flitting over Grant and Marshall quickly, then settling on him for a moment. Her smile ticked upward, then she looked away. Frank instantly felt a spike of something unfamiliar in his gut—something that felt a little bit like dread—Marshall and Grant were going to eat this one alive. Following behind her in that dutiful way camera men had was a stocky blonde with a nervous look on his face.
“Well, well, well.” By the tone of his voice, Frank could tell that Hass was about the say something terrible. But then again, when wasn’t Hass saying something terrible? “It ain’t my birthday, so who ordered the stripper?” Grant leaned forward, placing his chin into his palm and leering at the woman, who glanced up sharply. She smiled, but Frank noticed it didn’t reach her eyes. It was the smile of someone hiding another reaction—desperately.
“Sorry, boys, but I’m just here to ask questions.” Her voice was saccharine, but curt. Something sharp underneath. She climbed up onto the dias where the table was set up, panel-style, and took a seat in the interviewer’s chair. He saw her about to cross one leg over the other, but she seemed to rethink the move, instead planting both feet on the ground, steadying. Her back was ramrod straight—uncomfortable. “Karen Page, from CBS NY.” She pointed to her press pass.
“Well, pretty Karen, I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time after the questions to get to know each other, huh?” Marshall shifted forward as well, his eyes glued to the reporter.
“We’ll see. Who knows?” Karen brushed him off with a wink, but it seemed forced. Her grin cracking at the edges. Frank—always a keen eye—caught it all. “Now we just have a few minutes for me to prep you for your questions, so let’s—”
She was cut off by Marshall.
“I only have one question for you. And it’s very important, so I’m going to need an answer,” he put on his smarmiest grin. “You seeing anyone right now? A boyfriend? Husband? Fuck buddy?”
Karen paused, taking a deep breath, then pasted a smile on her face. “You know, that sounds like a discussion for after the interview, huh? Right now I want to focus on asking some questions about your style against—”
“Oooh, she evades the question.” Grant leaned around Frank to raise a brow at Marshall. “I think that means no.”
“Which means I’ve got a shot, huh?” Marshall nodded to himself. And Frank fought the urge to smack him across the head. But it wasn’t worth it, he reminded himself. Engaging in any kind of physical altercation outside of the ring was grounds for disqualification. No matter how badly he wanted to knock the smirk off of Lee’s fucking face.
Karen shifted in her seat, feeling her jaw begin to tick in that way that always prefaced a blow up. She shot a glance at Foggy, who had paused in setting up his tripod to level her with a sympathetic look.
Frank watched the exchange, and noted with interest the spark of rage he could see seething behind her eyes. But when she turned back to look at Grant and Marshall, it was with a plastic grin. Eyes almost glazed. Interesting.
“I’m curious, Mr. Hass, about the way that your style seemed to shift from a focus on footwork to an attempt at slugging in the past few—”
“Oh, come on, why are we talking about boxing when Marshall here is clearly trying to see if you’re single or not? You’re no fun.” Grant waved off her attempts to prep him for her questions, sitting back with a huff.
Frank observed the play of emotions on the reporter’s face—nostrils flaring, tips of her ears turning red, corners of her mouth flicking down. Then she seemed to force herself to visibly relax—one muscle at a time. And the plastic smile was back.
“Aww, I’m sorry, boys. You know how it is. Gotta get the business out of the way first.” There was something flirty in her voice—but synthetic. Like a waitress trying to get a big tip out of a dirty old man. It sent an unpleasant sensation crawling across Frank’s skin.
He crossed his arms, puzzled by the woman, who was clearly fighting down a not insignificant amount of violence. Glancing at Grant, then at Marshall, he noticed they both seemed pleased by her response, oblivious to any tension under her surface.
“Now, if we could just—” Karen opened her mouth again, but was cut off by someone sticking their head in through the press door. It was Grant and Marshall’s manager—a slimy little man with a penchant for Bolero ties.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he spoke up. “But Mr. Hass and Mr. Lee have a five minute break written in to the contract when they’ve been interviewing for more than two hours. So they’re going to go ahead and take that now.”
Karen looked like she was ready to explode—or implode, Frank couldn’t decide—as she nodded pleasantly.
“Of course, of course.” Her smile was mild as she turned back at Grant and Marshall. “You go ahead and take your break. We’ll start the interview afterwards.”
She didn’t wait for a response before she was out of her seat and rushing to the side door—the one that led to the alleyway outside. She needed some fresh fucking air.
Frank watched as the cameraman followed her.
There was a pause, then:
“Well, this certainly is going to be fun.” Grant leaned back, smirking, arms behind his head.
“Did you see that ass? Like you could bounce a quarter off of it.” Marshall threw in his clearly-valuable two cents.
“God, what I wouldn’t give to—”
Frank stood up, his chair screeching across the floor, before Grant could finish his sentence. If he sat there for a moment longer, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to control his actions. Lee and Hass were in-fucking-sufferable. Without turning to look at either of his colleagues, he made his way to the side door the reporter had disappeared through. He pressed a hand to the knob, opening it a crack, and could hear her angry voice from down the alley a ways.
“I swear to fucking God, Fog. The next asshole to call me ‘baby’ is getting his ass kicked. I won’t be responsible for my actions. Patronizing pieces of shit, treating me like human meat. Did you know I have a fucking Master’s degree in sports journalism? A Master’s degree! All so some assholes who can take a punch can ask me about my personal life and leer at me as if I’m some fucking object for sale?!”
Frank glanced over his shoulder, and saw Hass and Lee disappearing through an opposite door—the one that led to the bathroom.
“Karen, calm down. Please.” The camera man’s voice was pleading. “You were the one who was so adamant about taking this job. We just have to get through five minutes with those douchebags, then we’re home free.”
“I know, I know!” Karen’s voice was a huff. Then she let out a muffled screeching noise, as though screaming with her hands over her mouth. There was a pause; heavy breathing, then: “I’m okay, I’ve got this. I’ve got this.” She didn’t sound at all convinced of her own mantra.
Frank hesitated a moment. As a rule, he tried not to go out of his way to speak to reporters. But he felt bad for the woman—Lee and Hass had been out of line talking to her that way. And, to be quite honest, he was fucking tired of listening to them jerk around like teenagers. Somebody needed to put them in their place.
He looked over his shoulder again, double-checking that the room was clear, then pushed the door open completely. Two heads whipped his way instantly, and he saw Karen’s eyes grow wide, face blanching when she realized who he was. He stepped into the alley, hands in his pockets, and just stared at her for a moment. She looked horrified, no doubt embarrassed that he’d overheard her little meltdown.
Nobody said a word. In fact, the camera man—Foggy—looked almost frozen in place.
“Can I, uh…offer some advice?” His voice sounded a little rusty in his ears. He’d been actively avoiding speaking all day, just to piss off the smarmy interviewers with their Invisalign grins.
Karen and Foggy exchanged glances, but neither of them spoke, so Frank continued.
“Uh, look, Miss Page.” He tilted his head toward her. “You don’t have to sit there and take that shit from ‘em, huh? Clearly you got some fire in ya. You can let ‘em have it.”
He watched as Karen’s eyes shaded with something dark—something raw—a glimpse at what appeared to be years of suppressed fire leaking through. It was a look that had Frank’s pulse spiking; the look of a dangerous woman.
But she didn’t speak. Just continued to hold his gaze. Foggy’s eyes darted back and forth between the two, confused.
“All I’m sayin’ is…” Frank trailed off, shrugging noncommittally. “You don’t have to be this…thing that you think you gotta be. With the smiles and the flirting. Fuck that.” He glanced away with a frown. “Anyway, that’s all I had to say.”
He waited for a moment, but nobody spoke. They just continued to stare at him like he was some strange creature. So he shuffled on his feet before turning and walking back into the press room.
Karen waited until the door had clanged to a close behind him before wheeling on Foggy, the look on her face somewhere between pleased and horrified.
“What the fuck?” She whisper-yelled. “Did Frank Castle just tell me to grow a pair and put those dicks in their place?”
“Uh,” Foggy ran a hand through his hair. “I think he did. So…what are you gonna do?”
“Well,” Karen paused, as though considering. “I think I’m going to grow a pair and put those dicks in their place.”
When Karen walked back into the press room, followed by her cameraman, Frank noticed immediately the change in her stance. Shoulders thrown back; eyes blazing. Oh, this was going to be good.
Marshall attempted to greet her with a smirk as she took her seat, but she ignored him, instead turning to the camera and adjusting the clipped-on mic at her chest.
“Foggy. Give me the signal when you’re ready.” She nodded curtly, her mouth just this side of grim.
Marshall and Grant exchanged a confused look—what had happened to the smiling, flirty reporter from before? She hadn’t even spared a glance their way.
“Alright, we’re going in 5, 4, 3...” Foggy trailed off, mouthing the last few numbers.
“I’m Karen Page with CBS NY, here at the Barclays convention center with Grant Hass, Marshall Lee, and Frank Castle, who are all here to—”
“To kick ass and take names,” Grant interrupted, winking into Foggy’s camera. There was a moment’s pause, in which Karen’s head swiveled slowly toward Grant, her eyes heated.
“I don’t believe I was done speaking. I would appreciate it if you would let me finish a thought before jumping in. Thank you.”
Frank bit back a grin. He could have heard a pin drop in the ensuing silence. Grant darted a perplexed look to Marshall, who shook his head in confusion.
“As I was saying,” Karen continued, “all three are here promoting the upcoming WBA championship, in which they will compete. Now Mr. Lee—” Karen turned sharply to Marshall, who almost flinched under her gaze. “I’ve been watching your matches recently, and am wondering if you’re at all concerned about going up against such a powerful box puncher like Michael Henton in the first championship round?”
“Well, sweetheart,” Marshall slipped into a smirk, drawing out the syllables on the pet name. “I’m not worried about anything. I’m a tough guy, y’know, I can take whatever is sent my way.” He threw in a wink, because his answer hadn’t been significantly douchey enough. “I handle myself, darlin’, don’t you worry about that.”
“Hmm, interesting.” Karen tilted her head in faux-innocence. “Very interesting answer. Because I was looking through the tapes of your match against Andre Vic a few weeks ago, and I noticed you throwing up a lot of overhand punches—a hit which requires perfect timing and a strong defensive back. And every blow Vic managed to land was due to poor timing on those overhands. Now Vic, as you know, is more of an out-boxer, so his jabs weren’t hitting you as hard as I imagine Henton’s will if you insist on tossing in those overhands.”
This time Frank couldn’t bite back his smile, and felt it split his face. Damn, but she got his number.
There was a beat of silence, in which he could practically see Marshall’s brain recalibrating. The asshole hadn’t been expecting that.
“Well, you see, I don’t think—” Marshall stuttered to reply. “You know those overhand punches pack a lot of power, and—”
“Well sure they do.” Karen cut him off. “If you can time them perfectly so as not to leave yourself exposed to a fighter with a mean cross, like Henton.”
“But, see, you—” Marshall continued to grasp for words, and Grant started laughing.
“Damn, Marshall. She got you there.” He snickered, sliding down in his seat, shoulders shaking.
Karen’s eyes swung to Grant, harshly, and Frank knew something good was coming.
“I don’t know that I’d be laughing at Mr. Lee, Mr. Hass,” she spoke, her voice sounding almost prim. “You were doing a whole of clinching in your last match with Henton, if I recall. Trying to save yourself some recovery time after all those solid hooks he landed on you.” Her eyes were ice. “Ref spent more time pulling you out of a hold than he did anything else.”
Grant’s jaw dropped, and he was instantly sitting up in his seat, stiffening defensively, eyes wide.
“Woah, woah, woah,” he balked. “Did you see that uppercut in the second round? I had him with that—he was reeling for a good three seconds after that blow.”
“Sure, yeah,” Karen conceded, dipping her head. “But the way it glanced off of him sent you off balance as well. A solid few seconds of stumbling to regain your ground, if I recall. Now that’s fine when you’re working with Henton, who isn’t the best at footwork. But if you’re going to pull that move on Jeffries in the championship, I guarantee you he’s going to be planted much more solidly into the canvas.”
Frank was snickering—he couldn’t help it. God, it was beautiful, watching Grant and Marshall caught so off-guard.
“What about Castle?!” Grant jabbed a finger in his direction. “You got anything smart to say about Castle?”
Karen’s buttery smile was back, as she turned to look at Frank. They locked eyes for a moment, and the corner of his mouth ticked upwards.
“Mr. Castle,” Karen’s voice gentled. “I noticed that, while earlier in your career you focused a lot on blocking and parrying punches, recently you’ve been defaulting to slipping in your matches. Have you been training with a greater focus on dexterity in the past few months?”
“What?!” Marshall exploded. “You’re not going to call him out on something, too?”
Karen ignored Lee’s outburst, eyes trained on Frank.
“Well,” Frank cleared his throat, leaning in toward the microphone on the table. “You got a real keen eye, Miss Page. My trainer, Curtis, has actually been focusing on getting me to play defensive for the last few matches. Tone down the power—work on reading the ring.”
“Hmm, interesting.” Karen nodded, still ignoring the slack-jawed looks from Grant and Marshall. “So moving away from the slugging style a bit? Probably a good strategy if you’re going to be fighting Spence in the future.”
“Exactly,” Frank nodded. “Especially since he’ll be the first Southpaw I’m going up against.”
“Oh, that’s right. Because you haven’t fought McClane yet, either.” Karen bobbed her head. “It’ll certainly be an interesting match, then.”
“Counting on it.” Frank leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.
Foggy gave a signal which meant they had ten seconds left on their segment. Karen acknowledged him with a dip of the head.
“Well, I’m afraid that’s all the time we have here. It certainly is looking like it will be an interesting championship this year. Can’t wait to cover it for you. I’m Karen Page with CBS NY sports, signing off.”
The room was silent—dead silent—with the flavor of the crypt in the air. Then all of the sudden Frank was laughing; really, truly laughing. A deep, gut-clenching kind of noise.
Grant and Marshall both shot him purely toxic looks, glaring.
“Shut the fuck up, Castle.” Grant muttered, shoving back from his chair and running a hand through his hair in a huff. “Just because she didn’t roast your ass.”
Frank shook his head, still chuckling to himself. Damn it, but he really couldn’t stop. The angrier they looked, the funnier it was.
“She had a point, though, Grant. About your uppercut.” Marshall stood up as well, shrugging. “It was a risky move, and you didn’t land it right.” Grant wheeled on him in an instant.
“Oh, well don’t get me started about all those damned overhands you been throwing.” He jabbed Marshall in the chest. “You’re out there showing off like you’re some fresh fighter. You should know better.”
Karen ignored the fracas on the stage, and proceeded to gather up all of her materials quietly, a tiny smile pulling the corners of her mouth. She motioned for Foggy that it was time to make a subtle exit, and thanked her lucky stars that they were the last interviewers of the day. She didn’t want to pick up any heat for riling up the talent before the others could get to them.
Marshall and Grant continued to argue with one another, voices gaining in volume, as Karen and Foggy made to slip away quietly out the side door. Right before she disappeared into the alley way, Karen glanced over her shoulder and caught Frank’s eye. He was watching her, arms crossed, a grin on his face. And something that looked a whole lot like admiration in his eyes.
“Oh my god, Karen. What the hell did you do to those guys?” Jess removed the headphones from her ears, looking up from the monitor where she had been playing and replaying Karen’s WBA interview for the last ten minutes.
“Eh, nothing that they didn’t deserve.” Karen leaned back in her wheelie chair, propping her feet up on the switch board of the editing room. Jess glared at her, knocking her feet away. “I just put them in their places is all.”
“This is going to be such a pain to edit.” Jess groaned, running a hand through her hair. “I don’t know how to make this look good, Kare, especially for you.”
“Then don’t.” Karen shrugged, picking up a stress ball and tossing it from hand to hand.
“I’m sorry, what?!” Jess turned to her sharply, eyebrow raised. “Did little miss perfect-smile, always-happy, see-how-likable-I-am just say that I don’t need to make her look good on TV?”
Karen bobbed her head in a nod. “Yep.”
“Jesus. I think I’m hallucinating. Or losing my mind.” Jess faux-gasped. “Or both!”
“Wouldn’t hallucinating mean you’re already losing your mind, or…?”
“Shut up! Not the point!” Jess jabbed the re-wind button on the control panel, rolling back to the beginning of the interview. “The point is—if I let this interview go, as is, it’s totally not going to play with your image. You come out of this looking like a real ballbuster. Not the chill, guy’s girl you are in all your other pieces.”
“Fine. Then that’s what it is. Let it play.” Karen’s voice was hard; adamant. And it had Jess glancing at her in confusion. “I’m so fucking tired of trying to be this—this—this thing that I’m not, Jess. I am a ballbuster. So fuck it.” She was beginning to work herself up. “And speaking of—why is it that a woman who demands a little respect is a ballbuster? If Anderson shut down an athlete for interrupting him during an interview, he’d be a boss!”
“Yeah, Karen. You discovered sexism exists. Congratulations.” Jess deadpanned. “It’s not like you didn’t know this job was ground zero for male chauvinists.”
“Yeah, I know. But I’m just tired of it!” Karen stood up, filled with vim. Then, realizing she had nowhere to go, sat down again. “I’m tired of playing the game like they want me to play it. Pretending that I don’t mind being called ‘honey,’ or that jokes about a woman’s ass are funny. I’m not doing that shit anymore.”
Jess sighed. “Are you sure about this, Kare? This isn’t something you can take back. If I send this interview to air the way it is, you’re not coming out of it looking like the cool girl anymore.”
“Fuck the cool girl.” Karen spat. “Send it as it is.”
Jess eyed her for a moment, unsure. But Karen’s look brokered no argument.
“Okay.” Jess sighed, shaking her head. “Ballsy move, Page.”
“Yeah, well I’m a ballsy girl, Jones.”
As soon as the interview aired on the 6 o’clock news that Friday night, the reaction was explosive. Unprecedented. Sitting at home, going over her schedule for the next week, Karen’s phone had begun blowing up instantly—calls and texts from coworkers and friends, all freaking out about her WBA segment. She’d turned her phone off, not wanting to deal with the repercussions that she was certain were coming her way for just a few more days.
Almost overnight, clips of her snapping at Hass and Lee had been picked up by alternative news sources, like Buzzfeed and Jezebel. Being retweeted with titles like “Sports Reporter Destroys Boxers With Expert Opinion” and “Watch This Woman Put A Man in His Place After He Interrupts Her Interview.” She was being made into memes—screenshots of her glaring at Hass with sassy phrases written over them circulating Facebook, Reddit, and Tumblr. (A subset of boxing fans with keen eyes had started cutting together segments from the interview titled “Frank Castle Actually Smiles” and passing it around on boxing forums).
By the time she walked into work the following Monday, she was a certified internet celebrity (not that it really meant much, in a world where memes lost their potency within weeks).
“Oh my god,” Trish grabbed her arm as soon as she stepped into the newsroom, dragging her into her office and closing the door. “What the fuck, Karen? Why didn’t you warn me about the interview before hand? I had watch it on air for the first time in the middle of the broadcast. Do you know how hard it was to keep from losing my shit when they rolled that footage?”
“Sorry,” Karen shrugged, grinning, as she plopped down on the couch Trish had pushed to the side wall of her office.
“Sorry?! Come on—that was brilliant!” Trish threw her hands up. “Seeing you rip into those guys; it gave me life, Kare.”
“Yeah, well…” Karen sighed. “Let’s just hope it didn’t ruin my entire career in the process.”
As if on cue, there was a knock at Trish’s door.
“Uh, is Miss Page in there? Ellison is asking for her in his office?” It was the intern, sounding mousier than ever.
Trish and Karen glanced at each other.
“Oh shit.” Karen stood up slowly. “Time to face the music, I guess.”
“Good luck.” Trish grimaced, and it was not at all comforting.
“Yeah, thanks.”
Ellison was sitting behind his desk, fingers steepled together, a grim look on his face. As soon as Karen walked in, she knew she was not going to like what he had to say.
“Sit.” He gestured at the empty chair opposite his desk. Dropping her purse on the floor, Karen lowered herself into the seat, reticent, eyes glued to Ellison. He was avoiding her gaze, frowning in the middle distance.
There was a beat of silence.
“So…” Ellison sighed, leaning back in his chair, shaking his head.
“So…” Karen repeated, biting her lip.
“That stunt you pulled with the WBA interview? Wildly unprofessional.”
Karen’s heart dropped into her stomach. She wanted to argue—to say that the way she had been treated by Hass and Lee was beyond unprofessional, but she didn’t. Instead, she held her tongue—bitterly.
“I’m sorry, I—”
Ellison cut her off with a raised hand, and Karen decided that she needed to keep a tally of how many times she found herself interrupted by men in a day.
“You know that if you personally burn bridges with any of the athletes you are sent to interview, it is as good as burning those bridges for the entire network.” He was in lecture mode. “Which is why the number one rule we have is to cater to the talent, Karen. You don’t have Trish Walker’s job, where you’re there to bully and prod and ask the hard-hitting questions. You are a sports reporter—you’re there to get sound bites and give the athletes a warm, happy feeling every time they hear the name CBS NY.”
Karen’s fingers flexed on her lap, and it took an inhuman amount of strength to keep them from balling into fists.
“Now, I want you to know that I was ready to fire you on the spot the moment that clip played last Friday.”
Fuck. Karen’s heart picked up a stuttering beat in her chest. This was not sounding good—not at all.
“But, luckily for you, one of the producers stepped in and said that I couldn’t.” His voice was just slightly hostile. “Apparently, your little interview tripled the number of hits our website has had over the past few days. God help me, but people really liked it.”
She released a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding.
“Again, I want to reiterate that, had it been my choice, you would be clearing out your desk. I do not appreciate my reporters going rogue behind my back.” The look he leveled her way was severe. “But ultimately it’s not up to me. And the fact that your interview went viral is the only thing saving your hide. Are we clear?”
“Yes sir.” She dipped her head in acknowledgement.
“Good. Now get out of my office. You’ve got a new assignment on your desk.” |
“St. Louis?” Cas asked, reading the sign that he and Dean passed after dinner the next day. The sun was already sinking low in the afternoon sky.
Dean just grinned and winked at Cas.
“When did you get so good at guessing?” Dean nudged Cas with his elbow, and Cas scowled back at him.
“I have always been quite adept at subtlety.”
“No, you really haven’t. Remember the Dick Roman scandal? I was reading about it on the computer with Sam when you came over one day.”
“Dude, it’s my turn to get on!” Sam whined. “What are you looking at?”
“Dick Roman just got arrested,” Dean replied, scrolling down the page.
“Who?” Sam asked, and Dean grimaced.
“Do you not follow the news?” he questioned, and Sam rolled his eyes.
“Oh, like you did before Cas needed help with his debate class. Who is it?”
Dean sighed and cast his brother an annoyed glance.
“He’s on the board of directors for the Roman hospital system in Nebraska. Turns out, the director of nursing he hired was Nurse Grim.”
“Again-who?”
“Shit, Sammy. The nurse who made the news for killing patients, remember? She killed, like, thirty people before she was caught. Her name was Lilith or something. Anyway, looks like Roman knew about it, and tried to cover it up so he wouldn’t look bad. Some reporter found papers showing he knew all along, and didn’t do anything to stop her.”
“Whoa, he just let her kill those people?” Sam asked, eyes round.
“Well, she said they were ‘mercy killings’, but yeah, he knew about it and let her do it. The people didn’t make the choice, the nurse just decided who was suffering, and killed them.”
Sam stared, open mouthed, and Dean kept reading.
“Dean,” Sam asked seriously. “That is all terrible, but if I don’t get online I’m going to get an F on my homework, and you’re going to be praying for a mercy killing when I get done with you.”
Dean let out an overly dramatic sigh, then made a show of clicking on another article about Dick Roman.
“Are you strictly into Dick now?” Sam asked, annoyed, just as Cas came into the room.
“Dean?” Cas questioned. “What are you two doing?”
“Nothing!” Dean answered haughtily, and Sam doubled over with laughter.
“He-he loves to read about Dick!” Sam gasped out. “Dean spends his time on the i-internet, looking up Dick!”
Cas frowned, and Dean flushed red, stammering.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand that reference, Sam,” Cas answered stonily.
“Come on, Cas,” Dean said, red in the face, and he led Cas out of the room, ignoring his brother’s wheezing laughter.
“I don’t understand,” Cas continued to question. “Why does Sam care if you look up penises online?”
“I don’t look up penises, Cas!” Dean shouted, rounding the corner and nearly smacking into his mother.
“Dean Winchester, if you’ve been watching porn on my computer-,” she began fiercely, but Dean groaned and hid his face in his hands.
“I’m not looking at porn!” he said loudly, and Sam’s echoing laughter drifted down the hall. “Sam, I’m going to kill you!”
“But were you really looking at porn?” Cas asked innocently, and Dean chuckled.
“With Sam in the house? Not a chance.”
“You did when he was out?”
“Jesus, Cas, who have been hanging out with all these years? Of course I looked at porn. Not dicks though,” Dean reasoned.
“Ah, yes. I seem to remember you being quite convinced of your heterosexuality,” Cas teased, and laced his fingers through Dean’s on the seat.
“Well, I hadn’t experienced yours yet,” Dean tossed a teasing wink Cas’ way, and Cas groaned at the poor joke.
“So, St. Louis,” he said, and Dean laughed.
“Yeah, man, St. Louis. This is our exit, actually. We’ve got a hot date.”
“And how did you decide on this location?” Cas asked studiously, as though studying a particularly interesting subculture.
“Think about who used to live here,” Dean said, and Cas furrowed his brow in concentration before a look of dawning comprehension passed over his features.
“T.S. Eliot lived here,” he finally said. “You do realize you may be a bigger nerd than I am?”
“Hey,” Dean said defensively. “I just feel like I owe the guy, that’s all.”
“Owe him?”
“Yeah. I mean, he makes you happy. Here’s our exit.”
Dean pulled off the interstate and maneuvered the winding streets of St. Louis. A heavy blanket of snow lay across the chilled ground, causing everything to take on an ethereal glow in the cold winter sun. The tires of the Impala made a pleasant swishing sound when they rolled across the gray, sludgy mix of snow and salt covering the roads. Cas watched children playing while happily lit by the waning sunlight in their front yards, building up enormous snowmen and decorating them with bits of wood (and in one interesting case that caused Dean to laugh for five miles, a butcher’s knife in the stomach and red food dye).
They drove until they reached a sign proclaiming the entrance to the Missouri Botanical Gardens, the parking lot very nearly deserted in the dead of winter and at such a late afternoon hour.
“Dean,” Cas questioned, brow creased. “A garden in winter?”
“Have some faith in me,” Dean poked him in the side and happily clambered out of the car.
“Always,” Cas answered, and he climbed out too.
Dean waited patiently and took Cas by the hand, leading him through the front gates, pausing only to pass the middle-aged receptionist in the ticket booth two passes. Cas stopped short when he and Dean were finally inside the Gardens.
“Dean,” Cas breathed out, his breath turning to silky fog in the air. “Look at it.”
The Gardens stretched out in front of them, covered in frost and snow, glittering white and bright even with the fading sun. Paths stretched and swirled through what would be beautiful flower displays during the rest of the year. Tonight, though, the flower beds were obscured by the pure white snow.
Dean entwined his fingers with Cas’.
“Come on,” he said softly, and he led Cas down the twisting paths.
Each turn brought more beauty. One path led to a maze of hedges, another to a crisscrossing wooden deck stretching out over a frozen pond. Dean brought Cas to the side of the pond, and cleaned off a wrought iron bench to sit down on.
“I’d say we could go ice skating, but even I think that’s cheesy,” Dean gave Cas’ hand a squeeze.
“It’s beautiful here. Why don’t more people come?” Cas asked, eyes taking everything in.
Dean rubbed shyly at the back of his neck with his other hand.
“Yeah, this was supposed to be over yesterday, but I called ahead and basically begged the receptionist to let us in by ourselves tonight. It took a good chunk of my rainy day fund, but I’d spend it with you anyway, so might as well.”
“Dean,” Cas interrupted. “Have I ever told you that you talk too much when you’re nervous?”
“All the time.”
“It’s true.”
“Shut up, Cas.”
Cas quirked an eyebrow at Dean, who narrowed his eyes in concern. He knew that look; he’d seen it far too often growing up. The next instant, Dean had a face full of icy snow, and Cas had knocked him down off the bench and onto the cold ground below.
“Give up!” Cas called at him, pinning Dean’s shoulders down with his knees and lifting a handful of snow threateningly. “I’ll do it. You know I will.”
“Do what?” Dean asked, his strong voice betrayed by the apprehension in his eyes.
At this, Cas deftly reached behind himself, lifted the hem of Dean’s shirt, and motioned like he was going to shove the snow underneath.
“Dammit, fine! I give up, just get off of me so we can watch this thing together. It’s hard to enjoy it with your dick a foot from my face,” Dean grumbled, but he was grinning.
Cas raised up and pulled Dean back up onto the bench in the darkness; the sun had finally crossed over the horizon, plunging the frozen area into semi-darkness. The snow still gave off some reflections in the dim light, appearing almost blue.
“What are we going to watch? You never told me,” Cas asked, and Dean motioned out across the Gardens.
“Any minute now,” he said, and Cas simply sat, confused, pressed up against Dean to keep warm.
Dean checked his watch. It truly was any second until the moment. He was giddy with excitement.
Finally, a few minutes later at eight minutes past seven, a slight whir could be heard, and the Gardens sprang to life. Cas stood up slowly, revolving on the spot to take in the wondrous sight that had just occurred in front of him, and all around him.
The Gardens were alight.
Twinkling lights hung from every surface, decorated every inch of the winter garden. Round, fat lights with false flowers inside shone from the ground, dotting the pathways like beacons. Beautiful fairy lights were draped in the trees in every imaginable color. In the distance, Cas could see the maze he and Dean had passed, all the twists and turns lit up brightly.
Dean chuckled at the look of wonderment on Cas’ face.
“Dude, there’s more to it. Let’s go,” he said, and he took Cas by the hand to lead him down one meandering path.
Cas gripped Dean’s hand tightly, and they made their way down to a tunnel lit with purple and pink lights. Dean led the way in, and he and Cas came to a stop when they were completely enveloped by the colors.
“You like it?” Dean asked shyly, and Cas nodded.
“I love it,” he replied.
Dean beamed and looked around the cavernous tunnel. Cas noticed he wasn’t looking at the lights anymore; rather, he was watching the happiness spread across Dean’s face, the lights playing off his peaceful features.
Cas stepped forward and leaned into Dean, allowing their lips to meet in a quiet, chaste kiss. He hugged him tightly around the waist before dropping his head to Dean’s shoulder and laying another soft kiss on his neck.
“I love you,” Cas said quietly.
“I love you too,” Dean answered. “So much.”
“This is breathtaking,” Cas said, and he stepped away to touch the warm lights, running his hand over their colors. “I wish I had my poetry journal.”
“Hey, nerd. Look at me,” Dean said with a grin.
Cas turned at the muffled sound of rustling paper, and he laughed when he saw Dean holding his leather bound poetry journal loosely in his left hand, the wedding band on his finger glinting purple in the lights. He reached out to take it, and Dean answered his unasked question.
“I didn’t read a word,” he admitted. “But I knew you’d want it. Come on, man, who knows you better than me?”
“No one,” Cas answered needlessly, and Dean elbowed him before reaching into his own coat pocket.
“Damn straight. That’s why I even remembered this.”
He pulled his iPod out of his coat, white earphones dangling, and Cas recognized the sound of classical violin music playing softly.
“Go ahead,” Dean said, handing Cas the iPod. “We’re going to sit here, and you can write about flowers or whatever poets talk about until our asses freeze to the ground.”
Dean winked at Cas, who took the device and pressed one earbud into his ear, offering the other to Dean, and together they sank down onto the cold gravel path. Cas chewed on his pen.
“How long until we have to go?” he asked, and Dean checked his watch.
“They said they’d kick me out in about an hour. But if you need more time…well, there’s plenty of places to hide in a giant garden.”
Cas kissed Dean again, and set to work in his poetry journal. He’d scribble a line or two, scratch out words he wanted to amend, and add in new ones. Dean knew he didn’t care if he read it or not, but he chose to give Cas his peace. Instead, he watched Cas work, his eyes filling with delight when he decided on a word, a worry crease forming between his brows when something wouldn’t come out right.
They sat on the frozen ground for forty five minutes before Cas deemed his poem done, but didn’t move. Instead, they sat, childhood friends turned soulmates, surrounded by lights and snow and icy winter air, until their hour was up and they moved to the exit.
*
“You act like you didn’t enjoy that,” Cas said lightly. “Hours in a car with me? I’m a delight.”
“You’re awful to travel with,” Dean said, and he and Cas deposited their bags in their living room floor in a heap. “Two million questions during that traffic jam alone.”
“I have a curious mind,” Cas retorted, hands on hips.
“Is that it?” Dean teased, and did his best imitation of Cas’ gravelly voice. “Dean, why does that car smoke when we stop? Dean, if we’re living in an alternate reality, but it’s the only one we’ve ever known, does it still count as alternate or is it real? Dean, how it is possible for the universe to be endless but also ever-growing?”
“Excuse me, that last one was a perfectly legitimate question. Something without an end can’t very well get bigger,” Cas grinned. “And I like traveling with you. I’m going to miss St. Louis.”
“We can go back,” Dean reasoned. “Right now, I just want to enjoy being back home with my husband in our house.”
Cas slipped his fingers into Dean’s belt loops and pulled him closer.
“Hmm. Husband…I like that.”
“You better. You’re stuck with me.”
“Dean, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
Dean kissed Cas, and the two were just beginning to get particularly steamy when Dean’s phone buzzed in his pocket.
“Mmm,” he groaned, and he pulled away from Cas to tap the answer key. “Sammy, I hope you know what you just interrupted.”
“I’m at the hospital,” Sam’s voice sounded urgent. “Jess stood up and passed out at home. Mom’s in surgery with the doctor and won’t be out for a few hours. I didn't know what to do.”
“We'll be right there,” Dean said, and he ended the call. “Don’t take off your jacket.”
“What is it?” Cas asked, eyes wide.
“Sam took Jess to the hospital. Something’s wrong.” |
Severus Snape mused darkly in the dim light of his ingredients storage closet, contemplating the worrying significance of the continued dwindling of his stock. He had narrowed the possibilities down to a few potions, some more concerning than others--Polyjuice in particular, given the implications that they very well may have been harboring a serious threat inside the castle and been none the wiser.
When the thought had occurred to him first, Severus had commandeered use of his son's Map to ascertain if there were indeed any suspicious persons lurking about Hogwarts. Alastor Moody was at the top of that list, as he was the most conspicuous presence that year.
Unfortunately, that particular paranoid bastard was there in clear ink upon the Map, in his office.
In fact, the only oddity Severus did spy was Bartemius Crouch strolling along an upper corridor. Severus supposed the man could be at the school to discuss Tournament business, but then again he had been completely absent from the Second Task, Percival Weasley taking his spot on the judges' panel.
Rumor had it the man was unwell, missing work in great swaths of time and becoming increasingly uncommunicative. It was suspicious behavior to say the least, but if Severus knew a singular thing about Bartemius Crouch, it was that he was uncompromising in the extreme when it came to what he viewed to be against the Light. He had sent his only son to Azkaban without hesitation, unless one counted the grace of appointing the boy a trial, as farcical as the thing may have been.
Perhaps it was latent guilt affecting Crouch, for damming his own blood to that hellhole. The boy had died there, Severus knew, had barely lasted a year. It was not so surprising, he remembered Crouch Jr. Angry, cruel, and spiteful, with a viciously clever twist to his mind that appealed greatly to the Dark Lord. Arrogant. And Severus knew from arrogance.
But for all of that, Crouch the younger was still barely more than a child himself when his father had disowned him in front of a courtroom full of righteous wizards and witches out for blood. Such actions had a way of coming back to bite you, whether deservedly or not.
Still, such suppositions did nothing to help Severus unravel the mystery of his missing stores. If not Polyjuice, than perhaps the potion was one of a multitude of slow acting poisons. A drop into a drink over a span of weeks or months to slowly weaken an adversary might be the goal. Or one to make a death appear to be of natural causes as symptoms began to manifest slowly, leading to an unsavory, lengthy, and often painful end.
And yet, no detection spells he had cast on his food or that of his fellow teachers had revealed any such tampering. Nor anything that might make its way to Harry’s plate.
It was odd. Severus could simply not unravel the plot set before him. It was obvious in its presence and threat, but obfuscated beyond his ken. Which, Severus supposed, was the most irritating part of the entire affair.
He needed to figure out what exactly was happening here, before the Third Task. A horrible, looming shadow of dread had been steadily building as each hurdle of this ridiculous Tournament came and went with no subtle or overt sign of sabotage, nor further machinations. One could only assume things would come to a head at the last obstacle.
Whatever goal was in mind for the person or persons unknown, Severus intended to put a halt to it sooner rather than later. Before anything irreversible happened.
Severus resisted the urge to lay a hand over his left arm, where phantom pricklings were making the hairs on the back of his neck rise.
The Mark was darkening. As much as he did not wish to agree with Karkaroff on any subject, the man was correct on that front. The fact of which only served to provide further motivation to unravel whatever plot had ensnared his son. If it had anything to do with the Dark Lord, and such a thing seemed more and more likely by the day, then Severus would not be caught unawares.
He strengthened the wards around his storeroom so that whatever sneak thief was behind the disappearances would have to work far harder for their prize and perhaps give Severus more time to catch them in the act. He had been unsuccessful so far that year whenever his wards had been tripped. It always happened at a time when he was too far away to do much of anything aside from inventory what had gone missing by the time he did arrive. It showed either a tremendous amount of luck, or more likely, meticulous planning on the perpetrator’s part. Whatever the case, there was nothing to be done about it until they attempted another dip into his stores.
A darkness was on the horizon. Anyone could plainly see it if they only looked for the signs. It carried with it a heavy sheen of inevitability. One cloying with dread and foreboding of things to come.
Severus did not want another war. He certainly did not want one in which his son would be embroiled, prophecies be damned.
Some part of himself, the part still mired in thorny guilt and self-loathing, whispered that it was only what he deserved. That Severus should never have expected any sort of happiness or peace to last.
It seemed somehow especially cruel that he had obtained a taste of contentment, of love, only for it to be immediately threatened. To be ripped away and trampled under the boot of a madman seeking power above all else.
Severus would simply not allow it.
So, wards and measures and constant vigilance.
If, Merlin forbid, what he feared did come to pass, Severus would be ready. He would not allow his son to be taken from him, to be made into a solider or sacrificed or twisted into something that he was never meant to be. Albus could put as much faith into the mad whispers of as many seers as he wished, Severus would do what was best for his son.
A prophecy was only as powerful as the ones believing it to be true. And Severus simply refused to accept that Harry was the only thing able to take down his old master. The idea was ludicrous in the extreme and Severus would not have it.
Giving the storeroom one last narrow-eyed look, Severus swept away. He could use a strong cup of very black tea, perhaps doctored with a couple drops of Headache Cure as a pounding had started up in his temple.
He steadfastly ignored the way his left arm continued to prickle.
~~~~~~~>
Harry was watching a wizard chess match between Blaise and Ron Weasley in the Great Hall when Ludo Bagman approached him with Cedric Diggory in tow.
Blaise had been equal parts indignant and delighted to learn that Ron was something of a genius when it came to the game. In their first match, Blaise had actually lost. That had not so much upset the other boy as made him berate the Gryffindor for hiding away this talent.
“I’ve been forced to play with Draco,” Blaise sighed, aggrieved, as he leveled Ron with an unimpressed look. “He is so predictable and whines terribly when he loses. Which is always. And yet, here you’ve been this entire time.”
Ron shrugged, flushing brightly across the bridge of his nose and the tip of his ears where they poked out of his equally blazing hair. He shrugged, fiddling with an errant pawn as the tiny black figure struggled against the manhandling.
“If it makes you feel any better, mate, nobody will play me anymore. Not even Hermione.”
“Really? I’d think that girl would relish the chance to flaunt her intelligence,” Blaise drawled not unkindly as he shepherded the pieces back into their proper places.
“She thinks it’s brutish, the way they all go at each other.” Ron snorted, then leaned in and stage whispered, “I think she’s just sore she kept losing.”
The pair of them snickered and Harry settled in with a potions book he had borrowed from his father’s quarters, as it looked like they would be there for a while yet. It was during the fifth game (the previous matches split evenly between the two boys) when Bagman showed up.
“Ah! And here is our other esteemed Hogwarts Champion.” The man grinned, looking as if he would very much like to pat Harry roughly on the shoulder, though thankfully refrained at the look Harry shot his raised hand. “If you can spare a moment, there is some Tournament business that needs discussing.”
Harry would really rather not, but he doubted the boisterous Bagman would deem that an acceptable answer to his non-question. So he simply sighed, closed his book, and rose from the table. When Blaise made to follow, however, Bagman waved him back down.
“Ah, ah, lad, Champions only I’m afraid. Worry not, I’ll have your sweetheart back in two shakes of a snallygaster’s tail.” Bagman laughed loudly, apparently oblivious of the unimpressed looks being pointed his way.
Blaise did press a soft kiss to his cheek before Harry was made to follow Cedric and Bagman out of the Great Hall, which was fortifying enough that he was able to refrain from casting a Tripping Jinx at the man as he merrily trotted along in front of him.
“I saw that article in the Prophet, the apology. You must have pulled some serious strings to get Rita Skeeter to agree to that,” Cedric said, his tone impressed. “I can’t stand that woman. She did a write up on dad once, when there was a bit of an issue with an escaped herd of graphorn that took quite a bit of cleaning up to keep under wraps from the muggles. Since dad is head of the DRCMC, she shunted all the blame onto him, of course focusing on all the negative aspects and not the brilliant way he and his team handled everything. It could have been way worse than it was.”
“Skeeter likes her melodramatics,” Harry rolled his eyes a bit. “I’ve no doubt she could find a dark spin on even the happiest of events.”
“Like your adoption?” Cedric suggested quietly, nearly making Harry stumble with the unexpectedness of it. “I think it’s great that you’ve found some new family,” the Hufflepuff continued, his handsome face smiling softly down at Harry in a way that should have been condescending but somehow wasn’t, “although I might have picked someone other than Professor Snape, if it had been me.”
Harry let out a strangled sort of laugh. “He’s not so bad, once you get past all the glaring and perhaps invest in a thesaurus.”
Cedric’s laugh was much nicer than Harry’s had been, but he was thankful when the subject was dropped as they approached the powder blue Beauxbaton carriage. Bagman knocked sharply on the door and soon Fleur joined them in an elegant sweep of matching blue robes and flicking blonde hair.
“‘Arry, ‘ow lovely to see you.” She ghosted a kiss down on each of his cheeks, her smile bright and happy. “And you as well, Cedric.”
The other boy was given the same treatment, although Bagman was pointedly left out.
“It is exciting, no? Only one more Task.”
Harry nodded, although he felt more queasy at the thought of it than anything. It had been far too quiet that year since his name had come bursting out of the Goblet. He had expected something to happen much sooner. But as the weeks and months had passed and nothing untoward had presented itself, the anxiety had simply continued to build. Harry feared it might consume him completely before long. He was increasingly grateful for his Occlumency when the thought of what might be lurking in wait for him to drop his guard became so distracting that he could hardly think of anything else.
Blaise, thankfully, was also there. A well of calm in the storm that Harry felt adrift in. His father was as well, and his friends. And Jax, of course. It was enough to keep most of the ill thoughts at bay. Harry shuddered to think what he would have done without the support. Shaken apart at the seams, most likely.
Their next stop was at the ship to collect Viktor Krum, who grunted at them and slouched in the back of the group next to Harry as they turned towards the Quidditch pitch.
Harry wondered if maybe the last task would involve flying somehow, although that gave certain members of the Tournament a clear advantage. So, probably not. Maybe something to do with the Forbidden Forest, then, as the edge of it was not far past the pitch.
But no, Bagman led them directly through to the large expanse of lawn that made up the ground level of the playing field.
Both Cedric and Krum made displeased sounds when they saw what had become of the once smooth and even lawn. It was covered in ankle-high shrubbery, dense and twisting.
“The pitch!” Cedric cried, a hand over his mouth as he stared in horror over the ruined lawn. “What have you done to our pitch? It’s mangled.”
“It’s a maze,” Harry said before Bagman could answer, swiftly scanning the minute hedges as they twisted and turned at angles far too sharp and calculated to be anything other than deliberate.
“Right you are, Harry. Good eye.” Bagman tapped the side of his nose, winking at them all. “A maze indeed. And no ordinary one at that! This will have all manner of tricks and obstacles for you to overcome, not to mention the occasional creature. So you must keep your wits about you and not lose nerve, for at the very center of our vast maze will be the Triwizard Cup! As the scores stand now, whoever reaches it first will be crowned winner. So I suggest you all study up and prepare yourselves, because this is sure to be very difficult.”
“Can you be more specific?” Harry asked, not really surprised when the man just chuckled and shook his head.
“Now, now, Mr. Potter. I can't go giving away all my secrets, where would be the fun in that?”
Harry scowled, he was not there for fun. In point of fact, he did not want to be there at all. And he had had well past enough of Bagman insulting him by refusing to use his chosen name.
“Now, I'll give you lot a few moments to look over our hedgy masterpiece, so don't waste it. You'll not be allowed back here until the start of the Third Task.”
Harry turned his glare back to the shrubs, taking careful note of their position and pattern as he slowly circled the perimeter of the maze. He could use his mind's library later to bring forth the images and transplant it to parchment for further study. Although, given the inherent magicality of the maze and the Tournament itself, he doubted the plants would be kind enough to remain in their original positions completely. He would not be able to rely fully on it, but it was better than nothing.
Harry was not concerned about the maze itself so much as what was to be placed inside it. He would need to practice his defensive and offensive magic extensively over the coming weeks. And perhaps see if he could find out any hint of the hazards to come.
“Are we allowed to bring anything into the maze with us?” Cedric asked, staring intently down at the flora that had overtaken his pitch.
Harry wanted to glower at the other boy as Bagman shook his head in the negative. “Wands only, I'm afraid.”
He would have rather the Hufflepuff not said anything, giving them all more room to prepare. Now Bagman had explicitly stated it as a rule and there would be no sneaking in anything. His Cloak would have been an invaluable asset, Harry was sure. Maybe Severus would be able to teach him the Disillusionment Charm he'd used to spy out the dragons, all those months ago.
“Alright, alright, Champions. That's enough looksies, I think. Back up to the castle with you!” Bagman began herding them away from the pitch, but Harry halted their progress once they'd cleared the entrance to the stands.
“May I have a word with you, Mr. Bagman?”
The man looked faintly startled at Harry's grave tone, but waved the other three along all the same.
“Now, Harry. I know you were a bit pressganged into this, but I'm afraid I can’t give you any additional information on the Task,” the man said earnestly, looking as if he might very well try and lay a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder.
“It not about that,” Harry hastily corrected, taking a half-step back from him.
“Oh?” Bagman lifted his brows. “Well, my apologies. What is it you need?”
“I would appreciate it, Mr. Bagman, if you would cease using my birth name. I am a Snape. I wish to be addressed as such.” Harry put effort into keeping his voice level and firm, meeting the man's eyes so that he would know just how absolute Harry was on this point.
“Oh, dear. Has that really been such a bother?” Bagman chuckled, as if Harry were joking. “It just sounds much more impressive, doesn't it: Harry Potter, Hogwarts Champion. Much more exciting than Harry Snape, wouldn't you say?”
“I would not,” Harry dissented sharply. “It is my name and I want you to start using it properly or I will refuse to do this idiotic maze and damn the consequences.”
“Now, now, don't be hasty, lad.” Bagman flapped his hands. “I'm sure we can-- sweet Merlin, Barty?!”
Harry whipped around to see what Bagman was gaping at over his shoulder. Jax made a displeased sound as he banged against Harry's boney hip with the motion. Staggering out of the edge of the forest was a very ragged looking man. His robes, once obviously well made and expensive, were now torn in places and covered with dirt, leaves, and other forest detritus. His hair was a tangled mess and he wasn't wearing any shoes, his bare feet smeared with mud and the unmistakable red of blood.
In spite of all that, it was indeed Mr. Crouch. The tall man had startled badly at the sound of Bagman's surprised shout, his eyes wild and bloodshot as he began a tilted stagger towards them.
“Barty? Galloping gargoyles, man. What's happened to you?” Bagman stepped past Harry and towards Crouch, who had stopped his forward momentum to have a conversation with a tree.
Harry reached for his wand; he didn’t like the erratic way Crouch was acting.
“--remember, Weatherby, I’ll need those forms by Thursday at the latest,” the man informed the tree, sounding for all the world as if he were in an office and not barefoot at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
“Barty, old boy, I say.” Bagman laid a hand on Crouch’s shoulder, making the man jump and flinch back before falling forward again to clutch desperately at Bagman’s cloak.
“Dumbledore! Must get Dumbledore!” Crouch rasped out, sounding as mad as he looked.
“Calm down, Barty. What’s happened?”
“Dumble..dore... must... tell...”
Bagman gave Crouch a bit of a shake, but the man just went glossy eyed again and started mumbling about permits and scheduling meetings.
“Should I get the Headmaster, then?” Harry asked slowly, not taking his eyes off the shifty Crouch.
“Yes, yes, do hurry. I’ll try and get him to start making sense.” Bagman tapped at Crouch's haggard face with the flat of his palm, “Barty, hey now, Barty.”
“Hogwarts! Must get to... need to tell... all my fault...”
“That’s right, Barty, you’re at Hogwarts. What’s your fault?”
Harry backed away a few paces before turning tail and making a break for the castle. Jax popped his head out of the satchel to hiss a complaint about the bumpy ride, but Harry didn’t slow. Something was off with Crouch. Something serious enough to warrant a half-mad hike through who knew how much highly dangerous forest. Not to mention whatever the man had come to warn them about. It had to be something to do with the Tournament.
Perhaps Crouch had found out who tampered with the Goblet, or what their goals actually were in doing so.
Or maybe even something far more sinister had happened. The man had looked underfed and not a little run down, which was not a state a person got into overnight. Harry should know. This was a protracted issue of ill treatment.
So Harry was not about to slow his pace.
The first teacher he ran into was Professor Moody, clunking down the entryway towards the Great Hall. Harry skidded to a halt in front of him, panting slightly.
“Merciful Merlin, boy, what’s put a bee up your robes?”
“Out on the grounds,” Harry gasped, trying to catch his breath, “it’s Mr. Crouch. He’s all banged up and acting mad. Down by the pitch, Mr. Bagman is with him. I need to get the Headmaster.”
Moody’s normal eye went wide, his electric blue one whizzing into overdrive as he thumped the flagstones with his staff.
“Crouch, you say? I’d best go see what’s happened. You go on and find the Headmaster.”
“Yes, sir.” Harry turned towards the stairs as Moody swept out into the rapidly approaching evening.
As much as Harry did not wish to ever speak to Dumbledore when he did not have to, this seemed to be one of the times he would just have to deal with it. Crouch had been very specific in his desire to see the Headmaster, and Harry wanted to know exactly what the man had come to say. It seemed the easiest route to that would be to do as Crouch asked and bring him Dumbledore.
Thankfully, the next teacher he ran into was his father, conveniently outside of the Headmaster’s office.
“Dad!” Harry cried, running up the Potions Master, “Out on the grounds, it’s Crouch. He’s gone all funny and it looks like he escaped something awful. He says he needs to warn Dumbledore about something.”
“Crouch?” Severus steadied Harry with a firm hand on his shoulder. “What were you doing outside this late? It’s not safe.”
“I was with Bagman, he was showing us the maze for the Third Task. Crouch came stumbling out of the forest as we were walking back,” Harry said, swiftly explaining what had happened.
“Very well,” Severus nodded sharply, “stay here, I will inform the Headmaster. You are not to leave this castle, am I understood?”
“But--”
“No. It is too dangerous, you will stay here.”
“Dad.”
“Harry,” Severus leveled a stern glare down at him, tilting Harry’s chin up with a gentle but firm hand, “stay here. I will not have you putting yourself at risk. If you wait for me in my quarters, I will inform you of anything pertinent after the situation is dealt with. But I will not have you putting yourself needlessly in harm's way, son. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Harry mumbled.
“Good.” Severus ran a soothing hand over Harry’s head before releasing him completely. “Now, must speak with the Headmaster. Go down to the dungeons and await me there, I will be along as swiftly as I may.”
Harry gave a reluctant nod and turned for the stairs before saying over his shoulder, “Be careful, I don’t want you getting hurt either.”
His father nodded sharply, but there was a softness to his gaze and Harry was able to retreat without too much further trouble.
He bypassed the Great Hall entirely, taking a shortcut near the library to avoid the temptation of sneaking out onto the grounds. Once in his father’s quarters, Harry paced the length of the sitting room while Jax hissed calming words at him from the back of one of the chairs. They didn’t really help, but Harry appreciated the effort all the same.
It seemed a small eternity before his father’s footsteps sounded in the little hall leading to the corridor. Harry stopped his pacing and took in the man’s pinched expression; something bad had happened, then. Or the news Crouch had brought was exceedingly terrible.
“What did he say?” Harry asked tentatively.
“I’ve no idea,” Severus replied darkly, taking a seat in his favored chair and glowering into the empty hearth. Harry hadn’t even thought to start a fire going. “By the time the Headmaster and I arrived, Crouch had evidently jumped Bagman and taken off again into the forest.”
“What?” Harry gasped.
“Moody found Bagman unconscious by the pitch, with a trail leading back into the trees.”
“He can’t have gone far,” Harry protested, “he wasn’t even wearing shoes.”
“We searched as well as we could, but there was no trace past that initial trail. If he really was acting as erratic as you say, and I am inclined to believe you, it does not surprise me. Crouch is a sharp man; even half-mad, he would know how to disappear if he felt the need.”
“But he was so insistent on seeing Dumbledore, why would he just leave?”
“Of that, I have little clue. Perhaps he felt threatened, or was compelled in some manner. Whatever the reason, he was not there to be questioned.”
“Maybe Bagman will know something, did you ask him?”
“Indeed. And he knows precisely nothing past what it feels like to hit one’s head after being knocked out.”
“Crouch must have said something to him.” Harry took a seat himself, feeling frustrated.
“He did at that,” Severus scowled dryly, “informing Ludo Bagman at great length about the number of international and domestic permits one needed in order to procure three nesting mother dragons. And precisely what he wished for lunch that afternoon, a watercress sandwich and a strong cup of tea, incidentally.”
Harry let out a puff of air and leaned back heavily in his chair.
“What do you think happened?”
“I do not know,” his father murmured, rubbing a finger over his lip in thought. “I would postulate nothing good, however.”
On that, Harry could more than agree.
They did not stay long in Severus’s quarters, as it was nearing dinnertime and he would not see Harry missing any meals, madmen falling out of the woods or no. Harry did not eat much, however, the evening's events robbing him of his appetite quite handily. Blaise sent him concerned looks across the table and Millicent attempted to nudge more food onto his plate, as if the mere presence of it there would make Harry stop pushing it around and actually eat it.
It looked as if his premonition of things getting worse the closer to the Third Task they got was coming far more true than he would wish.
~~~~~~~>
No news of Mr. Crouch spread through the school in the following days, which was unsurprising, as Harry had been the only witness aside from Bagman, who was not about to talk about how a half-mad wizard had got the jump on him. Harry had told his closest friends about what he’d seen, what it implied. But they hadn’t been able to come up with any reasonings either, and when Crouch did not turn up again, Harry was forced to push the matter to the back of his mind so that he could concentrate on the upcoming Task.
He had made up maps to study, which he did at all times of the day, pulling out the well creased parchment whenever he had a spare moment. Which was more and more frequently, as everybody else geared up to take end of year tests, leaving Harry somewhat adrift. He did the classwork and the homework, but did not feel the pressures of the upcoming exams, as he was exempt.
Although he might just request to take the Potions one, just because. Exam brews were always interesting and challenging.
What time he wasn’t spending studying his maps, Harry spent pouring over defense books and reading up on labyrinths in the library. They tended to be filled with all manner of nasty stuff; monsters and traps and false turns, trick openings that led you around in circles for hours or days, until you either managed to free yourself or starved.
Harry would hope there were no minotaurs on their way to Hogwarts, but he was not about to start believing in the good sense of the Judges now of all times. Especially given the state of the last one he encountered.
No, Harry would just have to practice, and prepare, and expect the worst. At least that way if things did go smoothly, he would be pleasantly surprised, which was far better than the alternative.
As for practicing the spells, Harry took to frequenting the Chamber of Secrets. It was a large empty space with plenty of room to maneuver and work on the different techniques. Often his father would join him, providing advice and instruction in precise tones with a clear depth of knowledge about what he spoke. It rankled at Harry a bit that Dumbledore still refused to appoint Severus the Defense position, when it was so obvious that Harry's father was more than suited to taking it.
When Severus was not with him, and even when he was, Blaise, Millicent, Draco, and Neville were often on hand too. There was even the occasional addition of Justin and Ron, the latter of which had balked at the idea of going into a girl's toilet, but was then subsequently impressed at the way the sinks lowered at a word from Harry.
“And there's no monster down there anymore, right mate?” Ron asked, peering down into the darkness.
“No, Ximen is in Spain,” Harry assured him. “He seemed pretty happy about starting a family.”
“Er, right.”
At the moment, Harry was working on his Shield Charms as Draco and Blaise shot various spells at him from different directions. He was surprised to find that he wasn't actually all that bad at it, either. He just needed to keep moving and stay focused and the magic seemed to just flow out of him. He wished more things in his life were that easy.
Justin went gliding by on Millicent's hoverboard, a giant grin on his face as he sped over the dark tiles fast enough for the wind to ruffle his hair. He didn’t even lose a fraction of the smile when the hovering charm seemed to abruptly vanish and he went tumbling into the water with a shout that sounded suspiciously like a laugh more than anything.
Apparently, Millicent had not quite worked out all the kinks yet.
A flash of yellow zipped by Harry's head and he ducked off to the side, berating himself for getting distracted.
Jax hissed out a snakey snicker as Harry's retaliatory Knockback Jinx sent Draco over into the water as well. Something the blond did not appreciate in the least, judging by his resemblance to a very irate, bedraggled cat when he regained his feet.
“You're supposed to be working on shields, not offensive magic.”
“You should always expect the unexpected, darling Draco,” Blaise drawled, leaning back against the giant statue of Salazar Slytherin, clearly amused.
Draco huffed, applying drying charms to his sodden robes and muttering darkly. But the next time Harry sent a spell his way, Draco was indeed ready for it and managed a decent shield of his own.
Sirius had also been writing with increasing frequency, sending advice and encouragement amidst long rambling letters that did help to calm Harry, if more for their mere existence than the contents. It was tangible proof of his godfather’s concern, and something Harry clung to with embarrassing fervency.
The more Harry tried to prepare himself for the Third Task, the more it seemed he discovered just how little he knew. How unprepared he was to face whatever torments lay in wait inside the steadily growing labyrinth out on the Quidditch pitch. The other Champions were sure to already know all the spells that he was just now learning, were probably more powerful and skilled in their implementation of them as well. They had to be, given that they were legitimately chosen for the Tournament.
Harry was just... Harry.
No matter how hard he tried, or how long he lingered down in the Chamber of Secrets practicing, he feared he would never be ready.
Which, of course, meant that the days and weeks seemed to simply fly by without so much as a by your leave. The Third Task was a month away, two weeks, two days.
Harry, on the eve of the final Task, took a dose of Dreamless Sleep. It was something he had not had to resort to in a very long time, but he felt he would get no rest otherwise, Mind Magic or not. A part of him wanted to forgo sleep altogether, if only to extend the amount of time between then and the start of the Task. He knew it was a stupid impulse, but tempting nonetheless.
So he swallowed his spoonful of potion and tried not to think about how atrocious the next day was going to be. |
The previous evening was pleasant. Since moving to the dorms, they haven’t had a chance to sit down as a class and have a proper meal together like that. It was nice. Izuku had certainly enjoyed it, despite participating as little more than an especially voyeuristic witness.
With good company and even better food—as Izuku thought, Kacchan’s cooking was to die for—he could confidently label the previous night a success. Though Kacchan spent the meal preoccupied with eating, he actually spoke to others last night, and Izuku can’t help but feel proud of the boy. The ice had finally been broken between Kacchan and their classmates, and Izuku is hopeful that everything will only continue to improve.
The following morning, when Kacchan skulks downstairs, their sleep-rumpled classmates don’t hesitate to wish him good morning. To Izuku’s delight, Kacchan responds with a nod and a, “Good morning. From me and the nerd.”
The morning is peaceful, quiet murmurs of conversation filling the common area as everyone prepares for a hard day of training. The license exam is next week, and they’re running out of time; what else is there to do but push themselves as hard as possible?
Unfortunately for everyone, the new level of comfort in the class brings unforeseen consequences.
“Hey, uh, Bakugou,” Mineta says, standing from his place on the couch beside Kaminari. Mineta’s voice rings loud and clear, garnering the attention of the flock of tired students.
Something in the short boy’s voice doesn’t sit right in Izuku.
Kaminari looks at his friend quizzically, making silent motions to prompt the boy to sit down again. Mineta ignores him.
“What?” Kacchan barks at the shorter boy.
Dark feelings swirl about, and with a small burst of fear, Izuku realises just how poorly Kacchan thinks of Mineta.
“If Midoriya actually-” Mineta swallows, unsteady on his feet, “If he really is dead... just tell us!”
Utter silence.
Shaking hands, bloodied limbs, clinging, screaming. A puppet with its strings cut, a body with life drained and eyes shut.
The whole class is staring between Kacchan and Mineta, now.
Izuku feels as if the gravity acting on Kacchan’s body just increased tenfold. It is crushing, and suddenly, like the crack of flint on steel, it is hot. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Kacchan says lowly. Each word careful, as if in disbelief. “I- You really fucking think I’d lie about that? You think Deku’s fucking dead?”
Mineta shakes. “Well- well- it’s just-”
No pulse.
“No. Shut up,” Kacchan cuts him off. He looks around the room at his classmates. He’ tense, arms stuttering as his hands begin shaking. No one has moved an inch, all eyes now focused on the blond. All is silent, except for little, threatening bursts of Kacchan’s quirk in his hands. “Do all of you not believe me?”
“Of course we do, Bakugou!” Kirishima says, practically running across the room to reach Kacchan and Mineta. Izuku can hear the high pitched tone of fear in his voice, poorly concealed by the wobbly, reassuring smile Kirishima wears. “You’d never lie about this, and you’re our classmate. How could we doubt you about something like this? I’m sure Mineta is just- um, just scared, y’know?”
Kacchan glares past Kirishima at Mineta and takes a heavy step forward. “I don’t give a fuck if he’s scared,” Kacchan says, hands quaking and clenching. His quirk bursts like thunder through the air.
“Bakugou-” Uraraka approaches, arms folded but concern clear and bright in her eyes.
“I mean..” Kaminari interrupts, standing along with Mineta and moving in front of the boy. He waves his hands about, half placation and half surrender. “We’re all scared Bakugou, and it doesn’t— I mean, Mineta is just voicing his fears! It’s not that strange to have doubts—this situation is just so unusual, Mineta isn’t wrong to-”
Kacchan’s mind is a blur of anger and hurt and stillness, and Izuku hears him finish Kaminari’s sentence for him.
Kacchan, don’t!
“Fuck you!” Kacchan screams, and lunges. He fires off an explosion as Kirishima throws his hardened body into him, restraining the advance. A second blast comes in quick succession; the concussive force vibrates the room and shocks everything into nothing.
The smoke clears slowly, Kacchan writhing violently in Kirishima’s grip, and a singed and soot-stained couch is revealed, along with the two wide-eyed boys either side of it.
Shouts of concern and scolding pour in to fill the explosion’s wake. The remainder of the class clamours over, invading the space irrespective of Kacchan’s wildly beating heart.
The stairwell door slams open. Aizawa enters the room, and everything goes quiet.
Kirishima lets go of Kacchan, but remains by his side.
“Everyone stop this nonsense and sit down,” Aizawa raises his voice, warning and anger mixing into a dense, threatening tone.
Everyone looks away from their teacher and obeys—even Kirishima, after moments of hesitation. The teacher looks around with a glare, eyes eventually coming to a stop on the only person still standing.
“Bakugou. Perhaps you can take a seat and we can resolve whatever this is peacefully.”
Kacchan’s hands continue to shake violently.
No pulse, Kacchan knows and Izuku feels. Under his skin, under his finger tips.
Searching digits, finding coldness and still.
Kacchan swallows hard and his face aches with the effort it takes to appear neutral. “May I be excused, Sensei? I’m feeling pretty sick right now.”
Aizawa takes another moment to look around the room; the few students who dare to meet his eye wither under his gaze, pale with shock and guilt. He looks back to Kacchan, something new hardened in his eyes. “Very well, Bakugou. You’re excused.”
Kacchan bows his head in thanks, somehow not snapping the tense muscle and sinew of his neck, and leaves for his room.
‘Fuck,’ is all Izuku can manage to think.
It takes Katsuki approximately twenty seconds after slamming his bedroom door to realise he’s trapped himself. Short of blasting off on the balcony and making a spectacle of himself, he has no way to leave the dorms without seeing his classmates.
He spends minutes pacing up and down by his bed, waiting for his hands to stop shaking and his breathing to slow.
Waiting fails. Slowing his breathing feels like choking, and choking fucks up his breathing further.
He sits on his bed and holds his face in his hands. They’re clammy and warm and they could be warmer, could burn if he just-
His fists clench against the thought, unthinking.
Katsuki takes a little, slow, shallow breath.
There’s a gentle brush on his mind. Are you okay?
Again with the concern. Potent and cloying, meaningful and constant. Far too genuine for Katsuki’s taste.
I’m- fine.
I… don’t think you are, Kacchan. The brush becomes a caress. Inexplicably, unknowably comforting as the not-quite-contact begins to soothe Katsuki.
And that’s alright. I’m not okay, I don’t think anyone is right now—and it doesn’t make you weak. It makes you normal.
Deku’s words are nothing short of logical, delivered firmly. It’s the kind of firmness Katsuki has come to associate with a round, set jaw and glaring emerald eyes.
Fine. Whatever. But if everyone’s messed up, you don’t have to spend so much time worrying about me.
Just breathe, Kacchan. Right now, you can just breathe.
Katsuki’s chest expands, lungs filling with a little more air than before.
Out, then in, then out again. Katsuki, for once in his fucking life, listens to Deku. He breathes.
And it helps.
Katsuki flops down to lay on top of his bed. Still breathing, but heavy-eye tired. He glares up at the ceiling.
‘Fuck. What now? Does everyone really think I’m lying? Is Aizawa gonna give me hell for losing it back there? What’s he gonna..’
Katsuki huffs. Oi.
H-huh?
You reckon I’m going to get in trouble for what happened down there?
I mean, you didn’t hurt anyone, and you stopped after a warning shot. And considering what was said… Sensei won’t be happy, but I don’t think you’ll actually be punished.
A ‘no’ would’ve worked too, nerd.
You’re the one who asked!
Katsuki rolls his eyes, glare lessening. Yeah, yeah.
Well. Katsuki can’t spend the whole wait for freedom just talking to Deku. That’d be awkward. As he thinks this, Katsuki is blessed with a distraction; someone knocks on the door.
“Bakugou,” comes the tired voice of their teacher.
Katsuki sits up, recalling the last time Aizawa was at his door. He hopes the man isn’t going to make a habit of coming up here.
As Katsuki crosses the room and opens the door, he idly considers challenging Deku about the prediction he made earlier. He could rub it in his face if he was wrong.
Aizawa seems remarkably calm for a teacher who, only minutes ago, walked in on a true clusterfuck of a mess created by his students. He isn’t even glaring at Katsuki—just staring intensely.
“Sensei.”
Aizawa sighs, posture sagging, and breaks eye contact. “Glad to see I won’t have to use my quirk on you, at least.”
Katsuki squints at his teacher. Not a glare, but close to it. “Obviously,” he says, walking back into his room and sitting on his bed.
Aizawa raises an eyebrow, and Katsuki looks expectantly at him in response. Somehow, Aizawa manages to sag further before he follows Katsuki into the room. He whispers something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, “Two problem children for the price of one,” as he sits. The man relaxes on Katsuki’s desk chair, swivelling slightly before stilling. “Your classmates told me about what happened,” Aizawa starts.
“Yeah, well I-”
Aizawa’s raised palm tells Katsuki to stop. “There’s no need to be defensive. I heard their side, now I want yours.”
Katsuki explains as shortly as he can; about how there was no issue, and then Mineta asked about Deku. He explains his rage, the lack of support from the majority of the class and Kaminari’s botched attempt at de-escalation. Explains firing off a warning; because it was a warning, he wasn’t trying to cause damage with that blast.
Aizawa nods along and listens attentively. Only when Katsuki is done does he speak. “Thanks for explaining that coherently. Your classmates wouldn’t stop speaking over each other until I threatened them with detention.”
Katsuki rolls his eyes. Typical.
“I’m sure your classmate’s insensitivity must have been very upsetting, and I can’t say I don’t understand why you reacted the way you did,” Aizawa continues. “I had words with them, but if anything happens in the future, talk to me about it.” His tone becomes more severe, a sharpened knife as he says, “That said, incompetence from your classmates does not justify use of your quirk, even if you didn’t hurt anyone. Use your quirk to intimidate or threaten your classmates again, and you will be punished. Severely. Got it?”
“Yes, Sensei.”
Aizawa nods. “Good.” He stands up, evidently finished with what he came to Katsuki’s room to do. “I suggest you bring up what happened with your therapist tomorrow.”
Right. First appointment is tomorrow..
“Got it.”
“And-” Katsuki blurts, making Aizawa pause as he opens the door. Katsuki looks stubbornly away, prickles of heat on his cheekbones as he says, “Thanks.”
A pause. “Just doing my job, problem child.”
The door clicks shut behind Aizawa, leaving Katsuki and Deku alone again.
“Huh,” Katsuki murmurs. “You were right.”
...I guess I was.
When Kacchan’s restless energy finally becomes too much, he changes into appropriate workout clothes and makes for the running tracks. With the ease earnt from a lifetime of practice, Kacchan runs lap after lap on the track, easily putting Izuku’s previous stamina to shame.
With each measured breath and step taken, a sense of comfort and peace blooms to soothe Kacchan. Curiously, the effect extends to Izuku, too, and as Kacchan warms down and stretches out his aching muscles, it leaves him wondering again about the details of their situation.
Does the cause of a mood shift affect the way Izuku and Kacchan experience it? If so, what’s the difference between an exercise-induced mood lift, and once caused by environmental factors? Is Izuku directly affected by Kacchan’s hormones, or indirectly affected through active changes in Kacchan’s experienced emotions?
Nerd.
Izuku has felt many of Kacchan’s emotions second-hand, but only rarely have they had a direct impact on his own emotions. How does that work, anyway? If Izuku doesn’t have his own brain—and wow, that’s incredibly depressing—and his own hormones to go with it, how is he experiencing emotions separate from Kacchan’s? Does that imply a more metaphysical aspect of their situation and the quirk that was used on them? If not, is Izuku even his own own person anymore?
Deku!
Izuku’s spiralling, buzzing mind grinds to a halt.
Ah.
Ah, sorry, Kacchan!
Kacchan groans internally, the sound reverberating inside his skull. Again, stop it with the apologies all the time. It’s annoying, you’re just wasting everyone’s time.
R-right...
I only wanted your attention to ask you about your quirk.
Oh, is that all? What did you want to know?
Kacchan puts his feet together and bends over to wrap his hands around his shoes. The stretch burns pleasantly.
Tell me about how you used it, the instructions you got, all that.
Izuku does his best to explain the theory of using One For All. He’s figured out more over time, but so much of it was learnt through his own experiences while using it, and he struggles to put much of it to words that are actually coherent.
After giving it to me, All Might told me to, “clench my buttcheeks” and yell, ‘Smash!’ in my heart.
Kacchan stumbles out his quad stretch. You’re shitting me.
I kind of wish I was.
No wonder you broke so many bones.
...In All Might’s defence, he tried his best.
Sure he did. But how could I forget: you’re the one who had to totally destroy his arms before remembering he had legs.
Ouch. Izuku winces back a bit. You’re not exactly wrong, but that’s so mean, Kacchan.
Kacchan huffs out something that might have been a laugh.
After showering—a routinely uncomfortable, rushed activity—and stealthily returning to his room, it’s not long before Katsuki is disturbed again. This time, by less than welcome company.
“Bakugou, can we talk?” Kaminari calls out, rattling the door as he knocks.
Anger settles over Katsuki once more, as he recalls why the other must be here. “Fuck off!” he yells at the door.
“Bakugou!” comes another voice. Kirishima’s voice.
Because of course Kirishima would stick his nose in again.
“Please, Bakugou,” Kaminari says, “let me apologise! After that, you don’t have to deal with me for a second longer, promise.”
Katsuki abandons the work he’d been doing at his desk and marches over to the door. “I don’t have to deal with you at all, actually.”
“Then I’ll shout through the door!”
Katsuki whips it open and glares at Kaminari. The blond grins nervously, and Kirishima pushes him inside before Katsuki can invite him in. Kaminari gives Kirishima a look of betrayal, which Kirishima matches Kaminari a thumbs up from the doorway before disappearing.
Katsuki needs new fucking friends.
Kaminari’s forehead pinches as he finally turns to Katsuki. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean to imply I didn’t believe you. I panicked, and messed up with how I said it—I had to say something to keep you from tearing Mineta apart, and—panicked, yeah.”
Katsuki folds his arms. Deku is watching intently.
“I’m really, really sorry for upsetting you,” Kaminari continues with a small bow. “I support you, dude, always! I don’t want you to think I haven’t got your back, you know?”
Katsuki stares at Kaminari, considering. Without a door between them, he can see the shiny-eyed sincerity in Kaminari’s every movement.
It was an awful experience, and made Katsuki feel so shitty… but the dumbass didn’t even mean to.
Ugh.
Eventually, he uncrosses his arms and speaks again. “You’re a fucking idiot.”
Kaminari’s face melts into an expression of self-pity, shoulders drooping. “I knooow,” he moans.
“Fine, I forgive you. But next time, think before you speak!”
“Awesome! Roger that,” Kaminari grins, suddenly ramrod straight and eager. “Oh, and Midoriya, too! I’m sorry if I upset you as well, man.”
Kaminari-kun! comes Deku’s emotional addition.
“Ugh,” Katsuki groans, “We get it, already, shut up.”
Will you tell him thank you, from me?
This messenger thing is getting old fast, but Katsuki listens anyways, delivering a dry, “Deku says thanks.”
“Hell yeah!” Kaminari says, swiftly wrapping Katsuki up in a hug.
Katsuki shoves him off, smothering an annoyed grin. “Just because I’m not beating you up doesn’t mean you can put your grubby paws all over me!”
“Aw, you’re so mean to me Blasty,” Kaminari laughs, invading his personal space again to elbow his side. “And don’t think that went over my head! Stop comparing me to Pokémon, I don’t have paws, damn it.”
“Whatever you say, Pikachu.”
As if the day hadn’t been exhausting enough, Katsuki now has his first therapy appointment. The mere thought of it is unpleasant in a whole host of ways Katsuki doesn’t want to unpack.
Despite his aversion to the idea, Katsuki is ready and waiting outside the school’s counselling room no less than ten minutes early. It allows him plenty of time to sulk and mull over the inevitability that he’s about to waste an hour he’d rather spend training.
Deku is quiet as they wait, keeping any thoughts or feelings he may be having tucked quietly away. A sheet-thin barrier lies between their minds, the faintest impressions coming through if Katsuki focuses enough.
The time finally comes and Katsuki knocks at the therapist’s door, opening before he gets a response.
The person in the room—their therapist, apparently—waves them in with a small smile.
At the sight of the therapist, the barrier tears apart. Katsuki steps into the room, and Deku’s staticky fear buzzes into his mind. Katsuki’s heart rate picks up, and he has to remind himself he isn’t the anxious one.
What’s with the anxiety?
It’s stupid. Don’t worry about it.
Are you kidding me?
It’s just some stupid fear, Kacchan, I’m sorry for bothering you. Just focus on the appointment, please?
“Hello, I’m Shika,” the therapist starts.
The static fades, a little. Katsuki forces his annoyance away. No time to have this argument. (At least, not right now.)
Fine.
The therapist gives a brief introduction, which Katsuki nods along to. He’s more focused on an initial assessment than he is on possibly empty words. No limbs crossed, open posture. Neat, professional clothes, and square glasses perched on their regal nose. Short hair combed back from face, styled handsomely. Steady gaze from grey, hooded eyes.
“It’s nice to meet you, Bakugou.”
‘Okay, Katsuki. Focus. Use your manners.’
“Likewise,” Katsuki says dully.
‘...Excellent,’ he thinks, only somewhat sarcastic.
...Kacchan, Deku sighs.
Katsuki shakes Deku off. He wasn’t actively rude, and he’s hardly a paragon of sociability and charm.
“Now,” the therapist’s hands fold in the lap of pristine black pants, “I’d like to start this session by getting to know each other. Opening up to new people can be difficult, especially in the context of therapy. I’ll start by introducing myself, and you can ask questions if you like. Is that alright?”
“Sure.”
Katsuki might hear ‘something-something quirk’ from Deku’s end, and has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. It’s too soon to risk pissing of his therapist.
..However, he’ll certainly keep that idea in mind if he ever decides that therapy just isn’t for him.
“Great. As I said, my name is Shika. I am twenty-nine years old. I’ve worked as a therapist for seven years. I am nonbinary, and use gender neutral pronouns ‘they/them’. I also have a service dog called Keroberosu who I love dearly. I do not need him during sessions, and won’t bring him in without your permission. Any questions?”
Katsuki takes some time to process the information. He has several questions, in that moment, of varying degrees of appropriate. “What’s your quirk?” Katsuki decides is a good start. “Is it why you became a therapist?”
Shika doesn’t even blink. “I don’t have one. So no, that’s not why I became a therapist.”
Katsuki’s consciousness jolts in surprise.
“..Oh. Right.” An awkward apology almost slips off his tongue, but he clams up at the last second. “Cool.”
Despite the awkward start, Shika answers each question Katsuki asks, easy and open. They have no preference in honorifics, and would like Katsuki to simply call them Shika. They will accept Shika-san if Katsuki ‘really must’. Keroberosu is an eight year old Labrador. They inherited their two-of-a-kind eye condition from their mother. They have worked with clients with past trauma for years, and helping others is their passion and goal in life.
Katsuki introduces himself and Deku in turn, answering the few questions Shika asks. They’re the same age. Deku and Kacchan are childhood nicknames. Yes, they grew up together. Katsuki aims to be the top hero. Deku does, too. Katsuki’s favourite colour is orange, and he likes spicy food. Deku’s is red, and he loves katsudon.
As their conversation goes on, Katsuki finds himself strangely relaxed talking to Shika. Not relaxed enough to tear open his chest cavity and bear all to them, but at least enough that he sits still and speaks with little hesitation.
Deku, too seems to calm down with time, for Katsuki’s heart rate slows and he stops sweating excessively.
Before getting into the most unpleasant part (talking about emotions), Shika asks a question that takes Katsuki by surprise. “Before getting deeper into our session, is there any additional information you want to share about yourself and Midoriya? Perhaps how you both prefer to be spoken to? Or methods of communication you may use?”
That would have been a great thing to think about days ago.
“I’m in control of my body full-time. Deku is—he has made my body move in the past, but not on purpose. When we talk to people, I just sort of relay what he wants me to.”
Shika nods. Katsuki turns his eyes to his lap, squinting down in thought. The therapist waits patiently as the seconds draw out longer and longer.
Maybe...
Pick a hand.
What?
Just do it.
Um, okay, right?
“When it’s Deku I’m speaking for, I’ll raise my right hand.” Katsuki glances briefly at Shika, and their unmoving eyes, “When it’s just me, I’ll raise my left.”
Brilliant! Great idea, Kacchan!
You’re so embarrassing. (Katsuki is flattered anyway, if only because of the sheer sincerity carried in Deku’s praise.)
Shika nods, “That will work.”
The next part of the session is unpleasant, but passes quickly as Katsuki and Deku find themselves occupied with the tricky business of discussing feelings. For this first session, they only need to share the basics, but even that basics are exhausting.
Some of the questions—questions Shika is obligated to ask—are far, far more uncomfortable than expected. Namely, when Shika asks if either of them have self harmed. Next, they ask the inevitable progression: have either of them thought about, planned, or attempted suicide?
Deku starts to respond.
Katsuki’s vision goes unfocused.
No.
“Pray you get a quirk in the next life-”
“...Young Bakugou, I thought you hated Midoriya Izuku? With all you've done to him over the years-”
Kacchan-!
“-telling him to take… a 'swan dive off the roof'?”
No pulse.
What if he’d jumped- Does Deku think he hates him- Does Deku hate Katsuki?
I’ve- he’s-
Kacchan, stop! Calm down.
Katsuki blinks, and finds his hands clammy and shaking. His heart races in his hollowed chest, his mind swims through a prickly haze of fog.
Katsuki presses his hands to his eyes and hunches over, resting his elbows in his lap.
Breathe, please.
A sudden inhalation tears through Katsuki, air bursting into his lungs. Deku holds fast and close as Katsuki continues to breathe, breathe, breathe.
Someone else is speaking, but Katsuki can only focus inward, or else he might fade away. He focuses on himself, on his breathing, on the other—Deku—who is right there as he seemingly has always been, as Deku soothes him and helps him breathe.
Slowly, slowly, Katsuki returns from deep in his mind, and his hearing functions again and he can breathe.
“Bakugou?” Shika asks, gentle. “Can you hear me now? Please respond however you can.”
Katsuki nods.
“Good. That’s good. I-”
Katsuki cuts them off and raises both hands. “We haven’t.”
Shika stops in their tracks and blinks. Blinks. Blinks. They accept the response.
After that bump in the road, the rest of the session goes more or less smoothly. With only a few instances of foul language, which Shika says is always okay in their sessions, Katsuki makes it to the end of the hour.
“I have some papers here explaining some grounding techniques that you may find effective. Read them. I can go through the techniques with you during our next session.”
Katsuki grabs the offered sheet with his right hand, only barely remembering to raise his left. “Alright.”
“If you’re fine with it, I believe weekly sessions will do for now,” Shika finishes. “Do you have any preferences?”
I don’t mind, Deku offers.
“We don’t mind. Weekly is good.”
“Good to hear. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
And just like that, the appointment is over.
The day is over, and Izuku finally has time for himself. Time to think, to feel, with nothing to distract him.
Izuku feels small.
He and Kacchan finally have a more functional way of communicating, they’ve begun seeing professionals, they’re really starting to work together. Kacchan, who has always been a bright, burning beacon in his life, is finally by his side. Things should be looking up.
And yet, Izuku feels small.
Small, as his friends are together right in front of him, and they are happy, and he can’t say a word.
Small, as everyone hones their quirks and trains and works hard, increasing their lead on Izuku without second thought.
Small, as he shrinks and shrivels on himself anxiously, simply for entering a room with a stranger.
Small, staring at the backs of Kacchan’s eyelids, Kacchan falling asleep and leaving him alone in the night until he forgets he exists and then they wake once more.
Therapy can’t help something like this. Quirk specialists can’t help with this. Aizawa can’t, All Might can’t. Even Kacchan can’t.
Izuku is small; plainly, irrevocably, undeniably.
He can’t stop himself from thinking of all these things as he stares and stares at Kacchan’s eyelids in the darkness and wills the wall between them to remain thick so that he can afford Kacchan the peace of sleep Izuku can’t yet reach.
The day could certainly have been worse, he supposes. Mineta was surely punished for how he spoke, implying that Izuku isn’t actually…
And Kacchan is speaking to his friends more and more. Considering their previous long days of self-imposed isolation, it’s nothing less than a leap in the right direction.
Therapy… happened. Despite his pathetic initial response, Shika seems like a good fit for someone like Kacchan, and Izuku can only hope they’ll be able to help his friend. He has to admit, though, he’s very curious to see if Shika has any grounding techniques for those who can’t consciously breathe or initiate first-hand tactile sensation.
Deku. Chill out and sleep.
Izuku startles. Mentally nudges at the wall, checking if anything specific might have crept through. He thinks it’s fine; this time, at least.
Right, my bad. Goodnight, Kacchan.
With that, Izuku goes quiet. He doesn’t expect any conversation, or even a ‘goodnight’ in return.
You good?
Several things run through his mind. ‘The wall must not have been as effective as I thought. Kacchan truly is a good person.’ And, ‘Kacchan might just care about me as more than a ‘pebble’ of a classmate.’
I’m- yeah, I’m good. Just thinking about stuff, the usual. I hope I’m not keeping you from sleeping.
It’s fine.
Izuku feels second-hand anxiety, bitten lips, heart pounding.
Wanna explain what the hell happened earlier?
Fuck, of course Kacchan hasn’t forgotten.
It was just some stupid anxiety. I’m sorry I-
I’m not asking for an apology, I just wanna know-
There’s a hint of heat in Kacchan’s tone, and Izuku panics slightly. It’s late (at least it is for Kacchan’s unique sleep cycle), it’s been a long day, and he certainly doesn’t want to fight. But that’s not to say he wants to talk about it.
Right, you’re right, Izuku accidentally interrupts. S- got it. I guess it was just because I’ve never been to therapy before.
You were uncomfortable in the quirk appointment, too.
Well that was—red eyes, shining with cruelty—because they were so strange. Both of them just gave me a bad feeling, for some reason.
...I get what you mean about that, at least. Weird fucks.
Kacchan, so rude!
Despite Izuku’s chiding tone, amusement bubbles in him at the comment. They really were ‘weird fucks,’ weren’t they?
I only call it like I see it, Kacchan’s response is lined with cocksure mirth.
The bright, fluttery amusement in Izuku calms to warm, gooey affection, sweet in his heart.
Anyway… Kacchan’s confidence leaves him. It’s late. So. Goodnight.
Izuku lets his light happiness shine through to Kacchan. Goodnight.
Izuku is left to his thoughts once more, the warmth and light fading, but a trace remains. His mind won’t quiet for some time, but until then, he can focus on less grim things.
Katsuki groans and rolls over onto his stomach. Ugh. It’s too fucking early to be awake. It’s still dark out, soft blue-black hues dyeing his curtains and dampening the room.
Katsuki jams a hand under his pillow and buries his face in it, intent on going back to sleep until the sun rises.
What time is it?
Not important, Katsuki grouses without moving from his position squished into his pillow. He raises a hand to scratch at his messy hair and lets it go lax to flop onto his pillow.
His hand flings out. It grabs his phone, opening the lock screen.
Katsuki turns his head to look quizzically at his phone. 2:48 AM.
Wait, he…
Kacchan!
Deku!
Katsuki’s heart races. He’s absolutely alert now.
I made you move again!
You fucking did! Holy shit. Do it again!
|
"Jaemin," Renjun whispers hurriedly, gripping Jaemin's forearm and stopping him from going any further in the compound.
"What?" Jaemin replies, barely stopping himself from snapping. They're so close — they're so close now, and it's been too long already, and the longer they take the higher the chance that things will go wrong. The higher the certainty that things will continue to go wrong.
"I can sense someone down there," Renjun explains, eyes drifting away from Jaemin, seeing beyond the walls they're currently following. He's looking down, the direction that they're all heading in, as it's the last place they've yet to search. They’ve worked their way down the buidling, all the enemies rushing up to meet them, and now there’s only the last floor to search. "But I... I can't tell who it is."
The admission comes with a wince, and a sharp look from Jeno and Chenle. Jaemin's heart sinks with the words, but he refuses to let it diminish his hope. Because this is the closest they’ve come, and this has to be it.
Donghyuck has to be here.
He has to be, because it’s almost been a week since he’s gone missing. And if they’re wrong about this, if they take even longer to find Donghyuck, then—
Jaemin won’t let himself think about it. Not right now, not even though Renjun’s just admitted he can’t tell who it is below them. That it might not be Donghyuck, after everything they’ve done here, because Renjun has always been able to sense all of them in the Dream mission unit.
Renjun has always been able to sense the six of them, their mental walls open and welcoming to his abilities for years now. They have nothing to hide between each other, and even if they do, Renjun doesn’t pry for it. Renjun has always been able to relay their positions on missions together, has always been able to find them when they're in range of his abilities.
Jaemin refuses to think any further about what it means if Renjun can’t sense Donghyuck in this building. Because this is their best lead, secured and basically guaranteed by Taeyong himself, and if it turns out to be a dead-end, if Donghyuck really isn’t here, then—
“We’re going down,” Jaemin says, barely getting the words out past the way his jaw is clenched.
Renjun isn’t surprised — he rarely ever is, considering he can sense Jaemin’s emotions. No one else is surprised or argues with Jaemin’s words. The admission isn’t enough for any of them to stop searching anyway — it’s just a warning. A possibility. That this person might not be who they're all desperately looking for.
And Jaemin can see the way Chenle’s lips are pressed together, the way Jisung’s hands anxiously wring around each other, the way that Jeno takes one deep shuddering breath in, the way Mark closes his eyes for a brief moment.
They’re readying themselves. They’re preparing for the worst — they’re prepared to go below and find someone that isn’t Donghyuck.
“Let’s keep moving,” Mark breaks the tense atmosphere, striding to the front of the group so he can lead them down. His shoulders are squared back, head high, clearly doing his best to keep it together for the rest of them.
Jaemin knows his shoulders are heavy with responsibility on the best of days, but now there’s an even heavier weight pressing down on Mark. Guilt — because he’d been there with Jeno and Donghyuck on that day, all three of them on the same mission — when Donghyuck had been taken.
No amount of reassurances, or even warnings that Donghyuck would hit him for bearing the burden of responsibility, has eased either Mark or Jeno. There’s dark shadows under their eyes, under all of their eyes, refusing to stop or even slow down until they managed to find Donghyuck.
“It’s my fault,” Jaemin remembers Mark tiredly saying, the admittance something he’d kept close to his chest for the first couple of days. “We had a fight, and Donghyuck walked off, and... and Jeno stayed with me, because I was frustrated. And Donghyuck was alone.”
And Mark or Jeno won’t listen to reason, so Jaemin figures he’ll team up with Donghyuck to knock sense into both of them. Once they find him. Once they get him back, and all of this can be cleared up and Mark and Jeno’s shoulders lifted forcefully, and Donghyuck will be okay.
Renjun keeps hold of Jaemin's arm as they walk down the stairs, an eerie silence enclosing around them in the stairwell. They had shut down all escapes and exits upon their breach, meaning the elevator is out of commission, and this is the only way they can head further into the building.
There’s no one to stop them from furthing exploring the compound — not anymore. Not after they all cleared out the building with efficiency that would’ve impressed Jaemin — probably even Taeyong — on any other day. But now it still doesn’t feel fast enough, that they haven't done enough, even though they possibly couldn’t have been any faster.
And still, despite their best efforts, it might not be enough. They might not find Donghyuck. Or maybe they will, but maybe he’ll be-
Jaemin firmly cuts off that thought before it can finish, shaking his head to get rid of the thoughts as he descends the stairs.
“Here,” Renjun says, the first word since any of them entered the stairwell. Mark doesn’t hesitate as he pushes open the exit door, opening it to a darkened hall.
The power is shut off on this level too. There is only the glow of the emergency lights left, green exit signs and little red lights just above the many doorways stretched out before them. The only movement and sound comes from themselves, and Jaemin feels so incredibly on edge, almost holding his breath in their tense silence.
Mark turns his head before they start walking again, illuminated by the glow of the green sign above them, looking behind him for something or someone. Jaemin is quick to realise who it is he’s looking for, because he'd almost done the same.
Mark is looking for the one person not here with them. All too ready to give Donghyuck a gesture that means give us some light, but now Mark looks for someone not there, and his expression falls.
Jaemin turns to Jeno instead, who’s already got his hands pressed against each other, doing his best to create a source of light for them. It’s not as bright as they’re used to, but it’s the best they’ve got without Donghyuck.
Little white sparks jump from Jeno’s hands, making Jaemin’s hair stand on end. He doesn’t doubt Jeno’s control, but it’s always a little strange to be so close to Jeno’s unchanneled power.
Renjun’s hand falls away from Jaemin’s arm as he takes over leading the group, all of them following his sense for whoever is the last person left to deal with in this building.
Jaemin’s heart is pounding, breaths starting to come a little shorter, a little more frantic as they race to follow Renjun’s pace.
Finally, Renjun slows before a door. It’s far from the others — secluded, a different wing entirely from the one they first walked into on this floor.
“This one. They’re in here,” Renjun whispers, pressing a hand against the door. And though they’ve shut down the main power to the building, though most of the doors should open automatically because of it, this one does not.
Renjun frowns at it, and Jaemin feels that desperation climb higher and higher in his chest. They need to get in, they need to see-
Jeno steps up to the door, sparks dimming as he presses his hands against it. It takes a moment, but then there’s a click as Jeno messes around with the mechanics of it, and the doors open.
A light comes on as Jeno steps into the room, startling all of them. It’s bright and blinding, Jaemin flinching against the harshness of it. There shouldn’t be any lights — not down here, not on a separate grid to the one they shut down.
They all enter the room, and Jaemin takes brief notice of two desks in the room, computers and monitors that also light up with their entrance.
At the opposite end of the room, there’s their darkened reflections staring back at them. Though, Jaemin quickly realises, it’s not a mirror — it’s a darkened tint. There is more beyond that very wall.
“In there,” Renjun quietly says, a hand reaching out to gesture at their tinted reflection. All of their focus goes to it — all of them ignoring the rest of the room, not even glancing towards the monitors or other equipment surrounding them.
They all step forward together, but Mark quickly turns to face them.
“Jeno, Jaemin, with me. The rest of you wait back here,” Mark instructs, and though it looks like the others might argue with him, it’s a testament to how tense the situation is when they all close their mouths and nod in understanding.
Mark takes a deep breath before going up to the wall, hands cupped against the tint, trying to see into it.
Mark speaks before either of them can look, backing up quickly with surprise.
“Shit, shit, that’s Donghyuck. He’s in there, fuck-” Mark is saying, and Jaemin and Jeno waste no time moving. Jeno’s hands press against the wall, feeling it out as he follows the length of it.
He stops, and then there’s the glow of a digital keypad appearing. Jeno grunts with frustration, and Jaemin can see the way he’s straining his hands against the wall, and then the keypad glows green. There’s a small whoosh as a panel opens and slides behind the rest of the wall, functioning like a small door.
The rest of them have come up now, all of them trying to hurry, desperate to see Donghyuck. Jeno and Jaemin duck through the door, but Mark stops the others from following. Jaemin barely pays him any mind, but Mark’s voice is loud against the silence.
“We don’t— Renjun, you can’t sense—” Mark is saying, and then there’s a sharp warning beep, and Jeno sucks in a sharp breath.
“Mark, get inside,” he orders, and Mark doesn’t hesitate as he steps through the doorway. Just in time, as the panel shuts quickly behind him, sealing them into the room.
The brief moment when the door had been open allowed for light to spill in, but it didn’t go far — the light diffused into the air, scattering and disappearing unnaturally before it could illuminate any further.
It should be entirely dark in the room, now that the door has sealed shut behind them. It should be.
It would be, if it weren’t for Donghyuck sitting at the other end of the room.
He’s glowing, just a small golden haze surrounding him, softly and barely illuminating the other side of the room. It’s one of his more passive abilities — sometimes uncontrollable, usually based on his emotions.
Either when he’s extremely happy, or more likely, extremely distressed. Though Jaemin has rarely seen the latter.
Regardless of the reason, Jaemin has never seen him glow this dimly — it’s barely enough to even see his outline. Certainly not enough for Jaemin to see directly in front of him, but it doesn’t matter. Like he’d look at anything other than Donghyuck.
Jaemin rushes over without another thought, a wounded noise escaping as he can take in more of Donghyuck’s form the closer he gets. Donghyuck is hunched against the wall, hands loosely flopped onto the floor beside him. He doesn’t stir, not even as Jaemin basically skids to crouch down to him.
They know it’s Donghyuck now at least, the glowing a certainty of his abilities and his identity. Now that it’s confirmed, now that it seems to be safe for the others to enter, Jaemin faintly hears Mark moving to get them. Jaemin doesn’t look back for them, as he keeps his focus entirely on Donghyuck.
Jaemin’s eyes glance over him, checking his hunched figure over, and feels a terrible anger wash over him as he notices that there are thick chains secured around Donghyuck’s wrists. His glow is barely enough to show where the chains lead, shackles with barely any slack to give — both secured to opposite corners of the room, keeping Donghyuck secured right where he is.
It’s only enough slack for Donghyuck to stand, Jaemin figures. Certainly not enough for him to move forward, and Jaemin can only pray that he wasn’t kept chained like this for a week.
“Donghyuckie,” Jaemin says quietly, voice breaking with the word. It startles the shocked atmosphere around them, something in the air shattering as he hears Jeno take in a ragged breath, but it’s still not enough to stir Donghyuck.
Reaching out with his abilities, Jaemin barely thinks as he seeks out the structure of the chains. As he clenches his fist and hears the shackles crack, metal splitting in two. The chains hit the ground, echoing around them, but Jaemin pays no mind — and worryingly so, neither does Donghyuck.
Jaemin reaches out a hand, cupping it to Donghyuck’s cheek. He’s cold, frighteningly so, more than Jaemin has ever felt.
Because Donghyuck always runs warm, another side-effect to his powers. Donghyuck burns, with everything he is, in a way that’s bright and brilliant and comforting and safe.
Jaemin bites down on his lip with worry, about to turn around to search for Renjun or Jisung, the two most likely to be able to help. Right as he goes to do so, he’s halted by the feeling of Donghyuck stirring against his fingers.
Jaemin whips his head back, watching as Donghyuck’s head rolls up ever so slightly. He blinks himself slowly into awareness, looking up at Jaemin through his eyelashes.
And Jaemin knows, well before the self-pitying smile settles on Donghyuck’s lips, before he says anything, that Donghyuck does not see him.
“Figured it out?” Donghyuck asks with a hoarse voice, words raspy and painful and yet still holding onto their edge. They’re a challenge, a taunt.
They’re words not meant for Jaemin.
“Renjun?” Jaemin quietly asks into the air, fear alight in his chest. Renjun has already moved after hearing Donghyuck’s words, quickly settling next to Jaemin.
Renjun reaches out a hand, pressing it against Donghyuck’s head. Jaemin quickly glances away from Donghyuck to look at Renjun, and his heart sinks with Renjun’s worried expression.
Finally, Renjun’s hand drops, and he takes a shuddering breath in. Renjun closes his eyes for a moment, composing himself, before he talks. “He’s blocking me out. I can’t— I can’t get anything from him.”
“He doesn’t realise who we are,” Jeno realises, voice low and full of worry. “He thinks we’re... them, doesn’t he?”
“They had someone like me on their team,” Renjun says with horror, and Jaemin thinks back to the fight not so long ago: the way Renjun had been at the back, locked in a mental war with someone with similar, but albeit weaker abilities. “They... He can’t tell.”
“Chenle?” Mark asks, voice cutting through. Chenle moves with the command, stepping up to Donghyuck and assessing him.
“He’s too weak to teleport,” Chenle quietly admits, voice strained. “Both physically and mentally.”
“And I can’t heal him if he won’t let me,” Jisung speaks up with barely-contained panic, “If he doesn’t know who we are, then he won’t— then I can’t—”
“We’ll figure it out,” Mark quietly reassures him, working to keep the panic away from the rest of them.
“Donghyuck-ah,” Jaemin says, trying to make his voice stern, trying to snap Donghyuck out of it. “You better listen to me right now, alright? I’m sorry we took so long to get to you, but we’re here now. All of us, I promise. We’re real and here, but we need you to work with us to help you get out, okay?”
Donghyuck just gives a weak laugh, eyes still locked onto Jaemin but still not seeing.
Jaemin goes to reach his other hand up, but stops immediately once Donghyuck flinches away from him.
His heart shatters, a raging storm of anger and upset swirling the broken shards around in his chest.
He lets the hand drop, but keeps the other pressed on Donghyuck’s cheek, thumb stroking back and forth. Donghyuck leans slightly into the touch, seemingly without realising, seeking out the contact even if he doesn’t believe it’s sincere.
He needs to get through to Donghyuck. He needs Donghyuck to believe him, if only just for a moment, if only just long enough for Jisung to heal him, for Chenle to teleport him out of here.
He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to fix this. Donghyuck is stubborn and strong, always prepared for the best and for the worst. How can he convince Donghyuck that they’re real? That this isn’t a trick, conjured up by his captors?
Something comes to mind — something that might, maybe, convince Donghyuck.
“Did you know that you sing when you sleep, sometimes?” Jaemin asks him, ignoring the confused glances he knows he’s getting from the others. “I never told you, because I thought it was adorable, and I thought maybe if I told you you’d somehow figure out how to stop. Which is, of course, unacceptable. So I never told you about it.”
“Hyung...” Jisung whispers in confusion, but Renjun quickly hushes him, catching onto what Jaemin is intending for.
Donghyuck’s head moves a little, eyes narrowing at Jaemin.
Come on, Donghyuck-ah. Look at me.
“And did you know, that ah… Eight mornings ago now it was, that I woke up first? I know, I was surprised too. And you were so cute, clinging to me like a baby koala. I told you I loved you, and that-”
Jaemin’s voice breaks off, and he wants to duck his head, wants to hide away. He’s aware that their friends are around them, listening all too intently to Jaemin bare his heart in such a way.
But he doesn’t — he swallows down the lump in his throat, and keeps his eyes locked onto Donghyuck’s, not letting himself hide away. “And that one day, I’d wake up with you as my husband. And you, of course, just snored at me because you’re so annoyingly cute.”
Donghyuck blinks, and Jaemin can finally see the way there’s recognition there, slowly, slowly creeping back in.
Almost. Almost, come on Donghyuck. I’m right here.
“It’s why I called you cute when I walked into the kitchen later that day. I mean, it was because of your cute bed-hair and the fact you were wearing my shirt. But it was also because you simply snored at me when I said I wanted to marry you just an hour before.”
While there’s recognition, there’s also panic that’s starting to cloud Donghyuck’s vision. Doubt is a monster, even with words that no one else but Jaemin could say to him, and it’s rising up quickly even against Jaemin’s attacks.
“You don’t need to believe me right now,” Jaemin hurries to reassure, trying to keep hold of Donghyuck’s recognition as best as he can. “You can believe me when we get you out of here. You just — you just need to let us in, okay? Just for a moment. And we’ll get you out, I promise you.”
Donghyuck sags a little, gaze breaking away from Jaemin’s. The self-satisfied smile has melted away into something sadder and vulnerable, and Jaemin doesn’t feel like he’s managed to reassure Donghyuck at all.
“Well, it’s not like anything could hurt worse than this,” Donghyuck quietly mumbles, words not meant to be heard. They break what’s left of Jaemin’s heart, but — they’re enough. Heartbreakingly, they’re all that Jaemin needs right now.
Jisung and Renjun quickly step forward. It’s telling that Renjun still needs physical contact to connect with Donghyuck to get any sense of him.
Jisung’s hurriedly working his hands over Donghyuck, trying to find the most pressing injures. Donghyuck is biting down on his lip, trying not to make a sound, and Jaemin watches closely as his expressions shift ever so slightly — nothing that would be noticeable if it weren’t for them.
Jisung searches, carefully watching Donghyuck’s expressions. He seems to notice a particular spot, whispering out an apology as his hands go towards it.
Donghyuck can’t hold his expression or noises anymore as he cries out, hunching over himself as Jisung’s hands go to his side. Jisung is chanting apologies, voice cracking as he tries to reassure Donghyuck he’s just trying to help him, please hyung it’s okay, it’s okay, I’m sorry I’m sorry I know, I’ll heal it I’ll fix it-
Renjun steps back, finished before Jisung, rubbing a hand over his head to signify a pressing headache. “He’s still got so many boundaries up. It’s just... a mess in there, and he’s not doing well. I’m impressed he’s even glowing right now, he should have nothing left.”
“I don’t think he has anything to give,” Mark quietly replies, watching over all of them carefully. “I think that’s just pure desperation mixed with survival kicking in. If they gave him no light source, then...”
Mark trails off, the words hanging over them heavily. There’s a reason the room is so dark, barred away from any light, Jaemin figures.
Jisung’s hands fall away, a heavy exhale escaping. “It’s all I can do right now. He’s... His body won’t let me heal any further, and if he has to teleport...”
Chenle places a hand on Jisung’s shoulder, and both of them switch around. Chenle quickly assesses over Donghyuck, then nods in the faint glowing light. “It’s enough. I can transport him with us now.”
“Hyung,” Chenle says, turning his attention directly to Donghyuck. “We’re going to teleport, okay? It’s going to suck, but we’re taking you back to the base.”
Donghyuck doesn’t reply to Chenle. Instead his gaze settles back on Jaemin, like he’s waiting.
Jaemin gives a small nod, and that’s all Donghyuck needs before he gives a nod as well, closing his eyes.
They form a circle, connecting themselves, though Jaemin refuses to move away from Donghyuck. He keeps hold of Donghyuck’s cheek, the other hand coming up to lightly hold Donghyuck’s side. Hands settle on Jaemin’s back, all of them connecting physically to each other.
“Alright. Three, two...”
Jaemin holds his breath, ready for the familiar rush of teleporting, and notices Donghyuck do the same. It’s a good sign — maybe a sign that Donghyuck, though doubtful of them, is hopeful. Maybe he believes them, deep down, even if he’s not certain of it yet.
It’s barely a moment, the world whooshing away and Jaemin’s stomach left somewhere very far behind. He feels them solidify against ground again, stomach swirling with the usual nausea after teleporting such a distance. His eyes closed involuntarily, and he quickly opens them, desperate to make sure Donghyuck is still before him even though he can still feel him.
The brightness around them is almost blinding to Jaemin, and it takes him a moment to recover, to blink away the spots in his sight to take everything in. When he does, he feels the air leave his body.
If Donghyuck is still glowing, it’s too dim to see under the lights. He looks pale, worryingly sickly, a sheen to his skin that shouldn’t be there. His hair, usually vibrant and shiny and a reflective metal colour of whatever mood he’s in, is dull and straw-like, a washed out pale colouring to it.
Now the most colour in his skin is the bruising and chafing, formed around his wrists from the chains and from other injuries. There’s dried blood on his clothes, on his skin, as well as fresh blood from cuts littered over his body — ones Jisung couldn’t heal.
There’s movement around Jaemin, but he pays no mind to it as he takes in Donghyuck’s form. A week. That’s all it’s taken for Donghyuck to appear so sickly, to be hurt so badly.
It could’ve been worse, it could have been so much worse, and yet Jaemin sees Donghyuck and wishes they had not been so kind when infiltrating the compound.
There’s a hand on Jaemin’s shoulder, encouraging him to look up. He slowly does, if only to tell them to turn down the lights because it’s clear Donghyuck’s not used to it, he’s hunching in on himself and isn’t even receptive to it, which is so incredibly worrying-
“Jaemin. You need to let go of him for a moment, okay? Just so we can move him,” Johnny is saying to him, words kind and patient despite the way Jaemin knows he’s probably stressing.
“It’s— it’s too bright,” Jaemin manages to say, and Johnny glances over at Donghyuck before he realises it, cursing.
“Jaehyun, Jaehyun, turn down the lights a bit,” Johnny commands, and the lights are quickly dimmed in response. It’s a small bit of relief, enough for Jaemin to start to gain his senses back.
“You can stay with him,” Johnny tells him, like he knows what Jaemin is so worried about, both of them looking back to Donghyuck. “We just need to move him from the ground, that’s all.”
Jaemin nods, hands slowly falling away from Donghyuck’s skin, about to slip back and let their hyungs take over, knowing Donghyuck is in safe hands.
But then Donghyuck’s eyes open wide with panic, and he’s scrambling with desperation. His hands reach out quickly, capturing Jaemin’s wrists with a grip that’s too tight and yet all too weak.
“Don’t leave me. Please, please, even if— just. Don’t leave me,” Donghyuck gasps out, even though every word looks painful, every movement looks like it causes a new wave of hurt.
Jaemin hurries to get back into Donghyuck’s line of sight properly, meeting his eyes. “Hey, hey, I’m right here. I’m right here. I’m not leaving you. Not again, not ever. Okay? I’m here. Right here.”
Jaemin moves one of his hands, tangling his fingers with Donghyuck. Once he’s got a proper grip, he does the same with the other hand. “I’m right here. I promise. I’ll be right here.”
Donghyuck keeps holding on, and their hyungs do their best to maneuver around them. Johnny picks up Donghyuck, and Jaemin is able to let go of one hand to make it easier, but squeezes even tighter with the other just to reassure Donghyuck.
He talks the entire time, making sure Donghyuck can hear his voice amidst the chaos of everyone trying to get things organised to treat Donghyuck. It works to placate Donghyuck, even if he panics a little as he’s placed down in a bed, even if he flinches again as people reach out to touch him.
“I’m right here,” Jaemin says, over and over. A reminder, a promise, an apology. I am now. I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner. You’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.
Donghyuck has been home for two and a half weeks now.
He’s been free for three — it’s just that the first few days were spent recovering at Neo Culture’s base, carefully tended to by everyone, but mostly Jisung and Kun with their respective healing abilities.
For the past two and a half weeks though, he’s been in his apartment, with Jaemin rarely leaving his side. Two and a half weeks, Donghyuck has been home — now twice as long than his time locked in that small, darkened cell of a room.
People have been coming in and out of the apartment constantly. The five other members of the Dream mission unit had spent the first night with Donghyuck back at the apartment, crashed around on the floor in the bedroom — or, in Jisung’s case, also pressed into the bed with Jaemin and Donghyuck despite the fact he’s the tallest of all of them.
Today, after waking at some point near midday, Jaemin quietly brings him into their bathroom. He sits Donghyuck down, tenderly taking Donghyuck’s hands and inspecting over his new wounds.
Donghyuck has scratched at them over the night again, reopening wounds that should have been healed — that were healed, by Jisung and Kun’s careful hands. That have already been healed more than once, when Jisung comes over and takes notice of them.
Donghyuck thinks that Jaemin should be nagging at him, scolding him after he’s gone a couple of nights now without scratching, but Jaemin just hums calmly to himself as he cleans and bandages the wounds, giving no indication of disappointment or anything alike.
It makes guilt fester inside of Donghyuck, shamefully staring at the white bandages now adorning his wrists once again. They’re tight and secure, and Donghyuck forcefully makes sure to keep his breathing even.
They’re nothing like the shackles, he reminds himself. They’re white and bright and helpful, and though they’re tight, they’re not restricting. They won’t jerk him back when he goes to move forward, they won’t uncomfortably pull at his skin when he’s forced to stand, too tight and too short for the distance they keep him chained at.
Jaemin is doing a final check over the bandages right as there’s a knock at their apartment door. Donghyuck feels the guilt take its ugly claws and dig in, as it’s yet another reminder of what’s happened.
Because Donghyuck can figure who it is at the door — he feels Renjun’s presence prod at his mind, an inquisitive and gentle nudge. A usually warm, comforting presence that used to always linger in the back. Like a napping cat, he explained to Renjun once. Always just kind of there, a safe presence always with them, even if Renjun physically wasn’t.
But now Donghyuck responds to Renjun’s careful prod by slamming down walls, keeping Renjun contained in a corner, unable to go any further.
He knows Jaemin feels Renjun too — probably feels Renjun’s disappointment, and knows all too well that Donghyuck is continuing to shut out Renjun.
They share a glance, but Jaemin still doesn’t give away any of his emotions regarding it. He just gives Donghyuck a small smile, fingers coming around to entangle with Donghyuck’s, squeezing their hands together for a moment before stepping back.
“Do you think they brought food?” Jaemin asks, and Donghyuck isn’t surprised to figure that there’s not just Renjun outside their door, waiting to be let in.
And that’s another shameful reminder, too. That their friends have to knock now, instead of just putting in the code and walking straight in. All it took was one incident with Donghyuck napping on the couch a week ago, and Jeno walking in without notice, their apartment keypad sounding all too similar to the one in that stupid cell while Donghyuck is half-asleep, and—
Well. Now they knock.
Donghyuck appreciates that they’re doing it for his own comfort, but hates that it’s needed. Hates that his friends now have to be mindful of these things, hates that his wrists feel raw and chafed and sore, that his dreams feel all too close to reality.
Hates that he has moments of doubt, even now. Wonders if this is a long-game of his captors, that they’re just making him think he’s back at home and safe and with Jaemin.
And if it is — if it is, Donghyuck doesn’t think he’ll be able to recover from the hurt of it all. Because Jaemin lies beside him every night, telling him a story that Donghyuck’s own subconscious wouldn’t be able to know, something to reassure Donghyuck that this isn’t all just inside his own head.
But there’s still those moments of doubt, even though Donghyuck is pretty sure he’s mostly convinced. He can keep Renjun out, after all — who is certainly stronger than the person they used to use against Donghyuck in that cell. This must be real.
It has to be.
“Better be kimchi jjigae,” Donghyuck replies, maybe a little too late. The moment between Jaemin’s question and Donghyuck’s answer had been too long, both of them all too aware that Donghyuck is in his own head, all too aware of the state of things now.
But still, Jaemin does not let it falter him. He shakes his head as he dramatically sighs, giving Donghyuck a quick glance before he slips out the door and leaves him alone.
That, at least, is something that has improved. Because a week ago, Donghyuck couldn’t stand being left in a room on his own — Jaemin had slipped out, just to get some groceries, and had come back to Donghyuck in the midst of a panic attack.
It’s better, now. Not great, because Donghyuck still can’t be left alone for longer than an hour, but certainly better. He’ll get there. Eventually.
Donghyuck rolls out his wrists, fingers clenching and unclenching just to feel the stretch of the bandages. There’s still a slight sting, as Jaemin made sure to meticulously clean all the scratches, and he does his best to remind himself it’s a good sting.
It’s not the same sting of wounds reopening, skin chafing and rubbing raw on metal chains that have been on his wrists for a week. Metal does not give, but skin does, and Donghyuck had tried all too valiantly to change that.
Donghyuck hears Renjun and Jaemin talking, both of them interrupted by Jisung. Donghyuck smiles to himself fondly, glad to hear their bickering tones, before he realises that shit. Shit, Jisung is going to see the bandages.
There’s no way for him to cover them — Donghyuck’s body is doing its best to recover, but it means he’s running even warmer than usual, like his body is trying to make up for the time he spent shivering, out of reach of any warmth or light. It means he has no reason to wear anything with long sleeves, and means there is nothing he can use to cover his bandages.
Donghyuck feels a now-familiar shame settle inside of him, and he barely holds back a groan. He’s reminded all too well of how the others looked when they saw him after he was taken to the Neo Culture base.
He was completely out of it at the time, body aching and in so much pain and panic, barely holding onto consciousness. But he still remembers the way his friends — the way Jaemin — had reacted upon seeing the extent of his injuries for the first time.
And that worry has not left any of them — they try to hide it from him, trying not to make it obvious for his sake. But Donghyuck can still see it, can still hear it, in the way they interact so carefully with him now.
There’s nothing he can do about it though, not right now. He just has to deal with it, push through it, and try and make sure no one lingers on it.
Passing by the mirror, he winces at his own appearance. He looks a lot better than he did, but he still looks haggard. His skin has gotten back some colour at least, and his hair is a lot healthier — still not bright and vibrant like it usually is when he’s healthy, but definitely better.
He splashes some water on his face, like that’ll help hide the dark circles under his eyes, the way his cheeks still look a little too gaunt. He pushes some of the water back to his hair, pushing some of it out of his face.
He gets up and walks out of the bathroom, meeting Renjun’s eyes as he’s placing down a take-away bag on the table. Renjun’s eyes are wide with surprise — he’s startled, Donghyuck realises. Renjun is quick to calm his expression, giving Donghyuck a small smile, but it’s not fast enough to escape Donghyuck’s notice.
He knows it’s unnerving for Renjun not to be able to sense Donghyuck, to not be able to get any read on his emotions, and he’s taken Renjun by surprise a couple of times now when he appears in the room.
“Ah, ah, hyung,” Donghyuck hears Jisung say in a strange voice, and he turns to see Jaemin still at the doorway with Jisung, squeezing his cheeks. Jisung is looking over to Donghyuck, silently pleading for any type of help.
“Hi Jisungie!” Donghyuck says cheerfully instead, leaving Jisung to his fate. “Thanks for bringing lunch!”
Jisung’s eyes go wide with betrayal before they narrow, and Donghyuck just grins over at him as he heads over to the table.
“Oh, Renjunnie, don’t tell me you got me kimchi jjigae?” Donghyuck asks in an overly-sweet voice, clasping a hand to his chest to dramatically demonstrate he’s touched.
Renjun rolls his eyes, opening up the bag and placing the containers around on the table. To his delight, Donghyuck spots one labelled with kimchi jjigae.
“You did. I see, all it takes is me getting kidnapped for a week,” Donghyuck teases, and Renjun’s eyes sharply glance up at him. Donghyuck inwardly winces, maybe a little too soon to joke about it, he supposes.
Renjun forcefully exhales, then shakes his head. “I will take this back, Lee Donghyuck.”
“Ohh, full name? Scary,” Donghyuck replies, taking a seat at the table. Jisung and Jaemin finally walk over, Jaemin’s hand smoothing along Donghyuck’s shoulders as he passes by and sits beside him.
Jisung gives Donghyuck a smile as he sits down, though he’s all too quickly drawn to the bandages on Donghyuck’s wrists.
“Hyung,” Jisung quietly says, like neither Jaemin nor Renjun are intently listening to it. “Did you— did you want me to look at that?”
Donghyuck waves his other hand around dismissively as he helps himself to the servings of food. “After, Jisungie. Let’s eat now, okay?”
Jisung agrees without argument — which is strange, because Jisung likes to argue these things. It’s just another reminder of how they’re handling him so delicately, careful of any upset they might cause.
Donghyuck huffs to himself, focusing on the food in front of him. It lifts his spirits enough at least, though he lets Renjun and Jisung take control of the conversations. Jaemin remains rather quiet, a hand settled permanently on Donghyuck’s thigh as they eat, and Donghyuck takes comfort in it.
Donghyuck still can’t eat as much as he usually does, pushing away his plate before he can properly finish it — though that’s mostly because his friends keep piling food onto the plate. Renjun’s mouth twists at the unfinished food, but they all do their best to treat it normally, like Donghyuck not finishing a meal is something standard.
It seems like Renjun and Jaemin work in an unspoken tandem, and they likely are, as both of them get up without discussion to clear up the dishes. It leaves Jisung and Donghyuck alone, and Jisung is just staring at Donghyuck, waiting.
Donghyuck raises an eyebrow at Jisung, expecting Jisung to get flustered under the direct scrutiny. But Jisung just tilts his head up and glares down at Donghyuck, demonstrating that he’s not folding on this.
“Fine,” Donghyuck eventually huffs, standing up. “Come on, let’s go sit on the couch.”
Jisung trails right behind him, waiting for Donghyuck to take a seat first before he follows. Donghyuck turns the television on, settling it onto the show he’s been watching to make everything seem a little more casual before he finally directs his attention to Jisung.
He offers his hands, and Jisung is quick to pull one of them into his lap. It feels strange as Jisung’s fingers trace along the bandages, just a light, barely-there sensation through the layers.
“Is there anywhere else?” Jisung asks him, glancing from his wrist up to Donghyuck’s face with surprising seriousness. “Hyung, you should tell me if there is.”
Donghyuck furrows his eyebrows, unsure of what Jisung is so suspicious of. “No, Jisung-ah. I promise. I just scratched at them last night, that’s it.”
Jisung doesn’t look convinced, glancing over Donghyuck like he can see through fabric, to see the scars Donghyuck is left with despite his and Kun’s best efforts.
“Jisung-ah. Listen. You did the best you could. I’d be in a lot more pain and would be in a much worse shape if it wasn’t for you,” Donghyuck quietly reassures, because he knows Jisung feels guilty for the fact there’s any scarring at all. “I’ve still got my pretty looks, and now I just look even cooler with some scars. Hyung is thankful, you know? Really.”
Jisung shakes his head. “No, I-” He cuts himself off, a frown still on his lips. He wants to argue with Donghyuck’s point, but seems like there’s something more pressing he wants to talk about. “It’s not that. I can just feel... something.”
“Other than my wrists? Jisung-ah, I promise, I don’t have any other injuries. I’m not lying to you. If it’s anything else, it’s likely just that my powers are out of whack. You’re probably just sensing that,” Donghyuck reasons, stretching out his fingers in Jisung’s loose grip to remind him about what to focus on.
Jisung still doesn’t look convinced. His shoulders are hunching, and he’s biting down on his lower lip. But he seems to believe Donghyuck at least, because he lets it drop, and says: “Yeah. That must be it.”
There’s no need to remove the bandages at least, as Jisung’s ability works with any skin contact. So he takes hold of Donghyuck’s hand and closes his eyes, focusing on healing.
A sigh of relief slips out of Donghyuck’s mouth as the itchy, irritated feeling of his skin starts to soothe. Jisung is taking a little longer than he usually does, and Donghyuck lets him, head rolling to the side so he can lazily watch the television.
The thing about Jisung’s ability is that healing takes that person’s energy — and with a full stomach, feeling safe with Jisung’s hold and Renjun and Jaemin’s voices around him, Donghyuck starts to doze off.
He’s mostly asleep by the time he’s jostled around lightly so that he’s lying down properly, Jisung finishing up and leaving Donghyuck’s wrists with only the sensation of the bandages now on them. Donghyuck will leave them on, using them as a hopeful preventative for the night.
“How has he been?” Renjun’s voice carefully asks, a small distance away. Likely in the kitchen, Donghyuck figures with a blearly mind.
Jaemin hums in consideration, and Donghyuck can picture the expression he’s currently wearing. That delicate concern that he’s been showing so much of lately, mixed in with relief that Donghyuck is home.
“Okay, all things considered,” Jaemin replies. “He hadn’t scratched for a few nights. But he’s been having nightmares, lots of restless sleep.”
“He’s still exhausted, isn’t he?” Renjun asks, though it’s barely a question.
“He felt warmer than usual,” Jisung adds in.
“His body is just trying to balance out again. It’s overcompensating for the time he spent...”
“Right,” Renjun says after Jaemin trails off, not willing to finish the sentence. There’s no need to — it’s all too much of a heavy weight, all the time, hanging over them. Always reminding them what’s happened.
Donghyuck drifts back off, properly falling asleep this time. He stirs once more when he hears Jisung and Renjun quietly take their leave, but soon goes back under.
He’s there a while longer, his dreams keeping him trapped inside of memories. He’s back in the cell, wrists shackled, a hand on his cheek that brings no comfort. A voice in his ear, one inside of his head, beckoning him to drop his walls, to let them in.
Donghyuck never had, he knows this — but then his memory changes. Instead of withdrawing, figuring they won’t get through that day, the voice inside his mind feels like a vice, a tight encasing of ice that starts to spread. Down and down, colder and colder, burning with ice over all the scars they caused.
He awakens with a panicked gasp, eyes opening to see the muted television still playing his show. The main light has been left on, which helps to orientate him faster, trying to pull himself out of the spiral caused by the dream.
But he’s not able to shake it — there’s still the crawling of ice under his skin, frosting over all the now-healed scars. But they feel like they’re reopening, cut open by frosted shards, and this time his gasp is one of pain.
It’s all the injuries coming back at once, deep cuts and pressing bruises that sink into his skin all together. His breaths come out in short, desperate and panicked breaths, the pain overwhelming.
He can’t feel the couch underneath him. His eyes scrunch shut against the pain, no longer able to ground himself with the visual sight of the apartment. His senses are swept away with the sensation of pain, and he curls into himself, clawing at his skin, desperate to let the pain out somehow.
“-hyuck! Donghyuck!” Jaemin’s voice desperately cuts through, and Donghyuck can feel his hands press against Donghyuck’s shoulder and cheek. The touch feels warm, a small sense of relief, but it’s not enough.
Donghyuck can’t respond, teeth clenched together so tightly to try and starve off any cries of pain. He’s able to open his eyes just enough, just to see Jaemin crouched before him, eyes wide with concern and panic.
They meet eyes, and Jaemin takes a moment before he takes a forceful deep breath, and Donghyuck watches him push away the panic so he can focus. Jaemin moves into action, one of his hands dropping from Donghyuck to reach into his pocket for his phone.
It sounds so much further away, but Donghyuck can hear Jaemin’s voice, and follows it in an attempt to ground himself.
“Bring Jisung. Right now,” is all Jaemin seems to need to say, because he hangs up after giving one more affirmative grunt.
It’s likely only a few moments, but time seems to stretch out for Donghyuck, making him wither in pain for what feels like eternity. Chenle appears right in front of them, dishevelled and clearly straight out of bed, with Jisung in his grip.
Jisung, though likely teleported with no warning of the situation, moves without thought. He quickly falls to his knees beside the couch, reaching a hand out to feel Donghyuck’s skin.
It’s another small sense of relief he’s granted, a warmth amongst the chill that’s digging into every molecule of his being. Jisung sucks in a sharp breath, turning back to look at Chenle.
“Get Renjun,” is all he says, and Chenle disappears with a small pop.
Jisung’s hands continue to wander over Donghyuck’s skin, but there’s little relief other than the warmth he’s providing.
Chenle reappears again, this time with Renjun at his side. Jaemin moves to the side of the couch so that Renjun has more room, his hands settling in Donghyuck’s hair and stroking through it.
“I can’t tell where it’s originating from,” Jisung mutters in a panicked explanation, “It’s strange. It’s... It’s not physical pain, I don’t think.”
The others don’t ask for any clarifications. Renjun frowns, hand reaching out to clasp Donghyuck’s in a tight grip, but does not say anything.
Jaemin moves closer to Donghyuck, pressing his lips close to his ear.
“Baby,” Jaemin whispers, and though his voice is quiet, it’s the loudest thing Donghyuck can currently hear, drowning out the hurt for just a moment so he can focus on the words. “You need to let Renjun in again. Please.”
And Donghyuck, in so much pain, a heavy and awful cold pressing in and under his skin, barely takes a moment to think about it.
Because he trusts Renjun. He always does. He’d rather Renjun not know about the mess in his head, would rather him not feel all the awful things he does, but—
The pain hasn’t been like this, not since he returned. It’s worse than the overall time in the cell — this is everything he endured catching up to him at once, pain laid on top of pain. His eyes meet Renjun’s, and that’s all they need to say to each other.
The familiar presence prods at the back of Donghyuck’s mind, and this time Donghyuck welcomes it. Lets Renjun explore for the first time since he’s come back home, lets him see and feel it all, because he has no energy now to try and block anything.
“Chenle-yah,” Jaemin says, the only voice breaking the silence around them, “Get some blankets please.”
Chenle doesn’t even waste time walking — he teleports in and out, coming back with heavy blankets to cover Donghyuck’s form.
“It’s a mental trap that’s been set and triggered,” Renjun finally says, updating all of them. “It’s going to take me a moment to figure it out.”
Donghyuck can feel Renjun, who’s carefully making his way through Donghyuck’s thoughts and emotions, trying to find and figure out the trap that’s apparently been placed.
“He’s bleeding,” Jisung quietly notes, hands quickly hurrying over the spot on Donghyuck’s side to heal it, slipping his fingers a little under Donghyuck’s shirt. Donghyuck can barely feel it, has no idea what’s really bleeding and what’s not — he’s just overwhelmed with pain, desperate for any kind of relief.
“Renjun...” Chenle says, and then flips into speaking Mandarin. Renjun replies, though his voice is strained.
There’s a moment, where something Renjun does sends a white-hot burning pain through Donghyuck, and there’s nothing he can do to stop the cry of pain as he arches up, clawing at his own skin as he’s unable to escape it.
Chenle grasps his wrists, keeping him from scratching any further. Jisung’s hands are still pressed on his skin, still trying to soothe any physical injuries before they progress any further.
Jaemin’s still whispering, though it sounds nonsensical now to Donghyuck. But the timbre of Jaemin’s voice is familiar and soothing, and Donghyuck grips it like a line, trying to haul himself back to shore.
Renjun is apologising, both aloud and in his mind for whatever he caused. But now that the wave of pain is fading, Donghyuck can feel it’s also taking the cold with it, slowly melting away.
“That’s it, that’s it,” Jaemin is encouraging, words finally starting to make sense again. “Just hold on, you’ll be fine, you’ll be okay. We’ve got you.”
Slowly, slowly, the pain and cold start to recede. Renjun proceeds carefully, and Jisung manages any physical pain before it ever really appears.
Donghyuck can feel himself shivering, and Chenle appears with another blanket, tucking it around him. He doesn’t do it too tight, and Donghyuck is thankful for it — he doesn’t think he’d cope with feeling restrained right now.
The grip of the ice in his mind, in his body, finally fades away. It’s no longer painful, no longer clawing open scars and wounds. The cold, however, has settled in.
“I’ve done all I can,” Renjun mutters, voice scratchy and worn. His presence is quick to withdraw, and Donghyuck can sense the guilt there, the way he’s hurrying to get out so Donghyuck doesn’t feel pressured by it, but Donghyuck —
Donghyuck reaches out, and holds on. Asks him to stay, right where his presence is usually curled up.
Renjun hesitates, but the presence in Donghyuck’s mind remains, even as Renjun focuses on the physical realm.
Donghyuck is still shivering, aching and sore, but they’ve done the best they can to help with their abilities. It’s enough that the pain is manageable, no old or new injuries reforming.
His senses return, pain no longer completely overwhelming him. His breaths are still short, and Jaemin moves into Donghyuck’s line of sight, taking his attention.
“Deep breath, come on. With me, okay?” Jaemin instructs, and Donghyuck does his best to nod and follow along, following Jaemin’s count.
He doesn’t quite get to draw in a full breath — lungs constricting, panic still all too-pressing, stopping him short. Jaemin is patient, quick to make him focus on the next breath rather than linger on the panic.
“There we go,” Jaemin finally says, a shaky smile on his lips. “There you go.”
“He’s still cold,” Chenle mutters worriedly, distracting Donghyuck for a moment.
“I know, I know,” Renjun replies, keeping his voice low.
Though the pain is no longer overwhelming, Donghyuck still feels so far away, unable to settle in his skin. He’s trying to keep himself grounded, trying to remember that this is reality, he’s fine, he’s fine now, Renjun, Chenle, and Jaemin are here—
He’s shivering, he notices faintly. The overabundance of warmth has left him entirely, and now his powers feel out of reach, snuffed out by the cold still lingering.
Renjun, Chenle and Jaemin discuss ideas above him with worried tones. Renjun and Jisung each press a hand to his skin, and both of them frown.
“Donghyuck-ah, can you use your powers?” Renjun asks him, and though Donghyuck hasn’t tried recently — too exhausted to do so — he tries his hardest to now.
But the usually warm core inside of him feels out of reach, and he can’t grasp a single light, a single flame. Even clicking his fingers, a technique first taught to get a handle of his powers, the easiest thing to spark a flame of light, does nothing.
His frustration must be evident, as Renjun places a hand on his shoulder. “Okay, okay, that’s alright. The trap likely affected them, so we’ll just have to kickstart them, and it might help balance out your temperature.”
“External heat might help,” Jisung suggests, and Chenle nods his agreement a little frantically.
“Then hot water might be our best chance right now,” Renjun replies, glancing behind him to the bathroom. “If it doesn’t work, we should probably try contacting Jaehyun. His powers might help.”
Donghyuck, aching and all too sore to get moving on his own, is helped up to the bathroom. Renjun, Chenle and Jisung give him some privacy with Jaemin, staying out in the main room, but leave the bathroom door open just in case.
Jaemin turns on the shower, letting it warm up as he walks back over to Donghyuck who’s currently sitting on the closed toilet seat. It’s feels like a weird deja vu, similar to the way they’d been in almost the same situation just a few hours ago, with Jaemin bandaging up his wrists.
It’s hard to believe that it’s the same day — that Donghyuck descended so rapidly. That what he thought was a bad morning somehow ended up so much worse.
Jaemin helps Donghyuck out of his clothes, and Donghyuck wants to joke around, lighten up the mood as his stomach is bared. Because this would be the kind of moment Jaemin would say something dumb, probably like sexy, if the purpose were any different.
And Donghyuck desperately wishes that it was different. Wishes that he isn’t shivering and shaking like he is. Wishes that his powers could just goddamn work, and that he didn’t leave the apartment that day, agreeing to a mission with Jeno and Mark and then walking away from them, only to get involved in a fight and—
It’s nothing he can take back now anyway. It doesn’t matter if Donghyuck wishes differently — he’s here now, helped into the shower by Jaemin with careful hands, guiding him sit down on the floor because neither of them seem to think his knees will hold him up.
The water is almost a bit too warm, and he winces as it first hits his skin. It feels similar to the blanket — there’s a warmth there, wrapped around him that he knows should be warming him as well, but it refuses to sink properly into his skin.
Jaemin is on the ground outside of the shower, though he’s getting drenched to the point it’s almost no different. He keeps Donghyuck’s hair out of his face as best as he can, making sure his head stays up, letting the water run down his neck.
Donghyuck faintly feels Renjun stirring inside of his mind, feeling out Donghyuck’s emotions and impressions of his thoughts. Donghyuck lets him, eyes falling shut as he rests his head on the tiled wall, exhausted and yet unable to rest.
Renjun feels things out for a moment, then seems to do his best to give Donghyuck a blanketing mental hug before he withdraws — not entirely, but enough that Donghyuck feels like he has some semblance of privacy.
“I’ll call Jaehyun,” Renjun calls out his decision, plowing through Jisung and Chenle’s questions as they follow him, their voices fading as Renjun walks away. Chenle is just arguing that he can teleport, though Jaehyun has a habit of being hard to track down, and Jisung is arguing that it’s no good for Chenle to just waste his energy finding him.
Jaemin tuts, fretting as he feels Donghyuck shiver even under water that turns his skin red with heat.
“Jisung-ah!” Jaemin is the one to call out this time, and Jisung immediately hurries back, standing just outside the bathroom door. “Can you please get us some clean clothes? And something to bundle Donghyuck in.”
Donghyuck wants to point out that they’ve already figured that external heat isn’t going to help — the clothes won’t make a difference at this rate. But it gives Jisung something to do, which Donghyuck figures is Jaemin’s plan, and he quickly scurries off to fulfill Jaemin’s request.
Jaemin shuts off the water, helping Donghyuck up and out of the shower. He’s quick to wrap Donghyuck in a towel, doing his best to dry him off, trying to trap any possible warmth still remaining.
Jisung comes in to hand over the clothes, and then stands at the doorway with a blanket ready, keeping it up so that his eyes are covered from Donghyuck’s state. Jaemin coos over at him, and for a moment, just a moment, it all feels normal.
And then there’s a sharp, lacing cold pain again in Donghyuck’s side, almost sending him doubling over. He’s only kept up by Jaemin, who somehow makes sure neither of them go toppling.
Jisung hurries over as well, but there’s little he can do against the cold. They just have to wait for the wave of pain to pass, none of them able to do anything to help.
Finally, the pain subsides again to a manageable level, and he’s back to just shivering soon enough. Jisung steps back again, picking up the blanket he dropped. Donghyuck huffs as Jaemin helps him slip into his clothes, frustrated.
“Hate this,” he quietly admits, words almost lost to the way his teeth are chattering. Because the words sum it all up, really — Donghyuck hates that he’s in this state, that he’s making his friends so worried about him. Hates that he needs to be handled carefully, hates that he’s so powerless and helpless right now.
Especially because it’s been weeks, now. Things should be getting better, getitng back to normal.
Jaemin gives him a tight, empathetic smile. “I know you do. But we can’t change things now. So just let us do this without regret or guilt, because it makes us feel better.”
Donghyuck still hates it, because he just wants things to be normal. He hates that things have changed like this, that things have gotten even further from being any type of normal because of tonight.
“Things will get easier,” Jaemin reassures him, just as they manage to get the last of Donghyuck’s clothes on. His tone is strong, unwavering in the declaration, in the certainty of his belief.
Donghyuck lets the words sink in, takes a deep breath, and nods. Because Jaemin doesn’t like lying to him, won’t sugarcoat things to Donghyuck. So Donghyuck has to believe Jaemin now, because he always does.
And he knows things will be easier — that at some point, things will likely be normal again. Maybe not soon, but at some point in the future. This whole thing will just be a memory for all of them, something they’ve all overcome and dealt with.
Jisung comes over again now that Donghyuck’s got proper clothing on, wrapping Donghyuck up with the thick blanket. Donghyuck sags into Jaemin with the added weight, letting himself be easily herded into the bedroom.
Just as they get Donghyuck to lie down in bed, his muscles thanking him for no longer dealing with standing, Chenle walks through the doorway. Jaehyun is right behind him, face blank as he quickly looks over the room.
He gives a smile to Donghyuck once he notices him, and Donghyuck mentally applauds Jaehyun for being able to look convincing at not being concerned.
“Hello baby,” Jaehyun greets, like he usually does. Like everything is fine.
Donghyuck wishes he could respond casually, just to keep up the illusion of things being normal even if just for a moment, but his own smile wavers as another violent shiver runs down his body.
He swallows down the lump in his throat, giving Jaehyun his own tired smile. “Hi baby,” he manages to respond, though his voice is frustratingly small.
Renjun walks into the room quietly, standing with Jisung and Chenle as they watch over the exchange. Donghyuck tries not to pay them too much mind, keeping his attention on Jaehyun as he heads over.
Jaehyun sits on the edge of the bed, right near Donghyuck’s stomach. He reaches out, pushing back Donghyuck’s still slightly damp hair from his head. The heat radiating from him is almost enough to dry Donghyuck’s hair alone.
And the feeling of that heat is the best relief Donghyuck has had since he’s woken — Jaehyun’s warmth feels like it’s sinking through his skin, edging away some of the bitter chill that’s lurking there.
Jaehyun’s eyebrows furrow a little as his skin contacts Donghyuck’s, mouth downturned just slightly at the corners, which gives away his worry. “Donghyuck-ah, how long have you been this cold for?”
Donghyuck barely registers the word, because he’s busy trying to get his arms to move, fingers coming up to circle Jaehyun’s wrist, keeping his hand close to his head.
The contact burns, a searing pain that is so sharp it makes him gasp out. Jaehyun quickly recoils his hand, though Donghyuck still tries to chase it — would rather the burn of warmth than the chill in his bones.
“Hey, Donghyuck-ah, easy. Easy,” Jaehyun soothes, though keeps his hands out of Donghyuck’s grasp. Jisung has come over at some point, hands on Donghyuck’s fingers, healing the red burns there.
Jaehyun frowns, the slightly worried features now clear to see, muddled in with a heavy guilt. “I burned you. Donghyuck-ah, I-”
Donghyuck snaps out his desperation to get hold of that warmth again, a startingly guilt also overcoming him. Because Jaehyun will now carry the guilt of accidentally hurting Donghyuck, even though it’s never been an issue, even though Donghyuck is one of the few people that can usually hold Jaehyun even at his warmest.
“Jisung healed me hyung, don’t feel sorry for it. Renjun explained, right?” Donghyuck hurries to say even though it’s difficult, trying to keep Jaehyun away from feeling so guilty for this when it’s not his fault. “My powers are whacked out. That shouldn’t have happened.”
Jaehyun looks like he’s about to say something to contradict Donghyuck, or maybe just apologise again, but Jaemin steps in.
“He’s been like this for... Since he woke from a nap, half an hour ago. Nothing we’ve tried has helped him warm up — except you, now,” Jaemin tells him, fingers running through Donghyuck’s hair.
“It’s probably got something to do with the fact it’s powers, and not a ‘natural’ warmth,” Renjun adds, head tilted slightly as he thinks. “It might be enough for Donghyuck’s powers to kick in.”
Jaehyun gives Donghyuck a critical look, humming as he thinks over the discussion. “You were only burned when you grabbed me, right? Not before that?”
Donghyuck reverently shakes his head to deny that he was burned before holding Jaehyun directly. Jaehyun nods, understanding.
“Then we’ll do this slowly,” Jaehyun says, fingers tapping on his own thighs as he plans it out, “Don’t reach out for me, don’t try and rush this.”
“Got it hyung,” Donghyuck confirms, giving a shaky thumbs-up. “Slow and steady, at your pace.”
Jaemin helps pull the blanket down, now that they know Jaehyun’s abilities are the only thing really helping. It does mean that Donghyuck’s shivering is a lot more evident, and he knows all his friends have noticed that too.
His attention is quickly diverted at least, as Jaehyun’s fingers brush back through his hair, and the head radiating makes Donghyuck sigh in relief. He resists just pushing his entire head into Jaehyun’s palm by pressing the back of his head down into the pillow, forcefully making himself melt down into the bed beneath him.
He’s still shivering, but his teeth stop chattering as Jaehyun’s hand slowly, slowly, traces down, fingers barely pressing against his jaw before lightly sliding down his neck.
Jaehyun is barely touching his skin — he’s basically hovering about it, just letting his natural heat radiate and warm Donghyuck up enough.
Jaehyun’s hand comes to a small stop at his collarbone, and he hesitates as he decides a path. Donghyuck watches Jaehyun’s eyes flicker down his arms for a moment in consideration, but then his hand trails down Donghyuck’s chest, fingers resting in the middle of his sternum.
“This is the coldest spot,” Jaehyun tells him, fingers actually pressing down for the first time. It’s most likely because now Jaehyun has to make sure the warmth spreads beneath the fabric of Donghyuck’s shirt, and Donghyuck takes a deep breath and tries to imagine that heat spreading throughout the rest of his body.
“His powers’ core,” Jisung realises, though likely doesn’t mean to say it aloud. He flushes when Donghyuck’s eyes flicker over to him, rubbing a sheepish hand on the back of his neck.
Jaehyun hums his agreement. He doesn’t take his eyes off Donghyuck though, carefully watching for any sign of discomfort.
Donghyuck starts to realise he doesn’t need to imagine the heat spreading throughout his body. It is, slowly tracing through his veins, slowly igniting at the tips of his fingers. The chill is being pushed out, the weird muted static feeling of it slowly starting to melt away.
He sinks down into the bed, letting the warmth overcome him, finally feeling free of the cold. Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath, relieved that it no longer feels like he’s just breathing with sharp shards of ice lodged in his lungs.
“-ey, hey. Hyuck-ah,” someone is saying, very distantly and far away, and he grumbles as it disrupts his land of peace that’s finally been granted to him.
The grumble seems be amusing, as there’s a light echo of laughter around him. Donghyuck claws himself back into trying to attempt consciousness, an eye peeking open to see everyone crowded around him, looking at him with a mixture of emotions.
The major one seems to be relief, which is reassuring.
Jaehyun is giving him a small grin, leaning in to poke his cheek. “Hey you. Are you alright? Did you fall asleep on me?”
“Mm,” Donghyuck says, even though he has no idea. All he knows is that is was peaceful, the most connected he’s felt to his body in weeks now. His powers finally thrumming under his skin, pushing through the exhaustion, familiar and comforting. “You’re hot. I like that.”
Jaemin tilts his head, giving a fair enough kind of gesture when Jaehyun looks back at him, both of them amused.
“If he’s flirting with Jaehyun, then he’s doing fine,” Chenle scoffs, though a quick glance still shows that Chenle is at least a little bit concerned.
“Hot as in warm,” Donghyuck defends, even though the other meaning is certainly true. But right now his most pressing matter is that he’s warm again, his powers are finally back in reach and ready, and he feels better than he has since coming home.
“Hyung, how are you feeling?” Jisung cuts in, attempting to stop any type of discussion with Chenle and Donghyuck. Donghyuck’s head rolls over on the pillow, and he does his best to give Jisung a smile.
He’s certainly exhausted, and his body still feels overall weak, but this is better. This is easier, just as Jaemin promised.
“Warm,” he manages, which doesn’t seem to be enough to placate Jisung, because he looks like he’s about to reach his hands out and just double check.
Donghyuck, maybe a little impulsive, maybe a little excited at the familiar feeling, clicks his fingers together. And grins with satisfaction as a small, bright light flickers to life, glowing between his fingers.
He shares a triumphant grin with Jaehyun, then focuses his attention to Jaemin. Jaemin, who looks both delighted and also, unfortunately, like he’s about to lecture Donghyuck.
Which is exactly what he does, hands fretting about the ball of light, trying to get Donghyuck to smother it.
“Oh my god, you just recover from some weird mental trap, and you just have to push it! Let your body rest, idiot. Come on, come on, you can show off later when you’re properly rested,” Jaemin stresses, one hand patting at the ball of light — which doesn’t harm him, would never harm him — and the other hand patting at Donghyuck’s hair.
Jaehyun just laughs, standing up from the bed. Donghyuck pouts, the light disappearing as he loses focus on it — which means Jaemin is likely right, that he probably shouldn’t be pushing boundaries so soon, because that type of light shouldn’t even need a second thought.
Still, he doesn’t dwell on it, focusing on sitting up. He opens his arms out wide, and Jaehyun doesn’t hesitate to sit back down so he can hug Donghyuck.
Donghyuck holds tight, securing himself closer to the warmth. He keeps hold of Jaehyun for a long time — and he’d hold longer, if it weren’t for Chenle prying his fingers off, telling him he’s getting tired, and he’d like to start transporting people home sooner rather than later.
“See you soon, Haechannie,” Jaehyun says as Chenle wraps his fingers around his wrist. It’s a promise, using the codename — it’s Jaehyun reassuring Donghyuck that he’ll be reinstated for missions soon enough, if he just looks after himself.
“You should rest, hyung,” Jisung tells him, an attempt of a warning.
In turn, Donghyuck opens up his arms, waiting for a hug. “Aw, Jisungie. Come here.”
Jisung pulls a face, sticking a tongue out at Donghyuck and saying ew, even though he does sit down on the bed and lets himself be wrapped in Donghyuck’s arms.
“My favourite babies,” Jaemin fondly says, standing before them and petting both of their heads.
“Gross,” Jisung says, the word muffled in Donghyuck’s chest, and he makes no attempt to pull back to make it clearer.
Renjun sits on Jaemin’s side of the bed, turning it into a small cuddlepile. Though, Donghyuck notices, he’s now using it to his advantage to slowly push Donghyuck down into the bed so he’s properly lying down.
Donghyuck decides to act like he doesn’t notice Renjun’s not very subtle attempt, letting himself slowly be guided down. Jisung goes down with him, though is careful not to put too much weight on Donghyuck’s front.
Chenle comes back, making an affronted noise at the sight he’s greeted with. Still, he crawls into the bed, draping himself on Renjun’s back and staying there, even though he was just complaining about getting everyone home.
Donghyuck goes to say something, but his own words are cut off with a yawn.
“Sleep, hyung,” Jisung mumbles, his weight settling a little more onto Donghyuck as they all sink into the bed.
And Donghyuck, with comforting weight and familiar presences around him, finally does so.
—
Donghyuck sleeps for almost a full day.
Everything seems to catch up to him, his body deciding to just shut down and recover for as long as it can. Thankfully, his sleep remains peaceful, no nightmares to disturb him.
Jaemin rouses him, insisting he should eat some dinner. Donghyuck blearily follows Jaemin’s instruction, grimacing as his limbs feel heavy and disconnected, weighed down by lingering sleepiness.
“Chenle came by with Jisung and Kun,” Jaemin tells him, once Donghyuck is a little more awake and properly eating.
It’s a little unnerving that he was so out of it that he had no idea, that he didn’t stir once even with others in the apartment checking up on him.
Jaemin seems to sense his discomfort, knocking his feet against Donghyuck’s leg to snap him out of his thoughts. “They said you’re doing a lot better. It’s mostly just your core recovering from what happened yesterday.”
Donghyuck gives a thumbs-up, mouth too full to bother speaking a reply. Jaemin leans across the table to swipe something away from his bottom lip, shaking his head with soft fondness.
It’s easier.
Under strict supervision of Jaemin, or anyone else that appears in the apartment, Donghyuck spends the next week ‘recovering’. Which, now with his powers tingling anxiously at his fingertips, burning his core with eagerness to be used, means being bored.
Time passes slowly, but it passes, and Donghyuck is finally cleared by Kun to start using his powers again.
It’s tedious and slow, with boundaries and limits in place that Donghyuck wants nothing more to break.
But it gets better.
Donghyuck doesn’t dream as much, anymore. He sleeps better. His powers are almost back to the same familiarity, the same strength, he had before everything happened.
Throughout it all, Jaemin doesn’t leave his side. Neither do the others — though their visits are becoming a little less frequent. They’re not coming by because they’re worried anymore, they’re coming by to raid the fridge or steal their wifi.
Almost back to normal. Almost.
“Dream unit is still operating right now, right?” Donghyuck asks Jaemin, both of them lying in bed. The effort of his hard work has tired him out, basically ready to sleep the second he settled into the bed, but this has been something on his mind for a few days now.
Because Jaemin has been by his side this entire time. Weeks. And the others come by, but they don’t mention anything about any missions. They’re careful to avoid the topic of Neo Culture entirely around Donghyuck.
“Yeah,” Jaemin says, voice carefully measured, not giving away anything. Both of them know Donghyuck is setting up for something, and Jaemin is always careful not to misstep.
“And yet you’re not back on the roster?”
Jaemin hums, rolling over so that they’re facing each other. He slides an arm over Donghyuck’s waist, fingers tapping on Donghyuck’s back.
Jaemin is carefully thinking over his words, and Donghyuck waits for him to parse through his thoughts.
“Currently, Neo Culture is focused on taking out the organisation that took you,” Jaemin replies. It’s the first bit of actual information anyone has given Donghyuck about what everyone is up to.
“Then why aren’t you rostered on?”
Jaemin sighs, fingers pausing in their rthymn. “I asked to be taken off.”
Donghyuck had suspected as much, but Jaemin has been avoiding the topic everytime Donghyuck tries and brings it up to him.
Donghyuck appreciates the concern, he does, and loves being doted on. But he feels like a burden as well, helpless and hopeless at the worst of times. He doesn’t want to be the one holding Jaemin back, doesn’t want Jaemin to always just be stuck looking after him.
He props himself up with an elbow, Jaemin’s arm falling slightly to rest at his waist instead.
“Even now? I’m okay now, you know. I know it wasn’t great at the start, but I can be alone now,” Donghyuck reminds him. “But only like, for a couple days, because I am still needy and want kisses at all times.”
Jaemin gives him a small smile, puckering his lips and giving Donghyuck an air-kiss.
“I asked to remain off until they’ve sorted out the organisation completely,” Jaemin answers, his lips still upturned, but there’s no traces of a real smile now. “When you were taken, we did everything to get you back. I’ve never felt that angry, or that hurtful before. I... I don’t want to feel it again. I know the others will deal with the organisation properly, but I fear that I won’t be able to hold back. Not after everything they did to you.”
Donghyuck lets out a heavy “Oh”. He deflates, his questioning halted in its tracks at Jaemin’s honest reply.
There’s a sense of relief there, as well. He knows Jaemin hadn’t stepped over any lines — held back in the compound by the others, as Chenle had let it slip to him. They dealt with those in the building swiftly, but not in a way that would make any of them feel guilty for being overly-indulgent in violence.
And he’s glad that Jaemin stayed here with him. Placing a boundary on himself, a line he didn’t want to cross, trusting their friends to deal with it for them.
“They’re almost finished up with it all. We’ll probably be rostered back on at the same time,” Jaemin says. He wriggles closer, pressing a kiss to Donghyuck’s head.
“Oh, by the way,” Jaemin continues, voice quiet to fit the later hour. “When you get back, I don’t think Mark or Jeno are going to let you out of their sight for a while.”
“They still feel guilty,” Donghyuck figures, and Jaemin hums with agreement.
“They do. I suggest amusing them for a day, and then giving it to them,” Jaemin advises, and Donghyuck laughs.
“Will do,” Donghyuck replies. He moves himself closer to Jaemin, tightly wrapped up against him, pressing as close as he can.
“Love you,” Donghyuck breathes out, the words almost lost in Jaemin’s skin.
They’re heard though — Jaemin always hears him. Jaemin presses another kiss to his head, and Donghyuck’s chest is warm with something that’s not just his powers.
“Love you too,” Jaemin answers, voice muffled as well as he presses them into Donghyuck’s hair and forehead.
Donghyuck has had issues with being constrained, with feeling trapped, but this is nothing like that. This is Jaemin pressing against him, holding him close and safe.
And Donghyuck falls asleep like that — with things better. Easier.
Just like Jaemin had promised.
|
Todoroki sat in the common room with his laptop open, earbuds in, and stars in his mismatched eyes when Izuku wandered in for a late-night snack. He was surprised to find him sitting in the dark.
“Um, Todoroki?” Izuku waved at him in an attempt to pull his focus from the screen. He removed his earbuds and regarded Izuku with wide eyes.
“Have you ever seen
Risky Business?”
“No… is that what you’re doing? It’s three in the morning, you know.”
“Is it?” He looked around the dark room and took in the empty couches. “I hadn’t noticed. I was busy.”
“Busy watching really old foreign movies?”
“No. I’m reclaiming my childhood,” he said, so gravely serious that Izuku felt the knee-jerk laugh he gave was probably an impulse he should’ve stifled.
“Have you been doing this all night?”
“I watched a lot of very informative films. I’ve decided to throw a
rager.”
Todoroki hadn’t used air quotes, but Izuku could clearly hear them in his tone, like he wasn’t entirely sure what it meant. “Midoriya, have you ever been to a party?”
Izuku paused for a moment, thinking. Todoroki probably didn’t want to hear about Kacchan’s fourth birthday party, with the orange streamers, the skull-shaped birthday cake, and the way his best friend’s palms sparked when Izuku gave him a kiss on the cheek as a present. His face felt hot just thinking about it.
“Not really,” he said. Growing up Quirkless meant he hadn’t had too many opportunities to socialize.
“Me either. Let’s throw a party.”
Izuku couldn’t help it—he laughed again.
“Yeah, alright. Count me in. Goodnight, Todoroki! Don’t stay up too late party planning!”
Later, Izuku would remember this moment and come to deeply regret it.
Tonight was the night. He wasn’t a drinker, but then again, what hero student was? As far as he knew, this was the first time anyone had really let loose since high school began—or at least since the League of Villains decided to target them. Now, they had a week off from training, more than half the League was in prison for the foreseeable future, and their first year at U.A. had come to a close. What better way to celebrate than by seizing the moment? And by
the moment,
he meant the day Endeavor got on a plane to Hokkaido to catch a villain he’d been after for a long time.
Todoroki’s home was empty, and Izuku couldn’t deter him from his party plans. Todoroki couldn’t think of a better way to reclaim his childhood—while simultaneously pissing off his father—than by throwing an absolute
rager.
Seriously, he wouldn’t stop using that word.
Fuyumi—Todoroki’s older sister, and possibly the only person in the family who
wasn’t
out to make Endeavor angry at every possible opportunity—was against the party, but she was also out of town with her boyfriend, and she seemed resigned to the fact that her awkward little brother was going to do what he wanted. Natsuo, still responsible, but always down to fuck with Endeavor and allow his youngest sibling to experience what he so eloquently called
normal people shit—
was the one who provided the booze.
“I’ll be here all night, Sho—unless the cops show, then I’m fucking out of here—so if you need anything, I’ll be in Endeavor’s office emailing all his work contacts sad kitten memes.”
“Thank you, Natsuo,” Todoroki said evenly, eyeing the pyramid of beer cases, boxed wine, and liquor bottles—all purchased courtesy of the number one hero’s many credit cards. He gave the slightest twitch of his mouth, and Izuku knew him well enough by now to understand that as an expression of immense gratitude—maybe even a little bit of excitement.
“So, when is everyone getting here?” Izuku asked.
“I said eight, but the movies I watched say that means everyone will be here at ten.”
Izuku nodded, but he’d be surprised if half the class didn’t show up right at eight. He had a hard time believing Iida wouldn’t be punctual, at least. He popped the tab on a can of beer and the action was a bit anticlimactic—just like opening a soda can. He thought it’d feel
cool
or
rebellious.
He took an experimental sip and found that it tasted just as much like warm piss as it looked.
“Ugh, it’s hot!”
Todoroki gave him a deadpan stare before idly waving his right hand around.
“Oh,”
Izuku said, and just barely stopped himself from face-palming. Todoroki’s mouth twitched again before he hefted up a few of the beer cases.
“Help me get these to the kitchen. We can fill the sink with water and ice.”
“Right! Um, do you think we’ll need this much alcohol?”
“I don’t know, but something about it excites me,” he said, eyeing the tower of illicit party goods again. Izuku snorted at the childlike wonder in his eyes.
“So… you’re really doing this?” Izuku asked, as if the proof wasn’t staring him in the face. It was probably his nerves getting the best of him, that last-ditch effort to stop whatever was going to happen in its tracks. “Todoroki, you do know that you’re not an American girl from the 1980s, right?”
“A wise person once said,
be the Molly Ringwald you want to see in the world,”
he intoned softly, cooling a can of beer in his right hand. He went too far, and it promptly exploded in a spray of white, fizzy liquid. With a blank look, he set the can on the counter and tried again with a new one.
“Who said that?” Izuku asked, studying his own warm can. His friend stuck a palm to the bottom of it, cooling it with his Quirk.
“My sister.” He shrugged, as if to say
c’est la vie.
“She watched all those movies when she studied abroad. I’m starting to think she never went to class.”
“But… Molly Ringwald didn’t even party.”
“But she
lived,”
Todoroki said, far too serious for the conversation they were having. “She overcame her fears. She made
memories.”
Izuku tilted his head and wondered when his stoic friend became so profound. He would never admit it, but Izuku wanted to make memories tonight too. He wanted to tell Kacchan how he felt. He wanted to kiss him, and be kissed by him, to have it be the start of something… and Izuku, brave as he thought he was, didn’t think he could do it without a little liquid courage.
He took another sip of his beer, slightly cooled with Todoroki’s help, and prayed for the ghost of Molly Ringwald to possess him in the same way his friend seemed to be. Izuku was suddenly as impassioned as Todoroki, ready to let his freak flag fly, or whatever.
“Okay. To Molly Ringwald, then,” he said, raising his perspiring can in Todoroki’s direction, before downing the whole thing in a few carbonated gulps.
“To Operation: Rager,” Todoroki agreed, with a solemness that belied his excitement.
Promptly at eight, the entire class arrived.
Before even giving the extras any time to welcome him, Katsuki grabbed Kirishima’s wrist and shoved him into the first empty room he could find. Katsuki’s palms were twice as sweaty, nervous about the plans he had for the evening.
He tried to, very calmly, ask for a favor, but in the end, he sort of screamed at his unsuspecting wingman.
“You want me to kiss you?” Kirishima asked, bewildered.
“Obviously!”
Katsuki was loath to admit his inexperience to the one person in the class that actually had a girlfriend, but Kirishima was the only person he knew who’d stay quiet.
“For science, right? Cause, like, you’re my bro, but I don’t swing that way.”
“For
research,”
Katsuki said, jamming a finger into Kirishima’s chest. “Deku won’t know what hit him.”
“I feel like I should tell you that Midoriya will probably implode no matter how bad of a kisser you are. Also… I have to ask Mina first.”
Katsuki huffed an unintelligible string of curse words, losing his goddamn patience. He scoffed at the insinuation that he’d be a bad kisser. He was good at everything because he
practiced.
This was no different.
“Text her, then,” he barked because he couldn’t really begrudge his friend for wanting to be a dutiful boyfriend.
Kirishima wasted no time fishing his phone out of the pocket of his ugly, brown corduroys while Katsuki paced around the room, feeling like a caged feral animal. He wanted to get this shit over with so he could find Deku.
“She wants to know if she can watch,” Kirishima said, a goofy smile on his face as he read the message. Katsuki rolled his eyes. Without preamble, he grabbed the front of Kirishima’s shirt with both hands and pulled him in with nearly enough force to crack teeth.
Kirishima squawked in surprise, dropping his phone, before Katsuki’s pinched mouth shut him up. After that, it was deadly silent—almost awkwardly so. Kirishima hadn’t moved a muscle, his hands stuck awkwardly to his sides. It was like kissing a brick wall. Katsuki tried to imagine Deku, but it was hard when all he could focus on was the fact that Kirishima tasted like Fritos and Monster.
How does Ashido put up with this shit?
And then…
something
happened. Something
clicked.
Kirishima turned his head slightly, and his large hands landed lightly on Katsuki’s waist. Katsuki’s hands seemed to take on a mind of their own, one cupping the back of his friend’s neck, and the other trying valiantly to run his fingers through the fortress of gel that was Kirishima’s hair. Thank god Deku didn’t bother with hair products. Hopefully, he ran a brush through his curls that night, so Katsuki would be able to get his fingers through them without sticking into a tangle.
Kirishima squeezed him tighter, like he was trying to encircle the thinnest point of his waist with only his large hands. It nearly worked. He pulled away, looking excited.
“I think your waist is tinier than Mina’s!”
“Shut up and kiss me, damn it!” Katsuki barked, his face hot, and yanked him back into him. Their lips met again, still crashing, but a bit softer. They had established a rhythm now, and it was much easier to play off each other, to fall into an easy give and take. Katsuki
knew
he’d be good at this. He couldn’t wait to kiss Deku. The nerd would probably cry, both from happiness and the irrefutable knowledge that Katsuki was better than him at one more thing.
“Hey, Kacch—
AH!”
Katsuki’s eyes went impossibly wide and met Kirishima’s. They were still kissing, and thus, so fucking close that their eyelashes were nearly touching. Katsuki shoved him away, but not quickly enough.
Deku abruptly burst into tears and ran out the door, slamming it shut behind him, and Katsuki felt his chance slipping away.
“Fuck!”
“Deku, can you move a little to the left?” Uraraka asked, her phone positioned for a selfie.
Izuku sniffled and did as he was told. He watched the screen as he did so, and the second he was no longer visible, Uraraka snapped the picture. He tried not to feel hurt about that. He
did
look awful, puffy and red as his eyes were. After she typed out a quick caption and posted her photo, she finally graced her best friend with some much-needed attention.
“Okay, Deku, what’s up?” Her glossed lips popped the last syllable.
“Kacchan is kissing Kirishima,” he wailed, a fresh wave of tears running down his cheeks. Uraraka squinted at him, slightly pained.
“I see,” she said, way too evenly for Izuku’s liking.
Still, he opened his arms for a hug, seeking comfort. He sniffled loudly enough to be heard over the music, determined to keep the snot in his nose where it belonged. Uraraka grimaced, only opening her arms slightly. Izuku took this as permission to barrel into her, but she cringed away from him at the last second.
“Wait!” She waved her arms around frantically in front of her to keep him at bay. “Deku, I love you, but I can’t return this top tomorrow if you get tears and snot all over it!”
“B-but I’m sad.” He pouted, doing his best to weaponize his ability to look breathtakingly pathetic.
“I know, I know. I’m sorry. Hold on!”
She ran off, wobbling on the ridiculous heels she was sporting for the night, shouting Iida’s name over the music. Iida rushed in so fast he may as well have been using his Quirk.
“What’s wrong?” he bellowed, taking in every inch of Izuku with a harried look in his eyes. He had an overflowing first aid kit in his hands, and Izuku could vividly imagine him begging Yaoyorozu to make it for him in preparation for the night of debauchery he was so staunchly against.
“Midoriya! What happened? Are you feeling ill? Do you think you might pass out? I will personally make sure you don’t drown in your own vomit.”
“At ease, doctor,” Uraraka said when she caught up to him. “He just needs a hug.”
Izuku resented this oversimplification on every level. A hug wasn’t going to mend his broken heart or resurrect his disappointed hopes for the evening. That wasn’t to say that he didn’t
want
the hug. At this, Iida visibly deflated.
“Oh,” he said, still hesitating to open his arms to his distraught friend.
“If someone doesn’t hug me
right now,
I’m going to lose it!” He made frantic grabby hands at his friends, feeling very much like a toddler begging to be picked up. Uraraka shoved Iida’s shoulder until he was finally opening his arms to receive Izuku, wrapping him in a stiff, awkward hug.
“Um, there, there,” he said, thumping Izuku’s back with so much force that Izuku heaved out a breath against his will. Honestly, it was like seeking comfort in a refrigerator—rote, cold, and boxy.
“See! All better, Deku. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got hot girl shit to do for the Gram,” she said, wobbling away once again.
“You’re just going to leave me here?” Iida shouted.
“Yep! I’ve got promo codes to sell! Have a drink, Deku! Love you!” She blew an overexaggerated kiss in his direction, and Iida was already backing off.
“So… did the hug work? Are you feeling better?”
Izuku grimaced and tried to fight away the intrusive thought that his friends were just a bit useless in the empathy department. He supposed everyone had their own plans for the night. He couldn’t hold it against them just because his plans were dead on arrival. Izuku patted Iida’s back and released him from the duty of comforting him. Izuku would have to take care of this himself.
“Not really,” he admitted. “So there’s only one thing to do now!”
“Persevere in the face of your disappointment and find the bright side of things?” Iida—the boy who once decided murder was an okay way to deal with one’s problems—said naïvely.
“No, of course not! Somebody pour me a drink!” Izuku yelled to no one in particular, determinedly walking towards the kitchen.
“Yaomomo,” Mina said, giggling into her half-drunk cup of rosé. It took her a few tries to get the rest out. “You and Todoroki should hook up!”
“What? You think so?” she asked, clutching her own glass of Cabernet Sauvignon—in a real, long-stemmed wine glass. It was boxed wine, leagues below the casual sips she had taken from her parents' glasses over the years, but it still deserved to be in something other than a disposable, plastic cup.
“Why?” Kyoka blurted out, nearly choking on the fizzy, purple concoction in her cup. She was standing close enough to Momo that she could smell the sickly sweet, grape vodka on her breath. It smelled nostalgic, like the purple lollipops her mother let her have when she brought home an exemplary report card. She and Kyoka shared a look, and as unexpected as it was, it left her feeling warmer than the wine she’d imbibed. Kyoka was a wonderful friend.
“Oh, my god,
yes!”
Toru squealed, draping her arm over Mina’s shoulders. “I so agree.”
“‘Cause rich, hot bitches have to stick together! Am I right, ladies?” Mina giggled.
“That’s ridiculous,” Kyoka said, at exactly the same moment as Momo said, “Maybe. He
is
cute.”
Mina and Toru cackled drunkenly, and Kyoka stared at her half-full cup.
“I need a refill,” she mumbled, and immediately left for the kitchen.
Izuku stared hard at the myriad alcoholic beverages on offer, wondering where to start. He was desperate not to lose the buzz he cultivated from the two beers he chugged earlier. He had an empty cup in his hand, and he was determined to fill it up with something that might numb the persistent
sad
festering within. His musings were interrupted when Jiro entered the room, slightly stumbling. She went straight for the tall, chilled bottle of purple liquid in the icy sink.
“Is that any good?” Izuku asked, as she unceremoniously poured a shot’s worth into her mouth, the bottle dangling just above her lips. Jiro swallowed, coughed, shivered, and then recovered.
“Tastes like grape Gatorade, but angry,” she said, wiping an errant trail of grape vodka from the corner of her mouth.
“Oh, my god, I
love
grapes.”
Jiro’s only response was to offer the bottle to him, a challenge in her eyes. Izuku was used to challenges, and this one seemed minor in the face of everything he had faced in the past. He accepted the bottle and poured it into his mouth in the same way Jiro had previously.
He retched, eyes bulging, before swallowing it down. It did
not
taste like grape Gatorade, angry or otherwise. He was seconds away from telling her as much, but she gave him a look of approval that Izuku had always been susceptible to.
Acceptance.
She poured them both a generous amount of the not-grape flavored vodka, with a splash of whatever mixer was within reach. Izuku didn’t want to pry, but he was compelled to ask.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m in love with Yaomomo,” she blurted out before casually sipping her drink. “But she’s probably not a lesbian.”
“W-what?”
“Gay panic, Midoriya! Keep up!”
“Oh,” he said, nodding. He picked up his cup, willing himself to be so honest. “I’m… yeah, me, too. I mean, I like Kacchan. I am Kacchan-sexual.”
Maybe that was too honest,
he thought, mourning the loss of his already barely there brain to mouth filter.
“No, shit.” She snorted, before taking another deep swig from her cup.
“I just caught him making out with Kirishima,” he said, staring into his drink. Jiro did a literal spit take, spraying Izuku’s white shirt with indigo droplets, like fucked up tie-dye. He recoiled, as one does when faced with unexpected spittle.
“What?
Fuck that! You should make him jealous!”
Izuku pondered that possibility, wondering if he was at all able to do that. It was an appealing idea…. He may as well try it.
“Do… you want to make out?” Izuku asked tentatively. Jiro looked insulted.
“What part of
lesbian
did you not understand?”
“Right. S-sorry.” Izuku mumbled. He took another swig of his drink, mentally running through a checklist of his classmates, wondering who would, first off, be willing to kiss him, and second, who would make Kacchan the most jealous.
The idea sprang to mind so suddenly that he gasped, nearly choking on his stiff drink.
“So, um, Todoroki,” Momo said, nervously swirling the maroon liquid in her glass. She felt a need to drink more, but she actually hated the taste of her wine. “Are you having fun?”
“Yes,” he said, watching the general merriment happening around them with an impassive expression. For absolutely no reason that she could discern, he very deliberately knocked an expensive vase off a high shelf, like a vindictive cat. Momo tilted her head in confusion, eyeing the shards of porcelain at their feet.
“Why did you do that?”
“Payback,” he said, before sweeping the debris away with his foot. “For a childhood squandered.”
“Oh, of course,” she said, totally at a loss, but trying to play along, anyway. “May I help?”
Todoroki’s eyes brightened for a fraction of a moment, the corner of his mouth ticking upward.
“Thank you, Yaoyorozu. Let’s make a mess,” he said, about as emphatically as he ever said anything. Together, they pulled a few books off the shelves, pages fluttering as they hit the ground.
“Uh, so that was…”
“Shut. Up,” Katsuki said, pissed beyond belief. He all but collapsed on the nearby bed without a care for who it belonged to, his mind running in circles. Kirishima looked hopelessly unprepared to navigate the intricacies of what to do when your best friend (a title Katsuki begrudgingly accepted) fucked things up with his crush.
“Maybe you should—”
“Shut up!” Katsuki yelled, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was trying not to panic and Kirishima wasn’t helping.
“—be… honest?” Kirishima said in the tentative way he often used when he knew what he was saying might end in bloodshed.
“Honest about
what?”
“Why you were kissing me?”
“And look like a fucking nerd? Hell no!”
“Midoriya would probably find it kinda sweet that you were nervous,” he said, shrugging, but the beginnings of a shit-eating grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. Katsuki ripped a pillow off the bed and threw it at him. He caught it with his stupid face.
“I wasn’t nervous! Fuck off.”
“Right... Well, I’m gonna go drink pink wine with my girlfriend. Talk to him, bro. Everything will work out.”
Momo picked up a ceramic trinket and daintily tossed it to the floor while Todoroki set a book on fire. The sudden burst of flame and ash startled her. She slipped in the debris at her feet and tripped into his chest. She blushed, the small, flaming book all but forgotten as she looked up into his eyes. This was perfect!
Here goes nothing,
she thought, attempting to build up the confidence to make a move. Suddenly, Midoriya materialized, all but sprinting towards them. Out of sheer self-preservation, she hurriedly stepped aside.
“Todoroki, kiss me!” He commanded as he jumped into his friend’s arms. Todoroki caught him easily.
“Okay,” he said stoically, just before their lips met, as if this was a regular occurrence for them.
“Are you…” Momo started, but she was at a loss for words. When she found her voice again, it was unfortunately during a dip in the music. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”
She nearly shattered the empty glass in her hand. A hush fell over the room and the entirety of Class 1-A stopped what they were doing to stare at her in muted shock. Even Todoroki and Midoriya came up for air.
“Yaoyorozu, what’s wrong?” Todoroki asked, still holding Midoriya by the backs of his thighs. Before she could summon the will to tell him off for being an oblivious idiot, Bakugo lumbered in, screeching something stupid that only Midoriya would ever find remotely romantic.
“Get your hands off my nerd, Icyhot!”
“Go find Kirishima, you
traitor!”
Midoriya bellowed drunkenly, clinging tighter to a hapless Todoroki, his scarred arms forming a cage around his head.
“It was for
science!”
Kirishima wailed from somewhere in the room. “I have a girlfriend!”
“I… I’m surrounded by hormonal buffoons,” Momo murmured, stewing in a moment of total clarity. “Oh, god. I’m one of them.”
The boys were still yelling at each other, and Momo was grateful that their little scene had pulled the attention away from her. She was so embarrassed.
A soft hand circled her wrist, and gently pulled her away from the scene. Momo looked into the eyes of her rescuer, shyly meeting Kyoka’s gaze. They both blushed.
She was wonderful. And really, really pretty. How had she not noticed that before?
“No!”
Deku shrieked, still maintaining his vice grip on Half and Half’s head. Todoroki just stood there, silently confused while Katsuki did his damnedest to pry Deku off of him.
“Midoriya, I can’t breathe,” Todoroki muttered. He was no longer holding Deku to him, but nevertheless, the nerd persisted.
“Good! Drop dead, Icyhot. He’s mine!” Katsuki snarled, tugging at Deku’s waist.
“Wait,” Deku said, suddenly perking up and letting go of Todoroki just as Katsuki yanked harder. They went flying to the ground, a mess of limbs. Deku ended up on top of him, looking drunk and entirely too pleased with himself. “Kacchan, were you
jealous?”
“N-no,” he stuttered, his usual bravado failing him because he was horizontal and chest to chest—among other things—with Deku.
Deku gasped, his stupid smile breaking open before he stuck his face in Katsuki’s chest and nuzzled him in a way that was both frantic and borderline violent. Katsuki blushed, shoving Deku off him because whatever was happening was
not
going to happen on the sticky floor in front of his entire class.
Katsuki quickly grabbed Deku and all but dragged him down the hall. The class had the audacity to cheer—he distinctly heard Kaminari and Sero call for a round of golf claps. Deku giggled as he stumbled behind Katsuki. He opened the first door he saw, which turned out to be a coat closet.
A coat closet that was already in use. Ponytail and Earlobes, faces red and clothes rumpled, didn’t even have the decency to spring apart when Katsuki interrupted them.
“Occupied,”
Jiro slurred, removing her hand from the small of Yaoyorozu’s back so she could slam the door in his face. He caught the tail end of Ponytail’s refined little giggle as the door shut.
Deku gasped again, enchanted. Katsuki wanted to kiss him stupid. Patience waning, he dragged him to another door, all while Deku cheered.
“Way to go, Jiro! Kacchan, they’re in lesbians!”
“In a fucking closet. There’s a joke in there somewhere,” he groused, chuckling.
He pulled Deku through another door, into a room that was undeniably Endeavor’s study. Todoroki Natsuo swiveled around in the desk chair, his face lit up by the misty-eyed kitten on the computer screen.
“Um,” Todoroki started, but Katsuki cut him off with a feral, impatient howl, stomping his foot.
“Why the
fuck
is every room in this goddamn house taken?!”
Deku interrupted his epic meltdown by throwing his arm across Katsuki’s back, sighing in inebriated contentment.
“Kacchan’s so cute. I love you.” He pressed a sloppy, wet kiss to his cheek, and Katsuki’s soul promptly left his body. It came back when Deku sucker punched him in the chest without warning, knocking him into a wall. “But
I
wanted to be your first kiss, jackass.”
“Goddamn,” he wheezed, rubbing his sternum to dissipate the pain. “Fuckin’ love you, nerd.”
He was about to remind Deku of his fourth birthday party—tell him that he
was
his first kiss—but Deku was too busy desperately sticking his tongue down his throat. That was fine, though. Besides, he couldn’t have Deku thinking he’d gone soft. He had a reputation to uphold.
“Ugh.
Get a room,” Todoroki whined. Katsuki only had enough oxygen in his brain to flip Todoroki off.
There wasn’t much talking after that.
Shoto surveyed his loud classmates as they danced and sang and made a mess of his home, taking joy in the chaos they wrought. He felt warm, and it had nothing to do with his Quirk, or the three sips of beer he’d had before the party started.
He was Tom Cruise in
Risky Business,
sliding through the house in socks and sunglasses. He was Judd Nelson, thrusting his fist in the air in triumph as the credits rolled on
The Breakfast Club
. He was Matthew Broderick, dancing on a parade float in
Ferris Bueller’s Day Off
. He was Molly Ringwald in
Sixteen Candles
, having the best-worst birthday a girl could ask for.
He was Todoroki Shoto, and he loved his friends.
“Mission accomplished.” He smiled.
|
Remus slowed down to a jog, then to a walk, glancing over his shoulders after every 5 steps. His breathing was heavy - what did he expect after running around the seventh-floor corridor for fifteen minutes - and he leant over, clutching at his side and he panted. It was rather stupid of him, really, to go running about Hogwarts only two days after the last full moon, but he'd lost him now, and that was all that mattered.
Suddenly, from nowhere, a hand reached out, clutching at Remus's already dishevelled tie and dragging his thin, frail body to the side. The little squeak that made its way out of his throat was awfully embarrassing for a 16-year-old boy and he hoped and prayed it wasn't who he thought it was-
"Sirius?!" Remus hissed, narrowing his eyes at his friend. He'd been dragged into a small alcove covered by a tapestry, and he could barely make out the sharp jawline and high cheekbones in the darkness of the crook.
"The one and only!" Sirius grinned, gesturing to himself proudly.
"What the fuck?"
"Why have you been avoiding us, Moony?" Sirius quizzed, tilting his head and pouting in a way that made Remus want to slap (kiss) the look off of his face.
"I haven't been avoiding you."
It wasn't a lie.
Huffing exasperatedly, Sirius rolled his eyes, leaning closer to Remus. There really wasn't enough room in the small hole in the wall Sirius had dragged them into, and it would only take half a step for he and Remus to end up chest to chest, noses touching. Remus willed for his heart to slow down just a little, sure that Sirius could hear the
thump-thump-thump
ing against his ribcage.
"Yes, you were! You just totally ran off after breakfast and we didn't see you again!"
"Well, I wasn't avoiding
you
, okay?" Remus huffed in return, already shattered from spending a Saturday running around the castle when he
should
have been in bed, recovering and studying.
"Then who?" Sirius questioned with a raise of his eyebrows.
"Christopher Brady..." Remus muttered, dropping his head.
"What, Ravenclaw fifth year, short blond hair, needs to pull his head from his arse?"
"The very same."
Sirius looked at him pointedly, trying to encourage him to continue, and Remus did do with a groan.
He told Sirius everything, starting from the week before.
It started with just a few glances, Remus feeling like he was being watched at mealtimes. It took him three days to find where the stares were coming from - the underclassman sat at the Ravenclaw table, head stuffed into a book and watching Remus from over the top of it. Remus hoped he'd eventually start to look away when Remus paid him no attention, but it only got worse. Next thing he knew, Brady was waiting for him after lessons, trying to speak to him in the corridors, which never ended well as Remus entirely dismissed him, and Remus was sick of it!
When he emerged from the Hospital Wing the afternoon after the Full Moon, he was met with Christopher Brady's beaming face, hands stretched outwards and a Chocolate Frog box on his palms - 'I heard you were ill!' he'd declared with fervour, shoving the gift into Remus's hands and skipping off.
Lupin returned to the dorms, he unboxed the gift, never able to turn down chocolate.
But when the Chocolate Frog smelt of warm leather jackets, old books and wet animal fur, he knew the 'present' had been doused in Amortentia.
He promptly threw the chocolate in the bin.
Then came to that morning; Brady was staring more intently than usual, likely wondering why Remus wasn't crawling over to him on his knees, begging for his affections, and Remus freaked, running out of the Great Hall without giving the confused Marauders at the table another look.
"You could have just come back to the dorms!" Sirius laughed as Remus finished his explanation, throwing his hands up at Moony's stupidity.
"I tried!" Remus pleaded, "But when I turned the corner and began to head down the stairs, he was waiting outside of the portrait! He spotted me and began to head towards me, so I just- I just ran! Stop laughing, you bastard!" Remus shouted, slipping out a little laughter of his own as Sirius ended up doubled over, clutching his stomach as he continued to cackle wildly.
"I-its just so
funny
!" He cried, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. However, when he finally calmed, he stood up straight to see Remus, eyes looking down to the floor and he gnawed on his lip, shuffling from foot to foot. "Moony?"
"I'm just worried, you know?" Remus looked up, amber eyes meeting grey, and Sirius saw the same scared look in his face that he'd become so acquainted with back in their first year. "W-what if he starts paying too much attention, Sirius? He might not be over this stupid crush in a months time, and he might notice- notice a pattern, I guess? He's already tried to slip me Amortentia, what if he tried Veritaserum next? What if I end up telling everyone-"
"Hey!" Sirius cut him off, grabbing Remus's shoulders and shaking him back and forth, letting his head loll around. He smiled, trying to reassure his friend. "It won't come to that, okay? We just need a plan..." He mumbled, following Remus's shuffling as he tried to think of how to get Remus out of the situation he found himself in.
"Okay, for starters, no eating or drinking anything you haven't prepared yourself or
seen
being made, alright? We can sneak to the kitchens after meals and watch the house elves make it so we know it hasn't been tampered with."
"We?" Remus cocked his head at his friend.
"Of course,
we
! We're the moon and the stars, Remy! It's us against the world!" Sirius beamed, filling Remus's heart with such affection it made him dizzy. Remus's eyes softened as he looked at Sirius, desperate to pull his friend into a hug.
"I don't know what I'd do without you, you know?" Lupin bubbled, smirking at his friend. "So that eliminates the prospect of being poisoned or whatever, but what about the rest of it? I can't deal with a stalker!"
Pondering for a moment longer, Sirius's eyes began to sparkle and he snapped his fingers, decidedly pleased with whatever revelation he'd come to.
"Get a boyfriend!"
What?
"H-huh?"
"It's genius, right?!" Sirius screeched so loud that hiding in the alcove was no longer necessary - anyone would be able to hear where they were. "You get snatched up, taken off of the market, and then it's obvious that you're not interested! Date them for, like, two months, just long enough for Brady to get the hint to shove off, and then break up with them!"
"Sirius, I can't have a boyfriend! The whole point of this is so no one finds out about my furry little problem. Dating someone totally negates that!" Remus cautioned in a voice, trying to make it clear that this
must
have been obvious to begin with.
"Just date someone who knows, then!"
"Oh, yeah, genius Pads!" Remus glared, voice dripping with sarcasm, "So I have you, Prongs, Wormy or Lily! Lily is already off the table - I'm a good actor when I want to be but I will not act straight for any length of time. James is too infatuated with Lily for anyone to believe that, and Pete wouldn't be able to lie about it for longer than thirty seconds!" He concluded, dropping his hands exhaustedly, face choleric and sardonic.
"Well then," Sirius stated soberly, folding his arms over his chest. His face was unreadable, but Remus knew exactly what he was insinuating.
No, no nononononono!
Remus was not going to fake date Sirius under any circumstance, never ever.
"Yeah, I don't think that's a good idea, Padfoot," Remus said cooly.
"Why not?" He pouted back.
Why not? Remus had a whole list in his mind tucked away ready to answer that question.
Because they were best friends was of course first on the list! What if something went wrong?! Remus wouldn't be able to live with himself if he lost his best friend and fellow Marauder over some stupid pretend dating. Not to mention how awkward it would be when the eventual break up came about! How were they meant to convince people they had broken up while also still being best friends?
Oh, and the fact that Sirius Orion Black was the one boy that Remus had been pining over since Halloween Second Year might have had something to do with it, too.
"It'd be weird, wouldn't it?" Remus finally settled with. "We'd have to hold hands and cuddle and act all..."
"Couply?" Sirius filled in with a chuckle.
"Exactly!"
Sirius leant back against the wall, arms still across his chest and head now tilted a little upwards. He looked down at Remus with lowered eyelids and a smirk able to make Remus's heart stop.
"I think I could manage it," He needled.
He tried, tried oh so hard to muster up every ounce of self-restraint he had to try and say no, to tell Sirius to leave him be and that he'd deal with it. But the idea of being able to get rid of his strangely attracted stalker and date Sirius for a couple of months was too strong of a prospect, and he found himself nodding before he could even register.
"Ugh! Fine!" He sighed, and Sirius made no hesitation to wrap his arms around Remus, hugging him gleefully.
"Yay!"
"But we need ground rules!" Remus said, shaking Sirius off and looking at him fixedly again. "Firstly, no flirting with anyone else! We need to be convincing!"
"You have my honour!" Sirius smiled brightly, hand on his heart.
"We don't kiss, either, okay?" Remus said flatly.
"Still waiting on that perfect first kiss, are we, Lupin?" Sirius teased, lightly kicking his friend's shin.
Remus rolled his eyes, pointedly ignoring the comment. "And we tell James and Peter about it so they know what's going on."
"No, no no no!" Arms flailing about, Sirius seemed to panic. "That's an awful idea!"
"Why?"
"You said it yourself!" He cried, "Peter is utterly incompetent at lying-"
"Big words for you, Pads."
"-So everyone would know it was bullshit after like, a day! No, this needs to stay between us!"
Remus knew he sighed a lot when in Sirius's presence, but this seemed to be breaking a new record.
"No, no, you're right," He puffed, "Okay, so we lie to them too. We, uh, we should head back to the dorm and tell them, then? If anyone can get Brady to hear about us... dating by tomorrow, it's them."
Sirius moved forwards, using his knee to push Remus's legs apart. With one hand, he grabbed his friends chin to make him look at him, while the other hand rested on Remus's hipbone beneath his robes. Sirius leant close, and then closer still, until Remus could feel his 'boyfriends' breath on his own lips.
"Anything for you, sweetheart," He smirked, laughing lowly. Remus felt heat rushing to his face, and opened his mouth to say something, anything, words failing him entirely. Sirius began to laugh again, light and a little taunting. "Wow, if you get this flustered that easily, these next few months are gonna be a blast!"
Face still flushed, Remus pushed Sirius back against the wall, shouting a 'Screw you, Pads!' before throwing the tapestry aside and storming out of the alcove, followed by a smug and giggling Sirius, skipping along behind him.
They began to head back to the dorms, walking shoulder to shoulder now Remus had calmed down, both from his agitation and anger. Sirius hopped along, bounce in his step, seemingly unaware of the anxiety radiating from Remus as he shuffled along the corridor, lip between his teeth and eyes locked to the ground.
Turning the corner one last time and walking down the last set of stairs, the couple made it to the Gryffindor landing. Sirius muttered the password and The Portrait Of The Fat Lady swung open and they walked in.
Gryffindor common room was warm and cosy, as opposed to the rest of the castle, but was lacking students similar to the Hogwarts corridors. With most students only just returning from their trip to Hogsmead, the only people in the room was a small huddle of first years in front of the fire studying.
They began to walk through, heading towards the staired leading to the dormitories.
Remus finally broke the silence.
"How did you even find me, anyway?" He questioned. He'd successfully bypassed Christopher Brady by avoiding all of his usual spots, and yet Sirius still managed to find him. Then, withdrawing his hand from the pockets of his robes, Sirius waved a seemingly blank piece of parchment in Remus's face. He responded with a silent 'ah' as they reached the top of the stairs.
"Oi! Give that back, you rat!" James screeched from the inside, followed by loud laughter from Peter, both boys muffled by the door, "I spent good fucking money on that! I bought it, I wanna eat it!"
"Not a chance in hell, antler-boy! I paid for Butterbeer, I can have one of your Jelly Slugs, alright?!"
Remus reached up for the handle of the dormitory door, but Sirius took his friend's hand in his own, giving it a comforting squeeze. His heart was still in his throat, and he wasn't looking forward to lying to his friends, but it would be worth it, and Remus knew he couldn't be doing it with a more amazing person than Sirius.
"Are you okay?"
"Not really," Remus admitted, chewing on his lip once again, not looking his friend - or boyfriend, now, he supposed - in the eye. "You know I don't like lying and secrets. I have enough of that every day of my life, Sirius."
"It's nothing big, okay? Just a small, tiny, little white lie, alright? Just for a few months."
Remus sucked in a breath. "Alright."
"Ready?" Sirius asked, smiling a little nervously - Remus knew he wouldn't enjoy lying either, not to James, his brother in all sense but blood, but he was doing this for Moony and it made it all the more better.
Squeezing his hand back a little, Remus smiled, looking over to Sirius and catching his gaze.
"As ready as I'll ever be."
Sirius pushed open the door slowly, and they took a step in, still hand in hand, to see James and Peter wrestling on a bed, a packet of Jelly Worms being thrown between them and various other sweets being crushed between their bodies and Pete's bed.
Sirius gave a throaty cough, in hopes to draw attention to them, but it failed, and the sounds of Peter's squeals and James's frustrated laughter echoed around the dorm walls.
"Oi! Pricks!" Remus shouted, already too tired to deal with everything else going on; his friends acting like first years was the last thing he needed, and he felt no shame in the insult he used to shut them up.
"Oh, hey Moony!" James smiled, still laying on top of Peter who was now wheezing underneath his friend's body. "We've been worried about you you know! Didn't know where you went off to this morning! But, Wormy and I bought you some chocolate back and-"
He fell silent, eyes finally catching where Sirius's fingers were interlocked with Remus's, and his face grew shocked, jaw dropping and eyes widening. Peter, having recovered from his laughing fit, was now also silent, wearing a similar aghast expression to James, eyes flicking between Padfoot and Moony.
"Uh, so, we need to tell you guys something," Sirius began, rubbing the back of his neck and squeezing Remus's hand once more.
"Wait, wait, wait!" James shouted, face red and hands flailing. Peter was sat next to him, cross-legged on James's bed, mouth fallen open as his eyes flickered between the couple in shock.
After walking into the room and interrupting the pairs wrestling match, they sat down (James and Peter on one bed, and Sirius and Remus on Sirius's bed, directly opposite). Padfoot kept his hand in Remus's as they (as Sirius) explained how they'd been pining over each other for years, and finally talked it out, and they were together now. Remus tried to ignore how his chest ached a little as Sirius lied so smoothly, knowing that it was true, at least one-sidedly, anyway.
Sirius had come out to James late fourth year, and Remus did the same soon after, unable to keep secrets from the other Marauders, so they homosexuality wasn't the issue. But, for some reason, both boys ended up with blown eyes, leaning forwards and mouths open wide.
James, in particular, didn't seem to be taking the news so well...
"You-!" James pointed to Remus with a shaking finger, "-And you!" He cried again, finger now directed towards Sirius.
"Yes, Prongs, for the last fucking time!" Sirius rolled his eyes, and Remus wondered if he silently wished he'd never offered to help Moony in the first place. "Now can you stop pointing?! Did your mum never tell you that's rude?" He scoffed.
"I- I just... I can't believe-"
"Spit it out, Jamie!"
Remus, already regretting this stupid plan only ten minutes in, looked over to Peter to try and stop the argument brewing up between the brothers.
"Uh, you have anything to say about this, Wormtail? I know this might be a bit of a shock but-" He was cut off as he heard Peter mumble something under his breath, lips never quite fully closing and eyes still fixated on the new couple. "What was that, Pete?" Remus tried to clarify.
He didn't look away from Remus and Sirius, just elbowed James in the side and mumbled again.
"I want that money, Prongs."
What?!
"You
bastards
!" James suddenly cried, leaping from his spot on the bed and storming to his trunk and rummaging around in it. "I had so much fucking money riding on you two and now I owe Ratboy, like, so many galleons! Come on,
really
? I can't believe you two!" Pulling his head from within his trunk, he threw a hefty, rattling bag onto Reter's lap, causing the shorter boy to wince, before his face lit up at the sight.
"Thank you, good sir!" He smirked, delving his hand into the bag and wiggling his fingers about in the coins.
Remus hoped - hoped and prayed and pleaded - that Sirius was just as confused as he was.
"Okay, what the fuck?" Sirius hissed, tightening his grip on Remus's hand. Letting out a sigh of relief, Remus realised his boyfriend was just as confused as he was. "If one of you absolute
wankers
would like to explain what the hell is going on, that would be bloody fantastic!"
Muttering a thanks to Sirius, Moony leant forward, glaring a little at his friends to prompt an answer.
"Well," James began, hopping back into the bed stroppily, "I thought it wouldn't happen until seventh year because, well, you're gay idiots-"
"Oi!"
"-But Pete thought it would be this year! And he was damn right!"
Now was Remus's turn to flail his arms about, shaking his head and trying not to scream in chaos and tiredness and dizziness.
"You thought
what
wasn't going to happen until next year?!" He shouted a little uncharacteristically after the Full, but the pure confusion running through his veins justified the volume.
"You two getting together, of course!" James pointed out as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Peter, upon seeing the confusion on his friend's faces, let out a little laugh.
"We could see you two pining after each other since the end of second year! And so, after...
everything
.... last year, and you guys made up we knew it wouldn't be long until you finally became an item!"
"...So?" Sirius prompted again.
"We placed bets!"
"You did what, now?" Sirius, voice sickly sweet, leant forward and scowled.
"We placed bets as to when you two were gonna shack up!" Said James, bright eyes and pleased with himself.
"You did WHAT?!" Sirius screeched again, leaping up from the bed and delving towards James and Peter, hands stretched out in fury. Thankfully, Remus expected the outrage, and instinctively wrapped his arms around his boyfriend, pulling the raging Sirius down onto his lap with a huff. He wriggled for a little longer, trying to prize Remus's hands from his body as Prongs and Wormtail laughed, before eventually calming, settling his back against Remus's chest reluctantly.
James continued to laugh, wiping tears building in the corners of his eyes as Peter wheezed next to him, "He has you
so whipped
, Sirius! Why did we never get you two together years ago!?"
Sirius began to shuffle about again, but after a 'Calm it, Sirius' from Remus, he muttered his apologies and pressed further into Remus. Heat rushed to Moony's face as he realised he'd just pulled Sirius down
onto his lap
and held him there. It was utterly mortifying - but as the older boy made no other complaints and instead rested his hands over Remus's where they were placed on his stomach, he decided to just leave it be. Perhaps this would be one of those occasions where Remus could pretend that Sirius felt the same way, and would just live in the moment instead of scurrying off, red-faced and shaking with 'I love yous' dancing on the tip of his tongue. Then again, it seemed as though occasions like these would be happening
a lot
in the near future.
"Okay, let's just get this all out in the open," proposed Remus, taking charge of the conversation. "Yes, Pads and I are together. No, we didn't know you guys expected it," (He said this with a little more harshness, just enough for Sirius to notice and tense in Remus's lap), "No, we aren't happy that you guys were betting on us-"
"But it was pretty funny though."
"-
But
, yes, it was kind of funny."
"I guess..." Sirius grumbled, a small smile playing on his lips as he tried to keep frowning. "Your support would mean the world though, guys."
"Support?" Peter questioned, seemingly taken aback at the question. Stiffening his back, Remus began to panic. He knew homophobia didn't exist in the wizarding world, but Muggles were less forgiving. While Hope Lupin was perfectly content with her son's preferences, Peter's upbringing might not have been the same. Sure, he was fine when Sirius and Remus came out, but he might be totally different now that it was in front of his face, and between his best friends no less.
Remus let out a sigh of relief, and felt Sirius do the same, as Wormtail continued. "Of course you have our support, you daft idiots! I've never seen two people make each other as happy as you two make each other! Easily the cutest couple in Hogwarts, you know," Peter preened, grinning widely as Remus readily tightened his grip around Sirius, smiling into his back and pretending once again that this was all real. Maybe one day, if Peter was right, it would be...
"Man, I need to snatch up Evans as soon as just do we're cuter than you two!" James chuckled, smiling the same as Peter and shaking his head a little.
"Speaking of Hogwarts," Peter continued, still smiling at Remus and Sirius, "Is this-" he gestured between the couple, "-A thing to be kept quiet? Just between us four?"
Remus opened his mouth and almost began to shout out,
"Yes! Between us! I think I'll die a little on the inside if we have to act all cutesy in front of anyone else!"
, but had his spontaneous thoughts shoved away by Sirius's smooth lying and happy smile.
"No, we- uh, we feel like we've kept this - kept us - secret for so long already, honestly, we want everyone to know right away." He squeezed the back of Remus's hand a sure sign of comfort.
"Really?"
"Mhm," Remus nodded, not trusting himself to open his mouth for fear of denials slipping out ('Yes! Tell the whole world I'm fake dating the love of my fucking life!')
With no hesitation whatsoever, James leapt from his spot on the bed, standing upright and putting his hands on his hips.
"Well come on then!" He beamed, marching defiantly to the dorm door.
Peter was next to follow, smirking to himself, and Sirius steadily slid from his spot on Remus's lap, trailing after their friends, hand in hand once again.
They made it to the common room, with Peter and James only a few paces ahead.
The common room had filled considerably more since the couple returned to the dorms, with a number of fifth, sixth and seventh year students dotted about. The previous first years had scurried off with the arrival of the older kids, and it seemed as though the third and fourth year students were hiding in their dorms after returning from Hogsmead. It was crowded, far too crowded for Remus's liking, but he felt safe stood next to Sirius, fingers laced together.
Barely having time to spot Lily Evans in the common room and giving her a quick wave and smile, Remus could see James cup his hands around his mouth and take in a big breath.
"Oi! Announcement! Listen up!" James's voice bellowed around the common room, silencing every student who turned their head towards the Marauders.
"Get on with it then, Toerag!" Lily called from her spot near the fireplace.
"They're finally dating!" Was all Peter shouted, sounding as smug as he looked.
There was a heartbeat of silence until the room exploded into loud cheers and praises. Finding himself wincing at the noise, Remus went to cover his ears before remembering his left hand was still being held by Sirius.
Lily's voice shouting out 'Fucking finally!' could be heard amongst the rest of the voices, and Remus was
so sure
he saw Marlene Mckinnon pass her girlfriend, Dorcas Meadowes, a handful of sickles.
What the hell?!
Had the whole of Gryffindor been betting on them?!
"So much of Gryffindor were betting on when you guys were gonna get together!" James responded to Remus's inner thoughts, smiling as various groups of students dragged all four Marauders further into the room.
Remus wasn't sure how it happened, or when, but it must have been fast as all of a sudden he was plonked down on the sofa, James next to him and Peter after that. With no room left, Sirius found himself shoved onto Remus's lap once again by other students, who began firing questions faster than he could even recall.
Remus felt hot, skin on fire, he could feel the sweat beading on his upper lip and the back of his neck and he suddenly found the urge to tug at the front of his sweater, trying to cool down.
"When did it happen?!"
"This afternoon, while everyone was out!" Sirius smiled, not knowing where (or rather, who, of the large crowd) to direct his answer.
His breaths became short, ragged little pants, and he found his chest tightening every time he tried to take in a deep breath.
"Shagged yet?"
"Bit personal, mate!" James answered for them.
His hands shook, unsteady as he played with the hem of his sweater, unable to tune out the shrill sound of the crowd echoing in the room.
"Who asked who out?"
"I think Sirius asked Remus, by the sounds of it?" Peter piped up, seeming a little unsure of himself.
Remus opened his mouth to scream and shout and holler, before finding his throat dry, any sounds coming out as croaky gasps. It felt like he was trapped right under his own skin, begging to be freed. It felt like the wolf, clawing at him from the inside out.
"Are you, like, in love with him?" The question was directed towards Sirius, not in a way of disgust, but simple curiosity.
"Yeah," Sirius replied softly, twisting a little to face Remus, smiling down at the boy, "Yeah, I am.
Moony
?" The last part he whispered, eyes narrowed a little as he caught his boyfriend's wide eyes and frantic breathing.
"N-need air..." He muttered quietly, not meeting Sirius's eye. His friends face turned nervous, before he stood up and shouted something unintelligible to Remus, followed by similar loud calls from James and then Peter.
"Get him out... can't breathe... water!"
Suddenly, he found himself pulled up and dragged around, but tuned out the sounds around him. He stayed focused on his feet, which were now moving, shuffling along the carpet and then stepping over some sort of ledge. The noise began to quiet, becoming muffles and then silencing, and cold air hit Remus's clammy skin, sending shivers down his spine.
He finally took in a deep breath.
Looking around, he saw the grand staircase, all the pictures he'd become familiar with over the years, the Gryffindor common room entrance slowly closing.
"Remus, Remy, hey, look at me, okay love?" Sirius was stood in front of Remus, hands lightly on his shoulders and looking at him in the eyes, amber meeting grey in the dim light of stairway. "Just follow my breathing, alright? In, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four, and out, two, three, four..." He counted rhythmically, and Remus did his best to follow the pattern, staring into Sirius blankly.
He could feel himself shaking under Sirius's hands, but after a nondescript amount of time - after who knows how many counts of 'two, three, four' - he could feel his sweaty, sticky skin beginning to dry, hair stuck to his forehead. His breathing became less pained, less tense, and he slowly counted along with Sirius, mumbling quietly as his shoulder relaxed. His legs felt weak, barely holding up his body weight, and he felt he could collapse with exhaustion any moment now.
Padfoot, ever the caring friend with the keen eye, moved Remus a little until he was leaning slump against the wall.
"How are you feeling now, Rem?" Sirius asked, voice low. He bought his hand to Remus's forehead, pushing the curls stuck to his skin upwards, slipping his fingers through the wet hair.
"Hmm, a little better..." He murmured sleepily, feeling his eyes dropping a little as Sirius kept his fingertips running over Remus's scalp.
"Merlin, Moons! You gave me a fright! You haven't gotten like that since-"
Since last year.
Snorting quietly to himself, Remus's shoulders shook a little. "
You gave me a fright.
Ha, posh boy..." He smiled, "Really, I'm okay now, I just got... overwhelmed. Don't you- I mean, you don't really want to be lying, do you? We didn't prepare, we'll get caught out, and it'll end in a mess! We're bringing so much attention to us, Padfoot!" Remus panicked, chewing on his fingernails.
Sirius's eyes turned a little sad for a moment. His hand kept moving through Remus's hair, and he smiled fondly.
"Hey, don't you panic, okay? I'll carry us through this if I have to! If you wanna stop, then we can, but I promise you that I'll look after you and make sure that Christopher Brady doesn't get to you and that no one finds out we're lying."
"Really?"
"Yes, my moonshine, I'll protect you! Trust me," Sirius said defiantly, hands on his hips like a dramatic superhero, and seemingly oblivious to the blush spreading over his friend's cheek.
Moonshine? That was a new one Remus hadn't heard before, but he wasn't about to start complaining about the new appearance of nicknames.
"Okay, my starlight," He teased back, voice still a little quiet and hoarse, "I trust you. Now can we go and sleep? I'm exhausted," He huffed a laugh.
"Yeah, Rem, let's get you to bed!" Sirius ruffled his boyfriend's hair one last time, before murmuring the password and heading back to the dorm.
Sirius's finger's ghosted over Remus's neck as he flattened the collar down. Their faces were close, breath mingling and noses millimetres from each other.
"There you go! All sorted!" Sirius beamed brightly, tugging the tie a little before brushing the hair from Remus's forehead.
"Thanks, Pads!" Smiling back, Remus shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to look at his friend's handiwork in the mirror.
Walking through the room, buttoning his shirt frustratedly, James began to mutter.
"
Ooh, look at us, we're all cute and adorable and in love!
Screw you guys!" James huffed sarcastically, flopping onto his bed and flipping up his collar to put on his own tie.
"Chill, Prongs!" Sirius laughed, now standing in the mirror next to Remus, slipping their hands together. "I've always done Moony's tie for him! You know that! What's so cute and adorable about it now that we're together?"
Sirius was right - ever since he realised Remus, who was exceptional at a lot, was utterly hopeless at tying a tie, he's insisted being the one to make sure Moony was appropriately dressed in the mornings. It was, in fact, these daily occurrences of Sirius's hands lightly on his neck, eyes boring into his own, lip between his teeth as he focused on the Half-Winsor in front of him, that made Remus consider that his feelings towards his friend were
just a little more
than platonic.
"Well, it's just that," Peter began, ruffling his hair, "James and I thought it was always cute and, well, romantic in a way. Just the way you looked at each other was adorable! We never said anything because we thought you should figure out your feelings in your own time. Now that you're together-"
"I can complain as much as I want!" James shouted, clearly amused, "Stop being so damn soppy all the time!"
Remus felt his heart stop - did people really believe he and Sirius were in love? Even before they were 'together', James and Peter thought they were more than friends! Sure, Remus looked at Sirius in a way that could have been considered a little more than friendly, but Sirius would never look at him that way! The other Marauders - and the rest of Gryffindor, for that matter - were simply imagining it.
The Marauders (including a calmer James Fleamont Potter) made their way down to the Great Hall for breakfast. The sound of their footsteps on the stone flooring was accompanied by Peter ranting and raving about needing to wear their uniform for Apparation Classes, but Remus found himself more distracted with Sirius's hand in his own and his friends' previous comments.
They settled in their normal spots on the bench - Remus and Sirius always sat together, with James opposite Sirius and Peter opposite Remus - and they tucked into their breakfast. Peter questioned why Moony wasn't eating, and shrugged off his reply of 'not hungry', also missing the side glance he exchanged with Sirius.
It wasn't long before the Marauders were joined by four others, skipping over with giggles and chatting.
Mary Macdonald instantly took the empty spot next to Peter and swooped him up in friendly (flirty) conversation, while Lily came and sat next to Remus, smiling and greeting him and the other boys (pointedly ignoring Potter, of course.) Marlene and Dorcas sat beside Sirius, hand in hand and looking at each other dreamily. Marlene only looked away when she turned to Remus, looking past Sirius to speak to him.
"Heya, Rem! How are you today? You scared us last night! We'd have come and checked on you but thought you could do with the space..." She smiled wistfully.
"I'm good," Remus grinned back, "I'm fine now, just got a little overwhelmed. Lots of people, loud noises. I just freaked," He laughed it off, rubbing at the back of his head.
Dorcas, hands still held by her girlfriend, spoke with him a little about how she sometimes got like that, and how grateful she was for Marlene to help her through.
"It's good you have Sirius to help you, you know!" She said, looking fondly at the fake couple.
"Speaking of," Marlene spoke up again, a mysterious glint in her eyes, "One thing never got answered last night! How did it all happen? I wanna know how the second cutest couple in Hogwarts got together!"
"I hope you mean second to me and Evans!" James winked, and flinched as, what Remus guessed, his shin was kicked by Lily from under the table.
For the second time that morning, Remus could feel his heart sinking down, down, down, and he writhed as he realised that asking someone to be your fake boyfriend from behind a tapestry on the seventh floor was not the romantic get-together story that people wanted to hear! How could he come up with a convincing lie on the spot when-
"Well!" Sirius began, winking at Remus and placing a comforting hand on his knee. It seemed flirty to everyone else, but Remus knew exactly what it meant.
'Yes, my moonshine, I'll protect you! Trust me.'
"After James and Peter buggered off to Hogsmede yesterday, I went and set up before going to find My Moony. He was in the library, of course, but I dragged him up to the Astronomy Tower! That's a really special place for us..." He was right, of course. That was where Remus had ran off to when the others found out he was a werewolf. It took Sirius hours to get Remus to calm down and come back to the dorms, but he succeeded and it soon became their little safe place. "I'd set up a little picnic! Not much, just a blanket out and some charmed lights, with a view over the Black Lake. We sat, and talked, and then I finally blurted out-"
"Rather unceremoniously, I must add!" Remus threw in for realism, smirking at Sirius who rolled his eyes in jest.
"-About how I'd been in love with him since the day we met, and how I couldn't go another day without him knowing how I felt. I told him that I desperately hoped he felt the same way and I'd give him the moon and the stars to call him my boyfriend..." He trailed off, looking at Remus with enamoured eyes, moving his hand to hold Remus's as his boyfriend leaned into him a little more.
They stared into the eyes of each other, Remus watching the storm of emotions flickering in Sirius's grey iris's, and for a moment, just a moment, he pretended that everything Sirius had said was true. Then, as though the universe saw how happy he was and had to put him back in his place, the moment was broken with a throaty cough.
Remus looked up, expecting it to perhaps be one of his friends, but instead realised someone was stood behind him and Sirius. He shifted around to see a mop of flat blond hair he'd hope to not have seen again for a while. Glaring a little at the owner of the cough, Remus swung his legs over to have his back to the Gryffindor Table.
"H-hey Remus! Could I speak to you for a moment? Alone, please," Christopher Brady smiled, voice shrill and sending shivers up Remus's spine. He looked pointedly at the small crowd of friends around them, eyes narrowing a little on Sirius - who'd also spun around and begun to glare at the boy.
"No, you can't. Whatever you have to say to my boyfriend you can say in front of me. In front of all of us." Sirius spat, looking at Brady with disgust and rubbing his thumb over the back of Remus's hand.
"I don't think what I have to say will be entirely appropriate for other ears,
Black
."
"What do you want, Brady? And you can say whatever it is right here, or not at all," Remus huffed, already exhausted by the underclassman's mear presence. Remus had his back faced to the others, but he could imagine the various looks of confusion adjoined with protectiveness from Sirius and unexplained anger from James and Peter - whoever Remus was mad at, they were mad at too.
"I've been really nice to you, you know? I've tried talking to you, and being friendly, and yet you chose
that
-" He scanned Sirius, setting alight a fire of rage in Remus's chest as his face scowled, seemingly revolted by the sight of Sirius. "-Over someone like me!"
"You have nothing on Sirius," Remus answered honestly.
"Really? I'm smarter, for one!" Brady announced cockily, hands on his hips.
"My Siri is incredibly clever, thank you."
"I'm more humble!"
James scoffed in the background, and even Lily made a similar disapproving sound at the Ravenclaw.
"I'm better looking!"
Now was Sirius's turn to chip in, snarling a, "You wish," and tossing his hair back in a way that always made Remus's knees weak.
Brady now folded his arms over his chest, eyebrows furrowed and leant over Sirius, who was still sat on the bench.
"Why would he date the disowned Black?! I mean, look at you! Even your mother couldn't stand the sight of you anymore! Your
daddy
is off to who knows where, and all the letters you send to your precious little brother come back unread! Even
he
doesn't want a thing to do with you!"
Sirius's eyes had clouded over, shining with tears that were no doubt brewing, but he made no effort to shut the kid up. Nor did anyone else. They froze, shocked at the idea of a younger student even considering talking to someone like that. Remus's voice failed him, and it took all his restraint to not knock the boy out, desperate for the wolf to clamber out from under his skin to shred at Brady's body. No one could talk to Sirius like that and get away with it.
"You ran away, sure, but you're just like all of them! I bet you're just itching for the Death Eaters to get their hands on your half-blood boyfriend, aren't you? I can't understand for a second why someone as amazing as Remus would choose a pathetic, cowardly, disgusting little lowlife like you!"
"Don't you dare speak about him like that!" Remus shrieked, baring his teeth as he stood up from his seat, hand still firmly interlocked with Sirius's. The pair were now face to face, noses close and Remus continued to no less than snarl.
"Moony, love..." Sirius began quietly, trying to tug his friend back onto the bench. The whole hall was watching now, eyes fixated on Brady and Lupin glaring at each other - even the teachers watched on, slack-jawed and stunned. Where were they five seconds ago when Sirius was being downright harassed?!
"No, Sirius! I'm not going to sit there while he talks about my boyfriend like that!"
Remus was shaking with fury, hand grabbing painfully tight onto Sirius's. His whole body felt hot, and his boyfriend's hand in his was the only thing stopping him from reaching out and punching him.
A small voice in the back of his head called to him -
He's not really your boyfriend! You don't need to get so protective! He'll find it weird!
- but wasn't speaking louder than the urge to
attack
.
"Come on, Remus!" Brady's voice turned from hostile to pleading within a second, hands balling into fists as he tried to smile at Lupin. "I'm just being honest, I'm just better-"
"No, you are not!" Remus hissed, no longer concerned with keeping quiet. There was no one else now - no Marlene and Dorcas looking on in shock, no Lily and Peter mumbling curses to themselves, no James writhing with disgust, no Sirius silent with sadness as the words hit closer to home them any of them realised - all Remus was intent on was proving how Sirius, his boyfriend, but first and foremost his best friend, was perfect to him.
"Sirius is one of the most perfect, most amazing people I have ever met, okay? He's smart and funny, and gorgeous and clever! He's so talented I can't even explain, easily the bravest Gryffindor imaginable and the most caring, loving person. He shows me love I've never known before. Sirius protects me, looks after me! He knows exactly how to cheer me up, calm me down, and I know how to do the same for him. He's done things for me you couldn't even
imagine
doing, all because he wanted to make me happy and show how much he loved me. Sirius is everything I could have asked for, and more, and to this day I wonder how I was lucky enough to deserve him as a friend, let alone for him to love me back! He's my damn soulmate and I would never, ever consider trading him out for someone like you."
Without another word; without looking at the stunned faces of his friends, the other houses or the teachers, Remus turned, running past the other Gryffindors and out of the Great Hall.
He ran all the way back to the dorms, shouting at himself as he did.
What the hell was he thinking, saying all that?! He should have just told Brady to bugger off and leave it at that. Instead, he'd given a stupid, great speech in front of most of the school. It would have been more efficient to grab Sirius by the shoulder and just scream 'I'm madly and hopelessly in love with you!'
Sure, the school must
really
believe he and Sirius were together now, and Brady was sure to get the hint, but what was Padfoot going to think?! Could Remus pass it off as all fake? Just something to play the part well?
"Nice acting."
Sirius caught up with his friend only a few minutes after the brunette made it back to the dorms, and Remus could see how his eyes were still darkened, now a little bloodshot, and he didn't even want to
think
about why to save himself his own heartache.
"Uh, yeah." Remus shrugged, already too exhausted at 11am to try to sound convincing. He was sat on his bed, chin resting on the knees he had pulled close to his chest. At least Sirius thought he was just pretending - that was something at least.
"Are you alright?" Asked Sirius as he made his way to stand at the foot of Remus's bed.
"Am I alright? Never mind me, Pads! Are you okay? The things he said, he shouldn't have-"
He cut himself off as he felt a weight next to him cause the bed to dip, and suddenly Sirius was next to him and his arm was thrown over Remus's shoulders.
"It's okay, Rem! I heard the same stuff before we even started first year, remember? Snape came into our compartment on the train and said some nasty shit. I'm used to it."
"You shouldn't be," Remus grumbled under his breath, leaning into Sirius's side. He was going to ask why Sirius was cuddling him - they might have been affectionate friends, but this was a whole other level - but chose to keep quiet. It just allowed him to pretend this was all real for just a moment.
"There are a lot of things neither of us should be used to, my moonlight, but we are anyway. But, when I have my
valiant boyfriend
to stick up for me, it's all worth it!" Sirius teased, nudging Remus a little before reaching up to play with his hair. "You really sounded like you meant it all, too."
"I did..." Remus said, eyes slowly closing as he suddenly felt sleepy again. "I meant it. You mean a lot to me, and I wasn't going to sit by and let him insult my best friend.
"Yeah, true. What are best friends are for, right?" Sirius's voice was a little tense.
"Mmh."
Remus wasn't sure when he'd drifted off to sleep, between the tiredness from the morning's fiascos and the feeling of Sirius's hand running through his hair. He hadn't even realised he was asleep until he emerged from his slumber to the sound of the dorm door closing. He kept his eyes screwed tightly shut, listening to the oncoming conversation.
"Is he alright?" Peter's voice was quiet, timid.
"Are you alright?" James's voice followed, a little louder.
"Yes, I'm fine," Sirius whispered, "Now hush! He got himself really worked up over it and passed light out." Remus could still feel his hand slipping through his locks comfortingly.
"Yeah, he got really mad. I've not seen him shout like that since maybe third year." Peter said, also whispering. "What was all that with Brady anyway? I didn't even know he and Remus knew each other."
"He'd been trying to get Remus's attention. It made me realise I needed to make my move before I lost Moony to someone else, but Brady didn't seem to take the news so well..."
Remus felt a shuffle, as though Sirius was shrugging.
"Ah, makes sense," James spoke up, "Well, Pete and I are going to head to the library for a bit before Apparation Class - trying to find more info on that charm for Moony's prank idea."
"Okay, I'll stay here until he wakes up."
"Alright."
Remus heard the dorm room door close again, and Sirius snuggled closer to Remus.
"Thank you, Moonshine..." He mumbled happily.
Remus found himself lulled back into a content sleep.
Remus smiled, shovelling a forkful of cottage pie into his mouth, groaning happily at the taste. James and Peter shot him questioning looks, but he brushed it off as he continued to eat with his friends. Four weeks had passed since the incident with Brady, and he and Sirius had determined it safe enough to eat with everyone in the Great Hall again, rather than sneaking off to the kitchens before class or heading off to evening activities.
Brady had, other than a few nasty glares, left Remus and Sirius alone - abandoned his stalking, made no attempt to slip any potions to the brunette and refrained from harassing Sirius again (likely from fear of Remus bursting out in anger again).
"I forgot how good it is to eat with my friends..." Remus muttered, mouth full of food, talking to himself but loud enough for only Sirius to hear.
"I can imagine! But it's all over now," Sirius replied, sad smile on his lips.
Neither of the boys had approached the topic of the 'break up', and Remus just couldn't bring himself to do it!
For the four weeks they'd been together, Sirius was no less than a perfect boyfriend! He was loving, intentive, never let his eye wander and Remus couldn't help but fall further and further in love with him. Their weekends to Hogsmeade were treated as dates (Sirius even took him on the cutest trip to the bookstore the second time, where they both picked out a book for one another and then read them together, leaning against a nearby tree and basking in the sunlight). They'd cuddle in the evenings, hold hands in the corridors, pass adorably cringy love notes in class; one too many was read out to the class by McGonagal; and Remus wouldn't change a moment of it. He often found himself lost in the fantasy when he'd have his head in Sirius's lap when they'd curl up on the common room sofa in the evenings -
this is what Sirius is like as a boyfriend
, he'd think as his hair was played with, twirled around thin pale fingers,
it's almost like this is real.
But, as Remus knew better than most, all good things must come to an end, and he couldn't force Sirius to act like he was in love with him for any longer.
"Actually, about that, Sirius," Remus began, lips around the rim of his drinking goblet. He spoke low enough for, once again, only Sirius to be able to hear, grateful for James's loud laughter and Mary and Peters incessant talking (Marlene and Dorcas were simply staring adoringly into one another's eyes, and Lily was scowling at whatever joke Potter had made). "I wonder if you could wait with me once everyone else has left for the dorms? I think we should, uh, talk."
Sirius's expression faltered, falling from the sad grin to despondent. He looked down to his plate, the corner of his lip twitching up in a pathetic attempt for a smile.
"I- uh, yeah, I guess we do..."
Remus tried to push down the strange feeling of guilt at Sirius's reaction (why would he be feeling guilty? Sirius would
want
him to break up with him!) and found himself sucked into the conversation happening around them.
"...and yeah! So that's how it happened! Super romantic and all that!" Dorcas beamed. Peter and Mary seemed to have shuffled a little closer together during the discussion, and even Lily and James were wearing matching enamoured expressions, the latter flicking his gaze over to the ginger girl opposite him.
"Hm? Sorry, zoned out there! How what happened?" Sirius perked up, doleful expression swiftly gone as he turned his attention back to his friends.
"Mine and Marls first kiss!" She chirped, smile still as wide as before. "We had a late-night walk around the edge of the forbidden forest! A run-in with Filtch, Marlene thinking she saw a giant spider and a whole lot of laughs later, she kissed me."
"That's so sweet," Lily swooned, "So unique and perfect! It's so much nicer than just some basic we went for dinner and kissed after. Not that there's anything wrong with that!"
Mary and Peter hummed in agreement, looking intently at one another, and Remus could almost see James taking notes in his mind as he continued to watch Lily.
"Yeah, that's cute," Sirius confirmed.
"Well, what about you two?" James asked, mouth full of mashed potato and nodding towards Sirius and Remus. They sat close, thighs pressed together and elbows gazing.
"What about us?" Remus threw back.
"First kiss! How'd it happen?!"
"Come to think of it, I've not seen you two kiss at all since you got together!" Said Peter, looking suspiciously between them.
Oh, fuck.
"We haven't-"
"WELL!" Sirius interrupted loudly, "Rem was still a little nervous about kissing in front of people! You know, in case of some of those who were raised by Muggles wouldn't be too pleased," He played off smoothly, not letting on the fact that they hadn't kissed, and, as Remus assumed,
wouldn't be
kissing.
"Okay then, when was your first kiss?"
"When I told him I loved him, of course!"
"In the astronomy tower?"
"Mhm!"
"So, you two have been dating for, what, a month now? And we've never seen you kiss?" James smirked, eyes flickering between Remus and his 'boyfriend'.
"Potter, leave them be," Lily scolded, kicking him under the table again.
"No, no, Evans! Come on, they're Hogwarts cutest couple, after all! I just wanna see one little kiss!"
Remus felt his heart sink as Sirius replied.
"No, Prongs! Not gonna happen!"
Was Sirius
that
disgusted with the thought of kissing Remus?
"Why not?"
"Because," Sirius said with a sigh, now taking Remus's hand in his own, "I don't want to make My Moon uncomfortable, okay? Everything is on his terms," He smiled.
So Sirius
really
doesn't want to kiss him. Okay then.
Maybe that was a good thing. It's not like Remus would be any good at it, anyway.
Remus
almost
had his first kiss in the summer between third and fourth year. He'd met a muggle girl back in the village at home, and they spent every day hanging out. They'd work on school projects in one another's company - Remus somehow bluffing that he was learning about Trigonometry, not Hinkypunks and Grindilow - and spent free time wandering around the town square. A week or so before Remus was set to return to 'boarding school', the girl tried to kiss him, exclaiming loudly when Remus pushing him away.
"What, are you gay or something?"
She'd hissed with repulsion. Remus's silence was deafening.
As she stormed off back home, never to be seen again, Remus realised he was only drawn to her wavy black hair and rather cynical humour.
"I-its okay, Siri. It's just the once, right?" Remus shrugged, hoping his voice was as nonchalant as he'd intended. He'd resigned himself to having an uninteresting first kiss with someone who he didn't really love a long time ago. Not when he knew Padfoot would never return his feelings. Part of him, despite his better judgement, clung to that tiny piece of hope that Sirius would be his first kiss. It was disgusting, really, to consider that - to consider that he wanted it when Sirius didn't, but here he was anyway). Maybe it would be the ticket to finally getting over Sirius? Kiss him once, realise there's no spark, no perfect 'first kiss' moment, and that was that, he could finally move on.
"Are you sure?" Sirius chewed on his lip nervously, asking more than if it was just okay to kiss Remus, but to be the first kiss that Remus had been going on and on about since first year.
"Only if you are," Remus assured. He might be in love, but he was by no means a creep.
Sirius didn't even respond, just surged forwards the few centimetres he needed, unceremoniously crashing his lips to Remus's and pulling back faster than Remus could even register.
He sat there, stunned.
That was it?
Remus didn't know a thing about kissing, not really, but he'd seen Peter stick his tongue down Mary's throat plenty of times and heard enough about Sirius's broom cupboard escapades to know that was a
pathetic
kiss if he'd ever seen one!
James seemed to agree.
"Come on, lads! Really? You can do better than that!" James laughed; background noise was a collective agreement from their friends, and now a few onlooking students from further down the table.
"James-"
"No!" He interrupted Sirius goodnaturedly, "Just one proper kiss, guys! Then we won't bug you about it again!"
Seeing that he wasn't going to worm his way out of this one, Sirius shifted his body to face Remus, and cupped his face with his hands. He moved a little closer to an unbearably flustered Remus, who could do nothing more than stare, eyes wide. Now
this
felt a little more like the first kiss Remus had always imagined, and with Sirius nonetheless. He couldn't pinpoint the moment he'd died and gone to heaven, but he knew things like this didn't happen back on earth.
Sirius was now only a few millimetres from him, eyes flicking between looking at Remus's own and then down to his lips.
"I'm sorry," He whispered lowly, breath tickling over Remus's pink lips and flushed skin.
"Why?" Remus whispered back, leaning forward a little more.
"Because..." Sirius trailed off, closing the gap between them and softly kissing Remus.
Remus didn't know what to do, sitting frozen for a few moments as he drowned out the sounds of the cheers from around them. He realised Sirius had closed his eyes and moved his lips a little, and
shit, why had he agreed to this?!
He didn't have a clue what to do!
He closed his eyes, perhaps a little too fast to seem natural, and let instinct take over as he parted his lips a little. His hands came to Sirius's side, grabbing him lightly by the waist and moving a little closer. Dragging across his bottom lip was the tip of Sirius's tongue, and he couldn't help the small gasp that slipped out as he felt it. He wondered, briefly, if this looked like a romantic, passionate kiss between two people very much in love, and not a clumsy, awkward kiss between two liars - one very much in love, and the other just trying to be helpful.
Suddenly, Sirius parted his lips a little more, moved a little closer and moved one of his hands to rest on the top of Remus's thigh, slipping a little higher. Remus could hear, could
feel
him moan ever so quietly into his mouth, and he
panicked
.
His hands came to Sirius's shoulders, and he shoved his friend backwards until he collided with Marlene's side.
"Bloody hell guys!" James laughed loudly over the cheering from the rest of the group, and now many more students from other tables that had seen the whole thing go down. The couple were really going to have to get used to being stared at if they kept up with how they were going.
"Yeah, calm down! We don't need to see you shagging across the table!" Mary cackled, clutching at her side as she and Peter leant against each other in laughter.
Panting, Remus looked over at Sirius, and could barely register the look of hurt across Sirius's face.
What the hell had he just done?
Sirius didn't want any of this! He was just trying to help him out! Now Remus was more than just the queer werewolf, he was the queer werewolf who'd coerced his best friend into kissing him!
Sirius sat in shock, lips still parted as he tried to catch his breath, hair a little ruffled and shirt a touch out of place. He looked
perfect
.
But now wasn't the time for Remus's feeling to be creeping back up his throat. He needed to get out of there! He needed to get away from Sirius, and fast.
Shooting up, Remus looked down At Sirius one last time.
"Rem, w-what's-"
"I need to go!" He cried, and spun on his heel.
He ran. And ran, and ran, and ran, and he wasn't sure when he stopped.
Remus's chest felt on fire. His throat was burning and eyes were stinging with tears that were threatening to spill.
"Rem! Moony!" A familiar voice shouted down the seventh-floor corridor.
He didn't want to turn around, he didn't want to see the look of disgust on Sirius's face, but he had to. He had to face him sooner or later.
"What, Sirius?" Remus hissed, trying to hide the pain in his voice as he turned on his heel to see Sirius only a few metres away.
He didn't look disgusted, far from it. Just hurt.
"Why d-did you run off?" He panted, palm on his chest.
"Because!"
"Because..?"
"Because I just kissed you!" Remus cried, a single tear trailing down his cheek.
A huff of silent laughter slipped from Sirius's lips and his shoulders shook a little.
"I believe it was me who kissed you."
"But you didn't want to, Sirius! You were just trying to help out..." Remus grumbled, watching how Sirius seemed to take a step back.
"No, Rem, I did-"
"We need to break up." His voice was firm, unmoving. "Well, stop whatever this is. It's not fair. I can't do it anymore.
Sirius's face fell. He no longer looked hurt. No, he looked heartbroken. Remus had just totally ruined the friendship with his best friend over this, hadn't he? Six years of laughs, pranks, hugs and love, ruined over a stupid cover story.
Stepping back forward, closer to Remus this time, Sirius plastered an obviously fake smile on his face, slipping his hands through his hair in feigned nonchalance.
"I-uh, yeah, of course. Yeah, makes sense. Don't- don't need to pretend now, right?"
"Right."
"Okay."
"Good."
Remus looked up at Sirius, who was looking right back at him through messy dark bangs, eyes shining too much for someone who wasn't trying to cry. They hovered in an awkward silence, both unsure of what to do next. Parting his lips, Remus tried to speak before Sirius began first.
"We're still best friends though, right?" He asked before Remus could ask him the same thing. His lip was caught between his teeth, gnawing on it anxiously, and his eyes stayed fixated on Moony.
"Sirius..." Remus said curiously, "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why were you sorry?"
Eyes widening, Sirius began to shuffle on the spot, hopping from one foot to another. He wrung his hands together, and his lip became dented with deep teeth marks. He looked awfully uncharacteristic for a Black, even if he was formally no longer part of the family.
"Sirius."
"W-well, you see, Moonshine-" He began, sighing. "You see, while we've been lying to everyone else, I might have been telling a teeny, tiny little while lie myself..."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. So, I may have, just a little, might have wanted to be dating you. For real."
What?
Remus's heart lept, thumping hard against his ribs in excitement before dropping again almost instantly.
"You don't need to lie to make me feel better, Sirius."
"So, when you needed my help, I agreed. And even though you didn't want to kiss me, I kissed you anyway, but I really shouldn't have, and- Wait, what?" Sirius did a double-take, looking at Remus through narrowed eyes.
"
I said
, you don't need to lie to make me feel better." Remus hissed sharply, eyes narrowing at Sirius, who stepped closer.
"I'm- I'm not, okay? I swear!"
"Siri-"
"No, Rem, you let me speak!" Sirius shouted, voice echoing against the bare walls of the corridor, shaking Remus who flinched, trying not to cover his ears on instinct.
Sirius couldn't start talking, he just couldn't! He couldn't expect Remus to stand there and hear all about how he'd ruined their friendship, how he'd never love him back, never love a
monster.
He couldn't do it.
"I- Oh, boy, I never thought I'd ever be doing this and this is so much harder than I thought. So, uh-" He exhaled loudly, letting his shoulders drop. "I'm in love with you, Moony. I kinda always have been."
Sirius shrugged. Shrugged as if it was no big deal and everything Remus had dreamt of since second year was coming true.
"...What?"
"Yeah. The first time I saw you on that carriage back before we even started, I just knew you were... different. Good different. Like eleven year old me knew I'd fall in love with you. A-and I did. Obviously. But I thought, ya know, you're straight and would never like someone like me, and then you weren't straight, and the only thing in the way was that you would never like me. So when you needed a boyfriend, even if it was fake, I thought 'fuck it', why not? Its the only chance I'd get, right? But then I went and kissed you even though you didn't want to, and I feel so so gross. And now, as well as not being your boyfriend, I probably can't even be your friend, either.
So, yeah. There's that."
Remus opened his mouth, words caught in this throat, and he closed his lips once again. This happened again, then a third time, and every time he did, he could hear Sirius's heart shattering behind his ribs, his eyes darkening with rejection.
"It's not rejection!"
Remus wanted to scream, wanted to grab the other boy by the shoulders and wanted to kiss him - properly, with no peer pressure or awkward onlookers or expectations or lying.
"I know you don't feel the same, and it'll all be on your terms, alright?" Sirius choked out, voice cracking as tears spilt from his eyes, trailing down his cheeks in wet tracks and beading by the corner of his lips. "I-if you want to be friends still, you decide everything. I'll be out of the room when you change, I won't hug you, whatever makes you comfortable. I just want you to be happy."
You
make me happy.
Sirius crying was a rare sight. He saw it during Halloween in second year, again when he'd ran from home and Remus flooed to the Potters as soon as he caught word, and then just now, caused by him.
The sight of Sirius so broken, so dishevelled, was enough to snap Remus out of his trance-like shock.
Sirius Black was in love with him.
"I love you too," Remus finally said, voice quiet and breaking.
"Huh?" Sirius's own voice was shallow and cracking.
"I'm in love with you too."
"You are?" He wiped the tears with the back of his hand, sniffing lightly.
"Y-yeah. I am."
"Oh."
They stood facing each other awkwardly, shuffling around, before Sirius's mouth widened into a bright grin, tears forgotten.
"Y-you love me too. He- you, you love me, I-" His words came out broken, shocked, and he tossed his head back and forth in disbelief, before suddenly looking up. "Right! Give me, uh, what time is it? You know what, just- just come to the Astronomy Tower in ten minutes! Ten? Yeah, that should be enough! Just, yeah! Astronomy Tower!"
He abruptly turned on his heel, dashing off down the corridor before Remus could even nod to him!
What the
hell
was Sirius off doing now? He wasn't even running in the direction of the tower!
With all of a sudden having time to kill, Remus strolled along the corridors, taking a long route through various secret passages to get to the tower, ponding over everything that had just happened.
Whatever happened now, whatever happened with other people, with Brady, with the brewing war, with whatever, it didn't matter.
Sirius loved him back
! After 5 years of heartache, he knew. Sirius loved him for who he was and it was
perfect
.
(He'd had his first kiss, too -a lot less perfect, rather awkward, and even just the thought of it made Remus cringe, but at least it was only up from there.)
Remus began walking up the steps to the tower, and as he reached the last few, he could hear soft music, crackled and soothing, echoing around the top of the tower. Reaching the last step was like walking into some sort of fairytale. There were floating candles everywhere, glowing in the darkness of the winter moon. Off to the side was the phonograph from their dorm room, a record on top of it spinning slowly, playing the Fleetwood Mac album James had bought for them not too long before. By one of the railings was a red picnic blanket, covered with various chocolates and sweets and fruits in a gorgeous spread. Best of all, however, Remus insisted in his mind, was Sirius sat on the blanket looking over the Black Lake, not noticing Remus step up onto the top platform.
Nor did he noticed Remus until he's walked over and sat down next to him, cross-legged and smiling.
"What's all this then?" Remus smirked teasingly, knowing
exactly
what it was.
"Well," Sirius smiled, picking up a Chocolate Frog box and turning it over and over again in his hand, "This is what I told everyone our first date was. But, it's what I always wanted our first date do be," He shrugged again.
"You keep doing that," Remus pointed out.
"Doing what?"
"Shrugging."
"Oh, yeah. I'm trying to convince myself this is no big deal, you know? Like I'm not finally on a date with the boy I've been in love with for six years and that he actually loves me back and I still can't quite believe it." Sirius grinned sheepishly, shuffling a little closer to Remus until their hands, both palm down in the blanket, were just millimetres apart.
"Well, I am in love with you, and I'll never be falling out of love with you. You're stuck with me now!" Remus laughed.
"When did you realise?" Sirius queried, opening the box of the Chocolate Frog and offering it to Remus.
"Realised I was in love with you?" He took a bite from the chocolate as Padfoot nodded, "Well- uh, honestly, it was after everything happened during Halloween in our second year."
"Rem!" Sirius shouted, amusement in his voice, "I looked so gross! That was when you realised you were in love with me?!"
"Yes, you vain idiot! You were crying and so distraught and shouting at me not to listen to them, and you'd just found out I was a werewolf, and I guess it just hit me that I loved you as more than a friend... and I never thought you'd love me back."
Sirius's hand moved over a little and he placed it on top of Remus's. They'd done this a thousand times now over the past few weeks, but it hit Remus like a tidal wave that this was real. He clung to Sirius's hand as though it was the only thing keeping him grounded, stopping him from floating away with pure joy and delight.
They continued to eat, and chat, moving form holding hands to leaning against one another, watching the sky and the water from beyond the railings of the tower. Sirius moved to play with Remus's hair as they spoke of school, their friends, Remus's family, and every other topic they could think of. At another time, they shuffled to sitting opposite one another, and started throwing Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans at each other, trying to catch them in their mouths (on more than one occasion, both boys had to stand up, lean over the railings and spit out whatever disgusting flavour they'd come across.)
At one point, they both ended up standing, shoulder to shoulder and leaning against the railing. Sirius's hand made his way around Remus's back, gripping his side lightly and pulling him closer. Settling his head on his friend's shoulder, Remus smiled to himself.
"So, am I the reason you never had your first kiss?" Sirius asked genuinely, not teasing.
"I guess so? A girl tried to kiss me in the summer before our fourth year-"
"Muggle?"
"Yeah, so that ended as well as you can imagine. Pushed me off, looked grossed out, never saw her again. I think a tiny little bit of me hoped that you'd be my first kiss. A bit stupid, really," Remus chuckled, mostly to himself, as he felt himself being spun around by Sirius, until they were face to face. Both his hands were encased by Sirius's, thumbs rubbing over the back of his wrists.
Sirius took a step forward until their noses were almost touching.
"Can we have a repeat? Try again without everyone else here and without prongs being a massive twat?"
Leaning the last little bit forward until their lips were ghosting over each other, barely a gap between them.
Remus whispered, "I think that would be okay," and pressed his lips to Sirius, light and innocent.
He parted his lips when Sirius did the same, kissing him slowly. Sirius dropped his hands, looping his arms instead around Remus's waist, as the latter moved his hands to the back of Sirius's hair, lacing his fingers in his hair and deepening the kiss. After a moment, Remus - using all the willpower he could muster - pulled back, for fear of the kiss getting too heated while they were out in the open, and rested his head on Sirius's forehead.
Sirius looked as perfect as he had in the Great Hall; lips shining, cheeks flushed and hair not quite as perfect as he normally had it, and Remus fell even more in love with him on the spot.
"I've wanted to do that for a long time..." Remus finally whispered, placing another chaste kiss on Sirius's lips and smiling against them.
"Me too," Sirius grinned, placing another kiss on Remus's cheek, then nose, then lips once again. Remus wondered if he could ever get bored of kissing Sirius, and vouched that it just wasn't possible, pulling him by the head in for another kiss.
"I'm so in love with you, Remus Lupin, from your fuzzy hair in the morning to your
unbelievably
sexy scars to the way you bite your lip when you're too focused on reading. I really do love everything about you, Moony."
"I love you too, Sirius. From your obsession with mirrors to your weird little stick and poke tattoos to the way you play with your hair when you get over-excited." Remus beamed, his heart swelling with affection.
"Will you be my boyfriend, Remus? For real?"
"No white lies?
"None at all!" Sirius kissed him once more, and Remus knew it had all been worth the wait.
|
It's right after he rounds the corner that Reki breaks down against the wall with a sob, coughing, rain running down his face in rivulets. They do a solid job of hiding his tears, his throat burns in an inferno of pain, lips gasping for air he can’t quite fit around whatever is stuck in there. Could be thorns, could be a cold, but all he knows is the feeling of air missing from his body and the lightheaded impulse to fall and just… fail to get back up again.
At least something he’s good at these days.
He keeps coughing and barely shuffling home, fighting off the impulse of choking, clawing at his hoodie to open the collar if only wide enough to breathe.
One step, two, his skateboard tracing a trail in the dirt behind him.
It’s a losing battle, he thinks when the episode starts getting better, when the dark spots in front of his eyes start to fade a bit, enough for him to realize that in his delirious state, he actually managed to find his way home. Something lands on his tongue, smooth and bitter and Reki spits it out, barely spares it another glance as heads inside.
Home, where his mother greets him with worry in her eyes, a frown that deepens the second she sees him in his wet, shaking, sickly state, tears still drying on his cheeks, long since washed away by emptiness that began spreading through his limbs the second the turned away from Langa.
Now, it’s filled him completely and the boy stumbles past his mother, up the stairs, into bed.
His throat still pulsates, sore and scratchy, terribly uncomfortable.
Reki swallows it down, tasting the acrid copper on the roof of his mouth.
Breaths through the nausea and he falls asleep.
He wakes up mere six hours later to another coughing fit, only this time, there is no rain, no anxiety but the distant fear of choking on the resistance until whatever is stuck in there comes loose and finally, finally, he finds it in his hands. Wet with saliva, but out of his throat. He can breathe freely.
It’s… a flower.
Reki knows it, or at least its name, its three petals snow white and tiny in his fingers, surrounding a pale green crown, stem thin and short and bright green. Snowdrops, these are snowdrops and Reki is shit with flowers, but he knows these at least.
As out of it as he is, Reki pushes his hair back and stumbles out of his bed, going for the kitchen in hopes of finding a vase or at least a glass of water for the flower. He does actually find one and returns to his room, only to find that apparently, sometime during the night, he managed to cough up a few more flowers.
No wonder he feels like shit.
Reki gathers up the other flowers, petals and all and drops them into his glass, smiles faintly as he pokes one of the blossoms.
Then, he whips out his phone and googles what the flower means in the first place.
Snowdrops
.
He just coughed up snowdrops and isn’t that a terrifying concept.
Reki just coughed up flowers and his lungs and throat are burning and he wants it gone the second he realizes why.
Because
of course
it took him turning away from his first love to realize that he is in love in the first place.
And when he reads the meaning, it only cements his realization, the kind words of “
snowdrops symbolize hope and new beginnings. They grow in early spring and stand for snow, the cold times before the snow truly melts. On another note, they can be associated with young love, rebirth, modesty, innocence.”
It fits so much, Reki’s chest aches for completely different reasons and a completely different yearning grabs his heart and squeezes it until his soul threatens to burst out of his body and explode with warmth. Only to be swamped with memories of only a few hours earlier.
Suddenly, the rooms becomes very cold.
“Shit, Langa.”, he whispers over at the flowers, reaching out for the pale, smooth petals, sobs, whether in pain or grief, he doesn’t know. But, if he’s being honest, whatever it is, of course it’s Langa. Langa is a snowy hill and fresh air and the first time he’s had the possibility of closeness and friendship and it’s the first time he got the chance to breathe free and bright. Langa makes him smile, he makes him shed tears and scream and laugh. Langa glows like rising starlight and Reki knows that he is just a shadow, but he needs to bask in that light, if only just for a little bit. Langa is his calm eye of the storm and he needs it back.
But he can’t.
He is tearing Langa down, plucking the star from the sky, catching the snowflake and melting it in the palm of his hand. And he doesn’t want to. His best friend is the best thing that ever happened to him and Reki refuses to ruin him the way he watched his friend fall back then. He lost one beloved, he can not lose another.
And yet he can't stop this, Langa is going to get hurt and that’s the worst part of all of this, because if Reki loves him enough to cough up flowers, then, well.
Langa does not love him back. That’s the point of Hanahaki after all.
Unrequited love.
His eyes match his throat by now, raw and burning with tears unshed and Reki turns away from the flowers and spreads cold hands over the back of his neck, threads fingers through the hair there and he cries. He shivers from the cold and he cries.
He cries and cries and he grieves.
“It hurts.”
When he arrives at Cherry Blossoms place, flowers in hand, Reki realizes that he might be skipping school today.
When Cherry opens his door, bleary eyed and with no glasses, hair all over the place and yukata a decency hazard, when the man takes a look at the dark rings under Reki’s eyes and his pale face and the flowers handed to him in a peace offering, followed by a tiny, “I didn’t know where else to go.”. Well. Reki could care less as the man drags him inside and motions for the boy to sit on the sofa, then disappears to freshen up enough to pass for a human being again.
He cradles the flowers close, his board spread over his legs, worn and dirty in comparison to the sleek furnishings in Cherry’s living room.
It fits as well into the living room as his scuffed shoes do, as the dirt on his hoodie does and Reki knows that his hair is a mess without his headband, but this is one of the few places where he can go without being judged for his decision.
He pulls at a few loose threads on his pants and tries to bring his hair into some semblance of order, interrupted by the occasional cough and a bout of nausea the second his throat starts to scratch.
It’s that faint thought of
Not again
and
Not on Cherry's expensive carpet
that keeps the worst of it at bay, but Reki still regrets a bit that he didn't ask where the bathroom is. Cleaning a few tiles is easy, getting bloodstains out of a carpet is a nightmare.
Chery comes back in with a tray filled with tea and cookies, hair pulled back into a loose braid and in a much more presentable yukata, still not his work clothes but much more put together. His glasses are perched on his head, glinting in the sunlight streaming through the windows.
“Now, care to explain?” He offers Reki tea and for once, the boy accepts, grateful for the temporary reprieve from the pain. Lemon and honey. So the older man knows how to put two and two together.
Reki thinks for a moment, where he should start and in the end, he bursts out with everything. His feelings when he skated against ADAM, that pressure breathing down his neck, claws against his throat, how it still echoes off the scrapes left on his skin, shoulders, arms, back. How he felt after Langa’s beef with ADAM, their promise and now? Langa’s decision to keep going, how he feels betrayed but worst of all, just how worried Reki is for Langa’s safety, not even on the track, but beyond. What the man will do to him, that creepy feeling that whatever ADAM is thinking, it’s nothing good. Or morally acceptable.
He keeps going until he reaches last night, his words and how he yearns to take them back, but at the same time, how he is too close to leaving his board behind and never touching it again because, after all these years, Reki is finally scared.
Scared to lose all the connections he’s made in the last few months alone, the friends he’s made, to injury and his own uselessness, how every word whispered behind his back drives another nail into his heart and how he wants to support Langa, but in the end, they will never skate on the same track anymore and all Reki wants is their easy days back, without the threat of being swallowed whole looming over their heads.
Finally, Reki slides the snowdrops across the table and whispers, “I’m in love with him. And I hate it so much, Cherry.”
Eyes burn into his head, drill through his chest to his heart, until Cherry has laid the boy bare before him, all his faults and mistakes left hanging in the air between them and then.
Well.
What flashes over Cherry Blossom's face is achingly familiar and definitely not comforting. A mirror image of Reki’s heart, if only for a fraction of a second.
“I see. First of all, have you looked into Hanahaki a bit more?”, Cherry sips his tea, waits for an answer and gets it in a faint shake of Reki’s head, sighs, “Fine. Carla. Please tell me all you know about Hanahaki.”
“Hanahaki disease is commonly known as the flower sickness of unrequited love. Though it is mostly caused by romantic feelings, it can show the same proceedings with familial and platonic love, when the person carrying the disease perceives unrequited feelings. It shows mostly in young women experiencing first love and rejection, more a common cold there than anything the movies promise, with different stages of severity depending on the person in question.
Depending on severity, Hanhaki can show itself with only petals up to whole flowers and in rare cases, certain foliage representing the person the sick loves. Some cases are severe enough for the need to be operated away, resulting in the loss of the feelings for the person it’s felt towards, in some cases leading to depression and/or apathy. It is known that rejection can either cause the sick to move on from their feelings or make things temporarily worse, but usually it is recommended to confess if only for closure. Cases are known where one of the sick gets the disease every time they fall in love, other cases say it went away as they moved on from their feelings on their own.
Symptoms include a sore throat, coughing up flowers with different meanings depending on perception and sooner rather than later damage to the lungs in the worst cases. Common flowers in question are violets for familial love, roses for romantic love and sunflowers for friendship. There are always differences possible, the more specific the flower, the deeper the feelings and the higher the risks.”, the AI explains, then adds, “In case of Reki, sundrops stand for…”
“I know! I googled that last night.”, Reki blushes, deep red and shrinking into himself when Cherry stares him down with a withering glance, “It’s new beginnings and hope and stuff like that. It’s Langa okay.” Much more soft, he adds, “It's only ever been Langa.”
A raised eyebrow makes him elaborate a bit more, “He’s the… first guy my age that ever bothered to give skating a chance, you know? I mean, it could be because he’s canadiasn and skating is not that bad there or because he was actually curious, but he gave it a chance and he let me teach him and he is… Cherry, he is my friend. The first friend who didn’t abandon me for my interests. He was right there and he was so
kind
and I guess it just happened. I can’t even tell you when this damned crush started. It just… happened.” Reki rakes his fingers through his hair, catching onto strands and he misses the familiar weight of his headband, the tight warmth, the security it gives him. Even if it’s sight has been giving him bad anxiety for some reason.
“I see. And you woke up to the flowers this morning?”
“Went to bed with them last night.” Reki thumbs a petal, rubs it between his fingertips, “Woke up this morning to a whole ass bouquet.”
Cherry snorts, “Language.”
“You’re not my dad.”
Though with how much he sees Joe and Cherry in relation to his own dad, they could be as much. They would make pretty cool dads, now that Reki thinks about it.
“And yet, here you are. So? What do you want to do now?” The man leans back and scans Reki’s face, the way he coils more into himself, “Are you planning to leave S and avoid Langa forever?” It sounds sarcastic until Reki shrugs and gives a tiny nod.
“Maybe? Yes? I have no place there anymore. So why should I stay?”
Something in the way Reki huffs, the somewhat whistling sound coming out of his mouth, it’s apparently enough warning for Cherry that he grabs the boy and drags him to the closest bathroom, helping him to the sink and holding his hair out of the way while Reki dissolves into coughing, wincing with every painful tug at his throat as the flowers tumble out of his mouth, piling up in the sink and painting it white and red. Reki is sobbing, gasping for the smallest of breaths as he clings onto the porcelain, eyes ripped wide open and glued to the tiny plants.
“Reki… Hanahaki is closely connected to the psychological state of mind of the patient. It’s often triggered by stress and not just the feelings connected to them. There is more to this, isn’t there?”, Cherry asks, voice quiet, gentle, almost coaxing an answer out of Reki and it’s not one he wants to give. It’s an answer he wants to keep to himself, but he came here to ask for advice, for help, for something he doesn’t know how to ask for. Company, maybe, understanding.
So Reki breathes through the pain, he gratefully accepts the tea Cherry brings him and once the soreness fades to something much more manageable, once the honey and the lemon run their course, he finally explains. Right there, on a white tiled bathroom floor, leaning against a bathtub with cherry blossom curtains, Reki pours out his heart and what has been going on in his head ever since they met ADAM for the first time. The anger and the terror, for Miya, for himself, the constant “I am not enough” rattling around his thoughts of Langa, the sting he feels every time Miya calls him “slime” or “golem”, the whispers behind his back.
How the noise in his own head adds to it whenever he dares to close his eyes.
How to everyone, he is just a boy in the way to their ambitions.
The shivering, bitter cold wrapped around his throat whenever he notices Langa and the others just… leaving him behind, his own progress so much slower than theirs.
The betrayal drowning him in grief and loneliness, Langa in the rain, staring after him, a broken promise ripping a chasm in between the two of them, ADAM in the middle. He tells his older friend how Langas fingers wrapped around his wrist in a last attempt to connect and how Reki turned away and tore himself out of Langa’s life, how the chasm spread in between the two of them.
Reki admits to the worst part in the end, “I lost my fun in skating after ADAM. I’m scared, Cherry and I can’t do this anymore. I don’t know
what
to do. That man took the one thing that means everything to me and he will take all that’s left as well. He will take Langa away from me and I… I don’t know how to stop it.”
How do I fix this? How do I make this work again?
Heartbreak and loss.
Cherry leaves him to cry for just a second, only to come back a few minutes later, dropping his phone on the table. Careful hands touch slim shoulders, seemingly thinner and smaller than they actually are, pulling the boy upright until he lifts his gaze and stares up at Cherry, his face, his whole being begging for
something
.
Resolute and calm, the older skater pulls him into something not quite like a hug, but a point of contact, Reki’s forehead falling against his shoulder as he breaks and breaks and breaks until there are no more tears left.
Until exhaustion gets to him and Reki passes out with thin, long fingers carding through his hair and someone whispering calming words into his ear.
Reki wakes to the sound of a game over jingle right next to his face and quiet cursing, a small weight plastered to his side.
When he dares to open one eye, he is met with black hair and that ridiculous antenna tickling his nose, a bony shoulder clad in the brightest neon green you could find. Traffic stopping and ridiculous, just like the person wearing it.
He lets Miya play a little bit longer, cuddled up to Reki’s front as he is, just watches the kid over his shoulder, the tiny pixelated hero running through endless halls and dying on the spot whenever he meets the same opponent. Still, Miya manages to move forward, as slow as his progress is, starting over in the safe room time and time again until he finally reaches the next stage and turns the console off, glancing back at Reki.
Reki blinks owlishly at him.
Miya screams and falls off the sofa.
“Fuck, sli.. Reki, you could have said something!” He screeches, “I almost had a heart attack, you asshole!”
“Language, or I’m telling mom.” Reki grouches and reaches out to the younger boy, making sleepy grabby hands at him, “Come back here, you were warm.” And the same size as Koyomi and he will never admit to missing her crawling into bed with him whenever she had a nightmare. He misses her hugs in general. She is all grown up these days and Reki both loves and hates it.
The tiny gremlin
growls
at him, but doesn’t answer, instead he climbs back into the hug and cuddles into Reki’s chest, “Cherry called me. Said you need me here.”
I don’t. But you need me with you. I do. I need you here. Reki wants to answer, swallows down the bitter, I was about to break my promise. Sorry, I’m sorry.
He holds Miya closer, ignoring all protests and dramatic gagging, he shoves his face in dark hair and he mouths apologies into the space between, stuffing his mouth full of hair. He doesn’t care in the least.
Miya tries to get out of it until he doesn’t, small hands lingering on Reki’s arms as he breathes into Reki’s chest.
“I’m sorry.” They both start in unison and then pull back to look at each other. Miya’s eyes are big and green and wide and finally, after what feels like ages, Reki burst out into laughter.
“Sorry.” He giggles and tucks Miya closer again, “You first.”
“Fuck it, let go of me!” And the struggling starts again, getting out of hand until Reli accidentally tickles miya, Miya shrieks out a laugh and the older brother instincts kick in, “I take back what I wanted to say, it’s not important anymore! You are gross and weird today!”
Reki reduces Miya to begging and hiccups within mere minutes, breathless himself, smiling wide and soft and somewhat freed.
The mood still falls when his throat starts scratching again.
“I’m thinking about leaving S.” Reki finally blurts out.
On the floor, Miya stills. Swallows. Nods, gestures a somewhat helpless “go on”.
“Things haven’t been very peachy there lately, ever since ADAM came back and I…” He snips, at a loss for words, “I think I’m not all that welcome there anymore? I have no place there.”
“Is it those shitty slimes talking behind your back?” Miya hisses, shoulders rising into a threat, eyes sharp and furious, “I can handle those just fine, just point them out to me. I’m the only one allowed to talk shit to you.”
But I won’t. Don’t leave
, his eyes scream,
don’t leave me behind as well.
Guilt crashes into Reki at this, guilt at even considering leaving without a goodbye, without an explanation, so he fumbles and he stutters and all that really comes out is “I’m so sorry, I never… I promised… You… I promised. But I
can’t...
” Deflated and defeated, he sinks into himself, stares down at his hands and blinks away the memory of petals and blood clinging to his fingertips. Somehow, the flowers are all he can think about even now. “Why are words always so hard when I need them most?” He laughs, a sound like a dying bird, “I…”
“Don’t leave.” Miya interrupts him, quick like a gunshot, quick like the scratch of a cat, “I will never call you a slime again. You can hug me all you want, I won’t fight back. But don’t leave.”
The unsaid
please
is left hanging in the air. It echoes off the walls and it floats in the room, multiplies and settles around Reki in a weight made of expectations and oaths he wants to keep.
“I promised.”
Their eyes meet, Reki’s apologies and Miya’s loneliness, their desperation and determination. Small hands grab bright yellow hoodie fabric and Miya pulls him closer until their foreheads are smashed together into a gesture too intimate for the tiny body made of rage and spite, “You promised. You… you don’t have to skate. I get it. Cherry tried to tell me a bit of what happened, but I want to hear it from you when you want to tell me. He did tell me about the flowers though. If you keep your promise, I promise I will find a way to
crush
ADAM. Just. Don’t leave.” Righteous anger and fierce destructive force in a body too small to handle it, Miya seems feral in this one moment and yet. Reki knows that he at least is perfectly safe.
“What if I can’t? Go to Crazy Rock that is.”
“Wait for me outside. Be there the next day. Stay my friend.” It sounds like a demand, an order and it’s one Reki is all too willing to follow. This is the closest Miya will ever get to pleading and he does not have the heart to make him beg. Not when he needs the younger boy as much as he needs Reki.
So he offers Miya something real, not quite a smile but close enough, “I think I can keep that.”
“Good. then we’re bringing that creepy fucker down.”
“And how exactly do you plan to achieve that particular goal?” Both boys scream when Cherry appears out of nowhere and falls into his earlier seat, “How do you feel, Reki? Did you two talk?”
They nod. Reki shrugs, “Pretty okay for now. My throat feels testy, but it’s not as bad as earlier.”
Cherry sighs, “Good. Reki, I called your mother and clued her in so she doesn’t worry. Apparently your school already called and asked about your whereabouts and she had no idea of your circumstances. You might want to speak to her about that in person. Later. And I believe you have a shift at Dope Sketch today so I took the liberty and called in sick for you there as well until we have this mess figured out. Now. First of all, Miya, you will leave ADAM to Joe and myself, focus on keeping Reki safe for now. If you decide to go back after all, Reki, please stay as far away from ADAM as you can, that is an order, if I have to make it one.” He keeps shifting his focus between them, stern and calm, even though his eyes promise hellfire on any opponent foolish enough to brave his stormy moods. “If you need a break, take it, keep close to Miya if possible. Joe will talk to Langa, see if he can get his side of this ordeal out of him so we know how to proceed from here. But there is one thing I need to say, Reki: Hanahaki is a sickness of perception. I can only advise you to talk to Langa at some point and confess. Closure has been known for a long time as a possible cure, be it rejection or a more positive outcome. But leaving yourself in this state of imbalance will make things worse, so please, give it some thought. If you have an answer, it can give you the needed motivation to move on. I’d rather not lose a promising skater to his own stubbornness. It already took one of my best friends.”
After a moment of quiet, the man clears his throat, takes a sip of water, adds, “About the other thing I’d like to say: If anyone dares to say even one word against you, I will not stop Miya. You have grown on me and I do consider you a friend, as strange as that is. Same goes for Joe. That ape might be useless in most departments, but when it comes to those he holds dear, you can rely on him.”
This is the most he ever said to any of them and it leaves the boys speechless. Reki stares up at Cherry in something akin to wonder, open and soft, hair drooping into his eyes, completely different without the headband and Miya kicks his side to snap him out of it.
“You're important to us, you nerd.” He grumbles.
The redhead just nods and looks away.
"Thanks." He whispers and his mind finally calms.
His mother drags him to their family doctor and Reki knows this man. He knows him well, he was the first person to hold him when he was born, he got Reki through his worst colds and that one broken leg and all three broken noses.
Reki knows this man like you would know family so the only thing he can do when the old man holds the blossoms in his hands is give him a weary smile and ask for the medicine.
It’s prescribed with no protests but a warning, whispered into the quiet of the room as old and worn hands close over his own, “Take the medicine only in the mornings and please, for the love of god, try to talk to your crush, boy. Love is never worth dying for. Or even just hurting.”
“It’s only so I can survive school without breaking down.” Reki answers. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry. It’s just for a little bit.” His grades are wacky as it is, he can’t risk getting sick now. And he gets the rest of the rules. Take breaks, no strenuous activity. Come to a check up once a week.
It’s a promise Reki won’t have a choice but to keep.
His mother will kill him herself if he doesn’t.
It should not be as funny as it is, but despite everyone giving him the very same advice, Reki ignores Langa to the best of his ability and avoids him at work. He almost changes directions the second he spots blue hair, he vaults out of a window once when Langa joins their school buddies once and no one mentions the locker incident.
Even weeks later, he still finds dust bunnies in his favourite hoodie. No, it’s not funny. That’s his favourite hoodie and he can’t wear it for
too long
.
Avoiding Langa at Sk8 though, it gives him time to think. About himself, about skating, about his relationship with the sport and while he keeps thinking, Reki stops skating for a while. Suddenly he has way too much free time he doesn’t know what to do with, so he busies himself with designing more skateboards, a spare one for Miya, a more classic design for Cherry. He tries making one for Joe and another for Shadow, even if he’s not quite sure if he will ever give them to his newfound friends. As a thank you, because Cherry calls him every few days to ask about his day, school, how he feels, the closest thing he’s had for a second parental figure aside from Joe’s random advice and his mother’s kindness. As a thank you, because Miya is at his place every single day after school, doing homework with Koyomi and then barricading himself with Reki in the workshop, watching him paint and create.
Reki makes a skateboard for Langa. He takes off the foot guard, redesigns the yeti, adds his signature avatar, only to sand it off again and start over.
In the end, he scraps all funky avatars, leaves the board a pale blue and adds a few snowflakes to the edges, painting it in the image of ice and glass.
“It’s still missing something.” He whispers, wiping sweat off his forehead, tracing the drops already staining the wood and after a while he gives in and paints a few snowdrops after all.
It’s exactly what the board has been missing. It also makes Reki fall over it in a coughing fit, staining it even more with petals and blood and his tears when things get too much and his heart breaks at the thought of Langa never seeing this board as it is right now.
Miya is the only one to see this particular board and thankfully, he doesn’t tease Reki for that, instead he latches onto the cat character Reki makes for him, bemoaning its twigly appearance and the cute face, “It’s not cool enough!” His younger friend is impatined, all “Show me!” and “When will it be done?” and angry sounds in the back of his workshop, as he waits for updates.
Miya watches him work, perched on the table and legs dangling cheerfully, eyes focused on Reki’s hands, as he works and thinks and creates. As his hands sand down wood, as he paints, as deft fingers screw on wheels and add details to every single board with the focus of a man who loves his craft. Their time together gives them both time to think and wonder, to talk in hushed whispers, about school, about the snowdrops, about skating in general.
Reki admits to his dilemma and Miya does not shrug it off.
He listens.
And then.
“Hey, can you show me how to make one?” He barges in one day, a wide grin on his face, Koyomi at his heel and Reki lives for their friendship, how well the calmer girl slots into Miya’s space, a friend his age, a girl with the very same fire Reki excludes, only gentler. Still just as warm.
Still just as kind.
She almost stumbles over a stray wheel if not for Miya grabbing her and together, they bowl into Reki’s chest, all big eyes and hopeful gazes.
“I want to teach her how to skate.” Miya whispers, “She wants to learn.”
Koyomi shrugs at Reki’s questioning glance, “You always look like you’re having fun and I thought…. I thought it would be cool if I tried it out.”
I want to cheer you up
, her eyes say,
You’ve been sad lately and I want you to laugh again.
So he starts explaining. Reki keeps working on Miya’s board as he does, rambling to the kids about wood and paint, how to figure out the style, the form, the wheels, he tries not to go into too much detail when it comes to screws and he still manages a whole hour lecture about the different types and what they’re used for. Koyomi starts taking notes at some point, muttering something about “My dumbass brother can explain physics better than my teacher. Because of skating. I swear, no one will believe me…” and Miya is the first to grab a plank and shove it into Reki’s chest, “Where do I start?”
They start on Koyomi’s skateboard together and it’s an effort of trial and error, of Koyomi falling over all the time and Miya littering his hands with a million cuts. And contrary to everyone's belief, he still keeps going, much to Reki’s very enthusiastic delight.
The cheering gets ridiculous at some point.
So does the final design cat character Reki shows Miya.
Miya loves it. Absolutely adores it, grinning like the creature on the paper, mischief sparkling in his eyes and hood ears almost twitching when he hides his blush under the fabric, pulling it down until all his friends can see is black locks and red skin.
He still demands more green and cooler, bolder lines, just to mess with Reki. Joke’s on him, Reki is too happy to oblige, just to make the boy smile and cackle when he finally finishes the skateboard and Miya finally gets the permission to test it out.
Koyomi takes her pink one and the smile she gives her brother, bright and full of awe, it’s enough to ignite a spark.
Reki marvels at their light and the bright energy they bring into his workshop, the loud laughter that bubbles up from his chest out into the open when the first thing Koyomi does once again is eats the grass underneath her feet and curses up a storm.
Their mother hears.
It’s not a fun experience afterwards, for anyone, except for Miya, who keeps giggling into his hands as Reki and Koyomi are chewed out, bringing out his most adorable kitten eyes the second the woman’s eyes find him.
Days like these are filled with sunlight and hope until Reki finds his way back to his room and finds his medication and the small vase filled to the brim with flowers and all the distractions of the day come back to bring him to his knees.
Reki still goes to bed with red rimmed eyes and bloodied petals filling up a glass with spring and snow.
“What do you think you’re doing here?” Shadow hisses when Reki steps foot into the shop, service smile in place the second his manager turns their way. She greets Reki cheerfully, waving with the bouquet in her hands. Reki waves back.
Then he turns to Shadow and grins up at the man, “I want to buy a flower.”
He scans the ones displayed in the shop, shrugs.
“I just don’t know which one would fit snowdrops.” They’re wilting fast and Reki keeps thinking about planting flowers, so they live just a bit longer, if he ever coughs out a few with roots. According to the internet, that can happen at some point and he…. As weird as it sounds, Reki is looking forward to it. Even if it means that it's getting worse.
Shadow is looking at him like he just grew a second head.
He sighs, “Fine. Fine. Just tell me which ones.”
“I… don’t know?” Pulling up his shoulders, Reki huffs a laugh, “I just want a flower.”
“You…” His friend grumbles, groans, “Alright, but only because my boss is watching! Do you want one for yourself?”
Reki nods.
“I’m guessing you’ve never cared for a plant in your life… Ok, an easy flower you can plant and wont kill in a week… Sunflowers? How do you feel about sunflowers?”
Reki’s head snaps up and he stares up at Shadow, lips spreading into a soft smile, “I like them.”
The stare he gets is a somewhat calculating one, the man rolls his eyes, “They suit you alright.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Google sunflowers sometime.” Shadow is already assembling a pot and is going through the plants, “Okay, loser, sunflowers are easy to care for, just please don’t forget to water them. And they get tall as… pretty tall, so you should put them outside. Remember to water them, though.” He keeps babbling, form turned away from his boss so only Reki sees the semi friendly grimace he tries to uphold, only to morph back to his usual snarl, “And show your face at S again, will you.”
It’s been quiet without you
, it is left unsaid.
Reki thanks the man and takes the flower pot, pays for his purchase and back home, he leaves the flower in front of his window, poking the leaves peeking out of the earth. Then, he actually does google sunflowers.
“Friendship and kindness, huh…” His voice breaks, “They follow the sunlight with their heads.”
Like I follow Langa’s light
, he thinks and curls into himself, pulls his knees up to his chin and stares down at his newest project,
Just like I am drawn to him.
The flower almost wilts once or twice, but Reki keeps hounding Shadow until he gives him tips what to look out for and since he never blocks Reki, the boy figures that maybe, he is finally accepted in the older man’s life.
When Cherry ends up in the hospital, Reki is the first one there, Miya downstairs with Shadow while he stands beside Joe and trembles in anger and distaste, ADAM a curse on his lips, tainting the pure white of his beloved.
“This is not what skating should be, Joe.” He spits out, tongue barely wrapping around the words, “This is not what I want Langa to see. This is not the sky I want to explore.” Tears burn in his eyes as ke stares at the still, bandaged form of his friend, as he traces the bruises on Cherry's face, as he grabs a pale, still hand and anchors himself in the moment.
Joe holds him in place with a hand big enough to crush skulls and yet so very gentle as if he is afraid to break Reki. He is trembling, almost vibrating and hiding his face in Rekis hair, tense and soft and lost. Lost like Reki is.
Maybe
, Reki thinks,
he is not afraid of breaking me. Maybe Joe believes that if he holds on too tight, he will break himself.
There is nothing wrong with that, he decides, he can be there for the older man. He can be his last straw to hold onto, at least until the others get here. Until Cherry wakes up.
So he hugs the man close, just wraps both arms around his middle and squeezes. Whispers “He is stronger than this. He’ll be back to normal in no time, promise.” and lets the giant with a heart of gold cling to him like you would to a lifeline.
This once he is the anchor for another and it fills Reki with enough purpose to get Carla. Reki tunes her back into place as much as he can, he screws wheels back on and polishes the surface and talks to the AI about his day, his last week. Joe keeps sitting next to his friend, focused solely on the other man, until he hears Carla ask for an update on Rekis condition.
“My throat still acts up all the time, but the meds help a ton. Though I did cough up a flower with roots last week. I planted it next to my sunflower! It’s hilarious, you should see it. Can you see things like that? I’ll text Cherry a pic later, he can show you when he wakes up!” Reki grins down at his lap, bites back the blush, “It’s not quite getting better. But I’m better at managing things on my end.”
“It is still advisable to confess your feelings. I have looked up all the forums you recommended to my master and found a few more and most of them explain the significance of a confession. Even with no reciprocation, it acquires closure for the diseased and it has high chances of bettering the condition.”
“Not you too.”
The older man perks up, “Wait what? What’s going on?”
Right. No one told Joe.
It takes him a hot minute to figure out how to explain his… problem, though another coughing fit shakes his very being, he falls forward, Joe catches him and the recognition in his face carves lines of worry into his skin as he carefully picks up the petals.
“Who else knows?” He rubs it between his fingertips, leaves the tiny snowdrop in his palm and it’s dwarfed by his hands. It seems even smaller, so much more delicate as it is in the first place and Reki feels the same when Joe trains his gaze on him.
“Cherry, Miya. My parents.” Reki answers, shrugs and tries to smile around the pain, “And now you.”
“It’s Langa, isn’t it?”
A nod.
Joe sighs, rakes his hands through his hair, the flowers catch on the tangles in there, get stuck.
Reki doesn’t tell him. Mostly because he thinks that Cherry will laugh about this when he wakes up.
Once he’s done lecturing Joe on not showering for a few days.
But until that happens, Reki distracts Joe as much as he can, he rambles his ear off with plans about skateboards, Koyomi’s progress, what Miya has been up to lately and Joe, bless his soft heart, he tells Reki about Langa. How his skating seems to stagnate ever since Reki left S and how he’s subdued and different.
Empty in a way.
No light in his eyes and no passion in his movements, only the shell of a boy.
It reminds Reki of the first days at school.
Until he did that ollie over Langa’s head and watched the life drain back into his features.
Reki swallows the onslaught of flowers collecting in his throat and flees the room when Shadow walks in to drive him home.
Cherry wakes up.
He lectures Joe, he checks on Reki and the boy finally dares to step back on a skateboard, after almost a month of avoiding the thing like the plague.
With Cherry stuck in the wheelchair and Joe working in his restaurant, there is only one man he can ask for help. Best thing about this, the pink haired man agrees. And he is patient, calm, much more analytic than miya, who likes to drop in and watch Reki fall on his face until he doesnt.
Reki trains, he practices by himself in the skatepark, with Miya’s or Cherry’s help when they have the time, when he has the energy, late at night so there is little chance to be seen face planting into solid concrete over and over again. Cherry keeps walking him through the motions, correcting his stance and explaining his mistakes, working through them with Reki until he learns to love his board and the wind in his hair again.
Until he starts missing the speed and the freedom and the feeling of flight.
Until he finally starts missing Langa skating in front of him, by his side, behind him, warm eyes and a warm smile and he yearns for the closeness they shared.
Reki starts missing S races and what they were before ADAM came back, he misses the eerie lights and the atmosphere, the cheers and the noise and Langa smiling at him through pastel coloured bangs.
Bright and perfect.
Reki coughs up his flowers and he loves.
He loves.
He cherishes and he adores and he loves.
After weeks of radio silence from his side, Reki still loves and he doubts and he thinks about all that’s happened, until Miya calls him one night and quietly asks him to come. He sounds vulnerable and tired, his tone so very lost and hopeless, and really, he only has to say “ADAM” and Reki is out the door and on the streets, S-pin gleaming in the low lights of the streetlamps and fury battling sheer terror in his blood.
He rushes to Crazy Rock at breakneck speed, dodging lamps, people, trees with an ease he’s forgotten he is capable of and he laughs when he gets even faster. Wind blows his hair back and punches the breath out of his lungs and he missed this, he missed this, he missed this. Skating has been his life for years and coming back to it slots a missing piece right back into place.
His board sings on the asphalt, Reki cheers as he rounds the corner.
“I’m back.” He whispers into the void of forever, happy and at ease and right where he belongs.
When Reki arrives at the gates, he flashes his pin to the door guard and high fives the man, grinning wide and sunny. He gets one right back, the man laughs when Reki almost falls off his board in his enthusiasm to greet everyone he knows. And under the yellow light, he finds himself right at home again, swept all over ther place by the myriad of bodies, chatter all around him, skateboards everywhere. It’s a little bit like coming home and a little bit like coming to Crazy Rock for the first time.
Finding Miya is easy, the glowing cat ears move like they are twitching as they reflect the street lights, the boy himself is standing next to Joe and Reki waves him over to his corner. Once he realizes just who is standing there, Miya tugs his hood down and throws himself into Rekis arms, just, full out launches himself at the taller boy and presses himself close, clawing sharp nails into Reki’s exposed skin.
His face says it all. The shoulders hitched up to his ears tell a story Reki knows the ending of.
"I lost."
I couldn't beat him. I won’t reach ADAM.
An echo in Rekis head.
I'm sorry.
Reki doesn't comment on this, doesn’t answer, because how do you, when you don’t have one in the first place but “It’s okay.” Instead, he pulls Miya into the warmest hug possible and waddles them aside, smiling up at Joe over the smaller boy's shoulder. The man waves them away and turns to the start line, above them the screen with Joe and Langa's faces.
They got a pretty good shot of Langa, all soft blues and fierce eyes, focused and bright and Reki turns away before his throat decides to act up. The fingerless gloves suit Langa. As do the lights and the perspective of the shot. Reki’s eyes follow the lines of his body, up to the skateboard he built and he thinks of the one waiting back home, brand new and better than ever.
He wants Langa to use that one in his races now. But he won’t.
It still hurts.
Dragging them away from the masses is probably his best bet to get Miya somewhere quiet and dragging them away he does, snaking through groups of people, shielding Miya behind him, their hands linked at their pinkies, a tugging, soft sensation spreading up his arm the further away they move from everything. And still, the younger boy soon pulls at Rekis arm and tugs him closer to the side of the road, "Joe and Langa are up next. We can watch from there."
And talk, maybe.
"And talk about your race." Reki adds, "If you want to."
With the way Miya's face scrunches up, he doesn't.
Still, the offer stands in the air between them and both know that they appreciate the gesture.
Reki wants to see Langa. Miya needs the option of trust.
They can work with this.
Miya doesnt speak another word about the race aside from, "ADAM can go fuck himself off a cliff. Snake too." And that's that.
They can hear the roar of the crowd from afar, the constant chanting of "Joe! Snow! Joe! Snow!" As they wait for their friends to rush past. Next to them, a smaller group of teenagers is ripping into Langa, whispering something close to "...a newcomer after all. He stands no chance against Joe. I mean, look at him. And you dumbass bet your money on that loser. Heard that ever since that red haired one left he's been all down and useless." Two of the shove at the third, grins snarky and off centre, twisting into a sneer as they keep huddling over a phone, watching the race.
Reki's eyebrow twitches. Miya sends the boys a dirty look, then, louder, "Slimes have no say in a hero’s journey. They always end up on the wrong side of the blade.” Then, like stringing a threat over their heads, he smirks, all sharp teeth and gleaming eyes and cold arrogance, “Free exp should just shut up and learn from those stronger than them. After all, you still fall on your face when you try to skate.”
Reki can quite literally watch Miya’s words slam into them, they shrink away, all wide eyes and horror in their faces when they recognize Miya. Triumph lines his jaw, comfortable in his place by Reki’s side, a streak of mischief in his eyes.
Reki himself is left in the background and for once, he is glad for it.
Soon enough, Joes appears with a wide grin and a wider smirk and something worried in the set of his eyes, a streak of green gone so fast, they only have a moment to recognize the nod their way. It’s a clear message.
Something is wrong
.
Reki’s heart falls and his soul shatters and his throat burns, sets his mouth on fire with pain. Need, powerful and controlling, the urge to scream.
Something is wrong with Langa.
When the boy in question finally rounds the corner, Reki is doubled over and gasping for air, fighting past the flowers in his throat, just a word, just one scream.
There is no spark in those eyes, no life in Langas body, slouched forward and lackluster as it is. He looks like he did back when he walked into the classroom for the first time and Reki remembers it vividly, the emptiness rolling off his skin and turning the round him into a barren wasteland of tired cold.
He won’t ask for more but he has to
reach
.
Reach those empty eyes, reach through the cold settling on his shoulders and freezing the life in his chest, reach for the snow and ice encasing his dearly beloved. Reki has to, he has to say
something
to bring the snowdrops back to life, coax them out of the snow.
He has to. There is no other option, else he will break with the weight of flowers burning their way up his throat and out into the world.
Guilt tears into his chest and leaves his heart wide open, because he ignored his best friend for weeks and never noticed just how bad he hurt Langa and he claims to be
in love with him
.
“Langa.” He wheezes, presses it out past the snowdrops, then, when another coughing fit frees his windpipe, he screams, “LANGA.”
Then, he watches.
Watches Langa startle and turn, their eyes meet, he can see himself reflected in vibrant blue and the world stops.
For a second, there is no pain, no hurt, nothing bad in the world, until it all comes crashing back down and Langa turns away, forward and picks up speed with a wide, radiant grin that casts Rekis vision into white light and fills his chest with adoration.
Behind him, small hands clutch onto the back of his hoodie and pull him back, away from the road, away from Langa and Reki follows. Miya stares up at him and the other boys seem long gone and Reki smiles.
He smiles and he laughs and he keeps grinning ever after he is out of breath and winded, surrounded by white petals like snowflakes, ringing in a new spring in his heart.
Miya keeps staring up at him until Reki finally breaks the silence building between them with the softest “I think I can say it now.”
Langa deserves an apology and the truth. Reki needs to hear what Langa has to say.
They both need to talk about this, ADAM and Reki and Langa and the place Reki wants in Langa’s life.
The screens keep switching between the contestants and suddenly it's even harder to cheer for one when both are important. Reki shoves the snowdrops into his pockets and throws up his hands, cheering the name of his best friend over and over again.
He thinks of his skateboard casting its first shadow over a new boy in town. He thinks of that boy furrowing his brows in sheer confusion as he listens to Reki gushing and falling on his face in the middle of a street and a beef that ended in fireworks and snowfall.
Reki thinks of nights spent mulling over designs, a lean form perched on the stool behind him, watching him work and commenting here and there about wheels and yetis and blues.
Reki thinks of sunlight and warmth wrapped around him and the cold rain drowning his emotions, watering the petals and stems and blossoms in his throat.
Silvery green and vibrant white and blue.
Hope and new beginnings.
Miya throws Reki his skateboard and Reki grins over at him, all smiles and faith, a promise of meeting back at the finish line on his lips.
Reki thinks of his best friend and he falls in love all over again.
Reki bowls Langa over and collapses on him right after, because no matter how much adrenaline runs through your veins, a sickness that affects your lungs is still a sickness, so Reki crashes right in the middle of an apology.
It’s warm
, he thinks,
snow shouldn’t be this warm
.
Then he passes out.
His back aches. Actually, everything aches, but it doesn’t hurt per se, just a pull in his muscles that reminds him faintly of being sick and on pain medication, lying on the most uncomfortable couch he could find in his grandmother's house.
On the plus side, he is warm this time around and someone is touching his face, calloused hands brushing over his forehead, his nose, his eyelids, cuts and bandages catching onto Reki’s hair while he slowly comes back to his senses. This feels nice.
Maybe it's a dream.
Though usually his throat doesn't hurt in his dreams. It does now.
Reki coughs and turns away from the hands, spits out the flowers and then he opens his eyes.
The hands fall onto his shoulders and he knows them. Now that he is awake, he remembers the band aids and the cuts he saw on familiar hands, pale and badly dressed. As if Langa tried to dress them himself and failed like the disaster that he can be. Especially with his aversion to seeing blood.
Fuck, Langa can’t stand the sight of blood and Reki made him take care of his own woulds for
weeks
.
Guilt comes crashing back in and he flinches away from the touch, only to be pulled back into a hug, warm. Langa is warm.
Soil underneath the snow, the first rays of sunlight in spring. A flower blooming.
Reki gasps and he falls and he falls, lips forming “I’m sorry” over and over again, only to be mirrored in a whisper flowing past his ears.
Langa is clutching onto him, pale hair falling over Reki’s shoulder and mingling with the stray snowdrops lingering on Reki’s hoodie and sunlight illuminating the room through sterile white drapers.
Oh. He is in the hospital.
That explains the numb sensation and the thought that he
should
hurt. He doesn’t.
But he should.
Reki’s whole frame is trembling, small sobs slamming into him, spreading from his back and into every fiber of his being and slowly, the realization dawns.
Langa is crying.
Still apologizing and crying and Reki can’t let this happen when, in the end, there is only one apology he needs to hear and that is his own.
He is still scared, of course, to lose Langa to ADAM, to lose Langa in general, but if he keeps turning away, he will lose him regardless and Miya, Miya has shown him the right path.
Just ask
.
Talk
.
Talk to him
.
“Not your fault.”, he presses out, strained and tiny and soft, “Not your fault... My feelings… Sorry for snapping at you.”
Of course it took him turning away from his first love to realize that he is in love in the first place.
Sorry for leaving you. You were so far ahead and I was left behind chasing your shadows and I gave up.
I gave up and you deserve better.
I am scared for you, I am scared of you, I am scared you will leave my heart open and bleeding and you will never know you did it.
So I left. I left, I left, I left.
And you never found out why.
“Sorry for breaking our promise.” Behind him, Langa croaks, “Sorry for hurting you. I didn’t understand. But skating is
nothing
without you. It’s no fun and my heart doesn't race and I hate it.”
Reki freezes.
“I want you there.” He is whining now, a sound too high to be anything but uncomfortable and yet, Reki relaxes into the hold instantly, just deflates and folds into himself.
It’s not quite relief, more a fondness that bleeds into his very soul and smooths out the edges in his veins, taking the hurt and soothing it with soft words and kindness wrapped around his shoulders. He tries to breathe in, deeper than before at least, but there is an unfamiliar pressure in his throat.
The pain medications slowly stop working. That’s probably a bad thing.
“I don’t want you to get hurt.” Reki whispers, “ADAM almost ruined it for me. If not for…”
I almost ruined it for you.
“If not for the others I would have left S.”
The arms grip him tighter, one falls to his waist, tighter, until they are pressed front to back, wires all over the place and Langa breathes, slowly, into Reki’s skin.
The door slams open and they rush apart.
Reki
knows
that his face is burning up and his heart rate, it’s been pretty fast before, but now it’S jumping all over the place.
It’s just Miya, slurping a smoothie, another one in hand, foot up high, almost like he kicked the door open.
Oh, right, he probably did.
“You’re awake.”, he grins around the straw and hands Langa the other smoothie, “Welcome back.” By now Reki recognizes the wild mop of hair and the dark eyebags for what they are and cocks his head to the side.
“You were waiting for me.”
“Both me and Snow White over there.”
So Langa finally got his own nickname. Reki turns back to Langa and yes, he looks just as dead on his feet, tired and weary and lost. He reaches out and touches their fingers together, pokes them until Langa understands what he’s trying to say and Reki offers him a smile, lifts his fist in a familiar gesture. Knuckles meet in a fistbump, another. Their dap. Reki twists their hands together to form a sign of infinity.
Too gentle to be anything but cherished and Reki melts when Langa looks up at him, face filled with wonder and eyes gleaming and expression foreing and perfect and too beautiful for words.
Reki has never really seen snow outside of photos before, but when he looks at Langa, he imagines that’s what snowfall looks like, all sparkly and pretty and smooth.
Perfect, really.
Snowflakes and snowdrops really were a good choice for the new board.
Blushing, Reki turns away and focuses on the pot of snowdrops on his nightstand and well.
His heart stops for a second.
Miya follows his gaze and when he speaks, there is a certain edge to his tone, “They took roots.”
It got worse.
His eyes say enough.
Talk. Do something about this.
Reki nods.
He is discharged a few days later, stronger pain meds in his pocket and his mother a fussing, worried butterfly fluttering around him. Miya is already waiting for him at home, books sprawled all over the table, Langa a solid presence next to him. Koyomi is doing her own homework and whenever she has a question, she turns to Langa and shoves her notebook under his nose and demands an explanation.
Reki almost laughs at the indignant face his best friend makes.
Best friend. Because the other is still here, right here and Reki didn’t lose him.
Instead, he is allowed to watch them for a bit, while his mother is dragged away by the twins before she can even try to greet their guests.
Not like they are guests at this point. Miya slid seamlessly into his new role as Reki’s honorary sibling, teasing and clinging, a tiny, angry presence at his back he can rely on in return.
Langa…. Well. Reki is coughing up flowers for him. That’s bound to mean something.
Reki clears his throat.
Miya looks up, grins at him and kicks Langa in the shin.
The other’s head whips up from the assignment, finds Reki and as mushy as it sounds, but for a second here, Reki’s world stops again. Blood rushes in his ears as Langa looks him over, lingering on the pot of snowdrops in his hands, Reki’s probably pale ass face. The worn hoodie his mother dug out from some hole in his closet, dark blue with his character printed on the front, though it’s peeled off to the point where recognition is only possible if you know what you’re looking for.
Langa stares, Reki stares and Miya sighs and throws a pen at Reki’s head, “Go. Both of you, all this pining is making
me
sick.”
“Second that.” Koyomi adds.
Langa…. Blushes.
Reki has to put down the plant somewhere, his room is probably alive at this point if his mother didn’t bother to clean it to the point that she pulled out this hoodie. In a rare fit of embarrassment Reki drags Langa into the workshop and settles onto the workstool with the intention of confessing.
“I…” And that’s as far as he manages to go, because something grabs him and then he is enveloped by warmth once again, Langa’s face buried in his hair and they are both shaking now, breathing into each other.
Reki tries again.
“I’m…” how do you say it? That you love someone to the point your body tries to self destruct without them without it being creepy? Weird? How do you say that someone,
Langa
, is necessary for Reki to function? That Reki can’t imagine a life without him? That flowers live in his lungs as proof of his unshakable belief and adoration in his friend?
“I want to skate with you again.” Reki finally whispers, “Today and tomorrow and every day after that. You… I… I guess the cat is out of the bag with the flowers and the hanahaki?” Miya must have told him, there is no way Langa doesn’t know by now.
“Yeah.”
“Snowdrops mean hope. And spring and rebirth and innocence and… first love. New beginnings. I want a new beginning. With you there. They are your flowers.” Words, how do words work again?
Just say it.
“Crap, this is coming out all vague, how do I say that… Aw, fuck it. I love you. Like you. Love you.”
And it’s out.
Reki stares at the white fabric in his face, hands hovering over Langa’s back. Langa a statue in his arms, tense and still, not quite breathing after the initial gasp at Reki’s first confession.
Until he’s not tense anymore and Reki suddenly blinks up at a smile so wide, it almost splits Langa's face in two, glowy and precious and so joyful, Reki can’t help but smile back.
First, they giggle.
Then Langa bursts into full bellied laughter, Reki joins him until they slide onto the floor, still holding on, still connected, leaning into each other’s space.
Reki looks up into endless blue and it's the skies and the blue shadows snow casts.
He is in love and Langa looks at him like he hung the moon and stars.
“Wanna hear something funny?” Langa finally manages to gasp, in between peals of laughter, “My mom knew I was in love with you before I did.” And then he starts again and Reki is left alone with his brain coming to a stop again, processing the new information.
Processing.
Processing.
A lightbulb lights up in his head.
“I was pining for nothing.” He breathes, “We are both
idiots
.”
“We really are.”
“Oblivious dumbasses, no wonder Miya kept nagging me to talk to you.”
“You too?”
“I could have been
kissing you for weeks, let me freak out for a second Langa.
”
“I love you.”
Reki.exe just crashed, please reboot.
404 error not found.
He dissolves into a coughing fit, spits snowdrops all over the floor and instantly, the good mood breaks into worry as Langa stabilizes him and starts panicking.
It takes Reki a few minutes to recover and explain that yes, he is fine, there are just still a few flowers left in his lungs that need to be expelled somehow. It’s not like they just magically go away.
Yes, he will go to the doctors the next day and check.
Yes, he believes that Langa really loves him. It’s something he never dared to even think about so it can only be real. At least that’s what Reki tells himself.
He is still reeling that Langa actually loves him.
Him
.
What the actual fuck
.
Langa kisses him for the first time at dusk, twilight casting them in purple and gold, on top of the ramp at the skatepark, not even a week after their little confession.
The books lied, there are no fireworks and no shifting worldviews. Instead, it’s coming home and warmth and waking up after a nightmare. Coming up for air after a dive, the moment you nail a new trick. It’s the usual. His best friend, his boyfriend, right there with him, breathing the same air, sharing the same sky and using the very same skateboard Reki made for him.
Miya sends him a video a few days later, with ADAM having a very dramatic meltdown, because Langa, the wonderful bird brain, forgot that he still had a finale to skate in the tournament.
The boy in question just shrugs and pulls Reki back into another kiss.
|
Peter would admit that he wasn’t all that excited.
Mr.Harrington had announced a field trip, of which he had terrible luck with.
Like being bitten by a radioactive spider and not to mention the academic decathlon trip to Washington D.C. So, a surprise field trip was not on his things to be ecstatic about.
Ned seemed excited so for his best friend's sake, he faked his excitement.
Peter sat up in class, praying that it won't be to a place where he'll die or even worse they'll find out that he's Spiderman while his best friend wished secretly that it would be to a place where Peter and himself could be at peace.
Did Mr. Harrington just say that they were going on a trip to Stark Industries?!?!?
Judging by the rest of the class's cheers, he had.
Peter turned to Ned in shock, only to see his best friend's face practically being split open with a grin.
It was not where he was hoping for but it is a place where Peter is the most important and at peace in.
“Peter!!” He cried.
“We’re going to SI! You really do have bad luck, Peter. "Ned continued.
“Hey, Penis, you ready for everyone to find out you’re lying?” Flash taunted from across the room, raising his voice more than necessary.
“Eugene, why are you so obsessed with other men's penis. Is yours so small that you have to bring down others so that you can actually feel like a man. ” MJ cut in, leveling him with a death glare as some of the class chuckled.
Flash, in all of his arrogant glory , knew he couldn’t win an argument with the MJ so he fell silent.
“Alright, settle down. Return the permission slip in by Friday or you won’t get to go. The NDA too,” Mr. Harrington called as the bell rang.
Peter got up with Ned who was still rambling and distractingly grabbed two of each of the forms before handing one of each to Peter.
Peter just sighed.
He hoped Flash wouldn't be too much of a jerk when they were at SI, otherwise his lying to Tony about whether he was being bullied in school wouldn't matter at all.
The day of the field trip arrived quickly and Peter tried dragging his feet to the bus waiting for the students to board for the mystery trip. Mj puts a hand on his shoulder, startled him from behind, grabbing him by the shoulder and practically dragging him to the bus where Ned was already waiting.
This was also the day that the Batfam would come and visit them. As much as he loves Bruce and his best pranking partners, today was not the right time for him and them. Of course, when one of the Waynes see him, he'll be recognized right away. Maybe he should of stayed at home. Then again he would have been in the tower helping Tim and Jason prank Clint and Bucky. They were still in Prank War season after all.
Peter sighed.
It was the worst.
Once the bus stopped, the students pushed each other out of the way, all wanting to be the first into the tower.
Even Mr. Harrington left the bus before Peter.
The group followed their teacher as Mr. Harrington went to go check in at the reception desk.
“Hello, you're the school touring our work station today. It's a pleasure meeting you all. I'm Tay by the way my pronouns are they or them also please be aware that First, no bullying. SI tolerates no bullies, especially not to employees and certainly not to each other. Mr.Stark does not like people misgendering any of his employees. No one is allowed to leave the group, exceptions have to be made from Boss Lady herself or Boss man. Our passes would expire once the tour is finished so if you leave the group and get stuck somewhere, that is not SI’s liability. Lunch and other food is provided by SI so we won’t leave the building premises and absolutely follow all the rules if you don’t want to get kicked out? Understood?” Tay said, secretly sending a wink to Peter.
They knew.
Peter was going to be killed.
By Embarrassment.
What a way to go.
"The tour guide will be sent to you shortly. Also, hi Petey. I did not know that this was your school and Steve wants to know if you want any sweets for today and Kurt is coming over and wants to know if you are up to play Mortal Combat with him and Pietro. " Tay said, smirking as they outed Peter to his class.
"Tay, not you too." Peter said softly but loud enough that Tay heard him.
"Sorry, SB but Boss Lady's orders are final." Tay said before leaving the area as the class stared at Peter.
“Are you kidding me? So you really know, Parker?!” Flash says, after composing himself and glaring at Peter.
“He does have an internship here and know the Avengers and a mutant?”
“Internship?” Tay laughs as she came back with a box in her arms.
“You could say that and yes, most of us actually had the pleasure of meeting the world's heroes. Though Peter is the only intern that Kurt talks to without getting scared that he's secretly being judged. ” Tay continued.
"Now I’ll be passing you your passes. Please don’t lose it or our Head of Security the very grumpy but loveable Happy Hogan would most likely hunt you down and get you off the premises. Also make sure to have it secured and visible at all times.” Tay said after opening the box that was previously in their arms, they were smirking.
They definitely knew what they just did.
Guess it was pay back for that time, he got glitter glue in their hair.
Wait.
Shit.
SI had no reprinting policy so that means he'll have to use his own badge.
Now, all is fine and he could probably take Flash telling him he’s a liar but how the hell is he going to explain having an all access and Tony Stark’s A.I knowing him?
Maybe Friday might not rat him out like a certain somebody.
He glared at Tay who smiled innocently back at him.
No Spidey Huggies for Tay that's for sure.
But Tay makes the best brownies and cookies.
Alright, Tay can get hugs once he gets his sweets.
“Uh, Miss?” Flash says as he looks at Peter.
“Peter doesn’t have a badge. Does that mean he’s not allowed in?” He finished, hopefully.
Tay's face redded as they heard every word Flash said.
He misgendered them.
"No, he is allowed in but if you misgendered me again you will be kicked out and just call me Tay." Tay growled.
Tay is a calm person normally but Peter knows how much Tay hates to be misgendered. He knows how much it must hurt them, after all apparently to Flash bisexuals don't exist. Tony and himself should of disappeared with that one.
"Yes, Tay." Flash says immediately, not wanting to be kicked out of the field trip.
"Oh look at that your guide is here. What luck." Tay said laughing, most probably at Peter.
Those cookies better be special or he's not going to hug them for a while.
“Hey, Midtown! I’m Tilly an’ I’ll be y’alls tour guide today.” She said.
"Hello, Peter. I didn't know that this is your school. Maybe I should of put on something more grant." Tilly said when she saw a shaking with embarrassment Peter.
He was officially fucked.
Damn it, why was all his friends like this.
“Scan your badges here,” Tilly said once she saw they’ve gathered inside.
Peter started to ignore her since she teased him in front of his class but she could not help it. He was so precious. Their baby Spider. Besides that Flesh or Flash kid or baby was getting on her nerves, never had she seen such a stuck up little brat in her lifetime of working for Mr.Stark.
"FRIDAY will make sure everything’s all good.” She continued.
“Who?” Abe asked.
“FRIDAY. The Tower’s AI.” Tilly stated with a 'Are you carping me' look.
“The Lady that keeps us all on the straight and narrow other than Pepper of course .”
“Welcome, Tour Group.” FRIDAY’s voice makes a few of the teens jump and Peter hides a snicker.
Flash pushes his way to the front, scanning his badge with a dramatic flourish.
“Level 2 Access Granted.”
"Level 2 Access Granted. Hello, Ned. Hope you enjoy your tour."
Ned almost fainted while Flash grew red because the AI didn't talk to him like it did to Ned.
The rest of the tour group funneled through, leaving Peter alone again on the other side.
Peter pulls out his Stark badge and taps the scanner.
“Level 12 Access Granted. Welcome back, SB. Steve wants to know if you want any sweets for today and Kurt is coming over and wants to know if you are up to play Mortal Combat with him and Pietro. ”
“Thanks, FRIDAY. But I'm sure that you hear Tay telling me that already." He said loud enough for his AI sibling to hear, going through the scanner, tucking the badge safely out of sight.
He glances up to see the thunderstruck faces of his class and glances back down.
“Alright. This way, please. Do mind your manners and voice. We are expecting a visit from Wayne Industries, Peter after this can you stay back. ”
Tilly's gently voice snaps them out of it, the tour group hustling down the hallway to keep up with her. Tilly was one fast woman especially when it came to her job.
None of them even had the chance to register what she had just stated but Peter.
“First, we will take the elevator to the labs, and the elevator is controlled by FRIDAY, the AI that runs this place,” Tilly said, she put her larger body in front of Peter, blocking him like a shield and had him to her side when she Saw Flesh or whatever his name was going towards the child. She did not like the look this 'Flash' was looking at the Golden Boy.
Eventually the elevator came to a stop, and they headed to one of the lower level labs. When they walked in, Peter couldn’t believe who was in here.
"Guess who flew all the way up from Tennessee?” Harley said as he turned from the table where he was working on something.
Holy SHIT.
"This guys accent was blowing my mind." Betty whispered to her friend
"Harley!" Peter yelled.
“Hey there my baby, how’re you doing?”
“Shhhh, let me enjoy this before something ruins it.”
“Whatever you say, darlin’.”
“Peter, what on Earth do you think you’re doing?”
“Um, cuddling my boyfriend. Duh”
“Here at Stark Industries is not a great place to show displays of any public affection!” Mr. Harrington yelled irritating Tilly.
“Mr. Harrington, every employee here is used to this kind of affection. You should have seen them over the holidays when they had just started to date. Now please keep your mouth shut if it does not deal with you like when Flash was bothering Peter and you did nothing so you will do just that for the rest of the tour. Is that understood? ” Tilly hissed at the now very scared teacher.
"Yes, Ma'am."
Damn Tilly, way to go.
He could see why Tay loves her.
No one ever said anything to Mr. Harrington like that.
“Harls, what are you doing down here? You're never in these labs!” Peter asked suddenly.
“Well maybe.. I want a change of scenery or I was talked into coming here to help with something important?” Harley said in response with Peter still in his arms.
Peter and Harley stared at each other silently for a bit.
“Or maybe Dad put me up to this. ” Harley said as he made his way to the front of the lab after he removed Peter from his arms.
"Wade!!!!" was yelled.
OH NO
Damn it, Harley.
No cuddles for you tonight.
Not Wade.
He's going to kill Flash and get arrested.
Wait, Wade can get out.
But it's against the law.
But revenge.
No, law is good.
And Tony was only allowing them to date him because he was not killed any innocents yet.
Keyword YET.
Flash better keep his shit hole shut when Wade comes.
"Harley Quinn!" was shouted back as the sound of glass was heard.
It was Wade.
How he managed to get this high up with no powers Peter will never know.
Neither did Harley.
“Hello, Petey. ” he sang as he climbed in through the broken window, picking up Peter and Harley to spin them around.
Tilly sighed, it was the sixteenth window for this week.
“Wade!” Harley laughed as he happily accepted his fate.
“Put me down!” Peter yelled not accepting his fate and wanted out of it.
“Aww but Petey Honey Pie, you darlings are just so cute!” He said before giving them a final spin before putting them down.
“Oh my god! Is that Deadpool?!” Abe screams.
They turn to see Peter’s class running over to fawn at the anti-hero.
“There you are!” was yelled.
Everyone looks towards the entrance to see none other than Steve, panting, marching over to Wade.
The class erupts in a set of whispers and loud whispers (Flash) while Tilly just face-palmed, this was normal.
It was just fine.
“And that’s my cue to leave.” he pecks Peter’s head and kissed Harley's hand and then jumps out the nearest window again.
“Damn it. Tony is going to kill me for letting Wade and Harley make the first move. ” Steve muttered, looking out the window.
“Oh hey Peter, is this your class?” He stated when he turned around and saw the kids.
Peter nods.
Wade and Steve are on the list now.
“Excuse me?” Flash called out
“How do you know Peter?” He grunted out.
Steve froze.
"Peter? He's Tony's Intern. He normally helps Tony when repairs are being done, I was just lucky enough to see the Golden Boy himself. He's just a good kid and respectful. I think he's a great addition to the team." Steve replied, smiling.
"Why is there a bite mark on your neck." MJ asked, trying to get the attention off of Peter.
It worked and now the class is staring at the Avenger's neck.
"What!?" He yelled.
Steve looked and much to his horror, there was indeed a bite mark there.
Peter sighed.
That was probably Pepper's doing. She is pretty possessive of her things after all even more than Tony. Peter face-palmed, maybe they should of said It's Pepper's Ass not that's America's Ass.
Damn it, what was he thinking.
Where's the bleach.
And hand soap and sanitizer.
"That's a personal question that Captain America will not be able to answer so let's go on with our tour." Tilly said strictly trying to get control over the situation.
“Alright everyone!” Tilly called out.
"Follow me to the elevator and we can be on our way to the Avengers Museum.” She continued.
Peter could tell that Tilly was having a hard time with them and he felt bad cause he's the one that all of the Avengers and other people were harassing.
"Peter, I know that look. This is not your fault. I'm just having a bad day." Tilly said patting Peter's back as she smiled back at him.
"Oh by the way, Harley is joining us for the rest of the tour." She stated.
With that the elevator opened.
Tilly is so on the list.
Tilly quickly walked the group to the museum but she suddenly stops and looks up in the vents.
Peter knows what is going to happen.
At this point, he has accepted his faith.
Dead.
Clint then jumps out of the vent, he was oh how so convenient for him.
“Hey Pete-y!” Clint said as he turned to face the stuned class.
Peter looked back and forth between Clint and the class.
“Clint! Heheheh.. what are you doing here? Tony put you up to this didn’t he?”
“Maybe.. Anyway.. playing with Kurt tonight?”
Peter could do nothing but stare back at him in silence. Everyone just stood there silently, until Flash had something to say.
“Ok.. this whole trip has been weird, First Penis has a level 10 badge? A mutant, the secretary, a high level researcher, Deadpool, the tour guide and Clint know this loser? What is going on?”
“Woah buddy-” Clint stated as he stepped closer.
“-What did you just say? Who’s your teacher”? He continued, Tilly on hand ready to bitch slap Flash.
Flash pointed to Mr. Harrinton, who has been silent this whole time just as Tilly asked.
“Uh.. Him, sir.”
“I expect you to take care of this..” Clint hissed.
“Yes.. Yes of course!” Mr. Harrington sounded nervous.
“One more incident, Eugene, that’s a detention, and you’ll be sent back to the bus!” The poor very nervous teacher continued.
“Yes sir,” Flash replied quietly.
"No. One more incident like this Imma smack a hoe." Tilly said, angry.
Clint eyed everyone suspiciously expect Tilly, Harley, Ned and MJ.
Then he gave Peter and Harley a quick smile.
“See-ya Pete! Harley don't ruin our golden boy. ” Clint said before he then hopped back into the vents.
“Alright..” Tilly said slowly.
“As expected as that was, we have to go to the museum if we want to be on time.” She said, taking the lead again, but giving Peter a quick look.
As the class walked in silence, Pepper saw Damian walking with Loki towards them though the duo seemed to be in deep conversation.
“I hate this fucking family.” Peter yelled.
“Language you little shit!” was yelled back by Friday in Captain America's voice.
Luckily for Peter, Loki just left when the group neared but Damian stayed and walked ahead unlike he reached them.
"Hello, good morning Tilly. What are you doing today and where's Peter." Damian asked.
"Good morning, Little Wayne. Peter is behind Harley. You just missed Wade and Clint. How is Mr.Bruce." Tilly asked, politely.
As the duo conversated, the class started to whisper about how brilliant the young Wayne looked and how polite he was to Tilly then Flash turned the conversation to how Peter knew Damian which Peter refused to answer.
"Alright then I'll take my leave. See you later, Peter. Enjoy your tour." Damian said, walking away from the group but he sent Flash a look at that said, "Touch him again. I'll kill you and your entire family."
Hopefully he understood.
"Alright, it's finally time to go to the museum." Tilly said excitingly.
The Avenger’s museum, then other one of the intern labs where they’d be having a building competition and a higher up R&D lab before lunch. After, they’d be having a few surprise stops with “an Avenger or two.” Peter didn’t believe a word of it.
The Academic Decathlon team made their way into the elevator.
“FRIDAY, please open the elevator for us. ” Harley said for Tilly as she did not have the clearance level for it.
The teens whispered in awe as the elevator's doors began to open.
“Can I tell it what to do?” Flash asked, innocently unaware of the hate that was had for him by many of the persons.
“Knock yourself, kid. Please note that floor two is the museum.” Tilly said, smirking then secretly high-fived Harley but Peter saw them.
Friday was not going to listen to him anyway, he knows that Friday hates Flash and if she chooses not to listen to somebody, she will do just that.
Tilly wonders if Friday got her stubbornness from Tony.
Harley knows that Friday got her stubbornness from his father figure.
“Floor two, elevator.” Flash said proudly.
“You do not have clearance level to speak to me, Mr. Thompson.” Friday hissed.
"Can I ask?" Ned asked shyly.
"Of course N-." Tilly started before being interrupted by the one and only Flash.
"Why would it listen to a loser like you. It did not listen to me then why would you get a reaction." Flash taunted.
Flash's smirk disappeared when Tilly smacked him harshly. She warned him and he did not listen to him so she smacked him, they signed the contract so she could do so.
It shuts Flash up so she decides to talk to Ned again.
"Of course, Ned. You can give it a try but I am not even allowed to do so as I don't have the clearance level for that." Tilly said, rubbing Ned's shoulder.
“Friday can you please take the elevator to floor two, please.” Ned asked, sweetly.
"Sorry, Ned but normally you would not have the clearance for me to allow you to go there but since Potato Boy and SB are with you. I'll allow it." Friday said.
Ned almost fainted again while Flash grew red because the AI didn't talk to him like it did to Ned again. Tilly snickered as Harley fully laughed out loud when he saw how red the bully was.
The elevator continued moving to floor two, opening into the Avenger’s museum. Peter had only been down there as much as Tilly as Tilly never really did tours like the other interns. It was when Tony insisted that Harley and Peter learnt anything they wanted to know from the Avengers themselves.
Therefore, he was shocked when he saw the Spider-man display.
That had to be new.
MJ had made a beeline to the Black Widow exhibit like most of the female students , with most of the male students split between Iron Man, Spider-man, and Captain America.
Flash was walking over to them, probably to look at the spider-man display as well. It is ironic that Flash is a fan of spider-man, being that he hates Peter, the kid beneath the suit.
“There’s… a Spider-man section?” He whispered, emotion filling his voice.
When Flash left to see the Iron man display, Harley wrapped his arms around Peter from behind as Tilly came to see what Peter was staring at.
“Yeah, Spidey Little. Your old man thought you should get some recognition in here.”
“And get a room, you two.” Tilly said, jokingly as she rolled her eyes as she left the group to watch around the museum.
Ned then dragged the lover boys to the vigilantes display. It featured Spider-man’s original suit, and replicas of the suit Tony made him and the Iron Spider suit.
After most of the other students walked away from the Spider Man display. Harley, Ned and MJ who arrived from watching get heroine Black Widow to tease Peter about the fun facts listed.
1. Spider-Man is scared of spiders.2. Spider-Man hates the scent of mint which is a side effect of being bitten by a radioactive spider. 3. Spider-man is the youngest on the team, even if he isn’t “officially” an Avenger.4. Spider Man has worked with the Batman, Robin and most of the Justice League , John Constantine, Superman and all of the X-men. 5. Bruce Wayne's favorite Average is between him and Iron man. 6. Thor and Loki are his favorite uncles. 7. Spider Man hates all forms of bullying 8. Spider Man's favorite Justice League member is Batman. 9. He's worthy. 10. He's Iron Man's favorite Avenger.
"You hate mint."
"Yeah, it's a side effect of being bitten by the radioactive spider."
“You’re afraid of spiders?” MJ asked, incredulous.
“You aren’t?” Peter stated like it was common knowledge.
“I thought that Wonder Woman was your favorite Justice League member. ” Harley said.
"No way. Batman is just like Mr.Stark. Of course I'm going to like him the most. Besides we all know that she is second best after Nat and Pepper in world's strongest women. " Peter claimed softly.
Then Peter, Harley, MJ and Ned moved near the Captain America display. They could hear a couple of classmates discussing said display.
“Look at that ass!”
"That's America's Ass."
Nah, it's Pepper's Ass not America's.
Damn it, what was he thinking.
Where's the bleach.
And hand soap.
And sanitizer.
Hell just dump in the whole bleach factory.
“Nah I don’t think this suit did anything for his ass, but his newest one however-”
Peter didn’t really want to continue listening to this conversation.
So he does not.
After the comments he gets a call from Clint.
“Are they watching?” He asked.
“Live and in time." Clint answered.
"Already had to hold back Bucky and Loki even Bruce is getting upset.” He continued.
The conversation went on for a few minutes, as Peter walked around the museum. Peter’s peace ended with a promise from Clint that the Avengers had a ‘surprise’ planned for him.
"Don't worry much about it. Pepper planned it so it's not likely that the kid will be killed maybe injured but not killed that's for sure." He said before hanging up the phone.
FRIDAY called the students back to the elevator and the team was slowly making their way over.
|
Marinette let her head collapse onto her desk as soon as Mme. Bustier gave them the dismissal. She was utterly exhausted. The only thing Marinette wanted to do was take a nice long nap.
She turned her face towards Alya, feeling her best friend watching her in amusement. "Girl, you have got to start getting some more sleep. This cannot be healthy for you."
"You're one to talk," Marinette groused. "I know for a fact that you sleep no earlier than 2 am most nights, writing up new articles for the Ladyblog."
Alya flushed in response. "But I'm not the one dying, now am I?" came the expected retort.
"Only because you've got that," Marinette pushed herself upwards to nod at Alya's large thermos. She gave it a longing stare, knowing it was full of Alya's special cinnamon-blend coffee.
"No way. If you get caffeinated now you'll never get any sleep. It's a vicious cycle you know," Alya chided. Marinette sighed, laying back onto her desk and burying her head into her arms. "C'mon, let's get some fresh air."
"You do that. I'm gonna take a quick nap," Marinette yawned.
Alya frowned doubtfully. "I don't know, girl. You could catch a cold like that." Marinette blinked at her in confusion, so Alya tried her best to explain. "I don't know, something about cold weather lowering your immune system? And that you're more at risk when asleep?"
Marinette thought that over for a moment before digging into her backpack. She pulled out a small, round blanket bag while Alya goggled at her.
"Is that a blanket? You just carry around a blanket?"
"It's cozy," Marinette defended herself, pulling the blanket free from its bag. "At least now when you post my sleeping pics, I'll look stylish," she joked.
"Viewers of the #marinettechallenge thank you," Alya responded dryly. They shared a laugh over that as Marinette finished unfolding her blanket. It was dark black in colour with lime green piping. What made it interesting was the gigantic paw print stamped in the middle of the blanket.
"No way," Alya breathed out in awe. "Where'd you get that?" She demanded to know.
Marinette simply smirked at her. "Where do you think?"
"No. Way," Alya gushed.
"Well...I found the blanket at a thrift sale. But I added the paw print and piping myself," Marinette clarified, her modesty getting the best of her.
"That does not make you any less awesome. I can't imagine how long it must have taken," Alya looked utterly astonished, reaching out to run a hand over the blanket. Marinette graciously allowed her to stroke it before pulling it away.
"Ahem, nap time," she reminded her friend.
"Wait, hold on!" Alya cried. "I have to put this on my blog!"
"Your blog?" Marinette echoed. "Why?"
Alya stared at her in disbelief. "Girl, the blanket is clearly Chat Noir inspired. I have to show my viewers and also I think Chat Noir would be flattered to know about it."
Marinette thought it over. Alya wasn't wrong, her Kitty would be delighted to know he had a fan. The thought of him smiling in glee won her over. Marinette spread out the blanket as much as she could along their table, raising an eyebrow at Alya when she continued to watch her without reacting.
"Well? Aren't you gonna take the photo?"
Alya reacted faster than Marinette expected, whipping out her phone with a gigantic grin on her face. She began snapping pictures rapidly from all angles until she was satisfied.
"Thanks, Marinette!"
They turned towards the doorway as someone sprinted in. Adrien was panting, bent over with his hands on his knees. His cheeks were flushed and his hair was sticking up in different directions.
The sight of him was enough to make Marinette swoon.
"Made it just in time," he sighed, before giving them a smile. "Hey, guys. Did I miss anything important in morning classes? I had a photoshoot I couldn't get out of."
"Just this amazing blanket my girl made," Alya bragged. She waved her hands to demonstrate the blanket where it was laying on their desk.
Adrien's eyes took on an interested shine as he leaned in to examine it. "Wow, Marinette. This looks amazing. You're so awesome," he smiled at her. The brightness of his smile made Marinette's heart flutter and she had to grip tightly to the desk to make her tongue move.
"Yank tou! I mean thank you, Adrien!" She stammered. He gave her another blinding smile before slipping into his seat.
"Okay, I can die happy now," Marinette muttered to Alya, who simply chuckled. "Okay, but seriously," she pulled the blanket off the desk, draping it around herself. "It's nap time. Mme. Bustier will be back soon and I need some rest."
Alya didn't say another word, but as Marinette drifted off to sleep, she thought she had seen Adrien turning around to look at her.
Chat Noir leaped through the rooftops, trying to avoid going to Marinette's place. He didn't know how to explain it but the sight of her, wrapped in his colours with a paw print stamped over her back?
It had awoken some urge within him, he hadn't even known he had had. He was lucky that Marinette had fallen asleep so quickly, otherwise, she would have never let him live it down. Not that he had gotten lucky with Alya.
He was still lost in his thoughts about how cute Marinette had looked while asleep, he didn't even notice when he landed on her balcony.
Chat gave his surroundings a startled glance and was about to turn back around when Marinette poked her head outside.
"Chat Noir?" She asked incredulously. "What are you doing here?"
He blinked at her, his brain whirring furiously trying to come up with an excuse. "Oh! I...um saw the Ladyblog! That was one amazing blanket you made there, Marinette." He said, hoping desperately that Alya had in fact, uploaded the pics onto the Ladyblog.
Marinette's face softened as she invited him inside. Something inside him said he shouldn't but Chat couldn't resist. He followed her in and sat on her chaise, reminding himself to act as though he hadn't seen the blanket in person before.
Marinette carried out the blanket and deposited it in his arms. "Here, take a good look at it."
He couldn't tell the softness through his gloves, but the workmanship on the blanket was exquisite. "This is incredible, Marinette. You're amazing."
She flushed pink at his words but gave him a beatific smile. "Thank you for making it in my honor," he added. He put the blanket on the chaise before taking one of her hands in his and kneeling before her.
"Princess, this lowly tomcat thanks you for caring so deeply about him. I...this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me." He blinked up at her gratefully, only to see Marinette's smile fall.
"Oh, Kitty. You deserve the world," she told him, making his smile broaden.
"You're a true friend, Marinette. I'm lucky to have you." He gave her a hand a soft kiss, before straightening. Her lips parted and cheeks flushed, she looked absolutely stunning. Tucking away a loose strand of her hair, he leaned in just close enough for her breath to hitch, before pulling away.
"I should get going, Princess," he said instead, turning to leave. As she stammered out a goodbye, Chat allowed himself a smirk. He was planning on taking things slowly, to ensure he would win his Princess's heart.
Seeing her just now had helped him realize something and he was nothing if not a persistent kitty.
|
Terushima has added Yahaba, Ennoshita, Futakuchi, and Shirabu to the groupchat
Terushima: HELLO MOTHERFUCKERS
Ennoshita has left the groupchat
Terushima: No!
Terushima has added Ennoshita to the groupchat
Yahaba: I’m honestly not even going to ask.
Ennoshita: I would just like to say, for the record, this is quite possibly the worst idea you’ve ever had
Terushima: Ouch
Terushima: Well for your info, it was Futakuchi’s idea
Futakuchi: And a DAMN good one too
Terushima: *kissy face*
Futakuchi: *kissy kissy face*
Yahaba: No roleplaying in MY Christian group chat
Terushima: xCUSE you? I am the father, I say what goes and what doesn’t go
Futakuchi: does that make me the mother?
Terushima: nah bro, you’re my gay twink husband
Futakuchi: bro...
Ennoshita: ....
Ennoshita: can I leave yet
Futakuchi: NO
Terushima: NO
Yahaba: Please don’t, I’d rather not be left alone with these two.
Terushima: WELL I HAVE NEWS FOR YOU, YAHABA
Futakuchi: You wouldn’t be alone with us, Bc guess what *jazz hands*
Yahaba: Oh my god.
Shirabu: Yes hello what the FUCK is this
Terushima: Shirabu’s here too!!!!! :)))))
Yahaba has left the groupchat
Terushima: NO
Shirabu: Good riddance
Ennoshita has added Yahaba to the groupchat
Ennoshita: You’re not allowed to ditch if I’m not allowed to ditch
Terushima has named the groupchat NO ONE LEAVES
Yahaba: Dammit.
Futakuchi: SO
Futakuchi: As I’m sure you’ve realized, this is a groupchat for all the current captains
Futakuchi: I’m sure you all know each other
Shirabu: unfortunately
Terushima: I made this so we can arrange practice matches!
Ennoshita: That’s...
Ennoshita: Uncharacteristically useful
Terushima: I’m always useful ;)
Ennoshita: ew
Terushima: :(
Futakuchi: XCUSE YOU
Futakuchi: ITS MY IDEA REMEMBER IM THE TWINK HUSBAND
Terushima: yes of course babe my bad
Futakuchi: ANYWAYS
Futakuchi: I’d like to take this opportunity to challenge Shiratorizawa to a practice match
Shirabu: Sorry who are you again?
Ennoshita: Ouch
Futakuchi: The team that will be going to nationals this year
Shirabu: oh really? You think you can beat us? When was the last time Dateko went to nationals, hm?
Yahaba: So he DOES know what school Futakuchi-kun is from
Ennoshita: I’d like to remind you that Karasuno has literally beaten everyone in this groupchat, so none of you can talk
Ennoshita: How was nationals, Shirabu?
Ennoshita: OH THATS RIGHT WHOOPS
Terushima: Ouch, Ennoshan
Ennoshita: Sorry Enno-WHAT
Yahaba: Wait can we go back to Futakuchi-kun thinking /Dateko/ is going to nationals? Sorry, but that ticket is going to Aoba Johsai. We’re getting our revenge on both Shiratorizawa AND Karasuno, so you better watch out too
Terushima: wow you guys are really pumped up about nationals huh
Shirabu: And you’re not? No wonder Karasuno beat you
Terushima: okay first- ouch
Terushima: second- not really?
Terushima: I think it’s more important to enjoy games instead of always focusing on winning
Terushima: although there ARE plenty of strong teams at nationals...
Terushima: NEVER MIND I CHANGED MY MIND, YALL BETTER WATCH OUT FOR JOHZENJI THIS YEAR
Yahaba: Okay but. The practice match thing? Actually a good idea, when is Johzenji free?
Futakuchi: That??? Was MY idea??? I called dibbs first??? The disrespect in this household???
Yahaba: You snooze you lose, Futakuchi-kun
Futakuchi: fine but I still call dibs on Shiratorizawa
Ennoshita: look I hate to be the bummer but. Shouldn’t you guys be in class?
Terushima: Uno reverse, Ennoshan
Ennoshita: please stop calling me that what the hell
Yahaba: I’m in study hall, I’m not an irresponsible student like some people.
Shirabu: Yahaba do everyone a favor and shut the fuck up
Yahaba: What’s wrong, Shitabu-kun? Upset because I scored higher than you on the national mock exams?
Shirabu: Sounds like someone’s projecting, because last I checked, YOURE the one who got rejected from our academy. How’s the captaincy going, Yahabitch? Able to fill Oikawa’s shoes yet?
Shirabu has changed Yahaba’s name to Yahabitch
Yahabitch has changed Shirabu’s name to Shitabu
Futakuchi: The girls are fightiiing
Terushima: wow these names are so creative /s
Yahabitch: Bold of you to assume I even wanted to go to your trashy school. What’s it like constantly smelling like horse shit?
Shitabu: At least our school can afford an actual volleyball court. I heard you guys still share a gym with the basketball club? That’s so sad.
Ennoshita: okay okay Jesus Christ stop fighting
Ennoshita: all I wanted to know was why you guys weren’t paying attention in class
Futakuchi: if the teacher isn’t paying enough attention to notice me not paying attention, then she doesn’t deserve my attention
Futakuchi: check and mate
NO ONE LEAVES 2:31
Terushima: Okay schools over, are you happy Ennoshan
Futakuchi: wait you actually listened to Ennoshita?
Terushima: he seems smarter than me
Shitabu: Fairly certain everyone’s smarter than you
Terushima: ouch
Terushima: but probably lol
Ennoshita: Aren’t you in class 7, Terushima?
Terushima: Okay but like
Terushima: I’m not SMART smart
Ennoshita: also what about practice?
Futakuchi: it’s fine I can skip lol
Ennoshita: You’re literally the captain???
Yahabitch: Imagine having practice on Mondays, couldn’t be me
Shitabu: Hmm maybe that’s why Aoba Johsai can’t get to nationals, if they’re not taking this seriously enough
Ennoshita: oh my god
Terushima: I’m starting to think this was a horrible idea
Futakuchi: good
Futakuchi: horrible ideas are the best
Terushima: big brain
Ennoshita: Daichi-san give me strength to get through these idiots
Futakuchi: woah woah wait hold up- did your old captain /die/?????
Ennoshita: ... no
Terushima: He got completely obliterated in the Wakunan game tho, remember that, Ennoshan? That was ROUGH
Terushima: I didn’t see it but my buddy Tetsan did and he said he was coughing up blood and everything lol
Ennoshita: yes thank you SO much for the reminder
Terushima: He was hot ngl
Ennoshita:
Terushima: What???
Ennoshita: dude that’s my fucking captain what the fuck
Terushima: okay yeah but he’s hot???
Terushima: don’t be jealous you’re hot too Ennoshan
Futakuchi: babe,,, are you cheating on me? 🥺
Terushima: of course not babe 🥺🥺
Terushima: we can share
Futakuchi: yeah okay
Yahabitch: I think you broke Ennoshita-kun, Terushima-kun
Futakuchi: Ennoshita
Futakuchi: Ennoshitaaa
Futakuchi: oh my fuckin god he fuckin dead
Futakuchi: Teru what did you do
Terushima: I didn’t do anythinf!
Ennoshita: I’m NOT dead, we had a little. Situation here. Does anyone know how to get super glue out of hair
Ennoshita: also NEITHER of you are getting Daichi-san what the hell
Yahabitch: Ennoshita-kun sometimes I feel really bad for you. My condolences
Terushima: what the heck Yahaba I am a PLEASURE TO BE AROUND
Futakuchi: you tellem Teru
Terushima: I am
Terushima: wait
Terushima: just realized what’s wrong
Terushima has changed their name to Teru
Futakuchi: THE WORLD IS FINALLY AT PEACE
Teru: hey babe you know what I realized?
Futakuchi: what is it bro?
Teru: we
Teru: we’re the only chaotic ones in the chat 😔
Futakuchi: I feel like Yahaba and Shirabu can’t be characterized as calm, per-se
Teru: YEAH BIT
Teru: WERE THE PNLY PNES WHO MAKE CHAOS
Teru: WE ARE HAOSES LAST HOPES
Futakuchi: love how you’re getting progressively more and more incoherent
Teru: WHY DOENSR LY AUTOCORRECT WORK ON CAPSLOCK
Teru: THIS IS HOMOPHOBIA
Ennoshan: pretty sure that autocorrect doesn’t know you’re gay, Terushima
Futakuchi: how would you know
Ennoshita: it’s
Ennoshita: it’s literally a computer program
Futakuchi: the government is always watching, Ennoshita
Ennoshita: no? They’re not??
Yahabitch: Ennoshita-kun I thought you were the responsible one, what happened to going to practice?
Ennoshita:
Ennoshita: touché
Shitabu: please stop blowing up my phone
Shitabu: I know where you all go to school
Yahabitch: that would be more threatening if the whole point of this chat was that we know where we go to school
Ennoshita: Shirabu is right, everyone go to practice
Yahabitch: well
Yahabitch: have fun
Yahabitch: I’ll be relaxing in my air conditioned house
Teru: YAHABA YOU HAVE AC????
Yahabitch: yes?
Teru: BRB MARRYING YAHABA
Futakuchi: Traitor?? What happened to our love?????
Teru: BUT BABE HE HAS AC
Yahabitch: sometimes it’s hard to remember you two aren’t actually dating
Ennoshita: GO TO PRACTICE
NO ONE LEAVES 9:43
Futakuchi: Date Tech is currently taking practice game applications for next week, @Ennoshita @Ennoshita @Ennoshita
Futakuchi: please
Futakuchi: @Ennoshita I want revenge
Ennoshita: Sorry we have a Tokyo training camp next week. Maybe the following weekend?
Futakuchi: WHAT
Futakuchi: ENNOSHAN KNOWS TEAMS OTHER THAN US
Ennoshita: look are all of you going to call me that now? It was bad enough when it was just Terushima
Teru has changed Ennoshita’s name to Ennoshan
Teru: :)
Ennoshan: great
Teru: :))
Yahabitch: Ennoshita please tell me these Tokyo captains are sane, because knowing Terushima he’ll make you add them here and I don’t think I can handle any more chaos.
Teru: :)))
Ennoshan: Well...
Teru: DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT
Futakuchi: DO IT I NEED MORE TEAMS TO CRUSH
Futakuchi: I mean- play against
Ennoshan has added Sakusa, Seguro, Yamamoto, and Akaashi into NO ONE LEAVES
Ennoshan: I am so sorry
Akaashi: Well.
Akaashi: This name makes me feel very welcome
Seguro: GROUPCHAT???
Yahabitch: Be right back, suddenly I have a headache
Yamamoto: GROUPCHAT!!!
Shitabu: I leave for a minute and suddenly the idiots have multiplied
Futakuchi: r00d *said britishly*
Ennoshita: okay so basically, captain groupchat, yada yada
Ennoshita: everyone knows me, but maybe you guys should introduce yourself?
Futakuchi: I’m Futakuchi, Date Tech’s captain and number 2, pleasure to make your acquaintances
Teru: Wow, Futakkun being nice? What’s next, hell freezing over?
Futakuchi: more like- what’s next, Johzenji getting to nationals?
Teru: ouch
Teru: words can hurt you know :(((
Akaashi: ... the introductions?
Teru: right, right
Teru: I’m Terushima Yuuji, the captain of Johzenji! Looking forward to playing you all!
Shitabu: Shirabu Kenjirou
Ennoshan: ... is that it
Shitabu: yes
Ennoshan: ... good enough, I suppose
Yahabitch: Hello! It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m Aoba Johsai’s setter and captain, Yahaba Shigeru! I hope we all get along well!
Shitabu: I think that was the fakest introduction I’ve ever heard
Yahabitch: well, at least I didn’t just say my name and move on
Ennoshan: OKAY Tokyo captains please?
Akaashi: I’m Akaashi Keiji. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Fukurodani’s setter.
Yamamoto: and captain!
Akaashi: ... yes, and captain.
Yamamoto: and I’M Yamamoto Taketora! But you can call me Tora! That’s what all my friends call me! I’m the ace of Nekoma, and the captain! Although my buddy Fukunaga does most of the captain work lol
Yamamoto has changed their name to TORA
Seguro: IM NOHEBIS CAPTAIN AND ACE! IT MAKES ME EXCITED TO BE INCLUDED IN THINGS!!! IM ALSO A WING SPIKER
Yahabitch: well would you look at that, my headache returned
Ennoshan: ...
Ennoshan: Sakusa?
TORA: Pretty sure he blocked us
Akaashi: I don’t think Sakusa-kun is a huge fan of groupchats
TORA: or people!
Shitabu: valid
Teru: this is so sad :((
Futakuchi: ikr
Futakuchi: I wanted to play him and his bendy wrists
Seguro: I HAVE BENDY WRISTS
Futakuchi: THIS IS GOOD NEWS
Yahabitch: hello I would like to put a rule in place- no caps locks
Seguro: IM REALLY SORRY YAHABITCH-SAN BUT MY CAPS KEY IS BROKEN
Seguro: ALSO I LIKE THIS
Shitabu: he called you Yahabitch
Shitabu: good
Yahabitch: Great
Yahabitch: thanks so much Shitabu-kun
Shitabu: always happy to be of assistance
Akaashi: ... bringing the conversation back to the supposed purpose of this groupchat, would it be possible to arrange a practice match with Aoba Johsai?
Yahabitch: I’d be glad to! When are you free, Akaashi-kun? We have a practice match scheduled with Wakunan next weekend, but the following week we’re free!
Teru: what about me!!!
Yahabitch: What about you?
Teru: im free for practice matches! *wiggles eyebrows*
Akaashi: I’m afraid Johzenji isn’t a team I would be interested in playing.
Teru: AKKUN
Akaashi: I’m sorry what?
Futakuchi: damn
Futakuchi: all these nicknames
Futakuchi: and none for me?
Teru: babe...
Futakuchi: no...
Futakuchi: you can’t call me that any more...
Seguro: WAIT DONT BREAK UP
Yahabitch: they’re not dating
TORA: Theyre not???
Teru: BABE
Teru: YOUR NICKNAME IS BABE
Shitabu: didn’t Terushima literally call you Futakkun less than a week ago
Futakuchi: shit did he?
Teru: uhhh
Teru: yes?
Yahabitch: And also he called you his gay twink husband.
Akaashi: I feel like that sentence is a bit redundant.
TORA: a bit WHAT
TORA: shit yallre SMART smart
Teru has changed Futakuchi’s name to Twink
Twink: eh
Twink: I’ll accept it
Yahabitch: As we’re in the business of changing names
Yahabitch: Would it be possible to change mine also?
Shitabu: no
Teru: no
Ennoshan: I think it’s good advertising
Yahabitch: et tu, Ennoshita?
Akaashi: I don’t think you’re a bitch, Yahaba-kun.
Yahabitch: Thank you Akaashi-kun, I appreciate it.
TORA: this proper grammar is giving me a fuckin headache
Teru: I feel like I should be wearing a suit
Teru: huh
Ennoshan: Wait seriously- how many nicknames does Terushima have for people
Teru: uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Teru: you’re Ennoshan
Teru: Futakuchi’s Futakkun
Teru: Akaashi is akkun
Teru: tora is. Tora
Teru: Yahaba is Yahabitch and Shirabu is shitabu
Yahabitch: Those don’t count, they’re not nicknames.
Yahabitch: They’re just slander.
Shitabu: boo hoo
Shitabu: what are you going to do, call the family lawyer?
TORA: you have a FAMILY LAWYER???
Yahabitch: Well of course?
Ennoshan: Yahaba are you rich
Shitabu: he goes to a private school, of course he’s rich
Twink: Shirabu you’re exposing yourself
Akaashi: Fukurodani is also private, but I don’t have a family lawyer.
Akaashi: Then again, I don’t pay the full tuition, as I’m on an athletic scholarship.
TORA: damn
TORA: yallre making me feel poor
Teru: same 😔
Twink: public schools unite
Sakusa: If you guys are forcing me to be in this group chat, could you at least use your common sense and curtesy and not spam it after sane people go to sleep? Unlike some of you, I’m not the type of person to stay up until midnight doing who knows what. It is currently 10:53- if you guys continue spamming the chat after eleven there WILL be consequences.
Seguro: HOLY FUCK
Teru: why do I feel strangely attracted
Ennoshan: Terushima that’s disgusting
Yahabitch: Sakusa-kun is right. We should go to bed- we have practice tomorrow. Good night everyone!
Sakusa: dont call me that
Yahabitch: ... Sakusa-kun?
Sakusa: yes
Yahabitch: Sakusa....-san?
Sakusa: that’s fine
Yahabitch: Well, goodnight then!
Teru: haha wimp
Teru: imagine sleeping at 11
Ennoshan: Terushima go to sleep or else Karasuno will withdraw from our practice match next month
Teru: DAMN ENNOSHAN
Teru: hearts been broke too many times
NO ONE LEAVES 5:02
TORA: Wakey wakey eggs and bakey!
Seguro: GOOD MORNING
Ennoshan: why are you guys awake so early?
TORA: To get to practice!
Seguro: I NEVER SLEEP
Ennoshan: you guysre insane wtf
Yahabitch: Ennoshita, when does your practice start?
Ennoshan: morning to practice statts at seven thirty and school starts at eight thirty
Ennoshan: but my house is only ten minutes away by boke so I usually wake up later than this...
Yahabitch: ... Are you typing with your eyes closed, Ennoshita?
Ennoshan: heck why would you wake me up so early
Ennoshan: is the sun even up? I can tsee
TORA: SUNS UP GUNS UP
TORA: no wait
Shitabu; Shiratorizawa practice always starts at six, so of course I’m up.
Yahabitch: Congratulations, no one cares.
Akaashi: Good morning, everyone.
Ennoshan: morning
Twink: Ennoshan you look a little more awake now lol
Twink: I forgot my name was this, this is so sad
Teru: I think it’s cute, Futakkun
Twink: awe babe *kissy face*
Teru: *kissy face*
Yahabitch: disgusting
Teru: no homophobia allowed in MY chat room
Teru: Autocorrect is already homophobic enough
Twink: xCUSE you
Teru: *our chat room
Twink: 😘
Yahabitch: ... Could I please leave?
Teru: check the chat name, bitch
Yahabitch: sigh
Ennoshan: fir the last TIME
Ennoshan: autocorrect is not homophobic
Ennoshan: you’re just bad at spelling
Teru: D:
Twink: chat name needs a revamp
Twink: it’s boring
Teru: DD:
Akaashi: I agree
Akaashi: It’s menacing
Teru: DDD:
Teru: is today attack Teru day or something?
TORA: I think it’s cool, Teru!
Teru: THANK YOU, MY T-FOUR LETTERED NAME BROTHER
Seguro: HUH
Seguro: I HADNT NOTICEF THAT
Yahabitch: Could we stop screaming? Please?
Ennoshan has changed the groupchat name to GO TO PRQCTICE
Yahabitch has changed the groupchat name to Go To Practice
Ennoshan: duck you
Yahabitch: I thought we had a kinsmanship, Ennoshita
Yahabitch: this is so sad
Akaashi: It isn’t time for our practice yet. We start practice at seven.
Teru: why are you up then, Akkun?
Akaashi: Our former captain likes to go jogging in the morning with me. It’s a habit we formed my first year.
Akaashi: I suppose we never thought to stop.
Teru: Oh? 👀
Twink: Oho? 👀👀
TORA: Ohoho? 👀👀👀
TORA: jk idk what we’re doing lol
Teru: Akkun do you perhaps
Teru: are you perhaps
Teru: romantically interested
Akaashi: No.
Teru: I WASNT FINISHED
Teru: You’re not dating Bokkun?
Akaashi: Please don’t call him that. And no, Bokuto-san and I are just friends.
Twink: suspitches
Akaashi: ... Why is this suddenly an interrogation?
Yahabitch: Akaashi-kun, I can’t lie, I’m also curious!
Teru: Okay look okay
Akaashi: Okay?
Teru: Bokkun
Teru: Talks about you a LOT
Teru: yeah?
Akaashi: ... Why do you talk with Bokuto-san?
Twink: Captain chat last year, next question
Teru: ANYWAYS
Teru: Bokkun doesn’t go jogging with just ANYONE, Akkun
Akaashi: Could we finish this interrogation up quickly? I AM in the middle of a jog.
Teru: okay okay look okay
Teru: Bokkun
Teru: likes
Teru: you
Twink: Hell yeah go gettem Kaashi
Akaashi: I’m finding this hard to believe. Bokuto-san acts like that with everyone, and we are just friends.
Yahabitch: ouch
Ennoshan: @Twink @Teru you two better not be making Akaashi uncomfortable
Akaashi: It’s fine, Ennoshita-kun.
Seguro: GIYS
Seguro: LOOK WHO I FOUND
Seguro sent a picture to Go To Practice
TORA: Holy fuck Sakusa looks uncomfortable lol
Teru: THATS Sakusa???
Teru: damn
Teru: @Sakusa are you single?
Sakusa: Not interested
Teru: sad face
Ennoshan: Terushima, you don’t know what Sakusa looks like?
Teru: okay look
Teru: look okay look
Ennoshan: we’re looking
Teru: I don’t WATCH TV or anythinf
Teru: like
Teru: I don’t read volleyball mags or anything
Ennoshan: Why do I believe that
Yahabitch: Still, you’ve never seen Sakusa-san?
Teru: just realized I don’t know what ANY of y’all look like
Yahabitch: Well, I do. I make sure to study all the teams that go to nationals.
Yahabitch: I don’t know what Seguro-kun looks like though, unfortunately.
Seguro: OUCH
Seguro: ITS OKAY THOUGH YAHABITCH-KUN
Yahabitch: please stop calling me that
Seguro sent a picture to Go To Practice
Yahabitch: ... I honestly don’t know what I was expecting.
Teru: WOW you somehow manage to look exactly like your texting style lololol
TORA: I LIKE YOUR HAIR BRO
Seguro: THANK YOU BRO I LIKE YOUR MOHAWK
Teru: WAIT ME TOO
Teru sent a picture to Go To Practice
Teru: ITS ME AND ENNOSHAN
Ennoshan: I did not consent to it
TORA: this is me and Akaashi from our last training camp!
TORA: Ennoshan was there too but he’s not in the picture :(
TORA sent a picture to Go To Practice
Teru: HOLY FUCK
Teru: AKKUN ARE YOU SINGLE
Twink: Bro
Twink: Are you cheating on me?
Teru: WAIT NO
Teru: I WOULD NEVER BABE
Twink: I’m not sure I believe you...
Teru: NO
Shitabu: Please tell me why you guys are spamming the group chat at FIVE IN THE MORNING
Akaashi: I am single, Terushima-kun, but I’m not interested.
Teru: Rejected again
Teru: it’s okay I know you like Bokkun
Teru: I’m rooting for you
Akaashi: Please don’t.
Teru: Anyone else want to reveal that they’re ridiculously beautiful so I can ditch Futakkun before we get married this Thursday?
Twink: We’re getting married?
Twink: you’d ditch me???
Twink: r00d *said brittishly*
Teru: babe
Yahabitch: STOP ‘BABE’ING
Yahabitch: PLEASE
Ennoshan: whoop Yahaba snapped
Shitabu: what’s wrong, Yahabitch?
Shitabu: Sad because your little crush doesn’t like you back?
Yahabitch: SHUT THE FUCK UP
Yahabitch: LIKE YOU CAN TALK
Yahabitch: YOU TSUNDRE
Teru: woah woah wait
Twink: Yahaba and Shirabu?
Teru: have crushes??
Twink: babe, are you thinking what I’m thinking?
Teru: yeah babe
Ennoshan: OKAY WAIT
Ennoshan: Let’s not torture people about their crushes, please
Yahabitch: Thank you, Ennoshita
Shitabu: fine
Shitabu sent a picture to Go To Practice
Yahabitch: SHIRABU
Teru: wait
Teru: YAHABA IS THAT YOU
Twink: THATS SO FUNNY
Teru: WHY DOES SHIRABU HAVE A PICTURR OF SLEEPING YAHABA THAYS CREEPY NGL
Yahabitch: SHITABU YOU ASS
Yahabitch has sent a picture to Go To Practice
Shitabu: YAHABA
Shirabu: HOW COULD TOU
Yahabitch: YOU BETRAYED MY TRUST FIRST
Twink: the girls are fightiiinnngg
Twink: (reprise)
TORA: I DONT KNOW WHATS GOING ON
TORA: BUT YAHABA YOUR HAIR LOOKS NICE MESSED UP
Yahabitch: really? Thank you
Yahabitch: I appreciate that
Yahabitch: It’s not stopping me from killing this shit head
Seguro: SHITABU-KUN I THINK YOU LOOK GOOD IN A CHICKEN COSTUME
Shitabu: I cannot believe this
Shitabu: @Yahabitch count your days
Twink: okay but
Twink: why a chicken
Shitabu: Tendou-san couldn’t find an eagle costume and I pulled the smallest straw to be the mascot.
Yahabitch: can you even reach my neck, Shitabu? Seeing as you haven’t grown since middle school
Shitabu: okay you know what
Shitabu: duck you
Shitabu has sent a picture to Go To Practice
Yahabitch: WILDEKAGISKF
Yahabitch: WHY DO YOU STILL HAVE THAT
Seguro: YAHABA USED TO HAVE BRACES???
Yahabitch: YOU ACTUALLY KNOW MY NAME ISNT YAHABITCH-KUN???
Yahabitch: wait that’s not what’s important
Yahabitch: KENJIROU DELETE THAT PHOTO RIGHT NOW
Shitabu: MAKE ME
Twink has changed the groupchat name to The girls are fightinggg
Teru: I feel like I should get popcorn for this
Ennoshan: guys,,, please,,,
Yahabitch has sent a picture to The girls are fightinggg
Shitabu: SHIGERU
Yahabitch: FOR YOUR VIEWING PLEASURE
Yahabitch:SHIRABU KENJIROU WITH A BOWLCUT IN SIXTH GRADE
Twink: IM
Twink: why do you have that???????
TORA: I HAVE NO IDEA WHATA GOING ON BUT THIS IS V FUNNY
Shitabu: Yahaba Shigeru
Shitabu: Look out the window
Yahabitch: shit
Ennoshan:
Ennoshan: I think Yahaba just died
Teru: @Yahabitch did Shirabu kill you yet?
Akaashi: Well.
Akaashi: This certainly was an eventful hour right before practice.
Seguro: SHIT PRACTICE
Ennoshan: @Yahabitch if you survive please inform us
Teru: no offense Yahaba I’m voting for Shirabu in this lololol
Twink: 200 yen says Yahaba beats his ass
Teru: nah 300 for shirabu
Ennoshita: please stop betting on the safety of our friends???
The girls are fightinggg 8:32
Yahabitch sent a photo to The girls are fightinggg
Yahabitch: guess who lived, bitches
Ennoshan: I’m glad you’re alive
Shitabu: It’s okay I’ll get him next time
Ennoshan: please dont
Twink: HAHA
Twink: @Teru YOU OWE ME 500 YEN
Teru: SHIT
Teru: could I like
Teru: buy you a sandwich instead
Twink: babe,,,
Twink: are you asking me on a date 😳
Teru: maybe 😳
TORA: Speaking of
TORA: whens the wedding?
Seguro: IVE MEVER BEEN INVITED TK A WEDDING BEFORE
Shitabu: who said you were invited to this one?
Seguro: OUCH
Twink: xCUSE you?
Twink: who’s wedding is this again, Shirabu
Teru: OURS BABE
Twink: HELL YEAH IT IS
Twink: and I say Seguro is invited
Seguro: YAY
Yahabitch: if I recall- it’s Thursday
Yahabitch: couldn’t it be on a weekend? Why Thursday?
Twink: he doubts our planning
Teru: BAN HIM
Ennoshan: okay okay wait
Ennoshan: you guys aren’t actually getting married right
Twink: idk
Twink: does anyone know how to officiate a wedding?
Yahabitch: I mean
Yahabitch: how hard could it be?
Akaashi: You do realize you need to have an official minister to ordain the wedding?
TORA: thats a lot of big words I don’t understand lol
Seguro: I THINK ITLL BE FUN
Twink: THANK you Seguro
Twink: this is why you’re my favorite
Teru: not me babe? 🥺
Twink: AFTER you babe 😘
Seguro: WAIR
Seguro: WERE IN TOKYO
Seguro: I CANT GO ALL TE WAY TO MIYAGI ON A SCHOOL NIGHT
Seguro: SORRY
Teru: it’s fine we’ll do it over FaceTime!
Twink: good idea
Twink: that way no one has an excuse!
Shitabu: oh joy
TORA: you know you love us
Shitabu: keep telling yourself that
Yahabitch: the only one Shitabu loves is alsjslqlqlqlp
Ennoshan:
Ennoshan: Yahaba?
Yahabitch: hi my names Yahaba Shigeru and I’m a stupid fucking bitch and Shirabu is so much better than melwpallqmqnflal
Shitabu: GET OFF MY PHONE KENJIROU
Yahabitch: IM TUALQKVAA AND I HAVWB A CRUSH ON
Yahabitch: Q CRISH ON KUGSLSLHTANI
Ennoshan: are they
Ennoshan: are they in the same room?
Akaashi: That’s what it looks like to me.
Shitabu: GIVE ME MY PHONE BACK
Shitabu: OR I WILL TELL THEM WHO YOU LIKE
Yahabitch: Hi it’s Yahaba I got my phone back, so sorry about all that :)
Teru: that’s kinda scary, ‘haba
Twink: is Shirabu ok
Shitabu: unfortunately
TORA: I’m confused, do you two hate each other or are you friends?
Shitabu: we’re enemies
Yahabitch: it’s complicated
Yahabitch: enemies? Really Kenjirou?
Shitabu: we went to primary school together
Shitabu: unfortunately
Shitabu: however, it does mean I have this
Shitabu sent a picture to The girls are fightinggg
Yahabitch: KENJIROU
Seguro: AW YAHABA YOU LOOK SO CUTE IN THAT DRESS
Shitabu: my cousin liked playing dress up with us
Yahabitch: I remember that
Yahabitch: my parents didn’t let me hang out with Shirabu for a month after that lol
Shirabu: the most peaceful month of my life
Yahabitch: ??? You literally cried
Shitabu: fake news
Ennoshan: the more concerning thing is- shouldn’t you be at school? Why are you together?
Shitabu:
Yahabitch:
Teru: Ennoshan you’re such a tightass
Teru: you’re gonna give yourself a migraine
Yahabitch: We have a practice match together, I’m currently at Shiratorizawa
TORA: they let you miss school for that??????
TORA: damn powerhouses are so lucky (´༎ຶོρ༎ຶོ`)
Twink: wh-
Twink: what is that
TORA: a kaomoji!
TORA: Fukunaga uses them a lot! They’re so much fun!
TORA: ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ
TORA: ^me
Ennoshan: that’s actually really cute of you
Ennoshan: I wouldn’t peg you as a kaomoji person
Teru: you could peg me any time Ennoshan
Ennoshan:
Teru: too far? Sorry
Twink: this close to calling off the wedding 👌😤
Teru: WAIT NO BABE I LOVE YOU
Teru: PLEASE THINK ABOUT THE CHILDREN
Yahabitch: there are children????
Teru: yeah ofc
Twink: I’m taking custody of Seguro, you can have the rest
Seguro: YAY
Akaashi: I feel a little hurt? Am I included in this?
Twink: okay maybe I want Akaashi too
Teru: NO
Teru: NOT AKKUN
Teru: FINE I TAKE SAKUSAN
Sakusa: I am not your child
Seguro: HOLY FUCK
Seguro: THAT SCARED ME
Ennoshan: hey Sakusa
Sakusa: if the groupchat title has changed, am I allowed to leave now?
Teru: NO
Twink: NO
Sakusa: unfortunate
Yahabitch: I’m almost afraid to ask
Yahabitch: who’s child am I?
Teru:
Twink:
Teru: do you want him?
Twink: you can have him
Yahabitch: are you fucking kidding me
Yahabitch: you want SEGURO but not ME?
Seguro: OUCH
TORA: it’s okay Seguro!
TORA: ( T_T)＼(^-^ )
TORA: ^ me n u
Teru: I CALL TORA
Teru: YOU CANT HAVE HIM
Twink: GODDAMMIT
Yahabitch: this is so insulting?
Yahabitch: they don’t want me?
Shitabu: I wouldn’t want you either to be fair
Twink: well I don’t want Shirabu either
Teru: yeah no offense you’re too high maintenance
Twink: you want Ennoshan, Teru?
Teru: okay but like
Teru: ennoshan’s not a kid
Yahabitch: and I am????
TORA: WAIT
TORA: when is everyone’s birthday? I’m putting them in my phone so I don’t forget
Seguro: MY BIRTHDAY IS 12 OF MARCH
TORA: mines feb 22!
Yahabitch: Mine’s is March 1st
TORA: IM ONLDER THAN BOTH OF YOU
TORA: HELL YEAH
Shitabu: mine is may 4th
TORA: STILL THE OLDESR HAHA
Ennoshan: for some reason that doesn’t sit right with me
Ennoshan: mine is December 26th
TORA: 96???
Ennoshan: 95
Twink: HAHA YOUVE BEEN DETHRONED TORA
TORA: damn
TORA: I was so close
Twink: well MINE is November 10th, 1995
Twink: so I’m older than ALL of you
Teru: MINE IS APRIL 18 1995
Twink: what the fuck
Twink: why are you so old???
Akaashi: My birthday is December 5th, 1995
Akaashi: and I doubt Sakusa-san is here to tell us
Akaashi: or would want to tell us
Yahabitch: Sakusa-san’s birthday is the 20th of March, 1996
Yahabitch: I just googled it
TORA: that means three March babies?
TORA: yallre so young!
Teru: WAIR
Teru: Shirabu, did you skip a grade?
Shitabu: May 4th, 1995
Teru: ah
Teru: ITS OKAY IM STILL THE OLDESR
Twink: can’t believe Sakusa’s the youngest
Twink: he doesn’t look like it
Yahabitch: *they
Twink: they??
Yahabitch: I mean
Yahabitch: they don’t like being called -kun?
Ennoshan: ask them
Twink: @Sakusa pronoun check!
Sakusa: they/them please
Twink: you heard it here first folks!
Yahabitch: Thank you for trusting us with that information, Sakusa-san
Seguro: ME TOO
Yahabitch: you too?
Seguro: I USE THEY/HE PLEASE
Shitabu: okay wair
Shitabu: one of the top five aces both this year and last year
Shitabu: is the youngest person in this groupchat?
Akaashi: It is hard to think about.
Akaashi: Plus the fact that they’re taller than most of us...
Seguro: SAKUSA HOW TALL ARE YOU
Sakusa: 189
Seguro: DANG IT
Seguro: IM 186.7
Yahabitch: I’m sure we all know who the shortest is though
Shitabu: okay shut the fuck up
Yahabitch: what? I didn’t say any names, Shitabu-kun. Maybe you’re projecting?
TORA: How tall are you Shirabu?
Shitabu:
Shitabu: 175
Yahabitch: LIES
Yahabitch: DONT ROUND UP
Shitabu:
Shitabu: 174.8
Akaashi: Okay I really hate to be a “party pooper”
Akaashi: However, you should all be at school.
Akaashi: Please focus during your lessons so we can all have practice matches together.
Seguro: YESSIR
Teru: anythif for you akkun
The girls are fightinggg 9:04
Akaashi: Ennoshita, I’ve been wondering- why aren’t Isahara-kun and Noriaki-kun in this groupchat?
Ennoshan: Noriaki doesn’t have a phone and Isahara threatened to break mine if I added him to a groupchat
Akaashi: I see
Seguro: WHO?
TORA: the other captains in our Tokyo training camp!
Ennoshan: Nariaki is from Shinzen and Isahara is from Ubugawa
Seguro: OH YEAH
Seguro: THE ONE NOHEBI ISNT INVITED TO
TORA: ouch
Ennoshan: to be fair
Ennoshan: Nohebi has a bit of a reputation
Seguro: I KNOW
Seguro: IM NOT MAD
Seguro: ACTUALLY THIS YEAR WERE FOCUSING MORE ON ACTUAL POWER INSTEAD OF CHEAP TRICKS
Seguro: LOOK FORWARD TO SEEING THE NEW AND IMPROVED NOHEBI
TORA: how do we know that’s not another cheap trick lololol
Seguro: GOOD POINT
Seguro: YOU DONT
Akaashi: No offense Seguro-kun, you aren’t exactly good at lying
Seguro: COACH SAID THE AAME THING
Seguro: AND AKAMA’S TOO NICE TO BE MEAN
Seguro: SO NOW WERE GOING THE STRAIGHT PATH
Seguro: EXCEPT KUGURI HES REALLY GAY LOL
Ennoshan: and you aren’t?
Seguro: I AM
Seguro: IT WAS A JOKE
Akaashi: None of the other Miyagi captains are online, it makes it feel a bit exclusive, doesn’t it?
Ennoshan: I’m literally right here?
TORA: youre in exchange for Sakusan lololol (((o(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)o)))♡
Seguro: TORA THATS REALLY CUTE
TORA: THANK YOU BRO
Seguro: BRO
Ennoshan: oh my god
Akaashi: What do you think the other Miyagi captains are doing?
Ennoshan: maybe their practice hasn’t finished yet?
TORA: it’s literally almost 10?
Ennoshan: I know Yahaba stays behind a lot for extra practice
Ennoshan: and Shiratorizawa has dorms so Shirabu doesn’t worry about commuting time, so he can practice longer
Ennoshan: idk about Teru or Futakuchi
Teru: YOU CALLED ME TERU
Akaashi: Ah, there he is.
Ennoshan: it’s your name?
Teru: YEHA BUT USUALLY YOU CALL ME TERUSHIMA
Teru: TORA GET ME A CRYING KAOMOJI PLEASE
TORA: ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´ω`ﾟ)ﾟ｡
Teru: THABK YOU TORA
Teru: ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´ω`ﾟ)ﾟ｡
Teru: IM SO HAPPY
Teru: ENNOSHAN IM LITERALLY IN LOVE WITH YOU
Ennoshan: please don’t
Twink: babe
Teru: oh no
Teru: it’s not what you think babe
Twink: is it not?
Twink: I thought I could trust you, babe.......
Teru: you CAN babe!
Ennoshan: fun drinking game- take a shot every time Teru and Futakuchi break up
Seguro: I THINK ID GET ALCOHOL POISONING
Akaashi: I think I’d rather get alcohol poisoning than endure this.
Ennoshan: when’s the wedding again?
TORA: Thursday
Ennoshan: that’s another two days of this?
Ennoshan: holy fuck
Teru: babe I can’t wait to get married to you
Twink: are you wearing a dress
Teru: FUCK YEAH I AM
Twink: ME TOO
Teru: BABE
Twink: BABE
Ennoshan: take a shot every time they call each other babe
Seguro: YOU BE DEAD
Ennoshan: GOOD
Yahabitch: what’s going on!
Yahabitch: Why is the chat blowing up without me? :(
Akaashi: nothing new, really
Akaashi: Seguro is gay confirmed, Teru loves Ennoshita, and Teru and Futakuchi almost broke up but got back together and will both be wearing dresses.
Seguro: AND ENNOSHRAS GIVING HIMSELF ALCOHOL POISONING
Akaashi: and Ennoshita’s giving himself alcohol poisoning, yes. Thank you Seguro-kun
Ennoshan: man I cannot wait until I’m of legal drinking age
Ennoshan: drowning my sorrows in natchan
Yahabitch: ... the orange juice?
Ennoshan: she’s the only one who understands me
Yahabitch: she’s an orange
TORA: ANYWAYS
TORA: what are you doing Yahaba?
Yahabitch: serve practice
Yahabitch: Kyoutani’s also here but we don’t really talk much
Yahabitch: he’s glaring at me rn
TORA: who???
Yahabitch: wait
Yahabitch: WAIT
TORA: WHAT
Yahabitch: Ennoshita tell me I’m not the only one who thinks Tora and Kyoutani look alike
Ennoshan: which ones Kyoutani again?
Yahabitch: the angry one
Ennoshan: the one you slammed against the wall?
Yahabitch: Yes
Akaashi: ... You WHAT?
TORA: WAIT SEND PICS
Yahabitch sent a picture to The girls are fightinggg
TORA: OH MY GOD ITS ME
Seguro: HIS HAIR IS REALLY COOL TELL HIM HIS HAIR IS REALLY COOL
Yahabitch: No way! His ego is already big enough
Yahabitch: Shoot- I gtg
Yahabitch: bye guys!
Ennoshan: now we just need Shirabu to come on and confirm he’s still alive
Seguro: AND SAKUSAN
Akaashi: I don’t think Sakusa-san will be coming on here any time soon, Seguro-kun
Teru: still can’t get over the fact Yahaba slammed THAT guy against a wall
Ennoshan: in the middle of a match too
Teru: DAMN
Teru: is that guy single
Teru: wait, is YAHABA single?
Teru: I want someone to slam me against a wall
Twink: babe 🥺
Twink: I could do that for you 🥺🥺
Teru: you would? 🥺🥺🥺
Seguro: YOU MAY NOW WALL SLAM THE GROOM
Ennoshan: it was the semi-finals match too lol
Twink: I remember that lol
Twink: we had just lost to Seijoh, and Karasuno’s captain got taken out right before
Ennoshan: thank you for reminding me so much I love bein reminded of bodily harm coming o my captain
Twink: that’s what I’m here for
The girls are fightinggg 10:59
Shitabu: HELLO
Shitabu: is Shigeru here
Teru: who
Ennoshan: Yahaba? He just left
Shitabu: shit
Akaashi: Are you alright, Shirabu?
Shitabu: uh
Shitabu: let’s just say I no longer have a crush
Teru: shut what happened????
Shitabu: I have a BOYFRIEND
Teru: NO
Teru: GET OUT
Shitabu: WHERE THE FUCK IS SHIGERU I GOTTA RUB THIS IN
Twink: no way
Twink: pics or it didn’t happen
Shitabu sent a picture to The girls are fightinggg
Teru: WHAT THE FUCK
Seguro: CONGRATULATIONS SHIRABU
TORA: damn you really went to town on his neck huh
Teru: Tora where’s the Lenny face
TORA: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
Teru: thank you Tora
Teru: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
Shitabu: oh my god
Shitabu: we didn’t do anything
Ennoshan: @Yahabitch YOURE gonna wanna see this
Yahabitch: WHAT THE FUCK
Yahabitch: YOU GOT TOGETHER WITH SEMI-SAN??????
Akaashi: wait
Akaashi: Semi Eita-san?
Yahabitch: YES???
Yahabitch: HES WAY OUT OF YOUR LEAGUE SHITABU
Teru: Kenjirou? More like Can-get-it-rou
Twink: babe that doesn’t work
Teru: :(
Seguro: I THIUGHT IT WAS GOOD TERU
Akaashi: Wait Shirabu-kun tell us all the details!
Ennoshan: never thought Akaashi would be so interested in gossip
Ennoshan: but yeah what he said tell us the deets
Twink: spill the TEA
Yahabitch: oh my god no one says that
Shitabu: okay okay so
Shitabu: we’ve been texting since he graduated
Shitabu: and today he asked me to meet him at the cafe and he ordered my favorite drink without me telling him and then he held my hand under the table
Yahabitch: YEAH AND?
Shitabu: and then he said ‘Shirabu I really like you even if you’re a bitch’
Yahabitch: that’s true you are one
Ennoshan: STOP INTERRUPTING HIM
Shitabu: and then he said ‘would you go on a date with me?’ And I said ‘aren’t we ON a date?’ And then he said ‘can I kiss you’ and well
Shitabu: they kicked us out of the cafe for making out but I HAVE A BOYFRINED
Ennoshan: CONGRATS SHIRABU
Ennoshan has changed Shirabu’s name to Taken
Taken: thank you
Taken: can’t believe none of you guys have dates lol
Yahabitch: oh shut up
Yahabitch: I’m working on it
Twink: xCUSE you?
Twink: I have a date
Twink: in fact I’m getting MARRIED
Twink has changed the groupchat name to Mariadge
Taken: Excuse you
Taken: this is about ME right now
Yahabitch: no Futakuchi’s right, enough about you
Seguro: CONGRATULATIONS ON THE BOYFRIEND SHIRABU
TORA: yeah congrats on not being single lol
Ennoshan: are we congratulating taken people now?
Ennoshan: this is making me feel so lonely
TORA: ITS OKAY ENNOSHAN YOU CAN GET ANY DATE PERSON YOU WANT
Ennoshan: eh
Ennoshan: I wouldn’t be so sure of that
Twink: wait when did this turn into Ennoshan’s moping corner
Taken: Yeah, aren’t we supposed to be supporting me? And my BOYFRIEND
Yahabitch: okay stop bragging
Taken: absolutely not
Taken sent a picture to Mariadge
Taken sent a picture to Mariadge
Taken sent a picture to Mariadge
Yahabitch: STOP
Yahabitch: STOP IM ALREADY DEAD
Twink: I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile, Shirabu
Twink: you look
Twink: ... really weird
Taken: gee thank you
Teru: OKAY
Teru: TIME TO GET THE REST OF YALL BOYFRIENDS
Twink: or date mates
Teru: OR DATE MATES
Teru: wait are any of y’all straight?
TORA: MAYBE
Seguro: CAN YOU BE STRAIGHT IF YOURE NON-BINARY
Yahabitch: schrodinger’s gay
Ennoshan: Tora, maybe?
TORA: GIRLS
TORA: are really pretty...
TORA: but uh
TORA: a guy kissed me once
Seguro: WHAT
TORA: ... like last week
Seguro: WHAT
Ennoshan: WHAT
Akaashi: During our training camp?
TORA: ... maybe?
Taken: OKAY WHAT THE FUCK THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE ABOUT /ME/
Yahabitch: Shitabu stop hogging the glory this is about EVERYONE now
Yahabitch changed Taken’s name to Shitabu
Shitabu: shame
Ennoshan: Tora
Ennoshan: is it someone from another team?
TORA: ... no? σ(^_^;)
Yahabitch: oh I know who it is
Seguro: YOU DO?
Seguro: TORA I THOUGHT WE WERE FRIENDS
TORA: IM SORRY ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´ω`ﾟ)ﾟ｡
Ennoshan: Tora do you want to tell us or is it a secret
TORA: it’s just kinda embarrassing
TORA: I thought I was straight but... he’s really cute? And when he laughs...
TORA: \(//∇//)\
TORA: and he’s so funny (*´꒳`*)
Akaashi: ah
Akaashi: I know who it is too
Seguro: AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO DOESNT
Ennoshan: it’s Fukunaga isn’t it
TORA: FUCK
TORA: how did you know
Twink: ok ngl I could tell and I literally haven’t even met this Fukunaga
Teru: awe this is so cute
Teru: everyone realizing their crushes
TORA: I don’t have a crush on Fukunaga!!!
TORA: I mean. Maybe?
TORA: it’s DIFFERENT idk
Teru: as one pansexual to another maybe pansexual/bisexual/person attracted to multiple genders
Teru: it feels different
Teru: like- when I like girls, it’s all flowery and butterflies and wanting to kiss them
Teru: but with guys it’s like. Firy and loud and I can’t stop thinking about them, even when we’re not in the same room
Teru: and then with NON-BINARY people it’s like
Teru: BOTH COMBINED
Yahabitch: it’s okay if you don’t quite know yet, Tora
Yahabitch: We’re here for you whatever you decide to identify as!
Seguro: IM STILL A LITTLE SAD YOU DIDNT TELL ME
Seguro: BUT I BELIEVE YOU CAN DO IT
Seguro: IS FUKUNAGA THE ONE THAT RECEIVES WELL
Ennoshan: it’s Nekoma, they ALL receive well
Seguro: THE TALL ONE
Seguro: WITH THE BLACK HAIR
Akaashi: Kuroo-san?
Seguro: NO THE ONE WITH THE
Seguro: OKAY WAIR THIS MIGHT BE A LITTLE MEAN
Seguro: THE ONE WOTH TE PLAIN FACE
TORA: that is a little mean but
TORA: ThAtS Fukunaga yeah
Seguro: OKAY HES CUTE
Teru: you just said his face was plain?
Seguro: BUT IN A CUTE WAY
Shitabu: congrats or whatever
Ennoshan: are you going to ask him out?
TORA: I DONT KNOW
TORA: what if he doesn’t like me?
Twink: he kissed you
TORA: and?
Teru: my son is an idiot
Twink: isn’t he /my/ son?
Teru: wait I’m scrolling up
Yahabitch: we’re literally in the middle of an important discussion?
Twink: boo hoo
TORA: OKAY BUT LIKE
TORA: what if he doesn’t like me like THAT ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´ω`ﾟ)ﾟ｡
Seguro: HE KISSED YOU BRO I THINK HE LIKES YOU
TORA: you think?
Seguro: YEAH I THINK
Akaashi: I don’t quite know Fukunaga-kun, but I do know that you are a very nice person, and anyone would be glad to have you as a boyfriend
TORA: AKAASHIIIIII ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´ω`ﾟ)ﾟ｡
Teru: HES MINE
Twink: babe no offense you’re interrupting a moment
Sakusa: Again- it is literally past eleven. Please either move to private messaging or go to sleep. As athletes I can’t believe you treat your bodies like this. Please don’t make this a nightly occurrence
Seguro: SAKUSAN
Sakusa: don’t call me that
Seguro: SHIRABU GOT A BIYFRIEND
Sakusa: I know. I saw. Congratulations, and good luck to Yamamoto. Now please go to sleep.
Yahabitch: well
Yahabitch: you heard them
Teru: We’ll plan tomorrow
Akaashi: Plan what?
Twink: how to get Fukunaga and Tora together ofc
Teru: call that operation fukutora
Sakusa: GO
Sakusa: TO
Sakusa: SLEEP
TORA: well good night!
Mariadge 5:04
Seguro: I CANT BELIEVE THEY DONT HAVE CAPITAL NUMBERS
Seguro: I THINK THATS SO HOMOPHOBIC OF THEM
Ennoshan: oh my god why are we doing this again
Ennoshan: I’m not wailing up at five got y’all ain’t happenung
Yahabitch: it was coherent at first
Yahabitch: nice try, Ennoshita
Teru: Seguro my brother in arms
Teru: together we will rebel against those who oppress us
Twink: *nods sagely* the computers
Twink: they’re homophobic
TORA: *cocks gun* computers homophobic
Ennoshan: TEYLYRYL COMPUTERS ARE NOT HOMOPGOBUC EYOP SAYING THAY
Yahabitch: Ennoshita you might want to start waking up now
Akaashi: Good morning everyone
Yahabitch: Good morning Akaashi!
Seguro: GOOD MORNING
TORA: @Twink r u ready kid
Twink: I’m literally older than you
Twink: but yes
Yahabitch: ready for what?
TORA: Dateko/Nekoma practice match!!!!!!!!!
Teru: WHAT
Teru: WHY WASNT I INFORMED
Twink: You snooze you lose babe
Twink: this woll be the perfect time to enact plan fukutora
TORA: WAIT IM NOT READY FOR THAG
Twink: gotta strike while the irons hot, Tora
TORA: it’s too soon
TORA: what if he doesn’t like me (*´Д｀*)
Yahabitch: Tora he kissed you
TORA: IT COULD HAVE BEEN A FRIENDLY LISS
Seguro: BRO
Seguro: HE KISSED YOU
Akaashi: Futakuchi-kun, do you have a plan?
Twink: er
Twink: well um
Teru: no he doesn’t
Seguro: I THOUGHT YOU HAD A PLAN
Twink: my PLAN was to lock them in a closet until they work things out, but apparently that’s ‘endangering their safety’ and ‘goes against the rules of volleyball’
Twink: critics
Twink: Obara never lets me do anything fun
Ennoshan: okay I’m awake
Ennoshan: Futakuchi that idea is awful
Ennoshan: why is Futakuchi in charge of this? Who did that?
Teru: in our defense, Sakusan told us to go to sleep before we could plan
Twink: okay look
Twink: we just-
Twink: get them alone
Twink: bam, romance
Yahabitch: I’m starting to realize all of you are hopeless with romance
Seguro: MAYBE WE SHOULD ASK SHIRABU THEN?
Seguro: SINCE HE HAS A BOYFRIEND
Shitabu: Oho? I heard my name
Yahabitch: No, go away no one wants you
Shitabu: says the single loser
Shitabu: how’s your little puppy situation going?
Yahabitch has kicked Shitabu from Mariadge
TORA: NO
TORA: SHITABU
Seguro: YAHABA THAT WAS OUR ONLY HOPE
Seguro: WERE ALL SINGLE
Ennoshan: Yahaba please
Ennoshan has added Shirabu to Mariadge
Yahabitch: bummer
Shirabu: you fucker
Shirabu: oh look my name is fixed
Yahabitch changed Shirabu’s name to Shitabu
Shitabu: Well it was good while it lasted
TORA: could we focus
TORA: pls
Seguro: TEAH WE NEED TO HELP TORA GET A BOYFRIEND
Seguro: SPECIFICALLY FUKUNAGA
Yahabitch: Well, just ask him? I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?
Ennoshan: he could be so in love with your manager that the only thing he ever talks to you about is her, and he could invite himself over to tour house at 9 in the night to whine about how much she doesn’t like him and then call you his best bro and forever friend and say things like ‘don’t worry when we get together you’ll be the best man at our wedding’
TORA: uh
TORA: we don’t have a female manager so I think we’re good
Yahabitch: Ennoshita are you alright?
Ennoshan: are any of us truly alright
Teru: Ennoshan well come back to you
Akaashi: I think asking him would be a good place to start, Taketora-kun.
Akaashi: Also- sorry for short replies, I’m currently on a jog.
Teru: DONT THINK WE DONT SEE YOU AKKUN
Teru: YOURE NEXT
Teru: and then Ennoshan Bc
Teru: you sad bro
Akaashi: Please don’t.
Ennoshan: I agree with Akaashi, please don’t
Twink: okay I got it
Twink: you walk up to him
Twink: /trip/
Twink: and say ‘whoops, looks like I’ve fallen for you’
Ennoshan: that
Ennoshan: might work?
Akaashi: Fukunaga-kun DOES like his puns.
TORA: FUTAKUCHI YOURE A GENIUS
Twink: I KNOW
Seguro: OKAY GOOD LUCK TORA
TORA: THANKS BRO
Yahabitch: Can we please stop screaming
Twink: Yahaba the critic
Twink: 😔😔😔
Twink: let me live my own life
Teru: it’s not a phase, MOM
Yahabitch: Oh my god
Yahabitch: Never mind then. Carry on screaming
Twink: someone tell me why Nekoma is so far away
Teru: it’s in Tokyo babe
Twink: thanks babe
TORA: can’t wait to play Dateko!!!!!! We’ve never done that before ( ´ ▽ ` )
Twink: can’t wait to see if you guys can receive the balls fast enough
Twink: how’s your blocked ball retrieval looking?
TORA: well
TORA: Shibayama is getting really good at receiving!!!! Way better than me!!!!!
Twink: well, our libero is nothing to laugh at either
Twink: Sakunami has even gone up against Oikawa’s serves
Yahabitch: Ah yes
Yahabitch: Oikawa-san’s serves
Yahabitch: that I could never dream to replicate
Yahabitch: the best server in the prefecture
Shitabu: okay shut the fuck up this isn’t ‘whine about my life’ time
Yahabitch: man I wish I could serve like Oikawa-san
Shitabu: boo hoo
Shitabu: let me play you a song on the worlds smallest violin
Ennoshan: for what it’s worth, Yahaba
Ennoshan: your serve terrifies me
Yahabitch: thanks :)
TORA: yknow
TORA: Shibayama has been talking about a cousin that goes to Dateko for a while
Twink: well what would you know
Twink: so has Sakunami
TORA:
Twink:
Twink: send pics Tora
TORA sent a picture to Mariadge
Twink: HOLY FUCK
Twink: WAIT A SECOND
Twink sent a picture to Mariadge
Teru: damn
Teru: you sure those are cousins and not like
Ennoshan: clones?
Teru: I was gonna say twins but yeah
Twink: oh my god this is so funny
Twink: if you merge their faces... it’s just the same person....
TORA: they’re both liberos too
Twink: is yours a second year?
TORA: yeah
Twink: oh my god
Ennoshan: pretty sure that constitutes as clones
Teru: what if we’re like
Teru: secretly anime characters and the creator just got tired of drawing original designs so decided to copy and paste Sakunami and make Shibayama
Yahabitch: you mean similarly to how Ennoshita, Futakuchi and I have all had the number six and then became captains?
TORA: FUKUNAGA USED TO WEAR SIX IN SECOND YEAR TOO
TORA: and first year actually
TORA: we didn’t have many members
Shitabu: who cares
Shitabu: this is about captains
TORA: Fukunaga wouldve been a better captain than me
Seguro: EXCEPT HE DOESNT TALK
TORA: except he doesn’t talk
TORA: he talks to me though!!!!! \(//∇//)\
TORA: it’s cause he’s deaf an talking is weird without his hearing aids
TORA: and he’s not allowed to wear them during games because they could break
Teru: like my piercings!
Ennoshan: so what’s next? Computers are homophobic, we’re all secretly anime characters, what’s next?
Teru: idk lol
Twink: who’s the protagonist then?
Yahabitch: whoever wins nationals?
Shitabu: who said this was a volleyball anime
Shitabu: maybe we’re all just background characters
Seguro: MY MONEY’S ON SAKUSA
Seguro: SINCE THEURE A TOP THEEE ACE AND ALSO THEY WON LAST YEARS INTERHIGH
Ennoshan: they didn’t win the spring tournament though
Ennoshan: wait why am I debating this, this is stupid
Ennoshan: we are not anime characters, now go to school
Yahabitch: Tora, tell us how it goes with Fukunaga-kun!
TORA: I WILL ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ
TORA: ^jts me
Akaashi: I’m back from my jog, what did I miss
Teru: uh
Teru: scroll up
Mariadge 10:49
Twink: idk who will see this since
Twink: it’s literally the middle of school rn
Twink: but I’m hiding in a storage closet spying on Tora rn and I think he’s going to do it
Teru: wait really
Teru: wait aklakdkala
Teru: I’m not ready
Twink: he already did the slipping thing and Fukunaga laughed
Twink: and now they’re talking
Twink: wait-
Twink: HE DID IT
Teru: HE DID IT?
Twink: HE SAID YES
Twink: shit they found me
Teru:
Teru: Futakuchi
Teru: /Futakuchi?????/
Teru: babe
Teru: noooooooooo
Teru: the wedding
Seguro: HI WHATS GOING ON
Teru: Futakuchi’s dead 😔😔😔😔😔😔
Seguro: OH NO
Seguro: IM SO SORRY
Teru: not actually seguchan
Seguro: OH
Seguro: IS SEGUCHAN MY NICKNAME
Teru: yeah your name isn’t very nicknameable
Seguro: IRS OKAY I THINK ITS COOL
Seguro: WHY IS FUTAKUCHI DEAD?
Teru: he was spying on Fukutora but they caught him
Seguro: OH
Seguro: REST IN PEACE FUTAKUCHI
Twink: thanks
Teru: he’s alive!
TORA: HEY GUYS GUESS WHAT
Seguro: WHAT
TORA: I
TORA: HAVE A DATE
TORA: \(//∇//)\
Teru: HELL YEAH
Teru: you go Tora
Twink: toldja it would work
Twink: man I’m a genius
Seguro: CONGRATS TORA
Seguro: IM REALLY HAPPY FOR YOU
TORA: THANKS
TORA: we have a date for this weekend (*≧∀≦*)
Twink: have you decided where you’re taking him
TORA: uh
TORA: no?
Teru: oh my god
Teru: you can’t just not have a plan
Seguro: *COUGH COUGH* FUTAKUCHI *COUGH COUGH*
Twink: this is targeting what the fuck seguro
TORA: okay but like
TORA: what do I doooooooooo
Seguro: MOVIE THEATER
Teru: basic
Teru: next?
Twink: amusement park?
TORA: he’s afraid of heights
Teru: next?
Twink: uh
Twink: this sure would be helpful if other people were active
Teru: well not my fault
Teru: @TORA should’ve done it when people weren’t in class smh 😤😤😤😤😤
TORA: ...Sorry?
SEGURO: TAKW HIM TO THE ARCADE
TORA: MAYBE
TORA: he likes video games
TORA: not as much as kenma tho
Yahabitch: I can’t believe you guys are having a conversation without me
Yahabitch: this is homophobic
Teru: damn
Teru: I, a whole ass pansexual
Teru: am homophobic
Yahabitch: well you’re not gay are you
Teru: touché
Twink: well you’re here now so
Yahabitch: Tora, take him to the arcade, but make sure to pay. You’re the one who invited him after all. Also you better win him something from a claw machine, or I’ll actually sue you
Teru: why do you like
Teru: actually give good advice
Twink: Yeah Yahaba aren’t you single
Yahabitch: IM WORKING ON IT
Seguro: I DONT KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT DATING :D
Twink: we know, Seguro
Teru: oi DONT talk to my son like that
Twink: I thought they were my child?
Teru:
Twink:
Teru: Hey Seguro am I your dad or is Futakuchi?
Seguro: UH
Seguro: IM GONNA BE HONEST I COMPLETELY FORGOT
Yahabitch: does it matter? You’re literally married
TORA: not yet they aren’t
Twink: HES MINE
Teru: GODAMMIT
Teru: I wanted them D:<
Yahabitch: and yet no one wanted me
Seguro: I HAVE A QUESTION
Seguro: DOES THAT MEAN TERU’S “KIDS” WILL BE MY STEP SIBLINGS
Yahabitch: IF they end up getting married.
Twink: you doubt our marriage?
Teru: ban him
TORA: you’re just jealous because they didn’t want you, Yahaba
Yahabitch: ouch
Yahabitch: also, where am I being banned from?
Teru: wedding obvs
Yahabitch: it’s virtual?
Seguro: WE COULD JUST MAKE A GROUPCHAT WITHOUT YOU
Yahabitch: I’m-
Yahabitch: Seguro?????
Yahabitch: I thought you were the nice one??????????
TORA: literally since when
Twink: none of us are nice we’re literally high schoolers
Yahabitch: Akaashi’s nice
TORA: hm
TORA: debatable
Seguro: I AGREE
Seguro: DEBATABLE
Teru: on a scale of like
Teru: Shirabu to Akaashi
Yahabitch: what are we even measuring on this scale?
Teru: I’d say you’re a solid Yahaba
Twink: I’d agree woth that measure
Yahabitch: ??????
Twink: babe I’d say you’re a good Teru
Teru: Aw thanks babe
Teru: not a bad Teru?
Seguro: OKAY
Seguro: ON A SCALE OF ANGEL TO DEVIL
Seguro: I THINK SHIRABU WOULD BE A NINE
Seguro: AKAASHI WOULD BE A FOUR
TORA: a four?
Seguro: HES PRETTY BALANCED
TORA: okay valid
Seguro: YAHABA YOUD BE LIKE AN EIGHT
Teru: that’s the talk of a guy who hasn’t seen Feral Yahaba™️
Yahabitch: ... why am I trademarked
Teru: Pkay look
Teru: Yahaba’s a solid 9 when he’s pissed off
Teru: we ARE talking the guy who shoved mad dog against a wall
Teru: THE mad dog
Teru: contender for this years top five aces
Yahabitch: *top three
Yahabitch: and he doesn’t like being called that.
Seguro: MAN I FEEL LIKE IM MISSING OUT AS A TOKYO KID
TORA: I wanted to see feral Yahaba™️ (u_u)
Yahabitch: please don’t make that a thing
Seguro: TERU YOURE LIKE
Seguro: A SIX
Teru: ok I’ll take it
Twink: and me?
Seguro: A FIVE
Twink:
Twink: I see
Ennoshan: Hi what the fuck
TORA: oh shit we got caught
Ennoshan: it’s literally class time right now??????? Get off your damn phones
Yahabitch: yessir
Twink: Yahaba you traitor?? Wtf
Ennoshan: GET OFF
Teru: Damn ennoshan no fun ://////////////
Seguro: HE COULD BE YOUR ANGLE...
Seguro: OR YOUR DEVILE
TORA: ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ see u guys after school
Mariadge 10:20
Akaashi: congratulations on the boyfriend, Yamamoto-kun.
TORA: THANKS!!!!!
TORA: he’s not my boyfriend yet tho
TORA: I kinda wanna take it slow
Yahabitch: what a gentleman
Seguro: YOU BETTER SEND LOTS OF PICS DURING TOUR DATE I WANNA SEE
Twink: just
Twink: stalk them????
Twink: obvs
Teru: babe that’s a genius idea
Twink: thanks babe
Seguro: I CNAT THATD BE RUDE
Twink: well you snooze you lose
Yahabitch: speaking of weddings
Yahabitch: is this actually happening?
Teru: he doubts us
Twink: ban him
Ennoshan: take a shot every time Yahaba gets banned from the wedding
Seguro: TAKE A SHOT EVERY TIME ENOOSHITA MAKES A TAKE A SHOT JOKE
Ennoshan: ouch
Ennoshan: really coming for me there seguro huh
Twink: ofc we’re doing it
Twink: Yahaba you officiate
Yahabitch: what?
Yahabitch: arent I literally banned?
Teru: eh technicalities
Akaashi: Does Yahaba-kun even know how to officiate a wedding? No offense Yahaba-kun.
Yahabitch: none taken
TORA: okay like
TORA: how hard can it be
Teru: you all better dress up nicely @Seguro @Seguro @Seguro
Seguro: WHY AM I BEING ATED
Seguro: ATTED?
Seguro: @ED?
Teru: you seem like the type of person to wear ripped jeans to a wedding
Twink: absolutely unacceptable
Seguro: IS A LEATHER JACKET OKAY
Teru: hm
Teru: leather jackets are cool as fuck
Twink: you heard the broom
Yahabitch: the what
Twink: the bro
Twink: SONOFABIRCH
Teru: lmao the broom
Ennoshan: to be fair, Teru’s hair does look like a broom
Teru: ouch?
Shitabu sent a picture to Mariadge
Akaashi: Shirabu-kun why would you just send a picture of Terushima-kun?
Teru: AKAASHI
Teru: DONT DO THIS TO ME
Akaashi: what do you mean, Terushima-kun?
Teru: JUST BECAUSE
Teru: THE BROOM HAS A PICTURE OF MY FACE PHOTOSHOPPED ONTO IT
Teru: DOESNT MEAN ITS ME
Yahabitch: I don’t know, Teru, it looks like you
Shitabu: appreciate the photoshop skills I worked so hard to cultivate
Yahabitch: never mind it looks like shit
Twink: so, Teru?
Teru: OUCH
Teru: BABE?
Seguro: IF TERUS THE BROOM
Seguro: DOES THAT MAKE FUTAKUCHI THE GRIDE
TORA: I don’t know which ones worse honestly
Twink: we’re BOTH the grooms
Twink: Bc were guys
Yahabitch: sure you’re not both brooms, Futakuchi?
Twink: r00d *said britishly*
Twink: it was an honest mistake alright
Ennoshan has changed the groupchat name to Broom
Twink: SLANDER
Twink: SLANDER
Teru: BAAHAHAHAHA ENNOSHAN I LOVE YOU
Twink: that’s it
Twink: weddings cancelled im eloping with fucking Yahaba
Yahabitch: what
Yahabitch: I didn’t consent to this
Yahabitch: also why fucking Yahaba? I’m a pleasure to be around
Ennoshan: hm
Seguro: YAHABA THERES A REASON YOURE AN EIGHT ON THE SCALE
Shitabu: the scale?
Yahabitch: do
Yahabitch: do you not read up?
Shitabu: literally why would I want to endure these assholes more than I already do?
Twink: r00d *said britishly*
Yahabitch: So you don’t feel the need to know literally every single piece of information that passes through the groupchat because what if it’s important or what if someone’s talking about you?
Shitabu: uh no
Ennoshan: hey Yahaba are you seeing someone
Yahabitch: I’m single
Ennoshan: you know what I mean
Yahabitch: my parents think therapy is a sham, so no
Shitabu: man I hate your parents
TORA: Shirabu???? Being protective of Yahaba??????
Yahabitch: nah he’s just mad they called his bangs trashy and undignified
Seguro: I MEAN THEYRE NOT WRONG
Ennoshan: Yahaba
Ennoshan: I know this is usually all jokey
Ennoshan: but if you ever need to talk about anything, we’re here
Twink: except Teru don’t ask him for advice it’s shit
Teru: I’m-
Teru: ouch?
Yahabitch: thanks
Yahabitch: so, what times the wedding?
Twink: well
Twink: we have school so
Teru: what time does practice end for you guys?
Ennoshan: practice here ends at eight
Yahabitch: ten, usually, but sometimes I stay later for solo practice
Seguro: UH
Seguro: SEVEN
TORA: also eight
Akaashi: At Fukurodani, practice ends at nine, so I’m free any time after nine thirty.
Teru: practice ends at seven for us
Twink: and datekos done after eight
Shitabu: do I have to go
Teru: wtf bro? It’s literally our wedding ofc
Shitabu: fine, I’m free after 10
Yahabitch: do you think we should try Sakusa-san?
Ennoshan: they DID seem like they were reading up but idk if they’d want to come
Teru: it’s our WEDDING
Seguro: @Sakusa
Sakusa: ... Itachiyama practice ends at eight also.
Twink: !!!!!!!!!!!
Teru: ong
Teru: a celebrity????? At our wedding?
Twink: babe we’re so blessed
Teru: got that right babe
Sakusa: Never mind I’ve changed my mind.
Twink: WAIT NO
Ennoshan: Sakusa you should come
Ennoshan: it’d be nice to get to know each other
Sakusa: Hm. Maybe for a few minutes.
Seguro: HECK YEAH
Seguro: HI SAKUSAN
Sakusa: Hello Seguro.
Yahabitch: Okay so it’s looking like 10:30?
Akaashi: That seems about right. I suppose I’ll see you then, then.
Teru: then then
TORA: oi DONT mock Akaashi o(｀ω´ )o
Akaashi: It’s alright
Akaashi: it’s a bit funny
Teru: that’s my one goal in life
Teru: to be a bit funny
Yahabitch: now I’m getting nervous, which outfit should I wear?
Yahabitch sent a picture to Broom
Yahabitch sent a picture to Broom
Seguro: HOW MANY SUITS DO YOU EVEN OWN YAHABA
Teru: why are we surprised? It’s Yahaba
Teru: he has ac
Akaashi: I have air conditioning too, it’s not that impressive.
Teru: et tu, Akaashi?
TORA: idk anything about suits but the blue one looks cool
Twink: Yahaba dresses up so well damn
Twink: I’m gonna be under dressed at my own wedding
Teru: it’s okay babe
Teru: I’m sure you’ll be a dazzling broom
Twink: fuck you
Twink: weddings cancelled
Yahabitch: what? You can’t do that! I’ve already picked a suit!
Shitabu: damn
Shitabu: I was looking forward to this so much
Shitabu: such a shame
Seguro: ITS OKAY SHIRABU
Seguro: I DIDNT KNOW YOU WERE SO LOOKING FORWARD TO IT
Ennoshan: it’s sarcasm, Seguro
Seguro: OH
Seguro: SORRY
Teru: wait babe I’ll buy you sour gummies
Twink:
Twink: really
Yahabitch: okay good the weddings still on
Sakusa: Joy.
Shigeru inhales sharply, studying himself in the mirror. He feels strangely nervous- maybe it the fact that he’s never met half the groupchat before, or maybe the fact that he’s supposed to be officiating, even though he doesn’t have a license or any thing. The words he’s supposed to say are already pulled up on his computer, but he’s still scared he’ll accidentally mess up.
His hair is damp from the shower he took after getting home, his muscles aching from practice. He debates between using the suit jacket or not- would that be to formal?
He decides against it, carefully hanging it back up in his closet. His palms are sweating now, despite him rubbing them dry.
“Dammit.” He mumbles, running his fingers through his hair to hopefully make it look acceptable. It’s a little stupid of him to put so much effort into a play pretend wedding between two teenagers, but he’s a Yahaba. He never does anything half-heartedly.
His phone buzzes- most likely the groupchat call- and he takes a deep breath, sitting down at his desk and answering it.
”Yo!” A loud voice greets. The corresponding video is a blur of motion, before dropping down to center on Yamamoto’s face. ”You wore the suit I recommended!” He seems absolutely enthralled, and Shigeru offers a small smile.
“You’re the only one who gave me an opinion, so...” He trails off, wincing. Was that mean? Did that sound mean? Yamamoto apparently doesn’t think so, giving a hearty laugh.
”You’re gonna make everyone else seem under dressed, Yahaba!” He shifts the camera, showing his faux tuxedo t-shirt. ”I thought Teru would appreciate the humor.”
“Speaking of, where is everyone?” He glances at his computer clock- ah. They’re both five minutes early. “Guess we’re too early.”
”I got too excited!” Yamamoto admits with a laugh, his camera shaking. There’s a blooping noise as another person joins, stepping into the frame to reveal Akaashi. ”’Kaashi!”
“Hello Yamamoto-kun, Yahaba-kun.” Akaashi inclines his head, looking absolutely stunning. Shigeru feels a little awkward next to- across from?- him.
”Are you wearing eyeliner, Akaashi?” Yamamoto asks, leaning on his elbow. His camera shakes again. ”You look great.”
Akaashi nods his head, tilting it to the side so they can see better. His eyeliner is blue and sparkly, making his eyes stand out. It matches nicely with his blue turtleneck, and Shigeru sighs in envy.
”You think they’re gonna be late to their own wedding?” Yamamoto asks, his phone shaking as he props it up.
”That would be pretty on brand for them.” Akaashi comments, and Shigeru nods.
“My guess as to who’s coming on next is... Ennoshita.”
”I would also say Ennoshita-kun.” Akaashi comments, lacing his fingers together. Like Shigeru, he’s sitting at his desk. Shigeru can see a volleyball in the background, and it makes him feel a little strange, peering into Akaashi’s room like this. He casts a (hopefully) discreet glance backwards, ensuring his room is good for guests.
”My money’s on Seguro!” Yamamoto says, bringing Shigeru’s attention back to his phone.
”We’re not betting money, Yamamoto-kun.”
Shigeru laughs, covering his mouth with his hand. “You’re just saying that because you want to see him, right Yamamoto?” He teases.
Yamamoto grins. ”Hell yeah!” He’s interrupted by another bloop. The video stabilizes to reveal Ennoshita, and Shigeru mentally cheers. ”Ah, you were right.”
“Hi Ennoshita.” He greets, lifting a hand. Ennoshita squints at them, settling down on his bed. He’s wearing a nice green button up, his hair swept back from his forehead. “You look nice.”
”Thanks.” Ennoshita greets, sounding tired. ”Where is everyone else?”
”Not here yet.” Akaashi says.
At the same time, Yamamoto says ”They don’t like us.” Ennoshita makes a face.
”Can’t believe they’re going to be late to their own damn wedding.” He mumbles. Shigeru stifles a laugh.
Another bloop announces Sakusa’s arrival, and the call erupts into noise from Yamamoto.
”HOLY FUCK SAKUSAN ACTUALLY SHOWED UP!” He shouts, his audio peaking. Sakusa gives him a disgruntled expression.
”I could leave, if you’d like.” They comment dryly, pulling down their mask. Yamamoto quickly shakes his head, laughing.
”Man Seguro would freak out if they were here.” He comments, grinning widely.
“Well, maybe he should hurry up and get here.” Ennoshita huffs, checking his wrist which doesn’t have a watch. Shigeru laughs a bit at that.
”I’m texting him.” Yamamoto announces, his camera shaking again.
”Jesus Christ.” Sakusa hisses, putting up an arm to shield their eyes. ”You’re going to give us a fucking headache.”
”Sorry!” Yamamoto says cheerfully. There’s the telltale noise of someone joining the call, and he cheers.
”TORA!!!!” Seguro shouts, and Shigeru lowers his volume. He checks his earbuds, making sure he’s not going to disrupt his parents. He’s safe, and he puts them back in.
”SEGURO!!!” Yamamoto cheers, his camera going wild again. It finally settles down with a thud as Yamamoto drops his phone somewhere. They’re treated to a view of Yamamoto’s ceiling before he fixes it. ”Sorry.”
”Good evening everyone!” Seguro greets, waving happily. True to his word, he wore a leather jacket, his non-binary pin stuck to the front.
”I like your jacket, Seguro-san.” Akaashi comments, and Seguro grins.
”Thanks, Kaashi!”
”Looks like we’re just waiting for Shirabu, then.” Ennoshita comments. ”And the idiot duo.”
There are two consecutive beeps as Terushima and Futakuchi join. Yamamoto whistles. ”You guys actually wore dresses!” He grins.
“You look nice.” Shigeru comments, pulling up his script. His hands are sweating again, and he discreetly wipes them on his pants.
”Thanks.” Teru blows them a kiss, flipping his imaginary hair. He had somehow managed to find a small tiara, which was nestled among his bleached hair.
Futakuchi laughs, standing up and showing off his dress, which goes all the way to the floor. ”I feel like a fuckin princess.”
”You look like one too!” Seguro, always the hype man, shoots Futakuchi a thumbs up. ”Very pretty. Both of you.”
“We’re just missing Shirabu, then?” He asks, glancing over at the clock. Shirabu is almost ten minutes late, the asshole.
”How in character of him to skip.” Ennoshita remarks, a dry smile on his face. Akaashi huffs a laugh.
”Should we just go ahead and start?” He asks, eyes darting across the screen. It’s hard to see who everyone is looking at. Curse technology.
”Sure. Yahaba?” He jolts at Futakuchi’s words, eyes darting back to their expectant faces.
“Uh- give me a second.” He pulls up the script again. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join Terushima and Futakuchi in matrimony, which is commended to be honerable among all men-“ He’s cut off by a boo from Yamamoto.
”Boring!” He shouts, and Shigeru sighs.
“Fine. Yada yada, does anyone protest?”
His phone bloops, announcing the arrival of their final person. Of course Shirabu would arrive in the middle of the ceremony.
”Yo.” He greets, face swimming into view. He’s sprawled on the couch, head rested against someone’s chest. And by someone, it most definitely is Semi.
”Shirabu you bastard!” Terushima gasps. ”How dare you bring your boyfriend to my wedding?”
”Hi.” Semi says awkwardly, bending over to appear on frame. Shirabu grins, leaning over and pressing a kiss against his cheek, which makes Terushima and Yamamoto go crazy. Shigeru lowers his volume again.
”Hello Semi-san.” Akaashi says pleasantly. Semi gives him a nervous look.
”Hi Akaashi. You’re literally the only person on this call I’ve already spoken to. Hope I’m not interrupting much.”
Shigeru clears his throat. “You’re not disturbing anything, Semi-san. Your boyfriend is. We were in the middle of the-“ He wrinkles his nose. “Opening words.” He reads.
”Yada yada, does anyone protest?” Futakuchi says, waving his hand dismissively. There’s silence in the call, and Shigeru can see Seguro spinning around in his chair.
“Okay uh- marriage is serious, do you, Futakuchi Kenji, take Terushima Yuuji as your unlawfully wedded husband?”
”Unlawfully? Hell yeah.” Terushima whispers. Futakuchi smirks, before quickly forcing his face to be serious.
”I do.”
“And do you, Terushima Yuuji, take Futakuchi Kenji as your unlawfully wedded husband?”
”Fuck yeah I do.”
Shigeru clears his throat. “You may now kiss the broom.”
”OI!” Futakuchi shouts, and Shigeru fails to hide his snort. ”IT WAS AN HONEST MISTAKE!”
”Yeah but it was hilarious!” Seguro pipes up, and Shigeru bursts out laughing. He’s joined after a few seconds by Yamamoto, who’s laugh is as loud and rambunctious as he imagined. Shigeru can feel the tension easing out of his shoulders, and he pushes his hair back, righting himself.
”You have a nice laugh, Yahaba-kun.” Akaashi says pleasantly, and he can feel his face heat up.
”Yeah yeah, we been knew.” Futakuchi flips his hand. ”Can we get back to the wedding?”
“Right, right.” He scans the website. “Well, you’d usually kiss here-“
Terushima sends an air kiss to the camera, and Futakuchi clutches his heart dramatically before sending one back.
“Okay now it’s-“ He hesitates. “Shit, we skipped the vows-“
”It’s fine.” Terushima cuts off the panic growing in Shigeru’s chest. ”Babe I love you.” He makes another kiss face at Futakuchi.
”Babe that’s gay.” Futakuchi responds, before kissing his hand and blowing it to Teru.
”Only for you, babe.”
Shigeru clears his throat. “I now present you, Mr. Futakuchi and Mr. Terushima. Just- flipped.”
His phone speaker crackles as the other attendees erupt into applause- or really, Seguro and Yamamoto erupt into applause. Akaashi and Ennoshita clap slowly, looking a bit put off by the noise coming from Seguro’s and Yamamoto’s icons. Shirabu and Sakusa, who Shigeru had forgotten was there, don’t clap.
”What a beautiful wedding.” Seguro sobs. It’s a bit hard to tell if their tears are real or faked.
”Um.” Semi’s voice comes from Shirabu’s screen. ”I don’t really know what’s going on but. Congrats?”
Shirabu turns back to the camera. ”Yeah so I’m ditching. See ya.” That’s the only warning they get before Shirabu’s screen goes black, and then he leaves.
”I’m leaving too.” Sakusa says, their eyes darting off screen. ”Have fun.”
”Can’t believe everyone’s leaving.” Seguro pouts, his chin coming to rest in front of the camera. ”You won’t leave me, right Yahaba?” Shigeru flinches at his name suddenly being called.
“Um- I actually have to do homework? Really sorry. Congrats Teru, Futakuchi.” He shoots an awkward thumbs up. Akaashi waving at him is the last thing he sees before he leaves the meeting, exhaling longly.
It was fun, he’ll admit. Fun and a little strange, especially seeing Seguro and Sakusa and Yamamoto and Akaashi as actual moving people.
This groupchat was a good idea, he decides. Meeting new people was a challenge, but this made it easy. And they were all really nice. His phone, left on the side table, pings with a message from the groupchat.
Broom 11:00
Teru sent a picture to the groupchat
TORA: I’m
TORA: literally gonna cry
Twink: FOR THE LAST TIME IT WAS A GENUINE MISTAKE
Akaashi: All I see is a picture of Futakuchi-kun and Terushima-kun, I don’t understand what you’re going on about.
Seguro: ITS OKAY FUTAKUCHI
Seguro: YOURE A VERY NICE LOOKING BROOM
Shigeru smiles, putting his phone down.
Yeah, this was a good idea. He should thank Ennoshita sometime.
Broom 5:26
Seguro: IF I JUMPED OFF THIS ROOF DO YOU THINK MY ARMS WOULD BREAK
Seguro sent a picture to Broom
Twink: Seguro what the fuck?????
Seguro: IM CURIOUS
Seguro: LIKE REALLT CURIOUS
Teru: Eh doesn’t look THAT high
Seguro: YEHA
Seguro: THATS WHAT IM THINKING TOO
Seguro: SO LIKE
Seguro: I WANNA JUMP FROM THIS ROOF TO THAT ONE
Seguro: IT WOULDNT HIRT THAY MUCH IF I FELL RIGHT?
Teru: I don’t think so
Twink: okay it’s still a really bad idea
Twink: but also I’m curious
Teru: for legal reasons I’m telling you not to do it
Seguro: IMMA DO IT
Twink: welp
Twink: I tried to stop them
Teru: if you do it
Teru: which I’m not saying you should
Teru: but if you do
Teru: tell us how it goes
Seguro: WILL DO
Broom 8:36
Ennoshan: what the FUCK
Ennoshan: why would you encourage that?
Ennoshan: they could literally die from that?
Teru: okay looking back
Teru: that was a stupid idea
Teru: I would like to partially blame Futakuchi
Twink: bruh wtf
Twink: but yeah that was kinda stupid
Ennoshan: oh my god
Ennoshan: it doesn’t look that high but oh my god
Ennoshan: @Seguro are you alright?
Seguro: I’m fine! Everything’s good here!
Twink:
Teru:
Ennoshan: who the fuck are you
Teru: oh my god he hit his head so hard he lost his capitals
Twink: holy fuck
Seguro: Ah!
Seguro: Akihiko usually types like THIS doesn’t he lol
Ennoshan: so you’re not Seguro?
Seguro: Nope!
Seguro: Should’ve said that from the beginning whoops!
Teru: wait lemme guess
Teru: it’s the nice libero guy
Seguro: Bingo!!!!
Seguro: I’m Akama! Nice to meet you guys! :))))
Ennoshan: this is so strange coming from Seguro’s name
Ennoshan: but nice to meet you Akama
Teru: we didn’t kill seguro right
Twink: they’re fine right
Seguro sent a picture to Broom
Seguro: They knocked themselves out on the pavement!
Seguro: By tripping, it was really funny
Seguro: dont tell them I said that lol
Teru: oh my god
Seguro: Reminds me of the time he got stuck in the dumpster and Numai-san had to drag him out lol
Seguro: or the time they got stuck in the middle of the lake because they swam out but couldn’t swim back in
Twink: So basically
Twink: Seguro’s a madlad
Seguro: haha yep!
Yahabitch: Again, why are you guys talking without me
Yahabitch: I feel so excluded
Seguro: hello!
Yahabitch:
Yahabitch: what the fuck happened to Seguro?
Seguro: ahaha wait
Seguro: HELLO YAHABITCH-SAN
Ennoshan: omg
Ennoshan: that’s exactly them
Yahabitch: I’m so confused
Seguro: I’m Akama!
Seguro: Akihikos currently indisposed at the moment lol
Yahabitch: Just read up, what the fuck @Teru @Twink
Teru: in my defense
Teru: I didn’t think they’d actually do it
Twink: I have no excuse
Twink: I feel really bad
Seguro: Ah! He’s up! :)
Seguro: it was nice meeting you guys have a nice day!
Seguro: DATA INCONCLUSIVE
Seguro: I NEITHER JUMPED THE GAP OR FELL
Teru: Seguro I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have encouraged that :(
Seguro: ITS OKAY I TRIPPED BEFORE I GOT THERE
Seguro: THERE IS NOW A BUMP ON MY FOREHEAD LOL
Seguro sent a picture to Broom
Yahabitch: Try putting some ice on that, Seguro
Yahabitch: Also if you have a headache, a warm, wet towel over your eyes helps
Ennoshan: Yahaba you’re surprisingly good with wounds
Yahabitch: Well
Yahabitch: I have a lot of practice
TORA: SEGUROOOOOOO
Seguro: TORA
TORA: what happend to you r head?????
Seguro: I TRIPPED
Twink: tripped is a bit of an understatement, but yeah
Broom 9:37
TORA: Y’know what I’ve been thinking, futakkun
Twink: What’s up?
TORA: you’re not REALLY. A Twink, are you?
Twink:
Teru: is he not?
Akaashi: according to Urban Dictionary, a Twink is usually considered a homosexual male with attractive, boyish qualities. Typically from the ages of 18-25, and often thought as a young, white, fashionable male.
Teru: oh hey akkun
TORA: thank you AKKUN
Akaashi: No problem.
Akaashi: But is this nickname going to stick?
Yahabitch: At least you GET a nickname
Teru: lol
Ennoshan: well, he’s not 18 OR white so
TORA: he’s not fashionable either!
Twink: I’m-
Twink: r00d *said britishly*
Teru: sorry babe, you gotta change your name 😔😔😔😔😔
Twink: damn ok
Twink changed their name to Futakuchi
Yahabitch: Oh my god
Yahabitch: you’re so uncreative, Futakuchi
Futakuchi: I’m???? I don’t want to hear that from you, you didn’t even pick your name
Ennoshan: I think Futakuchi is relatively Twink-like
Ennoshan: to be honest
Seguro: ARENT TWINKS TINY
Seguro: HES TOO TALL TO BE A TWINK
Yahabitch: Shirabu, on the other hand, is a perfect twink
Shitabu: oh shut the fuck up, you giraffe
Yahabitch: what? Sorry, I couldn’t hear you from down there
Ennoshan: guys please
Futakuchi: Okay quick someone get me a cool name
Teru: uhhhhhh
TORA: I really think yo ur e asking the wrong people
Seguro: WHY DO YOU KEEP ADDING SPACES RANDOMLY TORA
TORA: it’s not on PORPUSE
TORA: PURPUSE
TORA: purpos?
Ennoshan: close enough
Yahabitch: Just use Futakkun, if you really want a cool nickname
Shitabu: or go back to being a Twink
Shitabu: white twink -lookin ass
Yahabitch: That really doesn’t work, Shirabu
Futakuchi: I’m not even white
Ennoshan: none of us are white, you’re not special
Yahabitch: I’m white!
Yahabitch: Like a quarter
Ennoshan: wait really?
Yahabitch: my father’s father is like. French? I think
Futakuchi: this isn’t about you Yahabitch
Yahabitch: ouch
Futakuchi: IM not white
Futakuchi: I’m literally Hispanic bro
Yahabitch: Make it Hispanic Twink then
Futakuchi: nah thas too long
Futakuchi changed their name to Twink
Seguro: WELL
Seguro: THAT SURE WAS A WASTED TEN MINUTES
Yahabitch: All my good advice
Yahabitch: Down the drain
Twink: oh shuddap
Twink: anything involving me is intriguing and entertaining
Teru: got that right babe
Ennoshan: well, it was entertaining
Ennoshan: ish
Seguro: ITS OKAY ENNOSHAN YOU DONT HAVE TO BE NICE
Broom 7:38
TORA: Y’know what I realized
TORA: I haven’t heard from sakusan in a hot minute
Teru: they blocked us 😔
TORA: (*´Д｀*)
Twink: We were too cool for them 😎
Sakusa: I’m literally right here.
Teru: NANI?!
Sakusa: I hate you so much.
Sakusa: And I know I’m going to regret this so much.
Sakusa: So for the record, I am not doing this through my own free will.
Teru: wha?
Sakusa added Miya to Broom
Miya: YOOOOOO
TORA: HOLY FUCK
Yahabitch: Miya?
Yahabitch: As in, Miya Atsumu?
Yahabitch: Last year’s ‘nations best setter AND server’?
Miya: the one and only~
Miya: Thanks Omi-Omi! 🙏🙏😘
Yahabitch: Oikawa-san would be crying right now
Shitabu: And you aren’t?
Shitabu: Dont you have a Miya Atsumu poster over your bed
Yahabitch: Not ANYMORE
Yahabitch: my parents took that, remember?
Miya: so uh
Miya: who’s the fanboy?
Miya:
Miya: Omi-Omi?
Sakusa: Why do you assume I’m helping you?
Sakusa: I’m leaving, you’re on your own.
Miya: OMI
Yahabitch: I’m Yahaba Shigeru! I’m also a setter, I’m a huge fan of your work.
Shitabu: you say that like he’s an actor or something
Miya: ah
Miya: yer uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Yahabitch: Aoba Johsai’s setter
Miya: OH YEAH
Miya: KAWA’S PROTOGEE
Yahabitch: ... Yes I get that a lot.
Miya: can’t believe ya had a captains groupchat without me 😭
Akaashi: Ah. Miya-kun, hello.
Miya: KAASHI
Miya: WHY DIDNTCHA INVITE ME??????
Akaashi: I thought Ginjima-kun was Inarizaki’s captain?
Miya: I see yer as rude as ever, Kaashi
Miya: ya didn’t invite Gin either, didja?
Akaashi: Touché.
Miya changed their name to Atsumu
Atsumu: I’m honestly hurt
Atsumu: lemme guess- is Karasuno’s captain here?
Yahabitch: @Ennoshan
Ennoshan: Oh great another person
Ennoshan: and it’s Inarizaki’s setter
Ennoshan: I thought the wing spiker guy would be captain?
Atsumu: RUDE
Atsumu: ILL HAVE YA KNOW IM A PERFECTLY GOOD CAPTAIN
Atsumu: YER JUST SALTY
Ennoshan: that would be Shirabu
Shitabu: I’d complain but I’m not Futakuchi
Twink: unprovoked???????????
Twink: I don’t even complain that much?
Twink: targeting
Twink: this is homophobia
Teru: babe you’re complaining rn
Twink: SHIT
TORA: call that ‘caught in the Shirabu trap’
Miya: omg
Miya: can’t believe ya made a groupchat without Michiru?
Akaashi: Oh no
Yahabitch: oh no?
Miya added Usuri to Broom
Akaashi: OH NO
Usuri: ??? Hello!!!
Miya: Michiru!
Usuri: :D Atsumu-kun!!! Whats this???
Miya: Captains groupchat
Miya: the assholes didn’t invite us
Usuri: That’s so sad! D:
Usuri: Hi Keiji-kun!!!
Akaashi: Hello Usuri-san.
Yahabitch: Akaashi you know them?
Akaashi: He’s Mujinazaka’s setter and captain.
Akaashi: We narrowly beat them during last years Spring Tournament.
Usuri: Haha yep!!!
Usuri: That was a fun match!
Usuri: But next time, we’ll win, Keiji-kun!
Ennoshan: so uh
Ennoshan: we should probably do introductions?
Usuri: No need!!!
TORA: no need?
Usuri: I already know who y’all are! :D
Shitabu:
Shitabu: I’m just gonna say it, that’s freaky
Usuri: Is it?
Yahabitch: A little
Teru: I call bs
Teru: no way they know who we are
Usuri: Well, not ALL of yall, but I have studied each prefecture’s finals and semi-finals, ta make sure we’re ready for any dark horses that could appear this season!
Usuri: For example, @Ennoshan is Ennoshita Chikara-kun, captain and wing spiker of Karasuno, #1, ya made it all the way to quarters of last years Spring Tourney!
Ennoshan: holy shit
Usuri: @Akaashi is of course Akaashi Keiji-kun, who we lost against in the quarters! They got beat in the semis, by Ichibayashi! Captain and setter, #2
Akaashi: Usuri-san you really don’t have to go so in depth.
Usuri: This ain’t all that in depth! I also got notebooks on team weaknesses, strengths, things to exploit, etc!
TORA: thats terrifying????
Usuri: is it?
Usuri: Sorry :(((
Yahabitch: Wait now I’m curious, what do you have on the rest of us?
Usuri: You’re Yahaba Shigeru-kun, #1 captain and setter of Aoba Johsai! I’m really curious ta see how far ya get this inter-high, considerin ya lost to Karasuno last spring in the semis of the prefecture. Plus the loss of yer captain, ace, and other third years
Yahabitch: ... ouch
Usuri: @TORA is Yamamoto Taketora-kun, captain and ace of Nekoma! Jersey #4, yall lost in the third round of Nationals! Impressive for a new team!
TORA: heh thanks
Usuri: @Shitabu is Shirabu Kenjirou-kun, Shiratorizawa’s setter and captain, #2! We’ve had a few matches together, considerin our former aces! But sadly ya lost in the finals of the prefecture
Twink: DO ME
Usuri:
Usuri: I dunno?
Usuri: I’m really sorry, your name gives nothin away
Atsumu: lmao 😂 😂
Twink: I’m Futakuchi?
Usuri: still nothin
Usuri: have ya been to nationals?
Teru: oof
Usuri: I dunno you either, @Teru
Twink: HA
Twink: if I have to suffer I’m dragging you down with me, babe
Teru: babe...
Seguro: I DOUBT YOU KNOW ME EITHER BUT
Seguro: HI USURI-KUN
Usuri: :0 HELLO!!!
Usuri: I dunno who you are butcha seem cool!!!
Seguro: IM SEGURO AKIHIKO FROM NOHEBI ACADEMY
Seguro: NUMBER ONE ACE AND CAPTAIN
Seguro: WE MADE IT TO QUARTERS OF THE TOKYO PRELIMS
Shitabu: why are you just giving out your information? That’s such a bad idea
Usuri: I SEE
Usuri: hope to see ya at nationals this year!!! :DDD
TORA: man those smiley faces are actually kinda terrifying
Twink: that’s rich coming from you, Mr. (´༎ຶོρ༎ຶོ`)
TORA: HEY
TORA: kaomojis are cute
Usuri: I think they’re cute too!!!
TORA: THANK you
TORA: friendship ended with Futakuchi
TORA: Usuri is now my best friend
Usuri: :DDD
Usuri: I’m glad!
Yahabitch: Do you even know who Usuri-kun is?
TORA: absolutely not! ƪ(˘⌣˘)ʃ
Usuri sent a picture to Broom
TORA: WAIT
TORA: YOURE MUJINA’S SETTER
Usuri: haha yep!
Shitabu: we’ve already established this?
TORA: WAIT KENMA WOULD LOVE THIS
TORA: we watched your match against Fukurodani and Kenma was really impressed by you
Usuri: Really??? Kenma-kun??? :DDD
TORA: yeah he was all like ‘is this guy famous?’
TORA: and I was like ‘nah idk who he is’
TORA: and he was like ‘wow this guy is super evil’
Usuri: I get that a lot D:
TORA: BUT LIKE
TORA: in a good way
Twink: wtf
Atsumu: okay so uh
Atsumu: Michiru might know alla yall, but I’ve got no idea who ANY of yall are
Atsumu: cept for Karasuno’s captain
Yahabitch: Well, I think Usuri-kun managed to list most of us?
Yahabitch: But I’m Yahaba Shigeru
Shitabu: I’m not introducing myself again
Atsumu: nice to meetcha, ‘not introducing myself again’
Shitabu: I will literally murder you
Ennoshan: please dont
Ennoshan: Ennoshita Chikara, but you already knew that
Akaashi: Akaashi Keiji, from Fukurodani.
Twink: and I’m Futakuchi
Twink: you’ll know soon enough
Twink: because Dateko’s beating EVERYONE and getting to nationals
Yahabitch: Excuse you?
Teru: IM TERUSHIMA
Teru: from Johzenji
Teru: I’m having a lotta fun in this chat!
Usuri: :))) Can’t wait ta be friends with alla y’all!
Broom 12:48
Atsumu: so uh
Atsumu: why’s the chat name broom
Usuri: it’s an inside joke!
Usuri: from when Kenji-kun an Yuuji-kun got married!!!
Atsumu: they got married???????
Atsumu: wait why do ya know that
Usuri: I scrolled up!!!
Ennoshan: wtf
Ennoshan: Usuri that’s actually terrifying
Usuri: is it?
Usuri: I gotta know what yallre talkin about, so I’m always in the loop!
Yahabitch: THIS guy knows what’s going on
Usuri: haha yeah!
Usuri: that’s.
Usuri: that’s why I do it
Yahabitch: No I mean-
Yahabitch: That was a really good accidental joke huh
Atsumu: so uh
Atsumu: yallre married??????
Atsumu: which onesre Kenji and Yuuji again
Teru: That would be Twink and me, respectively
Atsumu: huh
Atsumu: what do brooms gotta do with gettin married?
Atsumu: also arent ya too young to get married
Twink: yes
Twink: yes we are
Seguro: WAS THAT A PHINEAS AND FERB REFERENCE
Twink: yes it was, my excitable friend
Seguro: NICE
Atsumu: ?????
Shitabu: Miya’s right, chat names stupid
Yahabitch: Shitabu? Admitting someone else is right?
Shitabu: bold words for a guy I have blackmail on
Yahabitch: so? You’re not special
Shitabu sent a picture to Broom
Shitabu: pictured- Yahaba crying at his tenth birthday party, when his parents refused to allow him to invite any friends over
Shitabu: and then I slammed his face into the cake
Ennoshan: literally why would you do that?
Yahabitch: TWO CAN PKAY AT THAT GAME
Yahabitch sent a picture to Broom
Yahabitch: FOR YOUR CONSIDERATION
Yahabitch: SHITABU AT TOKYO DISNEYLAND
Yahabitch: CRYING BECAUSE HIS PARENTS WOULDNT BUY HIM HIS FIFTH COTTON CANDY OF THE DAY
Yahabitch: AND THEN HE THREW UP IN THE CAR
Usuri: haha wow!
Twink: I feel like revealing all of this to Usuri is an awful idea but on the other hand...
Twink: this is entertaining as fuck
Atsumu: so uh
Atsumu: yallre childhood friends?
Yahabitch: yep!
Shitabu: unfortunately
Yahabitch: says the guy who cried for a month when my parents wouldn’t let me see you
Shitabu: fake news, I say
Usuri: hm
Usuri: childhood best friends to rivals to lovers
Usuri: 23k slow burn
Shitabu: dont write fan fiction about us what the heck
Shitabu: sPEAKING OF
Yahabitch: NO
Yahabitch has kicked Shitabu from Broom
Ennoshan: you really gotta stop doing that, Yahaba
Teru: haha nice
Seguro: RIP SHITABU
Seguro: ID SAY HED BE MISSED BUT NOT REALLY
TORA: I think it’s so funny when people think Seguro is the nice one
TORA: they’re like
TORA: a six on the scale
Yahabitch: I still don’t think I completely understand that scale
Akaashi: Are we just not going to let Shirabu back into the group chat?
Ennoshan: ehhhhhh
Twink: real question is- does Shirabu WANT to be added to the group chat?
Teru: no, I really don’t think so
Yahabitch: no
Seguro: NO
Sakusa: Oh, so you’ll let Shirabu leave but not me? I see how it is
Seguro: HOLY FUCK
TORA: you really gotta stop doing that sakusan
Atsumu: OMI-OMI
Atsumu: wait, Sakusan?
Atsumu: that’s adorable
Sakusa: Please don’t call me that.
Atsumu: TOO LATE
Atsumu changed Sakusa’s name to Sakusan
Sakusan: Joy.
Sakusan changed Atsumu’s name to Piss hair
Piss hair: OMI-OMI
Sakusan: It’s just retribution, Miya, deal with it.
Twink: hm
Teru: hm?
Twink: @Piss hair @Sakusan
Twink: are you two
Twink: yknow
Twink: *makes the gesture for bitter rivals secretly pining for each other but too absorbed in their feud to notice until one inevitably dies and the other cradles their lifeless body and sobs about all the what ifs*
Sakusan: Ew.
Usuri: that was really detailed, Kenji-kun!!!
Piss hair: not at all, Futacchi!
Piss hair: Me n Omi are actually datin!
Sakusan: Again, ew.
Twink: WHAT
Teru: WHAT
TORA: WHAT Σ('◉⌓◉’)
Seguro: W H A T
Ennoshan: WHAT is that Tora honestly wth
Usuri: y’all didn’t know that? Haha
Usuri: makes me feel a lil better bout bein excluded
Usuri: they’ve been datin since last year!!!
Piss hair: MICHIRU
Piss hair: I WANTED TO TELL EM
Usuri: Sorry!
Piss hair: yeah anyways haha, I got a date and y’all don’t
Twink: *gasp*
Twink: QUICK ADD SHITABU BACK
Teru: AYE AYE CAPTAIN
Teru added Shirabu to Broom
Shirabu: Took you long enough
Twink: SHIRABU TELL THEM ALL ABOUT YOUR BOYFRIEND
Shirabu: why
Teru: Sakusan and Atsumu are dating >:(
Piss hair: you got a boyfriend, Shirabu?
Piss hair: that’s cute
Shirabu: it is, actually
Shirabu sent a picture to Broom
Shirabu sent a picture to Broom
Shirabu sent a picture to Broom
Shirabu sent a picture to Broom
Piss hair: WAIT
Shirabu sent a picture to Broom
Shirabu sent a picture to Broom
Shirabu sent a picture to Broom
Shirabu sent a picture to Broom
Shirabu sent a picture to Broom
Ennoshan: holy shit
Ennoshan: why do you have so many photos of Semi-san???
Shirabu: because, my dear Ennoshita
Shirabu: he’s my ✨✨boyfriend✨✨
Yahabitch: erk
Yahabitch: I feel like I took more damage from that than Atsumu-san
Piss hair: wow
Piss hair: Omi-omi never lets me take pictures of them
Piss hair: :(((((
Shirabu: wow
Shirabu: that must really suck for you
Shirabu sent a picture to Broom
Shirabu sent a picture to Broom
Shirabu sent a picture to Broom
Shirabu sent a picture to Broom
Twink: STOP STOP HES ALREADY DEAD
Teru: wow Shirabu really sucks hih
TORA: thats like
TORA: his one prominent quality
Seguro changed Shirabu’s name to Shitabu
Seguro: BALANCE IS RESTORED
Yahabitch: now I’m really sad, what the heck
Yahabitch: you guys make me feel so single
Usuri: I’m guessin now would be a bad time to tell ya I’ve ALSO got a boyfriend?
Yahabitch: YES
Yahabitch: NO MORE BOYFRIEND HAVING
Teru: uh oh Yahaba snapped
Ennoshan: the trick to not getting sad about your crush not liking you
Ennoshan: is realizing you never stood a chance in the first place and that every time they were ever nice to you was because they only ever saw you as a friend and they don’t like you back, at least not in the way you like them
Teru: Ennoshan?!?
Yahabitch: I’ll drink to that
Akaashi: cheers
Seguro: I KNOW THIS IS SERIOUS BUT
Seguro: THE MENTAL IMAGE OF YOU GUYS HOLDING WINE GLASSES OF NATCHAN AND SOLEMNLY DRINKING IT
Seguro: ITS PRETTY FUNNY
Ennoshan: if only natchan were real
Ennoshan: my one true solace
Piss hair: uh
Piss hair: yallre really goin through it hih
Seguro: INSTEAD OF BEING SAD
Seguro: WE SHOULD MAKE FUN OF ATSUMU AND USURI FOR SAYING YALL
Twink: I’d agree with you but as someone who also says y’all I’d be a hypocrite
TORA: a WHAT
Yahabitch: I will gladly make fun of anyone who uses y’all in everyday language
Yahabitch: stupid fucking country folk
Twink: YOU TOO, YAHABA?????
Ennoshan: yall is a bit funny
Ennoshan: I wasn’t going to say anything earlier but.
Twink: ENNOSHAN
Twink: I TRUSTED YOU
Twink: @Teru babe don’t betray me now
Teru: uhhhhh
Teru: I think y’all is funky fresh
Teru: I like the vibes
Twink:
Twink: we’re divorced
TORA: instead of dividing y’all and not y’all’s, we should unite to face off whatever the fuck Teru just said
Yahabitch: I agree, that was disgusting
Teru: WAIT BABE
Teru: THE CHILDREN
Yahabitch: ah yes
Yahabitch: another reminder that I’m unwanted
Sakusan: I feel like I’m on drugs reading this.
Sakusan: Is it crack?
Sakusan: Is it crack you smoke?
Teru: THE ONLY DRUFS I TAKE ARE DOPAMINE AND SEROTONIN
Teru: and also Adderall
Twink: so true, bestie
Broom 2:39
Teru: FELLAS
Teru: IS IT GAY
Twink: yes
Teru: shut up let me finish
Teru: FELLAS IS IT GAY TO WAKE UP AT SIX IN THE MORNING EVERY MORNING TO GO JOGGING WITH YOUR CAPTAIN WHO ALREADY GRADUATED AND DO IT EVERY SINGLE DAY WITHOUT FAIL
Twink: is this an Akaashi call out post
Twink: because it’s currently two in the morning, I doubt he’s awake
Seguro: YOU KNOW WHO IS AWAKE
Teru: is it you
Seguro: ITS ME
Twink: so you really DONT sleep, huh?
Seguro: NOPE
Twink: dang
Broom 3:02
Teru: chats dead 😔
Twink: yeah that’s
Twink: cause it’s three in the morning
Usuri: Hello!!!
Teru: USURI
Usuri: Yuuji-kun!!!
Teru: The fact that you know my name is still a little freaky but hey!!!
Usuri: Sorry!!!
Twink: the fact that I can /feel/ the energy through the screen is concerning
Seguro: I THINK ITS COOL
Twink: you don’t count you’re always screaming
Teru: Futakkuns just a hater
Teru: he doesn’t deserve our coolness
Twink: what coolness
Teru: divorce
Seguro: SINCE ENNOSHITAS NOT HERE
Seguro: ILL DO THE HONORS
Seguro: *ENNOSHITA VOICE* TAKE A SHOT EVERY TIME TERU AND FUTAKUCHI GET DIVORCED
Usuri: That’d sure be a lotta alcohol!!!
Seguro: ITS OKAY WE DO SHOTS OF NATCHAN
Usuri: I love natchan!!!
Seguro: ME TOO
Twink: imagine
Twink: imagine not being allergic to oranges
Teru: it’s okay babe
Teru: natchan has apple juice too
Twink: imagine
Twink: imagine liking apples
Usuri: grapes?
Twink: imagine
Seguro: OKAY WHAT THE FUCK
Twink: I DONT LIKE FRUITS OKAY
Teru: are you okay babe?
Teru: do you have scurvy?
Twink: NO I DONT HAVE SCURVY
Usuri: butcha dont eat ANY fruits???
Usuri: how can you live like that???
Twink: it’s not that hard
Teru: tell me Futakkun
Teru: do you like tomatoes
Twink: eh
Teru: WHAT THE FUCK
Seguro: OKAY OKAY
Seguro: DO YOU LIKE WATERMELON
Twink: sometimes ig
Usuri: Kenji-kun
Usuri: when was the last time ya ate a fruit???
Twink: uhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Twink: like three years ago maybe
Twink: they had these candied apples at my middle school fair
Seguro: WHAT THE FUCK
Teru: I have to agree with that assessment
Teru: WHAT THE FUCK FUTAKKUN
Twink: is it really that bad????? I’m not SICK or anything, I’m more of a meat guy anyways
Usuri: it’s okay Kenji-kun
Usuri: I’ll come to your funeral!!!
Twink: THATS NOT COMFORTING?????
Teru: that’s it
Teru: Futakkun I’m coming over with a fruit tray tomorrow
Seguro: YOU MEAN TODAY?
Seguro: ITS THREE IN THE MORING
Teru: right
Teru: better watch out, Futakuchi Keiji
Twink: now I’m terrified
Seguro: SO I GUESS
Seguro: I GUESS YOU CANT CALL HIM FRUITY
Teru: Seguro this is why you’re my favorite
Teru changed Twink’s name to Fruitless
Teru: tell me, Futakuchi
Teru: do you like cherries
Fruitless: I’m really disliking this name
Fruitless: no
Fruitless: also you calling me that is terrifuing
Usuri changed the chat name to Kenji-kun eat some fruits!!!
Usuri: okay gtg now, good luck, Yuuji-kun!!!
Teru: THANK you Usuri
Kenji-kun eat some fruits!!! 5:29
Ennoshan: what the hell happened here
Keiji-kun eat some fruits!!! 10:34
Akaashi sent a photo to Kenji-kun eat some fruits!!!
Akaashi: Look I found a picture of Shirabu-kun.
Yahabitch: I’m-
Shitabu: haha
Shitabu: funny
Shitabu: and original
TORA: I mean, you ARE salty as fuck
Seguro: I DONT GET IT
Usuri: it’s a salt shaker, n Kenjirou-kun is salty!!!
Seguro: OH
Seguro: YEAHT THATS FUNNY
Ennoshan: Hhskalabsjal
Teru: Ennoshan ngl thas an ugly ass key smash
Ennoshan:
Ennoshan: is there a proper keysmash?
Teru: yeah like
Teru: alsjsllals
Piss hair: that’s still really ungly
Fruitless: ungly
Yahabitch: ungly
Teru: ungly
TORA: TYPO IN THE GROUPCHAF
Piss hair: WHAT
Piss hair: we literally Typo all the time???
Piss hair: you literally typoed calling me out??????
Sakusan: Doesn’t matter, typo in the groupchat.
Piss hair: you too, omi-omi????
Fruitless changed the groupchat name to Ungly
Shitabu: that’s what Yahaba is
Yahabitch: WHAT DID I DO TO YOU
Shitabu: stole my ds in fifth grade
Yahabitch: I DID NOT
Shitabu: DID TOO
Yahabitch: I LITERALLT HAD MY OWN
Piss hair: look Yahaba typoed too!!! Why can’t you bully him
Ennoshan: you’re a better target
Piss hair: DISCRIMINATION
Akaashi: Somethings been bothering me.
Shitabu: is it Yahaba’s unglyness
Yahabitch: KENJIROU
Fruitless: whatsup, Akkun?
Akaashi: Usuri-kun, you said you researched every prefecture’s finals and semi finals?
Usuri: yep!!!
Akaashi: that’s 47 prefectures, correct?
Usuri: mhm!!!
Yahabitch: holy crap
Akaashi: And that’s three teams per prefecture, yes?
Usuri: Yeah!!!
Akaashi: so that’s 141 teams?
Usuri: If ya count my prefecture, yep!
Teru: you researched
Teru: 141 teams
Teru: on the off chance you’d face them at nationals????
Usuri: is that so weird?
Ennoshan: a little
TORA: YES
TORA: that’s too much work, I can’t even research the teams INSIDE my prefecture
Akaashi: Does Fukunaga-kun do that for you?
TORA:
TORA: maybe
Yahabitch: so wait
Yahabitch: you don’t research inside your prefecturw?
Usuri: well, I know who im gonna face inside the prefecture, but idk who’s gonna win in other prefectures
Usuri: I’ve already got dirt on all the other teams from previous captains!
Piss hair: callin intel dirt just makes ya seem menacin, Michiru
Usuri: no, I mean dirt!!!
Fruitless: I’m terrified
Teru: terrified and also a little turned on
Usuri: thanks but I’m taken!!! :)))
Teru: damn
Ennoshan: you mentioned a boyfriend earlier, who is it?
Usuri: Wakatsu-san!!! Or previous captain n ace!!!
TORA: KIRYUU WAKATSU?????
Usuri: yep!!!
TORA: I had a huge crush on him second year
TORA: but like
TORA: a man crush
Fruitless: you sure it wasn’t just a normal crush
TORA: uhhhhhh
Akaashi: Didn’t you mention wanting to do your hair like his?
Yahabitch: I feel like that’d get too busy
Seguro: I THINK ITD LOOK COOL
TORA: THANK you Seguro ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ
Shitabu: you already have a Mohawk, aren’t you satisfied?
TORA:
TORA: :(
Yahabitch: You’re one to talk, ruler bangs
Teru: oof
Fruitless: oof
Fruitless: god I hate this name can I PLEASE change it
Usuri: eat a fruit and we’ll see, Kenji-kun!!!
Fruitless: ugh
Fruitless: wait
Fruitless sent a picture to Ungly
Fruitless: happy?
Teru: one singular grape does not count
Teru: where did you even find a single grape?
Fruitless: stole it from a supermarket
Yahabitch: Futakuchi!!!!
Fruitless: what?
Fruitless: what’re they gonna do, arrest me?
Fruitless: over a grape?
Yahabitch: it’s still not good to steal
Shitabu: say that to my ds
Yahabitch: I DIDNT STEAL IT STOP BLAMING ME
Yahabitch: wait actually
Yahabitch: the blue one? With the squirtle sticker on the side
Shitabu: YOU DID STEAL IT
Shitabu: I’m telling your mom you broke her antique vase
Yahabitch: NO
Yahabitch: I think Aoki has it, I’ll see if I can get it back from him.
Shitabu: likely story
Usuri: this is so amusin
Usuri: feel like I’m watchin a drama or somethin
Piss hair: borin ass drama
Usuri: :0
Usuri: ya don’t like dramas?
Teru: I do!!!!!
Usuri: :D !!!
Usuri: Have ya seen the one with the two guys on the cruise ship?
Teru: the one with the love rival in the big pink dress and a HORRIBLE haircut?
Ennoshan:
Ennoshan: couldn’t you guys just- say the name of the drama?
Ennoshan: I know which one you’re talking about, but-
Teru: dont wanna get copyrighted, Ennoshan
Ennoshan: this is a private groupchat?
Fruitless: government is always watching
TORA: how was the grape
Fruitless: just threw up in the toilet, think I’m allerguc to hrapes
Seguro: THIS ISSO SAD
Yahabitch: oh my god go to the hospital
Shitabu: unfortunately Yahabitch is right, if you’re really allergic you should get tested and make sure
Fruitless: Yahaba and Shirabu? Agreeing? Huh
Teru: I think I saw a pig fly earlier
Shitabu: shut up
Ungly 12:00
Fruitless sent a picture to Ungly
Fruitless: am allergic to all citrus, grapes, peaches, and apparently kiwis
Fruitless: no fruits for me
TORA: mango?
Fruitless: never tried a mango
Akaashi: Arent you Hispanic, Futakuchi-kun?
Fruitless: dont stereotype me
Fruitless: I’ve never actually like
Fruitless: BEEN to Argentina
Teru: does Argentina have mangoes?
Fruitless: dont ask me
Ennoshan: Argentina has nice beaches, doesn’t it?
Yahabitch: Oikawa-san went to Argentina
Yahabitch: He invited me to visit, but it’s hard with school
Shitabu: stop bragging
Yahabitch: IM LITERALLY NOT
Piss hair: rip to futacchi tho
Piss hair: enjoy your scurvy
Fruitless: shut up I get plenty of vitamin d
Teru: vitamin d for dick!
Yahabitch: oh my god
Ennoshan:
Ennoshan: you mean vitamin c?
Ennoshan: that’s what’s in citrus
Akaashi: Vitamin D is what you get from the sun, Terushima-kun.
Piss hair: bananas have a lotta potassium
Ennoshan: that’s. Irrelevant, but yes
Shitabu: potassium isn’t a vitamin
Yahabitch: isn’t it?
Usuri: Potassium’s K on the elemental table!!!
Ennoshan: potassium’s a mineral
Teru: @Usuri you mean the periodic table????
Seguro: THIS CONVERSATION IS A TRAINWRECL
TORA: I was in a car wreck once
Ennoshan: again, irrelevant, but are you okay????
TORA: yaah I was like five
Yahabitch: Sakusan was right when they said trying to follow a conversation with you guys is like being on drugs
Teru: stay in drugs, don’t do school kids
Piss hair: 😢
Piss hair: I miss Omi-Omi
Fruitless: I’d laugh but it hurts to exist
Akaashi: Futakuchi-kun I am so sorry.
Ennoshan: I bet Sakusan is just lurking, that’s what they usually do
Piss hair: OMI-OMI TEXT ME BACK
Sakusan: Nah.
Piss hair: OMI
Fruitless: oof
Usuri: Kenji-kun!!! How’s the hospital food???
Fruitless:
Fruitless: why would I try the hospital food I’m allergic to ten bajillion things
Teru: my question is
Teru: how couldn’t U tell you were allergic
TORA: tag yourself in the inconsistent use of u and you
Fruitless: I just thought it was normal to get orange sweats?
Teru: @TORA stfu 😤
Yahabitch: oh my god
Akaashi: Futakuchi-kun I’m so concerned for your health.
Usuri: Kenji-kun, you gotta try the mashed potatoes!!! They’re so good
Fruitless: again I’m not eating here
Fruitless: I’m literally leaving
Usuri: :(((
Seguro: LOOK WHAT YOU DID
Seguro: YOU MADE HIM SAD
Fruitless:
Fruitless: not to copy Yahaba but
Fruitless: oh my god
Sakusan: I feel like I’m on crack every time I open this chat.
Sakusan: why haven’t I left?
Seguro: BECAUSE YOU LOVE US?
Sakusan: right, because you’d just keep adding me even if I tried to leave.
Sakusan: could you at least. Have one conversation and not three at the same time?
Usuri: No promises!!!
Ungly 11:32
Fruitless: hey how many marshmallows do you think I could fit in my mouth?
Yahabitch: is this what we’ve stooped to?
Yahabitch: referencing internet memes?
Teru: yes
Fruitless: answer the damn question
Fruitless: I’m serious
Fruitless: I’ve got a bag of marshmallows and no sense of self preservation
Teru: my record is thirty six
Seguro: THIRTY SIX
Teru: yeha
Seguro: BUT LAST YEAR THERE WERE THIRTY SEVEN
Ennoshan: Harry Potter?
Seguro: TEAH
Ennoshan: good movies, too bad the author of the books is a transphobe
Ennoshan: like, a 6/10
Ennoshan: good directing choices, but a lot of things were cut and also influenced by JKR’s ideals.
Akaashi: Ennoshita-kun you’re very passionate about movies, aren’t you.
Ennoshan: it’s my hobby
Fruitless: currently have twelve, getting hard to breathe
TORA: YOU CAN DO IT
Akaashi: I worry about your health, Futakuchi-kun.
Yahabitch: Akaashi’s right, you don’t eat fruits, you shove marshmallows into your mouth, I’m almost afraid of your other dietary choices.
Fruitless: yeah yeah, hate on Futakuchi
Fruitless: yallre just jealous
TORA: yall
Shitabu: the only thing I’m jealous of is the fact that you’ll die first and not Yahaba
Yahabitch: what the fuck Shirabu?
Fruitless: IM NOT DYING ANY TIME SOON
Fruitless: DAMN
Piss hair: how many ya got, Futacchi?
Fruitless: marshmallows? Seventeen
Usuri: marshmallows make me throw up!!!
Fruitless: thank you Usuri
Usuri: No problem!!!
Fruitless: nineteen and feeling like isuri
Yahabitch: dont push yourself too much
Fruitless: thats rich coming from you
Yahabitch: ouch
Shitabu: that one didn’t even come from me, I’m shocked
Fruitless: oh my god I’m becoming shirabu
Fruitless: my worst nightmare
Yahabitch: we really don’t need two shirabus
Fruitless: at twenty now, tears are coming out of my eyes
Piss hair: so, cryin?
Fruitless: NO
Fruitless: MY EYES ARE WATERING
Usuri: so cryin!!!
Fruitless: SHUT UP
Ennoshan: I’d say stop now but I’m very curious.
Ennoshan: Teru, you said you got 36?
Teru: yeah
Teru: of the tiny little fuckin ones
Fruitless: WELL THESE ARE THE JUMBO ONES
Teru: haha good luck babe
TORA: you can do it, I believe in you!
Seguro: I CAN ONLY EAT TWELVE BEFORE ITS TOO MUCH
Fruitless: well I can fit my entire fist in my moutj so
Seguro: THATS REALLY IMPRESSIVE
Fruitless: thanks
Yahabitch: Futakuchi, how many are you at?
Fruitless: shit
Fruitless: I lost count
Ennoshan: rip
Akaashi: That might be your cue to stop, Futakuchi-kun.
Piss hair: wimp
Usuri: Atsumu-kun, ya really shouldn’t be talkin!
Usuri: since ya can’t even fit five in your mouth!
Piss hair: MICHIRU
Piss hair: BETRAYAL
Fruitless: haha loser
Ennoshan: once I saw Akaashi deep throat his toothbrush
Ennoshan: it was horrific
Usuri: haha wow!!!
Teru: I’m
Teru: I’m going to pretend I didn’t see that
Fruitless: the marshmallows are gone
Fruitless: do not ask where theybe gone
TORA: where have they gone
Fruitless: I JUST said
Fruitless: nvm I’m too tired for this
Fruitless: absolutely drained
Fruitless: who let me do this
Teru:
Teru: you?
Yahabitch: To be fair, none of us discouraged him.
Seguro: I DEFINITELY ENCOURAGED THAT
Seguro: SORRY FUTAKUCHI
Fruitless: I’m blaming Akaashi and Ennoshita
Fruitless: they’re the most responsible how could they
Yahabitch: Ennoshita? Responsible?
Akaashi: I once saw Ennoshita-kun dump a red bull into his coffee and then drink it.
Ennoshan: you’re saying that like I didn’t get that from you, Akaashi
Ennoshan: also, no comment on the toothbrush?
Akaashi: I don’t know what you saw, but it certainly wasn’t that.
Piss hair: this conversation is goin in a freaky direction
Teru: haha kinky
Yahabitch: Shirabu has been pretty quiet
Shitabu: I’m ignoring you
Yahabitch: you literally just responded to me?
Shitabu: irrelevant
Seguro: YOU LNOW WHO ELSE HAS BEEN WUIET
TORA: is it Sakusan
Teru: Sakusan!!!
Seguro: YEHA ITS SAKUSAN
Sakusan: I’m here, I just have nothing to add to this conversation.
Shitabu: neither does Yahaba, but he still manages to talk too much
Yahabitch: literally what did I do to you?
Shitabu: where’s my ds, bitch?
Yahabitch: AOKI HAD IT
Yahabitch: ILL GIVE IT TO YOU NEXT WEEKEND
Yahabitch sent a picture to Ungly
Yahabitch: it’s safe okay? Stop coming after me or I’ll tell your parents who spiked the punch at the Fujioka’s party
Shitabu: bitch
Ungly 10:00
Seguro: TORA HOWD THE DATE GO
TORA: GOOD!!! )^o^(
TORA: HE REALLY LIKED THE ARCADE SUGGESTION
Yahabitch: did you remember to pay for him?
TORA: YEAH
TORA: but then we went to eat and he insisted he pay so,,,,,,,,
Yahabitch: that’s fine, as long as you always pay when you invite someone somewhere
Shitabu: you never pay when we go out?
Yahabitch: that’s different youre shit
Usuri: Congrats on the good date, Tora-kun!!!
TORA: Thanks!!!!!
Usuri: Didja take any good pictures?
TORA sent a picture to Ungly
TORA sent a picture to Ungly
TORA sent a picture to Ungly
TORA sent a picture to Ungly
Usuri: awww, y’all look so cute!!!
TORA: Thanks!!!!!!! \(//∇//)\
Fruitless: that sure is a lot of exclamation marks
Teru: exclamation marks ftw
Fruitless: yeah ok
Ennoshan: I have a question
Teru: yes?
Ennoshan: not for you
Teru: Aw :(
Ennoshan: Seguro
Ennoshan: do you type like that for school papers?
Seguro: I HANDWRITE MY PAPERS
Shitabu: god I’d hate to be your teacher
Seguro: ACTUALLY THEY SAY MY HANDWRITINGS REALLY NICE
TORA: mines shit (u_u)
Fruitless: there’s no way
Fruitless: send pics
Teru: pics or it didn’t happen
Piss hair: is that so hard ta believe?
Piss hair: I’ve been told my handwritins exceptionally beautiful too
Usuri: no it’s not!!!
Sakusan: no it’s not
Piss hair: OMI-OMI
Piss hair: MICHIRU YOU TOO????
Seguro sent a picture to Ungly
Ennoshan: are you fucking kidding me
Usuri: Wow!!! Ya sure that’s not printed???
Seguro: I LITERALLY JUST WEOTE IT SO YEAH IM SURE
Akaashi: That’s impressive, Seguro-san.
Seguro: THANKS AKKUN
Yahabitch: wow
Yahabitch: my handwriting is awful :(
Shitabu: yeah just like your personality
Yahabitch: HOW LONG ARE YOU GOING TO TARGET ME
Shitabu: until you give me my FUCKING DS
Yahabitch: ALRIGHT BET
Shitabu: ILL SEE YOU IN 20?
Yahabitch: IM BRINGING MOVIES
Shitabu: YOUR TASTE IS SHIT
Fruitless: uh
Teru: just ignore them babe
Teru: them and their silly childhood friends to rivals to friends to lovers 😏
Usuri: hahaha!!!
Yahabitch: ew
Akaashi: I don’t think my handwriting is as neat as yours, Seguro-san. That’s really impressive.
Akaashi sent a picture to Ungly
Teru: AKKUN MARRY ME
Akaashi: No thank you, Terushima-kun.
Fruitless: babe??????
Teru: I CAN BE MARRIED TO MULTIPLE PEOPLE
Teru: but you’ll always b my 1 true love 😘
Fruitless: 😳 babe
Piss hair: wow that’s some sexy ass handwritin
Sakusan: Miya’s looks like chicken scratch
Piss hair: OMI-OMI
Fruitless: Makes sense
Fruitless: since he looks like a chicken
Piss hair: I DO NOT
Teru: HA
Teru: CHICKIN LITTLE LOOKIN ASS
Piss hair: I DONT WANNA HEAR THAT FROM SOMEONE WHO CANT SPELL CHICKEN
Piss hair: YA BASTARD
Ennoshan: Huh
Ennoshan: I see the resemblance
Piss hair: SHUT UP SHUT UP SHIT UP
Seguro: HEY DONT TALK TO ENNOSHAN LIKE THAT
Seguro: CHICKEN LITTLE
Piss hair: STOP SAYIKG I LOOK LIKE CHICKEN LITTLE
Piss hair: I DO NOT
Piss hair: HE IS A COWARD AND I AM NOT A COWARD
TORA: vine, nice
Seguro: RIP VINE
Usuri: I was in a vine once!!!
Teru: I used to have vine 😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔
Teru: got mildly famous
Fruitless: why can I see that?
Usuri: My buddy Mami had a vine
Usuri: now he has a YouTube channel!!!
Ennoshan: I was never on vine
Ennoshan: I’m going to make a prediction right now
Ennoshan: Teru has a tiktok
Teru: HELL UEAH I DO
Teru: I SKATEBOARD AND DO FLIPS N SHIT
Teru: GO FOLLOW ME @coolguyteru
Fruitless: babe
Fruitless: that name is so in creative
Usuri: Subscribed!!!
Teru: HELL YEAH
Teru: marriage ended with Futakuchi, Usuri is now my husband
Akaashi: Do you mean your broom?
Fruitless: IT WAS ONE TIME
Fruitless: ONE GOD DAMN MOTHERFUCKING TIME
TORA: look what you did
TORA: you made him mad
Seguro: DO YOU USE THAT MOUTH AROUND YOUR MORHER FUTAKKUN
Fruitless: bold of you to assume I didn’t GET this from my mother
Usuri: Yuuji-kun I’m touched!!! But I got a boyfriend and he’d be really sad if I got hitched with someone else!!!
Teru: damn
Teru: hearts been broke too many times
TORA: Usuri’s boyfriend could probably bench press you Teru
TORA: hes SUUUUPER buff (´･_･`)
Teru: man I wish
Teru: all I got is this fuckin Twink smh 🙄
Ennoshan: haven’t we already debated and decided Futakuchi isn’t a twink?
Piss hair: nah hes definitely a twink
Piss hair: skinny, gay, prob’ly stands w his hand on his hips
Fruitless: I-
Fruitless: thanks?
Piss hair: it wasn’ a complement but ok
TORA: Futakuchi just got dragged(＞人＜;)
Seguro: FUTAKKUNS ALWAYS GETTING DRAGGED WHATS NEW
Fruitless: BETRAYAL
Fruitless: BETRAYAL
Fruitless: IM SUINNG ALL OF YOU
Akaashi: Suinng?
Fruitless: SUING
Teru: Even Yahaba?
Fruitless:
Fruitless: Yahaba’s too rich for me, his family lawyer would destroy me
Teru: oh to be rich
Ungly 11:39
Teru: Y’know what
Teru: I think it’s so unfair
Teru: Yahaba n Shirabu are rich
Fruitless: I mean like
Fruitless: they’ve BEEN rich
Seguro: YEAH WHY ARE YOU COMPLAINING NOW
Teru: BECAUSE IM HOT
Teru: oh to be rich...
Teru: to have ac...
Ennoshan: do
Ennoshan: do you really not?
Teru: NO
Teru: MY HOUSE IS A TRADITIONAL HOUSE
Teru: I LIVE W MY GRANNY
Piss hair: sos mine, Teru-kun!
Piss hair: more ofa hybrid, really but
Usuri: my house is a traditional house!!! It’s really cool cause we’ve got a koi pond ‘n everythin!!!
Ennoshan: nice
Ennoshan: I just have a normal house
Ennoshan: with both my parents
Yahabitch: Your parents are separated?
Ennoshan: yup they got divorced like...
Ennoshan: seven(?) years ago
Yahabitch: my parents should get divorced
Shitabu: they really should
Yahabitch: they really should
Yahabitch: they won’t though
Ennoshan: that’s. I’m sorry?
Yahabitch: it’s fineee
Akaashi: I live in an apartment.
Akaashi: Property in Tokyo isn’t exactly cheap, after all.
Seguro: I LIVE IN AN APARTMENT TOO!!!!!!!!!
Seguro: SAKUSAN AND I ARE ACTUALLY NEIGHBORS
Seguro: ITS SO COOL I SEE THEM ON MY JOGS N STUFF
Seguro: THEY LIVE A FEW BLOCKS DOWN
Piss hair:
Piss hair: Omi-Omi??? 🥺
Sakusan: No you can’t come over.
Sakusan: You live all the way in Hyogo.
Piss hair: BUT I MISS YA OMI
Sakusan: It’s literally a four hour ride.
Piss hair: THATS OK OMI
Sakusan: Miya
Sakusan: It’s literally eleven pm.
Piss hair: 😢
Sakusan: Oh my god
Sakusan: I’ll call you
Piss hair: 🥲
Sakusan: You needy asshole
Ennoshan:
Ennoshan: man I feel so single
Fruitless: You think they’re gone?
Teru: yeah they’re gone
Teru: probably making out
Seguro: VIRTUALLY????
Teru: ofc
Fruitless: it’s Sakusan, what’d you expect
Ennoshan:
Ennoshan: MAN I FEEL SO SINGLE
Fruitless: imagine not being married 🙄
Teru: yeha lmao imagine 🙄🙄
Usuri: :((( it’s okay Chikara-kun!!! You’ll find someone!!!
Seguro: WE CAN BE SINGLE TOGETHER ENNOSHAN
Teru: so
Teru: Shirabu and Yahaba are on their totally platonic date
Teru: Sakusan and Piss hair are on their totally NOT platonic date
Teru: it’s just you n me, babe
TORA: what am I???? Chopped liver?????
Fruitless: I can’t believe you’d do this to Akkun too!!!!!
Teru: OMG
Teru: HOW COULD I DO THIS TO AKKUN
Seguro: PRETTY SURE AKKUN ISNT ACTIVE
Seguro: BUT YOU LNOW WHO IS
Teru: is it you
Seguro: ITS ME
Ungly 1:03
Usuri: yknow ehat
Usuri: I’ve been thinkin
Piss hair: ya can do that?
Usuri: D:
Ennoshan: let’s be real
Ennoshan: Usuri probably has more braincells than you, Miya
Piss hair: MEAN Ennoshan!!!!!
Piss hair: but also
Piss hair: ya can call me Atsumu!
Ennoshan: no thanks
Yahabitch: Usuri what were you thinking?
Usuri: does is Kenji-kun gay?
Fruitless: yes
Fruitless: yes he does
Teru: wait babe aren’t you bi?
Fruitless: I mean yeah
Usuri: n twinks are /homosexual/
Usuri: therefore, Kenji-kun ain’t a twink!
Shitabu: oh my god
Shitabu: not this again
Akaashi: I suppose perhaps Urban Dictionary was just giving a- pardon the play on words- textbook definition.
Akaashi: Perhaps twinks can be anything we want them to be.
Teru: the TRUE twinks are the ones we made along the way
Seguro: HE ISNT WHITE THO
Shitabu: please
Shitabu: I just want one normal night
TORA: with this groupchat? No way!
Seguro: WAS THAT A MAGIC SCHOOL BUS REFERENCE
TORA: I mean
TORA: sure!!!!!!
TORA: it wasn’t on purpose
Seguro: I LOVE THAT SHOW
Shitabu: why am I not surprised
Yahabitch: I don’t think Futakuchi is a twink
Yahabitch: He’s not fashionable at all
Fruitless: r00d *said britishly*
Teru: okay but like
Teru: did you see his fit at the wedding?
Usuri: no
Usuri: I wasn’t invited :(((
Sakusan: You really don’t want to have been there.
Seguro: HOLY SHIT
Ennoshan: hey sakusa
Fruitless: BACK TO THE MAIN POINT
Fruitless: I SLAYED at the wedding
Yahabitch: the one you were a broom at?
Fruitless: I
Fruitless: HOW COULD YOU????? HONESTLY?
Fruitless: if you weren’t rich I’d be suing you rn
Yahabitch: I’d like to see you try
TORA changed Fruitless’s name to Broom
Broom: YAMAMOTO TAKETORA
Teru: oop he brought out the full name
Piss hair: bWAHA
Yahabitch: why could I hear that
TORA: ITS FUNNY FUTAKKUN EMBRACE IT
Broom: NEVER
Broom: if I die and y’all put ‘loving broom’ on my tombstone I’m coming back and haunting you
Shitabu: only if we do that?
Shitabu: weak
Yahabitch: please don’t come back to haunt me, Shirabu
Shitabu: bold of you to assume I’m dying first
Seguro: BOLD OF YOU TO ASSUME I CAN DIE
TORA: I’d believe that
Akaashi: Why would we be able to change what’s written on your tombstone? That’s usually reserved for family members.
Broom: have you forgotten
Broom: I’m literally married
Teru: yeah Yahaba did te official thing and everything!
Yahabitch: it wasn’t real or anything please don’t go around telling people that I don’t want to get arrested
Ennoshan: If anyone got arrested itd probably be Teru or Seguro
Usuri: I’ve been arrested!!!
Yahabitch: why are you so happy about that Usuri
TORA: Ngl my besto friendo that’s kinda menacing
Seguro: IS THAT A JJK REFERENCE
TORA: yEAH
Seguro: I LOVE THAT SHOW
TORA: MAKI COULD STEP ON ME
Broom: can we go back to the part where Usuri got arrested???? What the fuck
Usuri: Punched a transphobe!!!
Teru: USURI
Teru: BRING ME WITH YOU NEXT TIME
Usuri: I don’t exactly seek em out!!! But I’ll try hahaha!!!
Broom: I stole a grape once
Yahabitch: Wasn’t that last week?
Shitabu: and then you threw up and had to go to the hospital
Broom: haha good times
Ennoshan: no? Not good times?
Ungly
Broom: okay like
Broom: not to expose Yahaba on main
Usuri: no please do!!!
Yahabitch: PLEASE DONT
Yahabitch: IDK WHAT YOU KNOW BUT PLEASE DONT
Shitabu: Why are you stealing my job
Broom: well I have Yahaba’s Spotify so 😜
Seguro: THAT LOOKS LIKE SOMETHING TERU WOULD DO
Teru: haha stop 😜
Piss hair: imma throw up
Usuri: can we go back to exposin’ Shigeru-kun?
Yahabitch: can we not?
Broom: oh yeahhhh
Broom: Yahaba’s been listening to this playlist called ‘songs to listen to when you’re secretly in love with your friend/rival but they actually hate your guts and whenever you try to talk to them it always ends in a fight’ for the past uhhhh
Broom: *checks watch*
Broom: five days straight
Yahabitch: NOOOOOOOOOO
Yahabitch: I KNEW BEING FRIENDS WITH YOU ON SPOTIFY WAS A BAD IDEA
Yahabitch: WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME
Teru: lmaoooooo
Broom: you don’t get to talk babe
Broom: youve been listening to the same Crazy Frog song on repeat
Broom: /for seven hours/
Teru: STFU CRAZY FROGS A FOOD ARTIST
Usuri: haha wow!!!
Seguro: THE FACT THAT IM NOT ONE OF YOUR SPOTIFY FRIENDS,,,
Broom: DROP YOUR USER SEGURO MY B
TORA: imagine having Spotify
Shitabu: imagine being broke
Broom: oof
TORA: oof
Seguro: OOF
Akaashi: What are we ‘oof’ing about?
Usuri: Kenjirou-kun just called Tora-kun poor!!!
Akaashi: ah
Ennoshan: are we complaining about people’s music tastes now? Is that what we’re doing?
Broom: only because Tahaba’s a hopless pining romantic
Seguro: AND TERUS ACTUALLY ON DRUGS
Teru: ITS A GOOD SONG
Ennoshan: Akaashi’s been listening to Love Song
Ennoshan: but in minor key
Teru: that
Teru: really sounds in character
Akaashi: It’s a good song, am I wrong?
Seguro: IM CURRENTLY LISTENING TO THE NEVER GONNA GIVE YOU UP RENAI CIRCULATION REMIX
Teru: the what
Broom: oh my god
Broom: they didn’t
Broom: I’m googling this
Seguro: ITS SO GOOD
Broom: OH MY GOD
Broom: THEY DID
Teru: wait wait send the link?
Broom: texted you
Teru: haha this is great! 👌👌
Broom: okay okay
Broom: back to the matter at hand
TORA: there was a matter at hand????
TORA: thought this was just another pointless convo
Broom: r00d *said britishly*
Broom: any convo with me in it is automatically of the utmost importance
Teru: you got that right babe 😘
Broom: babe 😳
Teru: 😜
Ennoshan: Seguro look what you’ve done
Seguro: SORRY
Broom: OKAY STOP DISTRACTIMG ME
Shitabu: you’re literally just distracting yourself
Broom: @Yahabitch DROP THE NAME OF THE CRUSH
Yahabitch: what? No
Broom: SHIRABU?
Shitabu: bold of you to assume you can keep secrets from this groupchat when I’m here, Shigeru
Yahabitch: NOOO
Yahabitch kicked Shitabu from Ungly
Seguro: *ENNOSHAN VOICE* TAKE A SHOT WVERY TIME YAHABA KICKS SHIRABU
Ennoshan: take a shot every time Yahaba kicks Shirabu lol
Ennoshan: what the fuck
Piss hair: HA
Piss hair: I’d say rip to Shirabu but I don’t miss him
Yahabitch: I’ll tell him you said that
Teru: don’t think you can get out of telling us your crush just yet Yahaba
Teru: got my eyes on you
Ennoshan has added Shirabu to Ungly
Shirabu: KYOUTANI KENTAROU AOBA JOHSAI THIRD YEAR, VOLLEYBALL CLUB VICE-CAPTAIN AND ACE
Yahabitch: SHIRABU
Yahabitch kicked Shirabu from Ungly
Teru: Yahaba I stg
Akaashi: Yahaba please.
Broom: DOESNT MATTER WE DONT NEED SHITABU ANYMORE
Broom: KYOUFANI?????
Broom: KYOUTANI??????????
Yahabitch: see this is why I wasn’t going to tell you guys
TORA: that’s the guy that looks like me?
Seguro: OMG
Seguro: DO YOU HAVE A CRUSH ON TORA YAHABA
TORA: \(//∇//)\
Yahabitch: I’m going to murder all of you
Ennoshan: isn’t Kyoutani the guy you slammed into a wall?
Usuri: I saw that!!!
Ennoshan: how did you-
Ennoshan: never mind
Teru: has Usuri always been here?
Teru: was he just lurking?
Teru: that’s freaky
Broom: I’ve long since given up on trying to explain Usuri’s movements
Usuri: hehehe!!! ;)))
Yahabitch: Usuri is actually a wizard
Usuri: that’d be cool!!! Sadly I’m not :(
Piss hair: he’s always like that
Piss hair: it’s better t be safe assumin he’s always watchin
Broom: that’s
Broom: a ridiculously creepy way of putting it
TORA: I thought you said there was a reason for this conversation
Broom: good point
Broom: where where we?
Ennoshan: are we going to add Shirabu back or?
Piss hair: eh
Piss hair: duck shieabu all my homies hate shirabu
Yahabitch: you can say that again
Piss hair: fuck sh or abu all my homies hate shirabu
Broom: trying to read this is like having a stroke
Ungly 3:28
Usuri: okay so
Usuri: I got a question
Teru: shoot
Usuri: how dyou pronounce Kenji-kun’s name?
Teru: ?
Teru: Ken ji?
Usuri: No I mean
Usuri: Futakuchi?
Teru: Foo tah ku chi?
Usuri: ah
Usuri: I was pronouncin it
Usuri: foo tah kchi
Teru: what why
Seguro: THATS SÓ FINNY
Seguro: I WAS PRONOUNCING IT FUH TA KU CHI
Teru: ???????
Usuri: well, how’d he introduce himself?
Teru: uhhh
Teru: come to think about it I think everyone says it differently
Teru: holy shit
Teru: @Broom
Teru: how do you pronounce your name?
Usuri:
Usuri: hes not answerin
Seguro: MAYBE HIS PHONE DIED?
Yahabitch: what are we talking about?
Teru: how do you pronounce Futakkun’s name?
Yahabitch: ? Isn’t it foo taku chi?
Seguro: ANOTHER ONE???
Yahabitch: okay seriously? Usuri, why are you dropping a whole vowel?
Usuri: I just thought that’s how ya pronounce it!!!
Yahabitch: @Broom where are you
Teru: I think his phone died
Yahabitch: Shame
Yahabitch: What if we just
Yahabitch: Rock Paper Scissors it
Seguro: PN HOW HOS NAMES PRONOUNCED????
Usuri: I’ve never lost a game of Rock Paper Scissors!!!
Teru: why do I believe that
Ennoshan: what’s going on
Ennoshan: you can’t rps this is an online conversation
Yahabitch: Shame
Teru: f
Teru: Ennoshan how do you pronounce Futakuchi
Ennoshan: Foe tah ku chi?
Yahabitch: OKAY THATS WORSE THAN MINE
Seguro: YAAH NO THATS DEFINITELY WORSE
Ennoshan: Is it really that bad?????
Ennoshan: How are you pronouncing Futakuchi?
Yahabitch: Fu taku chi
Yahabitch sent a voice memo to Ungly
Teru: Foo ta ku chi
Seguro: FUH TA COOCHIE
Seguro: THERES A U FOR A REASON
Yahabitch: Why are you sticking a coochie in the middle of his name?
Usuri: technically it’s at the end of his name!!!
Ennoshan: acoochie? Like the rodent?
Teru: it’s what he would’ve wanted 😔
Yahabitch: okay okay oh my god
Yahabitch: what?
Ennoshan sent a picture to Ungly
Ennoshan: Acoochie
Seguro: SO YOURE TELLING ME
Seguro: ALL YOU MIYAGI FLOK SEE HIM LIKE EVERY OTHER MONTH
Seguro: AND YOU DONT KNOW HOW TO PRONOUNCE HIS NAME?
Usuri: at least Akihiko-kun n I have the excuse of distance
Ennoshan: bold of you to assume I interac with Futakuchi
Yahabitch: Yeah we were literally benchwarmers all last year so :/
Teru: he protec... he attac... but most importantly
Teru: he don’t interac
Teru: (with Foo ta ku chi)
Ennoshan: fuck you
Broom: when the only way you get coochie is in your name 😔😔😔😔
Teru: BABE
Teru: HOW FO YOU PRONOUNCE YOUR NAME
Ennoshan: Futakuchi that’s vulgar
Yahabitch: see if you pronounce it fu taku chi there is no coochie
Seguro: WHATS THE FUN IN THAT?
Broom: Foo tah ku chi
Teru: HA
Teru: OFC I KNOW MY HUSBANDS NAME
Yahabitch: you mean your broom?
Broom: @Yahabitch I’m going to steal your toes
Yahabitch: I
Ennoshan: that’s disturbing
Ungly 11:03
Broom has added Shirabu to Ungly
Shirabu: YOU FUCKERS
Shirabu: YOU FORGOT ABOUT ME
Teru: haha whoops 😜
Ennoshan: if you do that one more time I’m going to commit a murder
Yahabitch: @Seguro this is tour fault
Seguro: SORRY
Shirabu: @Yahabitch you’re blocked
Shirabu: can’t believe I covered for you all those times
Yahabitch: all what times
Yahabitch: your favorite passtime is literally throwing me under the bus
Broom: OKAY okay let’s not fught
Piss hair: nah, please, continue
TORA: Futakuchi? Not condoning petty bickering?
Seguro: WHATS NEXT, FLYING PIGS?
Broom: shush
Broom: I have decided to turn over a new leaf
Broom: gone is the bratty Futakuchi of the past
Broom: Moniwa-san, I’ve seen the light, my sincerest apologies for my horrible behavior as an underclassman
Broom: I was a horrible kouhai, I hope you can find it in you to forgive me
Ennoshan: whoop
Ennoshan: someone broke Futakuchi
Teru: nooo babe
Teru: what happened to you 😢
Akaashi: Did Koganegawa-kun do something again, Futakuchi-kun?
Broom: the little baSTARD
Broom: MANAGED TO POP ALL THE VOLLEYBALLS
Broom: BROKE A MOP
Broom: AND GOT HIMSELF LOCKED IN THE STORAGE CLOSET
Broom: AND I CANT GET HIM OUT
Yahabitch: suddenly I have newfound appreciation for my underclassmen
Ennoshan: I don’t
Ennoshan: Hinata broke a floorboard last week by spiking it and then Yamaguchi almost twisted his ankle and then Hinata and Kageyama got into a fight
Ennoshan: and they’re the second years
Teru: @babe do you need help
Broom: can you pick locks
Teru:
Teru: no?
Usuri: I can!!!
Ennoshan: that’s terrifying
Yahabitch: Usuri you’re all the way in Oita, I don’t think that would work.
Usuri: :(((
Piss hair: Michiru-kun
Piss hair: is there anythin ya can’t do?
Usuri: hmmm...
Usuri: Can’t not go to nationals!!! :D
Piss hair: that’s
Piss hair: ok
Broom changed Usuri’s name to diy wizard
Yahabitch changed diy wizard’s name to DIY Wizard
Broom: wtf bro
Yahabitch: it’s important to me okay?
Teru: that’s a funky name
Seguro: I DONT GET IT
TORA: cause he can do anything????? Ig????
Broom: okay look
Broom: OKAY LOOK
Ennoshan: we’re looking
Broom: HE NEEDS A NAME OKAY
Broom: IT FEELS WEIRD IF HE DOESNT HAVE A NAME
TORA: but Seguchan and Akkun don’t have names either?
Yahabitch: Speaking of
Yahabitch changed Shirabu’s name to Shitabu
Shitabu: 🖕
Yahabitch: 🥱
DIY Wizard: I dunno how I feel about the nickname but thanks, Kenji-kun!!!
DIY Wizard: makes me feel included!!!
Seguro: MAN I LOVE BEING INCLUDED
Seguro: I WISH I HAD A NICKNAME
Seguro: TORA CAN I HAVE A CRYING KAOMOJI
TORA: ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´ω`ﾟ)ﾟ｡
Seguro: THANK YOU TORA ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´ω`ﾟ)ﾟ｡
Teru changed Seguro’s name to snake man
Yahabitch changed snake man’s name to Snake Man
Teru: bruh
Yahabitch: ITS IMPORTANT TO ME
TORA: snake man...
TORA: take me by the hand...
DIY Wizard: take me to the land!!!
Piss hair: man door hand hook car door hand
Ennoshan: okay great conversation everyone go home
Broom: CANT
Broom: KOGANES STILL STUCK
Yahabitch: sigh
Yahabitch: I’ll be there in twenty minutes
Snake Man: YAHABA CAN YOU PICK LOCKS?
Yahabitch:
Yahabitch: no comment?
Shitabu: he broke into my house once Bc I wasn’t answering and then drank all my milk
Yahabitch: BECAUSE THE ONLY MILK MY PARENTS BUY IS SKIM
Yahabitch: CAN YOU BLAME ME
Broom: Yahabitch come quick kogane’s dying of thirst
Yahabitch: not if you call me that?
Broom: ugh
Broom: Yahaba
Broom: the guy who has a crush on Kyoutani
Yahabitch: KSNDKALA SHHH IM COMING
Usuri: Ah!
Usuri: Kyoutani Kentarou-kun, slated to be one of the new top three aces?
Yahabitch: yep! That’s him
Shitabu: although of course we won’t know until the actual tournament
Yahabitch: stfu
DIY Wizard: that’s so cool!!! Congrats!
Broom: so what
Broom: now Akkun’s the only one without a nickname?
Teru: I mean
Teru: we could change it to AKKUN
Akaashi: I’m good, thank you.
Ennoshan: you heard the man
Ennoshan: no nicknames for akaashi
Piss hair: th fuck?
Piss hair: don’t the rest of us get a choice?
Sakusan: No.
Piss hair: OMI
Piss hair: 😭😭😭
TORA: I mean
TORA: it fits so
Snake Man: IF IT AINT BEOKE DONT FIX IT
Ungly 12:40
Snake Man: SP DID YOU GET HIM OUT
Broom: Yahaba terrifies me
Yahabitch: Yep! Everything all taken care of here! :)
Teru: nice
Teru: totally don’t feel threatened at all
Broom: Kogane’s grounded now
Broom: Oh my god I’ve become moniwa-san
Broom: oh my god
Teru: lmao
Teru: futakkun’s becoming responsible?
Broom: please no
Broom: save me
Teru: babe if you become responsible
Teru: I might have to go marry someone else 😔
Broom: babe NO
Piss hair: wtf is goin on
Teru: Tsum-Tsum! How chaotic are you
Piss hair:
Piss hair: idk like a four?
Sakusan: He’s a ten.
Piss hair: 😉
Sakusan: Not in terms of looks.
Piss hair: 😢
Teru: Tsum-Tsum marry me
Broom: BABE
Teru: YOURE A PARENT FRIEND I CANT BE WOTH A PARENT FRIENR
Broom: HEARTS BEEN BROKE TOO MANY TIMES
Broom: IM NOT A PARENT FRIEND
Piss hair: when’s the weddin?
Piss hair: WAIT
Piss hair: CAN WE DO A VEGAS WEDDING?
Broom: MIYA???
Broom: WHATHAPPENED TO BEING UTTERLY DEVOTED TO SAKUSA
Piss hair: Omi-Omi’s not gonna marry me
Piss hair: 😢
Piss hair: so I’m gojn with the second best option
Teru: RUDE
Teru: SAID BRITISHLY
Broom: HEY THATS MY THING
Piss hair: I’ve always wanted t go to Vegas
Teru: hell yeah let’s go to Vegas!!!!
Ennoshan: we literally live in Japan
Piss hair: and?
Ennoshan: and we’re still students
Piss hair: it’s okay we’ll just have haba pay for it
Yahabitch: Excuse me?
Piss hair: yer excused
Yahabitch: I’m not even rich, I’m comfortably upper middle class
Ennoshan: anyone who classifies themself as ‘comfortably upper middle class’ is definitely rich
Yahabitch: AND it’s not even my money. It’s all my parents’, so even if I wanted to I couldn’t pay for a trip to Vegas.
Piss hair: shame
Piss hair: Ken-kun?
Broom: I’m broke bro
Piss hair: other Ken
Piss hair: Kenjirou
Piss hair: why th fuck do y’all have such similar names
Piss hair: how could ya do this to us
DIY Wizard: Me n Atsumu-kun have unique names!!! Just to make it easier for y’all!!!
TORA: yall
Ennoshan: yall
Broom: y’all
Piss hair: STOP MAKIN FUN OF US
Piss hair: YALL IS VALID
Teru: yall is funky fresh folks
Broom: divorced
Ennoshan: take a shot every time Futeru gets divorced
Broom: fu
Broom: futeru???
Broom: Enno did you just give us a ship name???
Ennoshan: oh my god I did
Teru: I mean I’d expect that from Usuri but not you
DIY Wizard: lol
DIY Wizard: fake datin to actual datin futeru 19k slow burn
Broom: XCUSE U
Broom: I would NEVER
Broom: and I say NEVER
Broom: be a slow burn
Teru: yeah?
Teru: confess to your crush
Teru: right now
Teru: do it
Broom: haha no
Ennoshan: wait Futakuchi has a crush?
TORA: WHAT
TORA: have you been holding out on us, Futakkun?
DIY Wizard: who is it, Kenji-kun!!!
Broom: I do NOT have a crush
Broom: if I had a crush I would simply ask him out
DIY Wizard: so it’s a guy?
Broom: SHIT
Broom: WAIT THERE WAS A POINT TO THIS
Teru: oh yeah
Teru: @Shitabu pay for Tsumu’s and I’s Vegas wedding
Shitabu: no
Teru: well I tried
Piss hair: rip to my dreams 😢
Ungly 7:00
Teru: okay so
Teru: I haven’t seen anyone address this yet
Teru: @Broom YOU HAVE A CRUSH
Broom: NOOOOOOOOOO
Broom: NO I DONT
Broom: and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you
Yahabitch: what, so you can torture us about our crushes but we can’t retaliate? Really fair of you, Futakuchi
Shitabu: Imagine not asking your crush out, couldn’t be me
TORA: yeah imagine ʅ（◞‿◟）ʃ
Yahabitch: STFU
Yahabitch: IM WORKING ON IT
Yahabitch: it’s a very delicate process
DIY Wizard: you n Kentarou-kun???
Yahabitch: First I have to get him to actually tolerate my presence, so.
Teru: WAIT YOURE DISTRACTING ME FROM THE POINT
Teru: @Broom SPILL THE BEANS
Broom: as I’ve already stated, I don’t have a crush
Broom: and if I did I would simply ask them out
Piss hair: it’s a guy isn’t it
Piss hair: ya said it was a guy last time
Broom: NO!!!
Broom: ITS NOT A GUY!!!!!! BECAUSE I DONT HAVE A CRUSH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Akaashi: There’s nothing wrong with having a crush, Futakuchi-kun.
Broom: SAYS YOU
Broom: GO ASK OUT BOKKUN THEN
Broom: MAYBE THEN WELL SEE
Yahabitch: so you’re admitting there’s someone?
Broom: NOOOOOOOO
Broom: ABSLSGEBWLSBJSS
Broom: GO DO TOUR STUPID LOVEY DOVEY THINGS WITH YOUR STUPID DATE MATES AND LEAVE ME ALONE
Yahabitch: Futakuchi half of us are single
Snake Man: MORE LIKE A MAJORITY OF US
Shitabu: imagine
TORA: Yeah imagine
Akaashi: Did you and Fukunaga-kun make it official, Yamamoto-kun?
TORA: YEAH!!!!! \(//∇//)\
TORA: he asked me this morning!!!!!
Teru: congrats!
Yahabitch: congratulations
DIY Wizard: You go Tora-kun!!!
Broom: yeah congrats
Teru: @Broom DONT THINK YOURE OFF THE HOOK
Broom: IEEEEEEEEEEEEE
Ennoshan: okay okay
Ennoshan: dont torture Futakuchi so much
Ennoshan: it’s okay if you don’t want to tell us yet, Futakuchi
Broom: I DONT
Broom: LIKE
Broom: ANY ONE
DIY Wizard: ya don’t?
DIY Wizard: then who’re ya vague postin about on yer Twitter?
DIY Wizard sent a picture to Ungly
DIY Wizard: ‘god he’s so hot, if only he actually liked me back’ ‘it’s sad to think that next year we won’t be able to see each other any more, would he still talk to me then?’ ‘AAAAA I WISH **** WOULD LIKE ME BACK’
Broom: GSIEJE BOO KEBDNSNEKSLS SHEKFMSJOAJD VS KANSKDKNXNWJSODKDJ STOP
Broom: NO
Broom: HOW DID YOU FIND THAT????????
Broom: ITS PRIVATE
DIY Wizard: :)))
DIY Wizard: m I wrong?
Yahabitch: oof
Teru: you really got it bad, huh Futakkun
Broom: STFU
Broom: YOURE TELLING ME YOURE NOT ROMANTICALLY INTERESTED IN ANYONE??? AT ALL????
Teru: ehhhh
Teru: nope
Teru: none that I can think of
Broom:
Broom: really?
Shitabu: I’d be so embarrassed if that were me lololol
Shitabu: I mean, what’s more embarrassing than having yoir private thoughts leaked to a bunch of rabid teenagers?
Yahabitch: idk maybe misspelling your?
Piss hair: anyone else notice Shirabu just called himself a rabid teen? Lmao
TORA: misspelling your what?
Yahabitch: misspelling your
Snake Man: YOUR WHAT
Ungly 5:03
Piss hair sent a picture to Ungly
Piss hair: help girl I’m lost
TORA: why are you in Tokyo
TORA: thats Tokyo why are you here
Piss hair: I WANRWD TO SURPRISE OMI-OMI BUT IDK WHERE THEY LIVE AND NOW IM LOST
Piss hair: HELP GIRL
Akaashi: Miya-kun, what street are you currently on?
Piss hair sent a picture to Ungly
Snake Man: AH THATS BY NOHEBI
Snake Man: LEMME GET YOU
Piss hair: Aki-kun my savior 😭
Snake Man: NO PROB TSUMTSUM
Akaashi: Miya-kun, why would you come without any plans? Have you been spending too much time with Futakuchi-kun?
Broom: OI
Broom: I HAVE PLANS
TORA: your plan was literally shove me n fuku into a closet and have us figure it out from there
TORA: that’s not a plan ʅ（ :/ ）ʃ
Broom: okay look
Broom: it worked out, ok?
TORA: NOT BECAUSE OF YOU
Snake Man sent a picture to Ungly
Snake Man: ME N DA HOMIE
Broom: @Sakusan come get y’all man
Ennoshan: yall
TORA: YALL
Broom: FUCKING DAMMIT
Broom: @Piss hair @DIY Wizard DO YOU SEE WHAT YOUVE DONE TO ME
DIY Wizard: Atsumu-kun!!! Why’d ya go without me D:
DIY Wizard: I wanted ta meet everyone too!!!
Piss hair: sorry Michiru 😭
Piss hair: I’ll mail you a souvenir
Piss hair: WAIT
Piss hair: CAN WE GO SIGHT SEEIN
Snake Man: HELL YEAH WE CAN
Akaashi: Seguro-kun, Miya-kun, please stay exactly where you are.
Snake Man: AKKUN COME SIGHTSEEING WITH US
Piss hair: YEAH KAASHI
Sakusan: What the fuck.
Yahabitch: my thoughts exactly
Sakusan: Miya what are you doing? It’s literally a school night, you should have at least warned me.
Piss hair: I WANTED TA SURPRISE YA
Piss hair: but idk where you live ☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️
Sakusan:
Sakusan: Meet me by the station.
Snake Man: HELL YEAH TOKYO GANG MEETUP
Broom: why do I feel left out
Broom: this is so strange
Teru: left out in our own groupchat 😔😔😔
Broom: the kids are growing up, babe
Teru: this is so sad
Broom:
Broom: did they leave?
Broom: oh my god they ditched us
Teru: THIS IS SO SAD
“Sakusan!” Keiji glances up as Seguro leaps from their spot next to him, their arm frantically waving. His eyes catch on Sakusa’s figure, hurriedly speed walking towards them.
“Omi-Omi!” Miya, who had been sitting on Keiji’s other side, starts running, and Keiji grimaces as he collides into Sakusa’s arms. The taller person doesn’t move from the impact, but their face does scrunch up, visible even behind the mask and from this distance. Keiji gives a soft laugh.
“Man I feel so single.” Seguro sighs from next to him, lifting his phone up to snap a quick photo of the couple. Keiji can’t help but agree.
“Kaashi! Aki-kun!” Miya shouts, waving them over. Keiji pushes off the small ledge he had been seated on, slipping his phone back into his pocket.
“Hello Sakusa-san.” He greets, once he gets closer. They incline their head back at him, then to Seguro.
“Akaashi, Seguro. Thanks for taking care of the idiot.” Their harsh words are completely voided by the fact that their hand is clutching Miya’s.
“Your idiot, Omi-Omi.” Miya grins, looking smug. Sakusa sighs.
“Yes, my idiot.”
It’s cute. It’d be even cuter if both Seguro’s and Miya’s phones weren’t going off every second, presumably from the groupchat. Keiji’s just glad he and Sakusa had the foresight to turn their phones on silent.
“Futakuchi wants to know what’s happening.” Seguro narrates, having fished his phone out of his pocket. “And Teru predicts you two are making out.” He glances up at Sakusa and Miya, who are not in fact making out.
“Well, that can be arranged.” Miya grins, turning towards Sakusa, who shoves him away.
“Okay that’s it- get off of me.”
Miya makes a soft whining noise, but drops his hands. “So.” He says, turning to Seguro and Keiji. “Where to first?”
Seguro grins, as if they had been waiting for that exact question. “Tokyo tower!” He cheers, pumping up his fist. Miya echoes him, throwing up his own fist.
Keiji wrinkles his nose at their enthusiasm. “The Tokyo tower is a tourist trap.” He informs them. Miya blinks, turning to look at him, before snapping his fingers.
“Alliteration! Nice one, Kaashi!”
Keiji sighs, slipping his hands into his pockets. If they’re going to ignore his advice, so be it. He passes a glance over their motley group.
Seguro leads, his hands waving excitedly as he explains... something to an enraptured Miya, trailing slightly behind. Sakusa, looking uncomfortable in the crowded street, sticks close to the wall, their hand close enough to grab Miya’s if necessary. And Keiji himself, bringing up the rear.
“Is Yamamoto joining us?” Sakusa asks, turning their head slightly in Keiji’s direction. He checks his phone, to another twenty messages from the groupchat. He scrolls past Yahaba’s spam of messages, past the random memes Futakuchi had begun sending and the barrage of @s from Terushima.
TORA: WAIT IM NEAR THE TOKYO TOWER ILL MEET YOU GUYS THERE!
“He’s coming.” He informs Sakusa, turning his phone off and tucking it back into his pocket. Their nose wrinkles, before smoothing out.
“Hey Sakusan!” Seguro calls from the front, stopping and nearly colliding with Miya. “Have you ever tried the crepes at the tower?”
“It’s late, I doubt they’re open.” Sakusa raises an eyebrow. Seguro waves their concern off, grinning largely.
“Have you tried them?” He asks.
Sakusa sighs, nodding a bit reluctantly. “They’re good.”
“We should get some together, Omi-Omi!” Miya grins, grabbing Sakusa’s hand. Keiji sighs. They’re cute together- Sakusa and Miya. It makes him feel a bit lonely. Seguro doesn’t feel the same way, apparently, slinging their arms over both Miya’s and Sakusa’s shoulders, ignoring the resounding wince from Sakusa.
“Tokyo tower!” They cheer, steering the couple in the direction of the said tower. Keiji follows behind, keeping his distance.
They meet up with Yamamoto at the base of the tower, his face flushed and hand firmly locked with another boys- Keiji recognizes him as Fukunaga once they get closer, his characteristic bright red hearing aids making him easily identifiable.
“Tora!” Seguro cheers once they get close enough, lifting his hands up in greeting. Yamamoto does the same, although with only one.
“C’mon, the tower’s only open for a few more hours!” Yamamoto grins, waving them over. “We gotta show Tsumu the country bumpkin a real view!”
Seguro laughs, bursting past him and slapping their hand against his shoulder. “Race you to the elevator!”
“Oi- who’re you callin a country bumpkin?” Miya hollers after them, before taking off. Sakusa gives an exasperated sigh, rubbing the bridge of their nose.
“Fukunaga Shouhei.” Fukunaga sticks his hand out to them, smiling softly.
“Sakusa Kiyoomi.” They respond, not taking the proffered hand. Fukunaga doesn’t seem at all phased by that, his hand dropping to his side.
“Did we interrupt your date, Fukunaga-kun?” Keiji asks, as Fukunaga falls into step next to him. He shakes his head, hand going up to fiddle with his hair.
“Not a date, mate!” He quips, shooting finger guns at Keiji. He can’t help but smile at the pun.
“I’m glad. That we didn’t interrupt, I mean. Are things going well with Yamamoto-kun?”
Fukunaga nods. A slightly awkward silence falls over them, and Keiji casts a glance towards Sakusa, who doesn’t seem to be paying much attention to the conversation.
“Oi, hurry up!” Yamamoto calls from the top of the steps, and Keiji quickly makes his way up.
“Sorry.” He mutters quietly.
Miya gives a disappointed sigh, shaking his head. “Any later and th’ tower’ll close.” He taps the sign behind him. Seguro snorts.
“Since when have you been a Tokyo connoisseur?” He asks, leaning over and grabbing Miya’s cheek. The shorter boy yelps, shoving him off, and they scuffle for a few seconds before Yamamoto steps in, separating them.
“We’re gonna miss the view.” He says, sounding surprisingly responsible. He herds them all into the elevator, which is spacious enough that Sakusa actually agrees to go into it.
“Woah!” Miya gasps as soon as the elevator doors open. Keiji can’t help but wonder if he even saw anything- but he rushes towards the wide glass windows, pressing his hands against the glass.
“Don’t smudge it.” Sakusa calls after him before Keiji has a chance to. He makes his way over to the edge, sucking in a breath at the sight.
Despite being a Tokyo native and living there his entire life, he had never actually been to the tower. It was a tourist trap, like he had said earlier. But the view was still breathtaking.
“Think we could see Mount Fuji?” Yamamoto asks from his right, earning a smack on the head from Miya.
“It’s nighttime!”
“It’s a good sight at night.” Fukunaga comments, leaning over the railing next to Yamamoto. Keiji can’t help but agree- the night lights make the view even more exquisite.
“So? Think it’s cool?” Seguro calls. Keiji turns, finally noticing him near the elevators.
“Are you afraid of heights, Seguro-kun?” He asks, and Seguro’s face scrunches up.
“Terrified.” They admit. “Is the view good?”
“Awesome!” Miya answers, his eyes nearly sparkling. “Omi-Omi, can’t believe ya live near here!”
Sakusa laughs, although they hide it behind their mask. “It’s not that great.” Their tone is soft, their eyes only for Miya. Keiji feels like he’s intruding, yet again, and makes his way over to Seguro.
“The lights are nice.” They comment. Keiji hums in agreement. “We should bring the rest of the groupchat next time too.”
Keiji laughs. “I’m sure that would only end in disaster, Seguro-kun.” He tilts his head. “Too many people might make the building collapse.”
Seguro laughs at his joke, his hand coming down hard on Keiji’s back. “Nice one, Akkun.”
Keiji offers them a weak smile. “Thank you.”
Ungly 3:02
Yahabitch: do you ever feel like
Yahabitch: no matter what you do you’ll never be good enough?
Snake Man: SOMETIMES
Snake Man: WHEN IM SAD
Broom: no I’m too perfect
Teru: why are you guys up it’s literally three
Snake Man: YOURE UP TOO TERU
Teru: you got me there
Broom: anyways- Yahaba, you ok?
Yahabitch:
Yahabitch: I don’t know?
Yahabitch: sorry, I’m probably bothering you guys
Yahabitch: it’s really nothing, honestly
Snake Man: NO I WANNA HEAR WHAT YOU HAVE TO SAY
Snake Man: YOURE NO TROUBLE AR ALL
Teru: what they said
Yahabitch: I don’t want to be a burden on anyone or anything
Yahabitch: you guys probably want to go to sleep
Broom: Yahaba I’m not going to sleep whether you say what’s wrong or not, so just spit it out
Yahabitch: I don’t know
Yahabitch: sometimes I feel like Oikawa-san made the wrong choice making me captain
Yahabitch: I mean- I’ve literally never been a starter
Teru: not once?
Yahabitch: not even in middle school
Yahabitch: and I’m not even that good of a setter, obviously, if I couldn’t make the lineup
Yahabitch: and I feel like literally anyone would make a better captain than me
Broom: Yahaba
Broom: you’re a better setter than you think
Yahabitch: I KNOW
Yahabitch: everyone keeps telling me that but what if I’ve just managed to convince everyone that I’m a better setter?
Yahabitch: I mean, my one play last spring tournament was a mistake
Yahabitch: Kyoutani had to cover for me
Snake Man: EVERYONE MAKES MISTAKES
Broom: as someone who has played against you
Broom: you’re a good setter
Broom: way better than kogane
Yahabitch: Koganegawa’s only been a setter for under a year, I’ve been playing volleyball for over six years.
Broom: uh
Broom: yeah but like
Broom: you’re still a good setter
Snake Man: I FEEL LIKE
Snake Man: AS A BUNCH OF SPIKERS
Snake Man: WE ARENT EXACTLY QUALIFIED
Snake Man: AND ALSO IVE NEVER PLAYED YOU
Snake Man: BUT YOURE A REALLY NICE PERSON
Snake Man: AND THE TYPE OF PERSON THAT MAKES A GOOD SETTER
Yahabitch: thanks
Yahabitch: sorry, I don’t know why I’m feeling like this
Yahabitch: I know I should trust Oikawa-san since he usually knows what he’s doing
Teru: Yahaba
Teru: it’s okay to not know what to do or to feel like you’re not enough
Teru: but remember, you ARE enough
Teru: and you’re not Kawa-chan
Teru: you’re Yahaba
Snake Man: YEAH
Broom: I prefer you over Oikawa
Broom: no offense Tooru if you’re reading this ever
Yahabitch: lol
Yahabitch: I’ll tell him you said that
Broom: please dont
Broom: but personally?
Broom: even if you aren’t as good of a setter as Oikawa, your serves are ridiculous
Teru: yeah p sure you have better aim than Kawa-chan
Yahabitch: I’m not as good at adding power to them though
Snake Man: THATS JUST SOMETHING YOULL HAVE TO WORK ON THEN!!!!!
Snake Man: YOU. CAN DO IT
Yahabitch: thanks :)
Ungly 10:03
Broom: Did you guys know our vice captains have a groupchat too???
Teru: yuh
Teru: 😜
Yahabitch: STOP
Yahabitch: Kyoutani doesn’t talk much about it, but yes, I’ve heard of it
Ennoshan: Unfortunately
DIY Wizard: No???
Ennoshan: Usuri you’re not in our prefecture
Piss hair: this is so sad
Piss hair: Tora-kun play ‘gimme a cryin kaomoji’
TORA: ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´ω`ﾟ)ﾟ｡
Piss hair: thank ya Tora
Snake Man: THATS THE JUST SAME KAOMOJI ALL TYE TIME
Snake Man: WHERES THE VARIETY
Snake Man: WHERES THE SPICE
Shitabu: they have a groupchat?
Shitabu: copy cats
Yahabitch: Shitabu! Feel like I haven’t seen you in a while
Shitabu: we literally saw each other like two days ago
Yahabitch: huh
Teru: Bobata doesn’t shut up about the groupchat
Teru: so ofc I don’t shut up about y’all
Ennoshan: y’all
Broom: Aone JUST told me
Broom: how could he keep this from me????
Teru: babe it’s not that big of a deal
Broom: I THOUGHT HE WAS MY BESTIE
Teru: I THOUGHT /I/ WS YOUR BWSTIE???
Broom: YOURE BOTH MY BESTIES
Teru: YEAH THATS WHAT I FUCKIN THOUGHT
Teru: YUH 😜
Ennoshan: @Snake Man I’m suing you for emotional damages because you started this
Snake Man: IM SORRY
Snake Man: WAIT WHY ME AND NOT TERY
Snake Man: SUE TERU
Ennoshan: I feel like suing Teru would just give me more emotional damage
Teru: because you love me??? 🥺🥺
Ennoshan: because you’re a fucking headache
Teru: ghk
Teru: *dies*
Broom: rip
Broom: can we get an f in the chat for our fallen warrior
Snake Man: F
TORA: f (*´-`)
Yahabitch: Rest In Peace, Terushima
Teru: poggers
Yahabitch: I retract my statement
Yahabitch: rot in hell
Teru: unpoggers ☹️
Teru: haba how could you
Yahabitch: I’ve done it before and I’ll do it again
Broom: imagine not rotting in hell 🙄
Broom: like bro I’m gay
DIY Wizard: imagine believin in hell
Piss hair: yeah imagine bein chr*stian
Yahabitch: why would you sensor that I’m going to cry
Teru: I bet Uahaba’s chr*stian 🙄
Yahabitch:
Yahabitch: YEAH?
Broom: *raises hand* what about Catholics
TORA: isn’t that like
TORA: diet Christian
Teru: *le gasp*
Teru: TORA SAID A BAD WORD
DIY Wizard: DEATH
DIY Wizard: DEATH TO THE BAD WORD
Snake Man: BUT NOT TO H*LL BC WE DONT BELIEVE IN THAT
Broom: this is so sad
Broom: Yahaba and I’ll rot in hell together
Piss hair: Omi-Omi arent ya catholic too?
Sakusan: My mother is, but I’m not exactly a religious person.
Yahabitch: why is Christian a bad word but not catholic??? What the fuck???
Broom: as a hispanic
Broom: I literally have no choice but to be catholic
Broom: also heck Christians all my homies hate Christians
Yahabitch: WHAT
Yahabitch: YOURE LITERALLY BASICALLY A CHRISTIAN
Ennoshan: literally basically?
DIY Wizard: Shigeru-kun ya might wanna give up now lol
Yahabitch: I hate this groupchat
Shitabu:
Shitabu: then leave
Shitabu: no one cares about you
Broom: ouch
Broom: right after his mental breakdown????
Yahabitch: IT WASNT A MENTAL BREAKFOWN
Yahabitch: IT WAS A MOMENT OF WEAKNESS
Yahabitch: WE ARE PAST IT AND WILL NEVER SPEAK OF IT AGAIN
Teru: yuh 😜
Broom changed the groupchat name to yuh 😜
Ennoshan: I’m going to fucking murder you
Yahabitch changed the groupchat name to Yuh 😜
Broom: I’ll steal your kneecaps and pin them on my wall
Teru: 😳 kinky
Yuh 😜 5:28
Teru: okay so
Teru: people in this groupchat I think I could take in a fight
Piss hair: none of them
Teru: NO
Teru: I COULD TAKE PEOPLE
Teru: THATS WHY IM LISTING THEM
Piss hair: literally why
Teru: idk I’m bored
Teru: no. 1- Ennoshan
Ennoshan: ouch
Teru: I’m sorry Enno, you literally run on caffeine, if I touch you too hard you’ll just like
Teru: fall asleep
Ennoshan: I literally won’t but ok
Ennoshan: and I’m not even thay tired all the time
Ennoshan: or sleep deprived
Ennoshan: this is literally just my face
Piss hair: stfu Ennoshan this ain’t about u
Teru: no. 2- Futakkun
Teru: physically I could, but emotionally?
Broom: stfu I’d beat your ass
Teru: 😜
Teru: kinky
Yahabitch: I’m already in pain and you haven’t even gotten to me
Teru: I could totally take Yahaba in a fight
Teru: but he’d pay me to let him win so 🤷♂️
Yahabitch: I literally wouldn’t but okay
Teru: I could take Seguro in a fight
Snake Man: WHAT
Snake Man: DOES MY PUNK AESTHETIC NOT WORK
Teru: no offense but you probably cry at cute cat videos
Snake Man: I MEAN YEAH
Teru: so I just show you cute cat videos
Teru: bam
Teru: defeated
Piss hair: does that even count as a fight
Teru: SPEAKING OF
Teru: I could totally take Tsum-Tsum in a fight
Piss hair: WHAT
Piss hair: ILL HAVE YA KNOW I FOGHT CONSTANTLY W MY LIL BRO
Piss hair: N I WIN
DIY Wizard: no ya don’t!!!
DIY Wizard sent a video to Ungly
Piss hair: W
Piss hair: MICHIRU WHERE TH FUCK DIDJA GET THAT
DIY Wizard: Rintarou-kun!!!
Piss hair: NOOOO
Piss hair: SUNA YA TRAITOR
Teru: see I could totally take you in a fight
Teru: moving on
Teru: Usu would ibliterate me
DIY Wizard: heck yeah I would!!!
Teru: moving on
Teru: I wouldn’t fight Akkun
Teru: but he’d probably beat my ass
Teru: I’d thank him too
Akaashi: I don’t know what to say to that?
Teru: step on me pls
Broom: OI
Broom: NO FLIRTING WITH AKKUN BABE
Teru: sorry babe 🥺
Broom: I’ll forgive you babe
Broom: if you say I’d win in a fight
Teru: Futakkund win in a fight
Broom: HA
Broom: SUCK IT, TSUMU
Piss hair: FUCK YA
Broom: I HAVE A HUSBAND NO THANKS
TORA: what about me!!! Teru what about me!!!
Teru: hm
Teru: you’re stronk
Teru: got muscles
Teru: you’d beat my ass
Broom: kinky
Teru: hell yeah 😜
Teru: Shitabu
Teru: I could take him
Shitabu: I’d gauge your eyes out
Teru: Shitabu would bring a knife to a fist fight
Teru: so ultimately I may die
Teru: but I’d win by default
Yahabitch: there are rules to these fights?
Teru: Sakusan
Teru: could kill me and I’d thank them
Teru: I’d lose on purpose
Sakusan: You disgust me.
Teru: thanks
Broom: STOP CHEATING ON ME
Yuh 😜
Ennoshan: YAHABA
Ennoshan: GIVE ME BACK MY MANAGER
Ennoshan: @Yahabitch @Yahabitch
Teru: the sexy one?
Broom: she graduated didnt she?
TORA: the cute one?????
Yahabitch: we’re having a bestie night, piss off
Ennoshan: I need her?????? What the fuck Yahaba
Teru: idk Ennoshan sounds like a u problem
Yahabitch sent a picture to Yuh 😜
Yahabitch: bestie night w my bestie 😘
Shitabu: you’re having a bestie night without me?
Yahabitch: I TRIED CALLING YOU
Yahabitch: YOU BLOCKED ME
Shitabu: oh yeah
Shitabu: because you guys KICKED ME OUT and then FORGOT ABOUT ME
TORA: wait now I feel lonely
Snake Man: LERS HAVE A VIRTUAL BESTIE NIGHT TORA
TORA: CAN I INVITE FUKUNAGA
Snake Man: INVITE KOZUME TOO AND WE CAN PLAY VIDEO GAMES
Snake Man: I DONT WANNA THIRD WHEEL
Ennoshan: I think we’re ignoring the point of this
Ennoshan: @Yahabitch GIVE YACHI-SAN BACK
Ennoshan: WE LITERALLY HAVE A MATCH TOMORROW I NEED TO PLAN THINGS WITH HER
Teru: man I feel bad for Ennoshan lol
Teru: Our manager is too shy to have friends lolol
Broom: at Johzenji??????
Broom: you have shy people?????
Teru: ikr
Teru: it’s just her o prmise
Teru: shes the outlier
DIY Wizard: Johzenji seems fun!!! I like your vb uniforms!!!
Teru: thanks~
Teru: 😜
Broom: babe stop
Ennoshan: Yahaba PLEASE
Ennoshan: please put Yachi-san on the phone
Yahabitch: Hello Ennoshita-san! I’m so sorry, I emailed you the plans for tomorrow, but you might not have gotten them,,,,,
Ennoshan:
Ennoshan: no I got them, thanks
Ennoshan: could we meet tomorrow then?
Yahabitch: Yes of course!!!!! Sorry to cause you worry!
Ennoshan: No not at all! Enjoy your bestie night(?)
Yahabitch: Thank you!!!! You too!!!!
TORA: Yachi-san’s so cute
Snake Man: MAN I WISH I HAD A MANAGER
Broom: imagine bot having a manager lololol
TORA: pain
TORA: I JUST WANT A FEMALE MANAGER IS THAT SO HARD TO ASK
DIY Wizard: we’ve got a manager!!!
DIY Wizard: hes a guy though!!!
Snake Man: IMAGINE HAVING A MANAGER
TORA: Me n Seguro bot having managers
TORA: (=´∀｀)人(´∀｀=)
Yahabitch: I also don’t have a manger?
Ennoshan: YOU STOLE MINE
Ennoshan: YOU STOLE MY MANAGER
Akaashi: We used to have managers, but sadly they both graduated last year.
Teru: f in the chat for Akkun
DIY Wizard: F!!!
Teru: don’t be so happy about it usu
Broom: my manager is batshit insane and I love her
Broom: she once threw a broom at me from across the gym and it still managed to hit me
Ennoshan: every day I learn more about you and immediately regret it
Broom: w
Broom: how is that my fault
Teru: NAMETSU-SANNNN
Teru: she could step on me and I’d thank her
Broom: youd say that wouldn’t you
Broom: but you haven’t seen her at five in the morning chasing Onagawa with a metal ladle
Ennoshan: I
Ennoshan: do i want context for this?
Akaashi: Probably not.
Sakusan: Definitely not.
Yuh 😜 3:58
DIY Wizard: we should play never have I ever!!!
Ennoshan: that sounds like a godawful idea
Teru: SOUNDS AWFUL
Teru: LETS DO IT
Ennoshan: Sigh
DIY Wizard: @all LETS PLAY NEVER HAVE I EVER!!!
Sakusan: No thank you.
DIY Wizard: DDD:
Piss hair: what’s wrong, Omi-Omi? Ya too scared?
Sakusan:
Sakusan: Fine.
DIY Wizard: :DDD
Yahabitch: I’ll play, I guess
Shitabu: no
Yahabitch: Shirabu’s playing
Shitabu: no I’m not
Yahabitch: yes you are
Snake Man: YES YOU ARE
Shitabu: 😐
TORA: It’ll be FUN
TORA: Never have I ever is always fun!!!!!
TORA: until you discover your friend has actually planned out multiple murders and knows exactly where to hide bodies and when you ask him who he’s planning on murdering he doesn’t answer...
Broom: wow!
Broom: that’s terrifying!
Teru: oh no
Teru: anyways
Akaashi: I suppose I’ll play too.
Snake Man: YAAAYYY
Snake Man: HI AKKUN
Akaashi: Hello Seguro-kun.
Yahabitch: is hat everyone?
Yahabitch: we have so many people in this groupchat...
Teru: not THAAAT many
Teru: only uhhh
Teru: nine
Broom: that’s not even enough for a volleyball match
Teru: NO WAIT
Teru: DIDNT ADD PISS HAIR AND USURI
Teru: we got eleven
Broom: damn
Broom: almost enough for a volleyball match
Teru: stfu about volleyball
Akaashi: Terushima-kun...
Akaashi: You ARE aware of the purpose of this groupchat, right?
Teru: bold of you to assume I ever planned for this to be about vollunall
Piss hair: ya know my names not actually piss hair right
Teru: yeah it is
Broom: yes it is
Sakusan: Yes it is.
Piss hair: IM BEIN FUCKIN BULLIED
Yahabitch: change your hair color and we’ll see
Shitabu: That’s ironic, coming from you
Teru: Yahaba dyes his hair????
Shitabu sent a picture to Ungly
Broom: WHAT
Snake Man: YAHABA YOUR HAIR IS SILVER
Yahabitch: ugh
Yahabitch: yes it is
Yahabitch: I’m albino, so I have no pigmentation in my hair
Akaashi: I like your natural hair, Yahaba-kun.
Yahabitch: thanks
Yahabitch: I used to get bullied for it and my parents don’t really like it so I started dying it when I was younger
Shitabu: stupid, if you ask me
Ennoshan: I think you look good both ways, Yahaba
Yahabitch: thanks
Broom: WAIT STOP GETTING DISTRACTED
Broom: WERE PLAYING TRUTH OR DARE
Broom: RIGHT USURI
DIY Wizard: Never have I ever!!!
Broom: CLOSE ENOUGH
Broom: NEVER HAVE I EVER
Broom: WERE PLAYING IT
Ennoshan: I feel like I’m at a sleepover
Yahabitch: you know you don’t have to be so aggressive
Snake Man: BEING AGGRESSIVE IS MY THING
Yahabitch: you’re not aggressive, you’re just loud
Broom: STOP GETTING DISTRACTED
Teru: okie dokie artachokie!
Teru: Usu start
DIY Wizard: hmmm,,,
DIY Wizard: Never Have I Ever not been to nationals!!!
Teru:
Teru: what the fuck Usu
Broom: he really went straight for the kill huh
Broom: are we doing from 10?
Broom: @DIY Wizard watch your back btw I’m totally getting revenge at nationals
DIY Wizard: if ya get there!!!
Piss hair: lmao imagine not havin been ta nationals all three years
Piss hair: 10
DIY Wizard: also ten!!!
Broom:
Broom: 9
Teru: 9
Teru: I think you killed everyone else
Ennoshan: 9
Ennoshan: so glad I dont live near Yahaba or Shirabu
Ennoshan: they’re probably plotting a murder right about now
Sakusan: ten
Snake Man: NINE! IVE NEVER BEEN TO NATIONALS
TORA: this is so unfair
TORA: I WENT TO NATIONALS
DIY Wizard: but have ya ever not been at nationals? :)
TORA: I MEAN YEAH
DIY Wizard: 9 for ya then! :)))
Yahabitch: god I’m going to fucking breaks something
Yahabitch: oh my motherfucking god
Yahabitch: Jesus fucking Christ
Shitabu: is that the only bad word you know? Lame
Shitabu: 9
Akaashi: Ten, still.
DIY Wizard: okay,,,, Atsumu-kun next???
Piss hair: okay
Piss hair: uhhh never have I ever had my own room
Shitabu: pathetic
Shitabu: what are you, poor?
Ennoshan: I take it that’s one point less for Shirabu?
Shitabu: 8
Yahabitch: also eight
Sakusan: Nine.
TORA: eight
Akaashi: Nine, also.
Ennoshan: nine
Snake Man: ALSO NINE
TORA: you got a brother, Seguro?
Snake Man: UEAH
Snake Man: TWO
Snake Man: AND TWO SISTER
Broom: your parents sure were busy hih
Yahabitch: ... eight
Futakuchi: 8
Teru: man I am bad as FUCK at this lmao
Teru: 8
Usuri: 10!!!
Piss hair: okay Yuuji go
Teru: okay! Never have I ever failed a class!
Broom: youre killing me
Broom: your own husband
Yahabitch: your broom?
Broom: YAHABA STFU
Broom: DONT TELL ME YOUVE NEVER FAILED A CLASS
Yahabitch: of course not
Yahabitch: my parents would beat the shit out of me
Yahabitch: and then disown me
Snake Man: OOF
Snake Man: EIGHT
Usuri: Ten!!!
Broom: someone disthrone Usu quick
Broom: seven,,,
Ennoshan: nine
Shitabu: eight
Akaashi: I’m still at nine.
TORA: I have failed SO many classes
TORA: you have no idea
TORA: (￣3￣)
TORA: seven
Sakusan: Nine.
Broom: OKAY MY TURN
Yahabitch: how are we even deciding the turn order?
Ennoshan: no idea
Broom: STFU ITS MY TURN
Broom: NEVER HAVE I EVER LIVED SOMEWHERE OTHER THAN MIYAGI
Piss hair: WTF THATS TARGETIN
Ennoshan: @Piss hair did you even answer the last question
Piss hair:
Piss hair: nine...
Piss hair: and then eight
DIY Wizard: nine but I think that questions a bit unfair, Kenji-kun,,, :(((
Teru: oof
Teru: he hit you with the triple frowny face
Snake Man: NO WAY TO GO BACK FROM THAT
Broom: w
Broom: YOU TARGETED FIRST????????
Broom: WHAT THE FUCK????
Broom: is ‘never have I ever not been to nationals’ not targeting????
Yahabitch: he makes a good point, Usuri
DIY Wizard: :((( I guess
Teru: look what you did! He’s sad now
Akaashi: Eight.
Teru: also eight
Yahabitch: also also eight
Snake Man: SEVEN
Shitabu: this is boring
TORA: YOURE boring
Snake Man: UR MOM IS BORING
Yahabitch: dont talk about Shirabu’s mom like that
Yahabitch: the only Shirabu I tolerate
Shitabu: Yahaba????
Broom: lol Yahaba wants to fuck Shirabu’s mom
Yahabitch: I’m going to murder you Futakuchi
Broom: please do
Yuh 😜 4:12
TORA: um chile
TORA: n e ways
Yahabitch: eight still
Yahabitch: since I do live in Miyagi
Ennoshan: nine
Shitabu: eight
TORA: six Σ(-᷅_-᷄๑)
Broom: ok ok Yahaba’s turn
Yahabitch: again how are we deciding this?
Teru: god told me 🙏
Yahabitch:
Yahabitch: yeah ok
Yahabitch: Never have I ever smoked or drinked
Snake Man: DRINKED?
Yahabitch: drank?
TORA: drunk?
DIY Wizard: me thinks it’s drinked!!!
Akaashi: It’s drank.
DIY Wizard: me thinks wrong!!!
Teru: yer killin me Haba
Teru: ^my best piss hair impression
Piss hair: STFU
Piss hair: THAT AINT MY NAME
Piss hair: 7
Teru: also 7
Usuri: nine!!!
Broom: ,,, six,,,
Snake Man: SOMEONES FAILING
Broom: Seguchan I’ll literally bite your nose off
Teru: 😳 kinky
Snake Man: SEVEN
Ennoshan: nine
Akaashi: Eight, still.
Yahabitch: @Shitabu answer the damn question
Shitabu:
Shitabu: seven
Shitabu: but it’s not like you’ve never gotten drunk before
Yahabitch: NOT ON PURPOSE
Yahabitch: ONLY WHEN /SOMEONE/ SPIKED THE PUNCH AND FORGOT TO TELL ME
Shitabu: we’ve had this conversation before
Shitabu: I’ve already apologized I’m not doing that again
TORA:
TORA: chile n e ways
TORA: five ʅ（◞n◟）ʃ
Ennoshan: I have a feeling Sakusa ditched us
Piss hair: NOOOO
Piss hair: BABE?????
Sakusan: Don’t call me that.
Piss hair:
Piss hair: loml?
Sakusan: ...
Sakusan: Ugh whatever.
Sakusan: Eight.
Teru: Oho? Sakusan’s gotten drunk?
Sakusan: I’ve smoked.
Teru: OHO????
Snake Man: OKAY OKAY MY TURN
Snake Man: NEVER HAVE I EVER MISSED PRACTICE
Piss hair: NVER??????????
DIY Wizard: Nine!!!
Teru: you fuckin kidding me?
Teru: six
Piss hair: ONLY CAUSE I GOOT THE FLUE N KITA-SAN REFUSED TO LET ME PRACTICE
Yahabitch: seven
Yahabitch: I’ve had to skip quite a few days honestly. I’m not very proud of it but I can’t help it
Broom: six
Broom: most I’ve gone without practice is skipping morning and afternoon practice
Broom: never more than a day
Broom: I could never
Broom: volleyball my one true love
Teru: I feel like I’m failing so bad lmao
TORA: you think YOURE failing????
TORA: BRUH IM ON FOUR NOW
Sakusan: Don’t skip practice then. Eight.
TORA: SAKUSANNNNN
Ennoshan: eight
Yahabitch: Ennoshita you’ve skipped? No judgement though ofc
Ennoshan: I’m not really proud of it
Ennoshan: I quit the club first year after Coach Ukai Sr. came back
Ennoshan: it was too intense
Ennoshan: but I like volleyball too much to stay away for that long...
Ennoshan: so I came back
Snake Man: IM GLAD YOU DID
Broom: me too! Cause we never would’ve been able to get closer without this groupchat and if you weren’t captain that never would’ve happened!
Piss hair: yeha thanks
Teru: yeha
Broom: yeha
TORA: YEHA LMAO
Piss hair: YA RUINED THE MOMENT WTF
Shitabu: correction- YOU ruined the moment
Piss hair: STOP BULLYING ME
Yahabitch: don’t be so bullyable then
Shitabu: seven
Akaashi: I’m on eight.
Teru: ENNOSHANS TURNNNN
Ennoshan: really?
Ennoshan: okay uh
Ennoshan: never have I ever dyed my hair
Yahabitch: TARGETING
Yahabitch: THATS A FUCKING TARGET
Teru: YOURE targeted??? IM targeted
Yahabitch: six goddammit
Teru: five 😔
DIY Wizard: eight!!!
DIY Wizard: I dye my hair every month or so!!!
DIY Wizard sent a picture to Yuh 😜
TORA: pink nice
Piss hair: fuckin betrayal, En-chan
Ennoshan: En-Chan? Another one?
Piss hair: five
Broom: haha
Broom: point and laugh, bitches
Broom: six
Snake Man: SAD FACE
Snake Man: SIX
Teru: me 🤝 Seguchan 🤝 Piss hair
Teru: bleached hair
Piss hair: THATS NOT MY NAMEEEEE
Shitabu: *points and laughs*
Shitabu: seven
Akaashi: eight.
TORA: if only part of my hair is blond do I still get to be part of the group
Piss hair: NO🤬
TORA: ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´ω`ﾟ)ﾟ｡
Teru: HES JOKING RIGHT PISS HAIR
Piss hair: yeah I’m jokin
Snake Man: BLOND BITCHES GANG GANG
TORA: yeah so
TORA: I’m at three...
Yahabitch: are we finishing when Tora loses?
TORA: WAIT WHY ARE YOU ASSUMING ILL LOSE
Shitabu: it’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?
TORA: BRUH
TORA: pain
Piss hair: @Sakusan answer th damn question babe
Sakusan: Long sigh
Sakusan: Seven.
Teru: OHO?
Sakusan: I was thirteen
Sakusan: I dyed a green streak in my hair
Piss hair: WAIT OMI-OMI THATS HILARIOUS
Piss hair: I GOTTA SEE THIS
Sakusan: Absolutely not.
Piss hair: it’s ok I’ll just ask Komori-kun!!!
DIY Wizard: Motoya-kun!!!
DIY Wizard: ah wait this picture?
DIY Wizard sent a picture to Yuh 😜
Sakusan has left Yuh 😜
Piss hair: NOOOOOO
Teru has added Sakusa into the groupchat
Sakusa: Pain.
Broom changed Sakusa’s name to Sakusan
Snake Man: BALANCE IS RESTORED
Yahabitch: okay uh wow weve gotten really off track huh
Broom: Shitabu’s turn!!!!!’
Shitabu: Never have I ever played a dating sim game specifically because one of the love interests looked like my crush
Yahabitch: hey Kenjirou
Shitabu: yes Shigeru?
Yahabitch: start running
DIY Wizard: haha wow I feel like that ones super specific lolol
DIY Wizard: I’m still on eight
Piss hair: yeah idk who that’d hit besides Haba
Piss hair: five
Teru: also five
Broom: I’ve played dating games but I like doing it blind so
Broom: six
Yahabitch: ... five
Snake Man: WAS IT KYOUTANI-SAN?
Yahabitch:
Yahabitch: maybe
Snake Man: THATS KINDA CUTE
Snake Man: ALSO FIVE
TORA:
TORA: two,,,
Piss hair: BWAHAHAHA YA LOST A POINT TOO????
Snake Man: AND YOU DIDNT TELL ME??????
TORA: STFU STFU AAAAA
TORA: it was Kiyoko-san,,,
TORA: I can’t HELP ir she’s so pretty,,,
Ennoshan: it’s alright Tora
Ennoshan: pretty sure everyone who’s attracted to women has been attracted to Shimizu-san
Ennoshan: also seven
Akaashi: Eight.
Sakusan: Seven.
Broom: lolol Tora’s gonna actually die
TORA: ACTUALLY????
Yahabitch: actually literally
Broom: :P
Broom: n e ways Akkun go
Akaashi: Ah
Akaashi: Well...
Akaashi: Never have I ever lost to Karasuno.
Piss hair: OUCH
Teru: LÊ GASP
Teru: AKKUN YOU TRAITOR
DIY Wizard: Eight!!!
Piss hair: fuckin four
Piss hair: god fuckin dammit
Teru: also four
Teru: tee her twinsies
Broom: are we talking practice matches or official matches?
Akaashi: Official competition matches.
Broom: damn rip
Broom: I mean I’d still be at five now lol
Yahabitch: four
Yahabitch: Akaashi no offense but why
Snake Man: I WANNA FACE KARASUNO SO BAD (*☻-☻*)
Snake Man: FOUR
Ennoshan: Um
Ennoshan: I am Karasuno? So I’ve never been beaten by them lol
Ennoshan: so 7
Shitabu: 6
Sakusan: I’ve never gone up against Karasuno, so seven.
TORA: ONE
TORA: guys I’m literally gonna die
Yahabitch: Yamamoto have you ever passed one of these?
TORA: no
Broom: king of doing shit
Ennoshan: on the other hand, Usuri is the king of not doing shit
Ennoshan: somehow
Sakusan: Never have I ever blackmailed someone
DIY Wizard: OUCH
DIY Wizard: Ya tryin to drag me down, Kiyoomi-chan?
Sakusan: Maybe so.
DIY Wizard: Seven :(((
Teru: you don’t deserve the DIY anymore Usu
Teru: you haven’t done squat
DIY Wizard: pain :(((
Broom changed DIY Wizard’s name to Wizard
Wizard: RHIS IS SO SAD D:
Snake Man: TORA GIMME A CRYING EMOJI
TORA: YESSIR
TORA: ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´ω`ﾟ)ﾟ｡
Piss hair: well I’ve never blackmailed someone so
Piss hair: four
TORA: FOLKS
TORA: I’ve passed one
TORA: i survive!!!!! Barely
Shitabu: dammit
Shitabu: also five
Yahabitch: ... three
Shitabu: getting dangerous low, huh Shigeru
Teru: four
Teru: I have not blackmailed anyone
Broom: what constitutes as blackmail
Ennoshan: if you have to ask that’s not a good look for you Futakuchi
Akaashi: Seven.
Snake Man: IVE NEVER DONE THAY SO FOUR
Ennoshan: also seven
Broom: okay answer the question
Akaashi: the action, treated as a criminal offense, of demanding payment or another benefit from someone in return for not revealing compromising or damaging information about them
Teru: thanks Akkun
Broom: okay four then
Yahabitch: so
Yahabitch: so are we just going to ignore Akaashi apparently blackmailing someone?
Akaashi: Yes, yes we are.
Yahabitch: ok valid
Broom: that was a full round
Broom: so uhhh
Broom: Usu go again? Lmao
Wizard: okay!!!
Wizard: hmmm,,,
Wizard: never have I ever been attracted to a girl!!!
Teru: GOD FUCKIN DAMMIT USU
Broom: pain
TORA: guys I’m
TORA: guys I’m dead
TORA: jfc guys I’m dead
TORA: Usu whyyyyyyyyyyyy
Shitabu: imagine not being gay, couldn’t be me
Shitabu: 5
Yahabitch: NOT TRUE
Yahabitch: NOT TRUE
Yahabitch: CHIKA-CHAN IN SIXTH GRADE
Shitabu: THAT DOESNT COUNT I WAS LIKEFOUR
Yahabitch:
Yahabitch: you were twelve???
Ennoshan: wait
Ennoshan: Matsugaya elementary?
Yahabitch: YEAH
Ennoshan: KSKSHSKSKSKSBSJSKS THAT WAS ME
Shitabu: HA
Shitabu: I have never had a crush on a girl
Teru: *Bill Clinton voice* I did not have sex with that woman
Broom: what
TORA: what
Snake Man: WHAT
Broom: Tora you’re dead you can’t talk
TORA: pain
TORA: I mean
TORA: 💀💀💀
Yahabitch: well I mean the game is over anyways
Yahabitch: bit that sure is a surprise
Ennoshan: yeah
Ennoshan: I was only there for a semester but
Ennoshan: Shirabu you had a crush on me?
Ennoshan: oh my
Shitabu: STFU IM LEAVING
Yahabitch: okay That’s it games over
Sakusan: Oh thank God.
Sakusan: I’m leaving.
Piss hair: nooooo ☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️
Piss hair: Omi-Omi?
Broom: they left
Piss hair: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Yuh 😜
Teru: BRACKETS ARE OUT
Yahabitch: SHIT
Broom: SHIT
Snake Man: FOR THE TOURNEY?
Seguro: WE DONT GET OURS UNTIL NEXT WEEK
Ennoshan: man I’m so glad we went to nationals last year and don’t have to worry about the first day
Yahabitch: okay fuck you
Teru: WEVE GOT WAKUNAN
Teru: man I wish Nakashima was still on the team ://
Teru: THATD be fun to play
Broom: if you win against Wakunan we’ll see each other in the second round
Teru: ooh spicy
Teru: prepare to be pulverized
Broom: lmao
Broom: we’ll see
Ennoshan: domestic squabble lol
Yahabitch: oh my god I’m freaking out
Yahabitch: AHAHAHAHA
Ennoshan: You good Yahaba?
Yahabitch: NO
Yahabitch: ITS OKAY
Yahabitch: YTBIS IS GOOD ACTUALLY
Yahabitch: We’re bracketed to face both Shiratorizawa and Karasuno
Yahabitch: two birds with one stone
Yahabitch: this is good
Shitabu: great he’s spiraling
Yahabitch: IM FINE
Yahabitch: THIS IS FINE
Akaashi: Well, good luck to all of you!
Wizard: we got our bracket last week!!! I’m feelin pretty confident!!!
Ennoshan: I’m not surprised
TORA : man I wish we got our brackets early like you guys IGHHH I WAMNA PLAY VOLLEYBALL
Snake Man: I HOPE WE DONT GET SAKUSAN’S TEAM FIRST ROUND LOL
TORA: bro
TORA: what if we get each other
Snake Man: I THINK ID CRY
Snake Man: BUT I WONT HOLD BACK, TORA!!!!
TORA: YOU BETTER NOT
Teru: bromance at its finest
Teru: @Broom this us?
Broom:
Broom: we’re literally married?
Piss hair: when ya get friendzoned by yer husband
Shitabu: your broom
Broom: STFU STFU
Broom: IT WAS A ONE TIME MSITAKE
Broom: I DONT SEE YOU HARPING ON PISS HAIR’S UNGLY MISTAKE
Piss hair: my names not piss hair pls
Piss hair: I’ll report y’all for cyberbullyin
Teru: sorry piss hair
Broom: we’ll do better next time, Piss hair
Yahabitch: guys oh my god WE HAVE TO DO KARASUNO AND SHIRATORIZAWA IN THE SAME DAY IM GONNA FUCKING CRY
Yahabitch: wait
Yahabitch: if shiratorizawa forfeits,,,
Yahabitch: SHITABU GO BREAK YOUR ARM
Shitabu: what? No
Shitabu: besides they’d still play without me
Ennoshan: Hey Yahaba, are you alright?
Ennoshan: if you want I could bring you some ice cream and we could watch some movies
Yahabitch: I’m
Yahabitch: I’m just kinda stressed rn sorry
Yahabitch: please don’t break your arm Shirabu that was mean of me to say
Shitabu: it’s fine
Shitabu: open your door btw
Teru: WAIT ARE WE ALL WATCHING MOVIES AT YAHABAS?????
Ennoshan: I
Ennoshan: dont think that’s a good idea
Broom: babe come over to my place and we can watch some movies
Broom: if you know what I mean
Broom: 😉😘
Teru: 😳
Teru: ngl babe that’s kinda gay
Snake Man: WHAT ID GIVE TO LIVE IN MIYAGI
Piss hair: what, ya wanna fuck Teru-kun???? Lmao
Snake Man: EW
TORA: would you really wanna live in the countryside? They’re all bumpkins lol
Wizard: as a country bumpkin I take offense in that
Akaashi: Do you live in a rural area, Usuri-kun?
Wizard: oh boy do I!!!
DIY Wizard: I LIVE ON A FARM!!! :DDD
Piss hair:
Piss hair: why ‘m I not surprised
Wizard sent a picture to Yuh 😜
Wizard: ME N KOKO-CHAN
TORA: Usu that’s a chicken
TORA: there is a chicken on your head
Wizard: AIBT SHE GREAT??? :DDD
Yuh 😜 2:38
Broom changed Teru’s name to Broom 2
Broom: revenge is a dish best served
Broom: idk like three weeks later
TORA: has it really only been three weeks? It feels like much longer
Broom 2: bro????
Broom: I’ve been meaning to do this
Broom: alas
Broom: my memory sucks
Broom 2: BRO??????
Broom: every time I’m in the shower I go ‘huh I should change Teru’s name’ and then I DONT
Broom 2: 😳
Broom 2: you think about me in the shower babe?
Broom 2: kinky
Broom: ajdjeendbwjdbvekwjsvejqk
Yahabitch: why are there two Furakuchis what the hell happened
Broom 2: furakuchi lmao
Broom: ah yes
Broom: me
Broom: furakuchi
Yahabitch: okay leave me alone my keypad is small
Broom 2: LIKE THAY DICK
Broom: OOO
Yahabitch: okay so you’re Terushima?
Piss hair: lmao
Piss hair: th fact that he knows it’s you cause of the duck joke
Broom: the what?
Broom: hm, the what, Atsumu-kun?
Piss hair: STFU IT WAS AUTOCORRECT
Broom 2: no no please we didn’t hear you properly say it again Tsum-Tsum!
Piss hair: THE DICK JOKE
Shitabu: no, I don’t think that’s what you said originally
Piss hair: STFU
Ennoshan: guys don’t antagonize piss hair
Piss hair: TS NOT MY NAME
Sakusan: Dye your hair a better color then.
Piss hair: WEVE BEEN OVER THIS
TORA: lmao this is just like that one scene in the anime I watched with Kenma about the couple in the high school
Snake Man: THE ONE WHERE THEY PROTAG DYES HIS HAIR BRIGHT PINK TO IMPRESS HIS CRUSH?
TORA: no the one where his childhood friends hair is. Piss colored
Broom 2: ooo I’ve seen that one! Where the love interest actually falls for the childhood friend?
Broom: SPOILER ALERT
Ennoshan: can
Ennoshan: can you not just name the show????
Broom 2: we’ve been over this Ennoshan
Broom 2: governments watching
Wizard: Ya always gotta be cautious!!! Ya never know who could be listenin!!!
Ennoshan: you too, Usuri?
Broom 2: sounds like something a boot licker would say
Ennoshan: I am NOT a boot licker
Ennoshan: the government wouldn’t listen to an insignificant group of teenagers squabbling about
Ennoshan: whatever the fuck we talk about
Wizard: Bold of ya to assume I’m not on the govt’s shit list
Ennoshan:
Ennoshan: should I be concerned about that?
Ennoshan:
Ennoshan: /Usuri???/
Wizard: :)))
Broom: Day 3539267207907 of Usuri terrifying me to death
Shitabu: you’re not dead if you’re typing
Shitabu: unfortunately
Broom: unfortunately
Broom 2: *smacks w broom* no self deprecating jokes in MY chat room
Broom 2: this is the year we GET OUR SHIT TOGETHER
Yahabitch: isn’t that something you’d usually say at the New Years?
Yahabitch: it’s summer
Broom 2: shhh
Broom 2: time is a social construct
Peaceful music 4:38
Bobat(e)a: I told Teru about this groupchat and he flipped his shit lol
Obama: I told you he would
Obama: Did you record it?
Bobat(e)a: ofc
Bobat(e)a sent a video to Peaceful music
Shinji!: Bobata-kun!!! >:(
Bobat(e)a: Shinji!!!!
Shinji!: *points at no swearing jar*
Bobat(e)a: ur not my mom
Obama: *gasp*
Kawaiinishi: *gasp*
Narita: rip bobata youll be missed
Shinji! has kicked Bobat(e)a out of Peaceful music
Obama: f in the chat
Kawaiinishi: f
Narita: f
Shinji!: f ~^~
Narita: wow its so peaceful now
Obama: ikr
Obama: Shin how was your math test?
Shinji!: it was good!!!! Yahaba helped me study so I felt pretty confident!
Narita: at your place?
Shinji!: ofc
Obama: *sirens*
Obama: SHINJI SAID A BAD WORD SHINJI SAID A BAD WORD
Kawaiinishi: omg
Kawaiinishi: what has the world come to
Shinji!: NOOOOOO
Shinji!: IT WAS OF COURSE
Narita: you know the drill shin
Shinji!: :(
Shinji! has left Peaceful music
Kawaiinishi:
Narita: wow we are really losing member huh
Obama: f in the chat
Narita: f
Kawaiinishi: f
Obama: oh btw
Obama: @Kawaiinishi ask Shirabutt if you guys would be free for a practice match this weekend
Kawaiinishi: yeah sure I’ll check
Narita: should i add them back in yet
Obama: Bobata’s probably blowing up Shinji’s phone lololol
Kawaiinishi: lol
Kawaiinishi: do it
Narita has added Bobata and Watari to Peaceful music
Bobata: THANK GOODNESS
Bobata: I THOUGHT I WAS GONNA DIE
Watari changed their name to Shinji!
Bobata: owo? Shin got kicked too?
Shinji!: I said a bad word :(((((
Obama: he kicked himself
Obama: it totally wasn’t my fault
Kawaiinishi: it was totally Obara’s fault
Obama: pain
Obama: f in the chat for me
Kawaiinishi: f
Narita: f
Shinji!: f
Bobata: fffffffffffffff
Obama: BOBATA DONT DO IT
Bobata: FFFFFFFF
Kawaiinishi: there he goes again
Bobata: FFFFFFFFFUCK
Shinji!: D:<
Shinji!: BOBATA-KUN!!!!
Bobata: SHIN!!!!
Shinji!: *points at no swearing jar*
Bobata: UR NOT MY MOM
Kawaiinishi: gasp
Narita: why do i feel like weve done this before
Obama: this is the twelfth time this week
Shinji!: I’m sorry Bobata-kun,,,, I have no choice,,,,,,,
Obama: you literally do but ok
Shinji! has kicked Bobata from Peaceful music
Narita: well there he goes
Obama: f in the chat
Narita: f
Kawaiinishi: f
Narita: oh also
Narita: shinji, would it be possible to arrange a practice match with aoba johsai?
Narita: ennos been bugging me
Shinji!: he can’t ask Yahaba himself?
Shinji!: I mean I’m not complaining lol
Shinji!: but I’m literally not even a captain or vice captain
Narita: ironically their captains groupchat is not for volleyball
Obama: imagine
Kawaiinishi: our groupchat is so volleyball centric we’re playing volleyball rn
Narita: we are?
Obama: mentally
Kawaiinishi: omg Shin why didn’t you get that ball *angry face*
Shinji!: mb mb
Obama: hmmm middle blocker....
Narita has added Bobata to Peaceful music
Bobata: FINALLY HOLY HECK
Bobata: I promise I will be a good child from now on shin shin
Shinji!: :)))))
Shinji!: I’ll see about the practice match, Narita-kun!
Bobata: this is so sad
Bobata: practice matches wo Johzenji??????
Kawaiinishi: yeah no offense boba tea
Kawaiinishi: youre too weak for us
Bobata: ouch
Obama: f in the chat for Bobata
Narita: f
Kawaiinishi: f
Shinji!: f
Shinji!: ok i gtg now!!!!! I’ll talk to Yahaba and Kyoutani-kun about that practice match!
Kawaiinishi: ok bye Shinji!
Narita: stay safe
Obama: bye!
Bobata: 👋
Bobata changed their name to Bobat(e)a
Bobat(e)a: okay not that I dislike shin shin
Obama: 👁👄👁 *cocks gun*
Bobat(e)a: I SAID NOT THAT I DISLIKE HIM I LIKE HIM VERY MUCH LET ME FINISH
Kawaiinishi: choose your next words carefully, Boba tea
Bobat(e)a: like
Bobat(e)a: why doesn’t Kyouken just hurry up and get a phone
Narita: maybe he just doesnt want one, bobata
Bobat(e)a: BUT HES THE VICE CAPTAINNNNMMMM
Bobat(e)a: WE NEEED HIMMMMMMMM
Obama: we have Shinji tho
Obama: it’s basically the same thing
Bobat(e)a: it’s the principle of the matter, Obara
Narita: well i dont mind watari being here instead of kyoutani
Narita: hes a bit aggressive you know
Bobat(e)a: nah I’m sure I could handle him
Kawaiinishi: (x) doubt
Bobat(e)a: I COULD
Narita: (x)
Obama: (x)
Bobat(e)a: okay Y’know what
Bobat(e)a: fuck yall
Shinji! has kicked Bobat(e)a from Peaceful music
Obama: f
Yuh 😜 11:32
Broom: assigning my friends random aesthetics! 💞💕🌮⚡️✨💖✨✨🎇💖⚡️
TORA: w
TORA: why is there a taco
Wizard: because tacos are good, Tora-kun!!!
Broom: yeah what he said
Broom 2: yell heah tacos
Yahabitch: yell heah
Piss hair: yell heah
Broom: yell heah
Broom 2: ET TU, BABE???
Piss hair changed the chat name to yell heah
Yahabitch changed the chat name to Yell Heah
Piss hair: bitch
Yahabitch: IM SORRY
Broom: OKAY STFU
Broom: you’re distracting me stfu
Broom: @ Usuri
Broom: kidcore
Wizard: is it really assignin if that’s what I wear???
Broom: stfu
Broom: I’m going based off vibes
Wizard: well the vibes are correct!!!
Wizard sent a picture to Yell Heah
Wizard: da fit!!!
Snake Man: LÓOKING RAD AS FUCK TODAY, USURI
Wizard: Thanks, Akihiko-kun!!!
Broom: @ Teru babe my beloved
Broom: neoncore
Broom: absolute disaster, that one is
Broom 2: R00d *said britishly*
Broom: OI
Broom: THATS MY THING
Broom: n e ways
Broom: akkun gets dark academia core
Akaashi: Thank you.
Broom: 😘
Broom: Yahaba gets
Broom: idk
Broom: fuckin nerd core
Yahabitch: I’m
Yahabitch: why is the quality so much less than all the other ones?
Broom: BC I RAN OUT OF FODDER OK
Broom: I ONLY THOUGHT LIKE THEEE PEOPLE IN
Shitabu: Yahaba is definitely nerd core
Shitabu: stupid fucking sweater vest bitch
Yahabitch: ouch?
Broom: yeah n e ways Shitabu is like
Broom: idk soft punk
Broom: whatever the fuck Semi-san’s got goin on
Broom: I know you’re into that shit Shirabu DONT lie
Yahabitch:
Yahabitch: I think he left lol
Broom 2: congrats Futakkun, you managed to embarrass him
Piss hair: I didn’t think it was possible
Wizard: *takes notes*
TORA: this just in- Usu is actually Midoriya
Snake Man: FROM BNHA????
TORA: UEAH
Snake Man: I LOVE THAG SHOW
TORA: SAME
Ennoshan: oh so NOW we can say show names?
Ennoshan: what happened to the government is always watching?
Broom 2: lmao
Broom 2: we’re just a bunch of random kids why would the government want to pay attention to us Ennoshan?
Broom: you sure you’re feeling ok Ennoshan? You’re sounding paranoid
Ennoshan: I’m going to fucking murder you two
Broom: I’d say please do but apparently this year self deprecating jokes are off the table
Broom: N E WAYS
Broom: @Piss hair clown core
Piss hair: FUCK U
Yahabitch: I think it’s ironic considering Miya is technically considered the most attractive one in this groupchat
Broom: HUH???
Broom: YOU WANNA SAY THAT TO MY FACE????
Yahabitch: no offense Futakuchi
Yahabitch: do you have a fan group?
TORA: *le gasp*
TORA: how could you do this to Akkun ＼＼\٩(๑`^´๑)۶//／／
Akaashi: Well, I don’t have a fan group...
Akaashi: Also I wouldn’t consider myself very attractive.
Snake Man: AKKUN RESPECTFULLY STFU
Snake Man: THERE ARE PEOPLE AT /MY/ SCHOOL THAT FAWN OVER YOU
TORA: Konoha-san told me you’ve had a fan group since first year, cut the bs Akkun
Akaashi: well
Akaashi: That’s certainly news to me
Piss hair: as much as I wanna say I’m the most attractive person here
Piss hair: OMI-OMI IS OBVIOUSLY THE MOST ATTRACTIVE I MEAN HAVE YA SEEN THEM THEYRE LITERALLY LIKE AN ANGEL DECENDED FROM HEAVEN T SAVEMY POOR FILTHY SOUL
Sakusan: You’re so dramatic, I’m not an angel or anything as grand as that.
Piss hair: yer an Angel to me, Omi-Omi 🥰
Sakusan:
Sakusan: Sap
Yell Heah 2:03
Ennoshan: okay so
Ennoshan: should I add Hirugami?
Broom 2: who?
Wizard: the immovable Hirugami Sachirou, captain n main blocker for Kamomedai high school??? Brother of Hirugami Fukuro n Hirugami Shouko??? Son of national team ace Hirugami Masaki??? N middle blocker for the Tachibana Falcons Hirugami Atsuko???
Broom: yeah why dontcha give us his whole autobiography Usu
Ennoshan: yeah that Hirugami
Piss hair: nahhhhh
Piss hair that guys an ass
Yahabitch: that’s coming from you?
Piss hair: HABA
Piss hair: HOW COULDJA
Broom 2: I mean
Broom 2: the guy lives in what- Hokkaido? That’s so far, what’s even the point?
Ennoshan: They’re in Nagano
Ennoshan: Oita is further and Usuri is still here?
Broom 2: okay but like
Broom 2: I like Usu
Ennoshan: you haven’t even met Hirugami-kun?
Ennoshan: I won’t add him then
Ennoshan: I don’t even know him that well anyways
Broom: feel like it’d be awkward to be in a groupchat with the person you beat lmao
Akaashi: ...
Ennoshan: ...
Yahabitch: ...
Yahabitch: I’m fairly certain I’ve beaten all of you at some point
Yahabitch: except Usuri, Miya, Akaashi, Tora, this is actually like half the groupchat and my point is now moot
Akaashi: Although I do have to agree- being in a groupchat with someone you’ve beaten can get a tad awkward?
Wizard: really??? Who’ve you beat, Keiji-kun???
Broom 2:
Broom 2: the lack of self awareness in this one...
Broom: don’t add him if we can’t play volleyball with him
Broom: the point of this chat is to organize practice matches
Piss hair: it is?
Wizard: it is???
Broom 2: it is ????????
Ennoshan: YOUMADE IT
Yahabitch: you guys really need to get your facts aligned
Broom: well
Broom: I wanna play volleyball
Akaashi: We don’t have enough players currently. If we added Hirugami-san we’d have a full twelve. But then there’s also the problem of distance.
Shitabu: dont add him
Shitabu: there are already enough of you assholes
Snake Man: OKAY BUT
Snake Man: IM CURIOUS
Ennoshan: hes tall, he blocks, he’s snarky
Ennoshan: like Futakuchi if he were handsome
Broom: SLANDER
Broom: SLANDER
Broom: HOW COULD YOU
Broom: DISHONOR ON YOU
Broom: DISHONOR ON YOUR FAMILY
Broom 2: dishonor on your cow?
TORA: mulan , nice
Broom: I AM HANDSOME
Broom: I HAVE A HUSBAND WHO LOVES ME VERY KUCH
Broom 2: yell heah I do babe
Broom: alusakpwbejspkava row babosa no an
Yahabitch: whoop you killed him
Ennoshan: that really is an ugly key smash
Broom: STFU
Ennoshan: so I take that as a no to Hirugami
Piss hair: considerin you, me, n Michiru are the only ones who know im
Piss hair: I’d say no
Shitabu: I’ve met him
Shitabu: but I don’t want any more of you assholes
Akaashi: I’ve seen him around, but we’ve never played each other. I wouldn’t say I’m opposed to him joining.
Yahabitch: okay so that’s a no
Snake Man: RIP HIRUGAMI SACHIRO
Snake Man: I NEVER MET YOU BUT YOULL BE MISSED
Yell Heah 5:01
Broom 2: okay so
Broom 2: inter high prelims are in a month
Yahabitch: please dont remind me
Broom 2: and like
Broom 2: we haven’t even hung out
TORA: we had the whole Tokyo tower thing tho
Broom: YEAH WITHOUT US
Broom: why would you exclude us from our own group chat
Yahabitch: to be fair Tokyo is three hours away and it was pretty impromptu
Broom: YEHA YEAH WHATEVER
Broom: n e ways us Miyagi folk need to hang out
Broom: like yesterday
Shitabu: absolutely not
Ennoshan: I also feel like that’s a horrible idea
Broom 2: smh
Broom 2: you guys are just haters
Broom: fine we’ll do it without you then😤
Broom 2: yeah it’ll just be a date w me and my husband
Yahabitch: your broom
Broom: OVDKAPSBOQNEJAPJDBAPWBEJEKDNPANWBEKSJSKAJ SHUT UP
Ennoshan: what are you thinking, Futakuchi?
Broom: idk
Broom: karaoke or something?
Shitabu: absolutely not
Yahabitch: what, scared everyone will find out you can’t sing for shit?
Piss hair: oof
Snake Man: I LOVE KARAOKE
Broom 2: you don’t live in Miyagi tho...
TORA: oh so is this a Miyagi exclusive thing now? Huh? You discriminatin? Huh? You wanna catch these fists?
Broom: OH AND YOUR LITTLE TOKYO TOWER EXCURSION WASNT EXCLUSIVE????
Akaashi: Miya-kun was there, wasn’t he? Therefore it wasn’t exclusive. Also, it wasn’t as if we planned it beforehand.
Broom: OKAY OKAY FINE
Broom: you can come if you can come
Piss hair: huh?
Snake Man: BUT YOURE ALL THE WAY IN MIYAGI
Broom 2: damn
Broom 2: shoulda been born in Miyagi then
Yahabitch: Imagine not being born in Miyagi
Ennoshan: When, Futakuchi?
Broom: wait we actually doing this
Ennoshan: ???? It was your idea??????
Broom: uhhh Saturday then
Yahabitch: I’ll have to check with my parents
Shitabu: don’t even bother
Shitabu: we already know what they’ll say
Yahabitch: it’s fine, I’ll tell them I’m hanging out at your place
Shitabu: they hate me????
Yahabitch: they love your parents though
Broom 2: I’m free sat
Ennoshan: I’m also free
Snake Man: I CANT BELIEVE YOURE DOING THIS TO US
Snake Man: SLANDER
Snake Man: DISCRIMINATION
Snake Man: ITS CAUSE IM ENBY ISNT IT
Broom 2: we don’t discriminate against enbies
Broom 2: only Tokyo city people
Ennoshan: shitty boys...
TORA: HUH
TORA: YOO WANNA SAY THAT AGAIN?
Yahabitch: okay long story short they said its okay!
Shitabu: great
Broom: Great!
Broom 2: okay so uhhhh
Broom 2: like noon?
Broom: sounds good to me
Yahabitch: I’ll be ‘at Shirabu’s’ all day so sure
Shitabu: you’re totally gonna drag me there aren’t you
Yahabitch: you’re coming I need blackmail material
Wizard: :)))
Yahabitch: ,,,
Yahabitch: I feel like sending it to you would be a bad idea
Wizard: :(((
Yahabitch: okay maybe a little
Broom: if any of y’all are actualy good at singing I’m going to killmyself
Broom 2: *sprays with spray bottle* no self deprecating humor
Broom: hiss
Kenji is not the first to arrive. He didn’t expect to be, but as the person who is usually early, it’s a bit of a shock.
“You’re late.” Shirabu says bluntly, earning an elbow from Yahaba.
“I’m five minutes early.” Kenji raises an eyebrow.
“Same thing.” Shirabu shrugs. He’s wearing an AC DC shirt, a black choker peeking out from under it. Kenji silently cheers at the fact that he accurately guessed his friend’s aesthetic. Yahaba, next to him, is another aesthetic he correctly guessed, with his pastel sweater vest and khakis.
“You look like a nerd.” Kenji comments, and Yahaba’s nose wrinkles.
“Yeah, where are your glasses, fucking nerd?” Shirabu taunts, and Yahaba grabs his ear, tugging hard. “Ow ow ow- asshole!”
“I’ll have you know my vision is twenty-twenty, bitch.”
“Yo! What am I missing?” A voice comes from behind Kenji, and he turns, immediately having to shield his eyes from the bombardment of neon.
“Teru what the fuck.” Yahaba says, and Kenji can’t help but agree. Terushima is absolutely blinding with his bright neon yellow sweater, matching neon sweatpants, and bright yellow shoes.
“Babe you look like a disaster.” Kenji grins, reaching out to give Teru a high five. Teru grins, pulling him close and slapping his back. The sudden movement surprises Kenji, and he can feel his face heating up.
“Just for you, babe.”
“You look like a traffic cone.” Shirabu comments from behind Kenji, and Teru makes a face.
“Come on, Ennoshita’s already waiting.” Yahaba says, and Kenji pulls away from the hug.
“Well, lead the way, ‘Haba-kun.” Terushima bows exaggeratedly. Kenji snickers at that. Yahaba rolls his eyes, leading them down the hallway. He stops in front of the last door, unlocking it with the key around his neck.
“I brought them, Ennoshita.” He calls, and Teru breaks past Kenji, leaping into the room.
“Ennoshan!!!” He cheers, flopping down on the large couch, grabbing for Ennoshita, who recoils from his hands. “What, not glad to see me?”
“Absolutely thrilled.” Ennoshita deadpans. Kenji grins, sliding onto the couch next to Teru.
“Hi Ennoshan.” He greets, lifting a hand. The couch shifts as Yahaba flops down on it, sighing loudly.
“Kenjirou get me a strawberry smoothie.”
Shirabu, already at the wall phone, scowls at him. “Of course, your highness.” He mocks.
“I’ll have a melon shake!” Teru pipes up, kicking his legs onto Kenji’s lap. Shirabu rolls his eyes, glancing over at Kenji.
“Honey toast, Shira-boo-boo.”
“Ennoshita?” Shirabu’s eyes turn over to Ennoshita, not even acknowledging Kenji.
“Coffee. Black. Thank you, Shirabu.”
“Hey hey Futakkun.” Teru waves him closer. “What’re you gonna sing?”
Kenji hums, grabbing the thick binder of songs and rifling through it. The pages peel in his hands. “Dunno.”
“You’re taking too long.” Yahaba huffs, reaching across the couch the grab the binder from him. He flips through it, apparently finding what he’s looking for. He inputs the song into the karaoke machine. “Ennoshita, microphones.”
“Here.” Ennoshita leans over Kenji to hand them to Yahaba, and Kenji catches a whiff of vanilla.
“You smell like vanilla.” He comments, and Ennoshita wrinkles his nose.
“Freak.”
“Perv.” Teru adds on, and Kenji sticks his tongue out, shoving Teru’s feet off his lap. “Oi!”
“Okay okay shut up.” Yahaba shushes them. The music starts playing, heavy metal, and Shirabu immediately groans.
“Shigeru I’m not dancing.”
“Yes you are, Kenjirou.” Yahaba grins, shoving the other microphone into Shirabu’s face.
“Yes you are, Shira-boo-boo.” Teru grins. Shirabu scowls at him, finally standing up.
“I hate all of you.”
It goes pretty smoothly after that. Kenji manages to get Ennoshita to sing Bubblegum Bitch. Kenji himself sings through Gurenge, to the background of Yahaba and Shirabu arguing if anime openings count as valid karaoke songs. Shirabu sings Oborozukiyo in a flat tone that makes it obvious he does not want to be here, and Kenji is pretty sure Yahaba films the entire thing. Yahaba sings through five Mitski songs before Terushima wrestles the microphone from him. Ennoshita let’s put a sigh of relief, only to take it back once the music starts.
“We’re no strangers to love-“ Teru sings, staring directly at Kenji. Kenji sends him a kiss, and Terushima winks at him. Kenji can’t help himself from smiling.
“I can’t believe he Rickrolled us.” Shirabu groans, twirling the straw of his coke that had been delivered sometime between Mitski song number three and Mitski song number four. Kenji’s honey toast is long gone, having fallen prey to both Yahaba and Teru. Kenji is pretty sure it tasted good. He only got one bite.
Kenji pulls his phone out, discreetly recording Terushima’s performance. It’s not as if he’s a bad singer- but he’s definitely making his voice sound worse for the laughs. Yahaba doesn’t seem to appreciate it, his face scrunched up and his hands over his ears.
“Okay microphone privileges revoked from Teru.” Kenji announces as soon as Terushima finishes, yanking said instrument out of his hands. Teru whines, grabbing Kenji’s shirt.
“Babeee.” He whines, and Kenji shoves him off by his face.
“Ennoshan.” He points directly at Ennoshita, who looks a bit shocked. “Sing with me.” He tosses the microphone to Ennoshita, who fumbles with it.
“What? Why?”
Kenji just grins, turning on the music. “I can show you the world.” He sings, holding his hand out for Ennoshita, who makes a face.
“This is a romantic duet. Why is this a romantic duet?”
”Shining shimmering splendid, tell me princess, now when did you last let your heart decide-“ He winks at Ennoshita, who sighs, finally giving in. “You haven’t sung much therefore you’re my first Disney medley victim.” Kenji explains.
”I can open your eyes, take you wonder by wonder. Over sideways and under on a manic carpet ride, a whole new world-“
“Why am I the girl, actually? I’m livid.”
”A new fantastic-“\ He’s cut off by the sharp shrill tone of Yahaba’s phone ringing. Everyone jumps, and Yahaba’s face goes white.
“Ah- sorry.” He stammers, bolting to his feet and fumbling with his phone. “I’ll take this.” He bolts out the door.
As soon as he’s gone, Shirabu sighs, slumping down into his seat.
Ennoshita is the first to speak. “That was his parents, wasn’t it?”
“That’s worrisome, right?” Terushima speaks up. Someone had turned off the music, but it wasn’t Kenji. “We should be worried about that, right?”
Kenji frowns. Yahaba’s parents were obviously a touchy subject, and seeing how he acted around them... His thought process is interrupted but Teru standing suddenly, stalking past Shirabu to the door.
Shirabu grabs the back of his jacket, stopping him. “Where are you going?” He asks, in the tone of voice that suggests he already knows where Terushima is going.
“Spying on Yahaba.” Teru answers simply, tilting his chin up as if daring Shirabu to challenge him.
Kenji feels conflicted. On one hand, he’s worried about Yahaba. He’s concerned about his parents, and curious too. But on the other... it’s Yahaba’s family. Yahaba’s life. He shouldn’t meddle.
Kenji leaps to his feet. “I’m going too.” He announces. Shirabu doesn’t even look shocked, his eyes narrowing. He sighs. “Fine.” He stands, slowly, and all four of them sneak their way out of the room.
The hallway is empty, and Kenji is a bit relieved. He can hear faint voices from around the corner, and he quickly sneaks over. “Teru, get in the back you’re too bright.” He hisses, and Terushima obediently heads to the back.
“Like I said, Kenjirou-kun and I were just taking a short break- you can’t expect us to study for four hours straight.” Yahaba’s tone sounds scandalized, but there’s an air of formality to it that Kenji has never heard from him before. “I’m sorry. Yes, I know, but- what?” Theres the sound of pacing feet, and Yahaba’s fingers drumming against his phone. “You can’t- I promise it isn’t effecting my studies, I scored ninth on last semester’s exams-“ The pacing stops, and Yahaba continues, sounding much more defeated. “Yes, I know Nao-niisan scored first all three years. I know- yes. Alright. I’m sorry, yes. I’ll be right back. I’m sorry.” Theres a clicking noise and a long sigh, and suddenly Kenji realizes he’s about to be discovered. He turns to look at the other three and catches the tail end of Shirabu the traitor disappearing back down the hallway. Terushima books it after him, and Kenji curses the two under his breath.
“Hi Yahaba.” Ennoshita greets, and Kenji turns. Yahaba is there, looking much more tired than before. Kenji is certain he isn’t imagining his red rimmed eyes. “Is this the direction of the bathrooms?”
“Yeah.” Yahaba exhales, gesturing behind him. “They’re right back there.” He shifts his weight, flipping his phone over in his hand. “Look, I have to- I gotta go.” His voice is still strangely formal, and it makes Kenji’s skin crawl. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright.” He pushes down the weird feeling, slinging an arm over Yahaba’s shoulder. “Nothing to apologize for.”
Yahaba offers him a smile. “Thanks. Could you tell Shirabu-kun I won’t be coming back? I’m really sorry for bailing on you guys like this.”
Ennoshita shakes his head. “It’s fine, Yahaba.”
“Ah.” Yahaba quickly pulls the lanyard from around his neck, handing it to Ennoshita. “Sorry again.”
“It’s fine.” Kenji reassures, giving Yahaba one last pat on the back before he escapes from his arms. “We’ll text you later.”
Yahaba smiles faintly, lifting a hand in farewell. Kenji can feel his shoulders collapse as soon as Yahaba disappears from view.
“Well.” Ennoshita begins. “That is a problem.”
Futakuchi has added Terushima, Ennoshita, and Shirabu to the groupchat
Shirabu: I already know where this is going
Shirabu: and I refuse to take part in it
Futakuchi: Shirabu
Futakuchi: you know somethings wrong, right
Fuktakuchi: youre his best friend theres no way you can’t tell
Terushima: wait I’m so lost what’s going on???
Ennoshita: I’m assuming this is about Yahaba
Terushima: ah
Terushima: I’m worried too
Terushima: he was like
Terushima: terrified
Terushima: are his parents like...
Terushima: yknow...
Shirabu: if you have something you want to ask him then ask him yourself
Ennoshita: I doubt he’d talk about it though
Futakuchi: Shirabu please
Futakuchi: we’re his friends too and we care about him
Shirabu:
Shirabu: look, we’re handling it, okay? My family
Shirabu: he’s not in any physical danger, we think
Shirabu: it’s hard because they’re not doing anything wrong, not according to the law
Terushima: well
Terushima: at least you’re trying ig
Terushima: as long as he’s safe
Ennoshita: tell us if there’s anything we can do to help, alright?
Futakuchi: yeah!
Futakuchi: I am always here
Futakuchi: like literally always available
Terushima: I’d offer to let him stay at my place but idk if my granny would let that
Shirabu: it’s fine
Shirabu: like I said, we’re handling it
Shirabu: you guys are doing fine
Yell Heah 11:39
Broom: just got out of karaoke!
Broom: @Yahabitch did you get home safely?
Piss hair: still can’t believe ya did karaoke w/o us
Snake Man: IKR
Snake Man: THE BETRAYAL
Wizard: Didja film anythin???
Broom: ye
Ennoshan: yes but I’m definitely not sending anything to you
Wizard: :(((
Wizard: pain
Akaashi: Did you guys have fun?
Broom 2: yeah!
Broom 2: it was lots of fun
Broom: Teru can’t sing
Broom 2: OI
Broom 2: I can sing perfectly fine thank you very much
Broom: @Yahabitch you there?
Shitabu: Hes probably got his phone taken away
Shitabu: he won’t be answering for a while
Wizard: oh no!!!
Wizard: did Shigeru-kun get caught???
Broom: yeah :(
Broom: he had to leave early too
TORA: damn
TORA: (c" ತ,_ತ)
Broom 2: old man kaomoji,,,
Snake Man: MY THERAPIST: OLD MAN KAOMOJI CANT HURT YOU
Snake Man: OLD MAN KAOMOJI:
TORA: (c" ತ,_ತ)
Piss hair: thank you, Tora
Piss hair: Good ol Tora, always there to deliver
TORA: yep Thays me
Yahabitch: okay okay I’m here what did I miss?
Wizard: SHIGERU-KUN!!!
Shitabu: are you on the computer?
Yahabitch: yeah
Yahabitch: “for schoolwork”
Broom: weba
Snake Man: WEBA?
Broom: welcome back
Akaashi: I’m glad you’re safe, Yahaba-kun.
Yahabitch: I
Yahabitch: I wasn’t gone that long?
Yahabitch: you guys really don’t have to be that concerned lol
Yahabitch: but thank you
Broom 2: hey Yahaba
Broom 2: want you to know we’re always here for you
Yahabitch:
Yahabitch: thanks?
Broom: okay stop you’re freaking him out dude
Broom 2: good
Broom 2: that’s how I show my love 😘
Yahabitch: ew
Yell Heah 10:10
Broom: OKAY SO
Broom: WAS ANYONE GOING TO TELL ME SAKUSAN’S BRAZILIAN
Broom: OR WAS I SUPPOSED TO FIND THAT PUT FROM A VOLLEYBALL MAGAZINE DETAILING THE PREDICTED TOP FIVE ACES FOR NEXT YEAR
Broom sent a picture to Yell Heah
Broom: @Yahabitch here’s your boyfriend btw
Yahabitch: he’s not my boyfriend
Yahabitch: not YET
Wizard: Yeah!!! Go get that man, Shigeru-kun!!!
Broom 2: babe...
Broom 2: that’s a dead meme
Broom:
Broom: SO WAS ANYONE GONNA TELL ME THOS MEME IS DEAD OR WAS I SUPPOSED TO FIND THAT OUT FROM FUCKING TERUSHIMA YUUJI
Broom 2: xCUSE u?
Broom 2: I am a DELIGHT to be around
Broom 2: fuck you
Broom: fuck me yourself you coward
Yahabitch: this has taken a weird turn
Broom 2: bet 😜
Broom: akagaownbsiaowejwoavsjal
Snake Man: PLEASW STOP FLURTING IN OUT HROUPCHAT
Shitabu: I had a stroke reading that
Broom: excuse u it’s MY groupchat
Broom 2: OUR groupchat babe
TORA: communism
Broom: Okay okay wait
Broom: @Sakusan YOURE BRAZILIAN????
Sakusan: Yes.
Broom: that’s so cool
Broom: hablas español
Sakusan: Por que eu falaria espanhol? Sou brasileiro.
Broom: I have no idea what you said
Broom 2: who would they speak Spanish? They’re Brazilian
Broom 2: is what they said
Broom: PAIN
Broom: okay look
Broom: OKAY LOOK
Ennoshan: we’re looking
Broom: they’re like
Broom: Portuguese is just soft Spanish
Sakusan: I’d protest but you’re absolutely correct.
Yahabitch: wow look at you so multilingual how nice
Broom: U jealous?
Yahabitch: yeah
Yahabitch: *clears throat*
Yahabitch: sad face
Piss hair: sad face
Wizard: Sad face!!!
Ennoshan: why are you so enthusiastic about sad faces
Wizard: I’m always enthusiastic!!!
TORA: I think if Usuri was sad the world would collapse
Akaashi: Usuri-kun cried after our match.
Akaashi: It was very startling.
Wizard: haha yeah!!!
Wizard: cause that was the last time i set for Wakatsu-san
Wizard:
Wizard: now I’m sad
TORA: NOOOOO
TORA: THE WORLD
TORA: ITS COLLAPSING
Piss hair: Toratora shit up
Broom: shit up?
Broom 2: shit up
Piss hair: my god
Piss hair: LITERALLT WHY IS IT JUST ME YOU BULLY!???
Piss hair: LITERALLY WVERYONE ELSE TYPOS TOO
Piss hair: I HAVE FAT FINGERS
Broom: shit up
Ennoshan: can we go back to Teru knowing Portuguese?
Broom 2: oh no I totally Google translated it
Ennoshan: ah
Broom 2: BUT I do speak five languages so
Broom 2: Portuguese just isn’t one of them
Ennoshan: I’m going to scream
Wizard: :000 Yuuji-kun that’s really impressive!!!
Broom 2: thanks Usu
Broom 2: my no 1 fan
Broom: babe????
Broom 2: babe
Broom: /babe/
Broom 2: ... babe?
Broom: *gasp* BABE
Yahabitch: what the hell
Ennoshan: take a shot every time they say babe
Snake Man: PLEASE NO
Snake Man: MY LIVER
Shirabu: fuck your liver
Shitabu: no one cares about it
Snake Man: SAD FACE
Yell Heah 3:38
Akaashi: Terushima-kun, I’ve been meaning to ask. Why does everyone on Johzenji have the same volleyball shoes? Doesn’t that get confusing?
Shitabu: it’s cause they’re the side characters
Broom:
Broom: side to who???
Shitabu: shiratorizawa, ofc
Yahabitch: stfu
Yahabitch: you narcissist
TORA: wouldnt it be whoever goes to nationals?
Ennoshan: why am I having deja vu
Ennoshan: stop
Broom 2: OKAY OKAY SO
Broom 2: it’s like
Broom 2: a custom, yonow
Broom 2: or like a superstition or w e
Snake Man: YONOW?
Broom 2: hush
Broom 2: so like when I was a first year
Broom 2: our captain bought white shoes
Broom 2: and then the next match he twisted his ankle and had to stay on the bench the tento-te tournament
Broom 2: and then like the next tournament
Broom 2: Bobata bought new shoes and then got hit in the face with the ball
Yahabitch: tento-te?
Broom: pretty sure that’s just his fault
Broom 2: so now we all go shoe shopping together!!!!
Wizard: that’s so cute!!!
Yahabitch: tento-te??
Piss hair: but ya didn’t get injured cause of the shoes, right? Ya got injured cuz yallre chaotic af
Ennoshan: yall,,,
Yahabitch: I think Johzenji has a record for most people injured in game
Yahabitch: just in total
Yahabitch: what does tento-te mean
Broom 2: DONT HARP ON MY MISTAKES I MEANT ENTIRE
Yahabitch: how did entire turn into tento-te?
Broom 2: shut up
Akaashi: I see.
Akaashi: That’s a very nice team bonding activity, Terushima-kun, thank you.
Broom 2: yup!
Broom 2: me n my team are super close
Broom 2: mainly cause we’re all third years
Akaashi: Sometimes I feel I’m not connecting with my team very well.
Akaashi: It’s hard to talk to them.
Snake Man: NOOO AKKUN
Snake Man: YOURE PERFECT THE WAY YOU ARE
Akaashi: Thank you Seguro-kun.
Snake Man: AND HONESTLY I THINK YOUR TEAM REALLY LOOKS UP TO YOU
Snake Man: YOURE REALLY COOL
TORA: I think Kaashi
TORA: if you wanna get closer to them
Akaashi: Yes?
TORA: drop the honorifics
Broom: oh yeah
Broom: that would definitely help
Wizard: Yeah no offense Keiji-kun but you’re too formal!!!
Yahabitch: Really?
Yahabitch: I think he’s fine
Akaashi: No, I see where they’re coming from.
Akaashi: I’ll try that.
Akaashi: Thank you, Yamamoto-kun, Futakuchi-kun, Seguro-kun, Terushima-kun.
TORA: AKAAASHHHIIIII
TORA: YOURE DOING IT AGAIN
Akaashi: Er- sorry.
Akaashi: I’ll try to be less formal.
Wizard: You can do it!!!
Akaashi: Thank you Usuri.
Wizard: :DDD YAY!!!
Piss hair: what’re we talkin bout?
Wizard: Keiji-kun’s tryna be less formal!!!
Piss hair: ah cool
Akaashi: Hello, Miya-kun
Piss hair: ouch
Piss hair: hey kaashi
Piss hair: how bout this
Piss hair: you can use kun
Piss hair: but call me Atsumu
Broom 2: oi are you trying to make a move on our Akkun?
Broom: *le gasp*
Broom: don’t you dare
Broom 2: besides, no one even calls you that
Piss hair: WELL ITS CONFUSIN CAUSE I GOT A TWIN N HES MIYA TOO
Piss hair: WERE BOTH MIYA YA CANT CALL ME THAY
Akaashi: ? I’m not yours.
Akaashi: And alright, Atsumu-kun
Yahabitch: You can keep calling me Yahaba-kun if you want, Akaashi
Yahabitch: I don’t dislike formality
Shitabu: although I have no idea why, with your parents
Shitabu: if those were MY parents I’d run away
Broom 2: but instead you get a milf
Shitabu: DONT CALL MY MOM A MILF THATS DISGUSTING
Broom: babe don’t cheat on me with Shirabu’s mom
Yahabitch: that would require Shirabu’s mom to even know who he is
Snake Man: OOF
Yell Heah 7:01
Sakusan has kicked Piss hair from the groupchat
Broom 2: NANI???
Broom: omg,,,
Broom: top ten anime betrayals,,,
Akaashi: Sakusa? What is the meaning of this?
Akaashi: Did Atsumu-kun do something bad?
Yahabitch: did piss hair mess with you?
Yahabitch: I could totally beat him up for you
Sakusan: I appreciate the offer, but no.
Sakusan: I actually
Sakusan: hrm. This is difficult to ask.
TORA: *villager noises*
Snake Man: LIKE FROM MINECRAFT?
Wizard: I LOVE MINECRAFT!!!
Wizard: AKIHIKO-CHAN WE SHOULD PLAY TOGETHER!!!
Ennoshan: guys... Sakusan is talking...
Ennoshan: take a shot every time one of you derails a conversation
Yahabitch: Youre derailing the conversation right now, Wnnoshan
Sakusan: Like I was saying
Sakusan: I have a favor to ask.
Sakusan: Soon it will be Miya’s and my anniversary
Wizard: !!! That’s adorable!!!
Wizard: already???
Sakusan: Yes.
Sakusan: and well, I’m not sure what to get him.
Yahabitch: hm
Yahabitch: well I don’t know Miya too well
Yahabitch: Ennoshan?
Ennoshan: what? Why me?
Yahabitch: you seem like a good gift giver
Broom 2: lol thought you meant give Ennoshan as a gift
Broom: I bet Shirabu would like that huh
Shitabu: I WAS TWELVE
Shitabu: I KNEW HIM FOR LITERALLY A SEMESTER
Ennoshan: erm
Ennoshan: maybe something handmade?
Yahabitch: like chocolates or something?
Ennoshan: I was thinking more of a sweater. Or scarf but yeah
Sakusan: I’m not a very good baker.
Sakusan: And I don’t know how to sew.
Shitabu: just get him a card
Shitabu: bam
Yahabitch:
Yahabitch: do you think Semi-san would appreciate a card?
Shitabu:
Shitabu: fair point
TORA: get him like
TORA: idk a videogame
Snake Man: GET HIM A VOLLEYBALL
Ennoshan: you think he doesn’t already have enough of those?
Wizard: OH! I know!!!
Wizard: Go visit him!!! I think he’d like that a lot!
Akaashi: I agree with Usuri.
Akaashi: Atsumu-kun seems to be a person who enjoys spending time with his loved ones.
Sakusan: I see
Sakusan: thank you for the advice
Sakusan has deleted 10+ messages from Yell Heah
Wizard: can I add him back now?
Sakusan: Go ahead.
Wizard has added Miya to the groupchat
Miya: wtf
Wizard: sorry about that!!!
Miya:
Miya: usuri?
TORA: thats not Miya is it
Miya: yes it is?
Miya: wait
Miya: is this tsumus stupid captains chat
Wizard: oh no!!!
Wizard: I got the wrong Miya,,,
Yahabitch: what
Yahabitch: how do you even mess that up?
Ennoshan: I mean they’re both Miya so
Broom 2: there are two Miya’s????
Broom: have you been living under a rock
Miya: why are there two of you
Miya: why are you brooms
Snake Man: LONG STORY
Miya: why are you yelling
Sakusan has added Miya to the groupchat
Miya: OMI-OMI
Miya: WHY WOULDJA DO THAT
Miya: oh ew
Miya: it’s tsumu
Miya: Samu?????
Miya: wtfre ya foin in my groupchat????
Broom: *our groupchat
Broom 2: communism
Ennoshan: wtfre?
Yahabitch: what free
Shitabu: what free...
Miya: SAMU GET OUT
Miya: nah
Miya: got any dirt on tsumu, random captains i don’t know?
Yahabitch: uh
Yahabitch: He travelled all the way to Tokyo without telling anyone and got lost?
Miya: tsumu wtf
Miya: DID YOU NOT EVEN NOTICE I WAS GONE?????
Miya: uh
Miya: yes definitely i noticed
Miya: YOURE DEAD TO ME
Miya: ok
Miya: any more dirt
Ennoshan: his name is piss hair
Miya: lol
Miya: sounds right
Miya: SAMU STFU
Miya: AND YOU FUSY STOP TELLIN HIM THINGS
TORA: this is so confusing
Miya kicked Miya from the groupchat
Miya: better
Wizard:
Wizard: which one are you?
Miya: THE BETTER MIYA
Shitabu: narcissistic attitude? Must be Atsumu
Miya: SHITABU IMMA FUCKIN KILL YA
Shitabu: as if
Shitabu: you’d get lost on the way
Snake Man: OOF
Ennoshan: well that was
Ennoshan: eventful
Miya has changed their name to Atsumu
Sakusan has changed Atsumu’s name to Piss hair
Sakusan: Nice try.
Piss hair: OMI-OMI
Hell Yeah 11:20
Ennoshan: @TORA WHAT DID YOU DO
TORA: WAHT DID I DO????
TORA: IDK WHAYDID I DO????????
Ennoshan: I WAS WITH TANAKA AND HE
Ennoshan: AND HE
TORA: WHAT WHAT DID MY BRO DO
Snake Man: WHY ARE WE SCTEAMING
Ennoshan: HE TOLD ME ‘I THINK TORA MIGHT BE INTERESTED IN YOU? HE KEEPS COMMENTING ON THE FACR YOURE SINGLE AND ALSO YOURE CUTE’
Ennoshan: OABDJALANA WHAT THE FUCK HABE YOU DONE
TORA:
TORA: I THOUGHT IF I CASUALLY MENTIONED IT ONCE OR TWICW HED REALIZE YOURE A DATABLE OPTION
Ennoshan: HES STRAIGHT AS FUCK, TORA
TORA: IM SORRY
Yahabitch: oh my god
Yahabitch: okay, calm down
Yahabitch: Ennoshita, are you okay?
Ennoshan: I
Ennoshan: I’m still reeling over the fact that he tried to set me up with Tora
Ennoshan: does he even know you’re dating Fukunaga?
TORA: well I haven’t told him exactly but I do coupley things around him n stuff?????
Ennoshan: this is Tanaka we’re talking about
TORA: true
TORA: I’ll text him
Ennoshan: he’s going to freak out tomorrow
Ennoshan: ‘ENNO DID YOU KNOW TORA HAS A BOYFRIEND??? WAIT IF HES INTERESTED IN YOU IS HE CHEATING ON FUKUNAGA? OH NO’
Akaashi: That certainly sounds like something he’d say.
Snake Man: I WANNA MEET THIS TANAKA
Snake Man: HE SEEMS COOL
TORA: YEAH BRO I THINK YOUD LOVE HIM
Yahabitch: that sounds like a match made in hell honestly
Snake Man: GOOD THING I DONT BELIEVE IN HELL
TORA: update- he says ‘WHAT???? You and Fukunaga are dating? That’s so cool bro, congrats! I didn’t know you were gay though... WAIT WHAT ABOUT ENNO? Are you cheating on Fukunaga? That’s not cool bro?’
Snake Man: HIMBO ENERGY
Broom: you say, as a himbo
Snake Man: IM
Snake Man: IM A HIMBO???? 🥺
Broom 2: the himbo-est
TORA: bad news Ennoshan
TORA: he says ‘once Kiyoko-san and I get together we should go in double dates’
Ennoshan: well
Ennoshan: if you need me I’ll be in my room
Ennoshan: listening to Beach Bunny and sobbing my eyes out
Wizard: !!! I love Beach Bunny!!!
Broom 2: Usu,,, not a good time
Wizard: oh whoops
Wizard: it’s okay Chikara-kun!!!
Wizard: I’m sure you’ll find someone!!!
Ennoshan: yeah
Ennoshan: but I don’t want anyone else
Ennoshan: is that selfish of me?
Broom: nahhhhh
Broom 2: it’s good to be selfish
Broom 2: I mean look at Atsumu
Piss hair: OI
Yahabitch: it’s okay Ennoshan
Yahabitch: it hurts now but in a few months it’ll be fine!
Yahabitch: probably
Yahabitch: we can cry about our crushes together
Ennoshan: can we watch movies?
Yahabitch: as long as they’re not horror
Ennoshan: okay come over
Yahabitch: bet
Shitabu:
Shitabu: for some odd reason I feel betrayed
Broom: @Yahabitch your parents won’t mind?
Yahabitch: they’re in Tokyo so
Yahabitch: it’s just me
Broom 2: don’t you have like
Broom 2: two brothers
Yahabitch: they don’t live with us
Yahabitch: my older brother moved out and my younger brother goes to boarding school in Tokyo
Piss hair: wow
Piss hair: to be rich
Ennoshan: god I wish
Broom 2: to be rich,,,
Broom 2: to have ac,,,
Ennoshan: I seriously cannot believe you don’t have air conditioning
Broom 2: OUR HOUSE IS OLD OK
Snake Man: ITS THE 21ST CENTURY GET WITH THE TIMES
Broom 2: STFU TOKYO KID
Broom 2: TOU GUYS DONT UNDERSTAND OUR RURAL STRUGGLES
Wizard: I live on a farm n I still got ac!
Snake Man: USURI LIVES ON A FARM AND HE STILL GETS AC
Snake Man: YOU HABE NO EXCUSE
TORA: they make a good point
Broom 2: wait...
Broom 2: am I the only one without ac
Broom 2: what the fuck
Broom 2: WHAT THE FUCK
Broom: rich vs poor?
Broom: no no no
Broom: Teru vs everyone else
Broom 2: IM NOT EVEN THAT POOR
Broom 2: IDK ITS LIKE
Broom 2: A DICUPLINE THING OR SOEMTHINF
Piss hair: concha live w yer granny? That’s probly why
Piss hair: cuz she’s old n old fashioned
Broom 2: don’t you dare talk about my granny like that
Piss hair: ??? She’s old???
Piss hair: is that not a fact
Broom: GOD Tsumu get some TACT
TORA: smh ʅ（◞‿◟）ʃ
Wizard: wait I don’t get it!!!
Akaashi: They are making fun of Atsumu-kun.
Wizard: Ah!!!
Wizard: ok
Piss hair: I hate this family
Broom: wait who is Tsum-tsums parent
Shitabu: no we are NOT doing this again
Yell Heah 7:38
Broom 2: okay let’s say
Broom 2: hypothetically
Broom 2: theoretically
Shitabu: hypothetically or theoretically, pick one
Snake Man: IS THERE A DIFFERENCE?
Broom 2: STFU IM TALKING
Broom 2: okay like
Broom 2: asking for a friend
Broom 2: let’s say
Broom 2: your parents had you when they were really young and then abandoned you with yoir granny
Broom 2: but now (hypothetically) your dad wants to reconnect with you
Broom 2: what would you do?
Yahabitch: Uh
Yahabitch: well do you want to meet him?
Yahabitch: hypothetically, of course
Ennoshan: personally I’d meet him. Just to get closure
Broom: nah fuck him
Broom: he didn’t have contact at all???
Broom: for seventeen years???????
Broom 2: it’s just weird
Broom 2: idk how to hypothetically feel
Akaashi: I think if I ever got the chance to meet my mother, I’d instantly leap on it. You never know when they’ll disappear again, after all. This could be the only chance you have to form a relationship.
Broom 2: true...
Broom 2: IGH
Broom 2: anyways thanks for the advice I’ll tell my hypothetical friend that
Piss hair: good luck futacchi
Broom: what
Piss hair: what
Broom: IM Futakuchi
Piss hair: jfc
Piss hair: CHANGE YER NAME
Piss hair: ITS TOO CONFUSIN
Yahabitch: look what you did, Miya
Yahabitch: you ruined the moment
Piss hair: STFU
Piss hair: ITS TERUS N FUTACCHIS FAIULT FOR MAKIN THEIR NAMES TH E AAME THING
Wizard: I think you’re just bad at payin attention, Atsumu-kun!!!
Piss hair: MICHIRU
Piss hair: YA TRAITOR
Piss hair: CHANGE YER NAMES
Wizard: okay!!!
Wizard changed their name to Broom 3
Broom: omg,,,
Piss hair: FUCK YA MICHIRU
Piss hair: THATS NOT WHAT I MEANT AND YA KNOW THAT
Broom 3: butcha said change your name!!!
Piss hair: NOT YOU
TORA changed their name to Broom 4
Piss hair: I hate all of you
Broom 2: even Akkun? 🥺
Piss hair: no!!!!!
Piss hair: never Akkun!!!!!
Akaashi changed their name to Broom 5
Piss hair: okay yes Akkun
Piss hair: why would ya do this
Broom 5: Sorry. I thought it was funny.
Yahabitch: oh no, it’s hilarious
Yahabitch changed their name to Broom 6
Broom 4: this is so funny
Broom: lmao this must be very confusing for anyone who doesn’t have a supreme iq like me
Broom 2: smorts
Broom 5: What is smorts?
Broom 2: like stonks but smart
Broom 5: I see. Thank you.
Piss hair: I’m
Piss hair: imma cry
Shitabu: what the fuck is this
Shitabu: what the fuck
Ennoshan: I’ve been sitting here for the past five minutes trying to decipher who’s who
Broom 5: Sorry. I could change back, if you’d like, Ennoshita.
Ennoshan: okay that’s definitely Akaashi
Ennoshan: with the proper punctuation and all
Broom 6: nice
Broom 3: DO ME!!! DO ME!!! DO ME!!!
Ennoshan: Usuri
Ennoshan: Usuri does everything in threes
Broom 2: Ennoshan are you a detective
Broom 3: !!! Chikara-kun you’re so good!!!
Broom 3 changed their name to Wizard
Broom: Omg,,, the Great Adventures of Ennoshira Chikara,,,
Ennoshan: I’m not Sherlock Holmes
Ennoshan: you guys just have obvious typing patterns
Broom 5 changed their name to Akaashi
Akaashi: Usuri’s is the most obvious, I would say.
Ennoshan: except Seguro
Akaashi: Yes, except Seguro.
Akaashi: Their typing pattern is.
Akaashi: Distinctive.
Snake Man: REMEMBER WHEN I KNOCKED MYSELF OUT AND AKAMA CAME AND YOU GUYS ALL FREAKED OUT
Broom 6: I liked him
Broom 6: he was nice
Broom: bring Akama back challenge
Snake Man: SHES ACTUALLY SITTING RIGHT NEXT TO ME
Snake Man sent a picture to Yell Heah
Ennoshan: she?
Snake Man: RIGHT
Snake Man: SHES GENDERFLUID SO
Broom 6: oh
Broom 6: sorry Akama
Akaashi: Tell Akama-san I say hello.
Snake Man: WILL DO
Broom 2: hey
Broom 2: hey Seguchan
Broom 2: are you n Akama
Broom 2: 👀👀
Snake Man: TEEHEE
Broom: W
Broom: WHAT DOES THAT MEAN
Broom 6: that’s not cryptic at all
Broom 4: ENNOSHAN DO ME WHO AM I
Ennoshan: hm
Ennoshan: Tora?
Broom 4: YEHA
Broom 4 changed their name to TORA
TORA: Ennoshan youre so smart
Ennoshan: not really
Broom 2: so uh
Broom 2: we ignoring Seguro apparently dating someone???????
Snake Man: WERE NOT ACTUALLY DATING
Snake Man: MAYBE SOMEDAY THO
Broom: that
Broom: that doesn’t make things any more clear, Seguchan
Broom 6: Well, they’re sticking to their cryptic self, ig
Ennoshan: Broom 6 is Yahaba
Broom 6: damn
Broom 6: what gave it away
Ennoshan: I scrolled up
Wizard: DDD:< THATS CHEATING!!!
Ennoshan: yeah I’m literally a fraud but it’s ok
Broom:
Broom: you wanna uh
Broom: talk about that?
Ennoshan: definitely not with you
Broom: yeah ok that’s fair
Yell Heah 2:22
Broom 2: people are always look ‘oh ballet is so intimidating ah I could never’
Broom 2: it’s hard to be intimidating when your backing track is an instrumental classical-ified ‘bust it down thotiana’
Broom: lmao
Wizard: Your ballet teacher sounds fun!!! Mine only plays lowfi music :(
Piss hair: w
Piss hair: y’all do ballet????
Broom 2: yup
Broom 2: +gymnastics
Broom 2: gotta get that bendy bread
Yahabitch: I always wondered how you could bounce back from a split immediately in the middle of a match
Broom 2: teehee
Piss hair: W
Piss hair: YOU TO MICHIRU???
Shitabu: *too
Piss hair: atfu
Shirabu: atfu?
Piss hair: F UH K OFF
Shitabu: lmao
Wizard: yep!!! I do ballet and jazz!!! Have been since I was five!
Wizard: it’s so funny cause
Wizard: I do it n people think I’m a girl
Wizard: people keep thinkin I’m a trans girl
Wizard: I’m not!!!
Wizard: I wish I was tho!!!
Wizard: all of the great women in my life are trans
Wizard: one of my moms, my coach, the lady who runs the bakery
Broom 2: omg that’s so poggers
Broom: I’m going to steal your skull Teru
Broom 2: please don’t I need that
Ennoshan: Usuri, you’re not trans?
Wizard: haha nope!
Wizard: I get that a lot tho
Wizard: but you are, right Chikara-kun?
Ennoshan: yeah
Yahabitch: remember when Shirabu had a crush on Ennoshita? Yeah
Shirabu: please stop bringing that up
Shitabu: I have a boyfriend
TORA: how’s that going anyways?
Shitabu: good
Shitabu: we had a date at the mall last weekend
Yahabitch: Okay actually
Yahabitch: on the topic of being trans,,,
TORA: @(・●・)@
Yahabitch:
Yahabitch: is that a koala?
TORA: SORRY
TORA: I was trying to find the one with the biggest ears
TORA: I’m listening!!!!!! Go ahead!!!!!
Piss hair: that’s a really cute koala
Broom 2: stfu the king is talking
Piss hair: OKAY OKA
Shitabu: Shigeru
Shitabu: Continue
Yahabitch: well now I’m nervous
Yahabitch: could I get another koala?
TORA: @(・●・)@
Yahabitch: Thanks
Yahabitch: So I’ve been thinking a lot
Yahabitch: about my gender and stuff
Yahabitch: and I think I’m a demiboy?
Yahabitch: so if you could use he/him and they/them pronouns for me I’d really appreciate that
Akaashi: Thank you for telling us, Yahaba, congratulations.
Broom 2: YEAH!!!
Broom 2: YOU GO
Broom 2: *virtually hugs u*
Broom: Congrats, Yahaba!
Yahabitch: thanks guys
Shitabu: I’m proud
Yahabitch: thanks Kenjirou :)
Snake Man: OKAY OKAY WAIT
Snake Man: CONGRATS YAHABA BUT... WHATS A DEMIBOY?
Yahabitch: basically
Yahabitch: I don’t really identify as a guy? But I also don’t think I’m non-binary
Yahabitch: I still like presenting masculine and stuff
Snake Man: OKAY OKAY COOL
Snake Man: IM REALLY PROUD MAN THATS GREAT
Wizard: Yeah!!! Congrats on figurin things out, Shigeru-chan!!! Do ya want me to stop callin you kun?
Yahabitch: I think I’m alright with kun, thank you
Ennoshan: congrats Yahaba :)
Sakusan: Congrats.
Piss hair: OMI-OMI
Piss hair: ITS BEEN SO LONG
Sakusan: We video called last night.
Piss hair: I meant in the groupchat :((((
Broom: Yeah Sakusan, you avoiding us? 👀
Sakusan: Of course.
Snake Man: OUCH
Snake Man: I DIDNT THINK THEYD ADMIT IT
Piss hair: welcome to my life 😔
Wizard: HI KIYOOMI-CHAN
Sakusan: Hello Usuri.
Piss hair: hi Omi-Omi 🤗😚
Piss hair:
Piss hair: Omi-Omi?
TORA: oof
Snake Man: I DONT THINK THEY LIKE TOU BERY MUCH
Piss hair: THEYRE DATING ME????
Shitabu: sounds like a lapse of judgement on their part
Sakusan: I regret it more and more each day.
Piss hair: HI OMI-OMI
Piss hair:
Piss hair: SAY IT BACK, KIYOOMI
Sakusan: hello, problem boyfriend
Piss hair: 😚
Piss hair: ily
Broom: gag
Broom: disgusting
Broom: homosexuals? Ew
Broom 2: homosexuals? In my chat room?
Broom 2: more likely than you’d think
Snake Man: MORE LIKELT THAN YOUD THINK
Yahabitch: can’t believe Futakuchi’s homophobic 🙄 /j
Yahabitch: what’s next
Yahabitch: transphobia?
Broom: I WPUPD NEVER
Broom: WHY, SOME OF MY CLOSEST FRIENDS ARE TRAMS
Broom 2: trams lol
Broom: okay joke derailed
Broom: look at my typo
Ennoshan: trams,,,
Shitabu: me 🤝 Ennoshita
Shitabu: being trams
Broom: WAIT
Broom: you’re trans???
Yahabitch: he just said he’s trams learn to read smh
Shitabu: surprise
Snake Man: ME N SAKUSAN
Snake Man: BEING ENBY
TORA: man
TORA: me and who else?
TORA: being cis
Snake Man: INAGINE
Broom: point n laugh everyone
Broom 2: you say, as a cis guy
Broom: shhh
Yahabitch: *points and laughs at you*
Shitabu: pointing and laughing is my favorite pass time
Piss hair: IM CIS
Broom: yeah I fuckin bet you are
Broom: he/him mother fucker
Broom 2: again
Broom 2: you’re cis????
Broom: SHHHHHH
Broom: maybe not 😳
Broom 2: owo?
Broom 2: tea?
Yahabitch: so like
Yahabitch: is today come out day?
Snake Man: IM GAY
Shitabu: we know, Seguro
Snake Man: 👍
Broom: yeah so anyways
Broom: idk
Broom: I dont think I care about pronouns
Broom: like
Broom: any pronouns are sexy
Broom: but mainly he/him thx
Broom 2: that’s so sexy of you Futakkun
Yahabitch: congrats
Shitabu: grats
TORA: rats
Snake Man: ATS
Broom 2: ts
Piss hair: s
TORA: se
TORA: sex
TORA: sexy
Broom: okay wow
Broom: my coming out has turned into a meme
Broom 2: it’s what they would have wanted 😔
Broom: IM RIGHT HERE
Yell Heah 11:30
Broom: AFTER THOUGHTFUL CONSIDERATION
Broom: and by thoughtful i mean Fukiage used she/her pronouns to refer to me
Broom: I have decided maybe I am not the trans of the gender
Yahabitch: that was
Yahabitch: remarkably fast
Broom: ikr
Snake Man: THIS IS SO SAD
Snake Man: NO MORE HE THEY BUDDIES?
Broom: oh no I still definitely like the he and the they
Broom: I’m just like
Broom: probably cis
Yahabitch: also I’m literally right here
TORA: cant believe this groupchat transed your gender
Yahabitch: I know right
Yahabitch: went from respectable Christian boy to
Yahabitch: idk whatever the fuck I am now
Broom: OKAY UPDATE FROM LIKE FIVE SECONDS AGO
Broom: KOGANE CALLED ME THEY AND J THINK MY SOUL ASCENDED
Broom: WILL UPDATE
Sakusan: Is Futakuchi going through an identity crisis?
Broom: VERY MUCH SO YES
Sakusan: Well, good luck.
TORA: no one tell Futakkun about neopronouns they’re totally gonna flip
Broom: LAGSIAJE WOWKB
Broom: THERE ARE SO MANY
Wizard: Man!!! Neopronounsre so cool!!!
Wizard: my sibling uses neopronouns!
Yahabitch: that’s really cool, Usuri
Yahabitch: which ones?
Wizard: ze zem!
Wizard: zeir younger than me by a year!!!
Snake Man: ME N USURI
Snake Man: HAVING LOTS OF SIBLINGS
Wizard: Yay!!! I love big families!!!
Yahabitch: I think I’d like to adopt when I get older
Broom 2: oh yeah same
Broom 2: I’m practically adopted, yknow?
Broom 2: by my granny, but still
Ennoshan: did you decide to meet your father, Teru?
Ennoshan: hypothetically
Broom 2: I
Broom 2: still don’t know...
Broom 2: I think I’ll think more
Piss hair: yeah take yer time
Piss hair: dont rush important thongs
Broom 2: important thongs,,,
Ennoshan: starting to think Atsumu’s autocorrect hates him
Piss hair: ya think?????
Piss hair: stop bullyin me
Piss hair: why do ya always bully me
Wizard: it’s cause you’re so bulliable!!!
Wizard: Rintarou-kun said só himself!!!
Broom 2: Y’know every time you say Rintarou I think of MY Rintarou
Broom: your?
Broom: like- dating?
Broom 2: ew
Broom 2: I would never
Broom 2: that’s gay, futakkun
Broom: my bad babe
Ennoshan: who’s tour Rintarou?
Broom 2: Numajiri
Broom 2: wait
Broom 2: AHSJSODVWJSKSH
Shitabu: are you having a seizure
Broom 2: YAHABA SEND A SELFIE
Yahabitch: what? Why?
Broom 2: DO IT
Yahabitch sent a picture to Yell Heah
Broom 2: OAVEJSOSBAJAKVEOEKEVSH
Broom 2 sent a picture to Yell Heah
Broom: omg
Broom: that’s the same person
Yahabitch: I’m
Yahabitch: what?
Yahabitch: am I a twin?
Wizard: haha wow!!!
Wizard: that’s so cool, Shigeru-kun!!!
Yahabitch: not really but okay
Broom 2: LAHEHOEBEBEKDN I CANT BELIEVE THIS
Broom 2: WAIT HES GONNA FREAK
Ennoshan: this is like the Shibayama/Sakunami situation all over again
TORA: yeah but they’re related so
TORA: Haba you don’t have any surprise siblings/relatives, right?
Yahabitch: not that I know of
Yahabitch: I’m fairly certain my parents would have told me if I had another sibling
Yahabitch: not sure about the extended family though
Akaashi: They don’t look identical. I think it’s mainly the hair.
Broom 2: tru
Broom: Yahaba’s a shiny Numajiri lolol
Snake Man: LIKE POKÉMON?????
Broom: YEAH
Snake Man: I LOVE PIKEMON
Broom: ME TOO!!!!!
Broom 2: omg
Broom 2: Pokémon dpp are the best 😤
Broom: WHAT
Broom: dont disrespect first gen like that
Snake Man: I LIKE ALL OF THEM
Ennoshan: this may be a reach but have any of you read the manga?
Snake Man: THERES A MANGA??????
Ennoshan: there are multiple lol
Ennoshan: But Pokespe/Pokemon Adventures is said to be the most faithful adaptation, according to the creator of Pokemon
Ennoshan: also my favorite pokemon is Eevee
TORA: dude wait I’ll totally check that out!
Snake Man: I LIKE SNIVY
Yahabitch: of course you do
Wizard: is it cuz he’s from Nohebi? Lol
Wizard: I love Pokémon too!!!
Yahabitch: I’ll admit I don’t know much about Pokémon
Yahabitch: I like pikachu? I guess
Shitabu: coward
Shitabu: purrloin is my main Pokémon
TORA: OFC I HAD TO PICK LITTEN AS MY STARTER >:)
TORA: we’re tigers together
Broom: are you evolving your Eevee, Ennoshan?
Ennoshan: why would I do that absolutely not
Piss hair: I always evolve mine into flareon! That’s the way ta go!
Ennoshan: of course you do
Piss hair: 😕
Piss hair: what about you, kaashi?
Piss hair: what’s yer fav
Akaashi: I think if I had to pick a favorite Pokémon, it would be Noctowl.
Broom: Noctowl huh
Broom 2: 👀
Broom: 👀👀
TORA: 👀👀👀
Akaashi: What is it?
Broom 2: well Akkun
Broom 2: Noctowls an owl
Akaashi: Yes?
TORA: AND YOU KNOW EHO ELSE IS AN OWL
Broom: BOKKUN
Akaashi: Bokuto-san is not an owl.
Yahabitch: he does look like one,,, how have I never seen this before
Broom: JUST ADMIT YOU LIKE HIM AKKUN
Akaashi: Bokuto-san and I are just friends.
Broom: suuureeeee
Ennoshan: Guys don’t bug Akaashi
Broom: pain
Broom 2: take a shot every time Ennoshan ruins our fun 🙄
Yell Heah 3:59
Broom 2: I HAVE COME TO A STARTLING REVELATIONBroom 2: am I the only cis guy in this groupchat now???
Broom: Tora?
Broom 2: OkayBroom 2: are tora and I the only cis guys in this groupchat?
Piss hair: I’m cisPiss hair: and Kaashi is too, isn’t he?
Akaashi: Actually, I’m trans.
Yahabitch: you are????
Akaashi: Yes.Akaashi: I’m sorry for not telling you all sooner, I thought it was unnecessary information.
Ennoshan: hell yeah that’s a win for the trans
Shitabu: *unenthusiastically* woot woot
Yahabitch: youYahabitch: you don’t need to say that it’s unenthusiastic
Snake Man: YEAH WE ALREADY KNOW YOURE ALWAYS UNENTHUSIASTIC, SHITABU
Piss hair: Michiru too
Ennoshan: Usuri what
Piss hair: hes cis
Wizard: yup!!!Wizard: I am the cis of the gender
Broom: guys why are there so many pronouns like
Broom sent a picture to Yell Heah
Broom: hhhhhholy fuck
Broom 2: Bc language is fake and everything is made up?
Broom: yeah validBroom: but likeBroom: ANYTHING could be my pronounsBroom: *I cannot stop seeing*
Wizard: yeah!!! There’re the more ‘standard’ neopronouns- ze/zem, it/its, xe/xem, etc, and then there are other ones that arent as common! Like bun/buns or thon/thons!!!
Yahabitch: you sure know a lot about them Usuri
Wizard: yep!!! Call me Exposition Usuri!!!
Broom: lol Usu is the NPC you meet when you start the game
Snake Man: I THINK ID MAKE A GOOD NPC
Shitabu: I think you’d make an awful npc
Snake Man: SAD FACE
Shitabu: you’re too hyper
Snake Man: THAT SOUNDS ALMOST LIKE A COMPLIMENT SHIRABU ARE YOU ALRIGHT?
Yahabitch: someone call a nurse
Piss hair: more like a ambulance
Shitabu: stfuShitabu: fuck all of you
Wizard: even me? 🥺🥺🥺
Shitabu: yes
Snake Man: EVEN ME?????
Shitabu: ESPECIALLY you
Akaashi: What about me?
Shitabu:Shitabu: fine not you
Yahabitch: HAHA SHITABU HAS A CRUSH ON AKAASHI
Broom: point n laugh everyone
Broom 2: okay but likeBroom 2: everyone’s had a crush on akaashia t one pointBroom 2: right
Piss hair: Piss hair: no????
Broom: Aoshsjsosj TERU HAS A CRUSH ON ALAASHI?????
Broom 2: NOBroom 2: I won’t deny I find him attractive tho
Akaashi: Terushima, I am flattered, but I’m afraid you’re not my type.
TORA: oooofTORA: Teru just got rejecteddddddd
Broom 2: I WASNT EVEN ASKING HIM OUTBroom 2: YOURE TELLINT ME NONE OF YOU HAVE EVER BEEN ATTRACTED TO AKAASHI??????
Snake Man: NOT REALLY NO
Piss hair: the only one for me is my Omi-Omi 🥰😘🥰🥰😘🥰😍🥰
Sakusan: Disgusting.
Wizard: I think Keiji-kun is really cool!!! But I don’t think I’d date him, cuz I’ve already got a boyfriend, Y’know?
Broom 2: FUTAKKUN?????
Broom: huh
Broom 2: don’t you think Akaashi’s attractive?????
Broom: IBroom: /yeah/ but I don’t have a crush on him
Ennoshan: Oh? Then who is it?
Broom: LAGEWKEHHEOSJS
Broom 2: OH YEAH TELL US YOUR CRUSH FUTAKKUN
Broom: NO
Snake Man: ITS OKAY FUTAKKUN, WE WONT JUDGE
Yahabitch: Shirabu will
Shitabu: I definitely will
Snake Man: EVERYONE BUT SHIRABU WONT JUDGE YOU
Broom: NO FUCK YOU
Broom 2: r00d *said britishly*
Broom: STOP STEALING MY SCHTICK
Yell Heah 10:23
Broom 2: Bad news guys :((((((
Wizard: What’s wrong???
Broom 2: I got cancelled :()(((((((((((
Ennoshan: What??
Wizard: oh no!!!
Broom 2: On TwitterBroom 2: For eating pineapple on pizza
Ennoshan: Teru that’s didgusting
Broom 2: Ennoshan don’t say that!!!!! :(((
Broom: He’s right babe that’s disgusting
Yahabitch: It’s a fucking good crime that’s what it isYahabitch: food
Snake Man: OMGSnake Man: FUTACCHI AND TERU ARE PERFECT FOR EACH OHERSnake Man: FOOD CRIMINALS
TORA: SEGURO UR SO WRITE
Shitabu: *right
TORA: o(｀ω´ )o gonna beat you up shirabu
Ennoshan: Okay okay calm downEnnoshan: They really are meant for each other though
Broom: *blushes and giggles* Omg babe…
Broom 2: *giggles and twirls my hair* Omg babe 😳😳😳
Shitabu: I think I’m going to barf
Piss hair: Aw I’m enjoyin this tho?
Shitabu: of course you are
Piss hair: WHATS that supposed t mean????
Broom: okay okay wait thoBroom: That’s still disgusting tho pinaplle on pizza?????? Blugh
Ennoshan: waitEnnoshan: How many social medias do you have Teru?
Broom 2: All
Yahabitch: All?
Broom 2: Yes
Snake Man: OH YOURE A SOCIAL MEDIAS FAN? NAME FIVE
TORA: KABSJSLAJA SEGU
Ennoshan: you have Facebook?
Broom 2: Yes
Piss hair: Tiktok?
Broom 2: Yep
Wizard: he told us about that remember? Terudoescoolthings?
Broom 2: it’s coolguyteru but sure
Ennoshan: Obviously Twitter, Insta?
Broom 2: Yessir
Yahabitch: why are we grilling Teru on how much social media he has
Shitabu: because fuck you that’s why
Yahabitch: no thanks I have standards
Piss hair: my question isPiss hair: how t fuck do ya still got storage on yet phone?
Broom 2: what
Broom: *squints* I have no idea what he said
Piss hair: HOW DYOU HAVE STORAE ON YER PHONE
Broom: storae he says
Snake Man: STORAE
Ennoshan: sorae
Yahabitch: SORAE
Snake Man: SORAE,,,
Piss hair: FINALLYPiss hair: IT AINT ME TER MAKIN FUN OF
Broom: ter?
Piss hair: fuck
Broom 2: he’s babey?
Broom: wBroom: HES BABEY????
Broom 2: I TYPED YES BABE WHAT LAHSBSKAHSVAJASVSKAKAVAHBroom 2: BC YOU SAUD TER AND THATS LIKE TERU
Akaashi: This conversation is a train wreck.
TORA: Thays generally how we roll yes
Yahabitch: thays…
Wizard changed the groupchat name to typo central
Yahabitch changed the groupchat name to Typo Central
Shitabu: fucking perfectionist
Yahabitch: stfu
Broom 2: GUYS GUYS GUYS GUESS WHAT
Snake Man: WHAT
Broom 2: JUST MET SHIRABUS MOM ANDBroom 2: @Shitabu WHAT THE FUVK SHES A MILF
Shitabu: please dont call my mom a milf
Yahabitch: if Shirabu’s mom was a high schooler I’d date her 100%
Broom: cowardBroom: youre missing out on the mulfness
TORA: mulfness…
Broom 2: Yahaba you’re not gay?
Yahabitch: I’m Omni
Shitabu: I’d appreciate if you guys didn’t thirst after my mother thank you very much
Yahabitch: sorry KenjirouYahabitch: I love your mom thoughYahabitch: in a non milfy wayYahabitch: Shes so cool
Ennoshan: are we ignoring the weird thing here????Ennoshan: Teru where are you?????
Broom 2: farmers market
Broom 2 sent a picture to Typo Central
Broom 2: yeehaw
TORA: WAIT YOURE RIGHT SHIRABUS MOM IS HOT
Shitabu: STOPShitabu: THATS MY MOTHER
Akaashi: Your mother is a very pretty woman, Shirabu.
Shitabu: thanks
Broom: oh so when AKKUN says it it’s a complement
Yahabitch: tbf ‘I wanna fuck your mom’ and ‘your mom is pretty’ are VERY different things
Broom: I NEVER SQID I WANTED TO FUCK HIS MOM
Shitabu: YOU CALLED HER A MILF THATS RHE SAME THING
Broom: I DIDNT THAG WAS TERU
Wizard: I go away for five seconds n suddenly we’re discussing,,,Wizard: how much of a milf Shigeru-san is???Wizard: What happened to Yuuji-kun gettin cancelled on Twitter???
Broom 2: that was likeBroom 2: SO last hour
Ennoshan: it was ten minutes ago
Broom 2: same thing
Yahabitch: it’s really not, no
Sakusan: Why are you blowing the chat up at eleven on a Sunday.
Snake Man: SAKUSAN!!!
Sakusan:Sakusan: Nevermind I didn’t ask goodbye.
Snake Man: :(
Piss hair: theyPiss hair: they didn’t even say hi to me, their boyfriend
Sakusan: Hello, problem boyfriend.
Piss hair: 😘😘😘 ily Omi-Omi
Sakusan: Disgusting
Piss hair: ya know you love me
Shitabu: why did this suddenly turn flirty? Go to your own fucking dms
Piss hair: 🖕
Typo Central 3:42
Ennoshan: hey what the fuck
Yahabitch: huh
Yahabitch: you’re up late that’s so unlike you what’s up
Ennoshan: I
Ennoshan: I just had a dream about Teru and Futakuchi????
Broom 2: owo?
Broom 2: ngl that’s kinda gay
Broom: about moi? 😳 Ennoshan you charmer!
Ennoshan: I hate both of you
Ennoshan I’m so disoriented that was
Wizard: I dream about y’all sometimes!!!
Broom 2: gayyy
Broom: idk how to tell you this babe
Broom: but you’re also gay
Broom 2: *GASP*
Broom 2: NO
Broom 2: I’m the straightest person to ever exist
Ennoshan: actually I’m pretty sure hats Tanaka but
Yahabitch: the bald one! That looks like Kyoutani!
Wizard: How’s that goin with Kentarou-kun anyways, Shigeru-kun???
Yahabitch: it’s
Yahabitch: it’s going?
Yahabitch: we’re civil, at least
Broom: WOAH WOAH WOAH
Broom: WHY ARE WE CHANGING THE SUBJECT
Broom 2: THEYRE RIGHT
Broom 2: ENNOSHAN HAD A DREAM ABOUT US
Broom 2: ENNOHSAN YOU HAVE SOMETHING WOU WANT TO SAY???? 😳😳😳😳😳😳😳
Ennoshan: IT WS A PERFECTY NORMAL DREAM
Ennoshan: NOTHING HAPPENED
Yahabitch: okay honestly if you say it like that it makes it sound like something happened
Wizard: Hey what happened to Akihiko-kun??? I thought they said they never slept???
Broom: that’s true
Broom: Segu where are touuuu
Broom 2: @Snake Man
Snake Man: HI WHATS UP WHATD I MISS
Snake Man: I GOT @ED THAT MAKES ME FEEL IMPIRTANT
Wizard: because you are important!!!
Snake Man: 🥺🥺🥺
Wizard: 😊😊😊
Broom: okay anyways back on track
Ennoshan: BOTHINF HAPPENED LITERALLY I DONT EVEN REMEMBER IT
Yahabitch: ngl you’re kinda dodging rhe subject that’s suspicious
Broom: sus
Broom 2: amongus 😳
Shitabu has kicked Broom 2 from the groupchat
Broom: NOOOO BABE!!!! SHITABU WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Shitabu: youre next
Broom: r00d *said britishly*
Yahabitch: Kenjirou play nice or I’m telling your boyfriend
Shitabu: as if that would do anything
Shitabu: he doesn’t control me
Wizard: oh? Trouble in paradise???
Shitabu: fuck off
Ennoshan: okay okay let’s calm down
Ennoshan added Terushima to the groupchat
Broom: BAEEE
Terushima: FUTAKKUN I MISSED YOU
Ennoshan: okay so anyways here’s me dream
Ennoshan: picture it- you’re me, going to the pool. Everything’s fine. Suddenly you’re drowning. The lifeguard? Terushima. You think ‘well I might as well drown’ but he saves you. Whatever. You didn’t even k ow he knew how to swim. Suddenly he explodes and turns into a llama. The llama licks you. It’s disgusting. Futakuchi uh hi is suddenly there and yells at you for stealing heir boyfriend. The llama. Apparently. Then you wake up
Broom: lmao that’s hilarious
Terushima: wait can we go back to the fact that ENNOSHAN THINKS I DONT KNOW HOW TO SWIM???? HUH????
Terushima: HOW LITTLE FAIRHT YOU HAVE IN ME!!!! HOW COULD YOU!!!!!! I THOUGHT WE WERE FRIENDS!!!!!!!!! ACOMRADES EVEN
Ennoshan: okay calm down it’s literally not even that deep
Yahabitch: I’m
Yahabitch: I’m dying
Yahabitch: Llama Teru…
Snake Man: I LIKE IIAMAS
Wizard: Yeha!!! They’re really cool!!!
Yahabitch: yeha
Broom: yeha
Snake Man: YEHA
Ennoshan: wait
Ennoshan: Seguro can you repeat what you said
Snake Man: YEHA?
Ennoshan: before that
Snake Man: I LOVE IIAMAS
Yahabitch: Seguro
Yahabitch: you
Yahabitch: you do know llamas is spelled with two Ls right
Snake Man: WHAT
Snake Man: NOOOO
Snake Man: WHAT
Terushima: haha Seguchan can’t spellllll
Terushima: wair
Terushima changed their name to Teru
Teru: yeahhhh
Broom: wair he says
Yahabitch: wair
Sakusan: Why the fuck are you guys up so early
Snake Man: OH SHIT ITS SAKUSAN AND THEY CURSED
Wizard: AND they didn’t end with a period!!!
Ennoshan: hi Sakusa
Sakusan: Hello Ennoshita.
Sakusan: I expected better from you.
Yahabitch: oof
Broom: WAIT DOES THAT MEAN YOH DONT EXPECT MUCH FROM US????
Sakusan: Yes
Teru: OUCH
Broom: ROOD
Wizard: Okay time to go to sleep now!!! Night everyone!!! Night Kiyoomi-chan!!!
Sakusan: It’s really good morning, Usuri, but yes. Good night
Ennoshan: idk if I’ll be able to sleep after that dream tbh but bye
Yahabitch: sleep well guys
Broom: noight
Teru: Daye
Typo Central
Teru: hey did you hear Ronald Reagan got ligma?
TORA: whos Ronald Reagan???
Yahabitch: isn’t he dead?
Teru: LIGMA BALLS
Ennoshan: Teru I’m going to murder you
Shitabu: why are you making jokes about former american politicians
Teru: idk I felt like itTeru: sidesTeru: it’s Reagan
Broom: isn’t that that one guy from that one anime with the ghosts that Segu likes to watch?????
Snake Man:Snake Man: MOB PSYCHO???????
TORA: LABSJALAJAV RONALD REAGAN FROM THE HIT ANIME MOB PSYCHO ONEHUNDRED
Ennoshan: I’m going to cry
Akaashi: What’s going on?
Teru: RONADL REHANE
Yahabitch: wow that was. Incomprehensible
Piss hair: anyone ever notice how long the word incomprehensible is?Piss hair: like it’s a really Ling work yknow?
Broom: Ling work
Teru: Ling work
Snake Man: LING WORK
Sakusan: Ling work
Piss hair: STOPPiss hair: STOP IM ALREADY DEAD
Ennoshan: wow even Sakusan joined in
Yahabitch: I’m convinced Sakusan actually has the notifications on for whenever Atsumu types in the chat purely to bully him when he typoes
Sakusan: You can prove nothing.
Piss hair: BABE????
Akaashi: I googled it and Ronald Reagan has been dead since 2004.
TORA: so that’s likeTORA: eight years?
Teru: eight slutty slutty years
Broom: babe what
Ennoshan: I need a drink what the fuck
Wizard: I like Mob Psycho!!! Y’all should watch it!!!
Ennoshan: I mightEnnoshan: I’ve heard it’s good
TORA: ITS SO GOOD!!!! ME N AKI WATCHED IT TOGETHER
Yahabitch: Aki?
TORA: yeah Y’know. Seguro
Snake Man: YWAH I SHOWED IT TI TORA BC I THOUGHT HED LIKE IT (HONESLTY WHO WOULDNT)
Ennoshan: you guys are pretty close huh
TORA: yeah we’re besties right Aki? (๑>◡<๑)
Snake Man: YEAH!!!!!!!!!! :D
Sakusan: I feel betrayed, Seguro
Snake Man: NOOO SAKUSAN!!!!Snake Man: YOURE MY BESTIE TOO
Piss hair: Omi-Omi???
Sakusan: I don’t like you
Piss hair:Piss hair: OMI-OMI????????
Teru: ouch
Broom: oof 😔Broom: can we get an f in the chat for Piss hair?
TORA: f
Snake Man: F RIP PISS HAIR ILL MISS YOU
Wizard: F!!!
Piss hair: guys,,,Piss hair: ya know my names not piss hair right
Yahabitch: shut up you’re dead
Piss hair:Piss hair: 💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀
Typo Central
Teru: okay look
Ennoshan: oh god no
Teru: I HAVENT EVEN SAID ANYTHING???? WH
Ennoshan: anytime you start with ‘okay look’ I know it’s not gonna be good
Teru: okay fuck youTeru: ANYWAYTeru: question to everyoneTeru: if you had a clone. Would you fuck themTeru: hypothetically ofc
Broom: ofc
Yahabitch: Teru what the fuck
Snake Man: NO BECAUSE THATS GAY AND I AM NOT A HOMOSEXUAL
TORA: you’re literally in love with Akama-chan
Snake Man: YOU GOT ME THERE
Broom: yes because I AM gayBroom: also I’m sexy af so
Teru: YEAHHHHTeru: they get itTeru: ty babe you’re the only correct person ever 😘
Broom: fuck ye I doBroom: also ty babe ilyt 😘
Yahabitch: no because that’s selfcest and I’m not weirdYahabitch: also why would anyone want to fcuk me
Shitabu: no because you guys are fucking freaksShitabu: also I agree, why would anyone want to fuck yahaba
TORA: fcuk
Snake Man: FCUK
Yahabitch: shut up
Akaashi: I would not have sex with myself.
Broom: becauseee…?
Akaashi: I just wouldn’t.
Teru: fair enough
Piss hair: I’d fuck myselfPiss hair: bc ofc I know my body the bestPiss hair: also I’m super fuckin sexy
Broom: yeha that’s what I thought you’d sayBroom: you f uh king narcissist
Yahabitch:Yahabitch: didn’t you literally say the exact same thing Futakkun?
Broom: yeah but i was making a jokey jokeBroom: also I like bullying piss hair
Piss hair: IPiss hair: ya wanna fight, futacchi?
Broom: only if you promise to kill me
Teru: *sprays with water bottle* no
Yahabitch: I think your question killed Ennoshan
Broom: ripBroom: Enno? You there?
Teru:Teru: yeah he’s fucken dead
TORA: can we get an f in the chat? (￣^￣)ゞ
Snake Man: f
Ennoshan: I would not fuck my clone. Why? There are a few reasons. Firstly- I don’t know what this clone is made of or how it came to be. What if the clone is made of some alien substance that kills me? Also- what if the clone itself is an alien? Secondly- what if the clone is evil? I wouldn’t want to have sex with an evil person. I also don’t want to get attached to a possibly evil person. Also considering the fact that it’s technically me, that would be extremely unnerving. If we say that the clone is an exact copy of ourselves, but with a different consciousnesses, I think having sex would be very difficult and also not very fun. Also I’m ace so
Shitabu: what the fuck
Wizard: youre ace???
Shitabu: THATS what you got from that??????????
Wizard: I also WOULDNT fick a clone because I’m also ace!!! No clone fucking!!!
Sakusan: I wouldn’t fuck a clone because that would be cheating.
Piss hair: AW OMI-OMI 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀😆👀😆👀🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺👀👀🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺
TORA: PFFFTTTTTTT
Snake Man: I FEEL LIKE SOME OF THOSE EMOJIES ARE IN THE WRONG PLACE
Piss hair: STFU YA KNOW WHAT I MEANPiss hair: Omi-Omi ilyPiss hair: now I feel bad about hypothetically fucking my clone self
Shitabu: ENOUGH ABOUT T HE CLONE FUCKING
Teru: but waitTeru: would you fuck your clone if you weren’t dating piss hair?
Sakusan:Sakusan: no
Shitabu: SHUT HP SHUT UP SHUT UP I FUCKING HATE ALL OF YOU
Typo Central 2:38
Broom: Hey Yahahababa
Yahabitch:
Yahabitch: what?
Broom: you uh
Broom: you live here huh
Broom sent a picture to Typo Central
Yahabitch:
Yahabitch: why are you at my apartment
Broom: not important
Broom: which ones yours?
Yahabitch: I’m not telling you??? Go away
Broom: poo
Broom: Shirabooboo?
Shitabu: 303, don’t call me that
Broom: gotcha, Ken-kun
Shitabu: don’t call me that
Broom: okay, asshole
Yahabitch: WHY ARE YOU AT MY HOUSE
Yahabitch: ITS TWO IN THE FUCKING MORNING
Broom: I’m lonely :(
Yahabitch: that explains absolutely nothing, go away
Teru: OH SO SHIRABU CAN GO OVER WHENEVER HE WANTS BUT WE CANT?
Yahabitch: my parents wouldn’t allow that go away
Broom: Yahaba’s parents are homophobic 😤
Yahabitch:
Yahabitch: I mean /yeah/ but that has nothing to do with this???
Broom: IT WAS A JOKE BUT ARE YOU OKAY
Yahabitch: IM FINE LEAVE ME ALONE I STG
Broom: open the door, Shige-kun
Yahabitch: I’m going to murder you
Broom: please do
Teru: *sprays with a nerf gun*
Broom: NOOOOO
Teru: you thought I forgot about this, didn’t you
Teru: nice try
Teru: no self deprivation >:(
Broom: pain
Broom sent a picture to Typo Central
Broom: just me
Broom: in Yahaba’s hallway
Broom: loitering
Yahabitch: oh my god I hate you
Teru: Yahaba has a really nice apartment? Damn
Broom: ikr
Broom: you didn’t even see the chandelier
Teru: TGERES A CHANDELIER????
Yahabitch: is that weird?
Teru: FUCKING YES??????
Broom: Yahaba if you don’t open the door I’ll cause a scene
Yahabitch: LABWKEODBA FINE
Broom: score!!!!
Teru: you better keep us updated 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀
Broom: you’re literally the only one active but ok
Wizard: I’m here too!!!
Teru: Usu’s here too
Broom: hiya
Wizard: Hiya Kenji-chan!!!
Broom: ooh I like that
Broom: kenji-chan,,,
Broom: oop Yahaba’s here
Teru: HI YAHABA
Wizard: Hi Shigeru-kun!!!
Broom: he says fuck you
Wizard: D:
Wizard: :(((
Teru: LOOK WHAT YOU DID HES CRYING NOW
Broom: look it’s Yahaba’s kitchen
Broom sent a picture to Typo Central
Teru: ooh
Teru: are we getting the whole tour
Broom: hell yeah we are
Yahabitch: No, because Futakuchi is going to tell me why they’re here, and then they’re going to leave. Also, I didn’t say fuck you, hi Usuri
Wizard: Hi Shigeru-kun!!!
Ennoshan: it’s literally two in the diy king mot big why the fuck are you awake
Broom: wow that was completely incomprehensible
Teru: I got the ‘why the fuck are you awake’ part
Yahabitch: get off your ducking phone if you’re barging into my house???
Yahabitch: where are your manners? Damn
Teru: ducking lol
Broom: ducking
Yahabitch: FUCK BOTH OF YOU
Broom: no thanks
Teru: sure 😏
Yahabitch: ew
Broom: alsbskaka BABE???
Teru: BABE ITS NOT WHAT YOU THINK
Broom: babe,,,
Yahabitch: oh my god that’s it
Broom: wait what are you doishaveoajsaghalaka
Teru:
Teru: Futakuchi???
Wizard: oof he’s dead :(((
Teru: NOOOO BABE
Piss hair: OI WAIT A MINUTE
Piss hair: What’s goin on here?
Wizard: Kenji-chan’s dead :(((
Piss hair: rip
Piss hair: anyways listen to my problems
Teru: sorry I’m too busy mourning my husband
Piss hair: do I look like I care
Piss hair: fuckem
Teru: IM TRYING TO
Wizard: what
Piss hair: what
Teru: KAGAJKAVAHA
Teru: if Futakkun were here hed get it 😢😢😢
Piss hair: ANYWAYS
Piss hair: I change my mind
Piss hair: I WOULDNT FUCK MY CLONE BC IVE GOT A TWIN N THATD BE LIKE FUCKIN SAMY AND THATS. THATS DISGUSTIN
Wizard: oh you finally noticed!!!
Piss hair: NOTICED WHAT
Wizard: that you have a twin
Wizard: Keiji-kun n I were havin a bet to see how long youd go forgettin about Samu-san!!!
Piss hair: AKKUN????
Teru: damn
Piss hair: SO WAIT
Piss hair: YALL KNEW????
Teru: I mean
Teru: I forgot
Teru: but yeahhhh
Piss hair: i late all of you
Broom: I LIVE
Teru: BABE!!!!!!!
Wizard: I LAUGH!!!
Snake Man: I LOVE
Wizard: Segu!!! I didn’t realize you were active!!!
Snake Man: I WAS WATCHING JJK UT THAT CHAT WAS BLOWING UP SO I WANTEF TO SEE WHAT WAS UP!!!!!!!
Broom: Yahab took my phone 😡
Broom: but I go t it back
Teru: and? How were they?
Broom: fine
Broom: we spoke a little
Wizard: that’s it?
Broom: yepppp
Broom: 👍
Yahabitch: you know I’m right here, right?
Broom: akagskakagsishecakwk
Broom: forgot you were in this one
Yahabitch:
Yahabitch: did you fucking make a Groupchat without me
Teru: no
Broom: absolutely not
Snake Man: WAIT DID WE?????? I WASN TPART OF THIS
Broom: that’s because there isn’t a GROUPCHAT wigtour Yahaba
Wizard: there is no war in Ba Sing Se
Typo Central 5:32
Akaashi: Hello.
Snake Man: HI AKKUN
Teru: what’s up, Akkun?
Akaashi: Ah.
Akaashi: Hm.
Broom: ?
TORA: SAY WHAT U WANNA SAY AKKUN WERE ALL LISTENING
TORA: @(・●・)@
Ennoshan: return of the koala
Snake Man: IS THAT A STAR WARS REFERENCE
Ennoshan: yeah
Ennoshan: average movie, like a 6/10
Akaashi: Thank you, Yamamoto.
Akaashi: Well, I guess I have a-
Akaashi: I’m not entirely certain, but I guess I’m looking for advice.
Yahabitch: well ask away! I’m an excellent giver of advice
Shitabu: no you’re not
Yahabitch: stfu
Akaashi: Well
Akaashi: Bokuto-san and I were out at the park. And a lady came up to him and asked him out, and he rejected her because he’s already dating someone.
Akaashi: And I’m not sure why I’m feeling...
Akaashi: I’m not sure what I’m feeling.
Yahabitch: maybe you’re jealous?
Yahabitch: you like Bokuto-san, right?
Akaashi: Bokuto-san and I are just friends.
Teru: bruv
Teru: take it from me, Akkun
Teru: you definitely have a crush on him
Akaashi: Do I?
Akaashi: Maybe I don’t know what a crush feels like.
Akaashi: I’m so confused.
Akaashi: He’s my best friend, and I feel... angry? Upset? Frustrated?
Akaashi: I think I’m upset he didn’t tell me he was dating someone.
Broom: oooor you’re upset Bc it’s not you?
TORA: who would be even be dating?????
TORA: Kuroo-san??????
Snake Man: AH
Snake Man: ROOSTER HEAD
TORA: ATJIRDJUSGB YEAH
Piss hair: idk ain’t Bokkun close with your other old wing spiker?
Akaashi: Konoha-san? I don’t think they would date. But Kuroo-san... They are pretty close.
Yahabitch: I would ask him, Akaashi
Yahabitch: maybe you missheard him? Or maybe it was just to get the girl off his back
Akaashi: I’ll try. Thank you for the help, Yahaba. And everyone else.
Broom: ooof relegated to ‘everyone else’
Teru: rip us 😔😔😔
Ennoshan: to be fair you guys weren’t helpful at all
Broom: *takes damage* oof
Teru: *Ace Attorney noise* CHKUGH
Snake Man: W
Snake Man: WHAT
Teru: Y’know
Teru: the ‘you just said something that counteracts my statement but makes sense so now I’m acting shocked and also like I took damage’ noise
Wizard: I know what youre talkin about!!!
Teru: THANK you Usu
Broom: if no ones got me I know Usu’s got me can I get a hell yeah
TORA: HELL YEAH!!!! ٩(๑❛ᴗ❛๑)۶
Yahabitch: nice
Ennoshan: don’t you mean
Ennoshan: yell heah
Teru: FUCK YOU
Teru: FUCK YOU ENNOSHAN
Broom: I mean if you say so *bites lip*
Ennoshan:
Ennoshan: ew
Yahabitch: yeah ew
Shitabu: tripled. Ew
Broom: oof ouch
Broom: Tora can I have a crying face
TORA: _:(´ཀ`」 ∠): not crying but I felt it better suited your beeds
Broom: when tora doesn’t give you the KAOMOJI you asked for 😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔
Wizard changed Broom’s name to Murder Victim
Murder Victim: I
Murder Victim: USU????
Typo Central 11:27
Murder Victim: *clears throat*
Ennoshan: oh no
Murder Victim:
Murder Victim: okay one? Rude
Murder Victim: two
Murder Victim:
Teru: ther was no two was there
Murder Victim: okay leav eme alone
Murder Victim: now I simply won’t tell you guys
Snake Man: NOOO D:
Wizard: :(((
Wizard: tell us please!!! We like to hear about you!!!
Murder Victim:
Murder Victim: okay fine
Murder Victim: only for u Usu tho
Murder Victim: gender update- the shes and the hers are growing on me
Yahabitch: So he/she/they ornouns?
Murder Victim: more like they/he/she reallt
Murder Victims: the theys are very fun
Snake Man: IKR???????
Snake Man: THEY SUPREMACY
Murder Victim: YEAH
Murder Victim: LIKE. AM I A PERSON KR A BUNCH OF BEES JN A TRECH COAT
Yahabitch: trech coat.
Ennoshan: lol enbees
Ennoshan: get it. Enby.
Teru: ENNOSHAN
Teru: LSVSBSKSNSBSNKSSNSVSKKSSBSNKSN
Murder Victim: Wnnoshan your Ezo funny <333 you should be a comerdain
Yahabitch: Okay can none of you spell.
Murder Victim: STFU YAHABA YOU ELITIST
Teru: Yahaba hates poor people confirmed 😐😐😐😐😐😐😐😐😐😐😐
Yahabitch: literally what.
Yahabitch: what does this have to do with you being poor
Yahabitch: I hate you guys for real you suck
Murder Victim: Y’know you love Yo <333
Teru: yo
Wizard: yo
Snake Man: YO
Murder Victim:
Murder Victim: okay that’s it that’s my 13th reason
Teru: NOOOOOO FUTACCHI
Teru: DONT KILL URSELF YOURE TOO SECY
Wizard: Kenji-chan no!!!! D:
Murder Victim: it was a joke sorry
Murder Victim: I wouldn’t
Murder Victim: sorry
Wizard: it’s ok
Wizard: we’re here for you just in case though!!! <333
Teru: Tora get me. A heart kaomoji
Yahabitch:
Yahabitch: I don’t even think Tora is active.
Teru: how DARE he
Teru: slacker
Snake Man: YKNOW WHO IS ACTIVE THOUGH
Teru: is it you
Snake Man: ITS ME :D
Yahabitch: Hi Seguro
Snake Man: HI YAHABA HOW ARE YOU
Yahabitch: tired
Snake Man: IT IS ALMOST MIDNIGHT
Snake Man: YOU SHOULD SLEEP
Murder Victim: they say, as if they aren’t also awake
Teru: hypocrite
Wizard: oh wow it really is late!!! I thought it was much earlier than that, no onder everyones so bad at typing!!!
Teru:
Teru: okay onw? Rude
Murder Victim: (said britishly)
Teru: YES EXACRLY SAID BEITISHLY
Teru: I CANTYPE PERFECTLY WELL THANK YOU VERI MYCH
Yahabitch: yes we can all see that
Teru: Yahava you better sleep with one eye open
Ennoshan:
Ennoshan: OKAY I think it’s time we all go to sleep
Ennoshan: before Sakusa shows up and starts yelling because we’ve kept them up because it’s MUCH TOO LATE TO BE ONLINE
Teru: OKAY NO NEED TO YELL ENNOSHAN WE HEARYOU
Murder Victim: Damn right after I come out too 😒 Ennoshan’s transphobc for real
Teru: for reall
Sakusan: Go to sleep.
Teru: OG shiT
Murder Victim: o7 yessir
Snake Man: GN SAKUSAN! GN TERU N FUTACCHI N ENNOSHAN AND YAHABA N USU
Ennoshan: good Night
Typo Central 12:03
Ennoshan: okay soEnnoshan: the inter high is coming up
Yahabitch: Ennoshita respectfully please stop talking
Ennoshan: sorryEnnoshan: I was thinking maybe we could meet up after the first day?
Teru: owo? Wnnoshan? Suggesting we meet up??????
Murder Victim: how very unlike him
Ennoshan: I could retract the offer if you’re so surprisedEnnoshan: idk I just thought since were like. Friends
Murder Victim:Murder Victim: WERE FRIENDS????? 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺
Ennoshan:Ennoshan: DID YOU THINK WE WERE NOT???????Ennoshan: HAVE I BEEN MISREADING EVERY SINGLE INTERACTION WEVE HAD????????????????
Murder Victim: NO NO IM JUST. REALLY HAPPY
Teru: this conversation is so gay bro
Murder Victim: Teru… babe…Murder Victim: YOURE gay
Teru: *loud gasp* Teru: WELL YOU KNOW WHATTeru: YOUR MOM IS GAY
Ennoshan: okay we’re definitely off topicEnnoshan: obvs it would only be the Miyagi people but would you guys be free? @Shitabu @Yahabitch
Shitabu: igShitabu: we’d all be in the same place anywaysShitabu: are you thinking dinner together?
Ennoshan: yeah, or something like thatEnnoshan: Yahaba?
Shitabu: ask again in a few hours he’s probably having a breakdown or smth
Ennoshan: ohEnnoshan: thats. Not good
Shitabu: it’s inter high Shitabu: it’s in less than a monthShitabu: lots of pressure Y’know
Teru: yeahTeru: I see why Teru: Yahaba’s the type to really take that hardTeru: I hope theyre ok :/
Murder Victim: he always manages to pull it together tho Y’knowMurder Victim: I used to think he was flawless
Teru: Like Kawa-Chan!
Murder Victim: YEAH!
TORA: man yallre making me jealous I wanna have a fun meatup with my friends (*´ー｀*)
Teru: meatup…
Murder Victim: 🥩
Ennoshan: is the Tokyo group planning on doing anything?
TORA: probs notTORA: Nekoma’s planning to go out for dinner on the first night though!!! It’s tradition
Snake Man: TORA WOULD NOHEBI BE ABLE TO JOIN MAYBE. I WANTED TK SPEND TIME WITH YOU
TORA: oh HELL yeah that would be so rad broTORA: I’ll check with Fuku!
Ennoshan: do you still call him by his family name?Ennoshan: I thought you’d be more familiar now
TORA: well I mean idk calling him Shouhei feels so personal \(//v//)\
Teru: you’re literally dating
TORA: well ypu still call Kenji-chan by their family name and you guys are literally married so
Teru:Teru: touché Teru: jts not like were actually married tho so
Murder Victim:Murder Victim: rightMurder Victim: even tho Yahaba officiated jt and everythinf Murder Victim: they don’t exactly have a license soooooo
Ennoshan: going after Yahaba when he can’t defend himself I seeEnnoshan: very low of you, Futakuchi
Murder Victim: WHATMurder Victim: HE DOESNT HAVE A LICENSE ITS NOT A JABMurder Victim: IRS A FACTMurder Victim: THATS LIEK SAYING IM GOING AFTER PISS HAIR IF I SAY HIS DYE JOB IS AWFUL
Piss hair: OI
Murder Victim: oh you’re hereMurder Victim: I didn’t think you were hereMurder Victim: ignore what I said <3333333
Piss hair:Piss hair: NO?????? HELLO??????Piss hair: is my hair really that bad??????????
Teru: yes
Shitabu: yes definitely
Snake Man: I THINK IT LOOKS COOL
Murder Victim: no offense segu you can’t talkMurder Victim: it looks like piss
Piss hair: 🥺Piss hair: Omi-Omi?
Sakusan: Its not horrid.
Piss hair: OMI-OMI!!! 😊
Sakusan: Could definitely be better though.
Piss hair: :0Piss hair: 🙁
Teru: lmao rip
Typo Central 3:21
Murder Victim: someone wanna tell me why Teru just ate a fucking tomato like it was an apple RIGHT IN FROMT OF ME??????
Yahabitch: better question- why are you at Teru’s house?
Murder Victim: au contraire, mon amiMurder Victim: why is /Teru/ at /my/ house
Teru: Is it that weird?
Ennoshan: a little
Murder Victim: ITS FUCKING DISGUSTINGMurder Victim: WHAT THE FUCK TERU
Piss hair: Futacchi’s just pissed cause she cant eat tomatos
Murder Victim: I CANN TOOMurder Victim: THEYRE KUSY DISGUSTING IDK WHY ANYONE WOULD WANT TO EAT ONE
Shitabu: someone’s in a pissy mood
Murder Victim: FUCK YOU
Shirabu: ew no thanks
Yahabitch: that’s a right reserved for Semi-san
Ennoshan: LABSJALABHSKSJS YAHAHBA
Yahabitch: am I wrong
Ennoshan: I meanEnnoshan: no
Shirabu: fuck both of you
Snake Man: SHITABU’S PISSY TOOSnake Man: IS EVERYONE IN A BAD MOOD TODAY?
Wizard: I’m in a GREAT mood!!!
TORA: I know if no one got me Usu got me
Snake Man: CAN I GET A HELL YEAH
Murder Victim: no
Teru: HELL YEAH
Snake Man: THANK YOU TERU
Ennoshan: more like yell heah amirite
Teru: okay fuck you that was one time and it was a tYPI
Snake Man: TYPI?
TORA: TYPI!!!!!!!!
Teru: STFU I HATE YOU ALL
Piss Hair: at least it’s not me being bullied over a typo lmao
Teru: SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP
Murder Victim: someone’s in a bad mood 🙄
Shitabu: you guys are too loud what the fuck
Yahabitch: Aw, pissy cause Semi-san broke up with you? Boo hoo
Shitabu:
Yahabitch:
Piss hair: sorry, what????
Yahabitch:
Shitabu:
Yahabitch: DID SEMI-SAN BREAK UP WOTH YOU???? OAVEKSJWV WHAT I
Shitabu: I MEAN MAYBE???
Yahabitch: WHY THE FUCK DODNT YOU TWLL ME WHAT THE FUCK KENJIROU
Shitabu: ISEKASPBEKWOWWHH
Ennoshan: okay okay calm downEnnoshan: what?????
Shitabu: Semi and I had a fight last night and now he’s not answering my texts :/
Yahabitch: oh my gidYahabitch: why didn’t you tell me????Yahabitch: I’m coming over be right there
Snake Man:Snake Man: WHATAPPENED?
Murder Victim: hell if I lnow
Ennoshan: I hope Shirabu’s alright :///Ennoshan: he never tells us anything
Murder Victim: getting Shirabooboo to talk to you is like getting your teeth extracted
TORA: I got my teeth extractedTORA: getting Shirabu to talk about personal things is way harder (＞人＜;)
Wizard: that makes me sad,,,Wizard: maybe we’re just bad friends???Wizard: if Kenjirou-kun doesn’t talk to us about anything,,,
Ennoshan:Ennoshan: I mean. He’s a pretty closed off person? But yeah, I think you’re rightEnnoshan: not that we’re bad friends. But I just think we aren’t really that close to him?
Teru: speak for yourself shirabooboo and I are like thisTeru: you can’t see but I crossed my fingers lol
Wizard: 🤞
Teru: thank you usu
Murder Victim: I feel bad tho cause likeMurder Victim: like Y’knowMurder Victim: he possibly just got broken up with
Wizard: We should find a way to cheer him up!!!
TORA: like a party!!!!!!!!!!!
Teru: I think thay would do the exact opposite lmao
Ennoshan: oh yeah totoally he’d hate it
Murder Victim:Murder Victim: so wered ojng it right
Snake Man: DID WE NOT JUSY SAY THAT WE WANTED TO CHEER SHIRABU UP Snake Man: THATS LIKE. Snake Man: COUNTER PRODUCTIVESnake Man: (DID I SAY THAT RIGHT AKKUN)
Akaashi: Yes, good job Seguro. Akaashi: While I agree that cheering Shirabu up would be a good idea, I don’t think a party would suit his tastes well. Akaashi: If Yahaba were here we could ask them.
Murder Victim: but unfortunately he’s actually comforting Shurabu isntwad of being with us to plan a Shirabu torturing party 🙄
Teru: ikr what a bitch
Ennoshan: you know he’ll be able to read all of this right
Murder Victim: o shir ur right
Teru: not if I do this
Teru deleted 10+ messages
Teru: 😎
Typo Central 5:21
Shitabu: okay false alarm I am /not/ in fact being broken up with
Snake Man: YAY!!!!!!
Wizard: :DDD Congrats!!!
Piss hair: oh thank god cause we did NOT know how ta cheer you up
Ennoshan: MIYA
Piss hair: what??????
Ennoshan: did you two manage to sort everything out, Shirabu?
Shitabu: heah
Shitabu: it’s fine now
Ennoshan: I’m glad
Ennoshan: I know we aren’t super close but I hope you can rely on us more in the future
Ennoshan: we /are/ friends, arent we?
Snake Man: HELL YEAH WE ARE!!!!!!!!!!!!
Wizard: yeah!!!!!!!!!
Shitabu:
Shitabu: then, could I ask for some advice?
Shirabu: specifically Tora and Sakusa
TORA: ANYTHIN FOR YOU SHIRABU )^o^(
Shitabu: …
Shitabu: right
Sakusan: I’ll do my best to answer your question.
Shitabu: how do you uh
Shitabu: how do you show your partner you care about them?
Shitabu: idk sorry it’s a weird question
TORA: uhhh well
TORA: dates ofc
TORA: and I know he gets overwhelmed sometimes so I make him take breaks! And I bring him snacks n stuff
TORA: I make sure I’m aware of tbings about him
Sakusan: Like Yamamoto said, dates, little gifts, these things are easy ways to show appreciation. Spending time with each other is another one.
Sakusan: Semi-san is in college now, isn’t he? Have you visited him there yet?
Shitabu:
Shitabu: no…
Sakusan: I would be very happy if my boyfriend surprised me with a visit.
Sakusan: Even if he got lost on the way and I had to go pick him up and a bunch of other people crashed our date.
Piss hair: OMI OMI 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺
Piss hair: hey wair a minute Ken-kun why didntcha ask me? I’m also datin somwone
Shitabu: because I doubt you’d give good advice at all
Piss hair: RUDE
Murder Victim: (said britishly)
Piss hair: you could also ask Usu?
Piss hair: cause Y’know. His boyfriends in college
Wizard: He sure is!!!
Ennoshan:
Ennoshan: I actually forgot about that
TORA: KIRYUU!!!!!!!!!! Love that guy
TORA: tou dont talki about him much
Wizard: yep!!!
Wizard: I was waitin for you fuys to remember lol
Shitabu: well
Shitabu: do you have any advice?
Wizard: visit him!!! N call him!!!
Shitabu:
Shitabu: is that it
Wizard: n spend time with him!!!
Shitabu:
Shitabu: is THAT it?
Wizard: ,,, yeah,,,
Shitabu: cool k kinda useless
Wizard: :(
Wizard: sorry
Ennoshan: SHIRABU
Shitabu:
Shitabu: sorry
Shitabu: it wasn’t useless
Shitabu: thanks guys
Shitabu: that helped I guess
TORA: NO PROB (^○^) WERE FRIENDS!!!!!!!
Shitabu:
Shitabu: yeah
Ennoshan: you can rely on us a little more, Y’know
Shitabu: right
Wizard: oh!!! Kenjirou-kun!!! You could try takin the love languages test!
Wizard: so then you can see what you n Eita-san’s love languages are n cater to that!!!
Shitabu: okay now that’s good advice
Wizard: yay!!! I’ve redeemed myself!!! :D
Murder Victim: *loud gasp*
Shitabu; oh no
Murder Victim: WAS THAT
Murder Victim: SHIRABU ADMITTING TO BEING OUR FRIEND
Murder Victim: HOLY CRAP SOMEONE SOUND THE ALARM
Teru: 🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨
Shitabu: god I hate you fuys
Teru: you can’t say that we’re friends Shirabooboo
Shitabu: says who
Murder Victim: we literally have proof now
Shitabu deleted 2 messages
Teru: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
TORA: man
TORA: we were having such a nice moment too
Piss hair: HA
Piss hair: FOR ONCE IT WASNT ME RUINING IT
Typo Central 8:10
Murder Victim: the person next to me in class is reading fanfic
Murder Victim: girl,,,
Teru: it’s me I’m girl
Murder Victim: lmao
Ennoshan: okay but how do YOU know they were reading fanfic
Teru: Yeah bae, how did you know?
Murder Victim: BC I KNOW WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE BRUH
Murder Victim: LEAVE ME ALONE
Ennoshan: how do you knwo what it looks like?
Teru: Yeah bae, how do you know?
Murder Victim: BC I READ FANFIC OK MEABE ME ALONE LET A GIRL BE OK
Teru: damn really coming after my broom huh
Murder Victim: babe,,, 🥺🥺🥺
Teru: babe,,,,,,,,, 😜😜😜
Murder Victim: don’t ever fucking call me tha again
Murder Victim: also stop making that face
Teru: 😳😳😳
Ennoshan: Teru you were literally doing it too???????
Teru: shhhhhhhhhhhh
Piss hair: what the fuck’re yall talkin about???????
Wizard: fanfiction!!!
Ennoshan: hi Usu
Piss hair: I’m literally right here too hello
Piss hair: I just got here too yknow hwllo
Ennoshan: ,,, hi
Snake Man: YOU GUYS HAVE NOTHING ON ME THE PERSON NEXT TO ME IS /WRITING/ FANFIC
Teru: (it’s me)
Ennoshan: well, the person next to me is watching South Park without earbuds, so :/
Piss hair: Whyre there so many people next to YALL
Murder Victim: wchool
Teru: I am unfortunately not the South Park watcher
Teru: lurerally becer seen that show
Ennoshan: don’t start
Ennoshan: it’s not good
TORA: WHATS fanfic
Ennoshan: oh boy
Wizard: !!! Fanfic (or fanfiction) is writing fans of shows make with characters from the show! They can be canonical (so like. Correspondin with the show) or aus(alternate universes)!!! It’s a creative outlet n a way to make more info about your favorite xharcarers after a show ends!!!
TORA: cool! Ty Usu! ( ^ω^ )
Wizard: No problem!!!
Piss hair: Futacchi what’re they reading
Murder Victim: yoh think my eyesight is that good????? Bitch???,,,
Piss hair: YOU SAID YOU WERE RIGHT NEXT T THEM
Murder Victim: bot RIGHT right next
Murder Victim: I have bad eyes leave me alone
Ennoshan: wait Seguro how do you know theyre weiting fanfic? Are you reading over their shoulder?
Snake Man: NO I JUST LIED
Ennoshan:
Ennoshan: oh
Ennoshan: ok
Teru: SEGUCHAN
Teru: HOW COULD YOU
Teru: you can’t see me but I looking very indignant and I gasped bery loudly and put my hand on my chest
Snake Man: *AVERTS EYES IN SHAME*
Snake Man: PLEASE FORGIVE ME
Teru: *turns away dramaticallt* NO
Teru: I’m afraid I cannot,,, for your shin is much too grave,,,,,,,
Snake Man: BLUT PLEASE
Snake Man: FATHER PLEASE
Snake Man: TWAS BUT ONE LITTLE LIE
Teru: I DIDNT RAISE YOU LIKE THIS MY SON
Teru: TO LIE AND TO THEIVE AND TO BETRAY YOUR OWN SIXKLY FATHER
Teru: HOW WOULD YOUR DEARLY DEPARTED MOTHER FEEL ABOUT THIS SON
Snake Man: NO. NO T MOTHER
Murder Victim: wait is that me
Murder Victim: what the fuch why am I dea D
Ennoshan: better question
Ennoshan: why the FUCK are you guys role playing in the groupchat
Snake Man: IDK IT JUST HAPPENED
Teru: it’s called the yes and rule Ennoshan
Teru: get with it
TORA: I am. So loust
TORA: what is going on
Teru: oh my sweet summer child
Sakusan: Shouldn’t you all be in school? Get off your phones.
Snake Man: HI SAKUSAN
Teru: oops
Teru: we got caught
Sakusan: Ennoshita I expected better from you.
Ennoshan: …
Ennoshan: welp
Ennoshan: bye
Typo Central 11:27
Murder Victim: *clears throat*
Ennoshan: oh god
Murder Victim: okay first
Murder Victim: r00d
Murder Victim: *said britishly*
Murder Victim: second
Murder Victim: fuck you
Ennoshan: Jesus Christ
Ennoshan: it’s too early for this
Shitabu: it’s eleven thirty In the morning?
Ennoshan: yeah. Too early
Murder Victim: ANYWAYS
Murder Victim: I think maybe I’m kinda genderfluid
Murder Victim: so yeah
Ennoshan; oh congrats
Teru: *chucky voice* GENDA FLUID
TORA: the rat???????
Teru: the
Teru: CHUCKY CHEESE,??????????
TORA: YOU SAUD CHUCKY IDK
Teru: I MEANT LIKE. THE SERIAL MILLER DOLL
Teru: YO OW
Teru: LIKE THE. VIDEO OR W/E
Murder Victim: you guys are literally ruining my coming out
Teru: you’ve already done that like twice
Teru: but congrats on figiring it lit
TORA: yeah goncfeats!!! Sorry for detailing it
Murder Victim: ty (I think?)
Murder Victim: your typing is atrocious
TORA: Ik (*´Д｀*)
Teru: it’s ok ur cute
Murder Victim: HELLO?????
Teru: WHAT
Teru: I CANT CALL MY SON CUTE
Murder Victim:
Murder Victim: is he yours? I thought he was mine
Ennoshan: are we really doing this again
Teru: yes
Murder Victim: yes
TORA: you guys are literally married tho so it rwaly doesn’t matter
Murder Victim: YES IT DOES
Teru: yeah what she said
Teru: so wait Babe
Teru: what pronouns should we use for you?
Murder Victim: I’m kinda really feeling the shes and the hes rn lol
Teru: cool cool
Wizard: Kenji-chan!!! Congrats!!! :DDD
Murder Victim: TY <33333333333
Murder Victim: the only one who truly appreciates me smh
Piss hair: this is me erasure
Murder Victim:
Murder Victim: do you appreciate me?????
Piss hair: eeeeeehhhhhhh
Murder Victim: okay one
Murder Victim: how DARE you
Murder Victim: two
Murder Victim: 🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕
Piss hair: it was a JOKE
Piss hair: c’mon Dirac chi don’t be like thay
Murder Victim:
Murder Victim: what did you call me???
Piss hair: IR WAS AUTO COREVT PSL
TORA: the girls are fightinggggggggggggg
Typo Central 12:30
Snake Man: GUYS ITS RWINFIN SO HARD RN
Piss hair: reinfin?
Snake Man: RAINING
Snake Man: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
Snake Man sent a picture to Typo Central
Piss hair: nice!
Piss hair sent a picture to Typo Central
Piss hair: it’s not rainin here
Snake Man: THATS SO SAD
TORA: aaaaand that was the weather with Segu and Piss hair! Now on to a gay update- Teru, how’s it looking?
Piss hair: THATS NOT MY NAME
Teru: getting gayer
TORA: thank you, Teru
TORA: now t FUTACCHI with the gender
Murder Victim: getting genderer
Murder Victim: (she/they/he pronouns 2day pls)
TORA: tHANK you Futacchi
Murder Victim: can I change my name now btw? Like
Murder Victim: ider what it was
Murder Victim: what killed me
TORA: transphobia
Murder Victim: LEVSVKSKSBS
Murder Victim: anyways I’m not hearing a no
Murder Victim changed their name to Futakuchi
Snake Man changed Futakuchi’s name to Girlboss
Girlboss:
Girlboss: sure I’ll take it
Piss hair: oh so THEY can change their name but I can’t??? Sure. Okay
TORA: Tsumtsum,,, don’t be transphobic,,,
Piss hair:
Piss hair: I hate alla yall
Snake Man: LOVE YO U TOO TSUM TSUM <333
TORA: alla YALL lol
Girlboss: Tsumtsum Here ILL change your name for you <333
Girlboss changed Piss hair’s name to Piss Hair
Piss Hair: ty futa
Piss Hair: ok Y’know what fuck you too
Girlboss: in honor of Yahaba
Girlboss: may they Rest In Peace 😔
Snake Man: IS. IS YAHAVA DEAD?,,
Yahabitch: I’m right here
Yahabitch: just Bc I haven’t been active doesn’t mean I’m dead
Yahabitch: I’m just studying
TORA: omg hiiii *twirls hair*
Yahabitch: What hair
TORA: I HAVE A WHOLE MOHAWK
Snake Man: HE DOES IVE SEEN IT
Yahabitch: right uh huh
Yahabitch: anyways does anyone know where Ennoshita is?
TORA: idk why?
Piss Hair: I don’t think es activw
Yahabitch: No reason
Yahabitch: Hes just usually active
Snake Man: YOURE RIGHT
Snake Man: USUS NO WHERE TO BE SEEN EITHER
TORA: also I think Teru ditched us
TORA: all the people who are usually super active aren’t active
Snake Man: THE ROLES HAVE BEEN FLIPPED
Snake Man: SOMEONE GET SAKUSAN IN HERE
Girlboss: Bc they’re never active?
Snake Man: YE
Piss Hair: I think Thays a GREAT idea actually
Piss Hair: @Sakusan Omiomi <333
Sakusan: No.
Piss Hair: ☹️
Sakusan: I’m in the middle of school work.
Piss Hair: ☹️
Sakusan: Do you guys ever do homework?
Snake Man: NOPE!
Girlboss: OH SHIR
Girlboss: I forgot shit
Girlboss: gtg
Yahabitch: I’ve already finished my work.
Yahabitch: I’ve been studying though.
TORA: I’ll do it tomorrow during lunch it’s fine
Piss Hair: Omiomi I’m havin trouble with the English could ya help me? 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺
Sakusan: Miya your best subject is English.
Sakusan: Also, you could just ask Aran-san. I’m sure he could help you.
Piss Hair: THATS A STEROTYPE
Piss Hair: JUST CAUSE HES AMAERICAN YA THINK HE KNOWS ENGLISH?
Piss Hair: SHAME ON YA OMIOMI
Sakusan: … Miya you are aware of what the most spoken language in the United States is, right?
Piss Hair: it’s a joke omiomi
Piss Hair: m not that stupid
Piss Hair: date mate of little faith :/
Sakusan: … If you still need help with your English work I might be free in a little while to help you.
Piss Hair: !!!!
Piss Hair: OMIOMI LOVE OF MY LIFE APPLE OF MY WYWE
Piss Hair: I COULD KISS YA
Snake Man: YOU GUYS LNOW WERE STILL HERE RIGHT
Snake Man: LIKE. YOURE NOT ALONE
Piss Hair: stfu go kiss Akama or smth let me have my moment
Snake Man:
Snake Man: OK
Yahabitch: God I’m so single.
Yahabitch: I’m going back to studying I hate you all.
Snake Man: WAIT WHOS STULL SUNGLE IN THIS GROUPCHAT
Snake Man:
Snake Man: WAIT WVERYONE LEFT :(
Snake Man: OKAY SO ILL JUSY COUNT TO MYSLEF
Snake Man: YAHABA AND TERU AND FUTACCHI AND. OH AKKUN AND ENNOSHAN
Snake Man: IS THAT IT?
Snake Man: MAN WERE TEALLY GOOD HUH
Snake Man: IM JUST TALKING TO MYSELF NOW THO
Snake Man: OK GOOD BUE GUYS
Typo Central 11:32
Teru: guess who got a boyfriendddddd ~~~~~~
Wizard: Yay!!!
TORA: HOLY CRAP DUDE CONGAYS
Snake Man: OMG WHO IS IT
Yahabitch: Congays…
Teru: Daishou Suguru 😎
Snake Man:Snake Man: DAISHOU-SAN??????????????Snake Man: MY FORMER CAPTAIN???????????????????????Snake Man: HELLO????????????
TORA: doesn’t he have a girlfriend?
Teru: they broke up a while ago
Girlboss: … I thought you said you weren’t interested in anyone
Teru: huh?
Girlboss: When we were talking about crushes. You said you didn’t like anyone
Teru: lmao that was like. Forever ago
Girlboss: it was only a few weeks
Teru: dude why are you getting so pressed about itTeru: it’s not like we’re actually married lmaoTeru: sides, you have someone you like too, right
Girlboss: I guessGirlboss: soes this mean you wont be my babe anymore ☹️
Teru: I’m sorry babe 😔😔😔
Ennoshan: are you guys divorcing
Shitabu: thank godShitabu: if I had to endure any more of your stupid ducking flirting
Teru: ducking flirting lol
TORA: 💕♥️❤️💞💖🦆
Shitabu: I hate all of yoy
Teru: love ya too <333333333
Ennoshan: anyways tell us more about the boyfriend!!!!!!
TORA: he better treat you right ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ orill beat him up
Teru: awwww you’re so sweet Tora Teru: he’s a real gentleman dw dw
Akaashi: Congratulations, Terushima. Akaashi: I do hope he is nicer to you than he is on the court, though.
Teru: oh yeah he’s SO sweetTeru: he pays for everything and he’s so politeTeru: he’s really smart too
Yahabitch: I’m sure he isYahabitch: Is he in college now?
Teru: yeah he’s studying medicineTeru: we kept in touch Teru: from last years captains groupchat Teru: it’s dead now thoTeru: (RIP Oikawa’s Juicy Ass 😔🕊🕊🙏)
Yahabitch: I’m sorry WHAT
Girlboss: oh yeah I forgot Kawa named jt that
Yahabitch: WHAT??????????
Girlboss: kts an inside joke don’t worry bout jt
Snake Man: DAISHOU-SAN???????????
Ennoshan: oh they’re back
Snake Man: YOURE DATINF DAISHOU-SANSnake Man: WKSDHSKSJBSSNKSBDBSKSJSJSKSKSHSKWKSBSBSSnake Man: HWLLO??????????????????
Akaashi: Are you alright, Seguro?
Yahabitch: I think you killed him.
Snake Man: CONFRATS DUDE IGSnake Man: THATS. SO WEIRD TO THINK ABOUT
Teru: thanks man Teru: I guess?
Snake Man: HES TEALLY COOL I HAD LIKE. A HUGE CRUSH ON HIM FIRST YEARSnake Man: HES SO COOL
Teru: ikrTeru: and he’s sexy af
Girlboss: okay that’s enough we don’t need to hear all that
TORA: sounds like someone’s jealoussssss~ (⁎⁍̴̆Ɛ⁍̴̆⁎)
Girlboss: I am NOT
Yahabitch: Some of us are single okYahabitch: We don’t need to hear you guys brag about your date Benares
Girlboss: IM NOT JWALOUS
Yahabitch: WELL I AMYahabitch: I WANT A BLYFRIEND
Piss hair: ???Piss hair: then ask him outPiss hair: yer mad dog guy
Yahabitch: Literally how do you know about that.
Piss hair: ??????? I’m literally part o the groupchatPiss hair: it’s not like I never see anything yall say Piss hair: I’m fairly active yknow
Ennoshan: that’s a surprise to meEnnoshan: you never talk
Piss hair: I do tooPiss hair: idk I guess it’s hard to add myself in when yallre talkin about Miyagi stuff
Ennoshan: ohEnnoshan: sorryEnnoshan: ?
Piss Hair: its fine, it’s not your faultPiss Hair: plys I was active a while ago n no one was on and thwm it was borin Piss Hair: so like. Yallre just on at the wrong times
Ennoshan: you mean like. Not at one in the morning
Piss Hair: okay how dare you it was 12:30
Snake Man: OH MY GOD,,,, DAISHOU-SANSnake Man: IM STILL NOT OVER JT
Teru: dude that was so last five minutes ago get over itTeru: I fot myself a cute boytoy are you jwalous
Snake Man: NOT REALLYSnake Man: I HAVE AKAMA
Piss Hair: oh yeah was the deal with that?Piss Hair: yesterday you were listin the single pll n you didn’t list yourselfPiss Hair: are you n akama datin now?
Teru: ooooooohhhhhh? 😲🧐🧐🧐
Shitabu: Terushima you use emojis like a straight person
Teru: THAT IS QUITE POSSIBLY RHE WORST THING YOU COULDVE AAID TO ME
Snake Man: EHESnake Man: IDK
Wizard: But you do like them, right???
Ennoshan: oh hey Usuri
Wizard: I’ve been here the entire time!!!Wizard: I just didn’t have anythin to say!!!
Snake Man: YEAHSnake Man: BUT IDKSnake Man: NOT JN A ROMANTIC WAY?Snake Man: LIKE. I WANNA HUG THEM AND KISS THEM
Teru: …not in a romantic way?
Snake Man: IDKSnake Man: IT JUST FEELS DIFFERENT
Wizard: Akihiko-chan!!! Have you ever heard of the term ‘queer platonic’?
Snake Man: NO
Wizard: I’d suggest lookin into it!!! A queer platonic relationship is one that borders friendship and romantic relationships!!! So what you’re experiencin could be qp attraction?
Snake Man: HUHSnake Man: ILL LOOK INTO IT TY
Teru: woah woah waitTeru: wdym it’s between driendship and romanceTeru: doesn’t wanting to hold someone’s hand and kiss them and like. Have sex with them mean romance?
Wizard: not necessarily!!!
Teru: huhTeru: I don’t get it
Wizard: Well, you know things like friends with benefits, right? Where you don’t have romantic attachments, but still do things typical of a romantic relationship?
Teru: sure
Wizard: a qpr is like that!!! But a little deeper, I think. I don’t experience qp attraction myself, but I think it’s very interesting!!! I have friends in a qpr!!!
Teru: I still don’t really get itTeru: but cool
Ennoshan: okay but waitEnnoshan: you still didn’t count yourself as singleEnnoshan: so obvs it’s not just a crush- or qp attraction or w/e
Snake Man: OH YEAHSnake Man: WVE KISSED AND STUFF
Teru: and stuff?
Snake Man: IM NOT TELLING YOU THE AND STUFF
Teru: fair
Yahabitch: god this conversation is making me feel so single get me a boyfriend plsYahabitch: literally anyone I just eanna be held jesjs chiest
Ennoshan: Yahaba I think it’s time to get some rest
Wizard: Well!!! That’s my job as the resident queer dictionary done!!! See yall the next time someone has an identity Crisis!!!
Ennoshan: I’m assuming that’s your way of saying good nightEnnoshan: good night everyone
Teru: night
Snake Man: NIGHT
Yahabitch: I stil have sto stydy so not night but good might to everyone else
Sakusan: Yahaba go the fuck to sleep.
Yahabitch:Yahabitch: yessir
Typo Central 2:00
Snake Man: I SANYONW AWAKE
Piss Hair: me
Piss Hair: whatsup?
Snake Man: NOTHING REALLT
Snake Man: IDK I WAS FEELING KINDA LONELY
Piss Hair: Aw dude
Piss Hair: I’m right here for ya bro ❤️
Snake Man: TY :)
Snake Man: IM GLAD SAKUSAN ADDED YOU TO THIS CHAT
Piss Hair: I’m glad I was added!
Piss Hair: yallre twally fun
Yahabitch: Am I interrupting a moment?
Snake Man: YAHABA!
Snake Man: WHY ARE YOU STILL UP
Yahabitch: studying
Yahabitch: neither of you would happen to be good at quadratic formula, would you
Snake Man: SORRY I BARELY PAASED MY MATH CLASS LAST YEAR
Piss Hair: marh is my weakest subject
Piss Hair: i jury think afdin letters to math was a dick move
Yahabitch: that’s alright
Yahabitch: I’ll fi giurw it out
Piss Hair: ya never said why YOU were still up, Segu
Snake Man: IM PLAYING MINECRAFT
Piss Hair: oh rad
Piss Hair: could I play with ya?
Snake Man: !!! YWAH
Snake Man: WAIT WE SHOULD MAKE A REALM WITH THE ENTIRE GROUP CHAT
Piss Hair: that’d be fun
Yahabitch: I’ll pass I don’t jniw how to play mine craft
Yahabitch: plus I’d oubt I’ll have much time in the near future
Piss Hair: Shige you’re studdyin wayyyyytoo hard
Piss Hair: take a break
Yahabitch: Lovely suggestion
Yahabitch: I will definitely do that
Yahabitch: good night
Snake Man: WOW
Snake Man: I DIDNT THINK THEYD BE THAT RECEPTIVE
Piss Hair: no they’re definitely lyin arent they
Ennoshan: I’m surprised to see you fuys it’s stil up
Piss Hair: not as surprised I am to see YOU
Piss Hair: arentcha supposed t be the responsible one, ennochan?
Ennoshan: touché
Snake Man: HI ENNOSHAN DONYOU LIEK MINECRAFT
Ennoshan: not particularly
Snake Man: THIS IS SO SAD
Snake Man: WHERE ARE MY MINECRAFT BUDDUES
Piss Hair: it’s ok ya have me ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
Snake Man: TY ATSU
Piss Hair: oh btw why’re you awake ennochan
Ennoshan: I can’t fall asleep, for some reason.
Ennoshan: perhaps it’s the inter high coming up?
Snake Man: OH YEAH!!!!!!!!!
Snake Man: I CAN T WAIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Ennoshan: Did you guys ever tell us what the Tokyo bracket looks like?
Snake Man: WELL, WE ALL BIPASS THE FIRST ROUND BC WE WERE IN THE SEMI FINALS AT LEAST
Snake Man: AND THEN ITS NOHEBI VS ITACHIYAMA FOR THE THIRD MARCH
Snake Man: I DONT THINKW WERE GONNA WIN BUT WE’LL SURE TRY OUR HARDEST
Piss Hair: man, now I’m friends with yall imma have a hard time figurin out who to root for
Piss Hair: ofc, I Gotta root for Omi-Omi, so sorry Segu
Snake Man: IRS OK I GET IT
Ennoshan: how about Nekoma and Fukurodani?
Snake Man: WELL WHOEVER WINS BETWEEN NOHEBI AND ITACHIYAMA WILL FACE NEKOMA OR WHOEVER WINS IN THAT BRACKET
Snake Man: FUKURODANI’S IN A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT BRWCKET THIS TIME SO NO ONES GONNA FACE THEM UNTIL THE FINALS
Ennoshan: that’s lucky for them
Ennoshan: Miya, do you know your bracket yet?
Piss Hair: yep
Piss Hair: I won’t bore ya with the details tho
Piss Hair: since I doubt YALL knwo the teams here
Ennoshan: I don’t think I know any of the teams, no
Snake Man: IDEK WHAT PREFECTURE YOU LIVE IN
Piss Hair: Hyogo
Ennoshan: Hyogo
Snake Man: COOL
Snake Man: I NEVER AWEENT TO HYOGO
Ennoshan: what
Snake Man: IVE NEVER BEEN TO HYOGO
Ennoshan: oh
Ennoshan: me neither
Ennoshan: is it nice there, Atsumu?
Piss Hair: idk
Piss Hair: I thi k it’s nice but Samu likes Tokyo more
Snake Man: HAHA
Snake Man: ME TOO
Ennoshan: ok shitty boy
Snake Man: SHI
Snake Man: SHITTY BIY?
Ennoshan: sorry
Ennoshan: it’s what Tanaka calls Tokyo teams
Ennoshan: he can’t say city boys it’s reallt funn y
Snake Man: OH
Piss Hair: ta like Tanaka, right?
Piss Hair: that’s the bald wing spiker dide
Ennoshan: yeah
Ennoshan: he has someone else he likes though
Yahabitch: ah ennoshita
Yahabitch: you’re here
Yahabitch: how good are you at the aquadractic formula
Ennoshan: what
Ennoshan: quadratic?
Yahabitch: ye
Ennoshan: idk depends on the problem
Ennoshan: why are you still up?
Yahabitch: studyiny
Yahabitch sent an image to Typo Central
Ennoshan: yhhhhhh
Ennoshan: gimen a minute
Piss Hair: what happened to goin ta sleep Shige
Yahabitch: I will after j finish this
Snake Man: OG WNNSIHAN
Snake Man: ENNOSHAN
Snake Man: DO YOY PLAY MUNECRAFT
Ennoshan: i tried my hardest
Ennoshan sent an image to Typo Central
Ennoshan: also I don’t really play Minecraft but I got an account a while ago
Yahabitch: ty that’s what I yhotgjt
Yahabitch: rhoyght
Yahabitch: rhptgj
Yahabitch: thought
Snake Man: LMAO
Snake Man: THE GROUPCHAT NAME IS RIGHT AGAIN
Yahabitch: yeah yeah
Yahabitch: ok that was all I needed, so good bue everyone
Ennoshan: go to sleep yahavia
Ennoshan: Yahaba
Piss Hair: I think Yahaba’s not the only one who needs to go ta sleep, ennochan
Ennoshan: yeah, I’ll try
Snake Man: OK GN ENNSHAN YAHABA
Snake Man: ARE YOU ALSO GOING ARSU?
Piss Hair: I probably should
Piss Hair: since it’s a school night n all
Snake Man: OH SHIT O FORGOT
Snake Man: OK GN
Typo Central 11:11
Snake Man: ELEVE N ELEVENN MAKE A WISH
TORA: I WISH TO WIN THE INTERHIGH
Girlboss: uh not if Dateko dows it first
TORA: I WISH TO WIN TBE TOKYO INTERHIGH
Snake Man: YEAH GOOD LUCK WITH ITACHIYAMA AND FUKORODANI
TORA:
TORA: I can stl hope??????? Leave me alone
Wizard: I hope to continue to be friends with alla my friends!!!
Snake Man: ARE WE INCLUDED?
Wizard: Of course!!!
Akaashi: Shouldn’t you all be in class?
Wizard: Keiji-kun!!! Shouldn’t you also be in class?
Akaashi:
Akaashi: Well, my phone was going off quite a bit, so I asked to go into the hallway in case there was an emergency.
Akaashi: I see there wasn’t though.
Girlboss:
Girlboss: okay now I feel bad??????????
TORA: AKKUN do you. Have this groupchat’s notificaltions on
Akaashi: Yes? Do you not?
TORA: I muted it forever ago lmao
TORA: we talk a lot I’m surprised you haven’t gotten in troubvle yet
Akaashi: Well I want to be there in case an emergency is happening and I need to be reached.
Snake Man: AKKKKUNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN
Snake Man: TORA COULD I HAVW A CRYING KAOMIJI
TORA: ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´ω`ﾟ)ﾟ｡
Snake Man: TY TORA
Akaashi: Is it that strange?
Girlboss: a little
Girlboss: just means you love us <3333333333
Girlboss: love u 2 akkun muah muah
Akaashi: … Well, if there’s no emergency, I’ll be going back to class.
Akaashi: You should do that too, although I can’t force you.
Girlboss: speaking of forcing us to go to class
Girlboss: wheres ennoshan
Snake Man: PROBABLY JN CLASS
Girlboss: yeah that would make sense lmao
Teru: auick someone help I fell askeep WHATS an exponential functipn
TORA: a function that exponents
Teru: cool thanks
Teru: muah
TORA: (〃ω〃)
Teru: 🤪
Snake Man: NOT AGAIN
Snake Man: IF YOU KEP USING THAT EMOJI ENNOSHANS GONNA YELL AT ME AGAIN :(
Teru: FUCK Ennoshan
Teru: he’s not my mom
TORA: I think I’d rather not fuck Ennoshan
TORA: he’s not my type
Snake Man: DO YOU HAVE A TYPE?
TORA: quiet, black hair, sense of humor, could probably beat me up, shorter than me
Snake Man: COULD FUKKUN BEAT YOU UP?
TORA: oh yeah totally
TORA: he’s so scary (*≧∀≦*)
Teru: Ngl that’s kinda freaky
Teru: not in a ad way tho
Teru: you do you my g
TORA: d’you have a type, Teru?
Teru: not really lmao
Teru: I am a-okay with anyone
Snake Man: HOW BOUT YOU, FUTACCHI?
TORA: is futacchi even here anymore?
TORA: I think they left
TORA: I forgot to ask the pronouns of the day (°_°)
Teru: Aw man I missed Futakuchi?
Teru: damn
Teru: Seguchan, D’you got a type?
Snake Man: IDK
Snake Man: I LIKE FEMININE PPL
Snake Man: LIKE. CUTESY PEIPLE
TORA: is Akama cutesy?
TORA: I’ve only ever seen them on the court sooo
Snake Man: SHES VERY CUTESY
Snake Man: TORA CAN I HAVE A. IDK A KAOMOJI
TORA: like
TORA: any?
Snake Man: A CUTE ONE
TORA: (#^.^#)
Snake Man: YEAH GOOD ENOUGH
Teru:
Teru: so is that like. Suposed to represent Akama or smth?
Snake Man: NO ITS MY FACE WHEN I SEE HER
Teru: I see I see
Teru: I wonder what Akkun’s type is
TORA: muscles
Snake Man: YEAH DEFINITLEY MUSCLES
Teru: ok but like
Teru: we’re athletes everyone has muscles
TORA: no he likes. Really really buff guys
TORA: like Bokuto!
Akaashi: I do NOT like Bokuto-san.
Snake Man: AKKUN!!!!!!!! YOURE BACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Teru: what happened to class Akacchi?
TORA: ooooh Akacchi
Akaashi: Please don’t call me that.
Akaashi: Also it’s a passing period for us right now. We get five minutes between classes.
Teru: and you went straight fr your phone? Tsk tsk tsk nauty Akacchi
TORA: whats IS your type then Akkun?
Akaashi: … I do like people who work out a lot. That part is true.
TORA: AH HA
TORA: so would you say
TORA: Bokuto. For example. Is hot
Akaashi: I suppose.
Snake Man: AKKUN YOU WRRE TYPING FOR A GOOD MINUTE BEGOFR THAT ONE
Snake Man: ARE YOU SUREEEE
Akaashi: My class is about to start. You should also pay attention in class, since I see none of you took my advice.
Teru: if the teacher isn’t paying attention to me I’m not paying attention to her
Teru: check and mate
Wizard: My type is also guys with muscles!!!
Snake Man: HI ISURI
Wizard: Hi Akihiko-san!!!
Teru: I feel like I’ve gotten used to you sneaking up in us lol
Wizard: ehehehe!!!
TORA: muscles are cool ig
TORA: I like slim n elegant more tho
TORA: /I/ wanna be the buff one in the relationship
Snake Man: *MUSCLE MAN KAOMOJI*
TORA: ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ
Snake Man: YEAHHHHHHHGHHHHGH
Snake Man: THATS YOU
TORA: ehehehehe
Teru: ok now I’m curious
Teru: @Ennoshan WHATS your type!
Ennoshan: what
Ennoshan: why do you want to know?
Snake Man: HI ENNOSHAN
Teru: idk
Teru: don’t be so hostile Ennoshan :(((
Ennoshan: why
Teru: idk for fun?
Teru: Thays what people do at sleepovers Y’know?
Snake Man: PRETEND WERE AT A SLEEPOVER!
Ennoshan: it’s literally the middle of the school day
Teru: and?
Ennoshan:
Ennoshan: I dunno
Ennoshan: someone who can match me… I guess?
Wizard: like energy wise? I get that!!!
Ennoshan: I mean like
Ennoshan: idk
Ennoshan: someone who I feel comfortable with? Who I can engage in conversations with? Someone who gets me?
Ennoshan: I guess?
Teru: that’s
Teru: yeah I get that
Snake Man: WOW… THATS SO DEEP
Snake Man: I JUST LIKE CUTE PEOPL
Ennoshan: ok but would you like a cute person who was mean to you? Probably mot, right?
Snake Man: IG YEAH
Ennoshan: só personality does play a part
Ennoshan: I think compatibility is very important when you’re trying to find a life partner
Teru: what like. Forever?
Ennoshan:
Ennoshan: yes?
Teru: wait yallre dating for like. Marriage??,
Ennoshan:
Ennoshan: are you not?
Teru: I’m like. 17. Wayyy too young to start thinking about that
Wizard: My parents got married when they were 21!!!
Teru:
Teru: am I the weird one here? Hello?
TORA: idk man I could definitely see myself marrying Fukunaga
TORA: oh gosh ehehehe (*≧∀≦*)
Teru: huh
Teru: inch resting
Ennoshan: okay enough marriage talk and crush talk go back to your classes
Snake Man: BUT YOURE ALSO SKIPPING CLADS ENNOSHAN
Ennoshan: I’m home sick there’s a difference
Wizard: DDD:!!! Oh no!!! Are you ok?
Ennoshan: just a cold
Ennoshan: didn’t really feel like going tofay
Teru: want me to come over to take care of you? 😏
Ennoshan: stop flirting with me and go to class
TORA: aue aye cpfain! O7
Typo Central 4:20
Wizard: okay now that class is over!!! @Ennoshan are ya feelin okay? :((( Wizard: (also 420 blaze it)
Ennoshan:Ennoshan: that was very heart warming and then suddenly notEnnoshan: yeah I’m fine tho just feeling under the weather
Wizard: If ya need anythin!!!Wizard: I cannot help you!!!Wizard: but I’m sure one of the closer people could!!!Wizard: @Teru @Girlboss @Yahabitch @Shitabu
Shitabu: huhShitabu: he said he’s fine though
Wizard: :(((
Ennoshan: yeah Usuri it’s fine I’m totally fineEnnoshan: see?
Ennoshan sent a picture to Typo Central
Teru: Ennoshan have you been crying
Ennoshan: allergies
Wizard: Chikara-kun are you havin boy problems? :(((
TORA: ILL BEATEM UP FOR YOU ENNOSHAN
Ennoshan:Ennoshan: please don’tEnnoshan: also Ysuri can you read mindsEnnoshan: I’m honestly quite freaked
Wizard: Sorry!!!
Ennoshan: no seriouslyEnnoshan: what the fuckEnnoshan: how could you tell
Wizard: You said you stayed home, which is unlike you, n you said you were sick but also feelin under the weather but also allergies, n your eyes were red in the pic you sent. Also you’ve been angst postin on your Twitter
Ennoshan:Ennoshan: god I ducking hate social media
TORA: ducking lol
Ennoshan: not the time tora
TORA: sorry
Wizard: So did somethin happen with Tanaka/-kun???
Ennoshan: ughEnnoshan: not really?Ennoshan: I just. Reallt didn’t feel like going todayEnnoshan: the old third years were supposed to visit and Shimizu-san would come too and Tanaka would spend the whole time gushing over her and I just. Ugh
Wizard: And as the captain dyou think that was a good move to make?
Ennoshan: Ennoshan: god noEnnoshan: which is why I feel like absplite shitEnnoshan: oh wizard of vast immeasurable knowledge. How do I get over my straight crush
Wizard: I’m assumin you’re talkin to me!!!Wizard: I do not know!!!Wizard: unfortunatelyWizard: I’ve never had a crush on a straight guy
Ennoshan: ugh
Girlboss: i feel you ennoshan 😔😔😔😔😔😔Girlboss: we can suffer together
TORA: FUTACCHI!!!TORA: you disappeared we missed you (=´∀｀)
Girlboss: yeah IGirlboss: had stuff to doGirlboss: anyways!Girlboss: Ennoshan just try to get a crush on someone else 👍
Ennoshan:Ennoshan: Futakuchi that’s not how that works
Girlboss: It works if you try hard enough! 👍👍
TORA: Furacchi are you talking from personal experience
Girlboss: absolutely not Girlboss: don’t you dare say another word
Teru: FURACCHI!!!!!!!! BABE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!Teru: YOURE BACK I MISSED YOU Teru: 😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘
Girlboss:Girlboss: I wasn’t gone for that long it was a few hours at most.Girlboss: also you have a boyfriend, should you really be flirting with me?
TORA: oof
Teru: ouchTeru: no need to be so cold :(Teru: are we really friends if we don’t casually platonically flirt
Ennoshan: how is Daishou, by the way?
Snake Man: I HEARD DAISHOU-SANSnake Man: HOW IS HE TERU? HE DOESNT KEEP IN TOUCH MUCHH :(
Teru: he’s alrightTeru: we haven’t spoken this week yet but we’re meeting up during the weekend
Ennoshan: he’s been busy with college?
Teru: yeap
Wizard: Wakatsu-san too!!!Wizard: Sorry I want to brag about my boyfriend too!!!Wizard: we video called last night!!!
Ennoshan: god I’m s lonelyEnnoshan: just kill me right nowEnnoshan: what’s next. Wheres Shirabu. Or Miya. They’d love to rub it in my face too I bet. Or Tora. Or Seguro. Why are all you people dating I hate this
Wizard: Sorry Chikara-kun!!!
TORA: do you want me to break up with Fukunaga would that make you feel better?TORA: I wouldn’t but. Would that make you feel better
Ennoshan: god no that would just make me feel more like shiit
Shitabu: I heard my name what
Teru: SHITABUUUUUU ITS BEEN SO LONG <333
Shitabu: ewShitabu: oh are we bragging about boyfriends
Shitabu sent a picture to Typo Central
Shitabu sent a picture to Typo Central
Shitabu sent a picture to Typo Central
Shitabu sent a picture to Typo Central
Shitabu sent a picture to Typo Central
Shitabu sent a picture to Typo Central
Shitabu sent a picture to Typo Central
TORA: STOP
Shitabu sent a picture to Typo Central
TORA: PLS IM DROWNING IN SEMI PICTURES
Shitabu sent a picture to Typo Central
Ennoshan: welp
Shitabu sent a picture to Typo Central
Ennoshan: I’ll take my leave now I can only handle so m uch sadness
Shitabu sent a picture to Typo Central
Shitabu sent a picture to the group chat
Shitabu: ok I’m done
Wizard: You sure have a lot of pictures of Semi-san!!!
Shitabu: fuck yeah I do he’s my boyfriend
Teru: p sure pictures 4 and 12 are repeats
TORA: everyone Point n laughTORA: he doesn’t even have twelve different pictures of his boyfriend ƪ(˘⌣˘)ʃ
Shitabu: well I’d like to see you do better
TORA: I have a movie I editid of pictures of Fukunaga!!!!!!!!TORA: you wanna see?
Shitabu:Shitabu: ok I’m leaving good bye
Snake Man: I WANNA SEE TORA
TORA: (^O^)
Typo Central
Teru: would you guys still love me if I was a worm
Ennoshan: what
Wizard: Yes!!!
Teru: THANK you Usu you’re the only one truly there for me muah😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘😘
Ennoshan: what
Ennoshan: why would you be a worm
Teru: it donest matter just answer the question Ennoshan
Ennoshan: no
Teru: 😦😟🙁☹️😣😖😫
Shitabu: oh god stop it
Shitabu: what have you done
Ennoshan: like you would have said any different????
Shitabu: oh yeah no i would squish you if you were a worm
Shitabu: I would squish you if you were small enough no matter what you were
Wizard: Wow!!! that’s harsh!!!
TORA: Teru I WOULD LOVE YOU IF YOU WRRE A WORM ITS OK
TORA: hes been typing for a while should we be worried
Shitabu: definitely
Shitabu: I’m out
Ennoshan: oh god
Teru: 😢😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭🤪😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭
TORA: HOLY CRAP
Ennoshan kicked Teru from Typo Central
TORA: rip :)
TORA: :(********** IM NOT HAPPY ABOUT TERU GETTING KICKED I PROMISE
Snake Man: TORA HATES TERU CONFINERED
TORA: wat
TORA: also hi
TORA: you misssed the coversatjon
Snake Man: IM NOT SCROLLING UP PAST THAT WALL OF EMJOIS YOULL HAVE TO INFORM ME
TORA: uhhhhhhhh
TORA: nothing really happened
TORA: right Wnnoshan?
TORA:
Snake Man: I THINK HE LEFT
TORA: this is so sad
TORA: seguro would you love me if I was a worm
Snake Man: YEAH
Snake Man: ID PUT YOU IN A JAR AND FEED YOU LEAVES AND STUFF
TORA: awwww (o^^o)
Akaashi: You would suffocate.
Akaashi: The worm would, I mean. Unless you made sure to put holes in the lid.
TORA: AH
TORA: one time I had a pet fly I kept in a water bottle and it died
TORA: was that why?
Akaashi:
Akaashi: There are several things wrong with that.
TORA: rip Freddie :(
TORA: I miss u
Snake Man: :((((((
Wizard: I think flies are cool!!!
Wizard: Mostly I feed them to my gecko!!!
Snake Man:
Snake Man: YOU HAVE A GECKO
TORA: like the geiko commercial!
TORA: geico?
Akaashi: Geico.
Girlboss: hello hello wassup
TORA: FURACCHI!!! YOU MISSED IT! TERU GOT KICKED
Girlboss: huh
Snake Man: HUH
Snake Man: TERU GOT WHAT
Snake Man: WHY
TORA: did you not see that?????
Snake Man: I SAID I WASNT SCROLLING UP
TORA: it was right there tho??????
Akaashi: Is it because of the spam? I can see how that would be annoying.
Snake Man: RIP
Snake Man: SHOULD WE ADD HIM BACK IN?
Girlboss: nahhhhhh
Girlboss: it’s funnier like this
TORA: wowwwww ƪ(￣3￣)ʃ
TORA: xant believe Furacchi’s a teru hater
TORA: also lately I’ve been spelling your name as Furacchi idk why
Snake Man: MY AUTOCORRECT DOES THAT TOO LOL
TORA: congrats Futakkun! Your name is Furakuchi now ^ - ^
Girlboss: gee thanks
Snake Man: HOWS LIFE FUTACCHI
Girlboss: it sure is, thanks for asking! How are you
Snake Man: IM GOOD
Snake Man: EXCITED FOR INTERHIGH
Girlboss: Its kinda hard not to be lmao
Girlboss: Dateko’s conna go far this year!
Girlboss: so like
Girlboss: watch out
TORA: kinda talking to the wrong people here lmao
TORA: none of us are miyagi folks
Snake Man: YOURE RIGHT
Snake Man: TERU GOT KICKED, ENNOSHAN N SHIRABU ARE OFDLINE, YAHABA IS
Snake Man: WHERES YAHABA?
TORA: who even knows
Akaashi: He hasn’t been active lately.
Girlboss: huh
Girlboss: youre right
Girlboss: wait. Do you think
Girlboss: did he leave the groupchat ????
TORA:
TORA: we would’ve gotten a message right
TORA: like it would’ve told us right
Akaashi: I don’t think he left completely.
Snake Man: I HOPE THEH DIDNT BC I LIKE TJEM :(
Girlboss: @Yahabitch are you alive?
Snake Man:
Snake Man: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Snake Man: THEYRE NOT RESPONFING
Akaashi: I’m sure they’re just away from the phone, Seguro.
Snake Man: :(
Snake Man: I HOPE SO
Snake Man: YKNOW WHO ELSE I HAVENT HEARD FROM IN A WHILE
TORA: is it Sakusan
Snake Man: ITS SAKUSAN
Snake Man:
Snake Man:
Snake Man: :(((
Snake Man: USUALLY THAT SUMMONS THEM
Snake Man: THIS IS SO SAD WHERE IS EVERYONG
Girlboss: damn
Girlboss: groupchat is kinda fying huh
Akaashi: It’s alright.
Akaashi: I’m sure people are just busy.
Akaashi: And even if the group chat does die, we’ll still be connected by the time we spent together.
TORA: Akkun ,,, that’s só poetic,,,
Snake Man: AKKUN I LOVE YOU
Girlboss: well said, well said
Akaashi: Oh, I forgot to ask earlier, so I’ll do that now. Futakuchi, what are the pronouns of today?
Girlboss: he/she today ty
Akaashi: I see. Thank you.
TORA: girlboyboss
TORA: or smth
Girlboss: lol
Girlboss:
Girlboss: god this is boring
Snake Man: WE LOST THE MOST AMUSING PEOPLE IN THE GROUPCHAT :(
Girlboss: we literally only lost Terushima
Girlboss; he’s not THAT amusing
Snake Man: OK YEAH BUT ATSUMU ISNT ACTIVE EITHER
Piss Hair: I HEARD MY NAME
Girlboss: Jesus Christ
Piss Hair: heya
Piss Hair: what’d I miss
Snake Man: WE LOST TERU :(
Piss Hair:
Piss Hair: he’s not. Dead right?
Girlboss: unfortunately
Girlboss: IM JOOKING ITS A JOKE
TORA: FURACCHI. THTS YOUR HUSBAND
Snake Man: HIS BROOM, IF YOU WILL
Girlboss: are we reallt doing that again
Girlboss: Akkun save me
Akaashi: I’m not certain what it is you want me to save you from.
Girlboss: *gestures vaguely*
Akaashi: Valid.
Typo Cental 3:29
Snake Man: OH SHIT WE FORGOT ABOUT TERU
Snake Man added Terushima to Typo Central
Terushima: FINALLY
Terushima: SOBS AND SCREAMS AND TEARS OUT MY HAIR
Snake Man: IM SORRYYYYYYYYYYY
Snake Man: I COMPLETELY FORGOT RO RE ADD YOU 😭😭😭
Terushima: ITS OK SEGUCHAN I FORGIVE TOU <3333333333
Girlboss: why are we yelling it’s literally three in the ticking mornint
Girlboss: fuckinf
Girlboss: GUCKING
Girlboss: LSBSVSKKSSBJSKSKSBSKSSLSBSHPSJSBSJSJSHEHEHEHENWNNEE
Snake Man: FUTACCHI ARE YOU OK
Terushima: yeah futacchi you good?
Girlboss: oh it’s you
Terushima: owch
Terushima: 🙁🙁🙁🙁🙁🙁🙁🙁🙁🙁🙁🙁🙁🙁🙁🙁
Terushima: what happened to our never dying love Futacchi
Girlboss: ighhhhh
Girlboss: it’s too early for this
Girlboss: good night
Snake Man: OK GOOD NIGHT DUTACCHI!!!!!!
Terushima:
Terushima: why do I have the feeling Futacchi doesn’t like me much anymore? :(
Snake Man: WHAT
Snake Man: SHE DOESNT??????
Snake Man: BUT YOU TEO ARE LIKE. BESTIES
Terushima: not anymore
Terushima: we haven’t spoken in like. Weeks
Terushima: she’s bee really blunt with me in the froupchat too
Terushima: ☹️
Terushima: and when I asked her to re add me to the groupchat through pms she never responded
Snake Man: REALLY??????
Snake Man: I HADNT EVEN NOTICED
Snake Man: THAT YOU TWO WERENT TALKING
Terushima: sigh
Terushima: no offense seguro Yo ur e not really the best to talk to about this
Terushima: I wish like
Terushima: Akaashi or Ennoshita were here
Snake Man: OH
Snake Man: SORRY
Snake Man: IM NOT BERY GOOD WITH RELATIONSHIPS
Snake Man: IM NOT VERY OBSERVENT EITHER
Snake Man: SORRY I CANT BE MUCH HELP
Terushima: no it’s fine
Terushima: I didn’t mean to make you feel bad
Snake Man: ITS OK
Snake Man: I THINK IM GONNA. GO SLEEP NOW
Snake Man: HOPEFULLY WNNOSHAN OR AKKUN WLL BE ACTUVE LATER SO YOU CAN ASK THEM FOR HELP
Terushima: right
Terushima: good night?
Terushima:
Typo Central 5:34
Akaashi: @Terushima Welcome back. Are you alright?
Terushima: Akaashi hey
Terushima: Do you think Futakuchi doesn’t like me anymore?
Akaashi: What do you mean?
Terushima: well
Terushima: he’s kinda been avoiding me
Terushima: we haven’t hung out in like. Ever
Terushima: and he’s been really curt with his messages
Akaashi: I see.
Akaashi: Do you know when this started?
Terushima: idk
Terushima: like. A few weeks ago?
Akaashi: And did anything major happen a few weeks ago?
Terushima: no?
Akaashi: Perhaps. A relationship change?
Terushima: uhhhhhhhhhhhh
Terushima: Not really?
Akaashi: No?
Akaashi: Because I seem to recall this was around the time you and Daishou-san started dating. Am I wrong?
Terushima:
Terushima: oooohhhhhhh shit yeah
Akaashi: Perhaps you inadvertently started pushing Futakuchi away because of this new relationship? Or perhaps she’s giving you the space she thinks you need at the beginning of something like this.
Terushima: I guess?
Akaashi: Of course, you’ll never know unless you simply ask.
Terushima: right!!!!!!!
Terushima: thanks Akkun ❤️❤️❤️
Terushima: I am kissing you (platonically Bc I know you’re in love with Bokkun)
Akaashi: Very funny.
Akaashi: I’m glad I could help.
Terushima: oh???? 👀👀👀👀👀👀 that’s not a denial akkun~
Akaashi:
Akaashi: I’m afraid I have to go now.
Akaashi: Good bye.
Terushima: yeah yeah
Terushima: have fun with Bokkun Akkun~
Akaashi: I will, thank you.
Terushima: lmao
Terushima:
Terushima: god this groupchat really is dead
Terushima: I wonder if Futakuchi will come back
Terushima: I mean it is like. Six in the morning
Terushima: OH SHIT PRACTICE
Terushima deleted 10+ messages
Terushima: nothing to see here <3
Terushima: anyways off to practice
Typo Central 12:00
Terushima: helloooooooo
Terushima: helllooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Terushima: if no one responds I’m gonna put the entire script to the bee movie in here
Terushima:
Terushima: helllllloiooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Terushima: final chance
Ennoshan: oh my GOD can you stop
Ennoshan: oh you’re back
Ennoshan: weba ig
Terushima: 🙁
Terushima: YOURE so mean to me??????
Ennoshan: rich coming from he guy who spammed the groupchat and then not even 24 hours after getting added back threatens to put the ENTIRE FUCKING BEE MOVIE SCRIPT in the chat
Terushima: ok but like. Everyone’s dead. Can you blame me??????
Ennoshan: some of us have better things to do
Ennoshan: like. Studying.
Ennoshan: or- surprisingly- volleyball??
Terushima: Ennoshan you feeling ok?
Ennoshan:
Ennoshan: yeah I’m just. A little stressed
Ennoshan: we have finals coming up
Ennoshan: and the inter high
Ennoshan: and graduation
Terushima: OK THATA ENOUGH YOU CAN STOP
Terushima: shhhhhhhhhh we don’t talk about those things
Ennoshan:
Ennoshan: Teru are you stidying at all
Terushima:
Terushima: to be honest
Terushima: I’ve been like. Reallt fuckin busy
Ennoshan: too busy to study? Yeah right
Terushima: well Y’know
Terushima: life
Terushima: I’ve been kinda stressed lately
Ennoshan: boyfriend problems?
Terushima: literally why does everyone think that Bc I have a problem it’s automatically a relationship issue?????
Ennoshan: idk, Bc we’re hormonal teens who only think about dating at this point in life?
Terushima:
Terushima: somehow that description doesn’t fit you at all Ennoshan
Ennoshan: thanks?
Ennoshan: do you wanna like. Talk about what’s bothering you?
Terushima:
Terushima: Idk it’s kinda above this groupchats pay grade
Ennoshan:
Ennoshan: ok now I don’t even want to know
Terushima: wow what a great friend
Terushima: (sarcasm)
Ennoshan: yeah I totally didn’t get that without the added parentheses
Ennoshan: (also sarcasm)
Terushima: they’re called tone indicators /god/ Ennoshan
Snake Man: ARE WE FIGHTING
Ennoshan: No we aren’t
Terushima: hi Segu!
Terushima: no we’re having a very mature adult conversation
Terushima: actuallt wait
Terushima: Ennoshan you’re not an adult yet are you ❤️❤️❤️
Terushima: lmaoooo
Terushima: baby
Ennoshan: I hate you
Ennoshan: we’re literally only 7 months apart
Terushima: ‘only’
Snake Man: ITS OK ENNOSHAN IM ALSO NOT AN ADULT
Ennoshan: thanks Seguro
Terushima:
Terushima: soooo
Terushima: how was school?
Ennoshan: we’re literally still in school
Ennoshan: are you skipping?
Terushima:
Terushima: noooooo
Terushima: I’m very much eating lunch in my classroom
Terushima: ask Bobata
Snake Man: SCHOOLS OK
Snake Man: IM BORED THO
Ennoshan: we’re kinda cramming right now
Ennoshan: since exams are coming up
Terushima: STOP. STOP TALKING ABOUT THEM SHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Shitabu: they’re not going to go away if you don’t think about them
Ennoshan: Hey Shirabu
Shitabu: hi
Shitabu: has Yahaba been on
Terushima: bot that I know of
Snake Man: I HAVENT HEAD FROM YAHABA IN A WHILE
Ennoshan: I haven’t seen him either
Shitabu: hm
Shitabu: okay carry on
Ennoshan: did something happen?
Ennoshan:
Ennoshan: he left already
Terushima: man
Terushima: long sigh
Terushima: where is everybodyyyyyyyyytyyyy
Snake Man: IM HERE
Terushima: I know, Seguro
Snake Man: RIGJT YEAH SORRY
Terushima: ok so
Terushima: Yahaba’s. Who knows
Terushima: Futakuchi maybe hates me
Ennoshan: what?
Terushima: Usuri. Wheres Usuri?
Terushima: this is normally when he’d pop in and say ‘I’ve been watching the entire time! Here’s an embarrassing secret you literally only ever wrote in your diary!’
Ennoshan: one of his chickens died so he hasn’t been on lately
Ennoshan: apparently
Terushima:
Terushima: why do you know that
Terushima: never mind. Atsumu. Wheres Atsumu? Also Sakusa? They’re never on anyways but where’s Atsumu?
Terushima: @Piss Hair @Piss Hair @Piss Hair @Piss Hair @Piss Hair pls. Come back I miss you
Ennoshan: idk
Ennoshan: maybe he just got tired of us
Terushima: wheres Tora???????? Where is everyone????????
Ennoshan: idk man
Ennoshan: toure kinda spiraling
Terushima: and YOURE surprisingly calm
Ennoshan: it’s not like they died?
Ennoshan: the internet isn’t the only way we can interact
Ennoshan: I’ll still see all of you at the tournament
Terushima: ughhhhhhhhhhhh
Terushima: but I want my little phone friends back 🙁
Ennoshan: they have their own lives
Snake Man: I CAN TEXT TORA AND SEE WHAT HES UP TO IF YOU WANT
Terushima: yeah do that
Ennoshan: people will be active eventually
Ennoshan: probably when things calm down
Snake Man: TORA SAYS HE FORGOT
TORA: HI DORRY
TORA: KINDA FORGOT TO CHE CH IN HERE
Terushima: how do you forget about an entire groupchat??????,
TORA: NGL MAN IM KINDA POPULAR
TORA: I have like. Twelve other gcs
TORA: this one kinda got burried
Ennoshan: that’s. A lot
TORA: well
TORA: I have my school class groupchat, the volleyball groupchat, the volleyball club 3rd years gc, family gc, gc with my class friends, gc with my out of school friends, gc with my OTHER out of school friends, gc with my schoolmates in other classes, gc with my study group, and this one
Terushima:
Terushima: literally that’s so many
Ennoshan: see? People are busy
Terushima: I guesssssss
Terushima: doesn’t mean I can’t miss them
TORA: also I was literally active like. Two days ago??????????
Terushima: OKAY WELL I GOT KICKED
Terushima: TEO DAYS AGO
TORA: ok well
TORA: no one was active yesterday so I just kinda forogot ok
Piss Hair: HELLO WHY ARE YOU @INF ME HELLO
Terushima: PISS HAIRERREEREREE
Terushima: I missed you <33333
Snake Man: HI SUMU
Piss Hair: Thays not my name
Piss Hair: Hi Segu ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
Piss Hair: Teru if you don’t need me I’m leaving
Terushima: WAITRTTTT
Terushima: don’t you miss us? 🥺
Piss Hair:
Piss Hair: I’m kinda like. I’m school?
Ennoshan: as you should be
Piss Hair:
Piss Hair: and why aren’t you?
Ennoshan:
Ennshan: good question! Good bye
Piss Hair: yeah anyways bye
Snake Man: BYE
Terushima: nooooo don’t leave me????????
Terushima:
Terushima: 🙁☹️😐😭
TORA: maybe try again on the weekend lmao
TORA: everyone’s busy
Terushima: :(
Typo Central 12:00
Terushima: OKAY ITS THE WEEKEND PLS COME BACKTerushima: GOVE ME ATTENTION PLSTerushima: @all @all @all @all @all @all @allTerushima: HELLOOOOOOOOKOO
Terushima changed the group chat name to Give me attention
Terushima: PLEASETerushima: oh wait
Terushima changed the group chat name to Give Me Attention
Terushima: if I do tbis wjll Yahaba come back
Shitabu: okay firstlyShitabu: what the tick it’s literally midnigjt Shitabu: secondlyShitabu: @all works?????? H Ello???????????
Terushima: SHIRABUUUUUUHUU PLEASE IM SO BODEDTerushima: I NEED ARTENTION OR I WILL LITERALLY DIE
Shitabu: okay calm the fuck downShitabu: stop spamming just because it’s the weekend-Shitabu: it’s literally been the weenend for thirth minutes suck you I hate you
Terushima: suck me? 🤭
Shitabu: FUCKShitabu: YOUShitabu: TERUSHIMA YUUJI
Terushima: oh wow fill name okTerushima: I’m flattered you remembered it ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️🐶❤️❤️❤️Terushima: ignore the dog
Shitabu changed Terushima’s name to Needy bitch
Needy bitch: owNeedy bitch: does this mean ykull give me attentiknt ho
Shitabu: are you getting enough attention at home you’re like an attention seeking little childShitabu: I hate little children
Needy bitch: awwww don’t say that Needy bitch: Y’know you were once a little child too
Shitabu: absolutely notShitabu: I popped out fully formed
Needy bitch: I’m sure Yahaba would disagree
Shitabu: why are we talking about themShitabu: ignore themShitabu: they’re irrelevant
Needy bitch: @Yahabitch feel free to share more Shirabu baby picsNeedy bitch:Needy bitch: damn I thohhjtt that might workNeedy bitch: gotta set up a Yahaba summoning circleNeedy bitch: 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏💪🙏🙏🙏🦶🙏🦶🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🦶Needy bitch: Yahaba summoning curcle Needy bitch: pls ignore the feetNeedy bitch: do you think god has a foot fetishNeedy bitch:Needy bitch:Needy bitch: Shirabu did you leave
Shitabu: no I’m just standing here in awe of your stupidity
Needy bitch: ok cool coolNeedy bitch: ily man
Shitabu: ewShitabu: don’t ever say that again
Piss Hair: HELLO WHYRE WE SPAMMINPiss Hair: oh hey @all actually works? HuhPiss Hair: ya learn somethin new every day
Needy bitch: ATSUMUUUUUUUUUUUU I MISSED YOU
Piss Hair: your… Teru?Piss Hair: ya actually called me by my name so I was surprised lmao
Needy bitch: I can’t risk you leaving
Piss Hair: k I see why t name nowPiss Hair: shouldn’t ya be asleep?
Needy bitch: Tora said come back on the weekend and people would be active Needy bitch: it’s the weekend
Shitabu: irs literally one am on a Saturday Shitabu: why the fuck eould anyone be awake
Piss Hair: Piss Hair: Shirabu have ya ever met an actual teenager?
Shitabu: of course I haveShitabu: I AM an actual teanager
Needy bitch: uhhuh Needy bitch: not sure I believe that anymore 😐
Piss Hair: anywaysPiss Hair: how ya been Terucchi?
Needy bitch: Terucchi omgNeedy bitch: twirls hairNeedy bitch: what a cute nickname you’re making me feel loved tsumtsum
Piss Hair: haha wellPiss Hair: I like nicknames
Shitabu: yeah ok I’m going to sleep
Needy bitch: WAT NOOOOOOOOOOOONeedy bitch: YOU CANT LEAVENeedy bitch: AT LEAST SEND YAHAVA ON
Shitabu: why the fuck do you think I’d have any agency over what he does
Needy bitch: :☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️😣☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️👹☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️Needy bitch: ignore the demon
Shitabu: what t fuck is wrong with your emojisShitabu: anyways Good NightShitabu: actually no. Bad NightShitabu: fuck you both
Piss Hair: D:
Needy bitch: ☹️Needy bitch: it’s ok tsumtsum we don’t need him
Yahabitch: IM FUCKING FREEYahabitch: WHY DO I HAVE SO MANY NOTIFICATIONS HOLY SHIR
Needy bitch: YEAHABA ON MY GOD
Piss Hair: YAHAVA??????????????????Piss Hair: YOURE ALIVE?,,
Yahabitch: Did you think I wasn’t?
Piss Hair: idk I was a bit concerned for a bit there
Needy bitch: YAHAVA OH MY GOD I MISSED YOU SO MUCH SOBS 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭
Yahabitch: You are. Futakuchi?
Needy bitch: ❌Needy bitch: guess again
Yahabitch: Oh. Terushima.
Needy bitch:Needy bitch: do you really need to sound that disappointed?
Piss Hair: Haba you just missed Shirabu
Yahabitch: Good. Yahabitch: Fuck that guy.
Needy bitch: oh? Trouble in paradise?
Yahabitch: please don’t make it sound like we’re dating I’d rather die
Snake Man: YAHABA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Yahabitch: Hello! You’re very excited to see me!
Snake Man: I MISSED YOUSnake Man: YOU WERE GONE SO LONG
Yahabitch: It was only a week.Yahabitch: Sorry
Snake Man: NO PLEASE DONT APOLOGIE IM GLAD YOURE HACK
Yahabitch: Still. I should’ve said something.
Needy bitch: so what happened? Did you get frounded or smth?
Yahabitch: Well. The National mock exam was coming up and so I needed to focus on that.
Needy bitch: so your parents took away your phone
Yahabitch: So my parents took away my phone. Yahabitch: … Yes. Yahabitch: But! I scored within the top fifty nationally! And therefore I can continue doing volleyball for now!
Piss Hair: WHATPiss Hair: IF YOU FAILED WOULDJA HAVE TO QUIT BOLLEYBALL????????
Yahabitch:Yahabitch: Yes.
Snake Man: WOAH TOP FIFTY IN THE NATION??????? I CAN BARELY GET TOP FIFTY IN MY GEADE
Needy bitch: how many people are in your grade Segu?
Snake Man: 100
Needy bitch: dude….
Snake Man: YEAHSnake Man: IM DKTTYSnake Man: IM REALLY NOT THAY SMART AT ALLSnake Man: ALOS IM BAD WITH EMOTIONS AND RELATIONSHIPSSnake Man: SO REALLY I DONT HAVE ANYTHING GOING FOR ME
Piss Hair: awwww don’t say that Segu I like you just the way ya are
Snake Man: GHANK YOU
Yahabitch: I’m so sorry this is bothering me.
Yahabitch changed Needy bitch’s name to Needy Bitch
Needy Bitch: oh thank godNeedy Bitch: YAHAVAS BACK!!!!!!!!!!!!
Yahabitch: And I wasn’t already back?
Needy Bitch: @all @all @all @all @all
Yahabitch: Oh my God don’t bring everyone in here it’s like three in the morning.
Ennoshan: what then ticking why are you awake I’m gonna tucking kill you tetridhimda
Piss Hair:Piss Hair: what I can read of that seems very threateninPiss Hair: I HAD NO PART IF THIS ENNOSHAN PLS DONT LILL ME
Snake Man: HI ENNOSHAN
Ennoshan: oh my god YAHAVA?,?
Yahabitch: Hi.
Ennoshan: oh thatk god you’re still alive ow as scared you got killed your soemthing
Yahabitch: Why was everyone convinced I was dead? I was just studying.
Needy Bitch: same difference
Wizard: Shigeru-chan!!! Welcome back!!!Wizard: It’s good to see ya!!!Wizard: Er. Text ya!!!
Needy Bitch: USUNeedy Bitch: I MISS YOU
Wizard: Oh yeah!!! We forgot ta add Yuuji-kun back that time!!! Glad someone did!!! Lol!!!
Ennoshan: Usuri how is everything at home?
Wizard: The chickens’re pretty sad BUT!!! Coco laid an egg!!! We’re incubatin it now!!!
Wizard sent an image to the groupchat
Yahabitch: I’m sorry, what happened?
Wizard: Agott died :(((
Ennoshan: I’m sorry didEnnoshan: did you name your chickens after witch hat atelier characters
Wizard: Yep!!!Wizard: We’ve got Coco n Tetia n Riche n Euini n Quifrey n Olruggio!!!Wizard: No Agott because she died tho :(((
Ennoshan: god I fucking love that mangaEnnoshan: sorry about your chicken though
Wizard: it’s alright!!! The circle of live n death
Piss Hair: hi can we talk about somethin the rest of us inderstand too
Sakusan: Hello Yahaba, nice to have you back, but could we please all go to sleep? It is far too late to be staying up, especially so close to the Interhigh.
Piss Hair: OMIOMUPiss Hair: MY BELOVEDPiss Hair: THE LIGHT OF MY LIFE THE APPLE OF MY EYE
Sakusan: DisgustingSakusan: Go to sleep, Miya.
Yahabitch: Sakusa-san is right. Good night everyone
Ennoshan: will you be on tomorrow Yahabas?Ennoshan: or really. Later yodwy Ennoshan: today
Yahabitch: I’ll. Try. Yahabitch: Good night everyone.
Needy Bitch: man ☹️Needy Bitch: just wen I got everyone back together ☹️☹️☹️☹️
Ennoshan: go to sleep TeruEnnoshan: well still be her etomorrow Ennoshan: todayEnnoshan: fuckEnnoshan: I’m too tired for this
Snake Man: GOOD NIGHTSnake Man: ILL SEE YOY GUYS IN RHE MORNING :))))))
Wizard: Good night!!!
|
It was the day of the Sports Festival.
And Izuku was nervous.
Everyone was.
They all walked into the stadium as Sir Present Mic was literally shouting his vocal cords out.
Izuku could feel the nervous air around him and even the shouting of the audience couldn't drown out his thoughts.
"Will End- Enji be here? Will he at least watch it at his agency if he couldn't come? Will he cheer Shouto on? Of course he would he's his son after all." And he was mumbling again.
Present Mic stopped talking, Midnight started. She was explaining everything to them and even answered their questions.
"And the first part iiis!" Midnight looked at the screen and 'Obstacle course' popped up. "Obstacle course!"
"WHAT?!"
The students piled in front of the huge gate that opened and all three lights shone green, all of the students started to squeeze in at a fast pace.
"It's too narrow!" Someone yelled.
"This gate....is a filter on it's own." Shouto came out first and froze the ground, other students unable to continue.
Shouto continued to run and he had to chuckle as he heard some other students- probably his classmates- and Bakugo's explosions.
A gasp tore from his lips as he stopped, looking up at the zero points robots from the Entrance exams. "FIRST OBSTACLE! ZERO POINTS ROBOTS FROM THE ENTRANCE EXAM! WILL OUR STUDENTS BE ABLE TO PASS THEM?!" Present Mic sounded excited.
"Of course I will pass it." Shouto used his right side to freeze the robots in place. "Mom, this is for you. I'm going to win this."
Continuing to run, Bakugo close behind, other students trying to fight of the robots.
"Think, think, think!" Izuku picked up a damaged metal piece, flung it on his back and tied it up and started running again.
"What is he doing?" Yagi thought as he watched the race with other teachers on footage that was airing on the huge TV. "Well. I just need to trust him, don't I? But that Shouto kid...he'll be a problem."
"Shouto..." Enji fumbled with the sleeve of his jacket. "You've become so strong...It's sad that I wasn't there to witness it...to help you...to praise you...." Enji bit his tongue to stop the tears from escaping him.
He thought a lot about what could've been if he wasn't such a fool. If he was stronger. If he was a better father.
A better father.
Enji excused himself as the people had to stand up to let him through. He walked out and towards the bathroom. Putting his hands into his pockets, he casually strolled trough the hallway and towards the stairs.
"Endeavor?" Enji paused at the familair voice. "ENDEAVOR! MY OLD FRIEND!" Flinching, Enji turned to face All Might who was still smiling his signature smile but it dropped in the nooks a little. "Hello, Enji. Came here to support your son?" All Might walked closer to Enji.
All Might took in how Enji looked. Casual clothing suited Enji well and made him more muscular than he already was.
Enji's posture was a telltale for All Might. Hands in pockets, slumped shoulders and lifeless expression and eyes.
"You look good." All Might spoke softly and in lower volume to not scare Enji. He nodded. "Thanks."
All Might walked closer. "Shouto has been a good student. He's one of the top students in class and-" As All Might continued to talk, Enji's eyes watered and his lower lip started to tremble. "Where did I go wrong, Toshi?" That caught All Might off guard.
Tears were now streaming freely down Enji's cheeks, fists clenched tight in his pockets. "Where did I go wrong? I just wanted a happy family..." Enji's voice cracked and All Might found his body moving on its own.
"I just wanted a family." Enji repeated. "Was it too much to ask for?" One hand reached to wipe away the tears and Enji found himself being pulled into tight, yet comforting hug. Enji gripped onto All Might's shoulders as he let himself cry. "I just wanted to see my kid....even though he hates me...I still love him! I could never bring myself to hate my kids!"
Enji talked about his children.
He didn't bring up Rei.
"Need something, Enji?" All Might placed a cup of water in front of Enji and sat across from him. Shaking his head, Enji shook his head, taking a sip with shaking hands.
"Your kid..." Enji mumbled and All Might had to strain his ears to hear him. "Midoriya Izuku...he's a smart boy. Takes after you." "What?" "I....uh... He's just my pupil!" All Might stammered and something flashed across Enji's eyes. Amusement maybe?
"That's not what I meant. You're his biggest idol, he's trying to be like you. I don't know if it's a good thing or not." "When I grow up, I wanna be just like daddy!" Enji shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Are you alright, Enji-san?" All Might reached for Enji's hand but he flinched away from the touch, sighing, he withdrew his hand. "I'm..I'm fine, All Might." Getting up abruptly, he put his hands into his pockets. "I need to go."
And he was gone.
All Might made sure that no one was here and he deflated into his skinny form and sighed. "Enji, what happened to you?" Yagi mumbled and stared into the distance.
Yagi remembered a lively, energetic red haired teenager with his shoulders and head helgh high.
Full of ambitions.
Going bravely and head on towards obstacles that were in his way.
He was the best of the best.
Enji was the same troughout the years until he married Rei.
Wait.
Until he married Rei.
Yagi snapped out of his thoughts, got up and hurried into the teacher's stand. When he arrived there, he realized that the Obstacle course was over and ten minutes break was on.
"All Might!" Cementoss exclaimed as Yagi closed the door. "What is it, Ken?" "Midoriya Izuku won the first place in the Obstacle course!" Ken said and Yagi could feel the smile tugging at his lips. "Looks like I was worried for nothing!"
"Don't worry Shouto, my baby boy was still amazing!" Rei ruffled Shouto's hair, smile on her face. "Yeah, little bro, second place is still awesome. You held your own the whole race, even I wouldn't pull that off." Natsuo grinned at him.
"Thank you. Your support means everything to me." Shouto smiled as his mom ruffled his hair. "But that Midoriya took me by surprise. I could've won the first place."
Rei sighed and patted Shouto's shoulder. "In the next discipline, you'll kick their asses and take the first place. Now go. The break is ending soon." Rei shooed him out back on the field with a smile on her face, Shouto jogging back.
Natsuo watched after his little brother with a grin, rocking back and forth on his heels. "Good luck, little bro."
Rei's smile fell and she turned towards Natsuo and whispered. "Did you see your Father?" "No, mom. I haven't seen him." Natsuo answered truthfully. "Good. I don't want him to ruin this day for Shouto or us." Natsuo grits his teeth and clenched his fists, looking in the direction Shouto went. "I won't let him. He already ruined our lives by cheating on you and kicking us out of the house, making you and Fuyumi work your ass off to support all of us. No. This is our day, not his."
Natsuo missed the evil smile Rei had.
The next part was getting the things that they found on the piece of paper they picked. Most of the things were relatively easy to get. Others not so much.
After that was a Cavalry battle.
Izuku managed to put together a team in the last minute because of the 10 000 000 headband.
Fifteen minutes to qualify into the next round.
Members of Izuku's team were Tokoyami, Uraraka and Mei.
Members of Bakugo's team were Kirishima, Sero and Mina.
Shouto's team was made of Iida, Momo and Kaminari.
The point headbands were passed-more like stolen- back and forth between the teams, Izuku's team still managing to protect the 10.000.000 headband.
Enji kept fumbling with the sleeve of his jacket, a nervous habit he had since his school days. But why was he nervous?
Nervous about Shouto?
Someone finding out Endeavor was here on the Sports Festival?
About Rei finding out that he was here?
A shiver went down his spine when he thought about Rei.
What about Natsuo finding out?
Now that Enji thought about it, he didn't know Natsuo. The boy was hostile towards him from a young age, being very influenced by Rei and her antics.
As much as Enji tried to get closer to Natsuo, trying to warm up, Natsuo's heart and soul were covered in ice- Rei's ice- since he started to understand the world around him a little.
Enji came to realize that Natsuo was easily swayed and manipulated. This was not a good personality trait for a hero.
But he never understood Shouto. The hatred came out of nowhere, he avoided him and refused to use his left side.
Natsuo and Shouto hated him but he couldn't bring them to hate them back. He probably deserved the hatred.
Shouto managed to grab the 10.000.000 headband almost at the end of the Cavalry Battle by freezing the other teams behind him and Iida's quick thinking.
"Wooohooo! Go get them Shouto!" Rei cheered. "You go little brother! Kick their asses!" Natsuo also cheered for his brother. Enji refrained himself from doing anything rash.
Both Izuku and Bakugo were trying to grab the headband but Present Mic yelled. "TIME'S UP!" Bakugo fell face first on the ground and started throwing a temper tantrum.
"Is that boy for real?" Enji thought.
Nemuri started to tell the placements of the teams. Shouto managed to get the first place, Bakugo's second, Shinso's third and Izuku's fourth by a sheer miracle. Izuku started to cry waterfalls, even cracking the ground.
Yagi slumped in his seat, exhaling with relief. "Good job, young Tokoyami and Black Shadow."
"I'm proud of you, Shouto." Enji wiped at his eye that threatened to let loose a single tear.
Rei and Natsuo were hugging one another and laughing and smiling when Shouto managed to get the first place. "Woo, you go Shouto!" "This is my son! This! Is! My! Son!" Rei shouted and laughed.
Midoriya Inko was also crying waterfalls in her apartment as she watched the TV. "Izukuuuu...I'm so proud of youuuu!" She hiccuped, nearly falling of the couch.
The battle only just began.
Enji had to go to the bathroom the next thirty minutes break, since he and All Might were chatting the whole break.
Once relieved, he sighed, deciding to buy a bottle of water and some food. He was making his way towards the cafeteria and
"Dad?"
|
“You two are late!”
Unsurprisingly, Hizashi and Shouta were met with a yell upon walking into the teachers’ office, coming from Kayama Nemuri, who stood at her desk with her arms crossed as she watched them come in.
Hizashi had been expecting it, given the way he did the same thing to her every time she was even a minute late, but Shouta startled before shooting a glare at her.
“Stop being so loud.”
“You’re late! You missed our meeting! I had to take notes for you!” She went on, gaze focused on Shouta. It was enough that Hizashi could easily slip out from behind him and quietly make his way to his desk as Shouta and Nemuri argued back and forth.
The teachers’ offices were always loud. It was a given when they all worked in the same space together. Hizashi usually contributed a lot to the loudness, finding a lot of entertainment in getting his coworkers as off-track as possible. Today, though, he just wasn’t feeling it, and left the playful bickering to Shouta and Nemuri as he went to his desk.
Hizashi’s space was right next to Shouta’s, set up so they shared a desk but each had their own workspace. Shouta’s, as usual, was totally organized. Not clean, really, given that everyone always had some form of paperwork or grading to do, but dutifully organized. Hizashi just stared at it for a long moment—it was actually a little comforting, in the face of everything that was going on, that he could see something that was so fundamentally Shouta. Everything else was hectic and busy in Hizashi’s life, but Shouta always stayed the same. He liked that.
He liked a lot of things about his husband. This was just one of thousands.
That relief drained out of Hizashi the moment his eyes shifted to his own desk. He let out a sharp breath, gaze searching all over it. No, this was definitely not how he’d left it. His head might be still blanketed by exhaustion, but Hizashi could trust his memory and even if he wasn’t as organized as Shouta, this was absolutely not how he’d left his desk.
There were stacks of paper. Three tall ones, sitting in the middle of his desk, piled high enough that they were taller than his computer monitor. There was so much. There was so much paper. So much information. Hizashi had evaluations to do, yes, and that was a feat in its own that required a mountain of paperwork he had to handwrite, but this—? He had no idea what the hell this was, or where it’d come from, and staring at it and how hauntingly huge it was, Hizashi wasn’t sure if he wanted to yell and pull his hair out or just walk away from it and pretend like he’d never seen it.
He was leaning towards walking away from it when finally, the bickering suddenly stopped, both Shouta and Nemuri seeming to realize that Hizashi was staring in shocked silence at his own desk.
“What is that?” Shouta was the first to speak, his voice falling into a lower, more serious tone. He gave words to Hizashi’s thoughts when he couldn’t, when Hizashi could do nothing but stare. “That wasn’t there yesterday.”
Hizashi looked up at the two of them. Shouta was looking at Nemuri and Nemuri was looking at the stacks of paper covering Hizashi’s desk. Her expression was odd—it was too normal. She frowned, her nose scrunching up slightly, and no matter how hard Hizashi looked, he couldn’t find any surprise in her face. Instead, it looked like she knew exactly what this was all about and instead of being shocked, she was trying to find a way to explain it.
“Oh, that?” She finally said, a flippant tone to her voice, as if there wasn’t three tall stacks of paper on Hizashi’s desk that had suddenly appeared there overnight. She sighed loudly, shaking her head. “Those are the latest English tests from everyone in their first year. Nezu said he wanted someone to take a close look at them while grading them. I figured Mic was the best to do that.”
“Ah…” Hizashi glanced at his desk again and then back to Nemuri, trying to shake the shock out of his head. “I see…”
That made sense. The end of the term was coming up quickly. The first years had just taken a huge, long exam. Hizashi hadn’t forgotten about it, but with all the staff evaluations he had to get done this week, it’d slipped his mind and hidden in the back of his head, far away when Hizashi had so many other things to focus on. Every student in the school was required to have an English class, regardless of their department. Hizashi only taught the heroics department, but he oversaw the rest of the English teachers, making everything they did his responsibility, too.
With eight classes in each year of school and twenty students in each class, that amounted to a lot of grading and a lot of paperwork. Looking at it now, for almost two hundred students, these stacks of paper almost seemed a little too small.
Another thing. He’d have to get those done this week, too, in order to get them back to the students before their final English exam. They’d need them back as soon as possible if they wanted know what to improve upon and study for. After all, that was the purpose of an exam before their final—to tell them exactly what to work on. For their benefit, he needed these done soon, just like he needed the staff evaluations done soon so the staff members under him would know what to improve on so they could be better teachers.
“I’ll get them done.” Hizashi took a deep breath. It was looking less and less like he’d be able to come home tonight. Shouta wanted him to. Shouta missed him. But there was so much. “I’ll work on them tonight and have them done by—”
“No.”
The interruption shook Hizashi right out of his head, forcing him out of the circular thinking he’d got himself into when he tried to plan out his schedule. He fell hard out of his own head. He stopped talking immediately, falling completely silent, and for once, his head went quiet, too.
Hizashi had been with Shouta for over a decade. He usually couldn’t affect him with his glares and half-serious looks of intimidation. By now, Hizashi knew how to tease and push Shouta’s buttons. But this, the way Shouta had suddenly cut in, stopped him right in his tracks.
His tone was serious and abrupt, solid and unwavering like he wasn’t about to accept any sort of argument. And no argument came to Hizashi’s mind. He didn’t want to do this, and in that moment, Hizashi truly thought that Shouta knew best and accepted his refusal to let Hizashi do this.
On the other hand, Nemuri didn’t so readily accept.
“Shouta, come on. This is Hizashi’s department. He’s the best person for this.” More than anything, she sounded annoyed. Her face fell more, frown deepening and behind her mask, her eyes narrowed at Shouta.
Shouta didn’t look at her, though. His eyes were focused on Hizashi, who stood silently behind his desk.
“Find someone else to do it.” His tone didn’t waver. He really wasn’t accepting any answer other than no. “There’s other English teachers. This isn’t something only Hizashi can do. Stop dumping more work on him.”
They were arguing, but this time, it wasn’t joking or in good fun like it had been earlier, when Nemuri had called out that they were late and Shouta bickered with her about being loud. That happened all the time—and this happened never. The three of them had been friends sinch high school and they rarely fought or argued.
Despite the argument, a rush of relief filled Hizashi. Suddenly, he calmed, like a wave crashing over him. He let out a breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding, his shoulders dropping as the tension released from him. The paperwork on his desk now didn’t feel intimidating at all; in the moment Shouta had said no, Hizashi instantaneously knew that was the final say. He wasn’t going to have to do this.
The thing that had suddenly been forced onto his to do list was crossed off, and Hizashi was more than relieved to know that it wasn’t on his plate anymore. It was one less thing in the sea of work he was drowning in.
“Hizashi’s the most qualified and he’s the one that teaches most of the first years—”
“Then it’d be beneficial to get a different teacher to do it. Someone else who hasn’t interacted with the first years much.” Shouta finally looked away from Hizashi, and the look he gave Nemuri was enough to scare anyone off. “He’s not doing it. It’s English, Nemuri. Any English teacher can grade it. Go tell the principal and give it to someone else.”
“What? Why do I have to find someone else? It’s his department!” Nemuri groaned as the tables were suddenly turned on her, giving her more work to do. Hizashi looked between the two of them and as much as he liked Nemuri, he couldn’t find it in himself to feel bad for her. She never had any bad intentions, but she also didn’t exactly seem to understand Hizashi’s—and Shouta’s, for that matter—workload. She was a teacher who worked under Shouta and didn’t have a department to run like the two of them did, Heroics for Shouta and English for Hizashi. It resulted in misunderstandings.
“Because you volunteered him for the work,” Shouta answered without any hesitation, his voice taking on an irritated undertone. It was clearly logical to him, and Shouta could get easily frustrated when others didn’t understand the logic in a situation. “You put the work on him and now it’s your job to find someone else and tell the principal that he can’t do it. If you go now, you’ll be able to find someone before school starts. If you’re lucky, that is.”
Another groan from Nemuri, even louder this time. “Fine, fine. I’ll go.”
More relief hit Hizashi. There was no arguing with Shouta on this. Not even Nemuri could get past him when he had his mind set to something. Hizashi couldn’t, either, but he was with Shouta on this—it was just… hard to say no, especially when Hizashi knew the importance of those tests and the grades he had to put in.
“Good luck,” Shouta said, finality in his voice. There was no question about it—no more arguments to be had; it was the end of the conversation. Nemuri shot him one last frown, bordering on a scowl, and made her way to the door, closing it a little harder than was necessary as she left.
There was no one else in the room. They’d cut it close to class time, especially since Hizashi had had to take the time to get ready in the staff locker rooms. Most other teachers were probably in their classrooms by now. That was where Hizashi would usually be, but right now, he couldn’t bring himself to go to his first classes yet. He knew he couldn’t stop, not even for a second or he’d crash, but at the same time after so long of being awake and having a million things to do… his desk chair just looked so comfortable and a moment to gather himself seemed so attractive.
“I can’t believe she tried to put all that work on you,” Shouta was mumbling, now at his own desk, beside Hizashi’s. “Out of anyone, she should know how big your workload is right now.”
Hizashi tore his eyes away from the paperwork still sitting on his desk, suddenly looking a lot less intimidating, and turned to Shouta. Shouta had sat at his own desk and was flipping through a file of his that contained his week’s lesson plans, but he stopped when Hizashi looked at him.
“Thank you,” Hizashi said softly. “For that.”
Shouta held his gaze in silence for a moment. The room was quiet, cut off from the hallways that overflowed with students trying to make their way to their classrooms before the bell would ring. Bright blue light streamed in from the windows behind them, and if Hizashi were to glance outside, he’d see a long string of students coming into the school building, some rushing in, others taking the time to talk with their friends, others still sleepily walking in, looking like they were a minute away from falling right back asleep.
Shouta looked away from him again, making a soft humming sound. Hizashi swore he could see a dusting of red on his cheeks, but he wasn’t about to point that out. “Don’t worry about it.”
“You stood up for me,” Hizashi added, with a little more volume to his voice, though still speaking much quieter than normal. In any other case, he might’ve teased Shouta about this, for being so insistent and forceful about something they both knew would be too much for Hizashi to take on.
“Yeah, well—” Shouta glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes. “—You wouldn’t have said no if I didn’t step in.”
“Thank you.” Hizashi told him again.
“I told you before that I know what you’re going through.” Shouta flipped through the pages of his file, clearly looking for his lesson plans. Shouta was always so nonchalant about things like this; Hizashi wanted him to know how much it meant to him. “You said you feel so needed, but people don’t always need you. Any English teacher could’ve done that grading. But I know it’s impossible to say no when you feel like this.”
Hizashi stared, a beat of silence falling between them. Slowly, he let himself smile at Shouta, even though Shouta wasn’t looking at him. “You know, you’re a lot better at emotions than you think you are.”
“Others’ emotions, sure,” Shouta said flippantly, finally finding his plans and pulling them from his folder. He paused, raising his head at Hizashi again. “Your emotions, especially.”
All Hizashi could do was smile. Shouta quickly looked back down, away from Hizashi.
“We should probably get to class,” Shouta suggested as he looked over his lesson plan again. “The bells about to ring. I can’t be late. Did you eat that food I gave you?”
Hizashi snorted, “Yeah. On the drive here. Don’t worry, Shouta; I’ll be fine.”
He truly believed it, too. He’d managed to get through the past two days without sleep. He’d managed to keep going, never stopping for long enough to let the exhaustion sink in. Even now, he was on the verge of stopping, but he knew he couldn’t, and if he just pushed on, he could make it to the end of the day. He’d be fine; he just had to take things one step at a time. School, then meetings, then patrol. All separate things he was going to make it through.
“Hm. I’ll keep an eye on you anyways.” Shouta rose from where he was sitting at his desk, holding his lesson plan in one hand as he waved to Hizashi. “Let’s go. I don’t want to mess up my record of never being late.”
Hizashi laughed quietly and didn’t hesitate to follow Shouta out of the room, sticking by him until he had to head off to his own classroom and leave Shouta to go teach his homeroom.
The start of Hizashi’s day didn’t actually consist of a homeroom. But in some ways, it felt like it did.
Teachers like Shouta and Vlad King had homerooms. They were also the heads of the heroics department, homeroom teachers who monitored their students as a primary part of their job. Hizashi, on the other hand, monitored the language department, and his ‘homeroom’ consisted of a daily all-teacher meeting in which Hizashi would go over the lesson plans for the day and coordinate everything with those under him.
Which meant standing up at the front of the classroom they used for these meetings and talking for the first twenty minutes of the day. After that, the bell would ring, and Hizashi would head to his actual first class—which happened to be Shouta’s classroom.
At least that meant that he’d see Shouta. That was never a bad thing.
He made it through his ‘homeroom’ with a lot more ease than he thought he would. It usually wasn’t hard to go through—the ‘classroom’ was full of adults and other teachers, making it a lot less hectic and more self-sufficient than a class full of students. The other teachers all knew the drill by now, would gather in groups of departments and the years they taught to discuss lesson plans. There actually wasn’t a whole lot that Hizashi had to do, given that most of these teachers had worked at UA and with Hizashi for years. The hardest part was honestly just monitoring the new teachers, some of whom had only been teaching for a year, others being the few that were student teachers and still learning the ropes.
At the end of the homeroom period, Hizashi was more optimistic than he’d been earlier. His energy had picked up—whether it was from the food Shouta had given him earlier or the fact that he was moving around and talking with his usual excitement again, he didn’t know. Probably a mixture of both and in any case, the exhaustion that had begun to seep into him during his time with Shouta in the teachers’ office had disappeared, replaced by the manic, chaotic energy he usually led the schoolday with.
Once more, Hizashi was gone, pulled in the direction of his teaching duties at school. He’d started to fall back into himself while alone with Shouta, both in the lobby of the broadcasting building and in the office, but he was quickly able to pull himself back into Present Mic, put on a loud, smiling face, and be the person the rest of the world aside from Shouta needed him to be.
He even found some excitement in the bell signifying the end of the homeroom period ringing, the point in which Hizashi became less of a department head and more of a teacher.
He just had to get through the rest of the day here. As he gathered his things and started down the hall to Shouta’s classroom, Hizashi felt nothing but optimistic energy coursing through him, pushing down the exhaustion and making him forget all about the fact that he hadn’t been home or slept in a few days. Well, he could almost forget about it.
What Shouta had said back in the lobby stuck to him. He missed him. Hizashi wasn’t going to easily forget about that. Shouta was too important to him.
The hallways were bright, the floor to ceiling windows lining the walls with the bright light of morning. The sun had risen higher in the sky and as a result, the light streaming in had turned less of the bright blue from the early, early morning and more into a bright yellow as the minutes ticked on. It was a lot easier to function like this now that Hizashi was used to the light.
The only other people in the hallways were other teachers, moving from their homeroom classrooms or the offices to their first period classrooms. Students stayed in their classrooms throughout the day, otherwise the hallways would be much more crowded and bustling with energy. Hizashi was well known around the school from his loud personality and most of the teachers he passed in the hallways gave him a small greeting smile and a wave as they continued on their way.
Hizashi did fully expect to encounter Shouta on his way to the heroics teachers’ office. Unlike most homeroom teachers, Shouta did teach heroics ethics, but only to the first years, the rest of his day being devoted to looking after his students and preparing and holding class exercises. It was a busy job, no doubt, and Shouta’s first period consisted of him working in the office. But Shouta did usually sacrifice a bit of his time to take the long way to the offices, just so he could pass Hizashi in the hall.
Today he didn’t pass Shouta. And while that sometimes happened when Shouta had a lot of work to do, it was the first thing that set Hizashi off to the idea that something might be a little wrong.
He wasn’t too concerned or anything. It wasn’t that weird. But Hizashi still had this feeling in his chest.
He stopped at the closed sliding door to Shouta’s classroom. He still had a few seconds before the bell. He drew a deep breath in, steadying himself, and then slowly let out the breath. He smiled wide, prepared his voice, and like always, threw the door to the classroom open.
Immediately, he was greeted with twenty tired, half-asleep students.
And Shouta sitting by the desk, against the wall, already half inside of his sleeping bag.
For the first time since the start of the year, Hizashi didn’t greet the class with a loud yell to get them to wake up, instead he just stood in the doorway, brows furrowing together as he looked at Shouta, who was staring right at him again, with a gaze that dared Hizashi to say something to him or tell him that he shouldn’t be here.
“...Mic-sensei?” A student called out from the class, and Hizashi’s head snapped up to find Midoriya, Shouta’s problem child, frowning at him with a concerned look on his face. All twenty students had their eyes on him, half of them having startled from the loud bang of the sliding door slamming open. Just as it did every other day, Hizashi’s entrance seemed to wake them up—except this time it wasn’t because of his loud greeting.
“Sorry, sorry!” Hizashi quickly regained himself, giving a big grin as his loud voice filled the room. He put his quirk into it, though just barely, and a few of the students who were somehow not quite accustomed to it yet startled again, sitting straight up in their seats. “I was just a little thrown off by Eraser here looking like he’s about to nap through my class!”
A couple students glared openly at him, obviously not appreciating Hizashi’s constant loud voice and the way he always grinned for them, putting on a smile for the rest of the world. That Bakugou, another one of Shouta’s troublemakers, kid especially didn’t seem to appreciate his early morning excitement, though that just told Hizashi that he was acting normally if Bakugou was holding his usual irritated glare at him. A relief, when part of Hizashi still felt so out of sorts.
Hizashi walked in, throwing the door shut behind him with another loud, resounding bang. The podium was set up in the middle of the floor, right beside Shouta’s teaching desk. Both the podium and the desk were empty and waiting for him, the chalkboard clear and ready to be covered in Hizashi’s English lessons.
“I’m supervising,” Shouta mumbled from behind the desk, just loud enough for the students to hear. There was a small giggle from some of the kids at that, but they quieted down quickly with the look Shouta gave them. He was sitting on the floor, back against the wall the chalkboard was on, half hidden by the desk so the students could still manage to see his student silencing glare.
“Man, I dunno why you think you gotta supervise me! If I remember right, you barely even understand English,” Hizashi teased, earning another small giggle from a few of the students. Hizashi took his eyes off of Shouta, turning to the sea of students who looked far more awake now. His voice had that effect on them. “Anyways, you all have an exam coming up really quick! I hope you all have been studying for it.”
Instantly, a hand shot up, against from Midoriya. Part of Hizashi already knew what the question was, but he still pointed at him.
“When will we get last week’s exams back, Sensei? I really need to know what to study for and where I have to improve and how well I need to do on the final and…”
In front of him, Bakugou rolled his eyes, and Hizashi quickly cut him off as Midoriya started to mumble.
“Ah, don’t fret! Your exams will be handed back as soon as tomorrow morning! Don’t think I would keep them from you. After all, all of us teachers want to see you all do your best. Plus ultra!”
Hizashi paused, a beat of silence falling over the room. Those stacks of paper on his desk, piling higher than his computer monitor—was there really a way he could hand them back by tomorrow? Nemuri was supposed to find another teacher to do it, but could she really find one so soon? There was so much work; it would probably have to be something shared by multiple teachers and that was on top of all the work they already had to do and that was Hizashi’s classes, so why could he expect other teachers to do his work for his classes—
“Thank you, Mic-sensei!” Another student called out, just as Hizashi’s thoughts started to spiral. He felt the smile on his face momentarily falter as he searched out the student, eyes falling on Yaoyorozu Momo, sitting in the back. She instantly went red, putting a hand over her mouth as if she just realized that she’d spoken without raising her hand.
Hizashi put his hands on the podium, holding onto it as he grinned once more at her. He really had to be careful to not let his guard down. It was threatening to falter, just like his smile had, and Hizashi knew he couldn’t drop his persona now, not in front of the students and especially not when he had an entire day in front of him. He just had to find his optimism once more, the same optimism he’d had just minutes ago.
“That’s the kind of energy I’d like to see!” His voice increased in volume, his heart beating faster in his chest. Something was off and he knew it. “Keep that energy up and you’ll all do just fine!”
Somehow he knew he wasn’t just speaking to his students.
Sixty minutes in this period. He had to do this seven more times over the course of the day, eight counting this period. There was a lunch period in the middle of the day. Hizashi couldn’t stop, not even to eat or sit at his desk during his free periods. He had to keep moving.
Present Mic only had one setting, and that was high energy.
Hizashi, on the other hand…
“Let’s get to it!” He motioned with his hands towards the chalkboard. The sound of students rustling through their things filled the room, providing another few seconds of silence. Students pulled out their notes and pencils, a few of the more studious ones even pulling out the supplemental textbook Hizashi had handed out at the beginning of the year.
Hizashi let go of the podium, not having realized that he’d been holding onto it so hard that his knuckles turned white. The blood rushed back into his hands, his heart beating hard enough that Hizashi could feel the fast rush of blood in his eardrums, quieting the sounds of the students as they finished readying themselves for the lesson.
Black blossomed in his eyesight, a dull ache in the back of his head, right behind his eyes. He stood straight, hands curling into fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms. He braced a foot back, keeping himself steady as he stopped himself from leaning on the podium or the edge of Shouta’s desk right next to him.
The black spots started to clear and Hizashi was faced with twenty pairs of eyes looking at him, expecting him to start teaching.
“Today we’re going to continue with sentence diagramming,” His voice went on, Hizashi’s mind struggling, trying to keep up with it. There was no shake or falter to his voice; it was automatic, carrying on without the rest of Hizashi. He cleared his throat, blinking away the rest of the black fade in his vision. “Some of you did very well on that portion of the exam. Impressive, even! But some of you obviously need to go over it again and it can never hurt to have a refresher, hm?”
No, wait, that was a lie. He hadn’t even started looking at those exams. He had no idea how well they’d done on it. He was lying to them. He’d had a lesson on sentence diagramming planned today, but it was only a partial refresher, with a bunch of new topics mixed in.
New topics that… would be on the exam?
Which topics…
Hizashi turned. His movements didn’t register in his head. He caught sight of Shouta sitting silently behind the desk. The sleeping bag was still mostly unzipped. It was still bunched around Shouta’s waist. His eyes were focused on Hizashi. An intense stare.
The rest of the class stared at him, too. Twenty pairs of eyes looking at him. Waiting. Waiting for him to start. So far, Hizashi hadn’t even begun teaching.
He reached for the chalk right in front of him, blinking up at the blackboard in front of him. It was so dark and only seemed to be getting darker. Hizashi blinked. The dark didn’t clear. He raised a hand and made a mark on the board. A single straight line.
He blinked again and the line shook and wobbled, reaching too far down on the board. A letter? The start of a sentence?
A sentence… a sentence diagramming lesson… What sentence had it been? What was he supposed to write?
He couldn’t remember. Something was wrong. Very wrong. It’d all started with him seeing Shouta in the classroom. When he’d thrown open the door and stopped. Stopped with Shouta’s eyes on him and twenty more pairs of eyes, all expecting him to do something. Expecting Present Mic.
People expected Present Mic to keep them safe on his patrol tonight. The other teachers expected Present Mic to be done with their evaluations tonight. Present Mic was supposed to grade student exams. He was supposed to teach. He was supposed to be at the radio station carrying out another show.
Present Mic was supposed to be everywhere at once.
And Hizashi…
Hizashi was here. But not really.
He felt it. He tried to move his foot back again. Tried to catch it. Tried to steady himself. He heard the screech of the chalk on the board and then the clatter of it hitting the floor.
Where had the board gone—?
He rested his weight back on the foot he’d tried to steady himself with. Instead, he wobbled. Shaking as his weight went totally to one foot and left the other without any support.
“Shouta, could you—”
His voice spoke without him again, shaking, trembling.
A yell. The rush of feet on the floor. Panic.
His stomach churning. Warmth on him, something solid instead of the cold tile floor and pain.
Black. Darkness. Nothing. |
Steve had been living in the penthouse for five days, and Tony had barely seen him in three, when he came out of the bedroom one morning after feeding Threetoo his breakfast and found Steve waiting for him.
He assumed Steve was waiting for him, anyway. Maybe he was just... meditating, cross-legged on the floor in the hallway with his hands on his knees. He didn't look up at Tony's approach.
Tony forced himself to actually look at his second rescue more closely than any of the fleeting glimpses he'd caught in the last few days.
He was wearing clothes--well, pajamas, basically, but Tony had been living with Threetoo long enough that that definitely and markedly counted as clothed. His feet were bare. He looked as big and over-muscled as ever; that t-shirt honestly might not survive if he took a deep breath. He seemed clean--no stubble, hair disordered but fluffy and shiny. His shoulders were slightly bowed, his head tilted down. He couldn't rise quickly to attack from that position.
Tony still stopped a good eight feet away. "Steve?"
Steve's fingers curled in, then he opened his hands again. "I... I don't know how to... I need to. I want. To ask for something."
It would have been remarkably fluent for Threetoo--any vocal sound at all would have been remarkably fluent for Threetoo, who still hadn't made a peep since Steve's attack on the Fourth--but it sounded badly scattered, for Steve.
Tony ran a hand through his hair, already looking past Steve to the stairs, wanting to escape.
Steve was supposed to be the one who had his shit together; he was supposed to be here to help Threetoo get better. Emily had visited both of them the other day, and hadn't raised any red flags with Tony or forcibly removed either of them from his custody. Steve was supposed to be okay, and if he wasn't, Tony didn't know what the hell he was going to do about it.
Well, except maybe answer the not-quite-question Steve had obviously gone to some effort to ask. Right. Tony should do that.
"Ask away, then," Tony said. "Mi casa es su casa, quite literally, so."
Steve flinched a little, but after another hesitation, he said, "I... JARVIS says I definitely can't go out on the roof. In case someone sees me."
Tony folded his arms. "Correct. You're on punishment or at least close supervision, as far as everybody who knows you're alive knows. And dead, as far as anyone else knows, so going out where you can be seen is a no-go."
Steve didn't flinch, exactly, but he tensed, and there was another pause before he nodded again. "Could I just... is there somewhere I could... run? I used to. Run. With Sam. Every morning. And it's getting hard to sleep because I... I don't do anything all day."
Tony squinted consideringly. "When you say it's hard to sleep... how long have you been awake, exactly?"
Steve shrugged. Tony made a beckoning gesture for JARVIS's input.
"Approximately 73 hours, give or take several possible instances of microsleep," JARVIS announced. "Exercise could certainly be beneficial."
Okay, well, that was a problem Tony could both understand and solve.
"Yeah, come on, there's a gym downstairs," Tony said, waving ahead of him.
Steve unfolded himself somewhat laboriously from his half-lotus or whatever it was, and turned and walked down the stairs ahead of Tony, not stopping until he reached the elevator.
When they were both inside, Tony looked Steve up and down again. "Where did you run with Wilson? That lower roof park? That path is gravel."
Steve nodded slightly. "I used to have shoes."
Right. Tony knew that. There was a box somewhere on the 90th floor with the work uniforms and phone that hadn't been returned to Steve when he came up to the penthouse. Tony had thought to make sure that he did get his little plastic apparatus back, since he presumably still needed it, whatever it was; when Threetoo ordered clothes for him Tony figured that meant all the basics were covered.
Except for stuff like sleep and physical activity and shoes, apparently.
"You get that I'm not actually into punishing you, right?" Tony demanded, as the elevator doors opened.
Steve just stood there, looking at Tony like there was some kind of very serious Divide By Cucumber Error going on behind his eyes.
Tony shook his head and led off along the curving hallway toward his private gym. "I mean, you can ask for stuff you need. What else do you need? JARVIS can hook you up with pretty much anything, you know that, don't you? Any kind of entertainment, educational material, information, life necessities. Do you have a toothbrush?"
"JARVIS told me to take one from the drawer in the bathroom," Steve said, clear but very quiet. He didn't comment on the rest.
"Steve has been extremely conservative in his requests, sir," JARVIS put in. "I believe it has not been clear to him what right he had to request anything not necessary to sustain life or basic hygiene."
Tony stopped right there, turning on his heel to look at Steve, who was darting a wary glance up at the ceiling, looking neither betrayed nor grateful at JARVIS's interjection.
"You didn't think I should know when he hadn't slept in 72 hours, J?" Tony demanded. "You get on my case if I crack twenty-four, and you don't let Threetoo go more than forty-five minutes without a rest break."
"You had not instructed me to monitor Steve," JARVIS parried. "In fact, you suggested that I should leave him alone."
Tony ran a hand through his hair. He had done that, because he figured JARVIS would kind of creep Steve out, and because he figured Steve was capable of sleeping without being nannied into it, or asking for things if he needed them.
"Get him some running shoes and some workout clothes that aren't pajamas," Tony said, turning in the direction of the gym again. "Remind him to eat and sleep if he doesn't; remind me if he's not responding to being reminded. Steve has permanent unlimited gym access. Okay?"
Tony turned again at the doorway to the gym, looking at Steve as the door swung open. He didn't exactly look like a kid at Christmas, but there was some life in his eyes as he looked around at the setup. "Ask JARVIS if you don't know how to use any of this stuff, and go easy on the punching dummy if you need to get some aggression out, it's calibrated for humans. Or, actually, go ahead and see if you can break it, so I can figure out how to calibrate it for you."
Steve's gaze shifted to Tony, and his expression seemed less grim by some tiny fraction as he said, "Thanks. I'll do my best."
Thanks that only comprised a single word were better ignored than rejected; Tony turned on his heel, calling out as he went, "One of you had better let me know if Steve breaks himself, I don't want to find out three days from now that he busted his knuckles open!"
Steve avoided the punching dummy, despite what he'd said to Tony, because he wasn't at all sure that he could stop punching once he'd started. He'd barely managed to handle Tony being offhandedly, impatiently generous; if Tony sat down with him and bandaged his hands for him--again--he would...
He didn't quite know what he would do, but he didn't think he could bear it.
Instead, he looked around until he spotted a station where a sort of conveyor belt seemed to be set up with a railing at one end. Tony had thought he could run here, and that looked like the likeliest apparatus for running in a contained space.
When he stepped onto the belt, a screen lit up on the front railing. One of the displays was labeled MPH, and there were up and down arrows near it. Steve started stabbing the up button. The belt started moving underfoot, and he stumbled a little as it accelerated, catching himself on one of the railings, but after a minute he found his stride and got the belt moving at a pace that allowed him to feel like he was stretching his legs.
It seemed to take no time at all before his muscles were burning and he was breathing in gasps, but he pushed grimly onward, bumping the speed up higher. He was well-nourished now; his body could do this. It just had to remember how. He gritted his teeth and kept running, faster and faster, going nowhere.
Tony felt like he'd just gotten into the lab--he'd barely found his groove--before JARVIS interrupted him. "Sir, the board meeting Miss Potts was so insistent about in her last eleven emails will be starting in half an hour in the 16th floor executive conference room."
Tony froze, trying to dredge up the details of emails out of his brain. He hadn't been sleeping well for the last five days--even worse than before, if one wanted to really split hairs, which meant he was barely getting more sleep than Steve was at this point--and his recall for nonessentials was... not at peak performance.
"Board meeting as in... Pep is in New York?"
"Miss Potts is in fact in the building presently," JARVIS informed him dryly. "She has stated her intention to come up personally and escort you to the meeting if I cannot assure her that you are on your way."
If Pepper came up anywhere she would go to the penthouse, which, thanks to a fit of prudence on Past Tony's part after one little mishap or another in the last few years, he couldn't order JARVIS to lock her out of. He'd installed miles of hard-coded roadblocks to prevent himself from doing it in exactly this situation--except he hadn't anticipated that his penthouse would have Threetoo and Steve in it. It hadn't mattered, while Pepper was safely in Malibu; he'd figured he would have plenty of warning to figure something out any time she came to New York.
Except apparently she had warned him eleven times, and he... hadn't noticed.
"Fuck," Tony muttered, rubbing his face. "Do I have--"
Butterfingers rolled up, brandishing a garment bag and fumbling a toiletries kit which DUM-E promptly tried to retrieve and ran over instead. Tony sighed and headed for the lab bathroom to make himself look close enough to presentable to keep Pepper off his back and out of the Pandora's Box in which Tony was currently living.
Threetoo did not feel relieved at all, only frustrated, when JARVIS said, "If you are looking for Steve, 32557038, he has gone downstairs for some exercise."
There was no reason to feel relieved. The day before he had managed to look directly at Steve's face--from the balcony, while Steve was sitting on the couch downstairs, seemingly unaware of his presence--for upwards of ten minutes without developing a headache at all. There was no significant possibility that today's exposure session, even if conducted face to face, would have resulted in pain worth noticing.
Not a migraine, anyway. He had noticed, throughout the last day's series of exposures, that his stomach twisted uncomfortably in Steve's vicinity, as if the stress had merely displaced itself from one body part to another. But that pain was nothing worth noticing, or feeling relieved to avoid.
And there was likewise no reason to feel anxious about the fact that his master had discovered his arm to be fully healed this morning, leaving him bandage-free again. His master had said nothing about deadlines, or about Steve's training, and had not inquired about the progress of Threetoo's exposure program. He had simply praised Threetoo's recovery and fed him his breakfast and gone away.
He was always going away, since Steve had come. As if he could no longer bear to look at Threetoo, or touch him, now that his flawless second bedslave was also in the penthouse. Threetoo had found himself filling his time between exposures--now that he had stopped napping nearly all the hours of the day, as he had for the first three days Steve was in residence--on obsessive grooming. He had exfoliated and moisturized every inch of his skin, groomed all fifteen of his nails to microscopic perfection, trimmed the dry ends of his hair and judiciously adjusted the shape of his eyebrows.
He knew it wouldn't make a difference, and it hadn't. His master didn't flinch from touching Threetoo when he fed and tended to him; he never had. His hands and his eyes conveyed the same unrelenting affection they always had, so Threetoo didn't know what to make of it.
He just knew that Steve was the cause of it, somehow, and that he had no good reason to be relieved that he couldn't find Steve, but he was relieved anyway.
He wasn't quite sure what to do with himself, though. He had meant to get the day's first exposure out of the way and then settle down to work on some calculus problems JARVIS had devised for him until his master returned or U pestered him with a bottle of juice, whichever happened first. But he couldn't quite convince himself that it was all right to completely neglect Steve and hide away with his math puzzles, and he didn't want to start a puzzle and then be interrupted by Steve's return. He had put clothes on for Steve and walked all the way from the elevator; he couldn't take his clothes back off until he was done being near Steve, and he didn't know how long he could stay upright.
He eyed the chairs in the kitchen and felt time skipping forward; by the time it steadied around him he found himself leaning against the counter, U hovering watchfully nearby. Well. That would do.
He signed at JARVIS, Could I have--
The elevator door opened, interrupting him, and Threetoo felt a strange surge of anticipation as we watched Steve step out into the penthouse. He was frozen, staring, his eyes seeking out every detail of Steve's appearance, which was... not good.
He had looked tired yesterday, when Threetoo watched him from a hidden vantage point, but he seemed to have advanced to something worse than tiredness today. He had just come from exercising, and his color was heightened as expected after exertion, his skin damp with sweat, but something looked wrong.
Threetoo thought that Steve--or anyone, surely, with such a strong, flawless body--should come away from a chance to use that body in a good mood, bright and warm and pleased with himself. But Steve looked exhausted, as if he had pushed far beyond his body's proper limits. His shoulders sagged and his head was bowed, though not enough for Threetoo to miss the faintly bruised look of the skin under his eyes.
He saw Steve hesitate, glancing toward the stairs across the expanse of the penthouse's great room, and then Steve shook his head slightly and turned on his heel, pressing the button for the interior elevator that served only the two floors within the penthouse.
Steve, Threetoo understood, was feeling too exhausted to take the stairs.
Something was very wrong. Threetoo was still standing there, reeling with the enormity of what he had seen, when Steve disappeared into an elevator and was whisked out of his sight, apparently never having noticed Threetoo standing in the kitchen watching him.
Threetoo's head still didn't hurt at all. His stomach twinged, but even that was nothing next to the urge to follow Steve, to demand to know what he'd done to himself, to tuck him in to sleep under a warm blanket and make sure he replaced the fluids he'd lost.
He should be doing those things. He was responsible for Steve, wasn't he? Steve was his to train, to manage, as his apprentice or second or intern. Threetoo knew full well that his master wasn't spending much time in the penthouse other than to care for Threetoo himself, so Steve wasn't being looked after by anyone at all. Threetoo had been remiss.
Of course, until today it had been hard for him to look at Steve, but that was no excuse. He could have told JARVIS to look; he could have seen better when he did look.
Threetoo turned to the fridge and immediately hesitated again, then signed at JARVIS. What are Steve's favorites?
He should have known. He should have been gathering this data. But at least he could start now.
"I believe his preference is for the blue flavored juice drink, or a vanilla shake. He has standing permission for solid food ad lib, and would likely enjoy any of the berries or cheeses kept in the refrigerator as well."
Threetoo nodded thoughtfully, opening the refrigerator and frowning into its depths. Steve ought to sleep as soon as he could, so something calorie-dense would be ideal. Threetoo selected the vanilla shake, then after a short hesitation--but Steve was allowed, as JARVIS had said, and if anyone should be feeding him, it ought to be Threetoo, and so he had to be allowed to take food for the purpose of giving it to Steve, twice over--he took the carton of blackberries as well, though he had to hold them and the shake against his chest to steady them. The blackberries looked the best of everything in the fridge, dark and juicy and enticing, and they would be a nice contrast with the shake if Steve could be persuaded to eat a handful or two between sips.
Threetoo headed to the elevator, concentrating on not dropping his precious cargo. JARVIS opened the doors for him before he reached the elevator and whisked him immediately up to the second floor, where he was just in time to hear the shower turn off. Threetoo frowned--Steve could hardly have been under the hot water long enough to feel it, let alone to relax and enjoy feeling clean--but then, Steve had two hands and rather less hair to deal with, so maybe he was just that much quicker than Threetoo.
Threetoo headed into the bedslaves' room as quickly as he could, setting down the things he'd brought for Steve on top of Steve's chest of drawers. Steve's pillow and blankets were stowed neatly beside it, and Threetoo considered whether it would be helpful or intrusive to set them out for them.
Steve appeared in the doorway before Threetoo made up his mind, and stopped short there, averting his gaze as if Threetoo wouldn't get a migraine as long as Steve didn't see him.
"Sorry," Steve said. "I'll--I just need--"
Steve was only wearing underwear--a bright blue jock with white straps; the bulge of his cock behind the snug-fitting triangle of fabric at the front was obvious, and if he turned around his ass would be utterly exposed. It wasn't the style of underwear Threetoo would have expected JARVIS to choose for him, or Steve to request, if JARVIS had consulted him, but Threetoo pushed that curiosity aside.
Water was dripping from Steve's hair, much like sweat had been dripping across his skin earlier. He hadn't been in the shower long enough for the warmth to lend a flush to his skin--or maybe he had taken his shower cold. Threetoo could see him trembling a little, and his nipples were drawn tight. Threetoo wondered whether he liked to be touched there, whether that would be a good touch reward for Steve, and then shook his head.
He was getting distracted. He had had a plan. He needed to take care of Steve.
It's all right, Threetoo signed, Jarvis interpreting for him seamlessly. I just wanted to make sure you got something to eat before you lie down and get some sleep.
Steve gave him a sidelong look, his face still turned partly away. "Oh, is that my plan?"
That's what you need to do, Threetoo informed him firmly. You're shivering, you're exhausted. You're the second of us. I am first. You're my responsibility. Sit down, eat this, I'll lay out your blankets.
Steve followed Threetoo's gesture to the shake and the berries, and something strange went across his face. "I can't--"
Sit, Threetoo repeated, putting full emphasis and authority into the sign as well as pointing to the spot where Steve should sit, out of the way of the best spot to lay out his blankets. Steve straightened up slightly and moved at once, brushing past Threetoo to sit where Threetoo had indicated. Threetoo grabbed the shake and handed it to him, then the carton of berries.
Drink. Eat.
Steve nodded slowly and dropped his gaze, balancing the berries on one knee while he opened the shake. Threetoo left him to it, grabbing Steve's pillow and laying it down just outside the rectangle of light coming in from the skylight, so the sun wouldn't shine in his eyes while he should be sleeping. Blankets next; he shook the first one out with a practiced motion, spreading it as neatly as he could. He layered the second--Sam's blanket--over it, then knelt to tidy them up, smoothing the wrinkles away and fluffing the pillow.
Behind him he could hear the small sounds of Steve drinking, but he still hadn't opened the berries, hadn't tasted a single one. Threetoo turned to face him, still on his knees. Steve was sitting with his legs criss-cross; Threetoo, on his knees, was taller.
And fully dressed, while Steve had only a jockstrap, his bare ass on the carpet. This might create an incorrect impression, but Threetoo thought he had been clear enough about what he intended. Steve didn't seem alarmed.
He wasn't eating the blackberries, though. Clearly he needed to be persuaded.
Like always, never can do things easily. Threetoo frowned at the stray thought. He hadn't observed anything like that in Steve's behavior--had he?
He shook his head and took the untouched carton of berries, setting it down beside his own knee to open it. Steve was still sipping steadily at his shake; he only watched, saying nothing, his free hand resting open on the floor.
Threetoo scooped up a handful of berries, careful not to crush any, and offered them to Steve.
Steve lowered the bottle from his lips, looking from the berries to Threetoo's eyes and back. "I--I can't, Threetoo. Not if you're not having any. It's not fair for me to just..."
What, it's not fair for you to eat, when I've already had my breakfast and we both know our master will feed me all I can hold in another hour or two, while you're so run down you're about to drop? Threetoo couldn't say that, or anything else, with his hand full of berries.
He thrust them forward for emphasis, but Steve just set his jaw and shook his head. Threetoo had a feeling that he would have kept arguing, but he'd realized that Threetoo couldn't sign with his hand full and thus it wouldn't be fair.
There would be no shaking Steve from his ideas about fairness, Threetoo knew, somehow, the same way he knew Steve was always difficult. His head ached a little, but he thought it might just be the frustration of dealing with Steve, not a migraine starting.
He looked upward, even though JARVIS could see him from anywhere, silently searching for any guidance. But JARVIS said nothing--and didn't patch through his master to say anything, either.
Threetoo could put down the berries and actually ask, properly, for advice from JARVIS, or direction from his master. But as often as he'd received such direction without having to ask for it, he had to assume that there was a reason JARVIS was silent. Perhaps JARVIS didn't know what he should do either; perhaps his master was unavailable for some reason, or had decided not to interfere in Threetoo's project.
So he needed to figure this out himself. There were a few options: he could let Steve go to bed without eating any berries, even though they were right here and he obviously hadn't been taking care of himself properly and Threetoo knew that Steve would like them.
Or Threetoo could do something about Steve's stupid hang-up over fairness.
His master ate and fed Threetoo at the same time, from the same plate. If Threetoo was feeding Steve...
He did know that his master wanted him to be able to eat under other circumstances. There had been the whole Sam experiment, and anyway in general his master always wanted Threetoo to have more good things. To get fat. To drink his fill, all the hours his master wasn't nearby to feed him. Threetoo had made progress in the last few days, but he still had more weight to gain back than he wanted to think about. A few blackberries wouldn't make a dent in that, but it would be going in the right direction. It would please his master, maybe even surprise him, like Threetoo finding a way to make a sound without speaking.
If Threetoo could just speak right now--but no. One thing at a time. His master would want him to eat, doubly so in aid of making sure that Steve ate something. Threetoo knew that. He did know that. His throat closed up and his hand wanted to shake at the thought of actually doing it, of relying on his own logic to make such a decision, but he knew, he knew that he was right, as certainly as any geometric proof. The steps were all there, each one rock solid.
And if his body wasn't susceptible to logic, well, he would cross that bridge when he came to it.
For now, he fixed his aggravated gaze on Steve, letting him see just how much of a pest he was being, and raised the handful of berries to his own mouth. He only took a few, lipping them up carefully to keep from crushing any of the others, maintaining eye contact with Steve the entire time.
Steve, to his credit, looked fully aware of just how far he had driven Threetoo. When Threetoo thrust the handful of berries at Steve again, he took them hurriedly, cramming several into his mouth and snatching up the rest, leaving purple smears of juice on his fingers and Threetoo's palm.
Threetoo still had three fat, ripe blackberries in his mouth, and he was still pretty sure he couldn't actually eat them. But Steve was eating, at least, so he'd done what he wanted to do.
He flexed his tongue, rubbing the berries against the roof of his mouth, feeling the soft weight of them, the hint of flavor that would burst into life if he pressed harder. His mouth was watering--not painfully, not as it would if he were truly hungry--but he had to swallow.
Had he swallowed some blackberry juice? That was allowed, surely; he was allowed to drink things. But was that drinking, really, when it was whole food he'd put into his mouth, or--
"Threetoo, Steve," JARVIS said. "Please close the door and remain in your quarters. An unexpected guest is about to enter the penthouse."
Steve made a choked, startled noise and jumped up, brushing past Threetoo to slam the door.
Threetoo jumped up as well--he wouldn't kneel at Steve's feet, that was all wrong--and signed to JARVIS, Guest?
"There is no cause for alarm. He is a friend of Mr. Stark's who has privileged access to the penthouse," JARVIS explained. "He asked that Mr. Stark himself not be made aware of his visit immediately, but said nothing about yourselves. It will be best if you keep out of the way until Mr. Stark is able to return."
Threetoo shook his head, a flood of certainties overtaking his thoughts. He swallowed again without thinking, the tidiest way to clear his mouth in case it should be needed. His throat hurt a little, but he got the blockage down. He wiped his palm on his pajama pants--hopefully any lingering stain would not be noticed--and then hurried to remove his clothes.
There was a guest--a privileged guest. A friend of his master. Such a person must be offered the proper hospitality. Such a person must be welcomed. As a bedslave, Threetoo was free of all the other duties of running the household, but this... this was his responsibility. Of course, he was his master's own favorite, collared and kept apart from all others, and thus even a guest ought not to touch him, but...
Threetoo's eye fell on Steve, and a sick uncertainty flashed through him.
He could not offer Steve to a guest; Steve was untrained and not to be pressed. His master had said so. Steve was not to be hurried, and certainly not to be offered to another before their master had enjoyed him. But then their master could hardly be said to have enjoyed Threetoo himself, yet. Threetoo was not supposed to do that sort of work yet; he had not even begun training Steve. He had nothing at all to properly offer a guest.
But there was a guest. A friend of his master, a guest who had access to the penthouse even in his master's absence. Such a guest must be greatly valued, greatly trusted, by his master. To deny such a guest anything...
Threetoo finished undressing and straightened his collar. He stepped toward the door, but Steve was standing with his back to it, his heels dug firmly into the carpet.
Threetoo frowned. Out of the way.
JARVIS's interpretation came a second late, and with a particular flatness that Threetoo suspected was JARVIS expressing his own disapproval for what Threetoo was saying.
Threetoo looked up and scowled, then made an emphatic, unmistakable gesture at Steve, waving him away from the door, in case he had not understood that the intonation was JARVIS's and not Threetoo's.
Steve shook his head, determined. "JARVIS told us to stay in here."
Threetoo shook his head harder and didn't bother signing fuck JARVIS, JARVIS isn't in charge, lest JARVVIS refuse to interpret his words at all. He pointed to his own chest and the door. He had to go out; he had to greet his master's guest. He had to do this properly. He had to, or, or--
His head was starting to ache in a different way, his vision going sparkly at the edges. He stepped forward and grabbed Steve's shoulder, tugging at him. He didn't want to make a mess of himself, but if he couldn't make Steve or JARVIS listen, he would do what he had to in order to fulfill his duties.
Steve gave way after a few tugs, though, stepping aside. "Fine, but I'm coming with you."
There was no time to argue with him, and Threetoo couldn't force Steve to obey, not when it was obvious that JARVIS would come down on Steve's side. Threetoo glared at him, then up, for JARVIS's benefit, and signed, Stay silent and stay behind me. You're not trained for this.
JARVIS interpreted promptly, this time, though still without urgency.
Steve visibly clenched his jaw, but he nodded. He looked nothing like a bedslave--not one line of his body showed anything like a welcome, anything resembling submission, and if the guest saw him Threetoo wouldn't be able to tell him that Steve was not available for his use. And who would use Threetoo when Steve was available? How could he protect Steve at all if...
His head was throbbing, and they were wasting time. He turned his back on Steve and jerked the door open, hurrying across the master's bedroom, listening for the guest. He heard footfalls coming along the upstairs corridor and signed hastily at JARVIS as he fell to his knees and waved Steve down after him.
Introduce us, welcome him, Threetoo ordered, too frantic to wonder if JARVIS would refuse to speak for him, or say something wildly inappropriate.
And then there was no more time. Threetoo bowed forward onto his hand, and sensed Steve following suit at his flank, and a man strode into view from around the curve of the hall. He was a black man, perhaps a little older than their master, casually dressed. He drew to a sharp halt at the sight of Threetoo and Steve.
"What the actual hell," the man said, stopping well short of them.
Threetoo did not flinch where anyone could see. He knew he was not presenting properly at all, not offering a proper greeting--he was ugly, maimed, not what a guest should see first at all--his head ached more fiercely, throbbing in waves of punishment--no, not punishment. Stress.
"Colonel Rhodes," JARVIS said. "These are Mr. Stark's recently acquired bedslaves. 32557038 wears the red collar. Steve is behind him."
Steve, Threetoo saw, was ducking his head more deeply, sagging from a proper kneel and not even looking at Col. Rhodes. He was frightened, maybe, now that he finally understood what his refusal to stay behind might cost. As if Col. Rhodes would not desire him if he could not see Steve's face.
But foolish or not, he was Threetoo's second--Threetoo's responsibility. Threetoo had to protect him. He crawled forward, his body falling into a practiced sway despite the pain throbbing harder in his head all the time. He lifted his head to look up at the guest, and manufactured a welcoming smile. When he was just outside arm's reach, he stopped and sat back on his heels.
Welcome, he signed.
Col. Rhodes was staring at him in obvious shock and disgust. Threetoo's head throbbed harder.
He was vile, he was worthless; he should have been decommissioned. His brain was fried, his arm a stomach-turning deformity, his scarred, bony body a mockery of everything a bedslave ought to be. He was nothing, and his master's friend knew it. Threetoo was shivering and couldn't quite stop himself, but his fingers formed the signs anyway.
My master's hospitality is extended to you, and JARVIS did speak for him, but Col. Rhodes threw his arms up, shaking his head violently, before Threetoo could make any more explicit offers, even of the simplest things--a drink, a place to sit, a room to refresh himself.
"Nope, no, no, we're not doing this. J, tell Pepper never mind keeping Tony busy, I know what's going on and I want him back here now."
Rejected, utterly, and now his master's friend would tell his master how he had failed, how displeasing he had been, how unworthy an ornament for his master's home. What an unworthy use he was of his master's time--clearly Col. Rhodes was aware of all the time and attention his master had been lavishing on Threetoo and meant to put a stop to it. His master trusted this man, esteemed him highly. His master would--
Threetoo swayed as the pain in his head abruptly passed beyond bearing. As he lost his balance entirely he tried to sign a number for his pain, but his fingers shook and spasmed and didn't obey him, and if JARVIS was saying anything, interpreting or refusing to, Threetoo couldn't make sense of it. |
And just like that, after Shibusawa was finally laid to rest for what hopefully would be the final time… everything went back to normal in Yokohama.
Not.
Almost immediately after the fog was cleared, the missing non-ability users suddenly reappeared, disoriented and unable to remember what happened to them while they were missing. Even Ranpo, with all his willpower, could only remember bits and pieces of floating in a dark space filled with nothing but other floating people.
(No one, of course, mentioned that Ranpo was somehow dragged alongside people without abilities.)
(No matter what people said about The Agency’s manner, at least they have courtesy when it actually mattered.)
The Special Ability Department was working hand in hand right now with the Ministry of Health’s medical officers to check for any anomalies that might be exhibited after being spirited away. Ranpo’s was done in the privacy of Fukuzawa residence instead of the emergency tents. A privilege that could only be obtained because he was Ranpo-- and of course because the Director’s house remained unscatched throughout the whole ordeal.
Meanwhile, Atsushi was attempting to get some rest. Perhaps the fact that it was still ten in the morning contributed to his lack of sleep, but his anxiety was clearly the main culprit. He wished for the serenity that occurred at the time he made it his mission to kill Shibusawa. Now that he had the time to think about it… that was a bit disturbing.
It wasn’t that he regretted killing the man. No, he was already dead even before that. But it gnawed him when he thought about how an ability could create an undead. And they still hadn’t had the answer to where the people were when the mist covered the town. He couldn’t help but to think they might have gotten more questions if he needled the man a bit, considering his disgusting obsession with Atsushi.
At that point, his mind had corroded much alongside his soul. You would find nothing worthy of note trying to interrogate a revenant, single-minded as they are.
Atsushi paused.
What?
He slammed the sliding door open, peeking out of the closet to find whoever it was talking to him. Nobody. Well, nobody except for Kyouka who immediately woke up from the noise Atsushi made. “What’s wrong?”
“Did you hear something?” Atsushi asked, “Someone?”
“I don’t have tiger ears.” Kyouka reminded him. It was true that even when he wasn’t transformed, Atsushi’s senses were still several times more sensitive than a human’s would be.
(After googling about it, turned out tigers hunted with their ears, not their nose. It also led to an anxious thought about going into heat, finding out what ‘omegaverse’ is, and Dazai happily recommending him several smutty novels.)
(He deleted the e-books immediately. The covers filled him with a sense of guilt.)
“No-- it was… talking to me.” He glanced around nervously, straining his ears just in case.
“You’re probably just imagining it.” But Kyouka’s hand already made its way underneath her pillow, waiting for whatever assailant that broke in to lower their guard.
Atsushi, however, was a terrible actor. “R-right? Maybe I’m just imagining it! There’s no way anyone could have entered our dorm room without us noticing.”
Both of them went quiet. Both of them were waiting for a reaction.
Oh. The voice said. You thought I was an intruder.
“AAAH! THAT! THERE’S THE VOICE!” Atsushi scrambled outside of the closet. Kyouka immediately summoned her Demon Snow and both of them moved to the front to shield Atsushi from whatever it was inside the closet with their swords out.
I am not inside the closet. I’m inside of you. The dull voice rumbled in a familiar way. It’s familiar because I’ve always been with you since you were born. “Creepy!” Atsushi yelled in panic. “Creepy, creepy, creepy! Where are you?!”
Kyouka looked bewildered. “I don’t hear anything…”
Calm down.
“I’m hearing a voice in my head how can I calm down?!”
Kyouka stood up from her place and reached for her phone. “I’m calling the Director.”
Yukichi was unfortunately unsurprised by the idea of Atsushi’s ability gaining sentience. Similar things have happened before with abilities gaining independence-- and arguably, abilities such as Demon Snow and others of its ilk were already sentient to begin with.
It was however, the first time that he had to personally deal with a newborn personality. “How are you feeling, Atsushi?” not that Yukichi wasn’t aware. All Men Are Equal made sure he was connected empathically to all of his subordinates. Before Kyouka made her call, Yukichi already sent a message to her asking her to check up on her roommate just in case. In the end she didn’t even realize the chat message until after he arrived at the dorm.
“Awful.” He admitted. “He said his name is Byakko.”
Ah. Because it’s a white tiger. Cute.
“May I?” Yukichi waited for Atsushi to give his consent before diving deep inside his mental state.
Yukichi mentally gathers up all his connections except for Atsushi's, like strings in a web, and sets them aside. He doesn't want to be distracted while he examines this. He visualizes traveling the length of string until he reaches Atsushi. He feels him physically first, the anxiety pumping through his heart and the way his muscles tense. A layer deeper is his ability, which no longer has the restricting clamp Yukichi once kept tight around it to prevent Atsushi from transforming at night. It now flows unrestrained underneath his skin, free for Atsushi to access at any time.
Then, his emotions and mental state wash over Yukichi as he carefully wades through the anxiety to make sure it doesn't affect him. He's only looking, not subduing. He feels for anything in Atsushi's mental space that's similar to the spark of his ability, and it's not hard to find. The presence is large, bigger than what he would expect for an ability with newly gained sentience.
Before he knew it, Yukichi's mental prodding was firmly pushed back. It was a familiar feeling, similar to when he picked up a cat to kiss it only to have their cute little toe beans planted on his face, telling him no. Scratch that, it was the same warm and fuzzy feelings, except it was the mental equivalent of a physical rejection.
"Well." Yukichi said, "Something is clearly there." And a cat too. Atsushi let out a whimper of distress.
I’m not a danger. Yukichi heard it purred. Which was… strange. All Men Are Equal wasn’t exactly an ability able to communicate to others-- not without years and years of unrestrained connection. Which was not something he would impose on his subordinates. I am what gave him his blessing.
“Can you hear him, Director?” Atsushi fretted.
Yukichi nodded, “Loud and clear.” At the edge of his vision, Kyouka fidgeted nervously watching this unfold. No doubt that it was distressing for her to only be able to hear one side of the conversation. Yukichi spoke up instead of talking telepathically mostly for her sake. “By you being the one who gave Atsushi his blessing, I assume his ability?”
What else would it be? It was a bland voice, sounding bored with each syllable uttered.
“Can you tell us why you appeared now?”
I have always been with him, but only now he can hear me because my Champion has finally accepted my blessing as a blessing, instead of a curse.
Atsushi mouthed the word ‘champion’ incredulously at Yukichi. Yukichi had to agree… except there was something special about this Byakko that can’t simply be explained as a sentient ability. There was anger too in Atsushi’s face. No doubt it was in the vein of ‘if you had always been with me, where were you when I was abused in the orphanage?’
You rejected me while in the orphanage. Byakko spoke calmly. You didn’t want to know that they have a good reason to lock you up. So you rejected the tiger and me.
“Good reas--” Atsushi sounded strangled.
Yukichi pushed calm into him before he could start yelling. Not that it wasn’t a warranted anger, but this Byakko was inside Atsushi right now, and Yukichi didn’t want to know what could happen if Atsushi started shouting at him. “Aren’t you the tiger?” He steered the conversation away.
I am a tiger, but I am not Atsushi’s tiger. His ability to shapeshift has always been his since I gave it to him. There was only one time I truly ever took over his body.
“When was this?” Atsushi snarled.
You weren’t the one who killed Shibusawa the first time around. It was me. You had no means to do it when your soul was forcefully taken away from your body.
Atsushi… what? The first time around?
Let me introduce myself again. I am Byakko, The White Tiger of the West, King of Beast, He Who Watched Over Balance. You humans sure love your monikers.
Apparently, Atsushi hadn’t been going insane. His ability was, however.
Don’t reject me again, now. It’s a bother not being able to talk to you.
The Director who was sitting in front of him on the floor was looking at him with curiosity before he turned to Kyouka. “Kyouka, I’m sorry, but can you step outside for a moment?” then he quickly added, “Give us some time to talk privately.”
Ah, so he didn’t want Kyouka to listen in. This was going to be a fun conversation.
Kyouka hesitated with a frown but nodded nonetheless. She gave one last glance and an awkward thumb up at Atsushi before exiting the room and closing the door. Atsushi took a staggered breath as his anxiety flared up, only to be gently pushed down by All Men Are Equal. He never truly paid attention before, but the Director did a lot for his panic attacks, didn’t he?
“Atsushi.” He started gently. “Let me preface this by saying that this question is not meant to be an attack on you, nor it is about judging your past. I simply wanted to know what exactly happened between you and Shibusawa before the Dead Apple incident, so I can understand the situation between you and Byakko better.”
Atsushi nodded, and his head stayed down as he relayed the story. “It was something I only remembered recently. I think it was back before I started transforming involuntarily… Shibusawa visited my orphanage as a researcher, and singled me out from the rest because he recognized I have an ability, I guess. He was...” He spat, “Nice to me.”
“And it was nice, for a long time. The orphanage was shit even before the Headmaster knew I have an ability, so I latched onto him and listened to every single bullshit he uttered. Told me I was special and saw nothing wrong when he asked me to sit on what was clearly an electric chair. Fucking idiot.”
The Director reached out and squeezed his hand gently, bringing him back from his spiraling self-loathing. Oh god Atsushi wanted to cry.
“And he-- uh- he started electrocuting me.” But he was trying, trying so hard not to sob, to be coherent. But-- but the Director soothed him, his ability telling Atsushi it was alright to cry-- so he did. “And it was-- apparently it was to mature my ability, because, uh, because people under the threat of death would-- uh-”
“It was painful.”
Atsushi folded into the Director’s embrace, clinging at the man’s kimono desperately as he cried on Fukuzawa’s knees, his wailing was muffled when Fukuzawa leaned closer to hug him tighter. “It was awful , he took my ability and-- and-”
Wait.
Wait, that didn’t make sense.
Atsushi let go of Fukuzawa’s thighs to look up to him. “How did I transform if he took my ability away?”
Because. Byakko spoke once more. It was me.
“No, no, no, that STILL doesn’t make sense. Even if you are a god like you said you are, then what did he take from me?!”
Your soul.
“Bullshit.”
You’ve seen the man revived, yet the concept of soul is still bullshit to you?
“Oh, so you know what’s going on with his ability, is that it?”
Yes. He is, after all, Kohryu’s Champion. That dragon was trying to cover up his bad decision of choosing that man to be given his boon by reviving him over and over again.
“What? That sounds so petty…”
It is. I’m sure right now Suzaku is making fun of him.
“Shibusawa-- he hurt people! Over and over again just to relieve his boredom! What kind of god would let someone like that walk free unrestrained?! Shouldn’t there be karma over this?”
Not for gods, no. That punishment is unfortunately reserved only towards mortals.
“Wha--.”
We, gods, are unfair creatures.
Atsushi was stunned into silence as he once again locked gaze with the Director. Fukuzawa too had a similar expression on his face. “Well… that was… illuminating.”
“Do you think he’s telling the truth? Do you think he really is a god?” Atsushi asked in a hushed whisper.
“...he didn’t seem to be lying, or have any reason to lie.”
And if the Director said so, then it must be true, because his ability helped him see through lies inside people’s hearts…. and right now he’s looking deep inside.
Byakko seemed-- felt satisfied by the acceptance.
“Why me?” He asked the tiger god.
You’re a perfect fit to be my vessel.
“So it’s my body?”
No, not only that. If it was only your body, then I wouldn’t bother sticking around. As I said before, we gods are unfair creatures, because the concept of sin cannot be applied to us. And so, the only way for us to learn what is good or bad for mortals, is to be a mortal. You are my moral compass, Nakajima Atsushi.
|
Nothing feels different in the morning, or when Chanyeol calls for them the following evening. Nothing is different, save for a vague feeling Xiumin has that something has shifted, though he couldn't say what. In any case, the feeling fades by the time Chanyeol is done with them, and it's all but forgotten the following morning, the remnants easily shrugged off. The life of a toy is, by and large, a simple one, and there's no need to think too hard about it.
Chanyeol calls for them again that night, and the next morning, he sets off on another trip. Life is more interesting with Chanyeol around, but it's more relaxing when there's only Xiumin and Luhan and some servants in the house. In the weeks since Chanyeol's previous trip, Xiumin and Luhan have gotten to know each other better, gotten closer, and so it feels even more relaxing passing the week together.
"I feel a little spoiled," Luhan says in the afternoon of the second day, "having nothing I need to do." He and Xiumin have piled up all their cushions to make a comfortable little nest, and they lie down next to each other. Luhan scoots close and fidgets around, looking for a good position, until he puts one arm around Xiumin and rests the spine of the book they're planning to read between their legs. It's a little strange to Xiumin, having Luhan or anyone else touch him outside of bed, but Luhan does it enough that he's getting used to it. There's no real reason not to, so he hasn't felt the need to resist.
"Just enjoy it while you can," Xiumin says, although he feels the same, "and feel lucky."
"Oh, I do." Luhan turns, and Xiumin can see his bright smile up close.
Chanyeol returns after four days. He looks tired when Xiumin and Luhan come to his bedroom, but he smiles at them. "You're looking very well rested," he says.
"Yes, thank you, master," Luhan says.
"Did you have a pleasant trip?" Xiumin asks.
"Yes, it was all right," Chanyeol says, "only busy. I'm glad to be home with a chance to rest."
"Do you intend to rest now, master?" Luhan asks coyly, earning a laugh from Chanyeol.
"I wouldn't have called you here if I did, would I? But I'll let you two do the hard work today." He considers. "Take off your clothes while I think about what I want." That doesn't take long since they're both wearing robes, but Chanyeol continues thinking, looking them up and down. "Come here, Xiumin," he says after a while. "I have an idea."
"Yes, master." Xiumin climbs onto the bed and approaches Chanyeol.
When he gets to Chanyeol's lap, Chanyeol strokes a hand down his cheek, then fluffs his hair in front, where it's getting long and falling into his eyes. "You look so young and cute when you're not dressed up." Xiumin isn't sure of the appropriate response to that, so he only smiles shyly. Chanyeol laughs and gives him a kiss, then pushes him back with a hand in the middle of his chest. "Get on your hands and knees," he orders. "Facing this way."
Xiumin does as he's told, looking up and waiting for Chanyeol to tell him what to do next. He turns his attention to Luhan instead, saying, "Luhan, get behind him. Do you know how to use your mouth like this?"
"Yes, master." The bed shifts as Luhan settles behind Xiumin.
"Good," Chanyeol says. "Then do it until I tell you to stop." He grins. "Which will probably be a while."
Luhan's hands come to rest on Xiumin's lower back, pushing lightly to indicate that Xiumin should move down. He does, sitting back on heels, looking up at Chanyeol to make sure he has no objection. Luhan's hands slide lower, spreading Xiumin open, and then his mouth lands between them. At first, it's just a light brush of lips on skin, but then Xiumin feels Luhan's tongue on him, warm and wet. He shivers when Luhan's tongue circles his rim and then drags roughly across it.
Although Chanyeol didn't tell them to go slowly this time, Luhan does, gradually working Xiumin open with his tongue, pausing occasionally to press his whole mouth to Xiumin's skin. Xiumin has had this done to him by other toys during training, but never for long, and it makes a big difference. It takes longer for the pleasure to build than with fingers, but it's more intense when it does, spreading out like a tingling warmth over Xiumin's skin as his body grows more and more sensitive to Luhan's touch. His cock grows hard against his stomach and his legs automatically spread wider, wanting to provide better access as Luhan's tongue pushes deeper.
They continue for a long time, Luhan sending tremors of pleasure through Xiumin with flicks of his tongue and the eager press of his mouth. He uses two fingers to stretch Xiumin open so his tongue can dip in farther and curl all around the sensitive entrance and Xiumin whines and moans and shakes. Luhan's mouth must be getting tired, but he doesn't let up, teasing Xiumin with light licks and then deep plunges, a mix of different sensations that leaves Xiumin feeling gloriously overwhelmed.
"I wonder if you could come like this." Xiumin's so focused on the work of Luhan's mouth that he jumps at the sound of Chanyeol's voice, and their master chuckles. He struggles to raise his head and sees Chanyeol touching himself as he watches. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you, Xiumin?"
"Yes, master." Luhan's tongue presses hard over Xiumin's rim and his voice breaks on the second word. He does feel like he could come from this eventually, with his cock trapped against his stomach and Luhan's mouth driving him crazy.
"If you feel ready to come, don't hold back," Chanyeol says. "Let's see if we get there."
Luhan redoubles his efforts and Xiumin shudders and clutches at the bedsheets to ground himself. Now that he's been given permission to let go, everything feels that much more intense, his whole body drawing tight in anticipation of release. Luhan licks and sucks and stretches and Xiumin moans desperately. He rocks into it almost unconsciously, rubbing his cock against his thigh, and that tips him over the edge, pleasure exploding along every nerve as Luhan's tongue pushes him through an orgasm that seems to go on and on and on.
When Xiumin goes still, Luhan starts to move, but Chanyeol says, "Don't stop yet." Luhan obeys immediately, and Xiumin groans and fights the urge to pull away. It doesn't feel bad exactly, but he's so sensitive now that it's a torturous kind of pleasure. Tears spring into his eyes as Luhan's tongue keeps moving, turning him into jelly.
He's relieved but almost a little disappointed when Chanyeol says, "Okay, you can stop." Luhan's mouth leaves him and he goes limp, feeling cold. "Don't fall asleep now," Chanyeol says. "You're not done yet."
Xiumin reluctantly lifts his head to see Chanyeol holding out the bottle of oil to Luhan, and just the sight is enough to send a shiver of anticipation through him, though he's not sure if it's good or bad anticipation. "Make it quick," Chanyeol says, "but not too quick. Xiumin, turn over."
Xiumin rolls onto his back and swipes at the tears lingering in his eyes. Luhan is already slicking up his fingers while Chanyeol decides it's finally time to take his clothes off. Luhan waits until he's finished to start preparing Xiumin. The first finger slides in much more easily than usual, but Xiumin squirms, so sensitive in the wake of his orgasm that it's hard to differentiate between pleasure and discomfort.
As Chanyeol asked, Luhan builds up quickly, though Xiumin thinks he's trying not to overdo it. Xiumin could hold back his reaction, but Chanyeol is watching him and seeming to enjoy the sight, so he doesn't restrain himself, writhing around and moaning and occasionally whimpering when Luhan's fingers curl inside of him and his body seems to think that it's almost ready for round two.
That might be asking a bit much, but it does start to feel better as Luhan works up to three fingers, the oversensitivity fading into just regular sensitivity and the pleasure starting to build again. Everything feels heightened, so much so that Xiumin's not sure he could hold back his reaction if he wanted to at this point. Luhan's so good with his fingers, and he's not going easy anymore, pumping them in and out and twisting and turning inside.
Despite his initial demand that they go quickly, Chanyeol doesn't rush them. Xiumin can't see him in his current position, but he sees Luhan's gaze occasionally flicking over to where Chanyeol is sitting, confirming that he's doing okay. Whatever he sees, it seems to convince him that he should continue, which he does for so long that Xiumin's cock starts to stir again, just barely. He hears a choked laugh from Chanyeol and feels Luhan carefully aiming his fingers to encourage the greatest possible reaction from Xiumin's body.
Chanyeol only allows him another fifteen seconds of that before he says, "Time to stop. Get up, Xiumin." With some difficulty, Xiumin obeys, getting up on his knees and turning to face Chanyeol to se what he wants. Chanyeol gestures for him to come closer, but holds up a hand to stop him from moving too close. "Stay there. On your hands and knees again."
Curious, Xiumin kneels with his hands between Chanyeol's spread legs and his head aligned with Chanyeol's knees. "You come here too, Luhan," Chanyeol says. "It's still your show." Xiumin is surprised but not displeased, remembering how good it felt with Luhan last week. He can't see Luhan's reaction, but he suspects the other toy is pleased and hoping it won't end in frustration for him like last week.
It feels a little strange with Chanyeol right in front of him, but if this is what he wants, Xiumin isn't going to complain. He waits while Luhan moves in behind him and then presses into him unexpectedly slowly. Because it's Luhan rather than Chanyeol and because he's had such a long time to get ready for it, it doesn't hurt. It feels good to have the extra stretch and deep reach of a cock inside of him, rubbing all around. He sighs at the pleasure of it and feels his cock start to harden in earnest.
Luhan rocks into him steadily, since Chanyeol hasn't said otherwise, easing in deeper and deeper. Xiumin is more relaxed than last time, since he's already come once, able to enjoy the feeling of Luhan fucking him without being too strung out. He is getting wound up again, though, and it feels like it's building on the first round so that everything is more intense from the start, his whole body buzzing with it.
By the time he's fully hard, Xiumin has all but forgotten Chanyeol's presence again. He shouldn't, but it's too easy to get carried away with Luhan pumping into him and his whole body revving back up as if it never stopped. It's probably all right, since it seems that Chanyeol likes to see him fall apart, and falling apart he is, bit by bit, his arms and legs trembling underneath him
And then Chanyeol suddenly groans, "Xiumin," and he and Luhan both freeze. Luhan starts to pull out, but Chanyeol says, "No, no, wait. Just come closer." Bemused, Xiumin scoots forward, Luhan awkwardly following him. He understands only when Chanyeol pushes on the back of his neck, guiding Xiumin toward his cock. "You can do it, right?"
He doesn't really wait for an answer, using both hands to bring Xiumin and his cock together, but it's not as if Xiumin would say no. He opens his mouth and swallows Chanyeol down, trying not to choke when Luhan resumes moving. Tears well in his eyes again, but he's worked up enough now for it to distract him. Chanyeol says something that doesn't register as words, but Xiumin finds out what it was when Luhan starts to touch him, and after that he's lost, moaning around Chanyeol's cock as he sways helplessly between them.
Chanyeol's the first to finish, pushing Xiumin back and holding him up by the chin so he can decorate Xiumin's face with his release. When he lets go, Xiumin falls forward, head in the crease of Chanyeol's thigh as Luhan pounds into him like he's desperately trying to finish before Chanyeol stops them. Chanyeol seems to have no intention of doing so, patting Xiumin on the shoulder and then leaving him be. Luhan ends up coming next, but he strokes so furiously that Xiumin follows right after, his orgasm hitting him harder than he expects and shuddering blissfully through him.
When it fades, Xiumin knows he should get up from where he's slumped against Chanyeol's leg, but all the energy has drained from his limbs. Chanyeol says something and pats his shoulder again, and Xiumin struggles to roll over so he can at least look up at his master. "Help him out, Luhan," Chanyeol says.
Luhan's idea of help is, after picking up their discarded robes, scooping Xiumin into his arms and carrying him out the door and over to their room. "Sorry to make you do all the work," Xiumin mumbles and Luhan deposits him onto the bed.
"It's all right," Luhan says, sounding like he means it. He brushes Xiumin's hair off his face with a chuckle, making Xiumin wonder what he looks like. "I think he really enjoys making a mess of you. You sell that fragile, innocent, mess-me-up-good look too well."
"Many years of training."
Luhan laughs at that. When Xiumin tries to get up so he can clean up a little before sleeping, Luhan says, "No, no, relax. Wait a second." He walks across the room and returns with a wet towel, kneeling next to their mattress to carefully wipe Xiumin's face clean. There's a little smile on his lips and Xiumin wonders, inanely, how Luhan would react if he leaned forward to kiss it off. He doesn't, of course, just closes his eyes and lets Luhan gently clean him up.
"Thank you," he murmurs when Luhan is done.
"You're welcome," Luhan answers softly. Then, "Now go ahead and get some rest." He gets to his feet and crosses the room again, perhaps to clean himself up. Xiumin is asleep before he comes back.
Chanyeol spends the next day resting after his trip, and so Luhan and Xiumin are also able to sleep in and recover from the previous night's excitement, and spend another leisurely day, aside from a short visit to Chanyeol's room in the evening. The next day, though, a servant wakes them earlier than usual. "Lord Chanyeol asks that we dress you to go into the city today," he informs them.
Xiumin is surprised by the announcement, and he sees the same emotion on Luhan's face. They've been with Chanyeol some six weeks now, and aside from parties at the houses of various lords and ladies, he's never taken them out into the city. That means that neither Xiumin nor Luhan have been out into the city, since toys in training are rarely allowed out of their houses at all. It's an exciting prospect, though Xiumin is wary since he doesn't yet know why they're going.
They're dressed nicely, but less elaborately than for parties, more like when Lord Baekhyun and Chen came over for dinner. That makes Xiumin's wariness fade, since there's no reason for Chanyeol to dress them up if he's going to take them back to their houses or do something else bad. (There was probably no need for wariness in the first place; Xiumin has no reason to believe that Chanyeol is displeased with them or feels he no longer needs them.)
Riding in the carriage the way they usually do for parties doesn't seem like anything special, though they've never done it so early in the day, but when they get out, instead of being at some noble's house, they're in the city center. There are people bustling around, and some glance at them briefly, but a nobleman, even accompanied by two toys, is probably an unremarkable sight here. On the other hand, for Xiumin and Luhan, everything around them is remarkable.
Luhan is looking around with wide eyes, an exaggerated version of his behavior at their first party, since there's more to see and less reason to play it cool. Xiumin still tries to restrain himself, but he can't help being curious. What strikes him first of all is just how big the city is, though he's only seeing a small portion of it. There's one shop after another, elegant looking places nothing like the tiny, often run-down stores he remembers from his hometown, including the one his parents operated. There are other buildings too, some restaurants and what he assumes are houses, judging by the gates around them.
Chanyeol's laugh startles him out of taking in the scenery. "Look at you, like a couple of kids. I would've brought you out sooner if I knew you'd enjoy it this much."
"Thank you, master, you're very kind," Luhan says, indeed sounding as excited as a child. "May I ask where we're going?"
"We're going shopping, of course," Chanyeol says cheerfully. "For jewelry, mainly, but there's also a clothing store I'd like to take you to."
Xiumin doesn't know why they need to go to a clothing store when Chanyeol already has a tailor making them one new outfit after another, but it's Chanyeol's money they're spending, so he can do as he pleases. Xiumin is just happy to be doing something different and interesting. Luhan's company keeps him from getting too bored most days, but his life is very much lacking in variety. It's nice to get out and breathe the fresh air (if it can be called that with the various smells of the city) and see people besides Luhan and Chanyeol and the servants and the same nobles and toys at every party.
The first jewelry store Chanyeol takes them to is small, but in a way that makes it seem exclusive rather than lacking anything. A well dressed woman comes up to the display and asks, "How may I help you, sir?" The question is addressed only to Chanyeol, since it's clear that he's the owner and Xiumin and Luhan the toys.
"I'd like to buy my toys some jewelry," Chanyeol declares, though that seems rather obvious. "I don't have anything in particular in mind, but I was hoping to have them try some things on and see what looks good."
"Is there anything here that suits your taste?" the woman asks, gesturing at the display. "We also have more things I can bring out, and we do custom pieces if you prefer."
Chanyeol studies the selection for not very long before he chooses two bracelets, one silver and one gold, both studded with purple gemstones. They're a little gaudy to Xiumin's eyes, but gaudy jewelry is quite common for toys; anything to grab attention and show of their masters' and mistresses' wealth. Chanyeol gives the gold bracelet to Xiumin and the silver to Luhan. Xiumin slides it onto his right wrist, where it hangs almost comically large, sliding as far down as the base of his thumb.
Chanyeol chuckles at his plight, and Luhan smiles. "Perhaps a smaller size for Xiumin here, if you have anything."
"Yes, of course." Xiumin slips the bracelet off easily, and the woman offers him a similar bracelet with turquoise gemstones instead of purple.
In the meantime, Chanyeol takes Luhan's hand so he can study the bracelet on his wrist. "It suits you, don't you think? Very delicate."
"Thank you, master." Luhan looks at the bracelet, then over at Xiumin, as if wanting his approval too. Xiumin flashes him a small smile. The bracelet does look good, the silver and pale purple nice against his skin, but it hardly matters what Xiumin thinks of it.
Satisfied, Chanyeol turns his attention to Xiumin again. "Ah, that's much better." This bracelet fits more snugly on Xiumin's wrist, though the turquoise stones make it look even gaudier than the purple. "Hm, it is nice, but I'd love to have you two match. Do you have anything more similar to that?" He gestures at Luhan's bracelet.
The woman finds them a bracelet identical to Luhan's in Xiumin's size, and Chanyeol smiles approvingly when he tries it on. "Yes, yes, there we are. I like it."
"It's very nice," Luhan chips in, unprompted. He catches himself and looks embarrassed, but Chanyeol only smiles wider.
"I'm glad you agree." He brings Luhan and Xiumin's hands together so their wrists are side by side and nods. "Excellent. We'll take these two."
Chanyeol takes them to two more jewelry stores, where they acquire several more bracelets, a necklace that looks good on both Luhan and Xiumin, and a choker for each of them. Minseok doesn't care much, one way or another, about shopping, but he enjoys walking around and seeing different stores, and what he can see of the city in between. It's nice, too, to interact with Luhan and especially Chanyeol in a different context. It's still rare for Xiumin and Luhan to spend time with their master outside of parties or the bedroom, and Xiumin doesn't know if he likes it, but it's a refreshing change.
Their last stop is a clothing shop, where Chanyeol explains, "Of course I can have outfits made for you, but I thought this would be a good way to try on a variety of clothes and get an idea of what looks good on you."
They try on so many outfits that Xiumin loses track, modeling them for Chanyeol. Xiumin suspects that this shop isn't used to customers of Chanyeol's status, given how the attendants fuss over them, so much so that Chanyeol finally gets exasperated and waves them off. "We're all right. They can help each other dress."
That's how Xiumin ends up in the changing area with Luhan helping him into an outfit more complicated than what toys normally wear, a silky black number with dangling pieces meant to wrap around the arms. Luhan carefully crisscrosses the pieces over each other on Xiumin's right arm, so intent on his work that it makes Xiumin smile.
Luhan doesn’t notice until he finishes tying the straps at Xiumin's wrist and looks up. "What?" he asks, flustered by the attention, which makes Xiumin smile more.
"Nothing."
Luhan doesn't look convinced, but he moves to Xiumin's left arm to repeat the process. Xiumin watches, absently noting what nice hands Luhan has. His mind wanders to what those hands have done to him, and he feels a touch of heat in his cheeks. Now is not the time to be thinking those thoughts. Thankfully, Luhan finishes a moment later, declaring, "There. Finished." He takes a step back to admire his work. "You look nice. Not quite as innocent as usual, but I don't think that's such a bad thing."
"I'm not sure our master will agree."
There's a shift in Luhan's expression at those words, so small Xiumin's not sure he didn't imagine it. In any case, then Luhan smiles. "Let's find out."
Sure enough, Chanyeol looks skeptical when Xiumin shows him the clothes. "I don't know if it suits you. Perhaps something like this might be better on Luhan..."
They don't have the same outfit in Luhan's size, but Xiumin helps him put on a different one in the same black fabric, draped to show off a tantalizing amount of one leg. Xiumin's not surprised that Chanyeol appreciates this one more, and he has to agree. The black makes Luhan look pale and delicate, but his strong leg looks anything but, offering a nice contrast. Xiumin smiles to himself, remembering how it made him nervous at the beginning, seeing how Luhan look so beautiful. He's no longer threatened, only appreciates the sight as he listens to Chanyeol rave.
In the end, they leave with five outfits between the two of them and some ideas to give Chanyeol's tailor for others. Chanyeol takes them to eat, and then takes them home to his bed for a leisurely round of sex. Xiumin and Luhan return to their room when they're finished, content to collapse on their bed after all the activity. "That was fun, wasn't it?" Luhan says.
"It was," Xiumin agrees.
"I'm glad we got to see the city," Luhan adds. "And..." He trails off, and Xiumin turns to look at him curiously. "I had a nice time, that's all." He smiles, and Xiumin easily smiles back.
"Me too."
It becomes a habit for Chanyeol to have Xiumin and Luhan "put on a show" for him, not every night, but often. Xiumin doesn't mind, because Luhan makes him feel better than Chanyeol does (partly because he's a trained toy, partly because he's not so big, and partly because he's not selfish in the way a master is entitled to be), but it surprises him that Chanyeol is happy watching. More often than not, it ends in Chanyeol fucking him, or else one or both of them blowing Chanyeol, but Xiumin and Luhan are both able to enjoy themselves more like this.
What also becomes a habit, soon enough, is Luhan and Xiumin finishing each other off on those days when Chanyeol forgets or simply doesn't care that they haven't come. It's usually Luhan who's left hanging, and after his initial uncertainty, he doesn't hesitate to let Xiumin make him come with his hands or mouth. Xiumin quickly learns the best way to accomplish that, and usually Luhan is so worked up already that it's only a matter of moments to get him off.
"You two are looking happy," Chen teases them at a party some two weeks into this new trend. "Lord Chanyeol keeping you satisfied?" He winks knowingly, not because he knows about Chanyeol but because he knows they won't answer him in more than the vaguest terms. It's become something of a running joke between them, Xiumin and Luhan's unwillingness to share anything about their sex life. (Chen, on the other hand, has abandoned all restraint and tells them about what he and Baekhyun get up to in a gleeful amount of detail.)
"Quite," Luhan answers, grinning.
Chen laughs, but then he turns a little more serious. "Truthfully, though, you do look happy. I'm glad you've settled in so well. Don't they seem well?" If it were Lay he was addressing, he'd get a reasonably enthusiastic response, but Lay is walking the room with his master, and it's Kai sitting with them. He only nods mutely, and Xiumin wonders if he's even listening to what they're saying, let alone caring.
"We're good, yes," Luhan says dryly. "I'm not sure why you care so much."
"You're my friends, aren't you? I'm glad to see my friends happy." Chen's smile doesn't waver and his tone stays light, but there's something serious in his eyes as he says, "It's rarer than you might think to see a toy not just content but truly happy. It's good to appreciate it."
Xiumin hasn't spent as much time with as many toys as Chen, but thinking of Kai and some of the other toys he's met, he can believe it. He's grateful to have a decent master and a good companion like Luhan, who makes everything so much better than it would be if he was alone. "We do appreciate it," he says, and Luhan leans closer to him. Xiumin doesn't want to dwell on the moment, so he turns it around with a teasing, "And what about you? Are you happy?"
"Oh, always." Chen says it jokingly, but it does seem truthful. "I've decided to find the happiness in my circumstances, and so I am. And they're not such bad circumstances, are they?"
"You tell me," Luhan says. "I hear your master pleases you."
That gets a loud laugh from Chen. "That he does." He spares them the details this time, only grinning smugly.
That night, after their usual afterparty with Chanyeol, Luhan asks, "Do you think Chen was right to say we look happy? It's not something I've ever given much thought to, but I suppose I am, now that I do think about it."
Xiumin smiles. "I haven't thought about it either, but if we look happy when we're not trying to, we must be, right?" He's not sure what could have changed so much in recent weeks to make him look so obviously happy, but he is relaxed and content, and that's enough. If he is happy, well, he's a very lucky toy.
"I guess so," Luhan agrees. He pulls the blankets up over both of them. "It's cold, isn't it?"
"It is." Xiumin is more sensitive to the cold, but their room is snug and the blankets are warm.
"Come here." Luhan reaches for him, and although Xiumin suspects it's more because Luhan likes to sleep close together than because he's worried about Xiumin being cold, he goes without protest. He is warmer in Luhan's arms, and as he drifts off to sleep like that, he does feel happy, he thinks. |
Hitoshi’s move to the Hero Course didn’t feel official at the end of the joint training exercise they had him do with classes 1A and 1B, which they later revealed had been a test, one he had passed. It didn’t feel certain when he started taking classes with Class 1A; nor when they added him to the class group chat, which he muted immediately (he still had no idea how they’d gotten his number); or when various of his new classmates (aka Midoriya and Kaminari) had started trying to talk to him or invite him to do things, activities Hitoshi always declined.
The finalization of his transfer, the moment that finally had him breathe out in relief and tell himself that he had done it, came when Aizawa-sensei informed him his room in Class 1A’s dorms was ready, and that he was to move there as soon as possible.
Hitoshi had had his room in the class 1C dorm, though he hadn’t done much to personalize it. The teachers had started considering transferring him around the time all the students had first moved into the dorms, and he hadn’t wanted to get too attached to this room or do anything that would make an eventual move more of a hassle than it already was.
Aizawa-sensei showed him to the room, at the end of the hall on the first floor. Hitoshi knew the room had belonged to another student previously, Minoru Mineta, who had been expelled for repeated inappropriate behaviour towards girls. That had made him a little uncomfortable, but at least he didn’t have to walk up three flights of stairs to get to his bedroom like some students did.
His being on the first floor hadn’t stopped Kirishima, Kaminari and Midoriya from offering to help him carry his bags up and not taking no for an answer.
Kaminari probably wanted to help because he’d decided he was Hitoshi’s friend after the joint training program, Kirishima because he probably thought it was manly to help Hitoshi carry his things and Midoriya because...who knew honestly.
At least it had saved him a few trips.
His first look at his new room revealed an ordinary space, so his worries about the room’s previous occupant were probably unfounded. It had the same muted gray walls, bed, plain curtains, and a desk and chair.
Aizawa-sensei gave him the rundown of the dorm rules, most of which Hitoshi already knew from the Class 1C dorms.
“Feel free to customize your room as you want.” Aizawa-sensei finished. “We won’t be able to accommodate any drastic changes, however. Your classmates put requests in when everyone first moved in and the construction team saw to them, but I’m afraid we can’t call them back in just for you.”
That was fine. Hitoshi didn’t really plan on changing much, anyway. He could usually make do with whatever he was given. God knew he’d had worse bedrooms during the years he’d spent in foster care. The fact that he had a whole room for himself, a nice bed, desk, and a small balcony was far more than he’d been given in the past.
However, if it was possible, there was one thing he did want to change. He might as well ask about it now.
Hitoshi eyed the drab walls with distaste.
“Can I paint the walls?”
Aizawa-sensei shrugged. “You can do what you want.”
Hitoshi concluded that Aizawa-sensei really did not give a fuck about what they did to their rooms as long as they stayed in one piece.
Hitoshi knew that joining the Hero Course class would leave him at a disadvantage at first, and he had been prepared for that, but he hadn’t realized room decor would be included in that disadvantage. Oh well.
He’d just have to do it himself.
He’d never painted a room before, but it couldn’t be that hard. It would take him some time and his room would probably be a bit of a mess for at least a few days, but well, might as well do it now when all his stuff was still packed in the bags Kirishima, Kaminari and Midoriya had left at the door than later on when he’d have settled in more.
“Hello!”
Midoriya poked his head out of the room next to him.
Speak of the devil.
Hitoshi had mixed feelings about being next to Midoriya.
It was a mixture of wariness at the fact that Midoriya kept inviting him to eat lunch with him and his friends and trying to talk to him in class, a feat made easier by the fact that Hitoshi’s desk happened to be right behind Midoriya’s. Not to mention a frankly baffling passing comment (warning??) from Todoroki about Midoriya, telling Hitoshi he’d be making friends “whether he liked it or not”.
And now Hitoshi had come face to face with the devil himself.
Said devil being Hitoshi’s enthusiastic new neighbor telling him how glad he was that he was here.
“-not that I didn’t like Mineta I mean I didn’t but like, you know, Mineta, the guy was a pervert honestly so thank god you’re here instead, right?”
Midoriya was rambling.
Hitoshi was curious about what Mineta had done and figured that hell, if Midoriya was so keen to talking to him Hitoshi might as well take the opportunity to get information out of him.
“What exactly did Mineta do?”
Midoriya made a face. “I’d rather not talk about the last thing he did that made Aizawa-sensei finally expel him, but the guy was super gross towards the girls.”
Fair enough. Hitoshi wasn’t going to ask further questions about it.
“Anyway.” Midoriya began. “Do you need help moving in or anything?”
“...no.” Hitoshi said.
“Okay! Just tell me if you need anything. Also I couldn’t help but hear that you’re going to paint your room?? That’s really cool, I hadn’t thought about doing that with mine. What color?”
Hitoshi eyed Midoriya with a healthy amount of suspicion.
Midoriya had gone into his room after he’d dropped off the bags while Kirishima and Kaminari had headed off almost right away after Bakugo had yelled after him.
Hitoshi couldn’t even accuse him of eavesdropping, he didn’t doubt you could hear through the walls easily enough. He knew he had had to listen to the boy in the room next to him make noise all night back in the class 1C dorm. And Midoriya seemed to like finding topics to engage Hitoshi in conversation.
“I’m not sure yet.” he said finally.
“I can help you paint it!”
“Do you even know how to paint a room?”
“Do you?” Midoriya countered.
“It can’t be that hard.”
“It’ll take half the time if we’re in two.” Midoriya said, hopefully.
He had a point.
Hitoshi had spent so much time trying to figure out exactly why Midoriya was so eager to talk to him, but had concluded that it was probably just how he was. He was dizzyingly cheerful and upbeat.
So there was a good chance he was being genuine about this, and it wasn’t some kind of sick dare. But still.
“Whatever. Bye.” he said flatly, closing the door to his room.
Midoriya seemed unbothered, saying goodbye and retreating to his own room.
Hitoshi headed to an interior design store to look at paint.
“Shinsou look, they have the coolest lamps.”
Or well, Hitoshi and Midoriya ended up going to the store to look at paint.
When Hitoshi had gone to ask Aizawa-sensei for permission, Aizawa-sensei had told him he couldn’t go alone for “safety reasons”, and had to take a classmate with him. And who was Hitoshi supposed to ask?
He didn’t know anyone in his new class well, but most people in his old class didn’t like him much either, either because he’d transferred to the Hero Course or because he’d been smug about it.
So it had to be someone in Class 1A, and Midoriya already knew he wanted to paint his room anyway. He’d come to pass Hitoshi a folder of notes he’d taken to help him catch up in the classes he hadn’t had as a General Studies student, because as much as Hitoshi didn’t want to accept anyone’s help, he’d figured that screw it, if he wanted to catch up to his classmates, especially given how much farther ahead they were in the physical part of their training, he’d need to swallow his pride and accept a little help.
So before Midoriya could leave, Hitoshi had looked him in the eye and stated.
“I’m not allowed to leave school grounds by myself to go buy paint.”
Of course, Midoriya had brightened and offered to accompany him.
Hence, him being here.
Hitoshi was as enthusiastic about this as Aizawa-sensei had been when he’d found out exactly which classmate he’d picked. Even Hitoshi knew about Midoriya’s trouble making reputation, which really did not fit his personality if he was being honest, but it did make him a little bitter, because of course the kid with the flashy quirk could get in trouble over and over and not be expelled.
But trouble maker or not, Midoriya was a classmate of his, so they’d been given permission.
The store was filled mostly with young couples looking to buy paint for their new homes, so he and Midoriya stuck out like a sore thumb.
Hitoshi browsed through a few colors while Midoriya flitted around the store, looking at one thing or the other.
He didn’t want anything flashy or anything too dark, and ended up picking a neutral blue tone.
“Ooh, nice color!” Midoriya said when he rejoined him. “Though I’ll be honest, I thought you would go for purple.”
“Because of my hair?” Hitoshi asked dryly.
Midoriya scratched the back of his head, looking sheepish.
“Honestly, yea.”
“Would you paint your room green?” Hitoshi retorted, trying make a point.
“Probably. I like green.” Midoriya replied agreeably.
Well that was convenient.
They then ran into problem number one, aka: Hitoshi had no idea how much paint to actually buy.
Eyeballing cans of paint and estimating how much surface area they could cover had not been something he’d ever covered in either his General Studies nor his new Hero Course classes.
Midoriya suggested asking an assistant for help.
Hitoshi told him to ask.
Midoriya pointed out that this was for Hitoshi’s room.
Which was fair.
But Hitoshi had an extrovert here and he wasn’t afraid to use him. “You insisted on coming.”
Midoriya asked. The assistant told them it depended on how big the room was.
Which like, fucking duh.
Enter problem number two, which was directly correlated to problem number one.
Neither of them knew how big the dorm rooms were. Attempting to explain it through gesticulating (and with no concrete units of measurement) only left everyone involved confused.
“Eight liters of paint cover up to about seventy five square meters, which is enough to cover an average size room.” The assistant offered. She quirked an eyebrow at them and asked if that helped them at all.
“Are our dorm rooms bigger or smaller than an average room?” Hitoshi asked.
Midoriya shrugged.
This was going well.
They ended up buying one five liter can of the blue paint.
Also because the store was on the verge of closing and Hitoshi had been discussing dorm room sizes with Midoriya here in the doorknob aisle for an uncomfortably long amount of time and getting nowhere.
“I still think that ‘you can fit at least five Porta Potties in it’ is a good unit of measurement for a room.” Midoriya insisted.
Hitoshi prayed the paint would be enough, if only to avoid a second trip here and other Porta Potty related conversations.
Between catching up on schoolwork (Midoriya’s notes really did help) and adjusting to his life in the new dorms, it was a few days before they actually started painting.
And okay, so despite what had gone down at the home decor store, Hitoshi did know some stuff about painting a room. He knew you had to put down tape to keep clean lines and that you had to line the floor with newspapers and all that shit.
So that was what they did before pulling out the paint, rollers and brushes they’d bought along with the paint.
They had been painting for twenty minutes before Midoriya stopped and took a look around.
“Wait.” He said. “Are we supposed to do something about the furniture?”
Whoops.
Painting had to take a temporary break while Hitoshi and Midoriya tried to figure out what to do with the furniture.
There wasn't enough room in the hallway, and they couldn't just dump everything there anyway. There were also no vacant rooms on their floor like there were on the top two floors, Tokoyami and Aoyama occupying the other two.
“We could shove everything into Tokoyami’s room and hope he doesn’t notice.” Midoriya proposed. “It’s pretty dark in there.”
That startled a laugh out of Hitoshi.
“Or in Aoyama’s. With all the time he probably spends looking at himself in the mirror, you could probably shove a bed or two in there and he wouldn’t notice.”
Midoriya gave him an odd look. “How do you know he has a lot of mirrors?”
“I don’t? But I figured he’d have at least one. As most people do. Why do you know he has a lot of mirrors?”
Midoriya reddened.
“It’s nothing, we did a tour of all the rooms when we first moved in here.”
Ah well, Hitoshi was glad he’d avoided that by joining them late, at the very least. His room didn’t have anything private or embarrassing but that didn’t mean he wanted the whole class snooping in here.
Midoriya gave the door a considering look.
“How are we going to get the bed out of the door, anyway?”
That was another very good question.
“At this point we’re better off just moving everything to the middle of the room.”
“I think there’s a class 1B student who can change the size of things? Kodai Yui” Midoriya said.
We are not getting any class 1B students involved.” Hitoshi said firmly.
“Then what are you gonna do?”
Hitoshi sighed.
“Middle of the room it is.”
“Are you just going to sleep on the bed in the middle of the room?”
“If I have to.”
“Okay. Okay. Isn’t that gonna be so weird though?”
“Probably.”
“What if you have to do homework or use the desk? It’s in the middle too.”
“Yes, I can see that.”
“...”
“...”
“Good talk.”
Conversation lapsed after that.
The painting process itself probably wouldn’t have taken them too long if they had had the chance to do it in two or three long sessions but unfortunately, their schedule wouldn’t accommodate that.
They had to squeeze in sessions of one or two hours in the late afternoon or evening between homework, and at this pace, they’d be at it for quite longer than Hitoshi had planned.
If he’d known what a hassle this was, he wouldn’t have bothered.
Sleeping in the middle of the room really was weird, though thankfully, he was able to move his bed and desk back to their original position as soon as they’d finished those two walls and the paint had dried.
He was really starting to appreciate Midoriya’s help.
Even if he remained adamant that he didn’t need it.
He’d tell Midoriya when he was going to paint, fully expecting him to be busy, as they had different schedules and activities, only for Midoriya to often drop what he was currently doing and come help him.
“Don’t worry Shinsou!” he’d said once, abandoning his notebook and calculator with a haste that Hitoshi suspected had more to do with desire to avoid doing homework than an eagerness to paint. “I can do our physics problems later.”
(He forgot to do the math worksheet. Even if it wasn’t his fault, Hitoshi felt bad enough about it that he let Midoriya copy his answers during English class the morning after.)
Hitoshi thought they wouldn’t have much to talk about, but even he couldn’t take being in a room with someone else in absolute silence and started playing music (which ended up leading to a conversation about their respective tastes in music) or engaging Midoriya in conversation.
“I’m telling you.” Midoriya insisted, standing on his toes on the chair to reach the top edge of the wall. “Chameleon was one of the best underground heroes for undercover work until his retirement. Shadow Hands was cool too and I love him, but he didn’t have the range of skill Chameleon had.”
Hitoshi had stopped painting to look up information about the details of both heroes’ quirks before grudgingly admitting that Midoriya was right.
“How do you know this much about underground heroes, anyway?” Hitoshi asked, incredulous. Midoriya struck him as more of a mainstream hero fan, and he told him as much. Especially with that quirk of his. Hitoshi had looked up to underground heroes from a young age because he’d known that an underground hero was the only thing he could ever hope of becoming.
He didn’t like media attention that much anyway.
Midoriya’s chair wobbled a little as he balanced precariously on it.
“I do like mainstream heroes, too! Like All Might. I love All Might But I like them all, even the underground ones. Though it is harder to find information on them, but that’s okay, it’s part of flying under the radar as an underground hero. I think it’s super noble to do this job without looking for recognition that I know many pro heroes seek.”
A good answer, and not one Hitoshi had expected.
He made... okay company, he supposed.
Not long into their second session on their last wall and Hitoshi was starting to think that maybe they could finish this today when a loud bang from the common room below them shook the room and sent him jumping to his feet, swearing, followed by a clatter of noise from where Midoriya had been standing.
He deemed the first bang to be more important and reached the door in an instant, poking his head out of the door and down the hall to see Tokoyami doing the same from his room.
“Everything is fine!” Sero voice came from the stairs. “Bakugo used his explosions too close to Kirishima’s pan of bacon and now the carpet is on fire! But everything is under control, sorry if we worried you!”
That sounded like the opposite of fine but they had said they had it under control, and Hitoshi preferred to stay away from the combination that was Bakugo, a fire, and what sounded like Ashido yelling unless the building was actively burning down.
He closed the door and went back in his room, still a little on edge.
The tension he’d been holding since the explosion dissipated as soon as he took a look at Midoriya.
He hadn’t been as lucky as Hitoshi, and had been standing on the chair when the commotion had started, the explosion effectively startling him off balance.
He now lay in a pile of limbs and paint on the ground, looking dismayed.
Midoriya jumped to his feet, setting the can he’d fallen onto upright again, but it was too late. Paint drenched the floor and was splattered over his clothes.
Hitoshi took one look at him and nearly burst out laughing. He managed to contain himself for the most part, though from the expression on Midoriya’s face, he wasn’t doing a great job.
“Are you okay?” he asked him.
“I’m so sorry I’m so sorry.” Midoriya blurted out, hands moving frantically. “I wasted so much paint and oh you’re mad at me aren’t you? Oh my God I-”
“Why would I be mad at you?”
“I just thought- because you made a really weird face just now?”
“Midoriya you have paint in your hair.” Hitoshi burst out.
He was a truly pathetic sight, blue paint matting part of his green curls, splattered on his left shoulder and down the front of his shirt.
Midoriya paused his frantic apology, looking himself up and down. "I mean, I kinda have paint everywhere."
“It was an accident." Hitoshi set the chair upright again. "Though we did lose literally all the paint we had left."
“I'll clean it up, I'm so sorry.” Midoriya apologized again, grabbing a handful of newspapers to soak up the paint on the floor.
"Maybe go take a shower first." Hitoshi said mildly, taking some newspapers of his own.
"I want to help you."
Hitoshi shrugged. "Be my guess. But if the paint dries in your hair and you need to get it cut off, don't come complaining. You wouldn't look as good bald."
This time, Midoriya was the one who stared at him oddly.
Hitoshi looked away, uncomfortable. Look as good bald? Why had he said that?
"I'll go change and wash my hair." Midoriya said finally.
They didn’t often talk about the painting outside of when they were actually doing it, mostly because there wasn’t much to talk about, but the day after the paint spill, Hitoshi leaned forward in his chair and conversationally asked if Midoriya was trying out a new hairstyle or something of the sort.
Midoriya had flushed and attempted to pat down his hair, which sat on his head in even more of a fluffed up mess than it was normally. The hair bounced back up as soon as he removed his hand. “It was really hard to get the paint out, I had to scrub it for so long, which is super bad for my hair. So now it’s like this.”
“Well at least you’re not bald.”
“At least I’m not bald.” Midoriya agreed. “Who knew it could go that sideways, huh? I’d never done it before but I didn’t think it was possible to be bad at painting a wall.”
“It wasn’t really your fault but at the same time, my floor is still blue.”
Midoriya flushed. “Sorry. But hey, sorry this is a little unrelated but that just reminded me of a question I had about your quirk.”
Hitoshi tensed. Here it came.
“Can you brainwash me into being good at something I’m not? Or something I don’t know how to do?”
That was-
“What?”
Lost in thought, Midoriya leaned against the back of his chair.
“Let’s say, I want to use a chainsaw. But I don’t know how to use a chainsaw. But you brainwash me and you tell me how to use the chainsaw. Would I be able to use it?”
“I..I honestly have no idea.”
“See the thing is, what if I don’t know how to use the chainsaw, but you do?” Midoriya pressed. “In telling me to use a chainsaw, would your knowledge subconsciously transfer to me even if I don’t know how to use it? What if I do know how to use it, but you don’t? What matters, the abilities of the person being brainwashed or the abilities of the person brainwashing them?”
Hitoshi was only halfway following. “Chainsaws?"
“We should try it.” Midoriya said decisively.
“I’m not getting kicked out of the Hero Course, especially now that I just got in, because you decided it would be a good idea to lop your arm off with a chainsaw.”
“Well, we don’t have to do it with a chainsaw.”
They weren’t going to do it with anything and that wasn’t going to change.
“Then with what.” Hitoshi asked flatly.
“A car maybe? Can you drive? I can’t.”
“A car?”
The same discussion picked up again in the bus on their way to the paint store for the second time, as the paint Hitoshi had managed to salvage off the floor hadn’t been enough to cover the parts of the wall that were still unpainted.
They were still arguing about whether or not it was a good idea to have Midoriya try to drive a car under mind control (the answer was no, obviously) when they finally arrived to their destination.
“Okay, maybe not a car.” Midoriya relented as they stepped out of the bus.
“You’re fucking insane.”
Midoriya insisted on paying Hitoshi for the spilled paint (he only let him because it was only half a liter of blue paint) then promptly got distracted by a section labelled ‘Chalkboard Paint’.
“Chalkboard paint is a type of paint used to create surfaces you can write on.” He read aloud off the little information card.
Hitoshi pointed to a second section on the same card.
“It says here that you need to do three coats of it though. Sounds like a pain. It took us long enough to do the two coats in my room.”
“Yea, but imagine how cool it would be.” Midoriya insisted. “Imagine having a whole wall you can write on in your room.”
Hitoshi remained unimpressed.
“What's that?” Hitoshi asked, pointing to another, smaller sub section of the already small area dedicated to chalkboard paint.
“It says magnetic chalkboard paint.” Midoriya read aloud. “Oh my god, that’s even cooler.”
Maybe this wasn’t going to be as quick of a trip as Hitoshi had thought.
“So about the car.” Midoriya began teasingly on their way back.
“No.” Hitoshi told him firmly. He’d tolerated the discussion about his quirk so far because it was harmless enough, especially from Midoriya, who he’d come to know over the past few weeks, and who was known to to analyse people’s quirks. Not to mention because it had mostly been a discussion about cars and chainsaws and how it would be a terrible idea to let Midoriya anywhere near either of them.
But the more it went on, the more uncomfortable he became.
He knew he couldn't go his whole life being suspicious of anyone who asked him about his quirk, but old habits died hard.
Midoriya accepted the refusal easily enough, which prompted Hitoshi to open up a little more.
“Besides, I… I don’t like using my quirk on people. Especially when they ask.”
Midoriya tilted his head curiously. “What do you mean? You’ll have to use it for hero work.”
“I mean outside of hero work.”
“You’d prefer to use a quirk on someone who isn’t a criminal without their permission than with?” Midoriya asked carefully.
Hitoshi gritted his teeth. “That’s not what I meant."
He was glad they’d gotten off the bus at this point, because this was not a conversation to be had anywhere near other people.
Maybe telling Midoriya had been a mistake. But it was too late now, and he struggled to explain what he meant.
“I wouldn’t brainwash people without their permission. But at the same time, I’ve had to deal with people coming up to me asking me insensitive questions about my ‘villain’s’ quirk my whole life. Other kids would ask for reassurance that I wouldn’t brainwash them then turn and dare their friends to ask me to brainwash them as a joke. I did it a few times when they asked, and they got scared and got the teachers involved and I would get punished.”
He let out a breath. That was too much information.
“So I’ve never been particularly inclined to think the best when someone asks to be brainwashed.”
Midoriya’s eyes were wide.
“I’m so sorry. That must’ve sucked.”
“Whatever.” Hitoshi replied.
“And I get how you feel-” Midoriya went on.
He got it? How could Midoriya with his flashy, hero’s quirk understand?
“No.” Hitoshi cut him off, his voice suddenly harsh. “You don’t.”
That was the end of the discussion.
Things remained tense between them. Hitoshi finished painting his room by himself. He let it dry. Cleaned and put away the rollers and brushes.
But it was hard to avoid someone who stayed in the room next to him and who he saw pretty much everyday.
It was even harder to avoid thinking about it. When he wasn’t in class, sitting behind Midoriya, or in the dorms, trying not to run into him, he was in his room, staring at the stupid blue walls Midoriya had helped him paint and replaying the conversation in his mind.
He had messed up. He’d gotten caught up in old resentment and anger and cut him off, assuming the other boy would never know what he was talking about, while Midoriya had just been trying to express sympathy.
Most of all, it pissed Hitoshi off, the fact that the time Midoriya finally left him alone was just as he’d realized that he didn’t mind Midoriya as much as he’d thought.
He finally stopped him in a hallway one day, just before they reached their respective rooms.
“Look.” he breathed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I want to apologize. That was unfair to you. You’ve been nothing but kind to me. I shouldn’t have taken out my anger on you.”
Midoriya shifted from foot to foot.
“It’s fine.”
“I didn’t know what you wanted to say, but I shouldn’t have assumed anything about your situation just because your quirk makes you privileged and cut you off.”
Okay, that had come out more backhanded than he’d meant for it to be.
Midoriya's face contorted.
“I wasn’t.”
“What?”
“I wasn't privileged. I wasn't even quirked.”
“What do you mean?”
“My quirk came in when I was fifteen.” Midoriya’s voice was flatter than ever.
Hitoshi stared at him.
“So before that, you were-”
Quirkless. The only fate worse than having a villain’s quirk? Not having one at all.
Shit.
Midoriya’s eyes were watery. He smiled weakly. “Yea.”
There were so many things Hitoshi wanted to ask him and suddenly Midoriya’s words that day made too much sense.
“How is that possible?” he said instead. For someone’s quirk to manifest so late? It was absurd.
Midoriya just shrugged.
Hitoshi stared at him for a second.
“I’m sorry.” he said again. “I’m- shit, why didn’t you tell me?”
“I spent my whole life getting judged for being quirkless. You can see how I was a little hesitant to tell anyone about that period of my life. I’m sure you get it.”
And yea, he did.
That period of his life had lasted fifteen years.
Wait, that meant that Midoriya had had his quirk for less than a year.
“Holy fuck.” He said.
Midoriya laughed, this time with a bit more humor coloring his voice.
Hitoshi was struggling to find words, but thankfully, Midoriya filled in the silence.
“Did you finish your room?”
“Yea.” Hitoshi said, still reeling from the conversation they’d just had. “Do you want to see?”
There really wasn't anything personal in his room, so he didn't care as Midoriya took a look around. Besides, with the fact that he had helped him paint, he figured he owed Midoriya a look at the finished result.
“This looks really nice. I kinda wish I had painted my room too.” Midoriya said wistfully.
“I mean, you still could.” Hitoshi pointed out.
“I wouldn’t know what color though.”
“We can figure that out at the paint place.” Hitoshi said impulsively.
Midoriya grinned. “You said we.”
Hitoshi shrugged, repeating the words Midoriya had said to him at the beginning of this whole thing. “It takes half the time if you're in two.”
He didn’t think his stance on friendship had changed that much.
But what he’d just learned, and the newfound appreciation for everything Midoriya had done for him since he’d transferred he’d gained, well. He wouldn’t deny that that did change things. Even just a little.
The assistants didn’t even seem surprised to see them this time.
Hitoshi had not expected ‘becoming a regular frequenter of a home decor store’ to be part of his joining the hero course, but here they were.
True to his words way back from the first trip, Midoriya chose a muted grey-green paint colour called ‘Eucalyptus Breeze’’
Hitoshi also convinced Midoriya to get dark green chalkboard paint for a statement wall. It had been clear he loved the concept of it the last time they’d come. And out of all people, Midoriya would certainly put it to good use.
Despite it being their third time there, they ended up not knowing how much to buy on account of Midoriya having spilled an undetermined amount on the floor, and having two colors, the normal green and the chalkboard green.
“What if we got it in excess?” Midoriya fretted at their purchase.
“We can always throw it through the window of someone who pisses you off.”
“Shinsou!”
Midoriya had somehow managed to convince Hitoshi to come have dinner with the rest of the class that night, which had apparently been happening twice a week for months, though he hadn’t known because he’d muted the group chat.
Once he probably would’ve refused, but he’d come to the realization that he’d been taking the “no friends” thing to the extent of straight up avoiding everyone.
So here he was, squashed between Midoriya and Kaminari, both of whom were talking to him and to their fellow classmates animatedly.
“You wanna start painting tonight?” Hitoshi asked Midoriya as Kaminari argued with Kirishima about something. “Or should we wait? We’re not gonna have much time if Aizawa-sensei decides to drop that test he’s been hinting at.”
“I take that sleeping in a pile of furniture in the middle of a room is not fun, and I’d rather avoid that, so let’s wait a bit so we don’t start and have to put the whole thing on pause.” Midoriya agreed. “We’re not making that mistake again.”
“Okay, let’s list the things we have learned.” Hitoshi said. “You are not to be left unattended with a chair and paint. Or near chainsaws. Or cars.”
“You’re so mean.” Midoriya complained. “The chair and paint incident was Kacchan's fault.”
“Huh?? What was my fault??” Bakugo yelled across the table.
“Nothing Kacchan! Just something that happened as a result of your explosion!” Midoriya yelled back.
“That explosion wasn't my fault!!”
“Yes it was!” Everyone yelled back.
Bakugo looked downright murderous but not in the mood to throw hands with half the class so he just shoved a piece of fish in his mouth and chewed furiously.
“What exactly did Bakugo’s explosion cause you to do though?” Kaminari asked curiously.
“Oh, it startled me into knocking over paint.”
He’d also fallen off a chair but Hitoshi decided not to add that detail to Midoriya’s explanation.
Kaminari reached over to grab a bowl of rice.
“Paint?”
“Yea, we painted Shinsou’s room! And now we’re gonna paint mine.“ Midoriya replied.
Kaminari frowned. “Are you sure we’re allowed to do that?”
“Technically, Aizawa-sensei didn't say we couldn't.” Hitoshi said.
“Won’t other students be using our rooms when we graduated though? Are we allowed to do stuff like that?” Kirishima had caught wind of the conversation and chimed in.
“Todoroki redid his floor.” Uraraka pointed out.
The boy in question calmly scooped more soba onto his plate.
“And I’d do it again.”
They now had the attention of this side of the table.
Mina leaned forward.
“Wait, Shinsou you painted your room? When?”
“Did you guys not notice?” Hitoshi asked, baffled. “Like two weeks ago?”
“To be fair, we’re not on your floor.” Kaminari pointed out.
“It wasn’t a secret or anything? I came down with half my pants drenched in paint to get a glass of water once, had a conversation with Tsu, then went back up and nobody said a thing.” Midoriya chimed in.
“Oh, I noticed, I just didn’t want to be rude by pointing it out, kero.” Asui said.
Everyone stared blankly at each other for a second.
“I want to paint my room too.” Mina announced.
“Me too.” Kaminari added.
“You have to do it yourself though.” Midoriya added.
Kaminari shrugged.
“That’s fine.”
“What’s this about painting rooms?” Uraraka asked.
Soon, everyone was talking about what color they wanted to make their room.
“How long did it take you guys to do Shinsou’s room?” Kaminari asked.
Like, a while honestly.” Midoriya admitted. “But that’s because we had little time between homework and stuff so we had to squeeze in small sessions over a long period of time.”
“And Midoriya spilled half our paint and we had to buy some new paint.” Hitoshi added.
Midoriya scowled at him.
“We could do it as a group,'' Kirishima proposed. “Tackle each room as a team.”
Iida clapped unsettlingly loud, startling Hitoshi. “Raise your hand if you want to paint your room.”
Nine hands went up.
“We could definitely do this as a team thing.” Asui mused.
Twenty people painting a room is too many, though.” Someone else argued. Hitoshi couldn't tell who it was with all the people talking.
“We can figure something out.” Another person replied.
Midoriya nudged him. “You gonna help?”
“My room is done. I'd get nothing out of it.”
“That's true. But you could get to know the class this way.”
“I guess.”
“For the record, I'd like for you to be there.” Midoriya said.
“Why?”
“I think you’re cool.”
Ah.
Fuck.
Hitoshi looked away. “I’ll think about it.”
Midoriya smiled at him, blindingly sweet.
Fuck.
|
It was a warm night, unusually warm for the high country of Virginia, and there was no chance of rain, so I had chosen not to pitch my tent. I simply laid my groundcloth on a bed of pine needles, nailed it down, and unrolled my sleeping bag under the open air.
Truth is, I was too worn out to fool with the tent. I was not quite halfway toward achieving my dream of hiking the Appalachian Trail, and I was beginning to despair that I wouldn't make it.
I have been a hiker all of my life, since I was in Boy Scouts as a youngster, and I thought I was someone who could tackle the Trail, some 2,100 miles of well-worn paths that wind from Georgia to Maine across the spine of the eastern United States.
Hell, I'd hiked the Cimarron Trail at the Philmont Scout Ranch in New Mexico when I was 15, and that's a difficult task that carries you above 11,000 feet in the Rocky Mountains.
Since then, I've hiked all of the trails around my home state, done the Boundary Waters trip in northern Minnesota and Canada, backpacked in Yosemite and camped in hundreds of places across North America.
So I thought I was prepared for the Appalachian Trail, but the relentless terrain, mountains on top of mountains, had about sapped me.
I thought I'd passed a major hurdle by getting past Clingman's Dome in the Smoky Mountain National Park without it affecting me, only to discover more mountains through western Virginia.
Now I was in the Blue Ridge Mountains, and I knew I still had a brush with the Poconos in Pennsylvania, the White Mountains in New Hampshire and the difficult landscape near the end in Maine.
I had gotten off the trail back at Roanoke, several days earlier, to rest and regather my strength, but after the second day back on the trail the fatigue and aching muscles returned with a vengeance. My feet were sore, and my back ached constantly.
I now realized that allowing myself two days of sleeping in a real bed, rather than on the ground, as I had been doing while on the trail, had been a mistake.
I had hardly slept the first night after I resumed my hike, tossing and turning from some little root that was sticking up from the ground, or from a ridge of earth itself.
That day's hike had been particularly arduous, with a lot of hilly, rocky climbs through some thick woods. It was still mid-afternoon when I saw the clearing off the side of the trail. I checked it out and decided it would be good for my campsite.
There was shade all around, but the clearing itself was open to the air. There was a small creek nearby where I could get water for cooking, plus the sound of the flowing stream over the rocks was quite soothing.
The area where I laid out my pallet was grassy, and I'd found plenty of pine straw to make a reasonably soft place to lay down. As the sun dipped into the west, I'd laid down for a nap, and had actually gotten a nice bit of rest.
As I lay back on top of my sleeping bag, my head on the small camp pillow, I had some intensely erotic thoughts.
When I was home, I had no trouble finding girlfriends, but I'd ended a potentially promising relationship right before I'd left for Georgia to start my hike. There was no sense keeping her on the line when I was going to be gone for several months.
I'd encountered a few women on the trail, but nothing had happened with them, and I had been too beat in Roanoke to try to pick up anybody. I had jacked off a couple of times while I was there, and that had helped me relax some, but I hadn't done anything since I'd been back out.
After getting back up, I'd built a small fire, then I'd gotten my small camp stove set up and fixed me something to eat.
I had some freeze-dried vegetables that I fixed in the small pot, and I boiled some water in my larger pot over the fire to cook some pasta. I had a small rack/grill that I could set the pot on to heat my water, once I got the fire banked down to hot coals.
Once my meal was finished, dusk was fast approaching, so I hurriedly went to the creek to draw some water to clean my things before complete darkness fell.
After I had everything cleaned and put away, I sat back and listened to the small radio I'd brought along. It was extra weight that I probably could have done without, but I felt like I needed some tenuous link to civilization, so I'd brought it along, and I was glad I did.
In this remote area, deep in the Shenandoah National Park, however, there wasn't much to choose from. The musical selections were mostly country or pop, neither of which I can stand, so I opted for a baseball game.
It wasn't until I heard the announcer talk about it that I realized that it was the first day of summer, and I also noticed that the moon had come up right at sunset. It rose over the nearby mountain fat and orange, a huge perfect circle.
As the cold orb slowly climbed in the sky, I thought about how odd it was that the summer solstice should also be the night of a full moon.
I've been around the outdoors enough to know the cycles of the sun, moon and earth, and I knew that it was only by a quirk of timing that the full moon and the solstice should fall on the same day.
I chuckled, then, when the intro to one of the innings in the baseball game, coming out of the commercial break, was Creedence's "Bad Moon Rising."
My fire had about played out, and I could feel weariness seeping into my bones, so I shut off the radio, turned out the small lantern and crawled into my sleeping bag.
Sleep was elusive, however, and I was kicking myself for not setting up the tent, because the bright light of the moon in the cloudless sky was making it hard to fall asleep. But it was too late for that, so I tried to will myself to sleep, and I guess I succeeded.
I'm not sure what woke me up. I just got a sense of ... not dread so much, but more a feeling of oddness. I looked up at the moon, and noticed that it was still not quite on top of me, so it was probably a little before midnight.
As my senses became more alert, I thought I heard sounds coming from the surrounding woods, almost like an insistent whispering. And even as I did, I saw a strange cloud pass over the moon, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up.
I quickly noticed that there seemed to be a weird fog surrounding my campsite. It wasn't a heavy fog, but it was almost wispy, like tendrils of smoke from a fire that was some distance away.
I felt a sense of panic, because the weather had been very dry in recent days, and there was the threat of forest fires. I had been very cognizant of that fact when I'd built my small fire, making sure I kept it small and kept it inside the ring of rocks I'd set up.
I looked over at the fire, but the coals were almost completely ashen, and I couldn't smell wood smoke, so I was puzzled at this strange vapor that seemed to have enveloped the area.
Suddenly, I got a real sense that I wasn't alone, and sure enough, out of the mist a figure emerged. My mouth went dry as it stepped into the clearing, just as the clouds dissipated and the moon shone brightly.
The figure was a woman, and not just any woman, either. She was tall and slender, with long raven hair that fell almost to her waist. She had piercing blue eyes, an unobtrusive nose and full, red lips, all set perfectly in the face that could have been looking out from a fashion magazine.
She was dressed in a thin white dress that fell almost to the ground, but it dipped quite low on her chest, giving just a hint of a perfect set of breasts. I could just see the darkness of a brown pair of nipples, and as she walked seductively toward me, I could also see the hint of darkness at the juncture of her legs.
Around one shoulder, she carried a small pouch made of a white material inlaid with silver beads in an arcane pattern. I'm sure my mouth was gaping, and I could see an enigmatic smile on her face as she stopped at the foot of my pallet. I sat up then, letting the sleeping bag fall off of me.
"Who ... Who are you?" I stammered. "How did you get here?"
"Oh, I've been ... around," she said in a voice that sounded like the tones of a dulcimer.
She had a rather unusual accent, not quite British, not quite Irish, not quite Southern, but a kind of a mélange of accents that was quite unlike anything I'd ever heard. And there was a twinkling laughter in her voice that seemed to put me at ease.
"But ... I mean, where are you staying?" I asked again. "Where did you come from?"
"You ask too many questions, Blake," she said. "I am from the night."
"But..." I started, but she put a finger to her lips and shushed me.
I felt a little trickle of fear that she was something dangerous, although I couldn't see danger in her sparkling eyes and laughing lips.
"Relax," she whispered. "I mean you no harm."
As she spoke, she pulled the pouch off and laid it aside, then reached to the front of her dress and untied a knot that I hadn't seen before. When it was open, and I could see the heaving swell of her bosom, she seemed to shrug her shoulders and the dress fell to the ground in a white pool.
I stared then, because the naked vision in front of me was that of a goddess. Her breasts were plump and round, but in direct proportion to the rest of her body, and capped by round areolas the approximate size of a quarter. Her waist was slim, her stomach flat, her legs long and tapered.
And at the place where those legs met was a thick tangle of dark hair from which sprouted a perfect set of fleshy labia. Her skin was perfect, the color of fine porcelain.
She slowly stepped forward, then knelt over me, and she seemed to hover as she offered me her mouth. I looked deep in her eyes and felt myself falling to a kind of blue void.
I shrank back for a moment in fear. This was way beyond the realm of the norm, and I actually had a vision of her sinking fangs into my neck. As if reading my mind, she smiled, baring her teeth, and they were perfect, with the canines blunt like the rest of her teeth.
"You have nothing to fear from me," she said.
I was in a daze as she deftly pulled the top of my sleeping bag away, exposing me to the night air. I was wearing a pair of gym shorts and a T-shirt, and the shorts were tenting up with my hard cock.
"I have been following you for awhile," she said. "I can help you in your quest, if you will help me."
"Help you how?" I said.
"Let yourself go," she said softly. "Relax, and let me love you."
Truth be known, I was hard as a rock, and I jerked as her hand delved into my shorts and caressed my cock. She softly jacked my throbbing meat, as she again lowered her face, offering me her mouth, and this time we kissed.
As we did, I could hear a distinct sibilant sigh from the surrounding woods, as if we had an audience. Her mouth was warm and inviting, and her tongue insistent as it played in the inside of my mouth.
Breaking the kiss, she reached down and pulled my T-shirt off and tossed it aside, then she reached down further and pulled the strong on my shorts, tugged them down and slid them off my legs. They too joined my shirt on the ground by my pallet.
Her right hand resumed softly stroking my cock, and one of her fingers languidly circled the tip, spreading the flow of pre-cum over the crown.
I was completely lost in her spell as she straddled my hips. I stared in lust at the pink hole that now winked open between the forest of curls at her crotch. Then I gasped as I felt the head of my cock enter her wet canal.
She slowly slid her hot pussy down on my turgid cock until I was completely engulfed in her wetness.
Once I was securely slotted in her cunt, she lifted her hips slowly, then slid back down – up and down, up and down – she began to get into a slow, sensual rhythm that was like nothing I'd ever felt before.
I'd had a lot of women, but I'd never had a feeling like that, the way her vagina squeezed me powerfully, the way her wetness seemed to cocoon me in her grip.
Her eyes were closed in mounting passion, and her tongue worked at her lips. I could hear her mumbling something, but I couldn't understand what she was saying. However, it sounded like some kind of sexual chant, in a language I'd never heard before.
Suddenly, she threw her head back in rapture, and I was startled to see that her ears were pointed in an unnatural fashion. They were a little like Vulcan ears on Star Trek, though not as pronounced.
But I was too far-gone in lust to say or do anything about it. I was pumping my hips up into the woman's clenching cunt, happily fucking the best pussy of my life, straining to hold back the tide of cum that was ready to fill her up.
And I could tell that she was about ready for me to do it, because her motions were getting much jerkier and her cries of lust much more pronounced. Her hands were firmly attached to my sides as she worked herself up and down on my dick.
Her body – and mine – were covered in a fine sheen of sweat as we hurtled to the finish. I was so concentrating on my pleasure that I didn't react when I suddenly saw thin gossamer wings flutter out of her shoulder blades. They were twitching as her body was shaking in her climax.
The woman's chanting grew louder, and now there was no question that she was speaking in a language that was completely alien to mine or any other man's ears. I wasn't sure what manner of creature I was fucking, and at that point I really didn't care.
As her orgasmic cries grew more pronounced, I felt the crackle of my own climax as it ignited in my scrotum, and with a gasping grunt, I lurched up hard one final time and surrendered a tremendous cumload.
We jerked and thrashed together as we hurtled along on the flood of our mutual orgasm. I was laughing insanely at the beauty of what I'd just experienced, and in some dim recess of my mind, I was prepared to die, if she was in fact a vampiress. I figured, hey, what a way to go.
But she didn't do anything other than flutter her eyes, then smile broadly as she lay her sweaty body prone onto mine and we kissed with the hot smoldering passion of lovers in the afterglow of lust.
I just lay back and enveloped her in my arms, and softly ran my hands over her wings, then felt them as they folded in on themselves and seemed to disappear.
My cock finally deflated after I was finished firing afterbursts of cum deep into her womb, long after the initial rush had passed.
At last, she opened her eyes and seemed to come to herself, and she rolled off my body onto her side. She propped her head on her left hand and used the index finger of her right hand to trace intricate patterns on my chest.
"I am sure you have many questions," she said. "I will answer as truthfully as I can."
"OK, for starters, who ... what are you?" I asked. "It's pretty obvious that you aren't exactly human. Am I dreaming all of this, or what?"
"No, this is not a dream," she answered softly. "I am real, as real as you. You are very awake, very aware, and I am not a figment of your imagination."
Something was nagging at the back of my mind, something she'd said earlier, and then it hit me.
"How did you know my name?" I asked.
"Oh, I know all about you, Blake," the woman said. "Once you were spotted entering my realm, once it became obvious that you would be here at the appropriate time, I made it my business to find out all I could about you."
"But how?" I asked, trying to make sense of this.
"Oh, I have my ways," she said. "Let me explain what is happening."
"I wish you would," I said.
"My name is Maeve, and I am the faerie queen in this area," she said. "As you said, I am not exactly human, but I'm not exactly not human either."
"What in the hell does..." I started, but she silenced me sternly.
"Speak not of that place!" she said, in a suddenly commanding voice. "Not on this night."
"What?" I said.
"I am a faerie, half human and half elven," she said. "And we are purveyors of white magic. That ... other place, it is the home of wickedness and evil, and it is our constant duty to fight against it."
I was fascinated by the way she said the word, "faerie," not fairy.
"You call yourself a FAY-ree, rather than a fa-REE," I said, exaggerating the dominant syllable of the two words. "What's the difference?"
"I think you know," she said with a smile. "Faeries are beings like me, creatures of the wild, keepers of the woodland secrets. Fairies are ... well, they are what your world calls men who aren't men, if you catch my meaning."
I laughed then, at the knowledge that a little homophobia existed even in the spirit world. But that still didn't explain what Maeve was or why she was here. I was quickly enlightened.
"Faeries usually exist in another dimension, as you call it, what you might refer to as the fourth dimension," Maeve said. "We live, breathe, eat, drink, sleep, laugh, and cry all in a world you can't see. We don't measure time the way you do, but we do age. Slowly, yes, but we do grow old, and we do have the need to reproduce. The problem is that faeries are all female, so the only way we can be gotten with child is to mate with a suitable human, and the only way we can do that is to assume a human form. But it takes a certain particular set of circumstances for that to happen. I believe you were on the track of what those circumstances are before you retired."
"I don't understand," I said. I had a glimmering of an idea forming, but I couldn't put my finger on it.
"What is tonight?" Maeve said, and suddenly it hit me.
"The summer solstice!" I cried.
"And?" she continued.
"The full moon," I said softly.
"Precisely," she said. "Only when the moon, the sun and the earth are in perfect alignment are the conditions right for us to assume the form that allows us to mate. It is an event that we anticipate with great eagerness in the spirit realm, and all of my subjects, my helpers if you will, are in a state of high anticipation that I will be given an heir to my queendom."
"But why me?" I said. "What do I have that led you to select me."
"Why, you are here," Maeve said. "The mating of a faerie with a human is a thing of chance, of having a man of breeding age pass within their realm on the appointed night. Many of my friends in other parts of the world are having to settle for those who are much less than you. But they have no choice; they must take advantage of the opportunity where it exists. Those realms will be weaker and much more vulnerable to attacks from the dark side. Midsummer Night is our time. However, Midwinter Night? That is not a night you want to be caught outdoors in a wild place. That is when our alter egos, the valkyries – the spirits of death – find their mates and breed their kind. After tonight, you will resume your life, but those who mate with the valkyries never survive the encounter. They are the ones you find in the woods frozen to death."
I could swear I saw a brief shudder pass Maeve's body.
"What happens to you during the winter?" I asked.
"Oh, if we have prepared well, we are safely in hibernation," Maeve said. "Our time of undisputed rule begins on May Day and continues until the autumn equinox. From then until All Hallow's Eve, we prepare, and occasionally battle the awakening spirits of our foes. Faeries who are out after All Hallow's do not usually survive. After the spring equinox until May Day, the process works in reverse. That has been the cycle of life in our world for thousands of generations. And, with woodlands slowly disappearing, and fewer humans about in our realms, it becomes much more important to mate when we can, if we can, for there are many faeries who sit alone on this night, seeking one who does not come. Each time a full-moon solstice passes without a faerie mating, she becomes a little older and less able to reproduce."
"I'm rather overwhelmed," I said. "So, by a quirk of luck, I was in the right place at the right time to ... give you a baby?"
"Indeed," Maeve said. "And I believe you have given me a child that will grow to become great in our world. You have a strong heart, a good soul and the spirit of a dreamer. Those are all the best qualities for a powerful faerie queen. My father was very much like you, so I was told. If your daughter becomes the faerie I expect, your name will be highly honored among our kind."
For some reason, that filled me with some melancholy. I had apparently produced a child, a child I'd probably never see. Maeve seemed to sense my feelings because she leaned over and softly kissed my forehead and caressed my neck.
"Oh, you will see her," she said. "Perhaps not in the flesh, but you will see her in your dreams, and you will be blessed with strong progeny of your own, with a woman of your own kind. And soon, I think."
"What are you talking about?" I said, genuinely puzzled.
"You left a woman behind when you embarked on this quest, did you not?" she said.
"Um, not really," I said. "I mean, I had a girlfriend back home I liked a lot, but we broke it off right before I left."
I explained about my ex-girlfriend, Mary, and how I didn't want to keep her on a string while I was gone. Maeve just laughed that crystalline laugh I'd already come to love.
"I think if you contact her, write her a letter, give her a call, you will discover that she's waiting for you," Maeve said.
"Well then, should I go to her now?" I said, confused.
"Of course not," Maeve said. "You have a dream to fulfill, and I am going to help you achieve it. Roll over onto your stomach. It's time to give you strength."
I did as I was bidden. I looked back to see Maeve reach into her white pouch. I couldn't see what she scooped out of it, but I thought I caught a glimpse of something sparkling in the moonlight.
"Close you eyes and relax," Maeve whispered.
Again, I did as I was told, and I felt Maeve's soft hands caressing me from my neck, over my shoulders and down my back. As she massaged me, I felt the most incredible feeling of well-being flow through me. My sore muscles seemed to relax, the knottiness seemed to smooth out.
She scooped out more of whatever it was she was working into my skin, and used it over my buttocks, the backs of my thighs, down my calves, even to my sore and chapped feet. As she worked her hands over me, she whispered a chant in that same alien language she'd used earlier.
Then she turned me onto my back and repeated the process, working her hands down my chest, my stomach, over my abdomen, my thighs and down again to my feet.
After she had massaged every part of me except my cock, she brushed her fingers over my temples and down my cheeks, then worked her way down my arms, finishing by sensually caressing my fingers. I had never felt anything like it, and I was consumed with renewed passion.
My cock was bursting, throbbing hard again, and it was bouncing off my abdomen in abject lust. I reached up and filled my hands with Maeve's pendulous breasts, softly feeling the milky skin of her flesh and lightly squeezing her rocky nipples.
Maeve smiled, almost – dare I say? – devilishly, and her eyes had a lustful gleam. Reluctantly, I let her pull her breasts from my grasp as she moved down between my legs.
We stared at each other, communicating wordlessly as she took my hard cock in hand and brought her lips close to the head. I felt her warm breath on the angry red flesh, and felt a slight coolness where it came into contact with the well of pre-cum at the tip.
I groaned then as she let the head of my cock pass her lips and she drew me into her mouth. She sucked half of my cock in, until the head hit the entrance to her throat. She worked me up and down, up and down, and I could feel the cum rising like sap from the work of her mouth.
As good as it felt, though, I wanted more. I sensed that our time was growing short, and I wanted to give Maeve as much pleasure as she was giving me. I gently pried her mouth off my cock, and she looked at me hotly as I got up off my pallet and maneuvered her onto her back.
"It's my turn to please you," I whispered, and as I did, I slid between her legs and pressed my face to her bubbling cunt. Her labia were a dark pink color, almost red, and her thick bush gleamed with the juice of her arousal.
I inhaled her musky aroma, the powerful scent of womanhood. So many things I didn't understand, but one thing I did understand was the union between male and female, and a love that could only bloom for a short time.
I clamped my mouth onto Maeve's creamy pussy, and slid my tongue into her groove, tasting her tartness. I worked my lips, my tongue, even my teeth on her crotch.
I sucked her labia with my lips, bored my tongue into her vagina and used my teeth to nip at her clit, and I was rewarded by the writhing of Maeve's body as a climax of huge proportions built up steam.
"Ohhhhh, pleeeeease," she whispered. And again, she spoke in the language that I now knew was the tongue of her race.
Suddenly, her whole body seemed to tense and her breath caught for just a second, then she groaned heavily as the orgasm hit her full-force. She thrashed on the pallet, her sweat-covered body gleaming in the moonlight.
Looking up from Maeve's crotch, I must have been hallucinating, because I thought I saw, right at the edge of my campsite, and crowd of beings, young faeries perhaps, or possibly wood nymphs. I'd never be sure. And when I blinked again, the images were gone.
I looked down at Maeve again, and the look in her eyes sent a shiver of lust through my body. She stared in absolute passion as I got up on my knees between her legs, pressed the throbbing head of my cock to her open, waiting pussy and drove it in hard.
I heard the breath being forced out of Maeve's lungs from the power of my assault. I bent down and gathered her in my arms and we kissed again, hot and hard, while my cock quickly picked up speed in her powerful pussy.
It was like we were in a dream, floating on wings of lust as I fucked my faerie queen with everything I had. Maeve's legs were wrapped around my back as she moved powerfully under me, urging me on in her strange language.
I was firmly in control, though, and I kept my pace measured, and soon my patience was rewarded as she threw her head back and exploded again in orgasm, her body twitching and jerking as her lust consumed her.
I really lost track of time; it just seemed like I could go on forever, but I knew eventually I'd have to finish. And, I could feel the tingle that told me I was about to explode in a righteous climax.
Getting up on my knees, I drove my cock powerfully back and forth in her spastic cunt. I pulled almost all the way out, then plunged all the way in. As I repeated that process several times, I latched onto her slippery tits for leverage.
Faster and harder, I fucked Maeve liked I'd never fucked a woman before. Sweat stung my eyes as I felt the hard sizzle of my orgasm as it boiled over. Maeve's eyes were squeezed shut as another, final climax washed over her body.
With a final gasp of passion, I leaned over Maeve's body, plunged balls deep and released a torrent of hot cum deep in her pussy. I emptied myself of everything I had left in my body, giving her my all in great jerking thrusts.
Our arms and legs clutched at each other as we slowly floated back to consciousness from the remarkable passion we'd just shared.
Finally, I looked deep in Maeve's eyes, which had a dreamy cast to them. I knew her time on earth was about over.
But then her eyes cleared one last time, and she looked into my eyes.
"You will have a long, happy life," she said. "So I only ask one favor of you."
"What's that, darling?" I said, as a weariness began to cover my body.
"You will have a daughter, and when you do, name her after me," Maeve said. "You have been so much more than I could have ever expected of a man, and I want you to remember me as more than just a flight of fancy, remember our time together as more than just one night of passion. You have given me and my kind a great and wonderful gift, the gift of another generation. And you have given me the gift of pleasure, the knowledge of passion without bounds. It will sustain me for the rest of my time. For that, I cannot thank you enough."
"I love you, Maeve, and I'll never forget you," I said, and I could feel hot tears forming in my eyes.
Maeve gently rolled me onto my back, her body still covering mine. Again her lips gently caressed my forehead, and I could feel her fingers softly massaging my temples. As she did, I could feel her own teardrops falling on my cheeks
"Goodbye, Blake," she whispered. "I love you."
Just about the time I drifted into a deep sleep, I felt her lips on mine and she kissed me deeply, passionately.
The next thing I knew, I could feel the hot rays of sunrise hitting my face, and I awoke with a start. At first, I wasn't sure if I had dreamed the previous night's encounter. I mean, it was so crazy that it couldn't have been real.
But then I realized that I was lying naked on the open pallet, with my shorts and T-shirt lying just where Maeve had tossed them when she took them off of me. And my cock definitely had that feeling of having been drained in a most satisfactory way.
I reached down between my legs, and, sure enough, I could feel the crust of commingled orgasm on my shaft. I lay back on my pillow and smiled. It was a sad smile, but it was a smile.
"Goodbye, Maeve," I said softly. "May the four winds blow you safely home."
I got up then, and I couldn't believe how good I felt. It was like I'd drunk deeply of some fountain of rejuvenation. My muscles weren't sore, and my soul was soaring.
I did a quick cleaning with the soapless bath that I'd brought along, the stuff hospitals use to bathe bedridden patients.
Then I dressed, had a quick breakfast, packed my gear and set back out on the trail with renewed determination.
Of course, there were still some difficult stretches over the next few weeks, but every time things got tough, I remembered Maeve and the inspiration she'd given me.
The next time I got to a place where I could take a day or so off the trail, I called Mary back home. To my surprise, she was delighted to hear from me, told me she missed me and she'd been thinking about me, "just about all the time."
When I reached the end of my hike, at Mt. Katahdin in Maine, Mary was there to meet me, she drove us back to Bangor, and we flew home together from there.
Once we got home, our relationship deepened, and on Midsummer Night, a year to the day – well, night, actually – after my encounter with Maeve in Shenandoah, I took Mary as my wife. Exactly a year after that, she gave birth to our first child, a girl that we named Maeve.
I've never told anyone about my Midsummer Night's encounter with Maeve, but Mary always looks at me funny when I call our daughter my little faerie queen.
|
“So you’re in your third year, now, which means you need to start thinking about your future seriously. I’m going to pass out some forms for you to fill out with your interests and top high school choices.”
Katsuki lounged in his chair, feet up on his desk and head resting on Deku’s desk behind him. Like anyone needed this shit. Every loser was going to try for the same fucking schools, and they already knew it. You either knew or you didn’t, and if you didn’t you were a dumbass and would probably have Their dumbass teacher knew the sheets were fucking worthless too--the man looked bored as hell. “Of course, I know everyone wants to be a hero, but try to be realistic about your choices in schools.”
The students cheered around them, all whispering excitedly. “Shitty extras.” He opened one eye to glare at them. “Don’t you all know you don’t have what it takes to be heroes?”
“Kacchan!” Deku tugged at his collar. “You shouldn’t call people extras! That’s mean!”
Katsuki snorted. Deku never liked it when he did that, but… “the sooner they realize their place in the world, the better.” He was doing them a service by helping them realize they weren’t cut out for it. “Deku and I are going to UA and we’re going to make it big as heroes, unlike the rest of you losers. You’ll be lucky to be sidekicks to some D-list heores. We’ll be unbeatable.”
“Deku?!” A bunch of giggles burst out across the classroom and Deku slumped in his seat. Log Head spoke up, “Your quirk is awesome, Bakugou, but Deku’s quirkless! He could never be a hero. If anyone doesn’t have what it takes, it’s him.”
“Huh?!” Katsuki stood up, his chair slamming to the floor as he stalked toward his classmate, small pops flashing from his hands. “You wanna say that again, you fucktard? Deku could beat any one of you in a fight, quirk or no quirk!”
“Kacchan!” Deku’s hand closed around his wrist. “I appreciate the support, really, but I’m not about to go fighting anyone for no reason…”
“Tch.” Katsuki looked back at his soulmate. Despite his clear muscles, with an attitude like his it was no surprise the dumbasses all thought he lied about his blackbelt. “Whatever. It’s not like you need to prove yourself to these lameass weaklings. You’ll get into UA, and that’ll speak for itself.” He walked back to the chair and slumped into his seat.
Fucking extras. He couldn’t wait to get out of this dump.
Of course, since Katsuki wanted the day to go by quickly, it was the damn slowest day ever. By the time school let out, Katsuki wanted to scream.
All day the shitty extras has been snickering about Deku and how he could never be a hero, and Katsuki hated the way Deku’s shoulders had started to get lower and lower.
“You know they’re fucking dumbasses, right? They don’t know shit.” He leaned against the locker while Deku put his shoes on to leave.
“I know, Kacchan. It’s just…” Deku sighed, stranding up and adjusting the strap of his backpack. “It’s hard not to listen, some days.”
“Tch.” Katsuki started walking, knowing that Deku would follow. “They don’t fucking matter. The only ones that matter are the ones that take the time to know you, and we all think you’re fucking awesome.”
“You’re right, Kacchan. You always are.”
“Hell yeah, I am. So stop moping, you shitty nerd.”
“I’ll try, Kacchan.”
“You fucking better.” Katsuki rolled his eyes at the nerd but was content to keep walking in silence as long as his soulmate wasn’t moping.
“Kacchan!”
Katsuki’s head whipped toward his soulmate’s voice. What the fuck?! Why was his voice scared? Deku was a few steps back, pointing at the ground where… sludge was wrapped around his foot? Deku was trying to yank it free, but the sludge kept clinging to him.
Katsuki charged forward and held an exploding palm against the sludge. The second it recoiled he threw Deku behind him, earning a shout of distress and annoyance from his soulmate.
Obviously, strength alone wouldn’t work against this…. Thing. This thing that was quickly forming into a towering figure, laughing at them. “What a strong quirk! You’ll be a great choice for my next invisible skin!”
What fucking kind of messed up shit was this guy on?!
Katsuki didn’t even have a second to think before he was surrounded in the sludge. His palms exploded immediately, but the thing wasn’t reacting. He kept it up, though, hoping that maybe a constant barrage would do something.
It was cold, so cold. And he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
He dimly heard Deku yelling his name, screaming.
Sludge was flying everywhere. Sludge on fire.
Deku was in front of him, clawing at the villain. Katsuki gasped as his mouth was freed, “Get back, Deku! The last thing we need is both of us captured!”
Deku was crying, shaking his head frantically. “I have to help you, Kacchan!”
Damn it! Stubborn dumbass! Couldn't he tell that strength alone wouldn't work against this guy! “Use your fucking head, idiot!”
Deku blinked, but actually scrambled backwards at that. Katsuki gagged as the villain once more forced itself down his throat. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t… his palms lit up.
“Kacchan, stop!” Stop? Stop what? He couldn’t… stop! He had to fight! But it wasn’t… it wasn’t doing anything. But he had to try! He clenched his eyes shut in frustration. “You’re setting the park on fire, Kacchan!”
Oh.
That… that wasn’t good. Shit. Tears formed at his eyes. The sludge was everywhere. It was inside him. He couldn’t…
Suddenly the sludge stopped.
Katsuki opened his eyes. Deku. Deku was throwing things. Throwing them at the villain’s eyes. The eyes weren’t sludge! If he could just get an arm free…his right arm could probably reach.
He struggled. He lit his palms on fire a few times, trying to startle the villain into releasing him. Hopefully the park would be ok. The occasional blasts were working a little bit better since the villain wasn’t constantly bracing against them.
Deku was there again, clawing at the sludge by his arm, fighting against it, digging into it.
Katsuki gagged, eyes bulging as the villain surged deeper into his throat. He could feel it attaching to his skin, to his face. It stung, it stung like a thousand needles poking into his skin.
Don’t focus on the pain.
Focus on his arm. On Deku. On his soulmate. On getting free.
Deku’s finger looped around his, a solid presence amidst the sludge, and his soulmate yanked. He yanked and yanked and Katsuki could swear his finger broke but he didn’t fucking care and---
Air.
He could feel air.
His hand was free.
Deku grabbed his wrist and yanked it upward, jerking it through the sludge and resistance. He pulled and pulled at Katsuki’s hand, but kept his own hand clear of Katsuki’s blasting range. Katsuki quickly let loose an explosion, using the force to propel his hand upward as Deku pulled.
The villain hissed, pushing more sludge down Katsuki’s throat. “Shit. He found me.”
What did the villain mean by found him? Who?
He couldn’t care.
Don’t focus on the pain.
Don’t focus on it.
“Now, Kacchan!”
“FEAR NOT, YOUNG CITIZENS, FOR—”
BOOM
Katsuki could feel his wrist break from the awkward angle and the force of the recoil.
But the villain was shrieking. Retreating.
He could feel the slime pulling out, shrinking as it began to run away.
Katsuki fell to his hands and knees, gasping.
Deku was right next to him, calling his name, his hand on his shoulder. Katsuki tried to focus on its warmth.
He needed to focus on Deku’s warmth, not the coldness from the sludge.
Katsuki heaved, trying to throw up. Trying, but failing. He could still feel the slime. Could still feel….
He heaved again.
Deku’s hand was tighter, now. His voice more urgent.
Katsuki wanted to answer it, wanted to calm the shitty nerd down, but he couldn’t—couldn’t speak. The sludge--
Katsuki collapsed on the ground. He tried to breathe deeply, tried, but it was like the sludge was still there.
He reached up, trying to claw at his throat, but warm hands pulled him back.
Katsuki thrashed against tightness around him, against the tightness in his throat.
The sludge, was it back?
He couldn’t move. Panic crawled across his skin.
He couldn’t breathe.
Couldn’t save himself.
Couldn’t save Deku. |
Jungkook groaned against the scrap of fabric that had been scrunched against his mouth and nose for gods know how long as he finished himself off for what was hopefully the last time. This had by far been the worst rut he had ever endured. His skin had constantly felt like fire, even to his own hands. Jungkook also wasn’t big on small spaces, and the fact that he had been locked into his smaller than normal room for the whole week had him nauseous and irritated.
When he had first been shoved into it, his arms bent in an uncomfortable V behind his back, he had gotten so angry he had thrown his lamp across the room, shattering it against the wall. Not only did that not help him with his anger, but it also made it next to impossible to walk anywhere without his shoes on, but he was so hot and sweaty that glass in his feet would be a small price to pay for some sort of relief. He had slammed his whole body against the door a dozen times, screaming, aching, to get out.
He wanted Jimin, the omega that had appeared in his life so suddenly and perfectly. He wanted to feel the omega against him, their scorching bodies pressed up close to each other until no one could tell them apart. He wanted to touch the soft, pliable omega; to know if his pretty white skin was as smooth as it looked, as forgiving as it seemed if he had dug his heated hands into the supple curves. He wanted to smell that sweet, succulent caramel- vanilla omega, and he wanted to smell like him, to bury his nose and mouth into that flawless neck and scent what was his, his, his. But that wasn’t enough. No. It wasn’t enough to want the omega.
Jungkook needed Jimin.
He needed to feel Jimin near him, wanted his heat to surround him, suffocate him. He needed to drink in all that Jimin was, all that he is. He needed to hold Jimin, to kiss Jimin, to see Jimin. His body burned for Jimin.
After hours and hours and hours of begging and screaming, he had finally fallen into a fitful state of sleep, his room a disaster. After that, he seemed to be in a complete daze, alternating between trying to mount his pillows, wishing desperately that they were something, some one else, and sleeping. His body ached, and he saw no end in site, each cycle getting worse and worse, longer and longer. He wished that it was only the rut that was making him feel this way.
He had a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach, and it was the only feeling that he didn’t think was linked to this excruciating rut. He felt as though he had done something unforgivable, horrible to someone he cared for. He knew it wasn’t Jimin, because if it had been Jimin he was sure that he would be in an even worse state than this. But, he had done something, he just couldn’t recall what.
He felt as though it had been years when he finally got to smell that mouth watering scent again. Jungkook had forced himself to sleep instead of pleasure himself again, the word ‘pleasure’ being used loosely, as it only hurt worse and worse as he tried to bring himself to finish. He shoved his hands in between his legs and forced his eyes shut, praying for this to be over when he woke up. He wanted the feeling in his stomach to disappear, and for the constant burning in his hips and groin to just go away .
He hadn’t been asleep for very long when Hoseok had knocked and entered the room. He couldn’t bring himself to growl or move. He was so tired and sore, he just wanted to sleep for a million years. He listened as Hoseok shuffle behind him, had heard the beta sigh. He was grateful that he could barely smell Hoseok’s thin pine scent. He didn’t want to smell anything other than vanilla, and he didn’t want to forget the smell with someone else's. He heard Hoseok come closer to him, heard his sigh once again.
He almost flinched when he felt a silky piece of fabric hit his cheek and slide down to his mouth. His hands came up almost involuntarily, the fabric sliding between his fingers. The smell. It was everything that he had been needing, everything he had been yearning for. It was heavy with the smell of corrosive caramel and decadent vanilla. He sucked in deep gasps of the smell, drinking it. He growled deep in his chest as his hips began to undulate against the soft sheets on the bed. He barely heard the door shut, Hoseok leaving the room.
Jungkook continued to slam his hips against the bed, dragging his pelvis against the hard mattress to feel that delicious friction that he needed. He couldn’t take his hands away from the pretty fabric that he was pressing to his mouth and nose. With the smell surrounding him, drowning him, he came undone in minutes, this one the most satisfying and mind blowing orgasm he had had since his rut had started. After he had rolled onto his back, the fabric still wrapped around his hands, he finally fell into a dreamless sleep.
…
When Jungkook finally came to, he was hard, but not as hot or desperate as he had been. He actually felt close to normal, if not a little sore here and there. He sighed into the fabric as he brought himself off, a gentle roll of his hips against his hand being enough. He laid there for a moment, his eyes closed.
The alpha trailed his hands down his body, just to feel his temperature. He was pretty much back to normal, Jungkook knowing that his body ran hotter than most. He opened up his round doe eyes, blinking rapidly to get used to the light streaming into the room through the sheepskin hanging over the window. He put one arm behind his head, and used the other to lift the fabric off of his face. It was still laden with that sweet smell, and Jungkook felt like it was ingrained in his skin now.
He hummed when he saw that it was a rather familiar blood red scarf. He wrapped it loosely around his hand, and brought it down to his mouth once again. He lightly traced his lips over it, wishing that the soft cloth was Jimin’s pillowy lips. He closed his eyes for another moment, basking in the scent and the sun. His silence only lasted a minute before that feeling of dread twisted in his stomach.
Some sort of memory was nagging at the back of his mind, trying to push itself existence, but he just couldn’t seem to grab it and bring it forward. What he did remember before he was trapped in this little room was Jimin’s smell, his scream, and the smell of rain.
Jungkook grunted and got off the bed, carefully avoiding the broken porcelain on the floor. He reverently folded the scarf and placed it on the bed, away from any of the stains. He needed to bathe, but he decided that could wait. He shuffled past the glass and turned his chest back over. Most of the clothes had actually managed to stay inside of it, and he knelt down and grabbed the rest of them, shoving them back into the chest. He dug through it afterwards and grabbed a pair of small clothes. He slipped those on before he looked for what else he wanted to wear, a chill settling on his arms and legs. It felt like a shock to his system after spending so long being stifling hot.
He yawned and grabbed a tight leather tunic, the inside lined with a thin layer of fur. He pulled on his black woolen pants, thankful that they were a little bit baggy, as his legs and hips were rather sensitive. He sifted through his clothes, looking for his leather cloak. He panicked for at least ten minutes when he couldn’t find it, when the red scarf caught his eye. He paused for a moment and nodded his head, thinking that he understood. Jimin must have it.
He couldn’t help but growl gently at the thought of Jimin using his clothes, his scent during his heat. A small smile worked its way to his mouth, and his eyes twinkled, warmth spreading through his chest and arms at the thought of that cloak being his first of many favors for the precious omega.
He grabbed a leather piece of clothing that sat on one shoulder, with straps coming to connect under his opposite armpit. Jungkook sighed and looked at his cloaks and capes. He opted for another one of his lighter cloaks. It was one of his favorites. The cloak hung sideways off of one of his shoulders, thick fur wrapping around the top. He left the shoulder with the leather bare. He slipped on his well used leather boots and turned to the scarf. He brought it to his face once more to smell it, his eyes closing briefly. Then he wrapped it tightly around his wrist, tying it off to complete his outfit.
He tried to clean up his room to the best of his abilities. He put his nightstand back up and tried his hardest to use his feet to get the broken glass into a single pile. He would have to borrow a broom later. He brushed his hand through his hair, hoping that he didn’t look absolutely ridiculous. He knew that his long curly hair could get a little out of hand sometimes, though he always tried to make it look good.
He took a deep breath and adjusted his tunic before trying to open the door. To his great surprise, it opened. He took a deep breath of the hallway, glad to be out of that compact room. His head whipped to the side when he heard a door open.
“Hoseok?” Jungkook asked, though his voice came out raspy, cut off by the excess mucus in his throat. He coughed to clear it, Hoseok coming closer to Jungkook with wide eyes.
“You look like you’re doing much better!” Hoseok smiled at Jungkook and put his hand to the alpha’s forehead. Jungkook let him do what he wanted, figuring he owed the beta quite a bit seeing as he was always the one that came to check on him. It made him wish that he had tried harder to get a beta partner. Jungkook nodded and smiled at the beta.
“I am. I feel almost one hundred percent,” Jungkook said before he let his smile drop. “Was that… a forced-”
Hoseok cut him off with a quick nod, his bright heart shaped smile also dwindling. “Yeah. Jimin went into a Forced Heat, and when you got too close, it forced your rut.”
Jungkook looked away, grinding his teeth. He should have had more self control than that. His father had taught him better. Hoseok continued to speak.
“Thankfully, Namjoon found little Jimin before anyone had gotten to him.” They began to make their way down the hallway. Jungkook heard the what Hoseok had not said. ‘Before anyone else, including you, had gotten to him’. Jungkook couldn’t imagine what he would have done to Jimin if he had found him first… actually he could, and it repulsed him more than anything.
An omegas heat was a sacred thing, at least in Jungkook’s old pack. Sure, anyone could mate and have sexual relations with anyone else, but when an omega went into heat, only their beta partner was allowed to see them and help them unless it was explicitly talked about between the mating pair. Mating against an omegas will during their heat was punishable by banishment, and in extreme cases, death. So, the thought that Jungkook would have thrown all of that away just to be with Jimin, even if Jimin wasn’t in his right state of mind to agree with full clarity made Jungkook’s insides recoil. He never wanted to go through this kind of rut again.
He lifted his wrist and smelled the scarf once again, the vanilla tingling his skin. “How is he?” Jungkook asked, pushing open the front door to the cabin and squinting at the unrelenting sun.
Hoseok seemed to think for a moment, biting his cheek. “Namjoon or Jimin?” Jungkook might have been going crazy, but he was almost sure that Hoseok sounded bitter. Hoseok never sounded bitter. Jungkook stopped for a moment and cocked his head to the side.
“I was talking about Jimin,” he said, though that memory at the back of his mind began to move its way to the front. “But, is there something wrong with Joon?”
Hoseok sighed and rubbed the back of his curly hair. “Jimin is probably on his last cycle of heat, so he will for sure be out of his room by tomorrow, though I wouldn’t be surprised if he was out and about later tonight. Yoongi says that he is going a little stir crazy,” Hoseok laughed. Jungkook blinked in confusion once again.
“Jimin let Yoongi in his room during his heat? I thought omegas couldn’t stand the scent of another omega while they were in heat.”
Hoseok shrugged and pulled at Jungkook’s cape to keep him moving. “Yoongi has always had a more mellow scent to him. Honey and cream aren’t the sweetest of smells, so I think many omegas tolerate it better.”
Jungkook hummed in agreement, and they walked in silence for a time before Jungkook noticed that they were walking towards the healing hut. He wasn’t sure where they were going in the first place, but why were they heading there out of all places? His already turning stomach dropped further, and his thoughts became stormy. He might have been imagining it, but he swore he could smell a strain of charcoal on the breeze. With that painfully familiar smell, he stopped in his tracks, a gasp coming to his throat and escaping his mouth as his hands folded into his stomach, like a child who was getting rightfully scolded for doing something he shouldn’t have.
Hoseok stopped short, his dark eyes softening. Mighty alpha Jungkook suddenly looked so small, so fragile. His shoulders had caved in on themselves, and his head was pointed at the ground in shame. Hoseok was about to go to comfort the boy, but Jungkook’s almost silent whisper stopped him.
“Hoseokie… what did I do?”
Hoseok’s whole body suddenly shuddered. A scent he had never smelled before crowded his senses. It crashed through his chest, weakened his knees. His shoulders suddenly shook and his hands went to his face, and he felt fat tears slipping down his cheeks. He tried to see Jungkook through his burning tears, and he saw that Jungkook was on his knees as well, his face buried in his hands. The scent drowned out everything; his own scent, the scent of the fires and the other pack members, the scent of devastation and terror. Hoseok gasped from his spot on the ground, trying to get the agony out of his chest. He crawled toward Jungkook, his arms shaking and stiff. He vaguely heard the people around them gasping and even someone crying. He felt like there was a million pounds sitting on his chest, pushing him into the ground. He wanted to curl into a ball and cry and cry and cry.
“J-Jungkook…” Hoseok gasped out, his voice wet and rough. “You need to stop…” he whimpered and rolled onto his back. “Please, Kook… stop.” He covered his face with his arm as tears streamed from his eyes. “Oh my gods…”
“Jungkook.”
Everything stopped. The weight was suddenly lifted and Hoseok felt like he could breathe again. The tears stopped almost immediately. He took deep, clearing breaths, his chest heaving.
Jungkook looked at the one who called his name, looked at Jimin, looked at the one who stopped the crushing pressure of guilt in his heart. He looked absolutely ethereal. His silk hair was braided in impossibly intricate twists, all tied together in a low ponytail, the rest of his hair streaming over his shoulder. His soft, soft skin was still slightly flushed, especially his round cheeks. His lips were still swollen from biting them, though Jungkook thought they still looked perfect. He had a dark, blood red scarf around his neck and Jungkook’s old cloak on. It swept just past his calves. He wore a rather loose gray tunic that ended just right past his knees and black leggings. His shoes were black and furry. A red sash hung around his waist. Jungkook swallowed. Jimin came closer to Jungkook, his own green eyes shining with unshed tears.
Jimin stopped right in front of Jungkook, who stayed on his knees. It was a strange sight; an alpha kneeling and an omega standing over them. Jungkook looked helplessly at Jimin, his hands clenching and unclenching, like he was trying to stop himself from reaching out to grab the omega. Jungkook couldn’t seem to stop his tears.
He had hurt Namjoon.
He had hurt the closest person to him, his big brother. He had almost killed him, just because he lusted after the omega that stood before him. He was such a child. He was supposed to protect his pack, the legacy his father had left him, but he hurt his right hand. Jungkook ground his teeth and tried to speak.
“I…” His shoulders shook violently, and he wanted to double over again. “I don’t know what to d-do.” He gripped his chest and his face fell to the ground again. He heard Jimin take in a wet breath before he felt the softest of touches on his face. The hands brought heat to his cold, damp cheeks. The warmth shredded through the ice that encrusted Jungkook’s chest and arms. Both of Jimin’s hands came to his cheeks, and they gently tilted it back to his own face.
“Oh, Jungkookie,” Jimin whimpered. Jimin wiped at Jungkook’s wet cheeks with his thumbs until the tears finally, finally subsided, until Jungkook could feel nothing but Jimin and his heat. Jungkook found his eyes closing at the closeness of Jimin’s scent, of his body. The scarf Jimin wore muffled the tantalizing scent, and Jungkook just wanted to rip it off and bury his face into Jimin’s neck, not necessarily in a sexual way. More the maternal comfort sort of way. “We can go see him together?” Jimin whispered, hoping that Jungkook would say yes, hoping that he would stop crying.
Jungkook put his much larger hand over Jimin’s tiny one on his face, turning his face until his lips grazed Jimin’s palm. He sniffed Jimin’s pretty, comforting pheromones before he slowly nodded. His heart thumped louder when Jimin gave him a soft smile. “Okay,” Jimin said, using the hand that Jungkook was holding to pull Jungkook up with him. They kept their hands together, palm to palm, their fingers intertwined. Once they were both standing, shoulder to shoulder, Jungkook gave himself three deep breaths. He glanced to Hoseok who was sitting on the ledge of a fire pit, his eyes red and swollen. The beta smiled weakly at the alpha, and Jungkook nodded back, a silent apology.
Together they took a step forward.
…
Namjoon was still asleep when they entered the healing hut. Many people in the rooms they passed nodded at Jimin and asked him how he was. Jimin smiled and nodded back, though he never let go of Jungkook’s hand. Jimin told everyone that he had just been very busy with council meetings and the Jeon Pack merger, so he took a week to recuperate. Jungkook couldn’t believe how convincing the little omega sounded, and he supposed it came with the job.
They came to the room that Namjoon was in, and Jimin pulled up some chairs to sit outside and wait, their legs touching from their ankles to their hips. Jimin kept their hands interlocked, and he put his head on Jungkook’s shoulder. Jungkook thought he felt his cheeks heat up, but he couldn’t be too sure. He could feel himself almost purring at the constant touches of Jimin, of just being around the other. He sighed and buried his face into the top of Jimin’s hair, not caring if he messed it up.
They must’ve fallen asleep while they were sitting there, because the next thing he knew, he smelled apples and mint, mixing from the now opened door.
“I didn’t want to wake them,” someone, Jin, said from inside. “They had a rather rough week, they need their sleep. And that’s the most peaceful I have seen Jiminie in ages.”
At the mention of the little omega, Jungkook looked down to his lap. Jimin had slipped down sometime during their little nap, his head now pillowed by one of his arms and Jungkook’s thighs. Once again, Jungkook felt unparalleled warmth seep into his skin to his bones. He smiled softly at the omega, his hand softly stroking Jimin’s cheeks and face. He didn’t think he would ever tire of touching the other, not for all of his days. Jungkook felt his heart pinch when he heard Namjoon’s voice answer, though it was a little croaky and spent.
“I’m sure they do. I never want to know what that’s like. I only know that it is painful.”
Jungkook thought he would cry again. He looked at the ceiling for a quick second, his breath coming faster and faster, before he felt Jimin grab at his hand. Jimin sat up slowly and squeezed it. He looked Jungkook in the eyes and smiled that pretty smile, and Jungkook forced his breathing to return to normal. He could do this. He had to do this.
Almost as if they could read each other's mind, they stood at the same time. Jimin grasped Jungkook’s hand in his own once again.
Jimin smiled upon entering the small, cozy room. Jin was sitting on the bed next to Namjoon, whose leg was wrapped in thick bandages. Most of Namjoon was covered in thick bandages actually, but the alpha didn’t seem to care. Jimin and Jungkook noticed that the Namjoon’s good leg was thrown over Jin’s, and Jin’s head was on Namjoon’s shoulder.
“I brought Jungkook to come and visit,” Jimin said, coming to stand next to Namjoon’s side of the bed. Namjoon’s eyes twinkled at the sight of the omega, and Jungkook swore that he recognized the look on Namjoon’s face. Namjoon pat Jimin’s free hand. Jimin giggled and held onto it. Jungkook remained silent, his throat closing up.
He had done this to Namjoon. He had wrapped the man in poultice and bandages. He felt the sting of tears in his eyes again.
“Kook-ah,” Namjoon said, his voice gentle, but loud. Jungkook lifted his eyes to meet Namjoon’s honey eyes. “Are you okay, brother?”
Finally the dam broke, and Jungkook let the salty tears fall from his eyes. “I hurt you, made you suffer, almost hurt Jimin, could have killed you…” Jungkook gasped. Jimin brought his other hand to Jungkook’s, squeezing with both of them. It killed a part of him every time he saw the other cry. Jungkook wiped at his face. “And you’re asking me if I’m okay?”
Jimin whined when Jungkook all but collapsed on the side of the bed. His legs just didn’t seem to want to work anymore. Jungkook slowly pulled Jimin into his lap. He needed to other to keep him grounded. He was trying so, so hard to hold back those burning tears. He buried his face between Jimin’s shoulder blades, and just breathed and breathed and breathed. He felt a hand on his arm, and he peaked from Jimin’s back to the side, where Namjoon was touching Jungkook’s arm.
“I don’t want you to apologize, or feel regret, or remorse for this. I knew the risks, and I do not blame you for anything. This wasn’t your fault, or mine. It was nature.” Namjoon reached over and ruffled Jungkook’s hair. “So, stop your tears and don’t think on it anymore little one. I’ll be okay.”
Jungkook cried harder than ever.
...
|
Jane politely excused herself from the interrogation room. It was lucky that she was alone in the hallway when she answered the phone. The detective was practically giddy at the sight of Maura’s name on the screen. She was completely unable to control how incredibly thrilled she sounded when she greeted the doctor.
“Hey,” Jane smiled, “what’s up?”
Maura did not return her friendly demeanor, instead she sounded very serious when she said, “I got the blood work back.”
“Yeah?” Jane said, straightening her composure. Why did Maura’s utter solemnity sting so much? Jane wondered to herself. She tried to keep in mind that Maura was a professional; they both were. Jane reminded herself that they were at work.
“You and Barry should probably come down here.” Maura said.
“We’ll be down in a minute.” Jane said. “Not much we can do up here, Josh Finch has clammed up.”
“Well, then,” Maura said, a smile in her voice, “you will appreciate what I’ve discovered.”
Jane smiled admiringly. She knew that tone. Maura had just found a crucial piece of the puzzle, and the smile in her voice was a triumphant one.; Jane could imagine Maura shrugging her shoulder in that ‘oh-it-was-nothing’ kind of way that Maura did whenever she did something absolutely genius. Suddenly, the detective wished she could just kiss the doctor for being so adorable.
“Jane?” Maura said after the detective had been silent for a while.
“Yeah, sorry.” Jane said, realizing her mind had wandered off without her.
This time Maura was quiet. She had been waiting all day to talk to Jane, but now that she was, she didn’t have any idea what to say. The doctor had never wanted a case to be over more than she did now. She opened her mouth to say something, desperately wanting to end the awkward silence, but Jane interrupted her.
“Frost, Korsak and I will be down there as soon as we wrap it up here.” Jane said quickly. She hung up without another word, cursing herself for being so weird. If she couldn’t handle the day-to-day business now, what was she going to do when things got really serious? And there was one thing Jane was sure of: when it came to Maura, things were going to get really serious.
Later, down in Maura’s office, Jane avoided the doctor’s eyes, and stood at the far end of the room. She did not address Maura except to give her a brief, shy smile. So, it was Korsak that asked the obvious question.
“What did you find?” he said, taking the lab reports from Maura’s hand.
Maura spoke to Frost and Korsak but kept glancing curiously at Jane. She seemed nervous and edgy and would not look Maura in the eye. The detective also stood strangely distant from her. Normally, Jane closed the distance between them eagerly, even made excuses to touch her briefly.
Korsak answered his own question as he read the blood analysis report. He looked up at Maura curiously, “The Thompsons were both exposed to more than half a dozen foodborne pathogens?”
Maura grabbed some more files off her desk and explained “If you look at the test results from the food found at the crime scene and in their home, almost everything was contaminated with foodborne pathogens: Bacillus cereus, Listeria monocytogene, Clostridium perfringens, Clostridium botulinum, Norovirus, Cryptosporidium parvum...”
The three detectives looked as if their heads were spinning. None of them seemed to understand the significance of what the doctor was trying to tell them. She looked amongst them with frustration, wondering how she could make it any clearer.
Then, suddenly, Jane spoke for the first time since entering Maura’s office. “So, they were exposed to whole ton of pathogens,” she said with a thoughtful frown. “I’m guessing all these different kinds of foodborne illnesses didn’t just happen to grow in everything the Thompson’s ate.”
“No.” Maura said with an appreciative nod; Jane seemed to be catching on. “The chances of that are…well let’s just say I’m willing to conclude that the Thompson’s were purposefully infected.”
“But why would Josh kill the Thompson’s?” Korsak questioned.
“I don’t know,” Maura said, handing the sergeant another piece of paper, “but you can probably rule him out as Mr. Johnson’s killer.”
“What?” all three detectives said at once.
Korsak peered down at the paper Maura had handed him. On it was a DNA analysis report. The doctor pointed to the comparison between Josh Finch’s DNA and that found on the bloody towel from Tommie-John’s.
“You have a close match, but not quite.” Maura said, “Whoever’s blood is on that towel is a male-blood relative, most likely his nephew or uncle.”
“Gene Finch!” Jane said suddenly.
“I would need a blood sample from him before I could confirm that,” Maura said, watching as Jane’s mind began to reel, “but there was something that Mr. La Fountain said that you might be interested to hear.”
“La Fountain?” Jane said, squinting at her curiously.
“The health department official. I spoke to him earlier today. He said he was there when Dane Thompson and Josh Finch got into an argument about closing the restaurant down.” Maura explained.
“Yeah,” Jane said, “Josh didn’t seem too keen on explaining what that was all about.”
“Apparently,” Maura said with a curious expression, “Mr. Thompson accused Gene Finch of killing Tom Johnson. According to Mr. La Fountain, Dane claimed that he had seen the two of them fighting. Dane said that Gene had left the restaurant Wednesday night bleeding.”
“Really?” Jane said with a raised eyebrow and a curious expression. The brunette detective looked to her partner and the sergeant questioningly.
“Do you really think Gene Finch is capable of this?” Frost said frowning at Jane.
“Just because he has Alzheimer’s doesn’t mean he can’t hurt anyone.” Jane said frowning at Frost’s seeming naiveté.
“Actually,” Maura interjected, “those suffering from dementia and Alzheimer’s are more than capable of uncharacteristic violent outbursts.”
Jane smiled and peered at the doctor out of the corner of her eye. Occasionally, Maura’s Google-mouth was helpful rather than annoying. This time the detective had even found it kind of cute. But she quickly shook those thoughts from her mind as she felt Maura’s eyes on her, the detective needed to focus on the case.
“Is he capable of such an elaborate plan, though?” Korsak said frowning pensively.
“Most likely not.” Maura said, answering the question that had not necessarily been aimed at her. She turned to Korsak. “I’ve been looking over the patient files you sent me Vincent,” she said, peering over her laptop. “It seems that Mr. Finch’s Alzheimer’s is progressing rapidly. He’s been admitted to Boston Memorial several times in the past couple months. If he’s been planning anything, he can’t have been doing it on his own.”
“Or perhaps he has had someone cleaning up after him.” Jane said suddenly.
Korsak, Frost and Maura looked at her curiously. The detective had an excited look on her face. All the pieces were starting to fit together. She wished she could explain to her startled co-workers, but her mind was racing at a mile-a-minute.
“Korsak,” she said interrupting the stunned silence, “We need to get more information on John Thompson’s will. Frost, get a uniform on Gene Finch, we’re going to need him in custody as soon as he’s recovered.”
“In custody?” Frost said with a questioning look. “You really think he’s dangerous?”
“No.” Jane said as she used the phone on Maura’s desk to call upstairs. “But I think the Finch’s have been hiding him for a reason.”
“What about you?” Korsak and Frost said almost simultaneously.
Jane spoke calmly with the clerk upstairs, and then slammed the phone onto the receiver. “Damn! He’s been released.” Jane said with an agitated look.
“What?!” the three others said in simultaneous exasperation.
“Maura,” Jane said turning to the medical examiner with a stone-cold serious look on her face, “we need something—some forensic evidence tying Josh to the Thompson’s murders.”
“What are you thinking, Jane?” Korsak said frowning at her inquisitively.
“It doesn’t matter what I think if we have nothing to hold him with.” Jane said with her brow furrowed. Her mind was still abuzz with all the possibilities. If only she could get Josh to talk, she knew she could get what she needed to prove the wild theories tossing around in her brain. But with that lawyer around and nothing to leverage a confession, she had little hope of proving anything.
Korsak and Frost headed upstairs, leaving Jane to explain herself later. Maura stood there watching her with a confused frown on her face. She watched the detective closely, wishing that she knew what was going on inside Jane’s mind. Suddenly, Jane turned and looked at Maura.
“Can you go over the evidence again?” she said with a distant, pensive look on her face. “There has to be something.”
“Sure, but Jane…?” Maura said cautiously. She found herself wondering about Jane’s earlier behavior, even though Maura had told herself now was not the time or place. “…are we okay?”
“Of course, we’re okay.” Jane said, her voice suddenly softening. She placed a hand delicately on Maura’s arm in an instinctive, comforting gesture. Jane became suddenly aware of the short distance between them and felt her heart racing, her face flushing. She removed her hand quickly and tried not to look as uncomfortable as she felt.
Maura squinted at her suspiciously. She was not accustomed to Jane’s shy behavior. Perhaps the detective was starting to have doubts again. Maura suddenly wondered how she could have thought that being in a romantic relationship with Jane wouldn’t have to affect their working relationship.
“Have you been avoiding me?” Maura said in a tentative tone.
“No!” Jane insisted. She peered at Maura out of the corner of her eye, and then sighed. “Okay, maybe a little bit.”
“Why?” Maura said, sounding a little hurt. “You don’t want to take it all back, do you?”
“Of course not!” Jane said, grasping Maura by the hands with a pleading look on her face.
Maura frowned at the detective. This was one moment where the doctor wished she wasn’t so socially inept. “If you don’t regret changing the nature of our relationship, why have you been avoiding me?”
“Maur, I’m sorry.” She said running her hands up and down Maura’s arms soothingly. “I didn’t mean to, I just—I don’t know how—there’s just so much we haven’t talked about yet.”
Jane removed her hands from Maura with a frustrated sigh. She started to scratch her head anxiously. The detective knew they would have to talk about how all this was going to work eventually. She had just hoped they would make it until they were off-duty. She knew that Maura liked to remain professional while at work, and for Jane’s sake she hoped they could keep the whole thing on the down low until she could at least talk to her mother. Oh god, she did not want to think about that nightmare—
“What do we need to talk about?” Maura said frowning at her bewilderedly.
“You know…” Jane said making awkward, confused gestures.
Maura simply stared at her with a furrowed brow. Jane was acting strange and the doctor just wished she would tell her why.
“You know…” Jane repeated glancing at Maura awkwardly, “… the rules.”
“The rules?”
“For working together.”
“I’m not following you.”
Jane buried her face in her hands, letting out an exasperated sigh. She was going to have to spell this out for Maura. She wasn’t sure she was up for that right now, or ever.
“Look Maura,” Jane said after a moment to collect herself, “we have to work together.”
“Yes.” Maura said with a smile and a nod.
“But now that things between us are…” she looked up at Maura. This was a bad idea because the doctor suddenly seemed so temptingly kissable. Jane looked down at her hands, which she had unconsciously interlocked with Maura’s. “…different…”
“Now that we are pursuing a romantic relationship?” Maura encouraged in a dishearteningly blatant manner.
Jane tried not to lose her nerve. “Yes,” she said looking up into those perfect hazel eyes, “now I don’t know how to act around you anymore.”
“Jane, you don’t have to act any different.” Maura said smiling up at her brightly.
“I know…” Jane said, her eyes wandering to Maura’s lips. “…but whenever I’m around you now I just can’t stop thinking about…”
“That kiss?” Maura said with a suggestive lift of her eyebrow. She had meant to leave Jane thinking about her last night, but she had not intended for it to be so distracting. And distracting it had been. Whenever Maura had had a spare moment, her mind had wandered to the taste of Jane’s skin, the feel of her warm body against her, the sound of Jane’s soft sighs.
Suddenly, the two of them realized they were inches apart. Jane’s hands had slipped around Maura’s waist, Maura’s had slipped up Jane’s shoulders and behind her neck. The doctor licked her lips and smiled up at Jane teasingly. Then Maura’s smile disappeared, and she looked rather serious, despite still holding Jane close.
“So, no tongue. No removing of clothes. No public displays of affection—" Maura was interrupted by a shocked Jane stepping away.
“What?” Jane said frowning at her in astonishment.
“The rules.” Maura said with a shrug, as if it were obvious. “You said we needed to talk about the rules for our behavior in the workplace.”
Jane ran her hands over her face with exasperation. She didn’t think she could ever get used to Maura’s forwardness. Then again, that was what she found so refreshing about the medical examiner.
“No public displays of affection?” Jane said squinting at her incredulously.
“I mean no more than usual.” Maura said shrugging casually.
“What if I want to kiss you?” Jane asked, her voice sounding far more disappointed than she had intended.
“Do you want to?” Maura teased with a raise of her eyebrow.
“It’s crossed my mind,” Jane said noting how incredibly sexy Maura looked in that white coat.
“Well that’s what the no tongue rule is for.” Maura said with a seductive smile.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea…” Jane said, thinking about all the things she could do to the doctor without even using her tongue.
“Perhaps not.” Maura said, blushing. She had been having similar thoughts about how quickly a kiss could lead to disaster.
“We’ll have to finish this discussion later.” Jane said peeling her eyes away from the doctor and glancing at her watch. It was getting late and they needed to wrap things up for the day. “Meanwhile, take another look at the evidence, okay?”
As Jane turned to leave, Maura had an adorably disappointed look on her face that she was trying desperately to hide. She was unable to contain a soft, pouty sigh.
“Damn it,” the detective swore under her breath. She spun around, pressing her lips firmly against Maura’s. Shocked, Maura could find no place for her hands. By the time her mind had caught up with what was happening, Jane was pulling away. Maura opened her eyes to see a wide grin on Jane’s face.
The detective turned and left without another word. Maura didn’t mind, though, because that look clearly told her ‘I’ll be back later.’
[to be continued] |
Aizawa run his hand through Yamada’s hair as the other had his head in his lap, he could tell his boyfriend was stoned out of his mind by how drowsy he sounds and the goofy smile on his face.
His mood seems to be better but that what happens when Shirakumo is around, he always seems to know how to get others in a better mood. Currently the other man is clingy against his boyfriend, Kan and repeatedly telling him how pretty he is, completely stoned out of his mind as well.
It seems only him and Kan were the only cleared minded people in the room right now.
Yamada takes another drawl of the joint and offers it up to him, which he denies yet again but the other doesn’t seem to bother and just take another puff off it again.
He seems a little tired, it might be time to take him back to their own dorm room.
“Yamada, you ready to head back? It’s getting pretty late.” Aizawa asks, rubbing his thumb against his shoulder.
“Hmmm, I don’t want to move.” Yamada sighs, flicking the ashes off into the ashtray. “I’m so comfortable right here.”
“Using me as your personal pillow, huh?” Aizawa asks amused, patting his shoulder for the other to sit up. “I’ll help you back to our room and we can get ready for bed.”
Yamada smiles, chuckling lightly as he gets up to gather his thing.
“We’ll see you tomorrow, Shirakumo.” Yamada says, seeing the other just raise his hand to show that he heard him.
Aizawa loops on of Yamada’s arms around his shoulders and helps him to the door, listening to his blonde silly rants about something he couldn’t really understand.
~*~
Once back inside their room, Aizawa lays Yamada down on their bed and goes to sit at his desk, figuring he could just pass time on the internet and maybe check his messages to see if his parents have messaged him to check to see how he’s doing.
Maybe he should message them and just tell them he has a boyfriend? Might as rip the bandage off because he can’t hide it from them forever, they will eventually find out; And if they get angry then he’ll just have to cut them out of their life.
With a sigh, he pulls up his messages and sees a new message from his mother.
Just asking how he’s settling in up here and how his studies were fairing; He writes back that he’s doing pretty well, that he actually enjoys his classes.
His mother instantly starts writing back and asks if he made any friends here so he replies that he has. She writes back asking if he met any pretty women and with a roll of his eyes, he glances to over the sleeping man laying on their bed before turning back to his computer.
Aizawa types slowly, nerves eating away from him and hovers over the send button; Just do it, you coward. He hits send.
‘I met a man.’
Aizawa leans back in his chair, watching the screen and sees that his mother has read the message. He feels like his heart in up in his throat and feels his face heating up, anxiety raising as she begins to type.
He looks away from the computer and looks at his boyfriend, still fast asleep in their bed. Slowly he turns back to the computer to read his mother’s response, fearing the worse and upon reading the words on the screen, he feels the breath he been holding escape from his lungs.
‘Are you in a relationship with this man?’
Aizawa leans against the desk and rubs in face with stress, rattling his brain to figure out how to respond to her. He reaches up to the key board and types out his next sentence carefully, wondering if his father is standing next to her, reading over her shoulder.
‘Yes, I met him a couple of days after I got here; He’s really nice and I’m happier around him.’
Just as he’s about to type more, his phone starts buzzing and he pulls it out from his pocket to look at the screen.
His mother is wanting to video call him.
Aizawa stands up abruptly and looks at Yamada before rushing into their bathroom to answer the call.
“Mom?” He says, holding the phone up as he closes the door behind him.
“You never told us you liked men.” He hears her says and leans against the door, feeling his heart beating rapidly in his chest. “This man isn’t distracting you from your studies, is he?”
“No. No, we study together for about a hour after classes let out.” Aizawa reassures her, wanting to defend the other’s image. “He’s just as serious about his grades as I am.”
“Is he there with you now?” She asks, moving her head as if she could see around his head through the screen.
“He’s passed out right now.” Aizawa says, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously. “He’s been dealing a problem recently and it’s been stressing him out.”
“Problem? What kind of problem?”
“A...stalker.” Aizawa manages to get out, letting his hand fall back to his side. “He’s already contacted the campus security but since they haven’t actually tried to hurt him, they won’t do anything about it.”
“Buy some pepper spray.” She responds, sitting down on what looks to be the couch; So far is sounds like she doesn’t have a issue with him dating a man.
“I’ll talk to him when he gets up...but doesn’t it bother you?” Aizawa asks, keeping his voice neutral along with his expression to avoid showing how anxious he is. “That I’m dating a man?”
“You’re an adult, capable to making your own decisions, Shouta; It shouldn’t matter.” She replies just as bluntly. “I personally don’t care who you decide to love, I’ll talk to your father about it later on but I have to get off here to start dinner; Talk to you later.”
After the phone call ends, Aizawa lets out a breath of relief and leans against the bathroom door, rubbing his eyes before heading back into the bedroom. Yamada is still out like a light so the other just sits on the edge of the bed and turns on their tv to watch a movie to pass the tome until he got tired. |
There are very few reasons for the ex-Champion to be in Spikemuth, of all places, on a Friday evening, and even fewer still for him to be in a hole-in-the-wall pub. Even in casual clothes, Leon strikes a distinct silhouette, but hardly anyone stops to stare as he makes his way through the dark streets. Raihan had texted him the address of the place, along with very, very specific instructions on how to get there; but seeing as how Leon’s only ever visited Spikemuth a handful of times, he inevitably got lost on his way here. The bleak warehouse streets of the city don’t help, either; how is he supposed to find anything when half the buildings look the same?
Eventually, he does find the right pub (although Rotomaps’ GPS is very upset with him), and Piers is sitting at the bar when Leon wanders into the building. He’s almost surprised to find that the singer is still at the bar at this hour, what with how long it took for him to get here, but Raihan had said that Piers favors this locale on free nights.
He’s usually there Friday evenings, Raihan had said. I think he likes the atmosphere for songwriting. Why?
There is no real why, just a vague inkling in Leon’s gut that tells him he should get to know Piers better. They worked together in the League for so long, and they’ve both been dancing around with Raihan for the last year or so—it's been a long while, and yet if he were asked, Leon doesn’t think he’d be able to list off ten things he knows about the other man.
A few members of Team Yell give him odd looks as he walks through the tables, but he ignores them and sidles up to the bar, plopping down on the empty seat next to Piers, who gives him a wary, sidelong glance.
“This is my turf, champion boy.”
“Wouldn’t that mean you’re not allowed in Wyndon?” Leon blurts without thinking. Smooth.
Piers just sighs, long-sufferingly. “What do you want.”
“Well, I mean, I just thought we should get to know each other a bit better, yeah?” He scratches his head. "I mean, we were colleagues for so long, but also what with our whole… situation and all.”
His companion looks suspicious, but after a moment he gives in and his shoulders slump.
“... Sure,” he says eventually, and waves the bartender over. “Get the champ a drink, s’on me.”
Silence falls, and Leon watches him as they sip on their drinks. Piers is not at all like Raihan or himself; he’s stoic and unreadable where he and Raihan are expressive, prickly when prodded the wrong way and generally scowling at anyone that isn’t his sister or pokemon.
Piers interrupts his reverie with a pointed glance. “So what d’you want to know?”
“Uh.” Leon’s mine blanks. Maybe he should have come in with some kind of plan; instead, he blurts out the first thing he thinks of. “How many piercings do you have exactly?”
Piers barks out a laugh in response. “Of all the questions you could ask—I’ve got twelve,” he says, pointing first to his ears. “Five right, four left. One nose ring and one on my tongue.”
“That's eleven?”
“And one nipple piercing,” he finishes with a coy grin.
“Oh,” Leon says lamely, flushing a little. “That’s, er, bold. Any reason you got it?”
“Iunno, ‘cause I wanted to and I was eighteen. Why d'ya wear that stupid cape?”
Leon gasps in faux rage. “The cape is iconic,” he argues. “Plus, I have to put all those sponsor logos somewhere.”
“Sure,” Piers drawls, though there’s no malice in his voice. “I don’t know how Raihan lets you go out with him, lookin' like that.”
“I put in the effort to look nice sometimes,” he protests weakly.
“Your Battle Tower getup doesn't count, it's a uniform.”
Leon sighs. “I admit defeat. You’ve got me there.”
Smirking, Piers swirls his glass in triumph. “But I’ll give you a pass anyways, since you’ve got such nice muscles to make up for your terrible fashion choices.”
Leon feels his face burning up, and he stammers out a quick “thanks”, taking a sip of his drink to avoid having to look at the other man.
They fall back into silence. Leon wracks his brain to find something else to talk about.
“I was thinking of trying out battling without Dynamax again,” he settles on eventually. The look Piers gives him is nothing short of skeptical.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I mean, you beat Raihan last month during your exhibition match, right?”
“He just wasted too many turns settin’ up the fuckin’ weather. He coulda won otherwise.”
“I dunno,” Leon muses. “That Goodra has given Charizard a run for his money with Rain Dance before.”
“It’s not the same as runnin’ your gym in a place without a power spot, though,” Piers murmurs. Something about the way he says it has Leon feeling small and averting his eyes.
“No, I suppose not. Does Marnie have any plans about the gym…?”
“Ain’t movin’ it anywhere, so the League’s stuck with Spikemuth for a while longer. Plans to keep her band for the tourneys, though.” He takes a sip from his glass, seemingly done with the topic.
Silence again. Leon takes a long swig of his drink, unused to this kind of awkward silence. He really isn't good with small talk when it comes to the singer, and Piers seems content to keep to himself. He’s never had this much trouble getting someone to open up to him before. How did Raihan ever manage to do it? Feeling restless, he fidgets with his glass to give his hands something to do.
To his surprise, Piers is the one to speak up first, this time. “Why do you want to get all friendly all of a sudden? We’ve known each other for years, Leon.”
“Yeah, but we’ve never sat down and really talked, have we?”
“What's the point?”
“You don’t want to at least be friends with your coworkers?” he tries.
“What is this, an interview?" Piers huffs. "Never saw a reason to force myself if I didn't want to.”
Leon frowns, only a little embarrassed. “But you saw a reason for Raihan.”
“He was persistent,” Piers concedes. “We were fuckbuddies first, though.”
“Is that why you didn’t mind when I came along?” he asks.
Piers snorts derisively. “Leon, ye’d have to have been a right moron to not see the tension between you two. Rivalry my arse, it pissed me off more when ye weren’t fuckin’ it out.”
“I really never realized,” Leon says meekly. Piers softens up a little.
“Yeah, I s’ppose that’s why he’s got a soft spot for ya.”
Leon falters. “I—I guess. Does Raihan talk about me that much?”
“Yeah,” Piers sighs. “I mean, he’s courteous about it, but your name comes up often enough.”
“Same here,” Leon nods. “Is he also weirdly awkward about it with you, when he talks about me?”
“Oh, absolutely.” he grumbles. “I wish he’d just stop bein’ weird about it. We all said we were fine with an open relationship, after all.”
“Think we should do something about it?” Leon hums, glancing over at Piers, who raises an eyebrow at him.
“Like?”
He grins. “We should give him something to be jealous about for once.”
Piers studies his face intently. Leon sits there, refusing to back down, until finally, he downs the rest of his drink in one go and says, “Come over to my place, then?”
-
Leon hardly gets inside the apartment before he’s shoved onto the living room couch and Piers is between his legs, undoing his belt with deft fingers and yanking on the belt loops.
He feels a bit giddy from the buzz of alcohol and the prospect of sex, but he can't help but glance around the place as the other man gets to work; the tiny apartment is filled with tokens of its owners, cozily filled but not crowded despite its size. A guitar and a framed picture of Piers and Marnie hang on the wall beside the telly. Speaking of which.
“I, ah. Is Marnie not home?”
Piers rolls his eyes. “No, she’s at Gloria’s. Can we not talk about my sister when I’m about to suck your dick?”
“Oh, uh. As you were.” Leon fumbles, as Piers finally frees his erection from his boxers and wraps his lips around the head.
He settles for tangling a hand in Piers’ hair, guiding him up and down and settling into a steady rhythm. The metal of his tongue piercing slides along the vein on the underside of his shaft, smoothed out by the slick of his spit, and the unfamiliar sensation is making him feel more sensitive than usual. He bucks his hips involuntarily, but Piers takes it in stride without gagging, relaxing his throat so that he takes in all of Leon in one smooth motion.
Piers continues to play with him relentlessly, alternating between giving too much and too little, teasing moans and whimpers from Leon with every little move. The tempo picks up with his eagerness, peppered with the obscene sounds of Piers' mouth around his cock. Abruptly, he sucks hard, hollowing out his cheeks, and traces the ridge of the head with his piercing. It’s driving Leon insane.
“Hey,” Leon groans. “Can—can I take care of you?”
“Depends,” Piers says as he pulls off with a pop and leans up to kiss Leon. “You got experience toppin'?”
Leon doesn’t reply, but merely scoops him up into his arms as he stands with one fluid motion, and Piers reflexively curls his legs around his waist.
“Which way’s your room?”
“Fuck,” Piers breathes, a little surprised at the sudden movement. “S’the one straight ahead of ye.”
Leon navigates them into Piers’ room (and does not almost go into the wrong room, thank you very much), distracted as Piers peppers kisses and bites behind his ears and along his collarbones. He barely manages to get the door closed and pin the other man up against it, leaning in to capture his lips again. He can feel Piers grinding against him and he presses against him, eager to relieve the pressure building in his groin.
“Leon.”
“Mm?”
“What the fuck are ya waitin’ for. Get on my bed.”
His dick twitches at Piers’ tone of voice, and he sits obediently at the end of the bed, back pressed against the wall while Piers straddles him. They kiss again, breaking apart only to work their clothes off, and before he realizes it Piers is tossing him a condom and spreading lube across his fingers, watching for his reaction.
“Sure hope you know what you’re doin’,” he breathes, and sits back to let Leon watch him slide his slick fingers inside of himself and work himself open. His fingers are lean and long, and Leon wants to know what those nimble fingers would feel like in him—perhaps another time.
“I’d hate to disappoint,” Leon follows up with, eventually, before the silence stretches too long. He touches Piers’ wrist gently, guiding his hand away so that he can line himself up with Piers’ stretched hole. “Can I?”
It takes very little coaxing for Piers to settle into position, eager as they both are. There’s the sensation of more lube on his dick, and then Piers is sinking down on him.
“Arceus ,” Leon hisses as warmth envelops him, “You're so tight.”
“It’s—ngh, it’s your fault for bein’ so big,” Piers grunts. His bangs are falling across his eyes, and Leon brushes the limp hair out of his face.
“Thanks for the flattery,” he says, laughing despite himself. “But I know for a fact that Raihan is thicker.”
“Ya caught me,” Piers simpers, completely unashamed. “But don’t go sellin’ yourself short now, either.”
Without any warning, Piers rocks his hips, catching Leon off guard. He's not used to this kind of rhythm that Piers is setting, rough around the edges and leaving him no time to catch his breath; unable to do much more than groan, he places his hands on Piers' slender thighs, letting the other take the lead. Evidently, Piers is visibly enjoying the way Leon so quickly falls apart under him, and the hungry look the singer gives him as he rides his cock has Leon feeling like a trapped rattata.
The thought only heightens his arousal, and Piers must notice, because he leans in to whisper into his ear. “Are you this passive when you fuck Raihan? Or does he fuck you instead?” He grins and nips at his jaw. “C’mon, champ, is this all you can do?”
Leon grunts and promptly grabs Piers’ hips to hold him still, bucking up harshly and earning a surprised gasp from him. He keeps fucking him as he slides his hands up his torso until he's able to pull Piers down for a kiss, and then he moves down to tease that nipple piercing with his teeth and tongue. Piers sighs and bucks his hips, sensitive to the stimulation coming at him from both sides.
“I take it you liked that?” Leon murmurs around the metal bar. His hot breath fans across Piers’ chest and he whines, suspiciously high-pitched.
"Fuckin' hell, Leon," he breathes, leaning forwards to support himself with his arms, "You—"
He doesn't finish his sentence, because Leon interrupts him with another kiss, wrapping an arm around his back and flipping their positions with one fluid movement. Piers moans into his mouth, clawing at his arms as Leon quickens his pace and pistons his hips unrelentingly.
"Piers," Leon pants, "Fuck, Piers, I'm gonna come—"
“Come, then,” Piers bids him hoarsely, tightening his legs around him, and his tone of voice is enough to push Leon over the edge with just a few more rough thrusts.
He groans as he pulls out, wanting to do nothing more than to collapse on top of Piers and lie there in bliss, but he at least has the presence of mind to toss the condom and crawl down to put his mouth to work on Piers, who tangles his fingers in Leon’s hair like his life depends on it. It doesn’t take long for his orgasm to build, and soon he’s hissing and spilling down Leon’s throat as well.
“Bloody hell,” he pants, arm draped over his eyes as he comes down. Leon fetches some tissues and wipes down Piers first, then flops face-down into the sheets with a contented sigh, tugging up the sheets to cover them both.
“Yer sweet,” Piers mumbles, eyes still closed. He’s pawing at his sheets repeatedly with tense fingers, though, and he seems pensive.
"Is something wrong?" Leon asks.
“Um,” Piers says. He hesitates. “I used to think maybe you hated me, since we share Raihan and all.”
“Oh. I thought you hated me,” Leon frowns, stupefied. “Why would you think I wouldn’t like you?”
“I don't know,” Piers huffs. “You're the ex-champ, and you n’ Raihan are rivals. I’m just an interloper. In the way of you two.”
“What? No, I’ve never thought that,” Leon sputters. “You were with Raihan first, anyway. It’s obvious just how much he enjoys being with you, and I’d never take that away from him just to have him to myself.”
“You’re not the one who had to see how smitten he was with you," he says bitterly.
Bewildered, Leon counters, “Do you know how much he talked about you after the championship cup? Every other sentence out of his mouth was about you and your team. He's just as smitten with you, trust me.”
“Why are you being so nice to me?” Piers spits, frustrated. “You shouldn’t—you’re supposed to—”
On a sudden impulse, Leon kisses him to shut him up.
“It doesn’t just have to be you and Raihan, and me and Raihan,” he says nervously when he pulls back, testing his words. “It can be all three of us.”
Piers looks stunned, and for a moment, Leon wonders if he’s crossed a line.
“I don’t… You’re havin’ a laugh. Don’t do this just because ya feel bad for me. I don't need your pity,” he says harshly. The bristles spring back in an instant, but his eyes are wide with fear, and Leon struggles to find the words he wants to express.
“No! It's not pity, Piers. I wasn’t kidding when I said I wanted to know you better.” Quietly, he takes hold of Piers' hands. “I really do think we could make it work.”
“And you realize that if we can’t, it’ll just hurt Raihan?” he snaps.
He really does care a lot for him, Leon thinks with clarity. It makes all sorts of emotions well up in his chest, and he feels bad for ever having doubted Piers' relationship with Raihan.
“But wouldn’t he be even happier if we weren't just two separate parts of his life? I think it’s worth a try, at least,” Leon offers.
Piers still looks uneasy, so he settles back and adds, "You don't have to make a decision now. You can sleep on it, if you want."
“...Okay,” Piers says eventually, closing his eyes. His shoulders are still tense. “I’ll take ya up on that.”
Leon lets out a breath that he’s been holding; he can only hope that his words were enough to quell Piers’ fears. He was serious when he said that he wanted the three of them to be an item, but Piers seems resolute on keeping his walls up; he can only imagine how persistent Raihan must have been to open him up to him in the first place.
Left to his own devices, he examines his surroundings; there's charm in the chaos of Piers' room, when he looks closely. Pokemon toys messily shoved into a basket in the corner, posters on one wall above a shelf of albums, cosmetics overflowing off of his desk; polaroids of him and Marnie and other people clipped to a board on the wall. On the vanity, there's a blue-and-orange woven bracelet sitting front and center; Raihan is wearing a matching black-and-pink one in one of the polaroids on the board.
He thinks of Piers’ usual prickly scowl, and compares it to the sleepy, scrawny man next to him, hair sprawled across his back and onto the sheets. Thinks about how Piers acts aloof when he’s out in public, but how Raihan always talks about how he’s secretly a big softie when they’re alone. He thinks he’s beginning to understand.
Cautiously, he pulls Piers into his side, and feels the singer tense next to him.
He likes getting his hair stroked, he remembers Raihan saying once off-handedly, so Leon tentatively cards his fingers through the other man's hair. He’s surprised to find that Piers begins to relax almost immediately, and he continues combing the black and white locks as they slowly doze off.
-
At some point, Piers’ phone buzzes with a text, rousing them both. A dragon emoji blinks on screen.
yo I think Leon wanted to find you in spikemuth
did he ever meet up with you or did he get lost again lol
He's here.
cool cool
what’d you guys get up to
Piers hesitates. He types a few words, deletes them. Types a few more. Deletes those too, and then hovers his finger uncertainly over the video call button. He looks at Leon for confirmation, and Leon places his hand over Piers’ and presses call.
"Oh! Hey, what's— "
Raihan goes quiet.
"Hullo," Leon says cheerfully, leaning into Piers' space so that he can properly fit in the frame. He’s very aware of the warmth of the other man, in such close proximity to his chest, but Piers doesn’t shy away, tilting closer towards him so that Raihan can get a good look at both of their disheveled appearances. On the screen, Raihan is slack-jawed and turning ever so slightly pink.
“You wanna come over?” Piers asks. He looks mildly amused.
“I can’t believe you’d leave me out of whatever sweet bonding you two are up to! Rotom, call a corvicab— ”
The line cuts off, but Leon and Piers fall back onto the sheets, laughing.
“He’s got a one track mind,” Leon murmurs, replaying the image of Raihan looking flustered on the other end of the line while Piers tries unsuccessfully to hide his smile.
“Hey, Leon?”
“Mm?”
“Were you serious, when you said you wanted the three of us to date each other?” Piers fixes him with a penetrating stare. The caution is still there in his eyes, but less panicked than before; it's tinged with what Leon thinks might be yearning.
“I’m very serious,” Leon replies, with all the sincerity he can muster. “Even before we started all this, I always wanted to get closer to you, but I never knew where to start.”
Piers lets out a shaky breath. “I’m… not good at lettin’ people in. But if you’re serious about it, I'd… be willin’ to try. I don’t mind you, and I think it’d make Raihan happy, at least.”
“Would it make you happy?” Leon asks gently, brushing a tuft of hair out of Piers’ eyes.
Another deep breath. “I think so. Yeah, it would.” A nervous smile worms its way onto his face. “Guess we’ve got some catchin’ up to do.”
Leon laces his fingers with Piers’, and smiles back. “We’ve got the time.”
-
It takes Raihan less than half an hour to arrive, and when they open the door to let him in he practically trips through the door in his haste to see them. He falls into Piers’ arms and promptly kisses him ardently, much to Piers’ surprise, then peeks over his shoulder and kisses Leon as well.
“Hi,” Leon laughs into the kiss. “Missed us?”
“I’m so glad to see you guys getting along like this,” Raihan confesses, skipping straight to the point. He buries his face in Piers’ hair, and Leon realizes with a start that Raihan is shaking. “There were so many times I felt like I might be hurting you two, even though you both said you were okay with me dating the both of you. Arceus, I’m so glad .”
Piers softens, hugging Raihan tightly. “Idiot, I kept tellin’ you, it’s fine,” he says, and Leon reaches around to pat Raihan on the back.
“What he said,” Leon grins. “Besides, Piers and I did some talking, and, well, we’ve all got two hands here.”
“I love you both so much,” Raihan whimpers. “So, you want us all to try dating, as three…?”
He trails off, and the three of them share a look.
“I think we can make it work,” Piers says softly, and Leon can’t help but beam and wrap his arms around his two boyfriends. |
Nice Cream Guy carefully massaged the tiny, pearlescent heart cupped within his furry blue paws. He was currently manning his nice cream cart in Hotland, located on the side and in front of the entrance into the MTT Resort. Feeling rather bold, he would bring it out in the open when nobody was around, would stroke the soul, and then quickly hide it as monsters drew closer to him.
After all, it was indecent to reveal a monster’s soul unless it was for battle or intimacy. This fell squarely within the second category.
A mingle of fear, arousal and excitement emanated from the mysterious core. Nice pressed the pads of his right pointer at the center and was met with a squishy, squelching sound as fluid began to drip from the inverted, heart-shaped organ.
He only wished he could see all the various and delicious expressions his boyfriend was making during his ministrations. No doubt his partner was having, as Sans would say, a “good time”.
Speaking of the short skeleton, he suddenly appeared in front of the wall of the building, as though he’d walked straight through it like a door. Nice immediately shoved the soul into the breast pocket of his uniform. Having the soul so close to his own filled with him such warmth that he hummed.
“you enjoyin’ yourself there, nice?” Sans leered, his eye lights briefly stopping at the pocket hiding the soul.
“Ahaha, n-not at all. Just happy with g-good business!” he stuttered in response.
“well don’t mind me. i’ll be soully alone.”
Sans winked and then sauntered to the other side of the MTT Resort entrance.
Nice sighed in relief — that had been a close call — and took the soul back out. He noted that there was a distinct damp spot on his shirt.
Before he could continue, a short bipedal monster wearing a blue and purple striped shirt with brown hair and yellow skin approached him. Nice quickly hid the sacred object behind the open glass of his cart. The cool air rushing out caused the soul to quiver violently, and it flashed brightly as though it were a disco ball. Nice swiftly covered it with his hand so the child wouldn’t see. They pointed at his cart.
“Sorry, I’m all out of nice cream. Those Royal Guards bought my last ones. Maybe try the MTT Resort?”
The child tilted their head, regarding him with suspicion before sighting Sans. They ran towards the blue-clad skeleton, leaving Nice Cream Guy to himself once again. He peered around, and after spotting no nearby monsters, he twisted the tip of the soul, causing liquid magic to soak into his fingers like water in a wet rag.
It almost resembled a melting nice cream bar. Should he lick it?
-----
Burgerpants suppressed a groan as he felt the loving intent pour into him via his soul… which was currently in Nice’s hands, located outside the MTT Resort. He squirmed behind the counter of the MTT-Burger Emporium and attempted to keep his eyes from closing in bliss. This only resulted in monsters giving him strange stares.
Thank God Mettaton didn’t seem to be working today. What would his boss think?
No doubt he would broadcast it for the whole Underground to see. It would be a scandal for the century.
Maybe he deserved it for being so stupid as to agree to this in the first place. Though, he couldn’t stop the excitement at the thought of getting caught.
Burgerpants gasped when warmth flooded him. Wherever Nice was keeping his soul, it must’ve been close to the rabbit monster’s own. The strum of their magic resonated together. His face scrunched together with his left eye twitching violently.
After the initial shock of being so close to Nice’s soul tapered off, Burgerpants managed to keep his features neutral... Until coldness seeped into his very core. It was like opening a freezer and taking a full blast of cold air. Except at the most important and sensitive part of him. He clenched down on his teeth to stop any embarrassing sounds from leaving his mouth, and jammed his right hand into his pocket to reach for a cigarette.
When the urge to climax finally passed, he found himself staring at a short monster child wearing a blue and purple striped shirt with brown hair and yellow skin. They squinted up at him.
Burgerpants took a brief smoke of his cigarette to calm down and then attempted a welcoming smile.
“Welcome to MTT-Brand Burger Emporium, home of the Glamburger. Sparkle up your day.” His ears flattened as another wave of pleasure hit him. “What can I do for you, little buddy?”
The child continued their gaze and slowly lifted an arm to point in the direction of the exit.
Burgerpants cringed. “What? Why do you keep trying to talk to me? I'll get in trouble if I get chummy with the customers. Sorry.”
They kept pointing at the outside of building, and then made rabbit ear gestures with their hands.
Without warning, something soft and wet touched his soul. His perseverance finally failed him; his orange fur stood on its ends as a loud moan escaped his mouth. His eyes closed as he arched into the counter..
When he opened them again, the monster in the striped shirt gaped at him with their mouth in an O. Sweat poured down Burgerpant’s face as realization of what had just happened dawned on him.
He’d climaxed in front of a monster child!
He gave a strained grin, eyebrows twitching like caterpillars. “Listen. I like you, little buddy. So I'm gonna save you a lot of trouble. Never interact with attractive people.”
The child regarded him with confusion for several seconds. Then, they directed two finger guns at him while suggestively waggling their eyebrows, and walked away.
The gesture caught him completely off-guard, but he decided to let it go. It was too much effort to worry about it now that it’d passed. He was in the clear. Or was he?
As though the universe hated him, a familiar and smooth “Oh my!~” came from behind him. Perspiration dotted his forehead even more as he slowly turned around.
Mettaton stood in front of the door into the CORE with a knowing smirk on his lips.
Burgerpants slapped his paw into his face and muttered, “This is hell.” |
Tony is decidedly Not Happy. He frogmarches Peter to his obnoxiously flashy car parked right in front of the door and practically shoves Peter into the front seat like he’s a criminal. He’s muttering to himself the whole time, and Peter recognises this as the way Tony gets when he’s working himself up to a speech. Tony’s speeches are always either incredibly funny (when directed at someone else) or impossibly teacheresque.
“Peter,” He says eventually when the silence has gotten a little too noticeable. “Listen. I know at your age you’re probably thinking a lot about… science, or girls or something. I don’t know what teenagers are like these days. But you’re probably going to want to rebel against the authority figures in your life. That’s normal. Understandable, even. But if you’re going to rebel, you’re going to do it when May or I are around so we can supervise your rebellion and make sure you don’t do anything reckless.”
Ahh, so it’s going to be a teacheresque type lecture today then.
“Tony-” Peter starts, deciding whether to tell him to stop meddling with his private life - a course of action that would almost certainly reaffirm Tony’s belief that this was all in the name of teenage rebellion - or try and persuade him that he isn’t going to be taking any risks any time soon.
Then he remembers the ride on the back of a motorbike with a man a decade older than him who he’d met approximately twice before, and decides to keep his mouth shut.
“No, Peter, listen to me!” Tony’s hands squeeze the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white. “If you want to rebel come to me for advice! Steve doesn’t know what it means to be a badass.”
Peter sighs internally, desperately regretting trying to have an opinion in this very much one-sided argument. Especially as it causes Tony to launch into an even bigger tirade, which goes something along the lines of ‘appearances are everything, do you want to ruin all of your prospects and end up working in a McDonald’s?’.
Peter doesn’t think it would be a good idea to say that being around fries and burgers all day would be kind of cool, as long as he got to use Tony’s workshop whenever he wants to.
“I’m sorry I made you worry, Tony.” Peter sighs, knowing this bit at least is true. “But I won’t do it again. It wasn’t even a one time thing, it was like… a half a time thing since I didn’t even know I
was
making you worry.”
Yes, Peter feels kind of guilty throwing Steve under the bus like that but he knows what’s about to happen if he doesn’t and that terrifies him more than life itself.
Tony smirks at his efforts. “Nice try, kid,” he says, “But I’m still telling May.”
***
May is not happy either. She takes one look at Tony’s stern expression and opens the door wide without question. There aren’t many things that could put a reproachful look on Tony’s face and, unfortunately, Peter finds himself being one of those things.
“You rode on a
motorbike
, Peter?! You
know
how I feel about motorbikes! And who even is Steve anyway? I’ve never met the man, he certainly shouldn’t be corrupting you.”
Peter sighs internally, wishing that they had been just one hour later, so that May wouldn’t have been home. Her lecture goes in a similar way to Tony’s, except that Tony pitches in once or twice to defend Steve’s honour. Eventually, May relents and allows Peter to go back to the tower with Tony seeing as he couldn’t stay home alone all weekend and the anguished look on Peter’s face at the thought of not being able to go in the workshop for two weeks obviously bothers her.
Peter can tell that Tony is working himself up to say something, but doesn’t find out what until they are back in the car.
“So how come you and Steve are suddenly so close anyway? Why would he lie about picking you up from school and not tell anybody?” Tony asks him, a sharp edge to his voice that Peter can’t quite figure out.
He panics internally, before realising that there is nothing going on between him and Steve - at least, probably not on Steve’s part - and that they haven’t done anything wrong in anyone’s eyes; except for May and Tony’s, and that’s only because he rode a motorcycle.
“We just get on really well, we had um, a really nice time last weekend and have a lot to talk about? I guess?” Peter responds, hoping that it’s a good enough answer for Tony.
And surprisingly, it is. Tony seems to forget his second question and they chat about his latest project for SI during the remainder of the drive. He isn’t sure exactly how long Tony has known Steve, but it must be long enough that he implicitly trusts his friend. At least, enough not to assume the worst, which Tony always seems to do.
Peter decides he needs a shower as soon as he gets in because honestly, after riding Steve’s motorbike and eating way too much pizza he feels kind of gross. It’s been such a stressful day he just wants to stand under the warm, comforting flow of water and relax. Let all the stress wash off just like the dirt and grime of the day. He sighs in relief as soon as the elevator delivers him to his floor. Having sat through not only two lectures from Tony, but also one from May, his mental resources are completely depleted and his hair is disgusting from the helmet.
He intends to make a beeline for the bathroom. He has his own en suite in his room but the communal bathroom on this floor is way cooler and the shower has, like, a hundred different settings so he always chooses this one instead. He is already kicking off his shoes along the way - knowing Tony will probably trip over one in the middle of the night and chew him out for it in the morning, his own petty version of revenge - when he hears something to his left.
He peers around the corner curiously, and what he sees is enough to leave him breathless and sweaty. He’s ten thousand percent sure he needs a shower now more than before.
Steve is sitting on one of the wooden benches in Tony’s gym, topless and glistening with sweat, a hefty looking dumbbell in one hand whilst with the other hand he grips onto the pull up bar above his head. The muscles in his arms and on his toned stomach are flexed and easily defined. His hair is damp with sweat and hanging over his eyes, and he’s so caught up in his workout that he doesn’t notice Peter lurking behind the wall spying on him.
The only thing stopping Peter from walking over there on shaky legs and asking to touch Steve’s abs is the knowledge that Tony is probably ten steps behind him and will, any minute now, come round the corner and catch Peter gaping at his best friend.
He forces himself to tear his gaze away from Steve - and the way his muscles ripple under his skin, and the way he lets out little grunts with every rep he does - and hurries towards the bathroom. The erection that Peter had been trying to suppress all afternoon decides to come out with full force and he needs to get in the shower
right
now; he doesn’t even have time to dash into his bedroom and grab some spare clothes because if he runs into Tony in this state, he’s fucked. It means he’ll have to return to his room in just a towel afterwards but right now he can’t think about anything other than the incredibly attractive half naked man in the next room.
Peter strips off his gross clothes and turns the shower on— that’s another reason he prefers this bathroom: the water is always hot straight away. He doesn’t have to wait for it to heat up, so he kicks his clothes out of the way and stands under the spray, tilting his head back and letting out a sigh. Steve Rogers will be the death of him.
Peter honestly does try to get through the whole shower without thinking about Steve. He’s not quite desperate enough to use cold water instead, but he does try and think about that time Ned snorted milkshake all over Peter’s bed, or that time MJ accidentally kicked Peter in the balls, instead of the way Steve smelt when Peter was wrapped around him like a koala on the bike.
But everything triggers the thought of Steve, and the image of him pulling himself up by one arm, his bicep bulging and his face contorted with the effort, and Peter can’t seem to help but think of Steve lifting him up like that and throwing him onto the bed, crawling on after him…
Whoops.
Peter suddenly feels way too hot, and it has nothing to do with the temperature of the water. All the pent up emotions from the day are catching up on him and Peter finds himself swallowing hard, inhaling deeply and running a hand down his chest. He imagines he can still smell Steve’s body - hard and hot pressed against his own - as he wraps a hand around his cock.
He thinks about Steve next door; he thinks about what might have happened had he gone in and interrupted Steve’s workout. He could have walked straight up to Steve, run a hand up his chest or sat straight down in the man’s lap. Steve in real life would have been confused, would probably have pushed him away Peter is sure, but Steve in his fantasies wraps a hand around Peter’s hip and pulls him closer.
The Steve of Peter’s fantasies kisses him slow and deep, working his way down Peter’s neck as he sucks bruises into the sensitive skin there. Peter shudders just thinking about it, pressing a hand against the shower wall for support. His whole body feels tense, like a live wire, and he jerks himself hard and fast. Tony is probably wondering what’s taking him so long.
He remembers the way Steve has opened the door to the diner open for Peter, the way he had sounded so confident when he had said, “it’s on me.” He thinks about the feeling of Steve’s fingers under his chin, soft on his face, and closes his eyes as he feels himself getting close.
Peter bites his lip, trying to keep himself from making any noises, but he can’t stop a soft moan from escaping as his breathing speeds up. He’s sure no one else will hear him over the sound of the shower running, so he lets go and allows himself to let out an embarrassing high pitched whine. His orgasm takes him completely by surprise; he lets his forehead fall against the shower wall and pants helplessly, trying to catch his breath.
Guilt takes over straight away; he’s never really jerked off to anyone he knows personally before and now he understands why people warn others against it. How is he going to be able to look Steve in the eye ever again after he just came to the mental image him?
He sighs, rinsing himself off quickly before turning the water off and stepping out of the shower. He really needs to get a grip.
***
After an intense workout session, Steve feels no closer to a resolve on his feelings for Peter. Apparently punching out your frustrations doesn’t mean that your romantic feelings will resolve themselves too. Feeling incredibly grimey and in desperate need of a shower, he heads towards the bathroom, grabbing a clean towel and a pair of boxer shorts on the way and almost tripping over a stray trainer lying in the middle of the hallway. Which must mean that Peter was here, but if he wasn’t in his room and he wasn’t in the living area, then where was he? The answer comes in the form of moan issued from the other side of the bathroom door, which hasn’t been shut properly.
He freezes, realising that the moan must have come from Peter, who is in the shower. Naked. Which must mean that he’s…
Steve feels his dick start to harden in his gym shorts and curses internally.
This really wasn’t helping with the whole trying to convince himself that he doesn’t have a thing for Peter fiasco. He uses a towel to mop up some of the sweat from his neck and hair before throwing on a t-shirt and heading for his room. He needs to get out of here before Peter gets out of the bathroom and they run into each other, just so Peter wouldn’t realise he’s been in the other room this whole time listening to him jerk off.
This is what he tells himself, but it also might have something to do with the fact that he kind of needs to jerk off himself now, and the privacy of his own room may be better for that than Tony Stark’s communal gym.
He takes a swig from the water bottle at his side, closing his eyes just for a second, but that second is obviously enough for him to be distracted. He runs straight into Peter, who is only barely covered up by a towel wrapped around his waist and is still dripping wet.
For fuck’s sake,
Steve thinks. Someone is seriously out to get him.
“Steve!” Peter stammers, eyes wide. His hair is falling over his forehead and Steve wants nothing more than to push it back and run his fingers through it. Thankfully he manages to contain himself, and keep from molesting the teenage boy in front of him.
“Peter, hey!” Steve replies, smiling easily like he isn’t a total creep who has been listening to Peter touch himself five minutes earlier.
“I just wanted to apologise for earlier.” Peter tells him earnestly. Steve flushes, cheeks turning bright red as his mind jumps to ‘earlier’ when Peter was moaning in the shower. That can’t be what he’s talking about, surely? And why would he be apologising to Steve? Unless…
“You know, Tony freaking out and all?” Peter clarifies after seeing Steve’s deer-in-the-headlights expression. “Lecturing you? I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”
“Oh!” Steve exhales. “You don’t need to apologise. I deserved it for kidnapping you like that. Sorry for, uh, lying to you by the way.” He adds sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. Desperately hoping that his hard-on isn’t noticeable too through his shorts.
He must have jinxed it though, because he sees Peter look down, and his eyes widen at what must be the obvious bulge in his pants.
“I, uh, I --” Steve stammers, totally at a loss for what to say, and completely destroying any chance at pretending that it wasn’t there.
“I really enjoyed spending time with you today!” Peter blurts out, stepping closer to Steve without really thinking about it. Steve follows the movement with his eyes and Peter can’t help but notice his pupils dilate. Steve’s heart is hammering against his chest and he can’t decide whether he’s terrified or excited. A mixture of the both, he thinks. Steve is leaning towards him and the atmosphere between them has suddenly gotten heavy; Steve is just considering actually kissing the boy when he hears a loud bang from the living room, followed by a “FUCK!”, and the two spring apart, blinking like a bright light has just been shone into their eyes.
“PETER! How many times do I have to tell you to tidy up your fucking shoes?” bellows Tony as he limps into the hallway, “I almost just broke the bloody coffee table tripping over your dumb Nikes!”
Peter lets out a snort before clamping a hand over his mouth and Steve has to try not to laugh at the look on Tony’s outraged face.
“Whoops, sorry Tony, I’ll um, I’ll tidy them up in a minute, I just need to get dressed?” Peter responds, holding back his giggles.
Steve watches him go into his room, a bead of water rolling down his lean back, and wonders just what on earth he is getting himself into.
|
King Loki was examining a crystal in his hand when Thor stepped up beside the blazing fire. There was an awkward pause, and then Loki's eyes flicked to Thor. He lowered the crystal. "You look upset. Don't tell me you forgot about the Alfheim Uprising."
"Of course not," Thor said. He wasn't likely to forget his first foray into actual battle and the blood-soaked reality of it. "But, it shouldn't be happening for another decade at least!" Thor recalled the Alfheim Uprising starting due to rising tensions from a famine that had ravaged the realm. Those tensions had devolved into riots and raiding, which, naturally, turned to actual skirmishes and then war.
King Loki shrugged. "Things have altered."
"Who would assassinate Lady Rikvi?" Thor asked. She was beloved by the people. Not the most influential woman in the nine, but was widely known for being kind, beautiful, and generous. She'd made news when she adopted five orphans after a natural disaster on Alheim. Which -Thor suddenly realized- she'd not be able to do this time. He made a note to be sure the children were otherwise taken care of should that still occur in a century or so.
"Someone who wanted the war to happen and most likely didn't care to wait for the situation to blow up naturally," King Loki said. "The better question is: why would that someone want the war? Are they after independence for Alfheim? Do they want to use the uprising as a distraction? Are they actively trying to destabilize The Nine? All of these are possibilities. Unfortunately, there's really no way to tell unless you find who assassinated Lady Rikvi."
Thor scowled. Being his current age, the chances of him investigating such a thing was almost certainly non-existent. And, if the crime was solved, he doubted that he'd be told the reasons behind it. Unless, perhaps, if he asked Mother. Speaking of...
"Mother still wants to speak with you," Thor said. He'd brought this up before but had not gotten any response. King Loki had always sidestepped the topic without Thor realizing he did it until after he'd already woken up again.
King Loki froze so completely Thor thought he'd turned to stone. Perhaps it was the sudden topic change, but Loki looked very caught off guard where he usually didn't. The older version of Thor's brother seemed to gather himself after a moment. "That would not be wise."
"Why not?"
"Because I say so," King Loki said as he rotated his hand, and the gem disappeared in a shimmer of green.
"Would it really be so bad?"
King Loki's eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward on his broken throne. "Yes. Now drop this topic. Was the only reason you came here to worry about the war you should have realized you couldn't avoid?" Loki asked.
Thor shifted his weight from side to side. "No," he admitted. "Not the only reason. Is there anything I should try to avoid? A battle that you were hurt in that you didn't tell me about?"
Loki tilted his head with a thoughtful hum. "Sometimes I wonder where you get your bursts of insight..." he muttered. Thor wasn't sure if he should be proud or offended by that. King Loki shifted on his broken throne. "The Battle of Kaldholmr."
Thor felt something in his chest drop straight through the floor. Kaldholmr. He really should have expected that. That battle had been one of the bloodiest of the war. Certainly, the most gruesome Thor and his brother had been a part of, and both had suffered nightmares after it for years, he knew. "Ah." Thor was not looking forward to reliving that battle. He'd already done it enough in his dreams for several lifetimes. "I don't suppose there's anything I can do to avoid that..."
King Loki shrugged with deceptive casualness. "I don't know if it'll even happen the same way as it did before seeing how things are starting a decade early," he said. "But if it is destined to happen... well, we already know how the Norns will meddle to make sure fate is satisfied. At this point, trying to predict the future is most likely a futile endeavor. Too much has already changed. I will do my best to give you what warnings I can, but, well."
Thor nodded. There was only so much King Loki could do here in a different dimension entirely. "How were you hurt?" Loki blinked. "During Kaldholmr. You said you were hurt then and didn't tell me. Was it bad?"
Loki shrugged again. "You'd have noticed if it was too terrible."
"You could have just illusioned yourself healthy," Thor said with a derisive snort. "The truth, Loki."
Loki pursed his lips together before huffing. "Very well. I got stabbed in the leg. It was fine."
"Did anyone know?"
"... Astrild. But I was able to convince him to not tell anyone," Loki said with a casual wave of his hand.
Thor wasn't sure he wanted to know but found himself asking anyway, "How did you manage that?"
"Blackmail, of course," King Loki said. "I was entirely bluffing, but apparently, there is, in fact, something he didn't want the rest of you to know about. I just had to pretend that I was keeping his secret, and he kept mine. Of course, that did make him rather... frosty towards me after that. Unfortunate, that. He was always one of your more tolerable friends."
"Well, this time, you won't be getting hurt, so blackmailing friends won't be necessary," Thor said.
Loki's eyebrow went up. "And how do you imagine that will happen? We won't be in the same Battalion. The only reason we were both at that battle in the first place was because my troop was called in to be reinforcements," he said.
"I'll think of something."
"You might. You seem to be far more... capable than I remember. It's good to see," Loki said.
"I'm fairly certain that was half-insult and half-compliment," Thor said.
The slightly haggard King smirked. "'Well, I can't have you thinking something's wrong with me, now can I?"
"You-"
"Goodbye, Thor. So lovely seeing you. Come to me if it's an emergency and not before," Loki said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
Thor woke up suddenly and swore. "Loki. You really can be such a-" Thor huffed and shook his head. There was little point in complaining since he was now awake. He really should be used to his brother's tendency to avoid certain topics by now. But it didn't matter, because he had more important things to worry about.
With the war officially declared, Thor knew it would only take at most two weeks -most likely less- for him and Loki to be sent out. He remembered last time it had only taken ten days for them to be assigned positions in the army. They weren't yet Battle Proven, so they wouldn't be given any commands, but as princes, they couldn't avoid a fight. With a sigh, Thor got up and went to his bathing chambers. He had to figure out how to get him, and Loki assigned to the same company despite the laws. Thor couldn't just let them be separated. They had always fought seamlessly together, and Thor trusted nobody but himself to look after his brother. Thor realized he was perhaps unreasonable and biased, and he didn't care. He was allowed to be overly protective of his baby brother.
He racked his brain as he bathed for any loophole he knew of that could help him get onto the same company with Loki, but the law was pretty clear in the wording that such a thing wasn't allowed. For the security of the crown. Thor made a face at that thought even as he left the bathroom.
Thor nearly jumped clear out of his skin to see his brother sitting on the bed. "Loki!"
"Took you long enough. I've never known you to take so long in the bath," Loki said without looking up from a very thick book he had open on his lap.
"You shouldn't just barge into my room!" Thor complained as he went to get some clothes.
"You barge into my room all the time," Loki muttered, although he made sure to still be loud enough for Thor to not miss it.
Thor thought that wasn't entirely fair. He hadn't burst into Loki's room in... weeks. He frowned. He'd been trying to be better about not doing that now that he knew more about why Loki valued his private rooms so much, but maybe he was still a work in progress. He would have to do even better. "Yes, well, I promise not to do that anymore," Thor said.
"Mm, we'll see."
"What are you doing here?" Thor asked as he pulled on some trousers before dropping the towel he'd had around his waist.
"I've been pondering our situation," Loki said.
Thor frowned. "Which situation?" He half glanced over his shoulder but kept his back to Loki so that he could fasten his pants without any indecency.
"You don't want to be separated, do you?"
"Of course not," Thor said as he grabbed a shirt and then turned around. "Have you found anything?"
Loki made a face. "Not as of yet, but I've only just gotten through one law book. These are... dense."
"If you're the one saying that, it really must be," Thor said as he came over and leaned across the bed to read the book in his brother's lap. He blinked at the various runes all across the page. "... I don't even recognize half of those."
"Yes, this book was written during Buri's rule... the alphabet has changed some since then," Loki said as he flipped a page. "But, I figured if we're going to get around a law... an even older law might just be the key to doing that. Did you know that it's apparently illegal to walk backwards on the streets?" Loki asked.
"... it is?"
Loki nodded. "According to this, it is. Punishable by two hours in stocks. Because apparently, that was a thing old Asgard did."
"Well, I suppose it could have a far worse punishment. Two hours isn't that bad," Thor said.
"Well, it's two hours per ten yards you do it for. Minimum two," Loki clarified. "But that doesn't really help us here..."
Thor straightened. "No, I suppose not. Interesting, though." Loki hummed in agreement. "We should probably go attend morning meal. Or are you going to say you're not hungry again?"
"I'm really not," Loki said. "But I suppose if I don't go, Mother will come and berate me."
"Berate is a strong word," Thor said as Loki closed the book and got to his feet. "You don't eat enough." Loki's appetite still hadn't recovered from his abduction though he was at least not unhealthily thin anymore.
"You realize I'm not incapable of looking after myself, right?" Loki asked as he started for the door.
"It's not about being capable, brother. It's about us caring about you," Thor said. "We want you to be healthy, that's all. Wouldn't you want the same for any of us?"
Loki scrunched up his nose. "I suppose. Still, I'm not fond of the fussing. You know that."
"I do," Thor said. "And if I could help it, I would resist. But I fear, as your older brother, I just can't."
"Sap," Loki said with an eye roll. Thor didn't think he was too upset, though. If he were distraught, he probably would have said something far more scathing than just 'sap,' which really was too basic for his Silvertongue.
When they got to the Royal Dining room, only their Mother was there. She looked stressed, which wasn't surprising given the circumstances but still sent an unpleasant pang through Thor to see. It was always uncomfortable to see his Mother worried. "Boys, there you are," she said. "Come sit down."
The brothers did as they were told. Frigga eyed the thick book that Loki put on the table but said nothing. Breakfast was unusually tense. "After eating, you boys need to go to the armorers," Frigga said as she spooned some honey into her porridge. Her grip on the spoon was so tight that her knuckles had turned white.
"Yes, Mother," Loki said.
Thor didn't recall his first time preparing for the war being this awkward. But then, he also had been unaware of how devastating war could really be. Thor had been excited to show what he could actually do. That eagerness had lasted for months until he'd arrived at the first real battlefield. Then he'd seen the corpses strewn everywhere, and the unmistakable smell of war seeped into his brain for all time. The excitement had been dampened considerably as he watched man after man being carted off to be returned to their families.
Breakfast passed mostly in silence, and then the brothers went to the royal armorer. Thor knew that, eventually, Loki would work his magic on these forges. As the god of forges, his blessing would mean that everything that came from those kilns would be stronger and more durable than before. The fire would burn cleaner, and more of the metal's impurities would simply melt away. But that wouldn't be until Loki came into his own and took up the title of forge god.
"My Princes!" Gernot, the royal armorer, greeted them as they walked into the forge. "I had heard you were coming today. I have prepared many designs for you over the years. I'm sure one of them will serve."
Thor nodded, and together, he and Loki went to sit at a table away from the heat of the fire. Though the brothers had ceremonial armor and practice armor, neither would suit going into actual battle. Ceremonial armor was all about looks and tended to be difficult to move in. In contrast, practice armor most likely had been beaten and worn heavily. It often was patched and didn't provide as much protection because practice blades weren't sharpened until the very end of regulated training.
"Have you boys thought about your colors? You're a little young yet, but war, unfortunately, waits for no one," Gernot said.
Personal colors were usually picked at a person's Centurion. They were meant to represent you even when you weren't there. Crests were also employed for the same purpose, but colors were easier at a glance. Having personal colors was an old tradition kept mostly the aristocratic members of society participated in -including the royal family- or if a family was trying to seem more important than they were. Each clan tended to stay in the same family of colors, so they were quickly associated with one another, but it wasn't required.
"Red and blue," Thor said. Red was his Father's primary color as well, and his Mother's side tended to go with blues and greens.
Gernot nodded and noted the color choices. "And gold, I presume?" It was a reasonable assumption. Thor couldn't recall the last time a Prince of Asgard didn't use gold as their signature metal. But it had simply never felt... right to Thor, and he couldn't explain it. Never really tried to, if he was honest.
"Silver," Thor corrected. "I'd rather be silver."
Gernot paused and looked at Thor, but he wasn't about to question it. So, instead, he slowly nodded and added the note. "Silver, then... And you Prince Loki?"
Loki was also looking at Thor curiously. "Green," Loki said after a moment. "And black."
"Black?" Gernot echoed, clearly taken aback. Black was not considered one of the regal colors.
"It suits me," Loki said without looking at the armorer. "Don't you agree, brother?"
Thor hummed and gave a short nod. "It does." He couldn't imagine Loki wearing a color like red or white. Blue, yes, since he'd seen his brother's skin that way so often now. And perhaps yellow. Purple would be garish, and brown simply wouldn't suit his brother's dramatic personality.
Gernot still looked confused but jotted down the choice anyway. "Green and black it is. The metal?"
"Gold," Loki said. Probably not willing to disregard tradition so much to pick an unconventional color as well as a metal.
"Right. Well, now that we have that taken care of... here are some of what I've been thinking about for you," Gernot said as he pulled out a few sketches. Thor suppressed his sigh at what promised to be an unnecessarily long meeting to make sure their first set of customized armor was best suited to them. Thor remembered his own, and it would be quick, but Loki was pickier and his fighting style so different than the normal Asgardian that it would make modifications so that it suited him.
The whole meeting was as long and tedious as Thor feared, but at least they were done with it several hours later. "I will say, it's impressive that they can make our armor so quickly," Thor said as he and Loki ascended the long flight of stairs from the forges to the Royal Wing of the palace.
"Yes, well, if we were a more primitive culture, it would take much longer," Loki said.
Thor nodded absently even as he heard the faint pattering sound of paws on the floor. He glanced over his shoulder to see Huld scampering up from behind. She let out a soft growl, and Thor noticed she had something in her tail-hand. Huld jumped onto Loki and scrambled up his back to rest her head on his shoulder.
Loki gave her an unimpressed look but kept walking. "What have you gotten into now? Am I going to get into trouble?"
Huld blinked her big eyes, and her tail wrapped around Loki's waist. She was still holding whatever her prize was, and Loki carefully pried it out of her hand. He held up a glimmering jewel about the size of a date and was a pale peach color. Loki held it up in the light and turned it. "Hmm. I don't know who you snatched this from, Huld, but it would be very useful in spell casting. Clever girl."
"Maybe you should actually start disciplining her for stealing. She wouldn't be so inclined then," Thor said.
"Nonsense. She's attracted to sparkling things near the size of eyes... Huld can't fight her instincts to snatch them," Loki said as he pocketed the jewel.
"... you taught her not to gouge out any person's eyes; I don't see why stealing would be any harder," Thor said.
"It's not that simple."
"You mean, you don't want to."
"That's what I said, yes," Loki said with a smirk. "It's far too useful, her bringing me various trinkets."
Thor sighed. "It's not good to steal from our own people, Loki. You know better."
Loki made a face. "Oh, you're no fun at all. Fine. I'll... temper her urges as best I can." Thor supposed he'd have to be satisfied with that. Besides, Thor knew that Loki wouldn't actually do something too objectionable. He liked to think he knew his brother better now. "But, more important than that... I have a lot of reading to do if I'm going to find a way around this... law issue."
"Can I help at all?" Thor asked.
"Hmm, I suppose you can read up on the newer laws. Those will at least not use any ancient symbols in them," Loki said. "And I don't imagine we have very long to do our research. We'll be assigned companies after camp."
Thor nodded. Every new soldier had to attend a rigorous training camp before receiving their assignment. Since Thor and Loki had both been in Tyr's classes for decades, Thor didn't imagine they would get much more than camaraderie with the other soldiers out of the experience. The brothers were already fit and knew how to handle weapons. Camp was mandatory for all, although, with war actively declared, it would be reduced to only four weeks long as opposed to the standard ten.
"Do we know where we're going, by the way?" Loki asked as they reached the top of the stairs, and Huld jumped off his back to run towards his room.
"Vanaheim. It gets us closer to the battlefields but should still be safe," Thor answered. "I'm not sure where on Vanaheim, though. Probably one of the forts in the North. They have larger stretches of land there."
"Mostly frozen land, from what I recall," Loki said. "All tundra, isn't it?"
Thor shrugged. "Shouldn't bother you, right?"
"Hardly the point, Thor," Loki said with a sour look. "Just because I better withstand the cold doesn't mean I enjoy it any more than you do." Thor held up his hands to show he wasn't about to continue with that particular topic. Loki huffed but allowed the subject to drop and instead led the way into his room.
Loki sat down on his bed beside where Huld was gnawing on the nails of her back paws. The younger Prince quickly pulled out the book he'd been reading before and opened it before gesturing to a stack of other books by his desk. "Take your pick. I think the newest one should be the big brown one second from the top," he told Thor.
"Right. Anything, in particular, I should keep an eye out for?" Thor asked as he shifted the books around to get the one Loki mentioned.
"Anything relating to the heirs to the crown and serving in wars," Loki said. "Or just serving in wars in general."
Thor nodded and sat down at Loki's desk to start. The book was heavier than expected and crackled when he opened the front cover. Across the title page were the words: 'Amendments and Regulations of Asgard 7000 AT.' Thor stared at the title for a few heartbeats. "This was written before Mother was born."
"I said it was the newest... that didn't mean it was written this century," Loki replied.
"Still... seems a long time since our last update..." Thor muttered as he flipped to the index.
"You'll find the book has been enchanted to reflect a master copy that is updated with new laws and amendments," Loki said. "I can't get my hands on that one. Father keeps it locked up, but he takes it out every few decades to update the enchantment. So, the book itself is older than Mother, but it shouldn't be out of date by very much."
Thor hummed and settled in to start reading the boring legalese in front of him. He probably should know this sort of thing anyway if he was going to take over Asgard's throne at some point. He just found the subject very difficult to wade through. Plus, Loki would be with him this time, and he was much better at law.
Several hours later, Thor heard something large scraping against Loki's balcony. He looked over and saw familiar clawed digits hooked over the banister. Ofnir poked his head over the top and let out a trill. "Brother. I think Ofnir is bored."
Loki looked up from the book and spotted the wyvern staring at him. He chuckled. "I suppose I have been cooped up in here for a while," he said as he got up and opened the doors. "Ofnir, you know you're not supposed to be on the balcony like that."
Ofnir grumbled and extended his head further. Loki sighed but scratched the softer scales under the large reptile's chin. "You're lucky it's been reinforced since last time you tried this, or you'd fall," Loki said.
"And take the balcony with him," Thor said.
"Probably."
There were a few moments of silence. "We should take him and the Bilgesnipes hunting," Loki said. "Let them run and enjoy time with them before we have to leave."
"Mm, not a bad idea. I think my leg has fallen asleep sitting here reading this long anyway," Thor said as he closed his book and put it on top of the pile beside him.
"That's because you have been sitting slumped to one side for the past hour," Loki said. "Off, Ofnir," he said with a snap of his fingers. "Back to your pen. We'll be down in a minute." Ofnir grumbled but sulkily did as he was ordered. There was a tremor as he landed on the ground beneath Loki's window.
Thor got to his feet and stretched his arms above his head with a groan. "Is there anything, in particular, we should hunt for, Brother?" he asked as he dropped his hands to his sides again. "Or are we just enjoying the act in general?"
"The act in general," Loki said.
"I take it you're flying again?"
Loki nodded. Since he refused to go near horses, he had begun scouting ahead of their hunts from the skies. It was one of the reasons a magpie was the first form he'd truly mastered. Ofnir loved it as he had company high above the ground.
"Alright, well, I'll grab my things and meet you down by the pens," Thor said.
Thor went and changed from his casual tunic and trousers to something more suited to hunting. Namely, a set of soft but durable leathers. After taking Mjolnir from where she rested beside his bed, Thor headed down to the stables. Knowing that Loki would catch up to avoid going to where there were horses, Thor saddled Audun and told the horse to meet him at the city's western entrance.
By this point, Audun was used to such a command and went off without issue so that Thor could gather up his Bilgesnipes. Twenty minutes later, Thor was mounting Audun while Bilgey and Grendel snuffed across the ground. Grendel was still adjusting to having one less leg but was doing so rapidly. And since this hunt was more for leisure and exercise for the big predators, Thor didn't mind going at the slower pace they would need to accommodate Grendel.
Thor watched as Ofnir climbed the side of the palace and then leapt off near the top. "Father's going to be displeased about that," Thor said as he turned around and urged Audun to move.
Audun snorted, He will most likely never stop it. And besides that, he has more important things on his mind than the state of the palace wall.
"Yes, I suppose you're right," Thor said as he glanced up again. Ofnir was soaring in a lazy circle, and a small black speck was flying near him.
What are we hunting for, Prince?
"Nothing, in particular, Audun," Thor said as Bilgey began to pick up her pace. Grendel was able to keep up, although his gait was odd. "Since me and Loki will no doubt be sent away soon... I think we both desired a distraction."
I see.
Since the Bilgesnipes were already picking up speed, Thor turned his attention to keeping the large predators in check while they headed out into the wilder areas of Asgard. The last thing anyone needed was a pair of dangerous animals crashing through a farmyard or something. Ofnir and Loki would no doubt spot a good target before Thor and the Bilgesnipes would, but he'd enjoy the ride until then.
Thor made sure to stay near the treeline of Jarnsvidr as Ofnir hunted best in large open areas. The Bilgesnipe preferred the trees, but Odin's wolves had taught Bilgey how to run into the forest and chase out animals for Ofnir to drop down upon. It was very effective, and Grendel was still learning the methods, so this would be good practice for him.
The brothers hunted with their pets for most of the day. Eventually, the animals brought down a few large elk that they began to eat. Thor asked Audun to go and graze nearby, which the horse willingly did. Only after Audun was about a hundred yards away did Loki land and shift back to his regular shape. He looked at where Ofnir was savagely tearing a leg off the elk cow that he'd claimed and shook his head. "At least he's enjoying himself."
"Mm, Grendel too," Thor said. The wild borne Bilgesnipe got unhappy while cooped up much faster than Bilgey did.
"I hope someone can take him out hunting while we're gone," Loki said.
"I'll be sure to arrange something," Thor said. After a moment, Thor realized something. Because the war wasn't supposed to happen for ten years, Loki hadn't yet started riding horses again like he had during Thor's other life. With how many horses were part of the army, even just as supply animals, Thor had no idea how this Loki would react. "Loki..."
"Hmm?"
"I-I'm sorry to ask this, but how are you going to handle the horses in the army?" Thor asked.
Loki's face went startlingly blank, and he looked off into the distance. "... not sure," he murmured. There was a brief pause, and then he plastered a smile to his face. "I suppose I'll just stay with you. You'd kill a horse for me, wouldn't you, Thor?"
"If I had to, but I'd rather not," Thor said immediately.
"Well then, there should be nothing to worry about," Loki said with forced lightness.
Thor wasn't as sure, but it probably wouldn't get him anything to argue the point. Not right then. "We'll probably be too busy for you to even notice them anyway," Thor said instead. From the look on Loki's face, Thor was afraid he'd still managed to say the wrong thing, but then Ofnir snarled loudly.
Loki turned in time to see Grendel facing off against a hissing wyvern. "Hey! Honestly, you two! You all have your own elk. I don't see why you have to fight each other!"
"You're reasoning with animals, Loki."
"So? Animals have the capacity to reason," Loki said with a sniff. "And these aren't just any animals."
"I'm just saying, there's only so much we can do with large predators around lots of fresh meat."
"Well, if you'd rather I let Ofnir bite your pets-"
"Ah, ah, ah! I see your point!" Thor said quickly. Ofnir's bite had only gotten more venomous as he'd gotten older. "I would prefer your pet to not kill mine."
"Mm, no promises, but I'll do my best to prevent it," Loki said as he flicked his fingers at the animals. Green and gold sparks encouraged Grendel to back down fully and return to his meal while Ofnir dragged his carcass another yard or so away.
Thor eyed Ofnir's venomous fangs and javelin-like quills on his tail. "Do you think Ofnir would be helpful to take with us?" Thor asked. "You know... for the war?"
Loki hummed thoughtfully. "I'm sure he'd be devastating at killing things. But, I've never trained him for something like that, and I can't be at all confident he'd know friend from foe in any sort of chaos. Not worth the risk, I don't think."
"Probably right," Thor said. It wasn't as if it had never been done. Plenty of dangerous animals had been used as war beasts in the past. But one didn't just put any creature into a battlefield and expect things to go well. Even with know elements, you couldn't always count on any particular outcome. Battle was inherently unpredictable that way. Oh, sure, one could manipulate the field and strategize to achieve your goals, but something could always go wrong. "Maybe... when we get back, we can explore that idea, though. At the very least, he could serve as a protection for Mother and Father whenever we're away." A wyvern in the skies could have been very helpful in fending off the Malekith's attacks...
"Maybe. I'm not sure how I would go about training him for that, though," Loki said. He folded his arms across his chest and watched as Ofnir licked his bloody mouth.
Thor nodded. "That would be a hurdle. I'm sure we can think of something. It's not like we won't have time."
"I feel we'll be somewhat busy in the foreseeable future," Loki said.
"We can't be on the battlefield all the time."
"True."
The brothers waited until the large predators finished their meals and chatted about nothing particularly heavy. After Bilgey came over to Thor and nudged at him, the older Prince decided the short break was probably over. "I suppose we should get back."
"Mm, we have a lot of laws left to read."
"It's bound to keep us busy the rest of the day at least."
After dragging the elk's remainders into the forest for scavengers to go over, Thor went to Audun while Loki shifted into a bird. Ofnir struggled to take off from the ground as he usually did but managed to get airborne to follow the much more agile Loki. The Bilgesnipes were a little more stubborn, and Thor had to work hard to guide them back towards Asgard. Luckily, after they got away from the carcasses they hadn't wanted to abandon, they became more obedient.
Loki didn't end up waiting for Thor to ride back and put Audun away or the Bilgesnipes in their pen. Thor wasn't terribly surprised and simply rejoined his brother in his room to continue their research. He quickly changed out of the leathers he'd worn hunting and rinsed off before heading over to start wading through more dry laws.
Occasionally, one or the other would speak up when they found something that might help them, but nothing seemed to quite do the trick in the end. "There has to be something in here," Loki muttered as he flipped another page. "A loophole or opposing law..."
"We'll find it, brother," Thor said as he rubbed his eyes to try and wake up. He was trying his best to keep reading, but it was all so very dull. He did not particularly care how law disputes about land rights were supposed to be worked out. Thor figured it was important to know eventually but was not pertinent to anything currently. They kept studying until, eventually, dinner was served. After they ate, the brothers went right back to their books, although Loki seemed to be making quite a bit more progress than Thor. |
Timing, Greg!
Sally thinks frustratedly. She glances around the room for what feels like the millionth time, making sure everyone looks as comfortable as they can possibly be. She’s willing to admit she might have overdone it with the rehearsals-- they’ve gone through the whole thing three times already and by now most people are suffering the effects of last night ill advised drinking, so everyone would rather be at home. And she had intended to let them go home, she really had, but--
How was she to know that Greg was about to have a meltdown in the middle of the rehearsal?
Better now than tomorrow at the actual wedding,
a voice inside her head supplies helpfully and Sally snorts. It’s true enough, she supposes, but it doesn’t make it any less frustrating. She’s been telling Greg to
talk
to his fiancé since all this mess started and he chooses precisely now to actually talk?
Men!
she thinks frustratedly, kicking an errant water bottle, which only succeeds on dragging attention to herself. She smiles awkwardly, pushing her hair away from her face, trying not to blush madly.
“It’ll be fine,” Stella says, appearing next to her out of thin air, rubbing her back comfortingly. “Last minute cold feet is much more common than you’d think,” she continues cheerfully, smile bright and confident, ignoring Sally’s doubtful look. “Besides, Greg is totally crazy about his fiancé. At this point I don’t think even death itself could keep them apart.”
If only,
Sally thinks, sparing a quick look in the direction Greg and Mycroft disappeared. “All my hard work will not be for nothing,” she murmurs annoyedly, prompting laughter from her girlfriend.
“Relax, Sal.” Stella smiles, looking around. “You’re a girl of expensive tastes, I see. Makes me reconsider the whole proposing-thing.” Sally glares and Stella laughs some more, shaking her head. “My savings could never pay for something this fancy.”
Sally snorts. “I’ll have Greg organize it. It’s the least he can do, really.” It occurs her that maybe this isn’t the sort of conversation they should be having, even if it’s all somewhat hypothetical. They haven’t been dating that long really, so maybe…
Timing!
she reminds herself sharply. She has other concerns right now, after all.
But it’s something to think about, definitely.
“I’ll murder him,” Sherlock declares, pacing around the hall. “No one will ever be able to figure out how I did it and it’ll be brilliant.”
“You’d probably have to wait a year or two, though,” John points out, making the younger teen turn to him immediately. “Think about it: if your brother’s former fiancé showed up murdered just after the failed wedding, who do you think the police would suspect of?”
Sherlock sniffs. “They’d never be able to prove it.”
John shrugs. “Maybe. I know you don’t have that much faith in the police’s skills, but suppose one gets lucky? The less obvious the connection is--”
Sherlock hums thoughtfully. John offers him a smile, half teasing and half serious: they’re joking, of course, but if he was to murder someone… well, he’d definitely want John at his side. In fact, he’d want John at his side forever more, no matter what he was doing.
Let it be known that, unlike his brother, Sherlock is not an idiot who can’t see what’s right in front of him. “Marry me,” he says and John arches an eyebrow, half amused but also deadly serious.
“Is this really the time?” John asks finally and Sherlock scowls, prompting a chuckle from his companion. “Why don’t you ask again in ten years, when we’ll actually be able to marry without your guardians permission?”
“That’d be in four years,” Sherlock protests sulkily and John rolls his eyes. “I will ask again,” he adds, figuring that’s the best he can do for now. He then glances in the direction his brother and Lestrade left and he makes a face, unhappy.
“It’ll be fine,” John assures him, resting a hand on his shoulder. “As you’ve pointed out a millionth times before, only a blind man could not see how much in love they are.”
Sherlock pursues his lips. “Maybe it’d be obvious to a blind man. But can those two idiots see it?”
John chuckles once more. “One can only hope,” he says with an amused smile.
Indeed,
one can only hope.
“Do you happen to know what Lestrade did to my brother?” Sherlock asks, as blunt as ever and Sally startles, having been somewhat distracted, entertaining herself with thoughts of the best way to dispose of a body (
whose body
remained to be seen). She arches an eyebrow, taking a slow sip from her water bottle to buy herself some time to answer.
Something which Sherlock seems to notice right away, of course. “Well?” the teen demands. “How has Lestrade managed to screw up this time?”
Sally considers the boy for a beat, throwing a look in the general direction of the changing rooms where, presumably the
happy
couple are talking. “Your brother and Greg are just having a bit of a disagreement,” she says in her best reassuring tone which isn’t terribly reassuring, truth to be told. “But they’ll figure it out, worry not.”
Sherlock huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “They’re idiots, the both of them. With all the signs, you’d think one of them would have got a freaking clue.”
Sally considers this briefly, taking another sip from her water bottle. “You know,” she says, going through the few conversation she has had with the boy inside her head, along with what Greg has told her about him.
Again, the teen huffs. “That the engagement is fake? Yes, I do. But everything else-- that’s real, alright.”
Sally taps her fingers against the table, thinking. “Why did you let Greg believe you don’t know it’s fake?”
Sherlock scoffs. “Because that’s how these things go-- the more time the couple is forced to pretend they’re together, the more they actually get together,” he replies with a shrug. “That’s how it works in the movies, anyway.”
Ah, but real life is a bit more tricky than that. Still-- “What--?”
“We’ve gone through every other cliche in the book too!” Sherlock exclaims, sounding rather desperate. “With the bedsharing and the meeting the family and kissing under the mistletoe-- Now we even have the sort-of-interrupted-wedding! I mean, what’s going to take for them to realize what’s exactly in front of his noses?”
Isn’t Sally wondering the same thing? “They’re a little tickheaded, I’m afraid,” Sally says and Sherlock scoffs once more. “Your brother feels the same way, then?”
Sherlock throws his arms up. “Duh! I’ve been trying to get him to talk to Lestrade for
ages
but of course they had to pick the bloody wedding to actually talk.”
“Language,” Sally chides and Sherlock throws her an unimpressed look. “I’m sorry, are you telling me this whole time those two idiots have been pining silently for each other, misunderstanding everything they said?”
“God, is everyone at the Yard this slow? No wonder the unsolved cases rate is so high!”
Sally ignores the jab, waving a hand dismissively. “You should have told Greg.”
“I did! Did he ever believe me? No! But I--”
“You should have told him you knew it was fake, but that your brother is actually in love with him,” Sally corrects, making a face. “Oh god, knowing them they’ll probably manage to misunderstand each other even now.” She stands up, grabbing Sherlock’s wrist and starts pulling him in the direction of the changing rooms. “Come on, let’s go knock some sense on them.”
“Do you think they’ll listen?” Sherlock asks and while his tone remains petulant, Sally can hear the concern in it. Poor kid, stuck with such idiots as guardians.
“We’ll make them,” she promises darkly and Sherlock shakes his head, but follows her.
It’s high time to make those two see sense.
Sherlock follows after Donovan a bit reluctantly. He does not like to go to
grown ups
for help: in his experience they only complicate things unnecessarily and they’re never actually very helpful. He kinda likes Donovan though: she’s proven herself to be useful from time to time even if she was useless in actually getting Lestrade to talk to Mycroft.
He is a bit worried, truth to be told. He’s known all along about the custody agreement and he really
really
doesn’t want to go to live with aunt Elise, so this wedding
needs
to happen. And if his brother gets an actual husband who loves him deeply out of it… well, then that’s fine too.
Whatever happened last night though… well. It was obvious Mycroft was upset, but Sherlock didn’t know why and he doesn’t like not knowing something. He also didn’t like that miserable look on Mycroft’s face: it reminded him too much of the look he’d sport when he and Mummy had had a
disagreement.
Only it was never an actual disagreement, was it? It usually was Mummy trying to control Mycroft’s life even more than usual and that’d lead to arguing, which lead to bargaining, which lead to all sort of unpleasant consequences.
He bites his lip. From what he’s seen, his brother is actually happy with Lestrade, but maybe he was mistaken? Maybe this whole thing is one big mistake? But everything seemed to point out-- he had thought--
Ugh, grown ups
! Why must they complicate everything?
Donovan knocks on the closed door of Lestrade’s changing room, a determined look on her face. She’ll make those two listen and Sherlock hopes they’ll manage to see sense, although at this point he’s not sure if that’d be a good thing or not. Maybe--
“Yes?” Lestrade’s voice comes from within, sounding a little breathless and Sherlock and Sally frown, sharing a concerned look.
“Is everything quite alright?” Sally asks, placing her hand on the door handle, trying it.
“Yes!” Lestrade and Mycroft cry out at the same time. “We’re perfectly fine! We’ll be out in the a bit, do not come in!”
There are sounds coming from within the room now, a soft thud and the rustling of clothes and Sherlock’s eyes go very wide with understanding. “Were they--?” he asks, a little horrified and Sally huffs.
“It figures,” she murmurs, rolling her eyes. “Alright, be done already lovebirds! You can make out at your hearts’ content once we’re done with the rehearsal!”
Sherlock makes a face, growing more horrified with each passing second, before turning around and stomping off, deciding to go looking for John.
Grown ups, really!
|
Obi-Wan stared at the boy. For all he claimed to be nineteen, and thus legally an adult, there was something about him that made Obi-Wan's mind insisted that he was just a boy. The set of his jaw, the way his wide blue eyes seemed to plead even when his expression was neutral--there was something else about him too, something about the shape of his nose and the curve of his mouth that tugged at him, registered as vaguely familiar. It was strange.
Stranger still were his mental shields. Ahsoka had commented on them when she'd been debriefed following her rescue, but Obi-Wan had been too busy when Ezra had woken up the first time to really examine them. Now, he probed them gently, trying to figure out if he was using natural shielding techniques or if he was reinforcing them with the Force.
His signature in the Force felt off, as well. Force-sensitives were easy to identify if they weren't shielding incredibly well; they shone like stars--or, for the more powerful Force-sensitives, such as Anakin or Master Yoda, like suns. Force-nulls didn't usually shone quite as brightly. They were like planets; the light was reflected and they had a gravitational field, but they didn't produce light by themselves. Ezra's signature wasn't like a star, sun, or planet. The closest thing Obi-Wan could compare it to was a black hole. The gravity was there, but the light the rest of the universe emitted couldn't seem to affect it. He couldn't be Force-sensitive in the slightest.
Currently, Ezra was glaring at him. "If you're going to interrogate me, get on with it. I know you have questions."
Obi-Wan sat back in his seat, watching the boy who was still seated on his bed in the medbay. He looked better, and Kix said there was a good chance he'd be giving Ezra a clean bill of health within the next day or two, but that raised questions that Obi-Wan needed to answer. Namely, what were they supposed to do with him now?
Sighing, he decided that wasn't the best place to start. Instead, he asked, "How did you end up in the Separatist prison?"
Ezra grimaced slightly. "So, this is an actual interrogation. At least you left the vibroknives in the armory," he joked weakly before clearing his throat and explaining somewhat snarkily, "I was poking around on some planet near the Outer Rim, did something stupid and ended up crash-landing right in front of a Separatist patrol. They didn't like that, and I didn't like that, so we fought, and, well, I've got moves, so they decided I was a threat. Thus the imprisonment and, um, warm welcome."
Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, but apparently everything he'd said was true, if a little vague, because the Force didn't contradict him. That instinct that always ran on high alert whenever someone tried to lie to him was conspicuously silent, so Obi-Wan didn't question it. "Well, then, Young Jarrus, perhaps you'd like to tell me where you learned to shield?"
Ezra tensed ever so slightly, but covered it well with a shrug. "My aunt had met and been given a few pointers by a Jedi, so she passed on what she learned to me."
"Was your aunt a Jedi?"
"No, she wasn't. She was Force-sensitive, though."
Obi-Wan frowned. While that had answered his question, it raised a few more. "You said she received some training. Who trained she?"
Ezra just shrugged. "She didn't talk about it much."
Oh, so that was how it was going to be. He was purposely answering truthfully but vaguely, enough that Obi-Wan wouldn't register it as a lie, but not with enough detail to actually answer the question. Pursing his lips, Obi-Wan sat forward, peering intently at Ezra, who, to his credit didn't squirm. With a sigh, he said, "Just because she didn't talk about it much doesn't mean she never talked about it. Did she give you any names?"
Clenching his jaw, Ezra answered, "I don't remember if my aunt ever told me. Why do you care about that, anyway? Aren't you supposed to be figuring out what to do with me once I'm all healed up?"
"We'll get to that later. At the moment, I'm trying to establish that there's no one around to take care of you."
"I already told you my family's gone." Ezra said with a glare. "Whatever Jedi taught her--and didn't even give her a complete 'how-to-Jedi-101' course, I might add--wouldn't take me in anyway, because as you might have noticed, I don’t use the Force. Besides, I'm an adult, and it's not like I haven't lived on my own for years. I can handle myself, I don't need someone to 'take care of me.'"
Obi-Wan just raised an eyebrow. "Your defensiveness on the issue makes me more curious as to what you aren't saying than what you are. So, tell me, why don't you want someone to look after you?"
"Because every time someone gets close to me, they die!" Ezra finally shouted, anger overtaking his annoyance. "My birth parents: dead before I was a day old. My mother and father, the people who raised me: captured when I was a child, executed before I was an adult. And now the rest of my family's gone and I'm alone again and I
kriffing hate being alone!"
Ezra's anger morphed into grief as his voice broke and he began to sob.
Obi-Wan sat back, not really sure what to do with a crying teenager. When Anakin had been a teenager, he'd had more tantrums than he'd had full-on breakdowns, and even those had been few and far between. Ahsoka was fairly emotionally stable, or at least had been trained enough that she could act like she was. In short, Obi-Wan, when faced with a teenager actually having emotions, had no idea what to do, and for the first time, he found himself cursing his Jedi training, if only a little, because he had no idea how to relate to the grieving teen.
After a few minutes of uncomfortably waiting for Ezra to stop, he realized that wasn't going to happen on its own. Carefully--and slowly, he didn't want to startle the boy--he eased himself off his seat and onto the bed, gently placing a hand on Ezra's shoulder.
Ezra jumped and pulled away slightly, looking up at him with a tear-stained face, and suddenly Obi-Wan was twelve years in the past, looking down at a ten-year-old Anakin as he asked in a trembling voice, "What's going to happen to me now?" And just like that, Obi-Wan knew what they were going to do with this boy.
Softly, Obi-Wan said, "Once you're recovered, I'm sure Anakin would love to offer you a place on his ship, if you'd like. I overheard some of the men talking, they were hoping you'd be able to teach them some moves. I know Ahsoka would enjoy having someone her age to talk to."
Ezra choked a laugh through the tears. As he wiped his sleeve across his eyes, he sighed. "Yeah, I'd like that, too." His voice was still shaking, but he'd had the desired effect: Ezra was now distracted from his grief, and that was the best Obi-Wan could do.
Huffing, Obi-Wan decided to ignore the irony of the fact that the Negotiator was having difficulty relating to someone and instead focused on the practical side of things, the part he was always good at. "You do realize that if you stay, you'll be in a warzone nearly constantly. Even when the 501st isn't in the middle of a ground campaign, they have a nasty tendency to get caught in skirmishes when simply traveling through hyperspace. I think it's Anakin. He seems to attract trouble wherever he goes."
Ezra snorted. "Yeah, that sounds familiar," he muttered before meeting Obi-Wan's eyes. "And I know it's a warzone, I'm not stupid. But I've been fighting since I was fourteen. Maybe not in this war, but... look, the war never ends. It just changes theaters. It's all I've known for the past four years, and it's what took my family from me. If I don't keep fighting, then that sacrifice means nothing. And I can't... that can't mean nothing."
Obi-Wan nodded, not really sure what else to say. After a minute or so of silence, he stood, patting Ezra on the shoulder as he moved past him. "I'll inform Anakin of the plan, then. He'll have to get you a commission from high command, but that shouldn't be too much of a problem."
"Master Kenobi?" At the sound of Ezra's voice, Obi-Wan turned, raising an eyebrow at the boy's suddenly awkward expression. "Just... thank you. For everything."
Something told him that he didn't just mean the commission, but the boy had been through enough emotional upheaval for one conversation, so he just nodded and let the door close behind him. He needed to find Anakin and let him know about his new crew member, after all.
_______
Anakin raised an eyebrow. "You want me to take an nineteen-year-old into the middle of the war?"
Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. "As if you weren't already planning on offering him a place on your crew."
"I--" Anakin cut himself off before huffing. "Well, yeah, but when you suggest it, it seems that much crazier."
"Oh, please. We both know that you come up with the insane plans around here, and I temper them with reason so that they actually work. Besides, he may only be nineteen, but he's been fighting for more than a few years. You saw how good he is. And let's not forget that you're bringing a sixteen-year-old into battle nearly constantly, so I really don't see why his age is an issue."
As Anakin opened and closed his mouth, trying to come up with a good response, Ahsoka laughed. She was standing to Obi-Wan's right as the three Jedi stood around the holotable on the bridge of the
Resolute
, the rest of the bridge crew making an obvious effort not to listen in on their conversation. Rex was standing to Anakin's right, his expression saying that while he had opinions, he was going to keep them to himself.
"He's got you there, Master," Ahsoka said. "And I really would like having someone my age to talk to. I've got friends at the Temple, but we're at Coruscant so rarely..."
Anakin groaned, dragging his hand over his face. "Don't guilt-trip me, Snips." Meeting Obi-Wan's eyes, he gave in. "Fine, but he'll need to do a field assessment. Firearms, hand-to-hand, piloting. Technical skills and tactics, too. I need to know what he can do before I request a commission."
Obi-Wan nodded. "I'm sure Captain Rex will be more than up to the task, and after the display in the mess hall, I'm sure ARC Trooper Fives will be more than happy to assist."
Anakin looked at Rex, who pressed his lips together but nodded, before he turned back to Obi-Wan. "Alright. He can start once Kix clears him for duty."
|
“Dude, that’s the name of one of their songs.” Yamada argues with Shirakumo as they walk to class. “Poets of the Fall is the name of the band, Carnival of Rust is the name of the song.”
“Seriously? But that would make a really awesome band name though.” The other replies, sighing as he slips in hands into his pockets. “You listen to a lot of different bands, I don’t understand how you can understand any of it.”
“I can speak English, goofy.” Yamada laughs, slowing to a halt to part ways. “Thanks for walking me to my class though.”
“No problem! It was on the way to one of my classes anyway.” Shirakumo shrugs. “I’ll meet you here after, okay? Then we’ll meet up with Aizawa and grab a bit to eat.”
“Are you still wanting to go out and watch a movie?”
“Sure, I’ll see what’s playing later.”
Yamada walks into his classroom and sets his bag down to slide into his desk, pulling his textbooks out as other students started coming into the classroom. Mr. Todoroki was busy writing today’s lessons on the board when a woman approached Yamada with something in her hand.
“Yamada?” She asks, holding a envelope closer to herself to get his attention and he pauses getting his pencil down to look up at her.
“Yeah?”
“I was told to give this to you.” She says, holding out the envelope towards him.
“Really?” He asks with a raised brow and takes it from her, looking it over; No name from who’s it’s from. “Who gave this to you?”
“I’m not sure, he just paid me to deliver it:” She replies, anxiously toying with the strap of her back pack. “I have to go to class now, um...bye.”
She leaves as quickly as she arrive, leaving him to stare at the envelope in his hands. He slips it open and pulls the note out, reading it a bit before setting it down and stares at nothing in particular. He reads more of it before getting up out of his desk and walks down towards the front of the classroom, letter in hand.
He’s not dealing with this anymore.
“Mr. Todoroki.” He says, getting the larger man’s attention.
“What is it, Yamada?” He asks, wiping the chalk from his hands and glances down to the letter when he offers it to him. “What is this?”
“That guy that was bothering me the other day, he just had another student deliver this to me.” He explains as the teacher takes the letter to read himself. “I feel like he’s threatening me.”
“What does he mean that he’ll share a link of your page to the campus’s webpage?” Mr. Todoroki asks, looking away from the note to meet his worried eyes.
“I...make explicit videos, sir.” Yamada explains, rubbing his neck nervously and is unable to keep eye contact from embarrassment.
“And he’s threatening to share the link to your page if you don’t talk with him?” The man says, not in a form of a question as he folds the note up and slides it into his shirt’s pocket, Yamada nods. The teacher lets out a breath and rubs the bridge of his nose out of annoyance, muttering something under his breath before continuing. “We’re going to go speak to the dean after class, this sort of behavior won’t be tolerated at this school; Take your seat, Mr. Yamada.”
Yamada just heads back to his desk and keeps his head low as class starts, bouncing his leg with anxiety.
~*~
Aizawa stands beside Shirakumo in the hallway, both waiting for Yamada but he’s running late today.
“Did you message him?” Shirakumo asks.
“Yeah but he hasn’t even read my message yet.” The other replies. “He wasn’t in the classroom when you were supposed to pick him up?”
“No, some of the other students said him and Mr. Todoroki left class together a little early.” Shirakumo mutters, rubbing his chin. “Do you think he got into trouble during class?”
“Why would he get into trouble? Yamada wouldn’t do anything to disrupt class, he doesn’t even text back when he’s in class.” Aizawa sighs, slipping his phone back into his pocket and leans against the wall behind them. “You don’t think something serious came up, do you?”
“Wouldn’t he have told you about it?”
“Maybe it happened durning class and he just hasn’t gotten the chance to yet?” They both stand there in silence for a couple of moments before Aizawa’s phone buzzed inside his pocket. The man quickly pulls it out of his pocket and reads the notification on the screen, taking a in a breath.
Yamada:‘I just got out the dean’s office, that guy that’s been bother me sent me a threatening note durning class and Mr. Todoroki wanted to bring it to Mr. Nezu’s attention. We talked to him about what’s been happening and it’s being written into his file but they can’t really do anything because he hasn’t done anything to actually hurt me. Total bs. ;-; ‘
“He was taken into the dean’s office because of that weirdo, he gave him a note and was apparently threatening him.” Aizawa says, showing Shirakumo the text.
“And they’re not going to expell him for it?” Shirakumo asks as he reads over the text. “What the hell, dude.”
Aizawa just shakes his head as he types up a reply, telling him that they’ll meet him at the office.
“I’ve going to get him some pepper spray or something.” Aizawa says, motioning for the other to follow him as they head towards the office. “I’d buy him a knife but we can’t have weapons on campus grounds.”
“We could always call the police and make a report.” Shirakumo suggests, waking quicker to keep up with the other man. “Maybe Yamada could get a restraining order.”
“I doubt they’ll do more than the campus.” Aizawa says, walking briskly down the hallway as anger began to boil up inside him.
“I could ask Kan and some of his friends to scare him, they’re all pretty big guys.” Shirakumo offers. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind talking to him-“
“I don’t want them to risk getting into trouble with the campus.” Aizawa waves the suggestion off and spots his boyfriend sitting in a chair up ahead by the dean’s office, bouncing his leg anxiously; Mr. Todoroki is speaking with him. “Right now, I just want to comfort Hizashi.” |
________24,563
Do you ever lie
Awake at night?
Just between the dark
And the morning light
Searching for the things
You used to know
Looking for the place
Where the lost things go
If she spent too long in her dreams, Natasha could still see you sitting in the chair across from her. That orange chair, with the threads hanging from it, some braided in clumps and some yanked until they brushed the hardwood. She could see you play with them, delicate fingers weaving even more delicate patterns, and she'd forget that you were gone. Not that she believed it in the first place.
Natasha Romanoff had lost many people, and though it was difficult at first, she had learned how to cope. She accepted, grieved, and moved on in terrifying efficiency, but with you, she couldn't. She felt as though you were just away, out on some vacation, out of sight, out of her reach.
Do you ever dream
Or reminisce?
Wondering where to find
What you truly miss
Well maybe all those things
That you love so
Are waiting in the place
Where the lost things go
Sometimes, she'd catch herself staring at the places you once occupied. The barstool in the kitchen, the lefthand edge of the couch, the beanbag by the window, the table with the chairs where no one sat anymore, because they kept remembering the day you made a goodbye meal for them, when you were dying of leukemia. It felt like a lifetime ago, but the memories hurt too much.
When the Avengers ate meals, they were never at that table.
Memories you've shed
Gone for good you feared
They're all around you still
Though they've disappeared
Nothing's really left
Or lost without a trace
Nothing's gone forever
Only out of place
Though they avoided your favorite spots, and though they couldn't find the strength to talk about you, each one clung to memories. The multi-colored pen, the "Captain America Fanclub" hoodie, the shattered pieces of an old snow globe, a couple of stolen mugs, a paintbrush, a necklace. All were dear to the Avengers. And all were kept close at hand. Maybe they refused to remember, but they couldn't let go of you.
So maybe now the dish
And my best spoon
Are playing hide and seek
Just behind the moon
Waiting there until
It's time to show
Spring is like that now
Far beneath the snow
Hiding in the place
Where the lost things go
The winter was exceptionally harsh this year. The snow piled up and frost coated the windows and the freezing air sent shivers down every spine. Christmas decorations were on every lamppost, every tree, but the Avengers' tower had a suspicious lack of decoration.
After all, you were the one who always strung the lights up. It was you and Steve who picked the Christmas tree. It was you and Tony who hung mistletoe when no one else was awake. And it was you and Tasha who handmade stockings in secret.
Time to close your eyes
So sleep can come around
For when you dream you'll find
All that's lost is found
Maybe on the moon
Or maybe somewhere new
Maybe all you're missing lives inside of you
With the chilled weather outside, the team didn't want to leave the tower if they could help it, even though everything reeked of you. So, they stayed in their rooms, until the occasional mission came up. HYDRA, they assumed, needed new direction after losing you.
It was ironic that the Avengers had the same problem.
Because of the grief, and because of the weather, and because of the lull in missions, they rarely left. Except Tasha, of course. She still visited your grave every day. But maybe, if she hadn't been so consumed by the pain of losing you, she might have seen the message from Loki.
So when you need her touch
And loving gaze
Gone but not forgotten
Is the perfect phrase
Smiling from a star
That she makes glow
Trust she's always there
Watching as you grow
Up above, waiting for someone to notice, there was a single Asgardian star glittering in the night sky. Astronomers were losing their minds, but even Bruce Banner could care less about the mysterious new body that had appeared overnight.
If only they knew.
But though the Avengers weren't watching the night sky, someone else was. And they could read the message loud and clear:
Find her in the place
Where the lost things go
________ Kamar-Taj, present day
Mordo was silent as he crept through the library. Stealth was another benefit of the Vaulting Boots he wore, and he intended to use it. Though the floorboards rarely creaked, and there were few ears to hear even if they did, the library's guardian was surprisingly attentive, and the wizard didn't want to risk it.
The mahogany bent under his weight, but his feet continued to slide smoothly over its worn surface. The lights from nearby tables and bookends illuminated his path, straight towards the corner of the library closest to its entrance. Mordo might have used his sling ring to appear closer to his destination, but if he were caught, it might reveal everything. After all, he had no idea how close Strange was to the Avengers. If they found out what he was looking for, they'd know what message he had seen in the stars. There were many secrets involving your "death", but if one unraveled, so would the rest of them.
The cold metal of the chained books was almost welcoming, though Mordo loathed the idea of tampering with such old magic as was written here. The book he was looking for, bound in gold, slipped easily from its chains and into his ready hands. But not without disturbing the silence of the library first.
"Mordo," said a voice, and the rebel now stood face-to-face with Wong, the Kamar-Taj library's keeper.
"Wong," he nodded, shifting on his feet. The guardian's staff was stretched out, ready to fight.
"What are you doing with one of those books?"
"Just, wanted to do a little light reading."
In an instant, Mordo leapt forward and nearly ran head-on into Wong's staff. The round man immediately cast a spell that Mordo had never heard before, paralyzing him. Wong yanked the book roughly from his hands, and read the cover.
"What would you want with these legends?"
"Nothing."
But even as the candlelight flickered across the lettering, and the title flashed in the darkened room, chills travelled down Mordo's spine. And Wong noticed.
"Bodn, og blodet fra Kvasir," it read.
"Bodn, and the blood of Kvasir" was Wong's translation, and Mordo nearly flinched.
Nearly.
Later, when Strange would read through the book for clues, he'd recognize a name: Malma. And everything would fall into place.
________ Hyndla's hut, 965 A.D.
Freyja tried to relax with the sounds of war echoing in her mind, but even Hyndla's hands braiding her hair couldn't soothe the constant connection with her husband, which forced her to relive his battles. Imbetween the harshest memories, Freyja would examine the hut. It gave off a very cozy air, which helped the quickly-developing headache subside. The torches on the mud walls burned bright, illuminating the small home covered in animal skins. The fur of her boar, which had once carried her on diplomatic missions, had recently joined as a blanket after a blight wiped out Asgard's livestock. Pendants hung from torches and couches and the various bookshelves, and Freyja wondered why Hyndla kept those shelves, considering she was all-knowing.
"Would you care to recite to me a legend?" She begged as the cries of war grew louder, and Hyndla obliged.
"Of course, dear."
The smells of lavender and marigolds mingled unpleasantly for a moment while the books on their shelves moved of their own accord, rustling and releasing their various scents. Maybe this was Hyndla's way of remembering.
"Odn, the Great, was killed long ago. We all know of his death. But not everyone knows what became of him."
The nearby fireplace crackled and popped, and Freyja could feel herself drifting in the familiar embrace of Hyndla's stories.
"His essence, his blood, if you will, was stored in three jars for safekeeping; Bodn, Odrorir, and Son. We couldn't let the ravens have his blood after all, because they already know too much.
"Odrorir was stolen by Asgardian thieves from the throneroom, and its pieces were found scattered across Yggdrasil, the world tree. Having tasted Æsir blood, Ratatoskr wanted more."
The image of the world tree's guardian, the giant red squirrel, flashed in Freyja's mind, making her cringe inwardly.
"So, he stole Son. He swallowed it whole, and found it unsatisfying. He would have swallowed Bodn if it weren't for the Allfather, who threw the last jar down the Earth. He entrusted it with the Malmas, a family of magicians who lived deep in the heart of the mountains. They still carry it to this day."
There was a comfortable silence that followed, but when the floral scents didn't dissipate from the hut, Freyja realized there was more to this story.
"Hyndla?" She prompted, and the ancient women slowed her braiding.
"I rarely tell of the future," she conceded, "but this involves your son."
"My son?"
"Yes, though he is not born yet."
Freyja lapsed back into silence, hoping she wouldn't interrupt the story any more. The farther Hyndla drifted into the land of dreams, the more she would tell, as Freyja had learned from a young age.
Her waiting paid off.
"A man will steal Bodn from the Malmas. A man with a metal arm and a mind as misused and torn as if it had been thrown to the wolves. He will steal it, and give it to a second man who believes he knows what it is. But none truly know the wrath of Kvasir.
"He will try again and again to use Bodn for his own gain, but won't succeed until he finds someone Kvasir's blood deems worthy. It will flow through her veins, and become a part of her, granting her god-like powers. But she will not know this. Which is why," the smell of lavendar and marigolds drifted away on an invisible breeze, and Hyndla's eyes grew clearer, though Freyja couldn't see them. "Which is why you must tell this story to your son. He will know her personally. So that he may save her. For she will not know herself."
Freyja nodded, taking in all that had been said.
But when Odin's family tree became tangled and ruined, she would soon forget the story.
And Thor would never learn how to save you. |
Midterms passed and Katsuki was now #1 in class ranking. He wasn't proud of his grades, because he didn't work for them. It was like when he won the sports festival first year because Shouto half assed the match. It was no longer rewarding not having to put any effort in. He still went to class everyday and they let him participate in combat training, but there were more teachers supervising than before.
Principal Nezu would give Katsuki packets to study. Most of them were on theories that they would discuss over a game of chess.
Katsuki started to like the principal a lot more. He felt some kind of comradery between them. They knew how dangerous the would could be to them.
He even got to plan different obstacle courses for the school and other classes.
He still had mandatory therapy every other day. Kiri, Denki, Sero and Mina made it a habit of walking him to Hound Dogs office. He tried to push them away but they were too dumb and annoying to stop. When he yelled at them for escorting him there like he was a child who couldn't do anything on his own Kiri explained that they just wanted to hang out with him a little longer. Katsuki wasn't sure if he believed them, but their persistence outweighed Katsukis stubbornness. Hound Dog had Katsuki working on art as a form of therapy. At first he resisted but agreed to art therapy over keeping a journal. He would sketch when running did not help clear his mind. Sketches started out with drawing whatever was in front of him and evolved into portraits of his classmates. Now there was a wall dedicated to Katsukis drawings in the dining room because they loved them so much.
.
Katsuki was sitting at the dining room table with Kiri, Denki, Sero and Mina, the self declared BakuSquad. He was sketching and pretending to ignore them. He laughed at Denki when he shocked himself by accident. They were supposed to be working on stuff, but they were too distracted to be productive. Katsuki rolled his eyes at them then looked down at his sketch eyes widening in surprise. He had been paying too much attention to the idiot squad and when he realized what he was drawing he threw the sketch book across the room. His friends were startled; they were used to his abrasive behavior, but the panic in his eyes was different.
“You okay bro?” Kiri asked with concern in his eyes behind his smile.
“Shouto!” Katsuki yelled, his hands sparking a little.
“What's going on?” Midoriya asked, rushing in.
Katsiki growled at them. He was panicking and he didn't want them there he needed Shouto.
Mina got up quickly “Don't worry blasty I’ll go get him.” She smiled tightly and rushed out the room.
Denki went to get the sketch book but froze when he heard the pops coming off of katsukis hands. The red eyes were angry masking the panick.
“Hey bro calm down.” Denki tried, but Katsuki shot him a murderous look.
“Kacchan. You okay?” Midoriya asked quietly.
“Get out!” he yelle, backing up against the wall.
“That's probably not a good ide-”
“Get out!” Katsuki screamed. His hands were popping now non stop.
Shouto rushed in and Katsuki shot him a pleading look.
Shouto looked around “Everyone. Out. Now.” He demanded.
His voice and posture was neutral, but everyone shivered at the atmosphere and shot out of the room. They gave worried glances as they passed Katsuki, but listened to Shouto.
“Izuku. Make sure no one passes the dining room.” He told him.
“Okay!” Midoriya shot out ushering everyone away faster.
Katsuki dropped to the ground curling into himself.
Katsuki grumbled "Fuckers ignore me but listen to you."
Shouto squatted down infront of him “Whats going on?”
Katsuki pointed at his therapy sketchpad thrown across the room.
Shouto walked over and picked it up and skimmed through it. It was the normal scenery, some sketches of his friends then it got darker. There was labs and Nomu. There were dead bodies of people they didn't know. A doctor. Tubes, wires and pods.
“What is this?” Shouto asked, horrified at the sight.
Katsuki curled closer into himself. “I don't fucking know. I was sketching and the stupid idiots distracted me then there was that!” he yelled pointing at the sketch pad like it was a monster.
“Okay, we can show it to Aizawa.” Shouto said closing the sketch pad and placing it back on the floor closed.
Katsuki made a growling noise mumbling into his knees.
Shouto walked over to the wall and slid down next to katsuki. He held out his hand and Katsuki immediately grasped it, calming down.
Katsuki whispered in a soft voice “Why can't it stop?”
Shouto didn't have anything to say so he just squeezed his hand reassuringly.
“I think you're dealing with this pretty well all things considered. Some would let it take over or ruin their lives. You are stronger than anyone thought you could be.” Shouto told him.
They sat in silence for a while. The sun was going down painting the room in evening colors. Eventually Katsuki relaxed and leaned his head on Shoutos shoulder.
At some point Aizawa was called by Iida. He walked into the dining room making sure his footsteps were heard not to startle the boys.
“What's wrong?” he asked.
Katsuki did not acknowledge him, his eyes showing exhaustion. They were closing and opening slowly.
Shouto pointed to the sketchbook and Aizawa nodded picking it up.
“Lets go lay down.” Shouto suggested. He wanted to just pick up the tired boy and carry him to bed but he knew that would be a blow to Katsukis ego.
Katsuki nodded and after a few moments stood up on shaky feet. Shouto led him to the elevator warning the other students to back away with his eyes. They nodded and let them pass. He chose his floor and brought Katsuki to his room.
By the time Katsuki collapsed onto Shoutos bed he was asleep.
|
💸
“So let me get this straight. You want to
hire
me to be your
date
to the Valentine fête?”
Minho is giving Peter a look—rather, you could say, Minho is giving Peter
A Look.
Capitalized and all, because it's a look that means
something.
Curiosity. Surprise. Judgment.
Plain amusement.
“There’s absolutely nothing straight about the two of us going on a date on Valentine’s,” Peter shoots back easily – smug, cocky, his tone laced with false bravado that he's hoping no one catches.
Minho snorts because of course he catches it anyway; that should have been expected because he's Minho, and Peter is Peter and they always read each other easily like they're reading bedtime stories with illustrations and printed in 72 pt font. “Should’ve seen that coming,” he comments.
Peter grins. “You should’ve.”
“You think you can afford me?” Minho's smile is coy and the tilt of his head is teasing.
“Excuse me?” Peter scoffs.
Minho laughs. “You said you wanted to hire me. That would imply money changing hands.”
Peter wrinkles his nose and he proceeds to reach into his pocket for a dollar which he slaps onto Minho’s hand. He lifts his chin and meets Minho's sharp gaze with his own.
“You think I’m a cheap one dollar ho?” Minho chortles as he stares at the dollar bill on his palm.
Peter groans. “I already blew this month’s allowance on Innie’s birthday,” he admits wistfully. “How about an IOU?”
Minho clicks his tongue, and folds the paper bill in half before shoving it into his jacket's breast pocket.
“Alright then, you can transfer a hundred bucks to my account once your parents wire you next month’s allowance then,” he says, shrugging his shoulders in a very matter-of-fact manner.
Peter whines, like he's genuinely affronted by Minho's demand to be paid, almost as if Minho is truly expecting him to front the cash when he can. Like this isn't just a normal part of their silly banter, not to be taken seriously, and Peter isn't just being a big baby because he knows his pouting and whining are generally effective on Minho. “But next month is Hyunjin's birthday.”
“So?” His expression remains mostly stoic, but there's a mischievous sparkle in his eye that people other than Peter would probably miss.
“I need money to buy him a gift,” Peter retorts, eyes rolling in feigned exasperation.
Minho's eyes narrow, ever so slightly, and Peter almost grins in triumph because that usually means Minho is close to giving in to whatever whims Peter wants him to cater to.
“Okay, find someone else to hire,” is what actually comes out of Minho's mouth though, and Peter has to groan.
“Fine, fine!” he grumbles. “Never mind, I'll ask someone else then. Eric, maybe.”
There's a split second of silence before, “Tau Beta Zeta's Eric?”
Minho sounds suspicious, and it's Peter's turn to shrug nonchalantly. This makes Minho scoff, throwing his hands up with laughter.
“Fine, pretend I'm considering this hamfisted idea of yours. What will this little charade entail?”
“Well what do
dates
in general entail?” Peter taps his chin with a finger. “I guess first of all, you will have to pick me up—”
“We live in the same house,” Minho interjects pointedly. “And the party is barely a ten minute walk down the start.”
Peter waves him off and continues rattling on, albeit with emphatic pauses. “You pick me up! In my room! With flowers!”
Minho laughs and Peter can't blame him because he knows he's being ridiculous. They're two grown men – two grown men in a
fraternity
for fucks sake. They both know what dates entail.
“What’s going on, Peter?”
He sighs. “Seunngmin and Changbin were kinda being annoying. I'm sick and tired of them and their long term relationship.” Well, that's partly it anyway; Minho only laughs at him.
“What?”
“Do they need to always parade it in front of us singles? This is going to be their
third
Valentine's together,” Peter points out, dramatically making a gagging sound. “And now that Chris and Felix are together…” He shudders as he recalls walking in on the two making out in the kitchen pantry just earlier that morning. “Ugh. I hate being single. And Valentine's Day is the worst day to be single.”
“You don't
have
to be single if you don't want to be,” Minho points out slowly. “Hundred percent, a lot of people would fall at the chance to be with you. As arm candy at the very least.”
Peter stares; not to toot his own horn, but he's fairly confident that Minho is correct in his assumption. Which brings him to—
nowhere.
At this point even he has lost the thread and is confused as to why he even proposed this farce to begin with.
“Well, I’m picky,” he answers.
(It’s a lie. He knows
why
he had the idea initially. He refuses to voice it out loud. Gun to head, he’ll say that he simply wants to mess with Minho; people might buy that. That's pretty typical of Peter and Minho behavior after all.)
“So you’d rather have a fake, hired date?” Minho lifts an eyebrow.
No,
Peter absolutely does not, but he nods.
Gods,
he thinks. Minho is annoying.
“You’re so mouthy, I'll just go and call Eric now,” Peter declares, but even he can’t be bothered to cover the half-heartedness in his tone.
“Oh shut up,” Minho tells him, laughing before Peter can actually pull his phone out of his jeans pocket. “I didn’t say no.”
“But are you saying yes?” It’s Peter’s turn to lift a questioning eyebrow.
Minho lets out an air whistle, his gaze bouncing around the room but never falling on Peter directly. “Fine, but how about you pick
me
up with flowers instead?” Finally, his eyes land on Peter’s, somewhat steely but in a way that seems as if he’s hiding glee behind them. “Chocolates, too. If you can't pay me up front for my services in cash, then in kind will have to work.”
Peter sputters out laughter. Only Minho can be this brazen. (At least apart from himself. He has his moments, especially when he's making up for little insecurities. He doubts that's the case with Minho.) “I’m broke, remember?” He clicks his tongue and shakes his head.
Minho chuckles and clicks his tongue. “I know for a fact that you always have a stash of chocolates kept in your room,” he declares. “And you work part time at a commercial garden. You can get a bouquet of Valentine roses at a good discount.”
“Okay, true,” Peter admits; he exhales heavily, a sigh that's meant to illustrate how hard his life is—but really, he does it so that he doesn’t laugh out loud instead. “Fine. Flowers and chocolates for my cheap, one dollar ho!”
When Peter (very casually) tells Hyunjin about the arrangement, he immediately
cackles
in his face.
“Dude.
Bro.
You know full well that you want to straight up ask Minho out so—”
“Nothing straight about asking a fellow bro on a fake date,” Peter interrupts.
“Oh shut up. Two bros on a fake date? Vaguely debatable on the straightness meter,” Hyunjin shoots back. “Two bros always making out when they get drunk? Yeah. There’s absolutely nothing straight about
that.”
Peter gawks at him. Hyunjin isn’t usually the type to read him for filth, but he also isn’t one to pass on the chance to be hyperbolic and dramatic, so maybe he should have expected that.
He sighs; there’s no use being coy with Hyunjin.
“Shut up yourself,” he grumbles. “I know there’s nothing straight about always making out when two dudes get drunk—even worse when two dudes deliberately get piss drunk just to have an excuse to make out, but—”
(They're also two dudes who once jacked each other off in the bathroom during an Alpha Tau Zeta party, but they absolutely never refer to that time, so Peter would fucking digress, thank you very much. For the record: he's well aware that moment is off the charts NOT straight as well.)
“Oh?” Hyunjin’s grin is wide and devilish. “Are you coming clean, then?”
Peter rolls his eyes and gives Hyunjin the middle finger. “What I’m saying is—” he groans, legitimate frustration coming off him in droves, “—we do truly do that. Make out a lot when drunk—so why doesn’t
he
just ask
me
out?”
Peter isn’t stupid; he knows the question can just as well be why doesn’t
he
just ask Minho out? It doesn't even matter that they're two less than heterosexual bros in the dsme fraternity. Everyone in their little brotherhood is practically dating each other at this point anyway; it's the 21st century. The real answer that he’s afraid to admit is that—he’s scared, and just a tad insecure. Minho is a beautiful man who attracts admirers like moths to flame; as much as Peter loves to think they read each other so well, this analogy always reminds him that he’s nothing but a moth, one among many that thrives on circling around the bright light that is Minho.
The first time they met had been rush week when Peter was still a freshman. He never really planned on pledging a fraternity—if anything, the idea initially turned him off. Fraternities seemed obnoxious to him, elitist in their exclusivity and without any real merit to his university life.
But he had ended up in a dorm room with Hyunjin Hwang, SKZ legacy, and he had been insistent that being in a fraternity was not only going to do wonders for his social life, it was also going to give him solid connections and brotherhood that will serve him well in college—and even beyond.
So he agreed to rush as a way to check the system out, and it was during a rush week party that he first set eyes on Minho Lee; embarrassingly, it was lust at first sight for him. Fortunately, he doesn’t think anyone could blame him for it — Minho is a man who appears to be sculpted by Gods, from his chiseled jawline, to his broad chest, down to his thick thighs. Peter will maintain that only a blind bat will deny himself attraction to Minho.
Through the magic of a coin toss, they had been paired for a game of beer pong that night and they had kept winning, match after match. (To this day, the two of them are the undisputed champions of pair beer pong along Greek row; it’s just one of the many ways in which they work so well together.)
Tipsy, but not entirely drunk, Peter’s usual introversion had been pushed down and squashed by alcohol, and upon winning the twelfth beer pong game in a row, he had yelled excitedly, thumped chests with Minho, and after barely a second of hesitation, he had pulled Minho into a corner and made out with him for a good half hour.
“Maybe he’s waiting for you,” Hyunjin suggests, cutting through Peter’s thoughts. “Scratch maybe, he’s definitely waiting. Goddamn, Peter, he’s
my
roommate, and he’s in
your
room more.”
Peter huffs in (very clear) denial. “That’s because I.N’s always out with his girlfriend,” he argues.
Hyunjun snorts. “He got himself a girlfriend like… last month. Minho’s been treating your room as his own for years.”
“Whatever. That’s beside the point,” Peter grumbles, even though deep down he knows that Hyunjin is way within the bounds of sensible logic.
It would be a lie to say that he hadn’t really expected to see Minho again after that first night of beer pong wins and drunk making out; for sure he
wanted
to run into him again—maybe casually, maybe nonchalantly. He imagined they would maybe bump into each other at another Greek party, and maybe they would flirt up a storm—but what he didn’t really expect was that he would get a bid from the exact fraternity that Minho was a brother in; that he would end up pledging that same fraternity even.
In hindsight, it’s stupid since they literally met at a Sigma Kappa party, but freshman Peter was clueless about a lot of things that junior Peter is completely aware of.
Another example: freshman Peter could not have expected that he and Minho would become close—the closest, almost like blood brothers, but not really. After all, you don’t really make out with your blood brother just because you get drunk and Peter and Minho are definitely not into some Flowers in the Attic bullshit.
Junior Peter is at least aware that the two of them are very much into kissing. (And maybe a little into
each other,
if he lets himself be bold.)
But there are some things that Peter is clueless about, whether then or now; for one he isn’t sure what all of that should mean—or if any of it even necessarily means anything. Sure, 99% of the time he can read Minho in 72 pt font, but does it really help him when just as often as not, Minho is like poetry? Beautiful, but with a hundred possible layered meanings.
So—
well.
Who knows what it means to Minho? Because at least Peter is sure that he wants it to mean
something.
Hyunjin tells Peter to
stop being a wimp.
Peter is nothing if not a person who is weak to challenges, and Hyunjin totally said the words to him in a daring tone. So when Peter and Minho attend the Tau Chi’s Valentine’s shindig together (for the record—Peter shows up at Minho’s bedroom with a bouquet of pink and yellow tulips and a box of Ferrero Rochers that he had been originally saving for
himself),
he decides to take up Hyunjin’s provocation.
“Are u waiting for me to ask you to date?” he asks, probably seeming completely out of pocket considering he presents the question after he hands Minho a red cup filled to the brim with some kind of fruit punch. (He would say it's laced with alcohol, but considering it tastes like 2 parts gin, and only one part fruit juice, it would be more accurate to say it's alcohol, laced with juice.)
“No.” Minho pauses, looking at him with a completely befuddled expression. “What.”
Peter has to admit that his answer kind of stings; he had been expecting teasing—not straight up confusion. Was the idea of them dating really that far fetched in Minho’s head? Maybe Peter couldn’t really read him as well as he thought he could.
He lets out awkward laughter, hoping to pass his comment off as a joke, but apparently Minho is not yet done responding.
“I mean you already did, didn’t you?” His look of confusion has somehow morphed into an amused expression, corners of his lips turning up almost in a shy manner. “Aren’t we on a date now?”
“Uh.” Peter knows that technically he isn’t wrong, but he also knows that the way they had ended up here, on this so-called date, is questionable at best. “I guess, but technically you’re a
hired
date, not a
date
date.”
Minho snorts. “We both know you aren’t paying me, though.”
“Hey! I got you the chocolates—” Peter pouts, pausing to make sure Minho gets to take in the downward curve of his lips before he proceeds to take a swig of beer.
“The ones that you ate on our way here?” Minho returns with a laugh.
“I also got you flowers!” Peter whines, a little too high-pitched for comfort. At least it makes him easier to hear over the din of music – that's what he tells himself.
Minho only laughs, clearly finding his reaction funny. “You,” he starts, only to shake his head like he's changed his mind about what he was going to say.
“Me. What.”
Minho laughs yet again, except this time, before Peter can pout or huff at him, Minho is leaning in, closing the distance between them and landing his lips on Peter’s.
His first reaction is to let out a soft, surprised squeak. His second is—
what the fuck there’s no way either of us is drunk just yet.
Both of them are just halfway through their first beer bottles, and he’s sure neither of them pre-gamed enough for this.
And then Minho sighs quietly and starts to pull away; panicked, Peter grabs a fistful of Minho’s shirt, yanking him closer as he deepens the kiss, tasting him insistently—inhaling him as much as he can.
The eagerness seems to amuse Minho, probably because this is what he’s more used to, and he chuckles as he returns the enthusiasm; he angles his head, parts his mouth against Peter’s and for a while they lose themselves in each other like this,;through sweet, slow kisses that seem to want to convey things that neither of them can put to words.
“Do you want this to be a
real
date?” Minho whispers when finally both of them pull apart, out of need for air more than anything else.
“Yes.” There’s no hesitation in Peter’s answer, but he’s surprised to find anxious caution reflected in Minho’s eyes. “Yes,” he repeats, louder and more firmly.
Minho chuckles. “Then why didn't you just ask me stra—
directly
instead of ‘hiring’ me?”
The immediate correction makes Peter laugh and lean forward, head resting against Minho’s shoulder as he giggles.
“Well when you put it like that—” he comments, teasing, which causes Minho to nudge him off.
“Peter Han,”
he says, and the way he says Peter’s name only makes him giggle even more. He usually hates it when people call him by his full name because it reminds him of whenever his mother would scold him for the smallest things during his childhood, but when it’s Minho—there’s always something so sweet and sure—so fond and steady every time
he
does it.
“I think I was scared you’d say no,” he admits, his voice uncharacteristically small. Peter has often been told that he wears his emotions on his sleeve, but that doesn’t mean it’s any easier to be up front with them when it involves words—or maybe that’s just the case when it comes to Minho. He never has this problem with others; his parents used to be called to school a lot when he was a kid, because he was. apparently very ‘confrontational.’ “I know we fool around sometimes, but going on a date—today of all days—feels like something else entirely.”
“Have you met me?” Minho asks, blinking rapidly. “Have you met me around
you?!”
He mutters under his breath. “What idiot would say no?”
Peter laughs, the shy yet frustrated manner in which the words come out of Minho admittedly gives him a much needed ego boost. “Okay. That’s true,” he responds, his tone tinged with renewed cockiness. “I really should have known you'd be too weak for my charms. My bad.”
Minho groans. “Why do I even like you?”
“Because I’m irresistible, baby.” The casual use of the term of endearment is accompanied by a wide and cheeky grin, which in turn is met with an eye roll from Minho.
“Ok, I’m packing up and leaving,” Minho declares, straightening up and pretending to step forward and move past Peter.
His so-called attempt is moot, however; apart from clearly being half-assed, Peter is quick to move, laughing as he cages Minho against the wall. “Nope,” he answers, deliberately being annoying in the way he childishly pops his P. “Can we just agree right here and now that this
is
a real date? That you're my Valentine, and I’m yours.”
Minho stares, and for a moment he looks like he’s had the wind knocked out of him. “What.” He blinks. “God, what's with the sudden sap?” He rolls his eyes, but his shoulders have visibly relaxed and there’s an almost shy smile curving on his lips. “I don’t really have a choice, do I? So yes. Okay, fine. Mr. Valentine. My Valentine.”
Peter’s grin spreads even wider. “Good that that’s settled then. I’ll be expecting that one dollar fee returned to me by the end of day, babe.” He’s teasing, but there’s a slight tremor in his voice—proof that a part of him still can’t believe that this is happening. That he settled this with Minho so easily, even though he really should have expected it. They truly are a match made to fit perfectly. He smiles and leans in, brushing his lips against Minho’s, sweetly, as a way to ground himself – to prove to himself that this is reality.
Minho rolls his eyes yet again, but this time, he's the one fisting at Peter’s shirt, keeping him in place as they give each other fleeting butterfly kisses.
Peter would very much like more than that, and he’s about to press a more insistent, more bruising kiss when—
“So, does this mean you’re together now?” Seungmin has appeared out of nowhere, interrupting the two of them. (Granted, out of nowhere in this context really means he passed through a doorway—it's a party after all, and they weren’t exactly being private, even though, as usual when he’s with Minho, it had felt like they were in their very own little world.)
Peter and Minho’s eyes meet, and together they burst into laughter.
“Are we?” Minho asks.
“Didn’t we just settle that?”
“We settled that we’re each other’s
Valentines,”
Minho clarifies. “That’s a label that expires at midnight.”
Peter snorts, before turning to Seungmin. “I guess we gotta get back to you on that.”
“Okay do it fast because we’ve got a lot riding on this,” Changbin pipes up, appearing from behind his boyfriend.
“Well, how much is a lot?” Minho asks, eyes narrowing; his thumb is gently caressing the inside of Peter’s wrist, and goddamn that’s distracting.
“Several hundred bucks,” Seungmin answers calmly, and
okay,
that has Peter’s attention swiveling back to them.
“That much in the fucking pot for us?!”
Minho laughs and turns to Peter. “Should we table the label for next week?”
“Oy!” Changbin cries out, his expression contorting in horror; Peter has to laugh because Changbin resembles an actual gremlin like that.
Minho grins, smug and mischievous, and Peter is sure he knows where this conversation is going. “Unless you guys wanna cut us in on the action—?” Minho offers, and Peter giggles, because
yeah.
“And if we do…?” Seungmin asks, looking cautious.
Minho and Peter both shrug at the same time.
“What about an 80-20 split?” Seungmin offers.
“Cheapass.” Minho shakes his head. “60-40,” he counters with feigned nonchalance and
damn,
Peter thinks, his soon-to-be boyfriend is sexy when he’s bargaining. (Granted, Minho is
always
sexy but he’d digress.)”
“70-30.”
“70-30
plus
you be the designated sober brother for the rest of April, and you’ve got a deal.”
Seungmin snorts; they all know that Minho’s just trying to get the last word, because Seungmin often ends up the sober brother whether designated or not.
“Fine. Call.”
And then Minho grabs Peter by the face and pulls him in. The kiss this time is a lot less chaste; it’s eager, wanting —
heated.
Peter finds his arms automatically circling around Minho, anchoring himself to the latter lest he gets swept away by the sea of emotions he’s feeling.
When they pull away, Peter is more than a little breathless. Seungmin, however, seems unimpressed.
Changbin scoffs. “That doesn’t mean shit,” he says; he and Seungmin are standing in identical positions, arms folded across their chests. “Everyone in this party has probably seen you two make out one too many times.”
Minho huffs, but Peter knows neither of them can really dispute that.
“Hey everyone, listen up!” Minho yells, and Peter’s eyes widen in shock. He automatically shrinks behind Minho when dozens of pairs of eyes actually turn to their direction. “I’m a hundred percent sober, and I want to let you all know that Peter is now a taken man!”
Peter winces, warmth spreading across his cheeks. “You’re embarrassing.”
“What’s that
baby?”
Peter’s flush deepens; he can't believe Minho just threw that back at him. “I said you’re
insufferable.”
Minho chortles. “Hey
you’re
the one who asked to date me.”
“Tried to hire you, you mean.”
“Well, alright then. You’re the one admitting that you were willing to pay to go on a fake date—”
Peter can only crack up. This is Minho—
his
Minho, who meets his banter, word for word, never backing down and always making him laugh. This time, he’s the one who pulls Minho in; together, they laugh as they kiss, and it doesn’t matter that their friends are either gagging or giving them judgmental looks, because
Gods,
Minho is right and Peter is absolutely bonkers for him.
“Happy Valentines, babe,” he exhales into the kiss.
Minho groans and breaks away, cringing. “Shit that means our anniversary is on Valentine's Day. How fucking cliché!” He shakes his head and waves at Seungmin. “Hey, if we postpone, who’s got the closest over-under to a week from today?”
“I do!” Someone yells from the staircase, just above them. It’s I.N, looking perky and more than a little interested. Perhaps also a little buzzed.
“You willing to offer the same cut?” Minho asks him.
Jeongin laughs. “Do you better. 65-35”
“Deal!” It’s Peter who answers, grinning and exchanging a look with Minho immediately.
“Hey!” Seungmin looks incredibly affronted, eyes wide and jaw gaping.
Peter would laugh and make fun of him, but there’s something else he would really rather be busy with at the moment.
He shrugs, smiles, and proceeds to pull Minho right to him. Money talk can come later, right now they have their own world to occupy.
fin.
|
The sky is still too dark when Anakin is jolted awake. Warning sirens scream through his head—something is wrong, wrong, wrong. Then pure, unadulterated panic, racing down the bond like wildfire. His throat closes up, and he doesn't know if it's him who’s terrified, or if it's his padawan projecting her fear across the temple to him.
Anakin throws the blanket off himself, practically sprinting across the room and down the deserted corridor to Ahsoka's quarters. This isn't the first time. His heart sinks as he realises it’s not going to be the last.
He’s at her door within minutes, and he punches in the code for her room reflexively. The only thing restraining him from flinging the door open is knowing the temple is full of sleeping jedi, and slamming a solid duracrete door against a solid duracrete wall would not be the most ideal course of action right now.
The room is too dark to see at first. It takes a moment for his pupils to dilate, but he can already make out a smudge atop the bed, quivering under bunched-up blankets. His chest seizes at the sight of Ahsoka curled up into herself, trying to stay quiet, knowing she’s failed to shield her thoughts tonight, now afraid he will hear her thoughts or her sobs—or worse, think she is weak.
Anakin has had his fair share of nightmares and flashbacks and panic attacks. He knows the terror like the back of his hand. He knows there is nothing weak about drowning if nobody ever taught you how to swim.
(To be fair, padawans were never really trained to familiarise themselves with the horrors of war, as they were expected to adjust to the grim realities on their own, and masters were certainly not expected to assist them in that aspect of said curriculum—but then again, that in itself is a grim reality.)
His heart breaks for the tiny togruta, and in an instant he is on the bed next to her, holding her close to his chest. He strokes her montrals with his flesh hand, hoping he’s radiating calm into the bond and not his own distress. She’s still shaking, but holding her breath—perhaps she thinks if she feigns calmness she can hide the extent of her pain and alleviate his concern.
(If anything, his concern only grows. But this is not the time to scold her for matters of that sort.)
Anakin curses the Jedi Code, curses the ban on attachments, curses the elders and their karking ‘wisdom’ for teaching his padawan to hide her emotions, tearing herself down to convince her own master that she is strong. He knows she tries to snuff out her messy sentiment and fails, just like him. He knows she tries to silence the voice which screams at her to care and protect with passion.
(And she never has to convince him she is strong. That he knows for sure.)
It takes a moment for it to register in Ahsoka’s terror-addled brain—that Anakin is holding her like a youngling, murmuring soothing words under his breath as he gathers the bits and pieces of her together before she can fall apart. Shame burns like fire on her side of the bond, fuelled by something horribly close to disappointment and self-hatred. Anakin soothes that too, smoothing out the rough surfaces and jagged edges, until the blanket around her shoulders doesn’t feel like it will smother her in her sleep.
Is it selfish of her to wish she was born at a different time? After the war, perhaps? Or in a parallel universe where fifteen year old padawans don’t wake crying in the middle of the night, because they dreamed of the corpses of a battalion which fought beside them?
“You are not,” Anakin says, his arms tightening around her. The blanket between her skin and his is warm and thick and heavy. A luxury, and one she does not take for granted—not when the gentle pressure of her master’s embrace opens wells within her mind for her fear to ebb out of.
He was like her once. Only a few years ago. He remembers how Obi-Wan would sit him down face-to-face on a meditation mat, insisting that he release his emotions to the Force. He meant well, but it had never been effective, and it took years for Obi-Wan to realise all Anakin needed was to be held, and have his fear acknowledged rather than banished. His mind was too dark, then. Like the sky now.
Anakin makes a mental note never to tell Ahsoka to meditate her feelings away. One, she hates it as much as he does; and two, it just doesn’t work.
“I’m sorry I woke you up,” Ahsoka whispers.
There it is again, an unwelcome thought sinking into her mind. He is your master, she tells herself. You should not be the burden. You should not be the liability. She swallows her tears, harsh reminders quickly hardening her resolve, but it’s all wrong—like wet duracrete setting too fast. Yet she cannot ignore the nagging voice telling her to grow up and stop being such a child. He works too hard for you to wake him over trivial matters like these.
“Ahsoka,” Anakin says, gently but firmly. “I need you to understand that you should never, ever hide things like this from me.”
And oh, hearing those words is a benediction, but good things never last, do they?
“I can take care of it on my own,” she says, a little too quickly, and for a moment Anakin wonders how many times she has woken herself up like this—in pain and anguish and fear—without him knowing. At the same time, Ahsoka realises she’s probably managed to make it sound like she doesn’t want Anakin here, and that she doesn’t appreciate him coming over to take care of her in the middle of the night, and she’s nothing but an ungrateful—
“Do you want to talk about it?” Anakin asks, gently tilting her chin up to meet her eyes. He can read the sorrow in them before she’s said a word.
Ahsoka’s throat bobs as she swallows. “I’m scared.”
Just like that, it all comes rushing out—scared she will be a second too slow to deflect a blaster bolt, scared she will die before she sees the war end, scared she will have to hold her master’s still body in her arms one day, scared she will be taken prisoner by the separatists if a plan goes wrong, scared of what opportunistic sleemos think of her species.
All valid fears for a soldier. None valid fears for a child.
“I know,” Anakin says softly, holding her close again as she trembles with silent sobs.
How long does he hold her for? It cannot be long—the chronometer doesn’t lie. Perhaps she should credit that to Anakin too—the way he is able to calm her so quickly, even though his own emotions are often chaotic and jumbled. Perhaps she should credit that to him being a wonderful Jedi and master.
When she has stilled once more, Anakin releases his hold on her shoulders and sets her head down on the pillow, pulling the blanket up to her chin. Ahsoka blinks slowly, her eyes clearer now, and gazes up at him. He reads the thank you off her lips as she mouths the words, too tired to make a sound.
“Sleep, Ahsoka,” he says quietly, with so much love in his voice, smoothing a hand over her brow and weaving a Force suggestion into his words. He knows she needs it.
For once, she doesn’t have to say I don’t think I can.
Ahsoka reaches out with a trembling hand, grasping meekly at the air in front of her. Anakin smiles, knowing exactly what she means, and shifts himself under the blanket to lie beside her. She curls her tiny hand into the fabric of his tunic and nestles into the fold of his arm, as the breath she’s been holding is blessedly let out.
The sky is still too dark when Ahsoka blinks blearily, the wall on the far side of her room coming into focus like a crappy holorecorder lens. She is vaguely aware of the heavy arm resting on her waist, pulling her back against a warm body. It takes another five seconds to realise the arm is not organic flesh, but gloved durasteel, and it hums with a weak little vibration—barely enough for her montrals to pick it up; completely unnoticeable against her skin.
The only other time Anakin has ever slept beside her like this was on a mission which went wrong, when the rescue ship hadn’t made it to the frigid planet they were stranded on before nightfall, and they’d had no choice but to huddle for warmth. She’d ended up falling asleep in her exhaustion, and she’d woken up like she has now—with her master holding her in his arms, everything soft and slow and warm.
The only other time he’s ever slept beside her like this was after a battle.
And it feels stupid to compare a childish nightmare to a battle.
But in all honesty, it hadn’t just been a nightmare. She knows she didn’t just imagine the feeling of not being able to breathe, and she didn’t imagine the voice in her head telling her she was going to die if she didn’t get out right now run fast run—
Deep breaths. That’s what she needs to do. Deep breath in, out.
Ahsoka shifts carefully, trying to turn onto her back to face Anakin where he lies beside her. She must have moved during the night. Anakin’s arm only tightens around her waist, and she huffs quietly but endearingly, even though she’s now completely trapped.
“Go back to sleep, Snips,” Anakin mumbles, his voice hoarse.
Before she can apologise for waking him up, there’s a soft brush against the walls of her mind and a loving smile down the bond, and it doesn’t even take a Force suggestion for her to comply.
Ever since she’s built her second saber, Anakin doesn’t think Ahsoka has gone more than a day without sneaking up to the training grounds to practice her new form. Since so few Jedi have the capability to wield two blades—and none with a backhand grip—she’s been nothing short of determined to perfect it. Changing forms, especially in the middle of a war in which she fought on the front lines, was not a very good idea. Anakin almost discouraged it, if not for the fact that he was so confident in her abilities.
“You’ll have to practice much more,” he’d warned at first. “It’s not an easy form.”
Ahsoka had only nodded, chewing on her bottom lip. Her new shoto in her untrained hand looked heavy and out of place, her swings unpracticed and blocks ineffective at first.
Two weeks later, she’d bested him. Much to his shock and Obi-Wan’s amusement.
Even now, Anakin still can’t believe how quickly she’s mastered Jar’kai. It’s really, really difficult. Even he finds her training challenging now, but she seems to have taken his words to stride. They’ve stuck with her, perhaps too much so, and he’s a little concerned she may be prioritising the wrong thing—training over wellbeing.
Force knows he’s guilty of it too.
He wonders if he shouldn’t have said that—you’ll have to practice much more. He suspects Ahsoka may have taken it too seriously.
So when he’d told her earlier in the day to “take a break, Snips. You deserve it,” and she’d smiled very innocently before telling him she would be in her quarters “studying Mando’a. I want to be able to speak to Rex!” Anakin had nodded as unsuspiciously as he could and replied “alright, Snips,” to which she‘d grinned and ran off down the corridor.
Anakin had waited for her to turn the bend before following her. Lo and behold, she hadn’t turned into the hallway leading to her room or the temple library—instead, she’d taken a very long detour across the temple. To the training courtyard. Where she is decidedly not going to practice Mando’a.
He’s not even mad that she lied.
Alright, maybe he is. But only a little—he’s actually quite impressed. For how rebellious she is, Anakin knows his padawan works hard. Harder than he has ever given her credit for, and probably harder than he has ever worked himself.
Now he watches from the shade, leaning against the pale stone wall while she moves across the training ground with movements so fluid and simply beautiful that he can hardly believe she learned them from him. Only sixteen years old, yet she’s as graceful as a Jedi Master. She wields her new, shorter blade like she was born to.
That’s pride, blooming in his chest. She will be an excellent knight one day.
Ahsoka isn’t aware that he’s watching her—the way she trains when she’s alone is different from when she’s with him. Here, she is confident, less shy, not afraid to make mistakes he would otherwise call her out for—like leaving her side open when she should be blocking with her new blade, or forgetting that her foot placement should be further forward for balance—not to the side where any opponent could easily knock her over. He sighs knowingly as she forgets the correction yet again.
Anakin doesn’t keep track of how long he stands, assessing every one of her stabs and strikes. It’s mesmerising, watching her run through her katas. Still, he notices when the shadows across the courtyard begin stretching into each other, and the Coruscanti sun is no longer high in the afternoon sky, but dipping below the spires of those gleaming skyscrapers as the first shades of dusk creep across the temple.
Eventually Ahsoka begins to tire. Anakin has trained her for long enough now to catch the telltale slip in her otherwise clean footwork, the way her agile swings start to slow, the periods of rest lagging longer and longer in between each round. She’s breathing heavily—a testament to her impressive endurance.
Anakin knows from experience that she has it in her to go on, but she hasn’t even touched her meager bottle of water where it lies in the corner with her discarded over-tunic, and it’s beginning to look more like she’s trying to tire herself out rather than improve.
Force knows he’s guilty of it too.
Just as he’s about to step in, she stumbles. Anakin reaches out with a hand, shutting off both her lightsabers with a flick of his wrist before she can dismember herself. She doesn’t even try to break her fall, probably too tired to catch herself or stay upright, but her eyes widen in bewilderment when her weapons switch off through no action of her own.
“I think that’s enough, Ahsoka.” Anakin’s smooth voice cuts through the still air, quietly enough not to startle her but loudly enough for her to hear him. Ahsoka whips her head around, shock rippling across her features.
“How long have you been standing there?” she asks. She sounds almost scandalised, and Anakin isn’t sure if it’s because she’s essentially only half dressed, having abandoned her stuffy tunic in exchange for wearing only tight, dark wrappings around her torso, or because she’s worrying about the mistakes he might have caught her making while practicing—which are, frankly, almost nonexistent.
He doesn’t comment on either. “Long enough to know you should have taken a proper break hours ago.”
She blinks. “It’s been hours?”
Anakin gestures to the sky.
“Oh.” Ahsoka nibbles on her bottom lip, shifting her weight between her feet.
“Funny way of practicing Mando’a, by the way,” Anakin adds.
Ahsoka flushes, embarrassed at being caught out so blatantly.
Then, not a second later and without an ounce of shame—“Since you’re here, can we spar? Just a little longer?”
“No,” Anakin says. “I’m not here to spar. I’m here to make sure you don’t do something stupid, like wear yourself down until you have to channel the Force through your own body so you don’t pass out.”
“I’m not gonna pass out,” she says, grimacing at the memory of that mortifying ordeal. Standing with a wince, she stretches out her legs, picking up her lightsabers and returning to the center of the courtyard to start a new round of katas. Anakin sighs. Before she’s made it to the third form, he flicks his wrist again, the glowing blades of her twin sabers going out once more.
Ahsoka yells in frustration, almost throwing her saber hilts onto the ground. “Master!” she complains. “Stop doing that.”
“Enough, Ahsoka,” Anakin says, more firmly this time. “Part of your training is knowing when to take a break. We’ve talked about this. You are not going to improve if you’re constantly exhausted.”
“I’m not going to improve if I don’t practice. An opponent in battle isn't going to care if I'm exhausted.”
“Firstly, you practice plenty. Secondly, this is not a battle. You’re not going to improve if you hurt yourself.”
“I’m not going to hurt myself,” she says stubbornly.
“That’s what you said once, and then I had to carry you back to your quarters.”
Ahsoka scowls. He’s right. Then a thought hits her and her face lights up. “I won’t use my sabers, then,” she says, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
“Ahsoka,” Anakin says, warning in his tone—a reminder that she did lie to his face about where she would be today—and alright, she’s rebellious but not that rebellious.
“Fine,” she sighs, and clips her saber hilts to her belt, taking a moment to admire how there are two instead of one! before following Anakin back into the cool hallways of the temple. She nearly trips as she takes a first step up the stairs, her foot catching carelessly on a tiny rock on the ground, and Anakin grabs her arm to steady her before she can fall again. Ahsoka winces—not in pain, but in embarrassment. She has to remind herself not to immediately pull away from Anakin, the voice in her head telling her she doesn’t need help.
They walk in silence through the corridors. She has to walk quicker than usual to match her master’s stride.
Ahsoka can’t tell if Anakin is angry at her for lying, or secretly proud for training so hard in her own time, or annoyed that he’s had to come pick her up again from an ordeal that would probably have ended in not-so-great fashion otherwise.
“You’ve improved,” Anakin says, placing a hand on her shoulder as they approach the temple refectory. The second option, then.
Ahsoka can’t help but blush at the praise. “I could improve more if you let me—”
“Ahsoka,” Anakin says exasperatedly.
She grins, butting him in the shoulder with her lekku, and he rubs her montrals affectionately in return. It’s nice to have a master who sometimes acts more like a friend. Not like the tight-strung, no-nonsense masters the older students in the creche would constantly complain about.
“Thank you, Master,” she says, softer. “And I’m sorry. You’re right. I would have kept going until—”
“I know, little one,” Anakin interrupts, not unkindly.
They reach Anakin’s quarters, and Ahsoka stiffens beside him as he keys in the code for the door. She takes a breath before asking, “Are you angry at me?”
“Angry at you for lying, or for training when I very clearly told you to take a break?” Anakin says it jokingly, but halts when he catches the way Ahsoka’s nails dig into her palms and her fingers clench tight and the line of her neck stiffens so suddenly it must be painful.
She swallows hard. “Both?”
“No,” Anakin says. “I mean, sure. You lied. Not great. Don’t do that again.”
“I’m sorry.”
Anakin sighs, but there’s a smile in his eyes. “Apology accepted.”
The door slides up with a mechanical whirr. Master and padawan walk in, the smaller of the pair making her way straight to the kitchen cupboard, and Anakin pauses in the middle of the room, watching Ahsoka tiptoe to reach a packet of bantha jerky. He still remembers when she was too small to even brush her fingers against the shelf, and somehow taught herself to propel herself upwards using the Force so she could without asking for help.
She never liked asking for help.
Anakin feels a wave of protectiveness crest over him, and before he can question his actions as a Jedi knight on a very young, impressionable padawan, he’s holding out his arms and saying “Ahsoka, come here.”
Ahsoka drops the packet of food and walks right into his embrace, tucking her head under his chin, resting her cheek against his chest the way she always has. He’s warm in the Force, a welcome reprieve from her quickly cooling skin.
“I’m really proud of you, Snips,” Anakin murmurs warmly, his lips against her montrals as he wraps his arms tighter around her shoulders. She leans into his touch, humming softly, and Anakin pulls away just enough to say, “Now go rest, or I’ll confiscate your lightsaber.”
“Which one?” Ahsoka asks, grinning back at him.
Anakin snorts. “Both, and I think I should just take them now. Hand them over.”
“A wise Jedi master once told me your weapon is your life.”
“Hm.”
Ahsoka smiles, so bright despite the fatigue weighing down her limbs. “I’ll take a break, I promise.”
“Good,” Anakin says, and she ambles off into her room, sabers swinging from their place on her belt. “Call me if you need anything,” he adds. Ahsoka doesn’t turn around, but she does nod and make a soft noise of assent.
Then, quieter, too much so for her to hear, he says, “I’m always here for you.”
Ahsoka can’t sleep. She’s been lying on her back, staring at the darkness of the ceiling, for what feels like hours.
She and Anakin and Obi-Wan returned from Mortis only hours ago, both masters shaken but relatively unscathed. Neither of them had spoken of what happened on Mortis, even when Ahsoka pestered them to tell her for the entire trip back, as she didn’t remember a thing. She felt exactly as she had when they’d left for the planet from Coruscant a day ago.
But the moment she’d stepped foot on Coruscant, she’d noticed that the Force around her felt unfamiliar and foreign. Not in a threatening way, but enough to be disconcerting and uncomfortable, especially when she asked Anakin if he felt the same and he only shook his head, saying it was probably a result of the strange Force presence of the planet they’d just been on.
(She didn’t miss the way he’d stolen a slightly panicked glance at Obi-Wan when he thought she wasn’t looking, but chose not to wonder why.)
Ahsoka had been on edge for the rest of the day. The itch in the back of her mind persisted, and no matter how hard she tried to meditate or distract herself, it simply would not go away.
It’s not that she isn’t tired. She’d fallen asleep easily after dinner, the blurry events of Mortis already fading from her mind.
She’d been dreaming of herself. But it wasn’t her. Those dark cracks webbed across her face and arms like rot, marring her otherwise unblemished skin. Her signature was shrouded in murky blackness, dirty and decrepit, and her lightsaber crystals screamed, as if they'd been broken and shoved back together into their hilts. Worst of all were her eyes—no longer bright, brilliant blue, but a sickly yellow, colour decaying into her irises, bleeding out with her light.
In her dream, Ahsoka stood facing Not-Ahsoka, a horrifyingly perfect physical reflection of her features, save for the wrongness. Her reflection smiled, fangs bared, and Ahsoka thought she was going to attack but she didn’t. Not-Ahsoka only waited and grinned and watched with something that must have been greed in her yellow eyes, waiting for Ahsoka to make a move; but Ahsoka could only stand stock-still, limbs frozen in fear.
And that is how she wakes up at an ungodly hour of the night—rigid in her bed, all her joints locked and uncomfortably stiff when she tries to force them back into mobility. The room is pitch black, the way she likes it, blinds closed over the window with not a space between them for a single sliver of light to shine through.
But not tonight. Tonight, the darkness is too much. Ahsoka reaches out blindly in what she hopes is the general direction of the window, waving at it vaguely with the Force. The blinds shutter up, light streaming through the slits and onto the floor.
She forces herself to exhale slowly, the pounding of her heart echoing through her montrals.
Her blankets are suffocating all of a sudden, and she frantically kicks them off herself. A mess of heavy chains weighing down on her, pinning her to the mattress. Trapped. But even once they’re strewn on the floor next to her bed, her room is still too small, the walls closing in on her, threatening to crush her into nothing where nobody can hear her call for help.
The thin rectangles of light coming through the window look more and more like prison bars with every passing second.
Ahsoka pushes herself up on her mattress, breathing hard. She’s not going back to sleep tonight.
She knows this is about Mortis. She doesn’t remember a thing. They landed, something happened, and they left. No matter how hard she tries, Ahsoka can’t fill up that gaping space of something with anything.
They’d gotten back today. Yesterday. Anakin had been so quiet on the way home.
Ahsoka knows she can’t stay in her room tonight. But where else is there to go?
The temple archives? They would be empty at this time of the night. She could tuck herself into a corner, arms full of glowing blue volumes. She could read up on Mortis, try to learn something about a planet she wishes she knew nothing of—much less set foot upon.
The training grounds? She could run a few rounds of forms again, hopefully tire herself out further—but she needs her lightsabers for that. The green and yellow blades will only remind her of her dark self in her hazy dreams.
And that is how Ahsoka finds herself at Anakin’s door, a hand curled into a fist and raised to knock. She hesitates just before she can, the question arriving unbidden: What am I thinking, disturbing him at this time of the night? He’s probably sleeping. I’m not going to wake my master like a pathetic youngling just because I can’t sleep!
Just as she’s about to turn around and berate herself all the way back to her quarters, she hears the sharp sound of something metallic hitting the wall, and she winces as it reverberates uncomfortably through her montrals.
It only takes a gentle prod at her training bond to realise her master is very much wide awake.
She’d died.
The thin sheet of durasteel he’s tinkering with crumples in his hands, metal shrieking quietly as sharp folds appear in its delicate form. Unusable. Anakin launches it across the room with a burst of the Force, relishing in the way it hits the far wall with a loud clunk before falling onto the floor for somebody else to trip over later.
After a beat of silence, with only the sound of his own harsh breathing to fill the room, he senses a small but warm presence in the corridor outside his quarters. Even before he hears the three soft taps at the door, he knows who it is.
Ahsoka.
Anakin stands from his worktable, disassembled droid parts momentarily forgotten, and goes to answer it. Her presence alone calms him as he walks the short distance, easing him down from the narrow ledge he’s walking. He has to control himself for her. She can never see him for how much darkness he hides beneath the surface.
As he presses a code into the keypad by the door, Anakin doesn’t pause to wonder why she’s here at this time of the night. It’s not as if this hasn’t happened before, but she’s usually reluctant to admit when she needs help or comfort or somebody to listen.
Ahsoka looks exhausted. Not just physically, but in the Force too—dim and fuzzy around the edges.
She stares at him for a moment, thinking the exact same thing: It doesn’t look like he’s been sleeping either.
“Master,” she says timidly, a little ashamed. “Are you busy right now?”
Anakin shakes his head. “Can’t sleep?” he asks gently.
She nods.
“Dreams?”
She nods again.
“Me too,” Anakin says, sighing. He stifles a yawn. Ahsoka catches it, and her eyes widen.
“I’m disturbing you, aren’t I?”
“No, Ahsoka—”
“I’ll leave, I’ll leave. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
Anakin moves forward and wraps his arms around his padawan, pressing her to his chest. “Ahsoka, stop.”
Ahsoka pauses, big blue eyes wide and a little glassy.
“How can I help?” Anakin asks. He steps back, leaving a space for her to enter, hoping she will take the hint and come into his quarters. After all, that’s probably why she’s here in the first place. But she doesn’t—she only swallows, taking a deep breath.
“What happened on Mortis?”
Anakin winces internally. This isn’t a conversation they can have in a doorway.
“You don’t remember anything at all?” Anakin asks.
Ahsoka shakes her head.
With a hand on the back of her shoulder to guide her, Anakin steers himself and his padawan to the couch in his living area, setting himself down roughly but laying her head on his lap as gently as he can. Ahsoka sighs softly, allowing herself to melt into her master’s comforting presence. After a moment, Anakin’s hand comes up to stroke Ahsoka’s montrals, the way he always does when she’s upset.
“Are you going to tell me what happened on Mortis?” Ahsoka asks.
The memory still hurts. Anakin cannot imagine what he would do if Ahsoka had truly died on Mortis. If the Daughter hadn’t given up her dying light to save a stranger.
“Not now,” Anakin says. Not ever, he wants to say. He doesn’t know if he should tell her or if she even has the right to know. He can’t think of any way it would be beneficial to her or him.
Ahsoka wants to protest, but Anakin’s gentle touch is doing wonders to calm the choppy sea of emotions in her chest, and she’s almost certain she’ll slip into dreams again if closes her eyes for more than a few seconds. She gives herself permission to shut her eyes for a moment, savouring the physical contact which carries too much love not to bring attachment with it.
Before she knows it, she’s drifting off again.
With great reluctance, Ahsoka reaches up to grab the gloved hand brushing long, soothing lines along her lekku. “I’m gonna fall asleep if you keep doing that,” she says tiredly, and Anakin smiles for what may be the first time tonight, a laugh slipping easily from his lips.
“That’s the point, Snips,” he replies, taking her hand where it rests against his flesh one, curling his fingers softly around hers.
“I should go back to my room,” Ahsoka says, but she doesn’t try to open her already-closed eyes. She turns her head into his robes and presses her cheek into the warm material. Anakin’s arm tightens around her shoulder. She feels so safe like this, wrapped up in her master’s protection, surrounded by his thrumming signature both physically and in the Force.
“You can stay in my quarters tonight,” Anakin says. “You always sleep better here.”
He’s right. Ahsoka knows she won’t dream here. Anakin’s presence in the Force is far too blinding for anything to get past the shields he puts up for her.
“Thank you,” Ahsoka murmurs, feeling so much younger than she is but so grateful for Anakin’s unorthodox views on Master-Padawan relationships. She can’t imagine her padawanhood under a different Jedi knight.
“Always, Snips,” Anakin says softly. He tucks her into the crook of his arm as she curls up on her side, breaths evening out and slowing down. It’s not long before she’s dead to the world. Anakin takes a moment to thank the stars that she will open her eyes again tomorrow, pushing the fresh memory of her unmoving body on Mortis to the far recesses of his mind.
Anakin stands from the couch and carries her into his room, so light in his arms, throwing the blankets back with the Force. He sets her on the mattress tenderly, smoothing a hand over her montrals one final time, before pulling the covers over her shoulders and flicking off the lights so the room is pitch black—the way she likes it.
“Master—”
“I don’t want to hear another word from you until we get back to our quarters.” Anakin’s tone is biting, his words harsh. He doesn’t enjoy speaking to Ahsoka like this—he tries to treat her like an equal as much as he can. How else will she match him in command if he doesn’t? And sure, he knows masters who are even harder on their padawans than he is at the worst of times; but he’s never believed in being heavy-handed with his scoldings, even when he knows Ahsoka needs to be put in her place.
This, however, is a whole different story.
Before his knighthood, Anakin had gone against his master too—fights and disagreements and days gone not speaking until a mission pushed them together (common) or one of them apologised (rare).
And it looks like having Ahsoka Tano as a padawan comes with its own fair share of no-thank-yous as well.
It’s not surprising, of course. Not when he takes into account her stubborn, hotheaded nature and burning determination to disobey direct orders. And usually he doesn’t mind. Usually he can see the logic behind her decisions, and he’d be damned to say he wouldn’t have done the same when he was a padawan.
But he’d also be damned to say he isn’t absolutely furious with her right now. And it’s not just anger—he’s disappointed.
“I don’t know what you were thinking, running into a battle like that,” he says. Anakin's voice is deathly quiet, and Ahsoka thinks it's somehow even worse than hearing him yell. He’s upset, sure, but she senses his worry, too—that she could have been hurt badly. Or killed in a second. It would only have taken one blaster shot.
“Master, I was only trying to—”
“I told you to turn back,” he snaps. “This mission could have gone wrong in a hundred different ways. Your actions cost lives. I told you to turn back, and what did you do?”
Ahsoka glares back at him, even though she’s still grieving the lives lost today. She’s stubborn as a bantha, but it’s unusual for her to hold on this tightly. Hell, Anakin has seen her fall apart with guilt over less. And normally he would let it go, but he’s quite frankly had it up to his neck with her attitude, and his patience is wearing very, very thin.
“What did you do, Ahsoka? Tell me.”
Ahsoka stares at the ground, acknowledging her shame, but he can still see a spark of pestilence in her eyes.
“I disobeyed you.” Again.
“And?”
“I endangered your battalion.” Anakin raises his eyebrows pointedly, arms crossed and cybernetic fingers digging almost painfully into his own arm. “My battalion,” Ahsoka corrects, quieter now, more timid.
“Not just endangered.”
She doesn't reply. She cannot bring herself to admit they are dead.
Anakin presses the heels of his palms against his forehead, closing his eyes momentarily. “We have had this discussion before. You are a commander, Ahsoka. Your men trust you to make the right decision, not just for the good of the Republic, but for the good of them too,” he says darkly. “You did not have a say in the decision today. Those were direct orders.”
Ahsoka bites back a retort—as if you ever follow direct orders.
Anakin runs his hands through his hair in frustration. Ahsoka is never this insolent. And is she rolling her eyes?
“You would have done the same,” she says, and instantly regrets it.
“Do not sass me, Ahsoka Tano,” Anakin snaps, eyes blazing in anger as he barely restrains himself from grabbing her wrist with his mechanical one.
Ahsoka knows she’s overstepped, but to admit that would be to admit her mistakes. And she was only trying to do what she thought was best—
“Go to your room,” Anakin says, dangerously quiet. “You’re going to meditate on this. I need you to understand the gravity of your actions today.” Because he can’t look at her right now—not when he’s seen how close she came to not making it out of that shitshow of a mission alive.
Ahsoka looks like she’s about to scowl, but catches herself before she can aggravate Anakin any further. She backs away, taking a few steps backward before turning on her heel and running into her room. Anakin almost expects her to slam the door, but she doesn’t.
He almost wishes she would.
The room is suddenly quiet, yet it doesn’t feel like a reprieve.
Anakin can’t decide if he regrets yelling at Ahsoka like that. He should feel bad. He doesn’t.
She sneaks out at night.
The pent-up energy in her body—anger; it is anger—aches to be let out. Ahsoka refuses to physically break anything the way she’s seen people do when they are angry, but her frustration grows the longer she paces the room, until it renders her deaf to everything else.
It’s easy to slip out of the quarters she shares with Anakin and run across the temple to the training salles, saber hilts swinging from her belt. She doesn’t know what time it is, but the hallways are deserted and she can count the number of life forms she passes on one hand.
It’s easy to slip into a round of katas, her anger transforming into the deadly swings of her lightsabers, green and yellow slicing through the air in lethal arcs. She almost catches herself on her blades once or twice, when she flips through the air too wildly and lands with reckless foot placement. She hears Anakin’s voice in her head, correcting her mistakes; feels the phantom touch of his hand moving her arms to the right position, strengthening her defences.
He probably hates her. He probably wishes he never took her on as a padawan.
She loses herself fighting against an imaginary opponent, her own mind a more brutal enemy than she has ever duelled with. All she hears is her blood rushing in her ears, her heart pounding in her chest, the ethereal hum of her plasma blades as they ionise the air around them.
It is not so easy to make her way back to her quarters. Not when she’s used up energy she didn’t have in the first place, and her body screams for her to eat something sweet, and her muscles ache from exerting them so vigorously without warming up first.
Anakin would scold her for that.
It must be early in the morning, because she passes jedi masters and padawans in the halls of the temple. They give her funny looks, questioning glances thrown at the scowl on her face and the tears welling up in her eyes.
Ahsoka starts to run as she approaches her quarters, hoping Anakin isn’t awake yet and that he hasn’t noticed she was gone the whole night. She keys in the code, wincing at the loud beep, but it’s quiet inside. She manages to close the door just as the tears slip down her cheeks. Her anger has flickered down from the inferno it was before, leaving only dim embers and ash behind, and she curls into a ball, her back against the door, crying silently into her arms.
Anakin doesn’t find her in the rummaging through the kitchen as he usually does in the morning. Which means she hasn’t come out of her room since last night. She should have at least gotten something to eat—sure, he’s angry at her, but she shouldn’t be starving herself to avoid him.
She’s awake, though, so he knocks on her door, frowns when she doesn’t reply, and decides to open it himself—
—and finds her staring out the window with what must be a blank expression, her back to him, wearing the same clothes she was in yesterday.
“Ahsoka?” Anakin asks softly, approaching her the way one would approach a wounded baby tooka. “Are you alright?”
The only response he gets is a noncommittal shrug.
“Hey,” he says, gentler this time. “Look at me.” It’s not a request, but it’s not an order either. It’s something in between, almost pleading. Why won’t she look at him?
“Ahsoka, you’re going to have to say something if you need anything,” Anakin adds.
She does turn around at that. Her face is drawn and pale, like she hasn’t slept at all. I need you to go, she thinks. But she can’t tell her master to leave. So she shakes her head, knowing she will break down immediately if she tries to speak.
“Talk to me,” Anakin says, mustering all the persuasion he can into his voice. It’s futile. Now that he’s closer, he notices she’s trembling slightly, her shoulders shot through with tension.
Is this all because of what he said?
“You hate me,” she whispers.
Anakin falters. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t as extreme as this. “Why would you think that?”
“I know I’m a terrible padawan. I know.”
“Ahsoka, stop,” Anakin says, urgently.
“It’s okay,” she says, barely loud enough to be audible, yet her voice is heavy with heartbreak and something dark and twisted—self-loathing. “I understand how you feel.”
“No,” Anakin says in disbelief. “No! Ahsoka—”
A quiet whimper escapes her as his voice rises in volume again. Ahsoka closes her eyes and turns her head to the ground, hands curling tightly in the hem of her tunic, knuckles turning pale.
Anakin can only stare in shock as all the self-confidence and acceptance he so meticulously helped her build up comes crumbling down, leaving only bitterness and hopelessness behind, both harshly directed at herself.
“You were so angry,” she chokes. “You were so angry. You were about to—” she clamps a hand over her mouth, trying to tame the sobs wracking her body, each amplified by how small she is compared to the violent shake of her shoulders. She feels terrible. Earlier, when Anakin was in his fit of anger, she’d tried to ignore the voice in her head telling her to shut the hell up and apologise, thinking she could fight her way into convincing him her actions were justified. But they hadn’t been at all—they hadn’t been from the very start.
She hadn’t disobeyed orders because she thought it was the right thing to do.
(Of course it wasn’t. Anakin’s plans were always the right thing to do.)
She’d disobeyed orders because she wanted to prove herself. Yet she still doesn’t know what exactly she was trying to prove.
The only conclusion she can draw is that she had been very, very reckless, and very, very stupid, and if she had a padawan as hopeless as she was, she would have sent them back to the creche long ago. The thought only upsets her further—has Anakin ever thought that? He hadn’t wanted a padawan in the first place. Surely there must have been times that he regretted taking her under his tutelage, badly enough that he was willing to give her up. And now she’s ruined her chance at knighthood—
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She’s hyperventilating, breath coming in gasps as her shoulders shake with restrained sobs.
“Ahsoka, I need you to breathe,” Anakin says, on the verge of tears himself. He had no idea she was so upset. All this because of him?
“It’s not—” She does try to do as he says, taking in a lungful of air and somehow making it look painful. “It’s not because of you.”
Not entirely.
What she doesn’t say is I want you to stay with me and hold me and tell me I’m worth the effort you’ve had to put in to keep me alive and I’m sorry I make things so difficult. In the end, it is all left unsaid as Anakin steps forward and gathers her into his arms before she can open her mouth. Her fingers uncurl from where they are clenched in the fabric of her tunic as she leans into his shoulder.
Anakin brushes a hand down her back lek, presses a kiss to the dip between her montrals. Ironic how he’s the one who is there for her when he’s one of the reasons she needs a shoulder to cry on right now.
What a hypocrite, he thinks.
“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” Anakin murmurs. “You are capable of so much.”
Ahsoka’s voice is muffled against his shoulder as she says “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Anakin whispers. He holds her tighter, like she’ll disappear forever if he doesn’t keep her in his arms.
“I can’t do this,” she says brokenly. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I wasn’t trained for war.”
You weren’t, Anakin thinks sadly. Neither was he. Now look what we’ve become.
The council would expect him to say you can do this, and you’re a brilliant soldier, and that is why I am training you for war, padawan-mine. He doesn’t.
“They’re dead because of me,” she says, hating that there is truth in her words.
If only he’d noticed that under all the snark and arrogance was nothing but a scared padawan, desperate to prove herself to her battalion and her master. If only he’d noticed that her denial of her wrongdoings was simply an attempt to convince herself, against her own insecurity, that she had done the right thing. If only he’d noticed her mask of confidence was spread so thin he should have been able to see right through it.
There is nothing he can say to soothe her grief. So he keeps her in his arms for longer, carefully putting up shields between her and the emotions she doesn’t deserve to feel.
“Did you know,” he begins, keeping her held against his chest, “what happened on one of my first missions?”
Ahsoka looks up at him with red eyes. She shakes her head.
“I lost my entire team. Every single man I was assigned with. All of them.” He pauses. “I gave the order.”
Anakin doesn’t know what response he was expecting by telling her, but—
“Was your master angry?”
He wasn’t expecting that.
Yes, he thinks. Obi-Wan was angry. Furious.
“You deserve to be angry at me, then,” Ahsoka says.
“No, Ahsoka,” Anakin replies gently. “That is not my point. I’m telling you that we all make mistakes, and in a war like this, the consequences of those mistakes can be terrible. But sometimes mistakes are the only way we can learn.”
“Clones are not expendable.”
“I’m not saying they are.”
I’m sorry, she thinks. She doesn’t think she can say it out loud again. Please forgive me.
Take heart, little one, Anakin responds. That’s the reality of command.
He’s said it before, but it never gets easier.
Anakin holds out his arms again, and Ahsoka willingly walks into them this time. Then, before he can forget—
I forgive you.
Anakin has never resented the council more than he does now. Nor has he hated slavers as much as he does at this very moment. He had no idea that either was possible, but there is obviously something new to be learned every day.
Zygerria had been an absolute shitshow. Seeing Ahsoka decked out in that skimpy blue getup, her child’s body laid far too bare for anyone to see, was enough to get his blood boiling. They’d stared at her, put her on display like some prize, his skin crawling with each passing second. It had taken everything in him not to lash out in a rage, most of all when the queen said “She will have to be… processed.” It had taken every ounce of Jedi willpower not to snap their necks right then and there.
My slave, he’d called her, the words rancid on his tongue. Handed her over to the Zygerrians, knowing very well what they saw in young togruta girls.
Then they’d fallen into the whole mess, and his focus had shifted from hating the repulsive deed the council had assigned him with to simply staying alive.
Anakin doesn’t know what they did to Ahsoka when she was taken away from him. Did they put a collar on her, like he saw them do to other slaves? Lock her up? Had they dared to touch a single inch of her skin? He would flay them alive if he ever discovered they had. He would flay them alive for less; for laying their eyes on his padawan in the first place.
Anakin thanks the Force they’d managed to get Ahsoka out in time. She’d fought with everything she had when they did, saved her people with every drop of effort she could, and Anakin has never been prouder.
But Ahsoka hasn’t been acting herself since. There has been a distinct lack of snippy comments and playful snark coming from his padawan, especially on the journey back to Coruscant, and when they returned, she hadn’t lingered in the hangar as she usually did. Instead, she’d briskly made her way into the temple and straight to her room, closing the door behind her and locking it. Anakin hadn’t gone after her—he’d simply assumed she was tired and in need of a rest, which was frankly completely understandable.
It’s nighttime now, yet she has not made any effort to talk to him, be it through the bond or physically. He still has not attempted to knock on her door or talk her out or see how she’s doing. With the lack of communication, Anakin comes to the conclusion that she must be sleeping, which is also frankly completely understandable.
It’s only when he decides to check on her through the bond that he realises something is wrong. Where she should be calm and at peace in sleep, there is only a grey bleakness in place of the usual colourful kaleidoscope, silence where a symphony once played.
Ahsoka isn’t hurting. That should come as a relief, but not this time. This time, it is the opposite—she’s blocked herself from feeling altogether, putting up walls before she can properly identify any of the emotions infiltrating her mind.
If Anakin was a better Jedi, he would commend her on her dedication to serenity, for achieving such a difficult feat—complete passiveness. But he isn’t. He knows something is wrong. He knows what happened on Zygerria is much worse than he was made aware of, and he’s not sure if he even wants to be aware of it, but he is sure that he needs to find out if he’s ever going to clean up the psychological mess that this mission has left them with.
Which must be bad, for her to not even want to acknowledge her emotions surrounding the said mission.
So he knocks.
She doesn’t answer.
He knocks again.
“Ahsoka?”
“Leave me alone,” Ahsoka says. Her voice is muffled, like she’s speaking into a blanket.
“Ahsoka, you don’t have to deal with this by yourself.”
She’s silent for a moment. Then there’s a quiet shuffling on the other side of the door, like blankets being pushed back, followed by the soft thump of feet hitting the floor, and the quiet patter of light footsteps growing nearer.
Anakin waits patiently for the door to open. When it does, he’s met with Ahsoka gazing at him numbly, hands fiddling with the hem of her tunic. It’s a bit of a surprise to see the sleeves covering her arms down to the wrist. She always preferred clothing which allowed her to move freely, and Anakin has long since given up requesting she cover up, both for protection from whatever climate they end up in and the unmentioned gaze of unfriendly predators. Maybe he’s overthinking it, but the sight of her in such modest clothing squeezes at his chest. His mind jumps to the worst possible scenario. He shuts it down before it can blind him.
Anakin kneels so he’s at eye level with her. “What’s wrong, Ahsoka?”
“It’s stupid,” she says.
It's not.
“Is this about Zygerria?” he asks, gentler now.
Ahsoka goes silent. Of course this is about Zygerria. Anakin places a hand on her shoulder—a gesture which never fails to comfort her, even at the worst of times.
She flinches.
Anakin draws back in an instant.
“Ahsoka,” he says shakily, wanting so badly to reach out and hold her, gather her into his embrace, but she wraps her arms around herself tightly and refuses to meet his eyes. She’s trembling, breathing in and out like it takes genuine effort to do so. It breaks his heart to see her like this.
Anakin remembers seeing slaves with less kind masters than Watto, unable to bear being touched or even guided in a different direction, be it by a gentle or cruel hand. He’s getting a sick sense of deja vu, seeing it happen again before his eyes—only this time with somebody he cares for with all his heart.
What did they do to her?
“If they lay a single finger on you—”
“They didn’t touch me,” she says quickly. “They didn’t touch me. Not like that.”
Anakin sighs. He hates that she knows where he’s coming from and where he’s going.
“I’m just really tired,” she says.
Guilt creeps up his chest. Of course Ahsoka is tired. He should have left her alone to rest. But she isn’t really just tired. She’s traumatised, and whether she knows it or not, Anakin is going to have to do something about that—especially knowing she takes after the worst of his unhealthy coping mechanisms.
There are faint red lines on her arms where her sleeves have slipped up, as if she’s been scratching at her skin—scrubbing the dirt of Zygerria off her body.
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
“Tell you about what?” she asks dumbly, impassively.
“About what happened on Zygerria, padawan.”
“Oh.” She pauses to consider. “Do you want me to tell you about Zygerria?” she asks calmly, blinking with innocence which is too pure not to be feigned.
“I would like to know what happened,” Anakin says carefully, trying not to sound too confrontational. “But only if you’re comfortable, Ahsoka. Be honest with me. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”
But yes—as unfortunate as it is, he would like to know what happened when he dressed his padawan as a pleasure slave and dropped her right into the hands of slavers, knowing full well what they thought of young female togrutas, and knowing full well he had effectively gift-wrapped her and presented her on his knees.
“You know those cages they kept us in?” Ahsoka’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts.
Cages. Like animals. His stomach turns, but Anakin nods.
“They put this—collar. On me. I don’t know. There was one Zygerrian at the control panel—” Ahsoka closes her eyes, forehead creasing. Anakin knows what’s coming.
“And when they were angry, they… shocked us? I think it was electricity, but no one—died. Nobody died.” She says it like it somehow makes the situation better. “It just hurt. A lot,” she mumbles guiltily.
Guilty for what? Not being able to tolerate the pain of a karking electric shock?
Anakin’s blood runs cold. “They put a collar on you.” It’s a statement, not a question. A slave collar. A shock collar. A collar which could have been charged high enough to kill her if the Zygerrian wished it.
In his mind, Anakin sees Ahsoka in one of those horrendous metal cages, in that disgusting slave outfit which had won the hearts of the Zygerrian slavers. He hears her thoughts—What if he doesn't come? What if he leaves me here? What if they take me away before he can find me? He feels her scream as electricity flows through the bars of the cage, ripping through her body, the current too weak to do significant damage but strong enough to cause terrible pain.
And long-term psychological damage too, probably.
He doesn’t know what to say. “I’m so sorry, Ahsoka,” is the only thing his mind can come up with. It’s weak and empty, but there’s nothing more he can do at this point. He can’t change what the council—what he—put her through on that planet.
She shrugs, like she wasn’t being tortured in a cage a day ago. “It’s not your fault. We had a job. We did it.”
At what cost? he asks himself. Because, as much as he wants to, he cannot promise she will never have to go through something like that again. As much as he wants to, he cannot promise he can protect her forever from the reality of the work they must do.
“Ahsoka,” Anakin says carefully. “I want you to do something for me. Imagine our roles were reversed for this mission. Imagine you’re the master.”
Ahsoka blinks, but mouths “Okay.”
“Now imagine discovering your padawan was put in a cage and tortured with a shock collar—after being handed over to the heart of a slave trade—and you had no choice but to smile and stand by, knowing full well the mission could have gone very wrong and completely jeopardized the life of—”
“Wait.”
Anakin pauses, watching as the blankness of her expression is replaced by realisation, then disgust, then horror.
“Oh,” she whispers, as the grimness of her experience registers, and for a moment he allows himself to believe she finally understands the severity of the situation, but his heart sinks again when she says, “It was only a shock collar, though. I’ve dealt with worse.”
Still ignoring the emotions in her which scream to be acknowledged and validated.
Anakin sighs, standing up to stretch his legs.
“Master?” Ahsoka asks, a hint of fear in her voice. “Did I do something wrong?”
She’s picked up his distress from the bond, then. That only makes him more frustrated—now she thinks she could have done better on what was already a horrific task. She deserves none of this.
“No, Ahsoka,” Anakin says, smiling sadly. Even after everything she’s seen, her innocence is unyielding. “I’m proud of you. You did so well.”
“Are you okay, though?” she asks, those startling blue eyes home to a thousand galaxies, and Anakin shouldn’t be angry, but he is—not at her, of course. He simply cannot understand how Ahsoka could just neglect her own emotional needs for him. After all, the reason he came to her in the first place was to comfort her, not the other way round.
I am fine, Anakin whispers in her head. As gently as he can, Anakin gathers her into his arms, the warm fabric of his robes against her cool skin. Ahsoka sighs into the junction of his shoulder and chest, wrapping her own arms around his neck. She’s still so small that he has to duck down a little for her hands to meet.
“This is nice,” Ahsoka murmurs. Her words are warm through the thick fabric of his robes, a little smile gracing her lips. The familiar smell of ozone lingers on Anakin’s tunic.
Anakin laughs softly. It is nice. His padawan in his arms, his body the barrier between her and everything else. Anything that gets to her is going to have to go through him first. Anakin starts to pull away, but Ahsoka’s arms linger on his shoulders and tighten behind his neck.
“Can you stay?” she whispers.
Two months ago, Ahsoka would never have felt comfortable or confident enough to ask Anakin to stay with her, especially like this—ignoring the line of the Code which had been drilled into her head for years.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Anakin says. He would stay forever. For her.
Anakin knows he’s going to have to speak to her about Zygerria at some point. He hasn’t forgotten the terrified child who met him at the door mere moments ago, nor her response to him reaching out just to put a hand on her shoulder. He will not allow his padawan to suppress that trauma, or bottle up the experience and shove it away to rot.
But there is a time and place for that discussion, and it is not here nor now.
Ahsoka leans further into his arms. Her tunic sleeves are soft against her skin. It’s an unfamiliar sensation, but not at all unwelcome.
“You hungry?” Anakin asks. “Have you even had dinner?”
Ahsoka shakes her head.
“Ahsoka.”
“I forgot.”
“I’m not going to scold you today, but please try to take better care of yourself.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
She gazes at him for a moment longer, trying to read his eyes.
“Want to go to Dex’s?” he offers.
Ahsoka grins, and Anakin catches a glimpse of her fangs, and—fine, he knows she can take care of herself. He’s trained her well enough to be sure of that.
(They return to the temple well after midnight. It’s still a little jarring to see Ahsoka wearing that tunic; wearing so much. But on the bright side—at least he knows she’ll be warm.)
Revenge is not the Jedi way.
This is what Ahsoka tells herself as she runs down the halls of the temple, her eyes burning with tears she refuses to let fall, her legs burning with a lack of oxygen to her muscles (as she has not taken a breath for too long,) her chest burning with a blinding grief she refuses to let take over her.
She would rather be angry. She would rather be angry than acknowledge how her heart splinters over and over at the memory of an unmoving body in her arms, already cold, utterly lifeless barely seconds after she saw those lips quirk up in a smile and part to start a conversation.
So quickly, another life snuffed out. And by a sniper, no less. Not taking a last stand in battle, not sacrificing himself for another, not by the lightsaber of a worthy opponent. Even in death, he deserved better. Not this crude, silent end, doomed to be forgotten in the depths of the archives and stumbled upon by some forsaken youngling in another twenty years.
There is a silence within the walls that she cannot fathom.
There is a cacophony within her head that she can. Almost.
Anakin still has not spoken.
His grief is suffocating through the bond; slippery black tendrils coiling around her throat, inching around her heart, constricting her chest until no blood will flow and no oxygen will reach the parts of her body which need it most. The waves of inky darkness thicken until they are as viscous as tar, staining her from the inside out and sinking into the pit of her stomach. They weigh her down in every way, until her feet and body are so heavy she cannot bring herself to take another step, and she finds herself on the floor, leaning against the wall of a corridor she remembers walking down with a certain jedi master only days before.
A corridor she will never walk with him again.
Dimly, Ahsoka calculates the extent of agony Anakin must be in, for her to be feeling his emotions so harshly. Then again, she cannot really tell where his emotions end and hers begin.
It is so unfair. It is so unfair. No padawan deserves to hold the dead body of their grandmaster in their arms. No padawan deserves to watch their master bend and break like durasteel on a crashed transport, unfixable; do nothing, stand by, listen as the council says he will come around. He just needs time.
There is nothing like the grief she feels now.
Ahsoka watches the halls go by in black and white, colour leaching out the edges of her vision. She knows where she has to go, but she isn’t prepared for what she will find when she arrives.
Her master once told her to be brave. Bravery is not enough to face him now.
She knocks, and he answers, and—
“Ahsoka,” Anakin rasps, and oh, Force, he has never looked so terrible. The tear tracks on his face are fresh, traces of machine grease and soot mingling with salty tears, bloodshot eyes so puffy they must be painful. His voice is hoarse and his throat is raw, perhaps from screaming into a pillow he once shared with—
“Anakin,” Ahsoka whispers, his name a dying bird desperate to escape the cage of her lips, and she knows at this moment they are not master and padawan. They are two children of war who have lost far too much to ever be repaid, be it in blood or time or memories.
“He’s gone,” Anakin whispers. He doesn't have to say it—she knows just as much—but the catharsis of realising out loud brings him back to his physical body, allows him to acknowledge the way he trembles with realms of emotion, reminds him that this is real this is real this is real. He will never hear his name spoken in that witty, exasperated, affectionate tone. Who will be there to reprimand him when he disobeys orders again, or scraps the plan before they can begin to execute it? Who will be there with clever quips and a mouthful of satire to every farcical comment he makes?
All the battle wounds in the world cannot compare to the wreckage of his signature in the Force. In a fleeting moment, Ahsoka decides that pulling his essence back together would be trying to scrape up spilled ink and put it back into its tiny bottle, barehanded.
Anakin has always been there for her. Pulling her together at her worst, waiting hours for her to wake up in the medbay, holding her back before she can make another bad decision at the expense of her own life.
She wishes she had been there for him more.
She wishes she had been there for him before today.
She wishes the circumstances were different—that the moment he needed her to be there for him had come at a different time.
Not like this. Never like this.
Ahsoka cannot patch this wound up with bacta or soothe this hurt with words. There is no tool in the galaxy which can possibly cauterise this bleed. She can only sit by her master, her own tears falling freely, and slip an arm around his shoulders the way he so often did with her.
He’s shaking. She’s never seen him like this before.
It terrifies her.
“I don’t know what to do,” he whispers, and his voice sounds so broken Ahsoka almost caves right there, but no. She has to hold it together for him.
Can she, though? She’s already walking on glass shards. It’s only a matter of time before they cut into her feet.
“Ahsoka,” Anakin says, and even though his throat sounds like it’s been clawed at by womp rats, she hears the anguish in his voice. “You don’t have to be strong for me.”
Her heart beats hard against her ribcage, thumping in her chest, a quickening rhythm to match the quickening tears running down her face.
“You loved him, too,” Anakin says, soft and gentle and kind and everything the galaxy is not.
So this is how it feels, she thinks. To shatter like pottery right where she stands.
Her mind falls back into a tearstained memory—holding the broken body of her grandmaster, unmoving and unfeeling, his signature empty in the Force. Anakin’s grief, regret, rage at whoever killed his master, brother, best friend.
But revenge is not the Jedi way.
Yet even as Anakin’s energy grows darker by the second, grief replaced by fury, the pain of a bond being snapped to pieces lingering like the ache of a phantom limb, like the ache of his hand where flesh merges gracefully with durasteel, Ahsoka cannot stop herself from hating.
“I miss him,” Ahsoka whispers, through a mouthful of ash.
“I know,” Anakin says, and his voice cracks, brittle and fragile in the still air. “I miss him too.”
I loved him, Anakin doesn’t add.
I know, Ahsoka doesn’t reply. I loved him too.
The Code warns against the dangers of attachment. Attachment clouds a Jedi’s judgement, and takes away rationality, and heightens emotions to the point of blindness.
The Code warns against the consequences of attachment—decisions made rashly, passionately, selfishly. Death and death and death.
But are they truly so terrible, to want to love? Are they truly so selfish, to need to grieve? Must they call themselves bad Jedi for their passion, searing hot through their veins, glowing like the embers of a fire put out too soon?
No, she thinks. If she must be there for Anakin right now and not he for her, and if she must disrupt the rigid hierarchy of her place as a padawan learner for the sake of her master, then she will gladly and humbly step down from her place as a Jedi, and up to her place as a friend.
So she holds him, and she holds him, and she holds him, until the burning sun dips below the lowest peaks of Coruscant’s skyscrapers, and the buzz of the traffic lanes fades into a dull hum, and the billions of stars of the galaxy blink into view through the slats of the windows. Or rather, they should, but the light of Coruscant has polluted the sky so terribly that only the stars of the brightest magnitudes are ever visible.
Because she is Anakin’s padawan, but Obi-Wan was Anakin’s master.
Tomorrow, they will drown once again beneath the Council’s clipped condolences.
She breathes in the scent of his tunic, so comforting and familiar now, after months of shame buried in the warmth of every second spent in his arms. Now he is in hers.
Tomorrow, they will not speak of what happened today—how Ahsoka held Anakin and didn’t say a word as he finally allowed himself to speak the words he feared to think, cry the tears he feared to feel.
“This is not revenge,” Anakin says. “This is justice.” And what else can she do but agree?
Tomorrow, they will move on.
“Let’s go, Ahsoka,” Anakin says, his voice edged with steel, flint-sharp and rock-solid.
Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.
Her heart hardens.
They go.
|
“If you're still here, could you tell me whether there's a medkit onboard?” Kylo asked the air, hoping that the being who'd changed the power cells and initiated the takeoff sequence was still able to help him. Silence. “No?” Perhaps not. “I guess I'll find it myself then.”
He’d managed to activate the voice assist for the cockpit instruments which had been a great help. It was a feature that had never actually worked onboard Han’s freighter, possibly due to the incomprehensibility of Chewie’s dialect. Kylo found it more than a little odd to hear a Corellian accent again so long after the death of his father at his own hands, but despite the small twinge of guilt in his heart it was reassuring to have some assistance in the darkness. Especially since his mysterious benefactor seemed to have finally deserted him at such an unopportune moment.
The voice assist had revealed damage to the dilapidated ship that vocal commands alone could not possible work around. Sadly there was no way, even with the Force to guide him, that he could begin repairs without landing somewhere with atmosphere. Which was impossible, since the most pressing fault lay with the astronavigation systems.
It wasn't possible to land a ship he couldn't see on a planet he also couldn't see. Everything in the galaxy had a weight and shape in the Force but even the most verdant planet was just a hazy sphere to him right now. Without any astronavigation systems to help him he couldn't land safely.
Kylo was not Bren. He couldn't run those kinds of calculations in his head without at least some of the readouts. When he had been very young Han had shown Kylo how to work out minor adjustments and how to navigate with the sort of failures to Falcon usually suffered. But that involved some kind of data in a format he could access. The readouts were visual and changing far too quickly for the voice assist to keep up. He needed external help.
Stumbling through the corridors of the ship - hoping to find the remains of a medkit or even some scraps of relatively clean fabric - Kylo tried to mediate on his situation in the hope of calming his mind.
He hadn't entirely expected to survive the ending of Snoke. The attack had been necessary. There would have been no surviving for anyone with that threat hanging over all their heads and Kylo would have been, if not happy, then at least willing to lay his life down for the sake of Hux and Alia. He'd have preferred not to, and he was glad he hadn't ultimately died, but there hadn't been any plan beyond the confrontation with Snoke. There had been too many variables for anything other than a vague hope that he could return directly to his own shuttle and escape the way he came. When he'd been forced up into the mountains he'd moved with nothing but a determination to stay alive long enough to find anything at all.
The vision or apparition he'd seen on the cliffs, the one that had looked like a combination of Hux and himself had not been expected- if he could be said to have expected anything at all- but it had saved his life several times over. Was it another child made manifest somehow? He'd heard of Force ghosts of course but the man had not possessed the ghostly features Kylo had been taught to expect of dead Force users…
The array. The kyber crystal addition he'd built into Starkiller whose light he'd foolishly looked at as it passed metres from the cockpit and nearly killed him as a result. The raw energy that had melted his eyes in his sockets. That little sphere containing nothing but misshapen bones and dried flesh that sat at the centre. Was the being he'd seen on the mountainside a manifestation of Hux’ oldest son, the one who'd never really been born? If it was then why did it look like Kylo?
Somehow Kylo had been with Hux. After Starkiller’s beam had taken his eyes he'd been with him, hundreds of him. He'd seen them despite his blindness, he'd seen the myriad rooms and the shifting forms of his beloved. They'd laid together and he'd felt the Forceless life forming beneath his skin. Was that a vision of the future or had he been thrust into the past? How had he been healed?
Hux hadn't carried his first child- his wife had done that and died with the infant. It would not have looked like Kylo.
Had he sensed anything in the Force when he encountered the auburn haired man on the cliff? No. He'd heard him and seen him, but when the power cells were changed and the landing sequence was initialised he'd felt nothing but the all pervading miasma of Snoke’s malice.
He was getting nowhere with this. Who was there to provide him with answers his own brain could not supply? He couldn't even find a Force-damned medkit on a ship identical to his childhood home. How would he find any kind of truth in the labyrinth of his own head?
Stop. Left. At knee height. Fourth hatch out from the bulkhead.
Kylo obeyed the instructions with precise movements born from years of training. It wasn't until the medkit was open on the deck and a roll of gauze was in his hands that he even realised whose voice he was obeying.
Leia felt heartsick in the midst of domesticity.
Hux’ guards had moved them into one of the side caves of the mine complex with a care for his person that made her skin crawl. The idea of this mass murderer as a beloved Emperor for the people she'd foolishly trusted on this backward planet was almost too much for her mind to accept, even without the other issues at hand. Such as Poe Dameron’s betrayal, Finn’s newly discovered heredity, and Alia’s parentage. All of which she was confronted with now, their close quarters not allowing her the opportunity to process each element in turn.
Rey had taken a seat by her side, kybernetic fingers interlaced with Leia’s living hand in a gesture of silent solidarity. On the far side of her Finn sat huddled with the men who seemed to be his parents. Their toddler sat on the floor, playing with Alia’s krayt dragon while the girl herself stood between Poe and the newly named Emperor Hux.
Poe wasn't looking at Leia. He hadn't met her eyes once since Finn had been restrained. She wondered what his reasons were. She doubted they justified such a betrayal.
“Is there anyone else in a command role that you would like to represent your people's interests?” Hux asked in a conciliatory tone that didn't entirely match his expression. It took a squeeze from Rey’s hand to tell Leia he was addressing her- his eyes hadn't moved away from his daughter.
His daughter. That rankled. Intellectually she knew she should be glad that her lonely little ward actually had a living parent to care for her, two if her own son was still alive. But she remembered the bodies in the burning shuttle, the fraudulent memories of friends lost and the unknown dead mourned under false names. How could she live with all that.
“General Organa? Do you need some tea?” It was the massive woman in glittering stormtrooper armour.
Leia frowned, not really understanding the question.
“I'll get it.” Rey said after a moment, patting gently at Leia’s back as she stood. “I think the shock is beginning to take its toll.”
Shoulders hunched, Poe watched the young Jedi with guilty eyes. The woman who’d spoken before, Phasma wasn't it, watched Rey with another look entirely.
“Don't be sad Unca Poe,” Alia said in a loud clear voice that drew the eyes of every adult in the room. Shifting uncomfortably Poe tried to make himself even smaller.
“You helped everyone!” She continued brightly. “And now everyone is safe, Finn can have your baby and you can get married and live happily ever after for ever and ever.”
“What?” Finn murmured while Arvii almost shrieked, “you're pregnant?!”
Just as the former stormtrooper began to shake his head Phasma stepped forward and crouched by his side, whispering urgently.
“You… you can sense that can you, little one?” Poe asked with a shaky smile.
“The Force tells me so. Your baby is going to be a bit littler than JakJak but they’ll be best friends!”
Hux stroked her hair soothingly. “I really don't think they will darling.”
“JakJak?” Poe asked, following the line of Hux’ arm down to the other hand resting almost habitually against his belly. “Ah. I hope you’ll raise this one yourself Hux, not that Alia wasn't a delight….”
The Emperor snorted. “I think you'll be busy with babysitting duties of your own.”
“It's called parenting when it's your own child. Not that you'd know.”
“I look forward to finding out.” Hux countered blandly. “Now, given that General Organa seems to be incapacitated…”
That snapped Leia from her trance. “What do you want Hux?!” She spat.
“From you?” Hux asked, one eyebrow raised. His hand drifted from Alia’s hair to squeeze her shoulder. “I have all I need that
you
can give me, General, though I would rather like the remains of your little band of scofflaws to disband to the four winds.” He paused at the shouting from the other end of the cave. “Commander Dameron, may I recommend that you go sit with your… ahem. I can tell you from experience, he's probably rather distressed right now.”
Poe glanced at Leia, his expression still filled with shame. What could she say to him? The Galaxy had gone mad. “Go.”
“Alia? Can you watch young Brendol over there please?” Hux said quietly. She nodded solemnly and settled into floor with the toddler some distance away. Watching her go he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “What do you want General Organa? What do you
really
want for your people?”
“You, executed for war crimes.”
Hux rolled his eyes.
“Master.” Kylo murmured toward the decking, his head bowed with muscle memory and fatigue.
Hardly, you did kill me after all
.
“Atok…”
...landed a fatal blow, but you ended my life Ben, you know that.
“It's Kylo.”
Forgive an old, dead man.
Luke’s ghost said. He didn’t sound old any more. Kylo could hear the grin. Death had certainly changed the Jedi’s attitude.
The ruined muscles of Kylo’s sockets tried to roll eyes he no longer possessed. Hissing in discomfort he pushed the heels of his hands against the ache.
Let's get those covered so you can comm someone with access to proper navigational systems.
“How do you know what I intended to do?”
I am one with the Force.
“And not at all smug with it.” Kylo sighed, sitting back to braid his hair away from his face. “Did you send my rescuer, whoever he was?”
Your son? No. There is an entanglement of the Force around your fiancé’s new machine. Whatever that boy is, he's outside my understanding.
So there was a second child, however strange. Kylo’s heart clenched at his uncle’s words, but the figure he’d seen had seemed healthy enough.
“Why are you here, Luke?”
Can an uncle not help his nephew?
“Based on the last three decades… No, not especially.” Somehow the man being dead made him easier to talk to, or perhaps the shock of not being dead himself was beginning to addle Kylo’s mind.
You're your mother's son.
Kylo shuddered. What a horrible thought.
Tell me, what do you want? You and Hux? Now that Snoke is defeated?
Carefully Kylo tore open the gauze with his teeth and pressed the free end of the strip against the back of his head. That was a question that would need some thought.
“The senate was corrupt! Regardless of your opinion of democracy I
know
you had the same problems with them as we did. If you hadn't then the first Starkiller would never have been built! They’d've listened to you and stopped us, or tried to at least. The war would have been an open one far sooner than it was if you'd had your way.”
Hux wasn't shouting. He didn't even seem to be angry. Leia hadn't expected that based on his appearance during the leaked broadcasts from Starkiller’s first inauguration. They're been debating for half an hour but he was still calm and collected.
He was relaxing back in his chair, the collar of his tunic open to reveal livid scarring at the base of his throat. Every so often his thumb grazed over the mark like a talisman. His other hand still hadn't moved from his lap. Poe had suggested that there would be another child, though Leia didn't care to consider the mechanics of it. Perhaps it was all just a distraction from the matter at hand.
“Democracy is better than nothing.”
“What you
had
was nothing, it was worse than nothing for the planet's outside the core.”
“All those billions who died!”
“Billions were dying anyway, that's my point.” Hux said with a glance towards his daughter. The younger child had fallen asleep on her knee and she looked set to join him. “I know you lost your planet at a young age General but is it really so bad a death? A moment of brightness in the sky and then everything is vapourised in an instant. The senate gave the lesser worlds a slow death of starvation and poverty lasting decades. How many billions did they kill?”
“Not with their own hands!”
“Does that somehow make it better? I gave the order but I did activate the firing sequence. Does that exonerate me? They ordered the delays, the budget cuts, the redirection of aid- is it not the same?”Hux shrugged.
Leia hated him more than she could possibly say.
“We are opening the resources of 24 new planets to the Galaxy.” Hux continued when she failed to answer.
“Ah, you think yourself a philanthropist? Do you imagine th…” She trailed off, distracted by a hand on her shoulder.
Uncle Finn’s baby brother Brendol was adorable and so much fun to play with, but he got tired so quickly. It was because he was little, Alia decided. Littler droids had smaller battery packs and needed recharging more often. Living things were probably the same.
She was just considering a nap herself when a blue glittering light behind Genma Leia caught her attention- Uncle Luke! He looked so much younger than she'd ever known him, but she’d know his face anywhere.
The transparent blue figure winked at her and raised a finger to his lips, looking toward her father. She wasn't supposed to say anything to him? But daddy had always been able to see her when she visited, so why wouldn't he see him?
They control the Galaxy Leia
, Luke said,
there are people from this planet at the highest level of government in every system. It's a coup that's been years in the making. Our own father unknowingly sowed the seeds of this rebellion long before Hux was even born.
Leia frowned like she was going to argue.
This is their rebellion. While we fought for ours this planet had be quietly enslaved and left without any help but what they could make for themselves. They'd be justified in keeping the planets and taking all the rest of us as slaves, and yet they intend to give it all away.
Ask Hux for a new advisory senate and no doubt he'll grant it provided the Fiorinians form the guiding structure. As a former senator perhaps you should take a place amongst their ranks too? Put down the sword and take up the lectern once more?
The corners of Leia’s lips twitched up at that.
Ask Hux for permission to train new Force sensitives, not as Sith or Jedi but as grey. Rey will benefit from such an agreement but he'll say yes for his daughter’s sake, and the sake of the children your son wants to have with him in years to come…
“So we give in to his rule for the rest of his lifetime?” Leia had tried to say this quietly but by the way her daddy’s hand tightened over JakJak’s place in his belly he had heard every word.
Ask him for a decade. He'll argue for two. But he doesn't want a lifetime, not any more. In two decades the new senate will be ready to rule as a true democracy, and if not Alia will be ready to take her fathers place. Either way, your own guidence will keep it all on track. Leia, the Force has shown me this path...
"The Force..." She sighed.
It's with you dear sister, it always was...
Alia frowned at that, but said nothing. Empress Alia did sound nice.
Across the room Leia turned to face Alia’s father. She was smiling for the first time since Luke had died. Somehow the universe felt at peace.
Alia decided she would take that nap after all.
“Starkiller 2! This is the Corellian freighter uh...
The Emperor’s Seed
requesting assistance!”
The laughter from the speakers was raucous and instant, Moxin’s deep cultured tones producing feedback from the freighter’s damaged audio equipment but thankfully not overwhelming it.
Kylo could tell the console screen was working, had sensed the surge of electricity through it as a brighter square, but he could not interpret the output. He had to assume he was looking at Moxin. Whether the camera was working to show his own face he couldn't tell. The voice assist had said it was functional.
“And to think I was concerned about telling the difference between you Lord Ren and the dread Lord Atok! Did the Emperor give you permission to u… oh! Lord Ren…” The Fiorinian’s amused voice turned suddenly hushed and grieving. “...your eyes…”
“No, Hux doesn't know I’m using this call sign, let it be a surprise.” Kylo said with his best attempt at a smile. The bandages pulled awkwardly at his skin as his cheeks moved and he struggled not to react. No one should think he was distressed about this. “Do not tell him about my eyes either, please Moxin, I just need your help getting home and I’ll tell him myself.”
“Yes my Lord. I’ll have a squadron of TIEs to your location in a few hours.”
“Thank you. The remnants of the Finalizer crew will also need assistance. Eventually.”
|
Some things were better at night. Shadows slanting, darkness covering any number of sins.
The middle of the day, Zhao Yunlan thought, with the heat of the summer sun beating down on you, was not the best time for a gunfight in a place with no real cover and too many people he needed to move to safety.
But, he thought grimly, it was not the worst situation he had ever been in.
Although the grayish carnivorous flying reptiles from Dixing were new.
Leaning back against the wall of the roof as bullets struck the concrete right by his head, he looked back past the overhang, to the three people cowering with him.
Blood soaked and terrified, a teenage boy clung to his mother, her once pristine green business suit stained and ripped in places. His face was bruised and his arm was broken, his eyes too trusting as he looked at Zhao Yunlan to save them. He reminded him strongly of Guo Changcheng, but had to admit this twelve year child was handling this better, than his newest recruit, who still fainted at the sound of gunfire.
The firearms trainer had yet to return his calls.
Pressing his back to the wall, Zhao Yunlan made his decision, a plan forming in his mind that would guarantee their survival, if not his own. He sighed as he readied his stolen rifle, knowing that he had one hand gun with only half a clip left as a back-up weapon, and wished he had shoes, his team and a lollipop.
Down below the guards, a mix of hired thugs and gang members were firing from behind a car and he had no idea where the Dixingian idiot who claimed he was the mastermind behind this disaster, actually was but he knew they were running out of time.
Half an hour ago, they had been going to execute the city prosecutor in retaliation for the death of a Dixingian at the hands of the Xingdu Bureau. The unnamed Dixingian leader, was threatening to do the same to her son if his compatriots were not released.
A thud echoed and the child flinched. Behind them was the rusted steel door leading to the rest of the warehouse structure where they had been held for at least a few days. The place looked like an old factory from the Thirties, built in three sections with chimneys lining the highest part of the roof.
Whatever it had built for, it had been long abandoned to time, miles from Dragon City. A perfect place to hold a prosecutor and two law enforcement officers hostage.
Another clanging sound and Zhao Yunlan trained his hand gun on the door. The rest of the armed guards were going to be coming through that door any minute now.
The city prosecutor, Yang Rong held her boy and tried to have the same optimism, her lip bleeding, one eye so swollen she could barely see. "What are they?!" She demanded shrilly watching in terror as the largest of the four winged beasts zip over the roof screeching, razor sharp teeth obvious even from here.
One of the Twelve Great Beasts of Dixing, a chángjǐnglóng.
They appeared to be something reminiscent of a dinosaur more than a dragon, with fine smooth scales that were imperious to bullets, fire or any blade, except perhaps Gonggong the weapon of the Black Robed Envoy. These were creatures from legend and the only reason he knew of their existence, was a fourth century manuscript written by a monk, who also detailed most of the Dixing made weapons.
So the shameless Chief looked up and said with the air of someone imparting great wisdom, "Really ugly."
Sliding his knee down, he fitted the rifle to his shoulder and took aim. He hoped that the monk was right about the only weak spot and fired a single shot as it wheeled back over them, preparing he knew to dive, much like a hawk. The bullet hit it in the neck, striking the artery and severing the spine. It dropped from the sky with a cut off cry and plummeted to land on the car, the guards were using as cover.
To his right holding her own weapon, stolen from the body of a guard, a brash Agent Wen from the Xingdu Bureau was injured, but steady. She looked from the sky to the burning car and reacted quickly, taking aim for the ones running on open ground. "How many is this guy employing?" She asked as she dropped back down. "He must have deep pockets."
"Since this is your case Agent Wen, you should know the answer to that." He replied mildly ignoring her glare. "Unless your Boss hid all the relevant details."
"Deep enough." Yang Rong said, "He runs a drug operation spanning the country."
"Any chance you have a plan Chief Zhao?" Agent Wen asked waspishly as another hail of bullets struck the concrete, her short fringe splattered with blood. "Before we end up dead? Or just reptile food?"
Despite the situation he smiled.
His own injuries were wearing on him. The stab wound just above his right hipbone was bleeding through the makeshift bandages and the gun shot wound in his shoulder was slowly soaking what was left of his once white t-shirt. His qi however was working to counteract the damage and he figured he had a little while left before he was in serious trouble.
"On my signal hit the metal stairs and take Ms. Yang with her son. There is a car down below. Take it and get them out." He ordered tersely.
She frowned holding her stolen machine gun, "What?"
"We won't make it!" Yang Rong said at the same time.
"You will if you don't waste time." Zhao Yunlan replied sharply. "This isn't a vote. I outrank you.
He readied the rifle and took aim. The first bullet missed, but the second struck the neck of the next changjinglong. "Now!"
Agent Wen moved taking the stairs, "Now Ms. Yang!" She shouted and the city prosecutor took one last look at Chief Zhao before dragging her son with her.
The changjinglong crashed into the space, striking the building as it fell. In the chaos, Zhao Yunlan launched for the metal ladder taking him to the higher roof space.
By the time Agent Wen had the prosecutor and her son on the ground, he was in place. Taking aim, he fired at the oncoming car , hitting the tires so it careened into the wall. Another shot took out the gang member aiming for Agent Wen as she pulled mother and son to the car.
She returned fire over the roof of the car, as the prosecutor opened the car door, ushering her son inside. Another shot took out the final changjinglong which crashed to the ground, shaking the already damaged structure.
As the last of the thugs came pouring from the annex building, Zhao Yunlan opened fire, diverting attention from the car. Diving for cover, they missed Agent Wen putting the car into gear, firing from the window as the prosecutor hit the accelerator.
Heart pounding Zhao Yunlan grinned, watching the car hit the fence and swerve violently as it exited the car lot of the factory. Another careful shot took out the car they tried to use to chase after them.
Well that would buy them some time.
The air is heavy with the promise of rain. Dark clouds fill the sky as raindrops like scattered leaves drift in the wind, channeled through the valley to reach the mountains beyond.
The area is quiet with the coming storm, the meadow grasses of the higher hills are distant realms shrouded by mountain mist. The craggy walls of the cliffs shielding this valley loom high above, so different and yet so untouched by time.
The little house with its thatched roof sits alone, tranquil and nearly hidden by the towering trees of the forest reaching down the scarred earth of the deepest part of the lonely place. Simple but ornately carved with grieving hands, its easy to see the first marks of an unsteady chisel moving to more skilled motifs as time wears on.
A wind chime dangles from the roof of the porch, blue feathers and silver beads dancing at the gentle breeze, ringing with a clear high note. Like the feathers and beads that once adorned the long hair of an ancient warrior. A man barely remembered to be celebrated, who brought peace to the world.
Old eyes stare at the valley below, black robes pooling over the wooden steps of the porch, idly watching a bee nimbly fly from the edges of the flourishing garden, back into the world beyond.
Strange how peace and chaos can exist at the same time. The world is bright and vibrant with life, but in the heart of the man whose gaze sweeps over every plant, there is only grief.
A sigh is lost to the quiet world. Grief built this house and planted this garden, but there was no solace to be found here. The two people he honored were gone to time and only one was kept alive only by a promise.
When he first returned to the world after centuries beneath the earth, he had looked for any sign of his warrior, then looked for any landmark of the past seeking to claim what was left.
In the temple of Kunlun long disused and forgotten he had found Lady Fu You's last gift to him. The beads that once adorned Kunlun's hair were still threaded on a chain, fragile and beautiful. The orb that was tied to his belt, the yellow jade that shone like gold in the light, preserved with Yashou magics.
The same orb now hung around his neck, carrying the only piece of his lover he had left.
Rising from the steps, Shen Wei wanders along the garden path to the special place that sits at the side of this house. So different from the life and chaos of the city, he thinks as he brushes his fingers along the blossoms enjoying the summer morning and the coming rain. He loathes this house and cares for it in a way that cannot be explained.
It is a ode to a lost dream of a life with his Haixing warrior. It is a way to honor his fallen, murdered brother, who wished for a home as a child. It is a refuge and a piece that is his alone, and that is the very problem.
He built it over years, with unsteady hands and too many tears. The trees are now higher than the house itself, from the seeds he had planted ten years after returning. The bamboo has become its own forest, sheltering and obscuring.
His sanctuary and place of quiet grief, of mourning and reflection. It is his pilgrimage to come here at least once a year, forcing himself to come after weeks of feeling that strained yearning to see it once more. Then the time of actually being here, remembering...honoring.
His feet take him through the old garden, along the water's edge to the white magnolia tree standing guard in the front of the house, with name Ye Zun inscribed at its base in an ornate plaque for a man no temple would honor. Buds line the wispy branches, slow to open with this sudden cold.
Didi. He thinks. A greeting, a plea and a hope that finally in death his twin lived well.
Shen Wei walks to his place of worship, the towering plum tree. Like ink lines on blue paper, the arching branches of the plum tree reach into the sky, heavy with soft pink blossoms. Bold and proud like the man they represent.
There was no one like Kunlun.
Shen Wei had yet to come across anyone in this life who could match his mind, beauty or gifts. He was unique, a blend of contradictions and mystery, and all the more striking for it. Kunlun was a strategist skilled in what became known as martial arts, with power that Shen Wei had never understood but always admired.
This garden...this was a gift to his love. For all his other attributes and careful devious deflections, Kunlun had been a keen gardener.
He sinks down at the foot of the tree, his robes swirling as darkness itself was descending to the earth, shadow falling between the branches.
He leans his head back, his long hair coiling over his shoulder lightly braided, so the ends are free to spill over his back as he looks up, smiling sadly at the flowers.
In a little while it will rain, the flood of the skies drenching Kunlun's garden. He'll be forced to leave his haven and take shelter in the house he built. It won't take long before he'll feel trapped by it and summon his briefcase. He has the remaining papers to grade, a lecture he needs to finish preparing for the heads of the university and select individuals well aware of Dixing.
Distractions he's cultivated and leans heavily on these days to keep himself from slipping back into the dungeons of his own pain.
He has information to review from Dixing, Chu Shuzhi's report...but for the moment he basks in the warm sunlight.
When there are no more words he can write, his distractions fulfilled he'll turn to meditation listening to the rain and memories of Kunlun. Come the morning, he'll leave. As if the ghosts of his past were chasing him, the desire to get away burning like an ember in his chest.
He'll return to the Professorship rooms that right this moment feel stifling.
You might try enjoying the moment. Kunlun says drily, amusement in his dark eyes. Conjured from memory, a voice on the wind. A weight that used be by his side, pressing into his ribs. A hand that used be curled around his, fingers caressing his hair.
Once they had spent the night beneath a tree and Shen Wei had woken with Kunlun tucked into his side, nose buried in Shen Wei's robes for warmth.
Impossible. Until you return. He tells him silently and smiles at his own foolishness. I'll wait for you, if it takes eternity. You promised and I know you'll keep your word. You love me. The only one who has ever loved me. There are no words to describe how much I love you. So, I'll wait and I'll be devoted to you and one day you'll come back to me.
We'll sit here beneath this tree and you'll laugh. Your eyes will shine, foxfire bright reflecting the stars we will watch rise, the cosmos spinning above us.
Kunlun. Come back to me.
The height of afternoon was just beginning to turn to the quieter time, the rain still threatening, when he felt it. A thrumming snap that had no place in this tragic tranquility.
A boundary ward had been triggered.
This valley flourished and yet remained entirely untouched, trapped within a pocket of space and time, he had created. A realm hidden within the world. A haven that occupied a place outside of time.
In the centuries since, nothing had ever breached its outer walls.
Anger shimmered and raged as he swept to his feet, summoning his pudao to his hand. No ordinary person or animal could break the wards, passing by in this remote place, never seeing the wonders that lay just out of reach.
Then he realized that it wasn't the main ward but a periphery one and it wasn't breached but utterly broken.
Teeth gritted in anger, Shen Wei strode into the valley leaving the plum tree and his mask behind, his hood the only thing concealing his face.
---------
At the site of the broken ward he discovers a trail of blood and not ten minutes later, high on the ridge he sees the events unfold.
There is a man barefoot and clearly injured, running in the distance.
Just as Shen Wei steps forward a gun shot rings out and the man running ahead stumbles, falling to his hands. He throws himself upright in an impressive roll, a hand clutching his side and tries to push on, his feet tripping as he falls.
Behind him his pursuers track his progress and Shen Wei's eyes widen in surprise as he sees a youchu of all vile things, lurching after the man, followed by men dressed in black.
The man is by the river now, open ground that offers him no protection.
At the first attack the man throws an array into the air, painted in blood. It ignites into fire and hits the attacker dead on.
He then pulls a gun and tries to aim for the youchu. Its stubbornly brave but Shen Wei knows it won't work. Bullet cannot kill the remnants and Shen Wei will have the head of the one trying to control this evil.
Its the kind of bravery he remembers from Kunlun.
Perhaps it is that thought that propels him, flying into the air unmasked and dressed in black robes. His boots land in a classic Swirling Winds move that has his Gonggong blade slicing through the neck of the youchu, its reeking green blood splattering the stones of the river banks.
A bullet flies passed him and the man dressed in black running through the trees falls. Shen Wei wastes no time, throwing his blade so it hits the next man wearing brown robes in the style of Dixing, the blade cleaving into his chest. There is a moment of shocked horror at seeing Shen Wei before the man breathes his last.
A flick of his hand and the weapon flies back to his hand deftly.
What were rebels of Dixing doing hunting this man? He wonders and turns swiftly to face the man, a question on his lips.
His heart seizes in his chest, breath failing him.
Kunlun.
Eyes of black jade, deep-set and intent stare at the tree line, bright with anger and glittering as Kunlun's eyes always did in sunlight. A lush perfect mouth is stained red with blood, a bruise blossoming on a sharply chiseled jaw.
Hair the color of a raven's wing is cut short, the wavy strands forming a disheveled fringe. Perfect feet are bare and bloodied, the thin ankles red and inflamed in a telltale ring that speaks of shackles and rope.
Shen Wei cannot think, cannot form a single word as the man who is the very center of his world, his existence, looks satisfied that no other pursuers are following and turns to stare at Shen Wei.
His heart breaks slightly and his mind catalogues the carefully guarded expression.
There is no recognition in those dark eyes, but the curve of his cheekbones and angle of his brows seared into Shen Wei's memory, but there was distrust, a wary fox injured but not caught.
Thinking wildly that it might help, because Kunlun doesn't recognize him...he knocks back his hood letting Kunlun see his features.
No, that's not recognition...its... appreciation? Rapidly though the expression returns to a neutral guarded look that Shen Wei's has seen leveled at everyone else but never himself. As if he is some stranger walking by.
Kunlun is hurt and that's becomes all his mind can focus on beside the obvious lack of recognition. This is not what he imagined their reunion would be, but this is Kunlun. He's not dreaming though when he looks at Kunlun's injuries, he half wishes he was.
A fierce joy twins with rage and worry in his chest. He takes a hurried step closer and Kunlun doesn't move, not forward or to retreat. He's standing his ground, breathless and hurting.
Blood stains his upper arm painting his white t-shirt red. A slash that looks deep. Then he remembers the stumbling fall he saw from above and...
Shot. He thinks dimly. Kunlun has been shot.
He's going to panic in a second, when he can think rationally.
Kunlun has been shot in the left flank and just above his right hip, his hand clamped to the wound trying to stem the bleeding.
His feet are bare and bleeding. There is another wound on his right leg near the knee. He's wearing only his ripped t-shirt and jeans that were more blood, mud, leaf litter and river water than grey denim. But the gun in his left hand didn't waver.
Kunlun was always fearless. Shen Wei didn't see the dark bore of the gun aimed at his head, only the bruised features of the man before him.
Shen Wei realized Kunlun was wary and quickly put away the sword still gripped in his hand. Raising them he faced Kunlun, whose eyes were roving over him, in a quick assessment. "You're hurt. Let me help you."
Kunlun looks surprised at this, one eyebrow rising in question and he opens his mouth to reply and Shen Wei can hardly wait for him to say something, when -
A bullet hits the ground near Kunlun's feet, who swears and to Shen Wei's surprise he puts his back to Shen Wei, to face this new threat.
Whirling his blade in his hand, Shen Wei glares at the surrounding forest. Without really thinking about, Shen Wei takes advantage and gasps Kunlun's uninjured arm, teleporting them away.
As soon as his feet touched new ground, Kunlun slithered out of his gentle grip staggering a handful of feet away from him.
The gun is still in his hand, forearm tense with adrenaline. His other hand is holding his hip, pain marring his features as he stumbles back, his eyes darting around the area, assessing, checking - curious.
This was not the reunion he imagined and this certainly wasn't the way he planned to show Kunlun his garden either.
On this side of the mountain, in this sweeping valley there was no chance of any pursuers finding Kunlun here. The sun's watery light cast a greyish hue to the proud features of Kunlun and added shadow to his injuries.
There were burn marks on his t-shirt too, amid the blood and dirt.
What had happened? He wondered horrified, And who did this?
"Nice tree." He says offhandedly his voice hoarse, glancing at the plum blossoms. Shen Wei doesn't know what to say. What does someone say when your beloved comments on their own memorial? When they appreciate the effort and arrangement of a tree planted in their memory with a plaque proudly declaring their name?
"Is that Purple Heart black bamboo?" He asks eyes shifting off to the right.
"...Yes...Yes it is." Shen Wei agrees faintly.
Shen Wei moves towards him intent on stopping the bleeding, but the gun rises automatically. He stops though he's not afraid. Kunlun would never simply shoot a man and a Haxingren bullet would be useless against him anyway, but every delay is more blood lost. "I mean you no harm." He tries, promising a truth that is burned into his bones.
That generous mouth twitches in an almost smile, but the gun doesn't waver. "Don't think I'm not grateful to you." He says conversationally. "But I've had a bad few days."
Few days? Shen Wei thought darkly. Someone did this to you over a few days?!
Those eyes narrowed, his dark brows creasing in obvious pain but there was Kunlun's angry defiance in his stare, challenging even as he stood at an disadvantage. "The Black Robed Envoy," The title sounded like a curse in Kunlun's voice and Shen Wei winced. It was shards of glass scrapped over his heart to hear the disdain in those tones, a wound opening in his soul at the very thought of Kunlun's displeasure.
"...Has made it clear that our lives and our efforts are beneath him." Kunlun added coldly, "So why would one of his loyalists help me now?"
Somehow Shen Wei felt as though he had slipped from a cliff edge and was still falling from that initial shock, stumbling to regain his footing. It couldn't be true that Kunlun was here, alive and breathing in front of him. It must be a trick of his mind. A delusion brought on by loneliness and grief.
It couldn't not be true.
It couldn't be a dream or a hallucination because he would never be able imagine this.
Shen Wei wasn't ready to crash to the cold hard unforgiving ground of reality. Through the numb shock of every dream coming true, was the knife-sharp clarity that Kunlun did not remember him and was angry with him. Two things that only added to Shen Wei's pain and confusion.
Still, the strategist tucked away those confusing emotions and with the aid of centuries of hard-fought for compartmentalization, focused on what was actually important. Kunlun was injured.
Why did Kunlun possibly think that he could wish to hurt him?
"I..." Think. Come up with something! He thought frantically. Something that Kunlun who could sense a lie from a thousand paces, would at least accept if not believe.
"The Black Robed Envoy could never want you hurt." Shen Wei tries and those eyes stare in rampant disbelief.
"He's made his contempt for the Guardian Order clear to anyone and everyone." Kunlun snarled.
Oh no. Not the Order. Not the Lord Guardian. Zhao Xin Ci had stepped down and the replacement Guardian had died some time last year. The successor had been Zhao Xin Ci's son, freshly returned to Dragon City...
Zhao Xin Ci's son...Zhao...Zhao...
Why couldn't he remember his name! Shen Wei wondered in despair. Why wasn't his name Kunlun? Was...had he been reborn? Why...
It doesn't matter. You can think on this later. Kunlun is bleeding in front you and could die if those wounds are left untreated. For all his power, Kunlun did not have the gift of self-healing.
The chasm that was the feud between Dixing and the Guardian Order had angered Kunlun and that temper could hold grudges for centuries. A grudge, Shen Wei thought desperately against him.
Kunlun who he had promised to die beside had been forced to fight alone with no one at his back. With no help or support from Shen Wei, Dixing had turned their back on the Order, ignoring many of their calls for...help...Oh no...
He'd sent Chu Shuzhi there as a spy and...
The Lord Guardian was Kunlun.
Not if he doesn't realize that I am the Black Robed Envoy. What did he call me? A loyalist?
"The Lord Envoy wishes to make amends." Shen Wei offers, hands held palms up, as if he's trying to soothe an animal, but lowers them slowly when he sees the flicker of irritation in those foxfire eyes. "You are not your father."
Those dark brows lower and his voice is as sharp as a blade when he snarls, "Damn right I'm not."
Of course he wasn't. There was no possible way, that Kunlun could ever be used by Zhao Xin Ci. Shen Wei tucked his confusion away and focused on Kunlun's face...no...not Kunlun...somehow him but not him. It was him. He knew that in his very soul. No one could have those eyes or the unmistakable energy signature that Shen Wei was tirelessly trying to read.
This was Kunlun and somehow Zhao Xin Ci's son.
Strain is marking Zhao Yunlan's face and the stance of his body all but cries of pain and exhausted reserves, badly hidden by charisma. Making his decision Shen Wei tries something else, a half-truth that he will make the truth. "The Black Robed Envoy,"
"Finally got something useful from his spies." Zhao Yunlan surmises not entirely incorrectly, amusement in that dark gaze. Chu Shuzhi had offered a great deal of information that Shen Wei had never paid too much attention to, too distracted by his own bitter anger that Zhao Xin Ci continued to ruin any relations Dixing could have with Haixing. "Made his final decision did he? Finally decided that we are worth his time?"
Shen Wei gapes at him and Zhao Yunlan laughs. It's Kunlun's laugh and Shen Wei sways closer. "The Lord Envoy heard you were in trouble." He tries and swallows shame, hot and bitter.
For why else but trouble would he be bleeding and it wasn't a complete lie. He had felt the disturbance and his soul trembles when he thinks that if Kunlun had run in the opposite direction he might have died.
All because of his feud with the Guardian Order, namely Zhao Xin Ci over the Temple of Kunlun and the countless, needless deaths - or murders as they should be named - dealt by Zhao Xin Ci's vengeful hands.
The irony was as painful as it was absurd. Shen Wei's only regret was that it caused Kunlun an entire year of hardship, threats, violence and pain.
He needed to atone.
But first he needed to help Kunlun.
"And he sent you to find me?" Zhao Yunlan asks smoothly, even as his mouth tightens further with pain. "What did you do to earn this job?"
Stubborn.
Before Shen Wei could reply, Kunlun suddenly staggered backwards, stumbling to the side as his leg began to buckle. He grasped the closest thing for support which happened to be the plum tree, leaning forward as the adrenaline started to wear off, blood soaking his jeans.
Shen Wei hovered nearby, hands aching to reach out, power already surging into his hands to heal, to soothe, to comfort.
"Please," He implored, reaching out a hand desperately, "Let me help you."
Courage is at least one part pure stubbornness.
This somehow only added to the surreal moment, of meeting Kunlun again. It felt as though, out of all the fated moments Shen Wei had imagined across centuries, it was only...natural that their reunion came at the end of a fight.
He had met Kunlun on a cliff's edge, wounded and nearly defeated, for all he wished he could say otherwise. Kunlun had saved his life, not once but four times in their too-brief time together. Shen Wei wondered heart in his throat, if every one of those times would be replayed out in some similar fashion, to the events in the now ancient past? He hoped not.
This day could be consider repayment of one of those times, but to Shen Wei nothing not even his own life, was enough to repay all that Kunlun had done for him, been to him...was to him. How did one repay the center of your world?
He had been exhausted more than bloodied when they had officially met in the cavern of the Allied headquarters, and now here they were. Kunlun hurting and defiant but friendly.
No one who knew him, could ever say that Kunlun was anything but stubborn. He was also incredibly brave, fiercely clever and deeply cynical.
Attributes, Shen Wei had always admired, seeing Kunlun as someone independent, powerful in a way that nothing to do with energy gifts and just...everything. The man he had chosen to devote his life to.
He believed in an eye for an eye, so Shen Wei knew that however he had been hurt and held against his will, Kunlun would have taken revenge.
Never had he expected that all the things he loved the most about the man, could also be his own downfall.
Namely, that Kunlun was refusing to move and talking about 'going down the mountain path'. Alone. Hunted. Wounded. Close to losing consciousness.
As if Shen Wei could in any world, accept such a foolish, dangerous, terrifying idea!
Stubborn. Why must you be so stubborn?
Not because he thought Shen Wei was a threat, which was a relief after discovering Kunlun was furious with him...
If he did, knowing Kunlun's powers as well as he did, Shen Wei knew that he would be on fire, choking on his own blood or flying through the air ripped by biting wind.
....Kunlun had explosive gifts.
He remembered one rebel who had nearly succeeded in killing Da QIng before Shen Wei could get close enough to stop him. Remembered the intense heat that brushed past his shoulder and the sight of a fireball exploding to engulf the rebel. What was left had been charcoal...
Those who could wield elemental gifts were not exactly rare in Dixing, but they were in Haixing. Of these, the majority could only use one element, two at the most and fewer still could actually fight using this gift.
His love had airily mentioned that he had been trained and that his teachers had despaired of him. He had talked in equally vague tones about gaining control and how his teachers had failed to actually teach him, less than half of what he knew.
Somehow as a Professor, he could believe that. He had spent nearly every class trying to imagine Kunlun in the lecture halls and classrooms. Imagine a mind so brilliant and a personality so nonconforming, thriving as Shen Wei himself had done.
The rarest and possibly most dangerous kind. Kunlun powers were unsurprisingly destructive, inherited from a long line of gifted cultivators - his mother's family he thinks - except for his immaculate plant-growing talent...
Fire was his preferred choice. And his most obvious gift, but it was only one of them. The rest Shen Wei had spent centuries wondering about. Entire afternoons musing on the nature of these more subtle powers; nights imagining and odd moments trying to decide where the line lay between what was that clever mind alone, and what was cultivation technique.
In his present time, Chief Zhao of the Guardian Order smiled in a soothing, reassuring manner than failed completely to win Shen Wei over.
No, it wasn't trust that was stopping Kunlun. It was that stubbornness and his anger at Shen Wei, or at least the Black Robed Envoy.
He refused to come to the cottage, outright declaring that as Shen Wei had saved his life, there really wasn't a need for him to do anything else. As if he was going to leave him!
"...You needn't go to anymore effort."
Jade black eyes watched him, testing and terrifyingly neutral. Saving his life on the orders of his Boss was one thing apparently. Continuing to help him was a debt, he assumed shoving down the sparking hurt. Its not fair to judge him, he reminded himself. Kunlun doesn't recognize you...
The complex knot of emotion already brewing Shen Wei's heart tightening painfully, at this not unkind rejection. Kunlun truly did not think that being forced to help him was necessary. Offering to repay his actions by letting him return to his "master's" side.
Of all the ideas...
Thankfully before Shen Wei could reply, adding sound to the raging responses choking him, torn between argument and trying some way of cajoling him inside, it began to rain.
Not lightly either. It poured from the sky, enough to fill a river and Kunlun was drenched instantly. The simple path through the garden Shen Wei had carved, turned to mud and the music of the raindrops striking the roof and pond filled the area.
Kunlun staggered, as if the weight of the rain was finally too much. He clutched his bleeding hip and wobbled on bare feet. Shen Wei dared to move closer, his voice gentle, "Please, come inside. What good will it do you, to stay out here?"
When he seemed to tilt further Shen Wei gave up all pretenses of patience and gathered him into his arms. A long fingered hand that was as precious as it was familiar, despite all the centuries since he had last felt the touch of Kunlun's hand, closed over his forearm holding onto Shen Wei weakly.
"How could I deny such a beauty?" Kunlun asked, looked up at him from beneath his lashes. Beads of water reflecting a thousand images clung to his hair, falling to drip from his chiseled jaw.
Beautiful.
Shen Wei huffed a quiet disbelieving laugh. Beautiful. Bloodied and bruised...his heart stuttered. This was Kunlun. Kunlun had returned....
He was warm and solid in his arms, his short hair plastered to his pale face but those eyes...foxfire and so beautiful...never could he mistake this man for anyone else.
Shen Wei could not, for all he wished he could right now, go against that indomitable will. Kunlun either conceded or...Shen Wei would portal him to the city. There simply was no way he was going to stand here in the rain.
It would earn him nothing. Not trust and certainly not forgiveness, if he simply carried Kunlun to the cottage, proving he was unsteady and ultimately disrespecting the one person he could only respect.
The rain washed down his face, diluting the blood from his injuries until it fell in pink rivers down his skin. Droplets like clear pearls slid to drip from his cheek like tears and Shen Wei wanted to raise his hand, to wipe them away.
There was a frantic panic in his chest, constrained by the sheer magnitude of Kunlun.
His head tilted and Kunlun asked in a smooth voice, somehow devoid of pain, "What's your name?"
The cosmos swirling in those eyes, the soft earth Shen Wei was standing on felt as though it had fallen away, the questions strengthening and shaking the foundations of his existence. "Shen." He managed hoarsely, "Shen Wei."
He said the first tone like the gift it was and blinks hopelessly at the brilliant smile he receives in return.
"Shen Wei." Kunlun repeats, eyes sparkling. The first tone rolling off his tongue like a caress. Shen Wei shivered and leaned closer still. "What a good name!'
Shen Wei can only huff another a laugh at that. Admittedly he had 'Shen' from others when he had been but a child, though the first-tone 'Wei' had been Kunlun's gift to him. In many ways, Kunlun was congratulating himself.
"And yours?" He asks quietly desperate to know.
An eyebrow quirks even as he tilts in Shen Wei's hold, his energy draining as the adrenaline wears off. "Your Boss didn't tell you?"
As he had no Boss, being the reluctant king of Dixing, it wasn't a lie when he said, "No."
Kunlun laughed, honest and bright. "Zhao Yunlan, Chief of SID."
Yunlan. Zhao Yunlan.
Kunlun. Yunlan.
"But you can can call me Ah-Lan." He said with a mischievous, flirtatious smile, that was as light as a spring breeze in comparison to any of his well-honed seductive expressions, voice heavy with promises.
You can call me Ah-Lan.
Millennia ago, Kunlun said the same thing. Lips parted from their first kiss, his very first kiss, Kunlun had mumbled those words, had given him that offering even though it made no sense.
Another stone of this new foundation settled. He did not understand how, or why or what this man had done...or as new possibility slammed into his mind....will do.
It didn't matter. This was Kunlun. It was a certainty in his soul and his time of reunion had come. It wasn't what he imagined. He wished Kunlun...Zhao Yunlan wasn't hurt...but his heart rejoiced.
Just as he was about to frantically offer the city as an alternative, or as much as he didn't want to - a hospital...Kunlun suddenly nodded. Not defeated, just tiredly. As if accepting his own limits was a burden enough.
Shen Wei would call another man, any other man a fool for standing the rain wounded, when help could be sought. Kunlun, he wanted to soothe and cherish. Cradling him to his chest as subtly as he dared, a hand curling around too-thin ribs, he led Kunlun up the muddy path towards the door.
He stumbled once, cursing as his foot hit a stone and Shen Wei took a tentative step sideways. As Zhao Yunlan dipped forward to cough weakly, Shen Wei moved faster than the human eye could register. He moved them across the garden, past the pond and to the porch in the time it took for Zhao Yunlan to lift his head.
Zhao Yunlan blinked and stared up at the dark wood rafter that were protecting them from the downpour, in something like wonder. A feeling settled like a small bird in the inner chambers of his black heart at the sight.
Then reality set in.
Coming here was a pilgrimage to honor the past. It certainly didn't include 'living' in the building.
As he opened the heavy door, to help Zhao Yunlan across the threshold Shen Wei turned so Zhao Yunlan's line of sight was obstructed. All in the name of helping him over the step. With his other hand he urgently summoned all of his bedding from his rooms in Dragon City.
The mattress hit the large platform floor of the wide canopy bed frame. The sides rise up to meet the ceiling of the frame, carved in rosewood with flowers and trees woven into a continuous design. The three fence sides meet the front arch, with the motif of mountains and rivers curving around the archway.
The too small mattress looks ridiculous but at least Zhao Yunlan will have something to lie on. He covers the thud with the door as he guides Zhao Yunlan inside, leaving wet trails on the bare wood floor.
With the dark wood lattice framed windows, the light is dim, a watery grey inside the cottage. When he built this place centuries ago now, he had chosen a Dixingian traditional fireplace. A mosaic of inset stones in a circle was partially covered by a metal hood suspended just above the flames, that extracted the smoke through a flue.
Shen Wei, who never felt the cold, always enjoyed sitting by the fire, but Zhao Yunlan was wet, shivering though he was attempting to suppress it - and hurt. He needed warmth.
Guiding him to the bed, Zhao Yunlan gripped his arm tightly, "Whoa."
"What's wrong?" Shen Wei asked him immediately, staring into his face trying to gauge the answer to his own question. "What is it?"
"Shouldn't you get a towel or something Shen Wei?" He asked unsteadily, knees buckling but the foolish man locked his stance so he wouldn't fall for as long as Shen Wei was holding him.
A towel? ...to dry off? He wondered. Well he was wet and surely uncomfortable. "I'll get one in a minute." He tried to reassure. "Lie down Chief Zhao."
"Not for.." Zhao Yunlan said waving one hand, "Surely you don't want this wet filthy dog to ruin your bed, do you?"
Wet dog? Shen Wei repeated silently and stared at him. "You are injured. Please lie down."
Not wanting another block of time lost in a useless battle of wills, Shen Wei simply stepped forward and gently swung Zhao Yunlan down so he landed on the mattress. Thankfully despite his distraction, the summoned items had landed in the middle, so the purple covers looked less absurd than he feared.
Zhao Yunlan swallowed several times staring at the ceiling. "Nice bed." He said eventually.
Shen Wei paused his heart somewhere between touched and disturbed. This bed was something he could hardly bring himself to look at. Unlike everything else it hadn't been made in grief and remembrance, sorrow or anger. It had been carved painstakingly with hope.
"Thank you." He managed eventually. Turning away, Shen Wei quickly added a collection of firewood pieces, again summon from the wood house.
"Do you have a first aid kit?" Zhao Yunlan asked from the bed.
Why would he need one?
"No Chief Zhao. I have no such kit." He said cheerfully as he turned around. "But I do have a healing gift. I can regenerate all of your injuries."
Rather than be reassured, Zhao Yunlan sighed. "I would love nothing more than to be healed by such talented hands,"
Shen Wei turned back to the fire pit before he could be seen blushing. Incorrigible man. How he had missed him!
"..But I'm afraid you cannot heal me."
Spinning around, Shen Wei strode back to the bed, "Why? You are bleeding. I can promise that you will be fine if I heal you."
The third person he had ever tried the gift on, had been Kunlun. Healing his injured hand after a fight had escalated and his love had been hurt. Not a blemish or scar had been left behind.
"Aiyo, I have no doubt in you." That halted Shen Wei words effectively. His man frowned on the bed, his breath shallow with pain and exhaustion, "But, this case that landed me in your bed, is part of a Haxingren crime. I cannot be perfect when I return, or else those jailed for their crimes will walk free."
"I cannot stomach this, so I must still be bleeding when I return."
Shen Wei couldn't stomach that response. But Kunlun had put justice above revenge. Had helped Shen Wei find justice for Ye Zun. He lived by Kunlun's coe, his words and beleifs. How could he disagree when he would do the same.
That didn't mean he had to accept it entirely.
"Surely I can stop the bleeding and wrap your wounds?" Shen Wei demanded, "Then when you are finished with this case, I could heal you entirely? I cannot leave you bleeding."
Zhao Yunlan looked up at him and smiled sweetly, "Hunted by enemies, yet I find such a beauty."
He kept a medical kit, fully stocked in the University laboratory office, as an emergency. he laid a hand gently on Zhao Yunlan's shoulder, "I'll collect the things. Rest. Don't strain your injuries."
Returning to the other side of the long room, Shen Wei pretended to look in a cupboard well out Zhao Yunlan's line of sight. That mind was a steel trap. Entice it with mystery and it will never rest until it knows everything.
He barely had the items summoned to hand when a crackling sound snapped his attention to the fire pit. It was blazing with an unnatural ferocity with such little wood and no kindling. Smoke was curling into the hood and a long graceful hand stained with blood dropped back to rest on the covers of the bed.
Kunlun had returned.
-------------------------------------------------------
"Our victim was taken from a party. She died in a pink dress."
Lin Jing rubbed a hand over his eyes and pressed his fingers to the rapidly warming soft drink in his grasp.
The air in the interview room was stale and the chair was uncomfortable, digging into his back. None of the afternoon light made into the windowless box, but this ordeal was nearly over and he could go back to analyzing the footage.
Chief had been missing for five days.
There had been few leads and all the evidence pointed to some kind of revenge attack, but where Chief Zhao fitted in with a grudge against the Xingdu Bureau eluded the team. Why Chief? A high-risk target, just as likely to kill his attackers or detect that things were wrong before they had a chance to try for him.
Chief was SID. The Lord of the Guardian Order. And Zhao Yunlan.
He had enemies from his decorated police career in Shanghai. He had enemies in Dixing who seemed to really hate him and he had plenty who wanted him dead among the Yashou. But, not many actually knew him in the general populace of Dragon City. They operated in darkness, veiled by bureaucracy and their work was hidden from the public.
The kidnappers sent threats and somehow Da Qing had wrangled access to Xingdu Bureau. Deputy was in no mood for questions and Lin Jing had forgotten to ask in the chaos. They showed SID the other videos they had received, all torture scenes, mostly of Chief Zhao and Agent Wen.
That had been so hard. Watching Chief chained and gagged as they beat him. Those eyes had been as hard as diamonds, defiant and tinged with that slight madness only Chief had. Tears he would never admit to had nearly blinded him, but Lin Jing had still cheered when Chief kicked one of his assailants in the head.
Watching what they did to Agent Wen was nearly as hard.
Now they had received - or rather the Xingdu Bureau had received - video footage live streamed of an almost execution.
Chief being tortured, suspended from a warehouse ceiling, wrists bound by chain. They had beaten him with a bat, then electrocuted him. He had hung there, dangling like a fish from a hook, his feet to high to touch the ground. Chief's face had been bleeding, fixed in his mad dog face, rage mixing with a coldness that was chilling. It had been agonizing to watch but before too long, Chief had made his move.
They had been about to murder the city prosecutor, in front of her son.
They turned their back on Chief to address the camera, the leader spewing the same lines, "Release Shing Tao, or watch your precious three die."
"Who the hell is Shing Tao?" Chu Shuzhi had demanded when they had watched it earlier and not for the first time. The sight of Chief's bruised face and bloodied body, driving his temper ever thinner, nearly tripping over the unconscious Xiao Guo, who had passed out once more, fainting at the sight of Chief being beaten.
Not that Chief didn't fight back as best as he could, with his mouth taped. There would have been far more insults and gibes from the Chief if they hadn't silenced him, Lin Jing had thought angrily.
What happened next was something only Chief could do.
Behind the prosecutor's bent head, a gun pressed to her head, her son screaming...the chains holding Chief's arms taut snapped, the camera angled just right so they all saw him fall to the floor like a cat, the chain still shackled to his right wrist.
Lin Jing swears he saw a flash of light between Chief's bound hands and that was what he wanted to analyze. Just what talisman had Chief activated?
Dark eyes hooded in the poor light had a chill run down nearly every spine in the room watching.
Seconds, that was all they had before Chief struck.
Chief's left hand blocked the oncoming blow aimed for his chest from the woman in the shadows, while his right hastily wrapped the loose chain around his fist, sending it spinning out to hit the man leaning over the prosecutor, gun still blindly aimed at her head.
The executor guy had no chance to avoid it and the prosecutor cried out behind her gag, as he fell dead to the floor in front of her.
Chief's whip had far more flexibility but he managed the move with chain, hitting the oncoming, shouting gunmen in the head, throwing him into the wall. The chain rippled with the power Chief was channeling through it, as he flicked it so it bounced from the floor to wrap around the table leg.
Another flick and the table flew from middle to crash into the people off-camera. The chain whirled overhead and Chief dance out of the way of another attack.
A few steps and Chief ducked, flowing to the side so he could snatch a gun as it fell from lifeless fingers. Chief put three bullets in the leader as he moved and flipped back to avoid a war axe aiming for his back. He shot some else but the clip was empty, not that Chief seemed to care, because he threw the gun at another guy.
Even injured, Chief's qinggong was precise, all speed and those rapid vicious hits. The chain swung and collided with another man's head, knocking him back dead. Chief spun on his feet and met the third man coming from the side, chain whipping the gun from his hand with a single strike.
A gunshot echoed in the room and Chief jolted half off camera. The room gasped, Zhu Hong had pressed her hand to her mouth in horror, Wang Zheng clutching her free hand. Old Chu snarled and Lin Jing couldn't even remember what his own reaction had been.
A bullet didn't stop Chief though. He twisted and snatched a gun from the steel table where the prosecutor was tied and fired in a smooth counter strike, lip curling in a soundless snarl.
Another guy came from behind and Chief moved from the line of sight. Sounds of violence had echoed, ratcheting fear even higher as they watched. It had been a relief when Chief bloodied and angry reappeared, with a knife to cut the zip ties holding the prosecutor, her son right behind him.
Mother and son had embraced, but Chief had hustled then from the scene, another gun in his hand. "We need to get out of here. Now!" Chief had snapped, reaching out to drag the prosecutor behind him. "Stay behind me!"
Chief had been all cop as he advanced from the camera range. The last time they had seen him.
The click of a pen dragged his attention back to the present. He looked up from his hand to look across the steel table at the Xingdu Bureau agents Zhan and Cao. The main interviewer, Agent Cao frowned and sat back in her chair. Her eyes were intent and Lin Jing had no doubt that top tier Xingdu Bureau agents were watching from behind the mirrored glass.
He should have felt like a criminal, but Agent Cao across from him, with her perfect glossy bob cut and manicured nails had nothing on Chief's gaze. She just seemed cold and frankly after the last five days, Lin Jing was clutching at hope. "You were investigating this woman, but you've found no link to any enemies your Chief might have?"
Did Dixing count? Lin Jing wondered.
"She lived a quiet life, but she had so many enemies." Lin Jing explained. "She has no link to Chief though. We had this case only a day before Chief went missing."
"When did you last see Chief Zhao?" Agent Cao asked again, still trying for friendly. Again nothing on Chief, who could make his mortal enemy think he genuinely liked them. No one could weave deception like Chief, so to Lin Jing this just felt like a poor imitation. A play or a scene on TV, when the cop leans forward sensing a lead. It made him want to laugh, but Chief was missing.
Five days ago, SID had lost their Chief and everything had been on a downward spiral ever since.
The office had been like a live-wire with tension. A place that had been forged as a weapon for justice had been molded into a haven, a sanctuary of acceptance and sharply neutral ground. Shaped like a river carves its way through rock eons old, creating something beautiful, something majestic from what it takes. Exactly like Zhao Yunlan.
The Boss, Lin Jing thought had made this place a home. He would never say it, the Boss's ego was big enough as it was...but without him, without that force of nature, the rooms of the SID offices felt hollow. As Chu Shuzhi has said only this morning, agitated and restless with the absolute lack of information they had, there was no SID without Zhao Yunlan.
No leads, no plan and every head of the Bureau they never wanted to see had been involved.
"At eleven that morning." Lin Jing replied knowing full well that they had the security footage for that day. It had in some ways been a busy day, mid swing through a tough case, so the footage showed a concentrated effort from SID. No lounging or playing Solitaire. Everyone had been focused.
"Why are you asking me this again?" Lin Jing asked agitated. "Chief's been shot! I need to be out there finding him! If you just gave me the footage link, I might be able to track back."
"Technicians are already doing that Mr Lin." Agent Cao said in what he supposed was a reassuring way. "Your dedication to your Boss is admirable, but we are working together. We both want to find our missing people."
He really wanted to be in his lab searching for clues, not answering pretty much the same questions he had answered three days prior. But he thought back to that day, as he had nearly continuously since the call came telling them, the worst news.
"We just want to make sure our timeline of events is the same." She said reasonably.
"Can't that wait until we have Chief back? They were torturing him. And your Agent Wen." Lin Jing said plaintively. "You already have this on record. You have the footage and the evidence."
Then a thought occurred to him, and he looked at the agents horrified, "You think one of us, SID has something to do with Chief's kidnapping?! You do, don't you! None of us could ever hurt Chief! What would even be the motive? He's our Chief!"
"No, Mr Lin we do not." Agent Cao said immediately, in that same grating, reasonable tone of voice. "We think however, that your Boss was set up, intentionally lured to a meeting place where he was attacked. You have to agree that this indicates he was being watched. Profiled even."
That was reasonable and nothing SID hadn't already thought of. Deputy hadn't noticed anyone around Chief and neither had anyone else at the office. No weird calls...other than the usual. No threats or sightings. No one following Chief and he would notice. It was Chief.
Chief had also been in a terrible mood. Easily triggered and so everyone had been rushing, he remembered.
"Please just answer our questions, then you are free to return to finding your Chief. All of our best agents are trying everything they can."
Lin Jing sighed, "Fine." He sipped his soft drink and grimaced. "The last time I saw him?"
She nodded and watched him intently.
"He came to see me in the labs." Lin Jing added. "This was just before he left I think."
"What did he come and see you for?" Agent Cao asked swiftly.
Chief was the Boss, he didn't actually need a reason, Lin Jing thought pointedly but imagined the kick Chief Zhao would aim at his back if he voiced that one. "Chief wanted to know if the guests at the party had sent in the digital media we requested."
Lin Jing took another sip, "He wanted a montage of all the photos and videos they took at the party, to construct a timeline before the murder. Who was with her, things like that. I was in the middle of organizing the images and didn't have much to report."
"What was his mood at the time?" Agent Cao asked, writing this down on her pad.
Mad as a wet cat. Aggressive and asleep deprived. Angry at Dixing for the latest abusive letter. Lin Jing thought blandly. "He was...angry."
"Why?"
"He told me to have the report ready in an hour. With traffic included, he wasn't giving the city prosecutors office any more time. He was angry that they were suggesting we had been remiss or negligent. That we interfered in evidence. 'Threatening', was what he said. I think that's the only reason Chief went."
"They accused SID of negligence?" Agent Cao asked, "Did he say this specifically?"
"Not specifically. From what Chief was saying, it was the implication." Lin Jing replied steadily. "Whoever called Chief knew all the details, all the problems in the case. The issues Chief had dealt with before and somehow found something else to attack Chief with."
"He went to argue this?" Agent Cao pressed. "When you say issues, has this happened before?"
"They wanted Chief to take the stand. He said no, as he witnessed nothing and we passed on all the evidence we had. It wasn't our case. Chief said we had no jurisdiction. He passed the case on to Organized Crime, not to Violent Crime, which has been issue, but Chief said they had no jurisdiction either."
"This was a fight ring, is that correct?" Asked Agent Zhan from beside her. This was the first time he had spoken, the scar on his cheek creasing as he watched Lin Jing.
Lin Jing nodded, "In part."
"Why in part?" Agent Cao seized on this.
"Chief said he had seen something similar when we went in. It was an abandoned building, scheduled for demolition in a few months."
"Why did you go there?" Agent Zhan asked, his voice rough with too many years spent smoking.
"Our suspect for that case, was seen going there on camera. He entered the building and met with another guy. There was no footage of him exiting the building, so we went to investigate it as a possible bolt hole. It was abandoned when we arrived but Chief recognized the marks on the floor, Chalk lines forming an array. A nine-point holding array, designed to leave a large ring in the center."
Neither of these two were cultivators, Lin Jing knew. And they were uncomfortable dealing with a cultivator of Lin Jing's class and training . Possibly uncomfortable knowing he was from the Four Winds Sect, a son in a long unbroken line of cultivators.
"Your Chief is a skilled cultivator, isn't he?" Agent Zhang asked.
"One of the best." Lin Jing stated calmly. "But it was his experience and training as a cop that allowed him to see what they were doing."
At their similar interested expressions Lin Jing added, "Chief said he had seen something similar in Shanghai. It is a 'game' he said. A group go out and select young men as the 'victims', who are held in the ring as the death prize. Combatants fight usually due to debts or outright survival and each level is ascended only by killing one of the victims."
"Disturbing." Agent Zhang commented.
"Sick." Lin Jing replied coldly, "Some of the victims taken were fifteen years old, snatched on their walk home."
"This was six months ago correct?' Agent Cao asked, "Was your Chief suspicious that they were calling him now?"
"Not really. The case has had one series of setbacks after another. They rang Chief once or twice a month. But the evidence we supplied was rock solid. Chief made sure we had enough for conviction before we passed on the case and the list of suspects."
"Provided by a Dixingian?" Agent Zhan asked neutrally.
Lin Jing heard the implication and just looked at him witheringly, "Hardly."
"No?" Agent Cao asked.
"He spent most of the interview lying to Chief. Our suspect claimed he knew nothing and named his friend, the one he met on camera. He told Chief about the fight ring reluctantly, said that it was something he'd heard about and his friend was a fixer for the syndicate." Lin Jing told him calmly, "But, Dixingian supplied evidence in inadmissible in court."
Lin Jing's tone implied that they should know this already, "We had the evidence in thirty three blood samples, an array created for the purpose of containing a fight and the graves of nine people outside the building. Chief said if they got a court order and lifted the concrete, they would find more. Same as in Shanghai. The case Chief had involved a lot more victims."
"Eventually," Lin Jing put weight on the word, "After three months they did just that and found another five. All of them were underage victims."
"What about your suspect?"
"He's in Dixing, repatriated. No strong evidence he did anything other than spectate, maybe lay bets." Lin Jing said shortly. Jailed or dead and it wasn't like they could ask the Black Robed Envoy, King of Dixing for a whereabouts check, could they?
"Organized Crime recognized the array too. They collected their own evidence."
"So your Chief was angry, SID was being involved?"
"They had tried to use SID as a go-between before. " Lin Jing explained. Chief had been furious at the time about that too, after Organized Crime arrived at the office accusing him of interference. "We don't have the jurisdiction. Chief said that this has links to outside Dragon City."
"So whoever called your Chief, knew all of this."
"Chief argued with them on the phone." He didn't admit they had the transcript. "If anything they said sounded wrong, Chief would have called Organized Crime or the Prosecutor's office for clarification. Or talked them into a loop, implicating themselves."
So at eleven that morning Chief had stalked out of the office, ready to give them a piece of his mind and went to a upscale a tea-house in main shopping area not far from the courthouse, frequented by cops and the justice offices. Not some seedy place or back room like some of Chief's informant meetings. Nothing that suggested a kidnapping.
Chief knew the Prosecutor and there was some kind of relationship, now broken Lin Jing suspected, between them, as Chief didn't seem eager to see her. They know he arrived on his motorbike, followed his progress through traffic later on and knew he went upstairs to the private VIP room, where apparently the city prosecutor and four others were waiting.
The worst part, He thought after watching Da Qing pace angrily for hours, was that Zhao Yunlan had for once, been innocent. An impossible victim.
A hard concept to wrap his head around, Lin Jing mused, head throbbing from no sleep and too much caffeine. But, Chief had absolutely nothing to do with what happened to him. He had been the target, used and cleverly too. No doubt, Chief was pissed at that.
The Chief had been kidnapped along with a Dragon City prosecutor and a Xingdu Bureau agent, lured to that tea-house to talk about the evidence SID had collected regarding the murder of three Haixingren women and an underground fight ring operation.
It was a Dixingian murder that had led them to the building and despite what had happened to their murder victim, Chief had said that the case was no longer their jurisdiction. Six months later, it was at trial and Chief had been annoyed that their work was coming into question. Annoyed enough that he had agreed to a meeting.
This was no midnight call, luring and suspicious. It was the middle of the morning when Chief had stalked from his office in a temper. Chief went there in broad daylight, armed as he always for combat, but he wasn't expecting trouble.
He spoke to the waiter and was directed upstairs to the private room that was as classy as you could get outside a restaurant. No cameras but enough evidence left behind to tell a vivid story. They know there was some kind of brutal fight. One of Chief's throwing knives was buried in the wall, the array carved into the blade still glowing white.
The silence array was on the door but the room was a wreck, with a smashed table and demolished chairs. Lin Jing's heart had been in this throat when he saw the dark energy gun beneath a thrown cushion, but Chief's whip was missing and his talisman papers were scattered on the floor.
The sight of Deputy crouched over by the knife was heartbreaking as much as it was terrifying. The thousand plus year old cat was in a murderous mood, single minded in this hunt and carrying unimaginable hurt, as Chief was his fated owner.
It was another three hours before SID was informed. Another twelve before the first video was sent, live streaming Agent Wen's torture. Taking her head with her chained on her knees, they repeatedly forced her head underwater, enjoying it when she struggled.
Apparently she had been kidnapped after work, in the car park of her apartment block. A dart found on the ground next to her bags, car unlocked and pristine. Her husband had called the police when she didn't come home and then her superior in desperation. A superior that just happened to be Zhao Xin Ci, former SID Chief and current Xingdu Bureau Chief.
SID had been interviewed and their camera footage taken, clearly showing Chief working at his desk when the call came. Lin Jing himself had analyzed the footage and the call, so much he could have repeated it word for word. He could see every action, the pen as it was carelessly dropped to the desk, Chief's annoyed expression as he answered, the photos spread across his keyboard from their current case.
The argument easily lip-read from the camera angle and then transcribed by Wang Zheng, then repeated by Da Qing who had been sitting as a cat on the desk beside Chief, the entire time.
No leads, no response from Xingdu and time stretching out in a terrifying reality that Chief might not ever come back.
Chief was a highly skilled martial artist, who fought dirty and had a vast knowledge of talisman magic. Trapping him was like reaching bare handed for a monocled cobra.
So how did they kidnap him? This was the question that Lin Jing obsessed over and there was only really one answer.
The city prosecutor's son was missing from school when SID checked and the camera showed a twelve year old boy following Yang Rong into the tea house. The prosecutor had a an arm protectively wrapping around his shoulders.
Threaten the child and if Chief had no other choice, he would go with them.
But clearly they only went for that after Chief broke the furniture.
So it was no surprise, that there was a dead guy on top of the table, shoulder broken in a Chief signature move. Even Chu Shuzhi was impressed.
"Why was your Chief carrying throwing knives? These are his?" Agent Zhan put down the evidence bag containing the knife.
"Careful," Lin Jing warned when the knife glowed and spun in the bag, slicing neatly through the plastic. He turned his hand and activated a calming sigil, that halted the knife's progress. "Those are Chief's. Only he can use them. Their bound to his blood."
They had both lurched backwards when the knife reacted and looked up at him with an aggressive kind of nervousness that nearly made him smile. "Chief's fully licensed to carry cultivation weapons. Where we go, hand to hand is common. If no one else touches them, these are as dangerous as a hand gun."
Agent Zhan put down the photo of the dead guy. "Have you ever seen him before?"
"No. But judging by the tattoo on his wrist and the broken shoulder, we knew he was a low-level cultivator from the Dark Grounds Sect. We've made tracts and found out that he's Kong Jing."
"What I want to know," Lin Jing before they could reply, "Is who Shing Tao is?"
Clearly they didn't know that about Kong Jing, but before they could ask another agent opened the door, with an unmistakably worried expression.
Chief? Have they found him?
The warehouse was on fire.
Lin Jing held his forensic case and stared up at the dilapidated old factory that was surrounded by forest. The concrete yard was littered with giant flying reptile corpses and fallen gun men, blood staining the walls, along with bullet holes, spent shell casings and the smell was... fetid.
This abandoned complex was miles from Dragon City, down a semi-forgotten lane scarred by muddy tire tracks and Lin Jing looked around helplessly and thought to himself, "Only Chief could do this."
Beside him Chu Shuzhi was staring at the reptile corpses with a strange expression and Xiao Guo was in the bushes, probably retching. Deputy was off as a cat gathering intel and Zhu Hong was at the hospital trying to get more information.
Hope and adrenaline had boosted his weary mindset. Five days of little sleep and worry wearing on him, but not enough to imagine this. When he turned his head back to the main building, there were still four arcs of fire raining down over the building, caging it within flames.
"One hundred percent natural fire and he calls me Fake Monk." Lin Jing muttered.
"Are you sure it was Chief Zhao?" Old Chu asks as he looks up.
"No doubt." Lin Jing answered.
Around the building, there were Special Agents, normal police and the fire fighters, that all seemed caught by the same urgent need for action and a complete lack of anything they could do.
Now the greatest lead of them had come into their hands and with a burning warehouse.
Six hours ago, they had learned that Agent Wen had driven a stolen car to the nearest town. She had found an traditional hotel usually open to tourists at this time of year and used their phone to call her boss.
She had the city prosecutor and her son with her, but said that Chief Zhao had remained behind to allow them to escape.
It had taken an hour to get to them and Agent Wen's injuries were critical by that point, she didn't have that kind of time. The prosecutor demanded that they go right away to the factory where they had been held, saying that Chief Zhao was badly hurt, alone and taking on every thug their kidnapper had hired on his own.
In a helicopter the Xingdu Bureau Agents took all three to hospital and the prosecutor had handed over her phone. She had stolen it while she had been helping Chief Zhao.
"Full battery and no signal". She had said wryly. Bravely, she had slid the phone into her blouse and videoed the entire escape, in case anything should happen and evidence was needed. She had thought maybe her son could get away and this could be the evidence to convict their killers.
She didn't need to add that in that event, all of them would be dead without a trace. It had given her some control, some power over her life by having that evidence.
The factory as it turned out was another two and half hours down the hill and the convoy of law enforcement cars got lost three times, along a twisting mountain road. Chief would never have been lost and would have laughed hearing about how the Xingdu Bureau missed the same turning twice.
Plenty of time for him to play the footage Wang Zheng sent them on his phone, sandwiched between a sullen Chu Shuzhi and a furious Deputy in the back of a four wheel drive.
It turns out that after Chief busted his way out of the execution room with the prosecutor and her son, he found Agent Wen. When the video started, the four of them were in a dark corridor and the camera after pointing it at herself as proof, was aimed at Chief primarily.
"Move quickly and stay quiet." Chief said calmly, pressed against the wall. "Keep the boy behind you."
He didn't seem aware of the camera or thought it was for the light, as the corridor was coal black and remnant items like pipe sections seemed to litter the floor. Agent Wen blocked his view, Lin Jing thinks and Chief was focused on getting them out.
"We'll get you out." Agent Wen promised and took position after Chief. 'It's going to be okay."
A minor gun fight took out three henchmen and Chief quickly led the group along the vast open space of the loading area, Lin Jing thinks, but Chief was moving fast, making them all but run to the other side, past packing crates and rusted debris.
They watched as Chief took down a guard and stole his weapons, taking point as they advanced through the warehouse. They found the stash room and took back Chief's whip and Agent Wen's service weapon. In the same room, Chief took a rifle and Agent Wen he thinks, selected a machine gun.
They went for the back exit but that was blocked by more heavily armed guards, so back tracked up some steel stairs to the side of the building.
All hell broke loose after that.
"They nearly made it out." Chu Shuzhi said almost mournfully.
Chief and Agent Wen ended up exchanging fire on the stairway, bullets hitting the wall behind them. Right up until Chief threw one of his famous fireballs that exploded like a grenade.
"Nice one." Lin Jing commented, proud.
Agent Wen obviously hadn't been expecting that. "You're a cultivator?!"
"Where did she train?" Da Qing sniped.
Chief's face was shadowed but he moved swiftly despite his injuries, "Wasn't the fireball a give away?" He asked sardonically.
"Move!" Chief shouted clearly after another hail of gunfire hit the wall and he shoved Agent Wen further up the corridor.
Just as he never got lost, Chief also had an uncanny sense of a building, able work out exits and window placement easily. He led them up another flight of rusted steps to a steel door that opened onto a lower roof section.
Sealing the door shut with a rebar piece, that was when everyone realized that gunmen were really only one of their problems.
The flying reptiles as it turned out were a significant problem. The camera turned dizzily as the prosecutor tried to follow the one flying overhead, shouting at Chief, "What are they!?"
The steps down were quickly blocked by more gunfire and within minutes the four escapees were trapped.
Chief, who looked even worse in actual daylight, didn't seem all that concerned. He shot every reptile and returned fire, sniper style from the low rooftop.
"Why is he such a fool!" Da Qing hissed right by Lin Jing's ear making him jump, as Chief outlined his escape plan. "And she..!"
"He's the leader of SID?" Chu Shuzhi answered and somehow Da Qing was so shocked he actually stopped raging to stare at the Dixingian.
The camera jolted badly as they descended the metal stairs and hit the ground, running for the car. The prosecutor got the door open with her son protectively held down, so the car body shielded him.
It was perfectly angled though to see a sniper shot take out the guy nearly on the car and then three seconds later, hitting the speeding car coming towards them.
"What is that?" The twelve year old boy cried.
"Chief Zhao!" Agent Wen answered as she threw herself in the car. The prosecutor opened the rear door and hurried her son inside. "He's shooting from the upper roof so we can get out."
"How is going to get away?" The prosecutor demanded, "He's trapped up there!"
Agent Wen didn't reply as she hot-wired the car engine and hit the accelerator. Another sniper shot came above as the flying reptile crashed to the ground, hitting a car Lin Jing thinks.
"Way to go Chief!" Lin Jing cried loudly.
"He was the one who killed the flying things!" Da Qing had added.
They ended up watching it about seven times and all of them had dread in their hearts when they eventually found the right road. Another group had found it first and sent directions, leading them to this old place, of death and murder.
A place that was still on fire. Ironically, a group of hikers had seen the fire from a hill to the west and called the authorities. Eventually, someone contacted the Xingdu Bureau and led them here, down a farm track, then onto a back mountain road.
"This is a cultivation fire." The lead firefighter had told them from the local area, as if Lin Jing couldn't have thought of that on his own, because a four arcing cage of fire was just natural.
"It will burn for as long as the array was set." The firefighter had seemed troubled by this and Lin Jing didn't blame him. Usually a fire starter array did exactly that. It started a fire. The same way a match ignited into flame.
"Four trigrams using the Second Ancient Set." Lin Jing muttered, "Adapted within or outside of the fire starter talisman, bound to a time rig."
Only Chief.
Nobody used four trigrams. No one really used the Second Ancient Set, that were developed during the Warring Period. Hardly anyone knew the full one hundred and sixty eight ancient variations either.
Six standard trigrams were traditional and balanced, eight was powerful and nine was the most stable. The ancient ones were hard to draw and with four, the drawing had to be decent so it could useful. But Chief's abilities and cultivation seemed unlimited by the rules everyone else followed.
"He couldn't have painted one on each wall...could he?" Lin Jing asked no one particular.
"Are you obsessing over this?" Old Chu demanded tersely, "He was under heavy return fire from the surviving gun men."
He looked around, "And in case you forget, he's also been shot and probably was being pursued or taken captive again. If we knew which direction we could track him!"
That was a terrifying possibility. That Chief had been recaptured and was being tortured somewhere else or...don't think about it! He thought desperately. Chief always says that get ahead of yourself is best way to screw up.
Unless Chief didn't use a fire starting array and funneled his own power through the trigrams and a timing rig....Chief had fire gifts after all...but how the hell you do that, Lin Jing had no clue. And he was an expert.
"Because I don't think they understood that Chief's a cultivator." Lin Jing surmised, ignoring Old Chu's ire because who within SID wasn't angry and no one was as angry as Da Qing.
"Good." Old Chu snapped, "Because if they had, they would have killed him."
"If Chief painted the wall then..."
Lin Jing walked quickly beneath the cordon and threw a golden sigil at the fire cage. Chief's power recognized Lin Jing's, his array energy trained to react to SID's only other official cultivator, if you didn't count a millennia old cat Yashou.
It didn't always work like that, but Chief was always in a league of his own. He would have known SID would come for him and for what ever reason was keeping this building locked down. Maybe to send a signal? Becuase the hired thugs certianly seemed dead.
The fire suddenly went out, as if it had never been causing another round of shouting. "...Thought so." Lin Jing finished lamely.
"Why didn't you do that before? We need to find Chief." Chu Shuzhi snapped. "If he's alive, he's on the run or being held somewhere else. We need to find out which one is true."
Chu Shuzhi immediately started for the closest door, uncaring of the agents and the cops gathered around. The firefighters tried to block their way, but Lin Jing simply flashed his badge and said, "It was cultivation fire. It's fine now."
"Are you coming?" Demanded Old Chu as he side stepped a black cat that raced into the darkness, amid the scent of blood and gun powder.
"Right." Lin Jing agreed and swallowed hard when an older agent turned to stare them, especially when Old Chu immediately entered the warehouse, Chief's power recognizing him, Lin Jing thinks.
"Find the roof access! I might be able to trace Chief. He would have used blood!" He shouted, ignoring the looks aimed their way.
"You can trace him?" One of the agents asked following behind Lin Jing. He was young but friendlier than Agent Zhan at least.
"Of course!" Lin Jing said he followed Chu Shuzhi who was moving rapidly through a maze of corridors, passed corpses and blood splatter. "As long as he's still within a certain range."
Well nearly all the hired thugs as it turned out, but the five guys trapped in the building were no match for a Fake Monk and the Puppet Master.
Where are you Chief?
Obsidian eyes watch and learn carefully, assessing and wondering.
If life had taught Zhao Yunlan anything; intention is everything.
Some, - mainly his father - might say it is the result only that matters, but they forget that intention is not simple. It is not honest and rarely lives alone.
I didn't intend to kill her. A killer once told him crying.
But you did intend to stop her. You wanted her to stop talking. Killing her certainly did that.
Others try to deny this like taking the gunpowder from a firecracker, try to diminish its power, diluting responsibility. It is the driving force behind so many choices, the twists and sharp bends that life offers. For his line of work, it was also the penultimate reason why he was so often standing over the body of a victim or staring at a killer.
Each and every one of them intended harm if not murder outright. Some had planned it, craved it, dreamed of the moment when life would fade from terrified eyes. Others chose to react with violence, with hate. Motivations, choices and events, building a picture that leads, for him, to violent death.
In his heart, it was to him the unforgivable sin behind his own father's worst actions and was so easily disguised as something else. A mistake. Heat of the moment. Shock. A hundred excuses he has heard since - worn with use, pathetic with every try, not his father ever offered him a reason. A layer of sun heated sand to hide the ugly truth. The dark earth hiding a grave.
The desert like the sea, doesn't keep its secrets for ever. You just have to know where and how to look.
Countless operations, murder investigations and a bank of time lost to the drudgery of finding facts, has taught Zhao Yunlan the fine art of knowing where to look. But it still takes courage and a certain irreverence to your own life to step into the underworld.
To brush shoulders and share drinks, swap stories dripping with lies, all the while knowing how many victims, so neatly tallied on the glass walls in police headquarters, their faces haunting your thoughts. Just how much blood stains the hands of the men around you, even as you pretend to be one of them.
Some even called him ruthless and others hoped his feigned depravity could match theirs.
He had watched over time, how all of his team changed. Loyalties and discoveries threatening those original intentions. A reason to escape a Yashou village life that was as stifling as it was familiar, became the foundations for a new beginning. A spy who became an actual investigator. A cultivator kicked out of his Sect in all but name, after trying to bind it all to science. Then there was Guo Changcheng. A boy that wasn't running from anywhere, but had no place in life, as cut adrift as Da Qing had once been.
Well that wasn't entirely true. Fatty's main goal in life was to find his owner, driven by instincts and a defining central belief thousands of years old. Everything else was convenience or survival.
For all he knew of their intentions, Zhao Yunlan never fully revealed his own.
The motivations and intention driving the actions of Shen Wei...that was a mystery.
Lying on an antique bed on soft purple covers and a mattress that feels like a stone slab, this entire situation was surreal. A week ago, he had thought things were getting better. Hours ago, he had nearly died chained and beaten. Forced to watch as they attempted to execute his long ago ex-girlfriend. Days ago, he had been kidnapped after being lured so carefully, so cleverly, a gun to a child's head.
Zhao Yunlan had spent most of his life in difficult situations, escalating along with his skill-set, when he officially joined the police academy and moved to another city entirely. He had seen the worst of Haixing well before he returned and became Lord Guardian.
Being held captive and beaten up didn't effect him that greatly. The morgue taught him that things could have been far worse. Being shot and forced to run for his life didn't either, as he was still alive to appreciate that he needed to expand his exercise regime. But this was something he had never considered and here was where he felt unsteady.
A more beautiful man than the Black Robed Envoy loyalist, currently hovering over an elmwood chest that had to be an antique - simply couldn't exist, Zhao Yunlan decided as he watched the man work.
Why he was helping him after the feud between the Envoy and the Order, baffled Zhao Yunlan but he couldn't deny that it was experience he wasn't likely to forget.
Bringing him here to this pretty cottage behind the mountain, with sweeping valley views and a truly impressive garden, seemed an odd choice. The man had brought them here using a portal, so technically could have taken him to the nearest town and left him to it.
Zhao Yunlan would have accepted that and it would have been enough, considering everything else.
Instead the man had brought him inside what must be his ancestral home considering its obvious age, and had carefully tended to his wounds. Without any of the expected clinical detachment either.
No, every gentle act was done with the worried urgency of a friend, the smooth competency of someone who knows he has your trust, blended with a sweetness, that doesn't make any sense.
To a man like Zhao Yunlan, this is a puzzle and a temptation rolled into one.
Hardly anyone in Haixing had ever seen the Envoy and fewer still, had witnessed the ring of equally black-clad loyalists that formed part of a Royal Guard or private army. There were ancient books describing them and their number seemed to be around ten or so.
They were held in high esteem in Dixing according to Chu Shuzhi, who clearly had wanted to be one. A healthy dose of fear too, Zhao Yunlan thought. After the last Emperor was assassinated, these loyalists were determined that nothing would get past them, to reach the Envoy. The hero of Dixing. The Executioner, Protector and possibly the most powerful of all Dixingians.
From the fluid way this man moved now and the way he had fought earlier, suggested that he had considerable skill and long experience in the art of battle. Yet his hands were gentle on Zhao Yunlan's skin, easing him onto the bed as if he were made of glass.
Strange but hot. He thought shamelessly and smiled.
Exhaustion and a building aching pain was dragging at his body, pulling with the heavy temptation of oblivion but Zhao Yunlan's mind was too absorbed in watching Shen Wei, if that was truly his name, working across the room.
It was. He decided impulsively. It felt right. Any other name would have been wrong somehow. He felt as though he had met him before, that there was a connection between them. A fragile trust that Zhao Yunlan could not afford, but it felt so easy to rest here, to put faith in a man he had just met.
His instincts didn't lie and this man had looked at him with the strangest expression of...reverence...no that wasn't right...
He had certainly looked vulnerable in a way a man wielding an ancient sword for the Black Robed Envoy, shouldn't be capable of. Especially for Zhao Yunlan, who had spent a year fending off attacks from Dixingians who thought they could win favor by killing him.
All that cold silence, stinging disrespect for the Treaty, for the Order had made Zhao Yunlan in his kindest moments, wonder what the hell his useless predecessor had done to piss off the Envoy. In his less constrained moments, he spent a lot time cursing Dixing.
The only answer he ever received from Chu Shuzhi was that his predecessor, be it the useless one or his own father, disrespected a temple. Da Qing had muttered something about a deity and scrambled for the door.
He was under attack from Dixingian wannabe assassins for a temple. The same reason his predecessor had ended up murdered, he assumed. Budget video games had better plot lines, he had groused more than once.
Now, one of the Envoy's top loyalists judging by the ancient sword and hooded black robes had rescued him, out of nowhere in the middle of nowhere. It didn't make sense. There was no other option and the man, Shen Wei, hadn't denied being either Dixingian or with the Envoy...
He was stunning, so human and utterly inhuman at the same time.
Expert eyes ran up a lean form carefully hidden from casual glances. Beautiful.
He had no fear in the face of a gun pointed at his head or of the Youchu that was chasing him. His sword sleek and ornate had struck with deadly precision, his martial arts swift and unrelenting.
Pale hands moved too fast for a mortal to watch for long, plucking items from their shelves and nimbly tipping hot water into a polished white stone basin that Zhao Yunlan doubted he could carry an inch, let alone all the way back to the bed.
Eyebrows like slashes of paint on a canvas were slanted over eyes of a rich willow brown, shadowed by perfect thick lashes that any model would be proud of.
His expression was gentle, smiling softly at Zhao Yunlan as if in reassurance, his movements carrying an undercurrent of urgency.
Wreathed in robes that were as black as coal, his white jade features seemed so otherworldly. Not that those robes were just any type of fabric. Cloth and darkness seemed to blend, the shape of him blurred like soft charcoal edges and smoke would follow in heavy tendrils when he moved too quickly.
Stunning.
Another stab of pain had him grimacing, distracting him from Shen Wei. The pain was making itself known brutally, now that adrenaline and a good healthy dose of survival instinct was waning.
Zhao Yunlan tried to ignore the ache, the persistent pressure but decided he had to move. He'd been shot several times before - his vest taking the hit usually - but not after being beaten within an inch of his life. His ribs burned with every breath. His stomach was rebelling, acid scouring his throat and bruises were beginning to announce their presence nearly everywhere.
It was hard to know which body part hurt more. He bared his teeth, pain tearing at his self-control, his cultivation energy simmering. Zhao Yunlan had never coped well with his own weakness.
When he coughed lightly, shifting to find a more comfortable position, he saw stars and cursed quietly but angrily.
"Chief Zhao?" A worried voice, as beautiful in timbre and tone as the man himself washed over him, reminding him that he was not alone.
Zhao Yunlan closed his eyes, but little explosions of light bursting behind closed lids disorientated him more. He tried to rise, desperate to take the pressure off his throbbing shoulders. Immediately pain stabbed from the ragged gash along his hip, where a bullet had torn through his flesh.
Another curse fell from his lips, as he struggled halfway to sitting, caught between lying down for his hip or sitting up for his shoulders. The Guardian whip sensing its master's agitation began to writhe, coiling and flicking around Zhao Yunlan's waist like an angry snake.
Strong arms caught him and normally that would have triggered his own violent streak, particularly after the time he'd had...but the scent of incense filled his nose, winter air and ripe plums distracting him.
A toned forearm supported his back effortlessly but shifted the very moment, the wordless protest left his mouth. The weight against his shoulders vanished, the hand now moving to just above the electrocution burns .
"I think my shoulder might be semi...dislocated." He managed hoarsely, offering an explanation for his sudden restlessness, dimly aware of the fire in the middle of the room as it sparked dangerously, small flames striking the edges of the stone pit.
A breath was sucked in, as if the idea of Zhao Yunlan being that wounded was somehow painful to hear.
"May I see?"
There was no way he was removing his t-shirt. The idea of lifting his arms seemed impossible, his muscles screaming if he tried to go higher than his waist. He turned his head at that and looked over his better shoulder at the stunning face of Shen Wei.
He wanted to ask why this was upsetting the man, small unhappy lines etched around his mouth and his eyes were sharp with something like anger. "Do you have anything for that?' He asked instead.
"You don't want this fully healed?" Shen Wei asked something like a confusion and outrage in those eyes as he touched the area gently, watching Zhao Yunlan's right eyelid flicker in response to the sharp knife of pain.
Clearly he thought Zhao Yunlan was somewhere on the line between reckless and mad. Yet was offering to heal all of his injuries without an immediate price. Instinctively, Zhao Yunlan knew that asking for the price would wound this man greatly, yet another thing that did not match up with everything Zhao Yunlan knew of the world.
"Surely, you must want this to be healed?" The question was said in an aggravated tone, as if Shen Wei wanted to vent his opinion on this, with far more heat that he was allowing himself. Zhao Yunlan smiled, a quick brazen smile as he met that ironclad control.
"If you can, I would be grateful." Zhao Yunlan admitted at last, hos tone soft and marveled at the instant relief he saw in Shen Wei's face, the way his eyes softened.
"The last time I dislocated it, the doctor said it would harder to set it back into place." Which meant months of having to endure a sling, no fieldwork and physical therapy.
Those gorgeous eyebrows pinched and Zhao Yunlan fought the urge to smooth them. He looked like he wanted to comment on that, but seemed to bite back his response and instead focused on Zhao Yunlan back, glancing at it then away as if it were a work of art, too delicate to touch.
Zhao Yunlan wanted to laugh but didn't want to offend this glorious creature.
The pain from his hip sharpened and Zhao Yunlan had to try to lift his leg, gasping as another wave hit. "Bastard was a terrible shot." He said canting to the right, tears filling his vision as agony spread.
"At least it was not a direct hit." Shen Wei said crossly and Zhao Yunlan was beginning to enjoy that tone. "It could have struck your femoral artery or caused a peritrochanteric fracture."
Zhao Yunlan was silent for a few seconds as he considered this, pulling that word from his memory and then said, "To high to hit the femur."
Shen Wei glanced at him and then pressed a hand to his arm, "Lean on your good hip Chief Zhao, let me see."
Willow brown eyes glanced at the blood dripping down his side, to his tense leg and then at Zhao Yunlan's face with a distressed expression, the Guardian missed entirely. A pale hand was already reaching for his hip, ignoring the slap from the whip. A blow that would have broken the hand of the average man, but Shen Wei simply placed Zhao Yunlan's hand over the whip, who curled the end over his knuckles.
His hand shifted until it was pressed gently over the jut of Zhao Yunlan's ribcage. "Your ribs are badly bruised."
"That would be the steel bat they hit me with." Zhao Yunlan said carelessly, his eyes closed against the swell of pain. Because of this, he missed the eyes that flashed with fire and the sharp hand gesture that silently created a smoking puppet, just above the bed. A cutting wave of Shen Wei's hand sent the puppet out the window, rage lending it power.
"I understand that you need some injuries as proof. I respect justice Chief Zhao, but two of your ribs are fractured. If the bone loosens it could pierce your lung."
Reasonable, Zhao Yunlan thought and yet despite how Shen Wei might feel about it, there would be a debt there. He opened his eyes and tried, "You are already doing so much, I couldn't ask for more Shen Wei."
"It is no burden to me." Shen Wei said softly, "If I had found you before, you would not be so injured."
Cool power seeped into tensing muscle and chipped bone, soothing and relentless. "No one but me knows of this injury," Shen Wei said sternly, "You have lost so much blood. There is no reason not to have relief from this pain."
The cold seeped into his shoulders, dampening the pain and before he knew it, he was being laid back down. The makeshift bandage was drenched with fresh blood over his hip and Shen Wei frowned as he brushed power of over the wound.
Zhao Yunlan tried to ready himself for the hellish pain of getting his jeans off. They were still damp from the rain so pulling them and his underwear even partially down over his hips was going to be agony. He focused on that rather than the next problem of being mostly naked in front of a stranger. Not that he minded that so much...but he was the Guardian and for all he knew this might be some cultural taboo.
He was in too much pain to decide how he felt about that.
Raising his hips in one agonizing go had been his idea, but as soon as his feet moved, Shen Wei laid a hand on his abdomen stilling him. Those soulful eyes met his, as the man settled on the bed beside him, "Lie still Chief Zhao."
His traitorous body decided that it liked the feel of those long fingers pressing just below his navel. Maybe it was the blood loss.
"The bullet has sliced along the hipbone. The impact has fractured the bone." He said softly, an edge of anger in his voice.
Never thought of that, he sniped silently.
This felt...surreal.
Long fingers twisted the leather cording of the Guardian Order whip, that was wrapped around his waist, as Zhao Yunlan stared up at the intricately carved ceiling of this canopy bed.
It wouldn't be out of place, he thought on the set of a period drama.
The purple quilt seemed to be silk and he hoped futilely that he wasn't bleeding all over it.
Dark energy surged over his skin, but it didn't burn. It felt like a caress, a tingling sensation spreading through him to settle in his bones. His hip went numb and Zhao Yunlan vaguely felt something give in his hip that should have been worrying, but he focused all his attention on the stunning features hovering above his middle.
That look of concentration was nothing short of exquisite.
Within a few minutes, to Zhao Yunlan's shock the skin around his hip mended, dark tendrils smoking around the wound. "Wow. Your hands are certainly talented Brother Black." He pants because the pain have faded there, but it certainly hasn't anywhere else.
Eyes glanced at him quickly, surprise in his expression that faded for a rueful smile. "It might feel a little numb for a few minutes."
The hand on his abdomen turns slightly, a half caress that catches at Zhao Yunlan's mind. Again not the action of a stranger, not even one that suggests harassment or pure clinical care either. It a familiar touch, trying to be reassuring, soothing as if they have been here before. As if caring for Zhao Yunlan is second nature.
The strangest thing of all, is that Zhao Yunlan does breathe a little easier, does in fact feel reassured. Its not easy to feel this bad and know you are at someone's mercy. Even at full strength he doesn't know if he could survive a fight with this man, but somehow he knows on a cellular level, that Shen Wei will not hurt him.
Silently and as if his natural defiance is only barely tempered, Shen Wei takes great care treating the rest of Zhao Yunlan's injuries. The treatment itself is not reluctant, Zhao Yunlan realizes this as Shen Wei gently applies some kind of medicinal smelling salve over the burn marks on his abs.
He wants to heal them all and Zhao Yunlan is half inclined to let him. His hip feels almost new, but he knows that justice will never be served unless this map-work of bodily damage can be recorded.
There are too many people in this case that have never heard of Dixing.
He straightens Zhao Yunlan's leg and presses gently on the broken skin of his knee. He can't hold in the hiss or the sharp grab of Shen Wei's arm. The man startles and in hindsight grabbing a man with this high level of cultivation, is foolish but Shen Wei only covers his hand with his own.
"Chief Zhao?"
"They hit it with a pipe wrench. Running on it didn't help." He says tightly, glaring at the ceiling even his neck strains from the pain, from the cry lodged in his throat. Because anything else is too much.
There is a savage rage in Shen Wei's eyes for the span of a heartbeat, then he looks away, focuses on the purplish black of the damage. "How did you run on it?" His voice is brittle with cold and Zhao Yunlan wonders at the meaning of it.
"Talisman." He says casually ignoring the sudden head turn, the furrowed brows.
"To...numb the pain?" Shen Wei asks as if he knows he won't like the answer.
It was an energy boost and completely illegal, written in a book banned from the cultivation world that he had read when he was fourteen. It was a blood talisman and dangerous, borrowing energy to numb pain and heighten adrenaline.
"It doesn't last long." He replied instead.
"Running on this..." Shen Wei starts, but Zhao Yunlan is no mood for a lecture.
"Was either the only way I was going to live, or the last thing I ever did. Frankly I'd rather die on my feet than suspended in chains, listening to a Dixingain criminal rant about his life, as he threatened the life of a child." Zhao Yunlan said flatly.
Rather than react to his anger, Shen Wei's eyes widened, "You were suspended? In chains?" He asked slowly, as if tasting the words, " Are these people dead Chief Zhao?"
Did the Lord Envoy employ people this ruthless or was it just Shen Wei?
"Most of them."
"Good." He said slowly. Then he turned his head, his hand hovering above Zhao Yunlan's knee, "I will end the ones who are still alive."
"Most of them were Haixingren." Zhao Yunlan said tiredly. "The Dixingian leader is dead but I'm not sure. I had a small chance to get the three other escapee out of the building alive."
"A Dixingian was using Haixingren," Shen Wei began looking disturbed, "Do you know his name?"
"...Haixingren talent to do his dirty work?" Zhao Yunlan finished, "Not that uncommon either way and no, he didn't tell me his name. His grudge was not actually with the Guardian Order."
Shen Wei stilled, but the power rebuilding the fractured bone of his knee didn't stop. "I wasn't aware of this."
"I doubt the office of the Envoy knows much about it." Zhao Yunlan said with little heat. Shen Wei flinches slightly and that prompts Zhao Yunlan to ask, "Speaking of the Lord Envoy, how long can I expect this...truce to last?"
"Truce?" Shen Wei asks turning suddenly, eyes wide.
"Yes." Zhao Yunlan agrees, tone studiously casual. "Can I expect the bounty price to be lifted too?"
Shen Wei turned from the waist in a tantalizing display of flexibility and stared at him with a horrified expression, "I..." He swallowed and Zhao Yunlan lifted his eyebrows.
"I take that as a no then." He sighed dramatically and grimaces as he shifts his knee. "Looks I'll still be dodging hits at the traffic lights."
"Don't move your knee." Shen Wei scolds almost absently and then catches his eyes, "Dixing has put no price on your head Chief Zhao." He doesn't say it firmly, only earnestly.
"Really." Zhao Yunlan drawls, gaze dropping from the ceiling to stare boldly into Shen Wei's eyes, "Well I have nineteen signed confessions that say differently."
"And," He adds lifting a finger, "Before you can accuse me of coercion or any other act, these confessions are on tape, on file and were witnessed by a Dixingian citizen, loyal to the crown of Dixing, placed by the Lord Envoy. Plus, the charge for attempted murder of the Guardian was not, in any of the cases, the primary charge."
Shen Wei turned fully on the bed so he faced Zhao Yunlan, his hands raised in a traditional Dixingian bow. His shoulders were trembling and he said low and respectfully, "I can promise you Chief Zhao, that such an order never came from the Lord Envoy. For one it is against the Peace Treaty and secondly, the Lord Envoy would never wish harm to your person. I...He...the issue between the Order and the Lord Envoy was never yours to bear."
Zhao Yunlan regarded him calmly, "For as long as it is unresolved, it will be mine to bear. I have borne it." Zhao Yunlan said calmly, confused why this statement seemed to upset the man more, but continued, "I will bear it if I must and if it kills me, so be it."
Shen Wei's eyes were wide and still horrified, but Zhao Yunlan saw a chance to end this disaster once and for all, so he added with a tone better suited for aggressive suspects, "But attacking my team is unforgivable. Shooting at my cat and luring my trainee down alleyways to use against me is crossing a line. Attempting to kill Chu Shuzhi in front of me to make a point is another. Following my female receptionist home to frighten her is yet another."
Xiao Guo nearly didn't survive for one thing and he had only been working with SID for a month. Zhu Hong was so angry she nearly got herself arrested and Chu Shuzhi actually killed the guy attacking him. The paperwork had been a nightmare.
"It will be resolved. The Lord Envoy has said so." Shen Wei said firmly, then turned back to his knee. "There will be no further attacks on your person, or your team."
"Oh?" Zhao Yunlan comments curious now, "Please tell your Lord, that I await his decision then."
Slowly, Zhao Yunlan's body relaxed into the quilt, the pained and painful tension in his frame seeping away.
His breathing was still sharp, his eyes half-closed and he shifted until he was stretched out, exhaustion in every line. Exhausted enough Shen Wei hoped to sleep. He needed rest desperately and Shen Wei as guilty as he was to admit it, even to himself, needed him to sleep so he could find out something that would fix this situation.
Unfortunately for both of them, Zhao Yunlan was too stubborn to rest. Although, Shen Wei knew from experience, that there were some occasions; when you have survived the worst, struggled and battled, your body hurt and exhausted, but sleep refuses to come.
It hurts to think of it, but there might be some distrust involved as well.
"I doubt the office of the Envoy knows much about it."
"...How long can I expect this...truce to last?"
Truce.
As if they are at war.
Shen Wei didn't know what to think. Doubting Kunlun is impossible. If he says that he is being attacked, that is a price on his head....then there is. There is. And the very thought sends something like horror, that Shen Wei didn't know he could still feel and the white-hot rage that put him in this mess in the first place.
He was angry. Furious that Kunlun was being disrespected, that Dixing was being fixed in the villain's role, destroying any chance of securing a better deal with Haixing. Kunlun's temple had been violated by Zhao Xin Ci's men and the idiot after him, well his preconceived ideas had only harmed them more.
He should have checked. Should have questioned who the next Lord Guardian was. Should have. But guilt wasn't going to appeal to Kunlun, it wasn't going to mend this rift. Rightly so.
If he had...if he had seen that photo...
Shen Wei blinks and sees that the skin around Zhao Yunlan's knee is healing well. The inflamed skin receding along with the purple bruising just visible where these jeans had ripped so badly.
He wasn't sure he could run on a fractured knee and decided that he didn't want to know how Zhao Yunlan had managed it.
The word 'truce' slams back into his thoughts. Truce.
"Can I expect the bounty price to be lifted too?"
"Looks I'll still be dodging hits at the traffic lights."
How often and exactly who had been doing this? Who had decided they had any right to breathe near Kunlun? Who thought they had some right to harm him?
What happened to the mercenaries, for that is what they only could be...what happened afterwards? Were they dead? He hoped so, sincerely for their sake, but traffic lights?
The idea that Kunlun could have died before they met, has his vision turning grey for a moment.
The impossible to avoid, was the fact that Kunlun had been injured in these fights. They certainly inconvenienced him, distracted him and wore on him.
How was this helping Dixing's cause? And Kunlun! Touching Kunlun. Bringing harm to him!
Restless, Shen Wei rose from the bed and poured a cup from the waiting teapot. He had made it in front of Zhao Yunlan and knowing how fragile the trust between them was, poured one for himself.
Sitting back on the bed, now that he had no excuse to, seemed inappropriate. So, he perched on a wooden chair nearby. "Chief Zhao,"
Whatever he might have said was lost as a black cloud appeared through the window.
It didn't miss Shen Wei's attention that Zhao Yunlan had lifted his hips and pulled his whip free, a weapon that no other Guardian he had met since his returned had ever wielded. Only Kunlun had ever fought with a whip, which meant Shen Wei thought, that he must have his throwing knives, talismans and martial arts.
Annoyed, Shen Wei rose quickly and snatched the offending scroll from within the cloud.
As soon as he decided it wasn't a threat, which was faster than Shen Wei would have expected, the whip was thrown carelessly back down onto the bed, where it angrily coiled itself like a particularly outraged snake.
The fight once more going out of Zhao Yunlan's battered body.
"My apologies, Chief Zhao." He says formally and heartfelt.
Zhao Yunlan waves that away, "Hardly your fault."
Kunlun was always to forgiving, too forgiving.
Glancing away from Zhao Yunlan he reads the scroll and frowns. It tells him only that a warehouse was on fire miles from here, that the Guardian Order and other Haixingren enforcement agencies are present.
The second message, this time from Chu Shuzhi informs him that Zhao Yunlan remains missing, but the kidnappers appear to be dead, killed during Zhao Yunlan's escape.
"Does your Boss send his love?' Zhao Yunlan himself asks cynically.
Inexplicably, Shen Wei smiles savage and quick. The idea somehow in the middle of disaster amuses him, but then again, he and Kunlun share so much in common, a twisted sense of humor included.
He looks at Zhao Yunlan from top edge of the scroll, his heart burning as he takes in the long sprawl, the traces of blood, the injuries he is not allowed to heal...and makes a decision.
"The Lord Envoy, wishes for me to aid you."
The dark penetrating gaze turns to meet his... and Shen Wei wants.
His head tilts and worryingly, Shen Wei had can identify that expression. Zhao Yunlan has taken the end of one thread and tied to another, forming a cohesive picture. He's seen it over the end of the war ten thousand years ago and thinks faintly that it must appear now in this modern world when he standing for the dead.
Shen Wei has just handed him one thread. The question is what the thread means.
For a moment they are both still, suspended like an insect in amber. Shen Wei waits for Zhao Yunlan to decide, disturbed that there even needs to be a decision. It could be distrust and prejudice against Dixing, the thought causing his heart to clench in his chest.
But its quickly dismissed too. Kunlun held nothing against Dixing. He cannot believe that Zhao Yunlan does, despite what he has suffered. He called it a truce, considers it a battle. He knows its mercenaries responsible for the attacks and suspects its being allowed by the Envoy...
But...if he hated and distrusted Dixing...he would never have accepted help from Shen Wei.
The look in those eyes for a single heart-wrenching moment looks like offense. Shen Wei swallows, tries to think of something to say when Zhao Yunlan smiles. Its not his bright, happy smile or the flirtatious one that never failed to steal Shen Wei's breath, but its sincere.
"Has the Lord Envoy, informed you of the situation?"
"No. Only that you require assistance." Shen Wei hedges.
Zhao Yunlan sits up and Shen Wei tries not to lunge forward. He shifts and hovers unsure if his touch and help will be accepted. For his part, Zhao Yunlan watches him and his gaze is warm.
Its far more than he deserves, but oh does it feel good. "Chief Zhao?" He asks gently. "You really should lie down."
He laughs softly and its slightly rueful. "If I lie down Brother Black, I will be asleep soon."
"You should sleep. You are injured." Shen Wei says in reply.
Zhao Yunlan looks at him strangely and then smiles again. This time he isn't sure what it means, but as he shifts he lowers his feet from the bed with a wince. "I will gladly accept the Lord Envoy's assistance."
"But?" Shen Wei has no choice but to ask, hearing it heavily implied in the beloved voice.
Another sharper smile, and Shen Wei's so close to him, bending over to see his face, too close. So close its hypnotic to stare into those dark eyes, "But, I am sure the Envoy is aware that this is not completely my jurisdiction."
Has he just offended Kunlun again?
"I don't understand."
Zhao Yunlan runs a hand over his face, "Who knows, who is helping and who is responsible?"
He really doesn't understand, but if Dixing is responsible for something, so is he.
"I will help you in any way I can." Shen Wei pledges.
"But you don't know what this is about?" Zhao Yunlan asks.
"Only that you were held against your will." Because that was the sum of what he knew.
Perhaps because he was so drained, Zhao Yunlan allowed himself to grimace, an odd expression that tightened his mouth and perfect skin around his eyes. Shen Wei felt his chest tighten in response, his belly clenching, his skin suddenly clammy.
Stepping back Shen Wei did something he would never do, swore he would never do.
He steepled his hands and bowed. Deeply. Bending his back fully, humbled before Zhao Yunlan.
Shen Wei bowed to no one. He had never had a master, learning through listening to tactics, watching others and battle experience. No master, no king and no leader. Those who tried to humiliate him, push him to a lesser position through his age or dislike, never succeeded. No one could compete with his gifts and he knew his own blood-lust was dangerous.
But bowing to Zhao Yunlan didn't cost him anything. Not pride, nor position. Kunlun had never demanded anything from him, only asked. For friendship, for his trust. Had in fact never asked for his love either. And Shen Wei had known next to nothing about love or lovers. Kunlun had met every stumble, every clumsy attempt with a smile and welcoming arms.
So his back arched perfectly and his hands were steady, his heart clear of any resentment.
A long fingered hand immediately grasped hi, trying to lift him back up. "Aiyo! Why are you bowing?" Kunlun demanded sounding aggrieved.
Kunlun had never liked submission unlike everyone else. It was a balm he didn't know he needed, but his thoughts were locked on three things.
Kunlun was touching him and his head was suddenly light.
The grip was biting sending a thrill down his spine and the warm perfect hand had all the calluses he remembered, treasured and missed.
The deceptively thin wrist however, looked painful; badly bruised and bloodied from being shackled, separate to a nasty laceration thankfully not deep, cut across the veins on the top of his hand.
"This one would be grateful for any instruction." He intoned, waiting.
"Stand up, stand up." Zhao Yunlan hurried, tugging on his hands. "Why are you still bowing?"
Slowly Shen Wei rose and met dark eyes that were looking at him disapprovingly. He was so beautiful and strange. Dropping him in a rural town alone and bloodied was apparently fine but showing abject respect was not?
Shen Wei handed him the cup of tea and watched pleased as he drank immediately. He then handed him some soup, made earlier on a whim from the vegetables growing in Kunlun's garden. He seemed surprised, as if this was the last thing he expected but smiled sweetly, taking the bowl gently.
The expression was identical to the one he wore millennia ago, when Shen Wei had served him first at the campfire. "It is a little hot, be careful."
Zhao Yunlan looked amused and Shen Wei settled back on the chair, letting his robes pool around him. Taking them off would be too suspicious and his love seemed to like the material, glancing at it a few times with an interested look.
There was a few minutes of silence but Shen Wei had no desire for him rush, pleased when he allowed Shen Wei to refill his bowl. When he next spoke, as always Shen Wei wasn't entirely ready for what he actually said.
In a tone that was too casual to mean anything good, he asked, "Do you know anything about an assassination group Brother Black? From Dixing. Called I believe...Cold Hands? After the legend of the demon cave?"
Zhao Yunlan despite his stubbornness, immense willpower and shameless ability to persuade anyone to do just about anything, was not regardless of what he said, steady on his feet.
Wrapping his wounds, healing the worst of them and stopping any further bleeding, did not fix the unhealed injuries or the symptoms of blood loss. Nor did it fix the exhaustion, mental toll Zhao Yunlan was denying or the stress that was about to come.
The story of how Zhao Yunlan came to be hanging in chains was .... horrifying.
He didn't tell him that much, but Shen Wei could read between the lines, hearing the implied and the given word.
Learning that for eight months Zhao Yunlan had been quietly collecting cases, that had the same victim type and the same leading cause of death. Framed as burglaries, street crimes like muggings and car accidents. Even on three occasions, murder. The same symbol left behind at the crime scene wasn't obvious unless you had the other cases.
Somehow that clever mind in the middle of everything else, had followed the pattern.
Then while Zhao Yunlan was out one night, he was inevitably attacked. A frequent occurrence apparently, that had dark energy seething in Shen Wei's hands and the cold fist of dread around his heart.
The shocking part was that Zhao Yunlan, when the attacks were focused on him, was not in fact bothered by the violence. He had idly waved a hand as if it was a inconvenience not a violation and Shen Wei wondered numbly if Zhao Yunlan had spent much of his life being attacked to have a blase reaction.
Everyone wanted relative peace and safety...didn't they?
"Nothing I can't handle." He had said and then followed this up with an added shock, "Dixing certainly doesn't need the bad press. Better it is just me."
Shen Wei had no words for that, only a silent vow to stamp out this violence by any means necessary.
Well after this attack, the first one in a dry spell of a week. A week. Shen Wei shook his head and folded his hands in his lap lest he do something stupid like shake Zhao Yunlan or kiss him.
His team collected the two individuals and Zhao Yunlan had carried on, only to encounter a would-be murder scene where the victim was still alive. He fought the three attackers, two of them cultivators and noted they had the same tattoo. Inner wrist, right hand.
As a police officer still, Zhao Yunlan had searched every police record going back fifty years and found three references. Then found another reference in the Guardian Order archives dated 1812, naming them as a 'hostile group'.
Knowing they were Dixingian and cultivators, put the case squarely in Guardian Order jurisdiction. However, while tracking the group was their duty, the actual victims were identified eventually as Dixingian citizens, except for four individuals.
The total number of cases recently committed, came to thirteen. And Zhao Yunlan had not yet told his team what he was doing.
Shen Wei had no idea why his citizens were being attacked and murdered on Haixingren soil, but he was going to find out.
The fact that Zhao Yunlan constantly being attacked by Dixingian mercenaries was still worrying about the safety of Dixingian citizens, proved he was the Kunlun Shen Wei remembered. It also added to immense guilt Shen Wei was feeling.
Zhao Yunlan believed that it had become obvious to the group that the Lord Guardian was interested in them. Last time this happened they had murdered the Guardian and the investigation had ended.
Murdered the Lord Guardian. A strategy they had obviously decided would work again.
The problem was that Shen Wei was limited in what he could actually do.
If trust was strong between them, if they had a relationship be it friendship or...something else that Shen Wei couldn't allow himself to dwell on...well that would be different. HE could then, flat out say no. He could argue and Zhao Yunlan would be forced to at least pay some attention to his concerns. He hoped.
But as they had technically 'just met' and Zhao Yunlan believed - thanks to Shen Wei's own lies - that he was working for the Envoy, put a serious limit on what he could do or argue.
He was adamant he was going to the nearest town to where he was supposed to be.
Telling him that he was too injured to just go anywhere, that there was a high potential for the enemy to be waiting for him and pointing out that with a portal ability, Shen Wei could take him literally anywhere, seemed to achieve nothing. Equally pointing out that an assassination group was better dealt with by Shen Wei before he returned to Dragon City, achieved a raised brow and a sardonic expression that actually hurt to look at.
"My team are looking for me. The enemy as you put it, is looking for me. My team is in no way trained for the damage they can inflict." Zhao Yunlan said in an edged voice, eyes flashing dangerously, waving a bloodied hand. "That and I'm the Guardian! I'm not hiding behind the couch because they want to kill me!'"
"I am not accusing you of anything Chief Zhao." Shen Wei said with forced calm.
"Good for you!" Zhao Yunlan snapped, "Because there are a great many things right now I can accuse Dixing of! Including wanting me dead, screwing up the Treaty and just allowing anyone with a weapon to cross the border!"
"Do you have any idea how many deaths, I've investigated?" Zhao Yunlan demanded, "Deaths that happened because I have a price on my head?'
"The Envoy will seek the execution penalty for all those that have attacked you." Shen Wei vowed helplessly.
That effectively silenced Zhao Yunlan for a handful of minutes, paused in the doorway of the cottage, one boot on the door ledge.
"Mercenaries are forbidden. They are rebels and will be charged as such." Shen Wei added fiercely.
"Most of them are already serving a sentence in Dixing."
"Then I will start my interrogation of them when I return." Shen Wei promised. "I find the ones leading this attack. They will pay with their lives for harming the Treaty. For harming you. No one will be allowed to harm you. Or your team." Shen Wei added quickly.
"Why do you care so much Shen Wei?" Zhao Yunlan asked leaning in close. Close enough that Shen Wei could see the curve of his eyes, count his long lashes and the tremble on the hand holding the door frame. 'You are taking risk for me. Have we met before?"
"I..."
Controlling himself so he didn't speak of love, devotion or millennia old promises, Shen Wei met his gaze imploringly and told a lie that was also truth. "The Guardian Order saved my life once. "
Kunlun or Zhao Yunlan, however it had happened, which one it was, now or then and a hundred possibilities that right now made perfect sense and none at all, boiled down to a syrup Shen Wei would drown in.
This man, this impossible creature had saved his life.
Thousands of years ago, before the Order, before the Treaty, before Shen Wei became the demon he was today. When the stars ignited the night sky and dark eyes sparkled like nothing else could, a voice soft and dulcet bestowing a new name, pressing treasure more precious than any stone into Shen Wei's blood stained hands.
That Shen Wei could love, be loved. Gave him escape, something to live for. Someone to die for. In the storm that took and battered, this man was his shelter.
This man, perfect, flawed and greater than anyone could dream of being. This man had cradled Shen Wei's heart and taught him that life was greater than the sum of suffering. That his soul was worth something. That survival was more than another fight, another step. That grief was agony but not poison. That guilt could be a weapon, a tool of vengeance. That repentance was never ending but one day breathing was easy.
That love could outlast anything. Cities rose and dynasties fell, rivers dried and mountains grew taller, the sun the only constant, but still Shen Wei loved.
His memories were his sanity. His salvation, his cure for the grief and loneliness. This man alone had caressed his skin, made him laugh, took him to heights he never knew existed only to offer the tether of his kiss, a gentle pull back to the real world that didn't feel like a broken dream. His hand curling around his own, a solid warm weight against his side in the dark, a promise.
He would love well beyond the life of the stars, the planet.
He would love and protect this man, now and forever.
Let me stay close. Let me give you my devotion. No one will hurt you. I will slay all of them.
Live. Live here in the sun, where I can reach you. Smile and laugh like you used to and it will be enough for me. It will never be enough, but I feel more alive just knowing you are here. It happened my love, like you said it would. I can breathe without pain. I can think tomorrow without wishing it was my brother living instead of me. You said it would and it has.
My Kunlun. My hero. My love, you returned to me.
Zhao Yunlan's eyes were warm and Shen Wei swayed closer still helpless in love and in the power of this man's precious presence, "I'm glad. " He whispered, full mouth curving.
The summoning was so subtle not even a cultivator of Lin Jing's level noticed it, but it felt like white lightning to Chu Shuzhi. Running up his spine from his feet, spreading into his hands until faded to an abrupt firm tugging sensation between his shoulder blades.
Somehow despite the heat and power of it, the sensation didn't hurt exactly. It just left in its wake a odd, but easily ignored ache in his feet and shoulders.
Levering himself up from where he had half fallen against some crates, He looked around the dark cold warehouse, checking if anyone saw him. Nothing. That was a relief. The last thing he needed was onlookers asking questions.
Peeling off his latex gloves, the smell of wet metal and rot filling his nose, he wondered what had sparked the Lord Envoy's anger. For angry, he most certainly was.
For a year, he had been summoned sporadically and it was always a gentle tug, a call that seeped into his dark energy making it impossible to ignore. Not that he would. His was greatest honor that he served the Envoy. Sometimes he needed time, to make up an excuse or find the correct location, but it wasn't this cascade of invisible lightning either.
Since being given this assignment, he had sent his reports directly to Dixing and the king of the underground world had rarely asked any questions beyond what pertained to the citizens of Dixing.
Staring down at the broken chains that once held Zhao Yunlan, dropped eventually when he made his way through here... Chu Shuzhi wondered where the hell their boss was and why the man who seemed so lazy could be so damn secretive. He was lazy, he corrected himself, but he was also a brilliant investigator, dedicated to the Order and the Treaty.
He knew something, had seen something. Something had been triggered. Chief was too dangerous to just kidnap and Old Chu could admit that. He was a highly skilled cultivator, a fierce fighter and had survived a year of near constant attacks, with a ludicrous nonchalance that infuriated Chu Shuzhi.
Not worried. Why would he be worried for the shameless cop? He wouldn't. He wasn't. It wasn't like Chu Shuzhi could help beyond protecting his back now and then. Dixing refused to listen, the Envoy wasn't interest after the Temple Incident as the Honor Guard were calling it and Chief refused for Dixing's sake to involve anyone else.
This was well-planned, well-executed. Now all was left was to find the reckless man that was a force all on his own.
Somehow an undercover job to monitor the Order had become a vocation and that didn't sit well.
Chu Shuzhi strode through the wide doors and navigated back through the dirty corridors to the main crime scene. He ignored the lingering Xingdu Bureau agents and specialists. They had to find the Chief.
No one but SID was going to care if he was bleeding to death somewhere, so he saw little point dealing with these people. None of them actually knew anything, fewer still were even field agents. What they did was a mystery. Chu Shuzhi knew they had no back-up, no help and Chief had too many enemies.
So as he strode into the torture room, he signaled Lin Jing who was crouched in the middle of the space, a field test kit and a wad of talisman papers in his gloved hands. "Found something?!" He demanded hopefully as he saw Chu.
"No." Chu Shuzhi said flatly. "Keep the rookie."
"What for?" Lin Jing asked glancing at Guo Changcheng who was staring at the crime scene like he was reliving a nightmare.
"I'm going to check the surrounds. He'll get in the way and he is a kidnap risk."
"Didn't the Xingdu agents do that?" Lin Jing said, not denying that Xiao Guo may be a problem in a wooded area surrounded by judgmental agents. "They checked for Chief."
"For a corpse." He replied in the same stony tone and saw Lin Jing wince and glanced at Guo who gasped in horror. He rolled his eyes. "They didn't check for traces of him."
Because Chief Zhao would know they would find this place and look for him. For SID, if nothing else. Stupid fool. Chu Shuzhi thought uncharitably. As if they wouldn't be looking for him. And these agents didn't give a real damn about their boss. He was a cultivator and they seemed to have a problem with that. He was a cop from another city and he had forged his own network, had his own flawlessly legal if unorthodox way of doing things.
He cared about Dixing. That didn't make him popular either.
"Okay." Lin Jing agreed, "I'll call Deputy. Let him know. Call in half an hour. We don't want you going missing too."
"As if," Old Chu snapped.
"Yeah. We thought that about Chief too." Lin Jing said as he turned back to his kit. "Thirty minutes, Chief's rule."
Thirty minutes should be enough and Zhu Hong wouldn't trace the call unlike Lin Jing, who seemed to run that program by habit. "Fine. Don't trust these agents and give them nothing."
"Like I would Old Chu!" He said indignantly but Chu Shuzhi was already moving.
He left the building by the side door and made a show of following the bullet riddled walls and bloody patches were corpses were being loaded into waiting government vehicles. The flying reptile corpses were slowly dissolving thanks to their pierced stomachs but no ambulance crew could witness that.
He was watched but no one interfered with him, as he skirted the building and the agents photographing the evidence. Using his skills he edged to the side of the lot and while no one was looking activated the Chief's no see, no notice talisman. It diverted attention and only lasted a few minutes, but it was enough to get him into the woods properly.
Reckless, stupidly clever man who should never have gone to that damn meeting.
Once out of sight by a good quarter of a mile, Chu Shuzhi checked for pursuers and then pulled out the dark energy signal talisman. He folded it carefully and using his power sent it into the air. It transformed into a miniature birdlike form and darted into the sky.
Not even two minutes later, a portal exploded beside him. A final check around him and Chu Shuzhi rushed into the portal wincing as icy winds lashed at his exposed skin.
When the darkness receded, the wind and burning power vanishing, he was standing at the edge of another wooded area, a dirt path at his feet. A few feet ahead and the path meandered down a steep hill. Some way off in the distance, was an plain whitish prefab building surrounded by fields and a few nondescript rural houses.
A clinic? Chu Shuzhi thought dimly, one that catered to the needs of this small town.
"Chu Shuzhi." A deep baritone voice called, the tone bland but the dark energy running in fine currents though the dirt said more than word ever could.
Turning he had once knelt on the path, "Your Majesty, Lord Envoy." He greeted fervently.
"Rise," He ordered calmly.
Slowly Chu Shuzhi rose and looked apprehensively at the king of Dixing, who stood at the beginning of the path as it curved down from the rough mountain road.
Black robes wreathed in smoke and an unnatural shadow for the time of the day, seemed to blur at the edges. Anyone trying to see would be unable to exactly make out why there was shadow and would forget in moments why they were curious.
For Chu Shuzhi, he had no difficulty seeing the frosty ground and warped inky reality that surrounded the most powerful Dixingian ever born.
"I am pleased by your dedication to the Order."
Truly not what Chu Shuzhi had ever imagined the Envoy might say, considering the Temple Incident, but he bowed deeply regardless. "Thank you, Your Majesty."
"Which is why I am curious, as to why I have not been informed of the Lord Guardian's plight."
The Envoy turned too fast for a human, the robes swirling around his boots, lightning curling around the edges of his hood. "Explain."
Chu Shuzhi swallowed and tried for a level voice. "I informed Dixing after the allotted time had passed. Chief Zhao is highly skilled and we had little information at that time. After a through search and failure to find any suspects, I immediately requested assistance."
"That you were denied?" The question was soft and yet highly specific.
Unsure where this line of questioning was going, Chu Shuzhi continued. "I was informed that the Lord Guardian's situation was not Dixing's jurisdiction."
"The Lord Guardian was attacked and kidnapped."
"Chief Zhao went to a meeting, with the city prosecutor regarding a case he had transferred when SID jurisdiction no longer covered the investigation My Lord." Chu Shuzhi explained calmly.
"And?"
"When he arrived at the street level tea house, he was shown upstairs to the VIP room, where he was attacked and I believe, threatened with the presence of a young child. We received footage sent to another agency, showing the Chief being tortured. The boy is the prosecutor's son and was often used to threaten the mother, another captured agent and the Chief. "
At the pause heavy with expectation, he continued. "We received footage today of would have been the prosecutor's execution. Chief Zhao broke free of the chains holding him and escaped after a long firefight."
"The footage was part of a bargaining gambit between the Dixingian leader and Haixing's government. They are hesitant to tell SID of the details, but from what we can tell from the footage, it seems to be over a deceased or imprisoned fellow rebel."
"Name?"
"Cao Guang." Chu Shuzhi supplied, then added, "Unfortunately My King, he is now missing. Chief Zhao distracted the enemy allowing the agent and the two others to escape in a car. She contacted the authorities and we have located the warehouse where the Chief was being held. There is no sign of Chief Zhao."
"Tortured." The word was bitten off and icy. It made the fine hairs on the back of Chu Shuzhi's neck stand up. After a pause, the Envoy asked, "Why did he go alone?"
"The Chief was expecting the prosecutor and another investigator. An informal meeting that would last no more than an hour. We did not expect trouble."
"Did not expect trouble?" The Envoy repeated in a deep soft voice. "Yet the same Lord Guardian, as I have been recently informed, is subject to frequent attacks by Dixingian mercenaries."
The silent but demanding explain yourself lingered for a moment before Chu Shuzhi spoke, realizing for the first time that the Envoy was enraged that no one inside of Dixing had informed him about this problem. He didn't know? How could he not know? The Treaty. The Envoy's impeccable sense of justice and fairness?
"The first three were odd and I believed might be connected to our then current case. When we captured the fifth mercenary, he was willing to talk. He explained that there was a price on Chief Zhao's head."
"And?" The Envoy asked, "You are diligent and have worked with Chief Zhao for almost a year. You would not have ignored this problem."
"No, Your Majesty. I did not. Have not. " Taking a breath Chu Shuzhi organized his thoughts quickly, "However, after filing complaints, calls for investigation and demands for answers, all I have received is silence."
"Silence?" The Envoy repeated, "We have spoken and you did not directly inform me."
"At the time of our last meeting Your Majesty, there had been no attacks for three weeks. I...and Chief Zhao as well, foolishly believed that my complaints had been listened to and the attacks had ceased." Chu Shuzhi answered steadily. "Four days later, they began again with an attack on Chief Zhao right in front of his car."
"No one has questioned why there is an influx of criminals returning to Dixing?"
"There have been some deceased mercenaries as well. However, not all of them were Dixingian. Some were Haixingren mercenaries recruited for stealth." Chu Shuzhi admitted.
This time the silence could be measured in minutes, even if it felt like half a millennia.
"You do not need to be concerned about attacks in the future related to a price." The word price was said with quiet cold vengeance and the Envoy turned to look directly at Chu Shuzhi.
The air was cold, seeping into the dirt pathway as if the harsh storms of winter had hit. He could feet it in his bones and found it hard to breathe with his teeth noticeably chattering. To preserve some dignity, he was forced to circulate his dark energy and tried to look stoic.
"I am relieved to hear that, My King."
"In your investigation, have you identified the reason why Chief Zhao had been kidnapped?"
Chu Shuzhi bowed his head, "The leader of the kidnappers was Dixingian. He had the ability to summon water from an organism, leaving his victims a dried husk. Chief Zhao had no choice but to kill him. Unfortunately though, most of the thugs are either dead or on the run."
"I ask that you speak of this to no one." The King requested in his more usual, calm baritone. "What I must tell you cannot be spoken of, until you have evidence found by other means."
"I will give my life before I speak of it." Chu Shuzhi swore, kneeling once more.
There was the rustle of robes on the dirt path and then the Envoy said, "It has come to my attention that a group that consider themselves contract assassins, have decided that Chief Zhao is a problem to their continued business. He became aware of them recently and interfered in their business or potentially killed some of their agents."
"Someone put a contract on Chief Zhao?" Chu Shuzhi whispered.
"I believe so." The Envoy confirmed calmly. "I will eradicate the group. They have murdered a great many and have been operating in Haixing for at least twenty years. I believe also, that they are responsible for the death of the previous Lord Guardian."
Some like the Xingdu Bureau could claim that Dixing has been using these assassins to do away with the Lord Guardian and other profiled people. Ludicrous but hard to dispel. Devastating to the negotiations coming up soon.
"I will do all and everything I can My King." He swore.
"Your dedication has been noted. I am grateful for your care and consideration." The Envoy said and Chu Shuzhi bowed immediately in humble thanks, while trying to work out why the Envoy was concerned for Zhao Yunlan.
"The Lord Guardian is..." He paused and had the terrible feeling that the Envoy was listening intently, watching him from the darkness of his hood. But in the end, Chu Shuzhi was tired of defending the man he worked for, to the nation he worked for.
Zhao Yunlan was many things but he was far from the worst leader. If the Gates to Hell opened, Chu Shuzhi had no doubt that their shameless Chief would be in front, probably sucking a lollipop just be extra obnoxious. You never had to fear turning your back to him and he never took advantage of anyone in his team or in broader life.
That wasn't Chu Shuzhi's general experience.
For all his laziness, he was shockingly efficient. He demanded focus and dedication on the job but didn't care if you were playing Solitaire for three hours. He claimed to be an barely educated playboy but had a vast knowledge of the cultivation world, created his own talismans and could become good at anything in a few hours.
He was infuriating and clever. Easy to work for and for all his vices, problems and personality, he was hard to dislike.
"Unconventional," He settled on and then when the Envoy said nothing, bravely or stupidly carried on. "But he's fair and incorruptible. He has never abused his position or any of the prisoners. He doesn't harass anyone or threaten deportation. No criminal has died at his hands or by his order. Forgive me, My King...but to die for being good...at his job I mean...is wrong."
"I agree." The Lord of Dixing said simply. "Zhao Yunlan is nothing like his predecessors and cannot be made to pay for their sins. I will not allow it. It is my duty to end this madness."
The Envoy turned and gestured down the hill. "Chief Zhao is inside this small hospital."
Chu Shuzhi turned on his feet so fast, he left a circular pattern in the dirt. "He's here?"
"Yes. The Lord Guardian was found by another of my agents, one of My Circle. He is under protection from afar at this moment, so you need not fear for his life. However, he is badly injured."
"He was being pursued?" Chu Shuzhi asked quickly.
"Yes. By Dixingian mercenaries and then by a Youchu, which my agent was tracking."
A Youchu. Only Chief would be tracked by a rare demonic Dixingian beast. Speaking of which...
"My King, there is something else."
The Envoy's head turned and Chu Shuzhi swallowed a suddenly dry throat. "The warehouse was not simply a convenient place to torture Chief or execute the prisoners."
"What else was it used for?" The Lord Envoy asked in a brittle tone.
"Housing another Dixingian beast. One of the Twelve Great Beasts of Dixing. Several fully sized chángjǐnglóng Which the Chief killed."
There was a long silence that followed his words, before black smoke appeared in one pale hand. It formed a puppet that never failed to fascinate the Puppet Master and disappeared. "Chief Zhao cannot be blamed for their deaths. They are scavengers and will consume the flesh of any living creature. I will personally investigate why several of our nearly extinct creatures came to be in Haixing. No doubt when he has recovered, the Lord Guardian will ask these questions."
Chu Shuzhi absorbed that and then asked in a hushed voice, "Your Majesty intends to meet with Chief Zhao?"
The Lord Envoy turned to face Chu Shuzhi fully. "The Lord Guardian is innocent of his predecessor's sins and has been cruelly abused by Dixing and by myself."
There was no answer to offer that wouldn't be offensive somehow, so Chu Shuzhi bowed. This seemed to work as the Envoy continued, "I on behalf of Dixing, must make amends."
Half an hour before:
With the fearlessness of Kunlun and sheer stubbornness that impressed Shen Wei for all it equally terrified him, Zhao Yunlan followed slowly behind Shen Wei as they stepped through the portal.
For a little while as they descended the porch steps and along the short walk to the portal, Zhao Yunlan had allowed Shen Wei to help him, lending him his strength as they went. Of course had he been allowed, Shen Wei would have contentedly carried him the entire distance, but respect and fear of crossing one too many boundaries had him hovering like a distressed shadow.
Kunlun had been highly independent and what Shen Wei would call now, recalcitrant at the best of times and Chief Zhao hardly seemed any different. What he was tying to prove was a mystery to Shen Wei, but he wondered worriedly if this unnecessary defiance had something to do with being captured.
Shen Wei himself had been captured by the enemy once millennia ago, and had after his escape been loathe to admit to his injuries or add to his humiliation.
Perhaps this was the same. Zhao Yunlan perhaps felt that he should have known better or found an alternative in the impossible situation he had been faced with. The details were scant, but Shen Wei knew that he must have been caught in a dilemma. How else would he have been captured?
He couldn't be blamed, Shen Wei was sure of this. Whatever had happened, it wasn't Zhao Yunlan's fault. But reason didn't always work in moments like this. It wouldn't have worked on him either.
So he bit his tongue and hovered, trying not to overcrowd him or annoy him too much.
Over monitoring his steps had Zhao Yunlan glaring at him, but the faint trembling that began nine steps from the bed, had Shen Wei remaining as close to Kunlun's elbow as he dared.
A dirt pathway led down a steep hill towards a rural clinic. Behind them was a tree lined ridge and a meandering lane going uphill towards the road. Dried grass cushioned Zhao Yunlan's bare feet, mud already staining his skin.
After several minutes of intense deliberation back in the cottage, Shen Wei finally agreed to take Zhao Yunlan to this dry patch of land, uphill from the rural clinic that operated in this remote area, some miles from Dragon City.
It wasn't that far from the burning warehouse, perhaps ten miles or so. The forest around the warehouse led eventually to a road and if one was to go the wrong way, perhaps because of pursuers or disorientation, you could end up crossing into a series of fields. Keep going along the valley path and several hours later you could potentially find this area.
It was weak admittedly but plausible.
Zhao Yunlan had wanted to go the other way, closer to the village near the warehouse on the upper part of the scenic valley, as soon as Shen Wei informed him that this was the area the other hostages had been found.
Shen Wei refused. There were too many people, with conflicting reasons for being there and the likelihood of these agents doing something productive, like ensuring Zhao Yunlan had immediate access to medical care, was too low for Shen Wei to accept. They might just lock him in a room and interrogate him for the next few hours or dump him in a car for the long drive back to the city.
They didn't care about his health and well-being. Not like Shen Wei did. They weren't devoted to this man and the thought of Zhao Yunlan being manhandled, denied help or being interrogated in any way made Shen Wei grind his teeth.
So this was the compromise. The clinic which would transport Zhao Yunlan straight to Dragon City, where Shen Wei could easily follow. Then once there, the hospital staff would deny the agents any chance to bully Zhao Yunlan. He could rest and Shen Wei had no doubt that Da Qing would be there. The millennia old cat was dedicated to Zhao Yunlan an he knew the cat was around somewhere. How else would Zhao Yunlan own Kunlun's whip?
Seeming somewhat stable on his feet, Zhao Yunlan stood beside Shen Wei on the hill. He looked miserable if determined, with bare feet and bloodied clothing. He desperately needed to rest.
"Okay." He said on a breath. "I'll go down there and declare myself."
"Are you going to claim someone dropped you off here Chief Zhao?" Shen Wei asked, tracking down the long pathway to the clinic door, counting the number of barefoot steps Zhao Yunlan had to take to reach the glass door.
There was no reply and Shen Wei turned quickly, just in time to see Zhao Yunlan rub his head, his steps wobbling. "Chief Zhao?"
"I..."
Horrified Shen Wei realized that blood loss, trauma and exhaustion had caught up with Zhao Yunlan and only his reflexes prevented his love from hitting the dirt. "Kunlun!" He cried sinking to the ground holding him.
Gathering him to his chest, Shen Wei made sure that not a single part of his love touched the rough ground, his dark energy protectively encasing him. Breathlessly, Shen Wei clutched Zhao Yunlan's bony wrist in his free hand and pressed the fingers of his other hand to Zhao Yunlan's nose, curling his arm around his head.
A strong pulse met his questing fingers and the tidal wave of panic receded. It left in its wake the devastation of bitter anger.
He couldn't bring himself to be angry with Zhao Yunlan, not even for this foolhardy plan. No, Kunlun's choice; even he didn't agree with it, was noble and selfless. He wanted justice and it was the bureaucratic nature of this world that forced him to stay in pain, weakened to the point of a blackout - to have that justice.
There had been the implication that without the evidence that he was a victim, they would find a way to blame him, heavy if unsaid in the air between them earlier. Zhao Yunlan had no plausible excuse for his lack of injuries, for surviving really and so needed this to look right.
In a sense as dangerous as it was for him to wander around injured, by helping him do this, Shen Wei could protect him on two fronts.
It wasn't repentance, it was a long road for Shen Wei to forgive himself, but it was a beginning.
It also hopefully meant that his soulmate might have decided to trust him. That he trusted a 'subordinate' of the Envoy was a bitter pill, but right now if this brought a measure of comfort to Zhao Yunlan's heart, Shen Wei was willing to do just about anything.
Trembling fingers brushed a few strands of wavy obsidian hair from Zhao Yunlan's left eye, caressing his temple. His skin was too warm, Shen Wei thought worriedly. Both a symptom of infection and of blood loss.
It would take all of ten minutes to purge Zhao Yunlan's precious system of an infection and another two minutes to complete the healing process. Zhao Yunlan's skin would return to its natural perfection, unmarred by new scars. He could encourage his body to increase blood cell production and....
And yet he could do nothing against Zhao Yunlan's will. That truly would be unforgivable.
Bending over further, Shen Wei pressed a reverent kiss to Zhao Yunlan's forehead just above his expressive brows. A butterfly kiss was pressed to his nose, the shadow of each eye and to the back of the hand he held in a gentle grasp.
"Thank you for coming back to me." He whispered to the insensate hero.
"You don't remember our promise, but you kept it anyway. However our first meeting happened, if you truly did go to the past or were reborn now or any other way it might have happened...I know you didn't abandon me."
The wind picked up and fallen leaves danced along the dirt road.
Shen Wei kissed his hand again and whispered, "No matter what happens in the future," He said in a softer tone, "I will be by your side. We shall never be parted again."
Sliding his arm protectively around his shoulders, Shen Wei rose from the ground and carried the love of his life. He strode down the path as if he was marching to the front lines, aware with every step that Zhao Yunlan's head was pressed against his shoulder, the lightness of his weight and the emotion roiling in his heart.
The clinic opened soundlessly and entirely without Shen Wei lifting a finger. The duty nurse at the desk turned her head and stopped.
She might have screamed or shouted. She might have run to the office door and locked herself inside to call the authorities. She might have done any number of things faced with what she saw.
A man made from darkness, clouds of black smoke rolling along the floor as if there was a fire, stood before her. There was no sound, she couldn't even hear the beating of her heart.
She became very aware that death was close, like the old stories of ghosts and demons, lost in the darkness of his eyes. He was beautiful, pale and ethereal holding an injured man in jeans and a ripped t-shirt. The injured man's face was tucked into the...robes...the...
Thought vanished.
The man's soothing, deep voice rolled over her. "When the door opened, you saw a man. Average. Can't really describe him. You were focused on the patient. You're a good nurse."
"Focused...patient..." She repeated, nodding.
"You think he might have been a truck driver. They pass through here regularly on the way to Dragon City. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt. In his late thirties, maybe forties. "
"Truck driver. So many of them." She said feeling calm, centered now.
"He said he found this man on the side of the road. Took a shortcut. Told the driver he was being pursued. Told him he was a police officer."
"A police officer." She repeated dutifully.
"The truck driver left. You didn't see where he went or when. Focused on patient. It is your duty to care for him."
The heavy emphasis had her nodding immediately.
Shen Wei stepped back cloaked to mortal eyes as the clinic staff rushed to help Zhao Yunlan. They took his vitals and decided that he needed airlifting to Dragon City. In the jostling and shifting, the wounds Shen Wei had sealed began to bleed again, much to his deep annoyance.
He was stabilized and the head of the clinic at Shen Wei's firm direction, contacted Dragon City for an airlift.
All through this chaotic process, Shen Wei hovered close by. Zhao Yunlan's face was creased with pain and he moved restlessly, feet flexing which did nothing for his lacerated soles. His right heel was swiftly bandaged and his clothing was cut off, revealing even more injuries he had not admitted he had to Shen Wei earlier.
He could claim it was out of respect for Zhao Yunlan's modesty that he turned away, but really it was for his sanity. He stared at the wall right up until the doctor gasped. That had him spinning on his own heels to check.
Zhao Yunlan's thinly padded ribs were black with bruising. He had electrocution burns on his lower flank going inward to his spine. Both legs were bruised and his arms carried much of the same damage, including obvious knife wounds. Defensive injuries, his mind helpfully supplied.
The worst part were the older injuries. A sports bandage, the neon blue garish in the hospital lighting was wrapped around his right bicep and the wound was clearly infected when they cut it off. The second one was a knife cut on his abdomen, diagonal to his navel. Inflamed around the edges, it bled when they peeled back the taped gauze.
This could very easily and probably was, from one of those mercenary attacks.
Raising a hand, Shen Wei summoned the one person who could tell him what was going on.
He walked from the clinic, leaving a shadow puppet behind, tethering a line of dark energy from Zhao Yunlan's sleeping body, to his own core. If anything changed or happened, he would know.
It was time to ask Chu Shuzhi.
------------------------
The flight from the rural clinic to Dragon City was mercifully brief.
To Shen Wei it was a disorientating blur of sound, fear and chaos. The only fixed constant was Zhao Yunlan, as it had always been, always would be.
He had made sure they noted down his name, made them believe Zhao Yunlan himself had told them, just in case he had drug allergies or other underlying health concerns, that Shen Wei couldn't ignore the potential existence of, simply because he wanted to believe Zhao Yunlan was perfectly healthy.
If these people were going to be responsible for Zhao Yunlan's health, they needed all the information they could get.
They discovered that Da Qing was listed as his next of kin and Shen Wei took a moment to register that it was true. That Kunlun's cat was alive and here. He wondered as he followed the hospital staff, wheeling Zhao Yunlan along the corridors on a gurney, if Da Qing remembered. If he had found Zhao Yunlan because he ws looking for Kunlun.
Did he believe that Zhao Yunlan was a reincarnation?
It also took him by surprise that Zhao Xin Ci was not registered as a contact, when the nurse opened Zhao Yunlan's main medical file.
Clearly relations between father and son were strained. Surely every child put their parent on their next of kin list, especially considering the dangerous nature of his job?
Not that this news was hard believe, Shen Wei thought feeling slightly guilty for assuming anything. Then doubly guilty because it was this relationship that had decided things for Shen Wei, from the moment he had heard there had been a new appointment.
Zhao Xin Ci was a man of fixed beliefs and if he was honest, he struggled to imagine such a person raising the warrior he had fallen in love with ten millennia ago. A warrior who believed in freedom and duty, in justice and kindness. Nothing of Zhao Xin Ci made him think of Kunlun.
But he was his son. That was the only thing Shen Wei truly knew about the Lord Guardian. Everyone knew that. It was hard to swallow though. Except perhaps for Zhao Xin Ci's intelligence, his odd moments of wisdom and similar eyes, Shen Wei would think Zhao Yunlan had nothing of the man at all.
Let's see if he comes. Da Qing will.
It took considerable power to remain invisible to the hospital staff but he followed Zhao Yunlan like a shadow as he boarded the flight, pale and so frighteningly still. He had perched unseen and gently stroked his hair, keeping his vitals constant with his own energy.
He had followed him as they carried him off the helicopter and hovered close as they assessed his condition in the trauma bay, a hand on his mostly uninjured leg. After the scans and initial trauma assessment, he then worried in tense silence as they eventually wheeled him into an operating theatre, after discovering a bone piece had stabbed his spleen.
He was going to have to refine this ability, he thought as he listened. It had been too long since he had last healed someone. He couldn't afford to miss something like this ever again.
The internal injuries were not as bad as Shen Wei had feared looking at the scans with the surgeon, but they were life threatening. When he had been healing him, his ribs were damaged but not broken to this extent. It was possible that the fragments of bone were loose, invisible to the dark energy as they appeared whole.
It was also possible that ill-fated walk from the cottage through the portal had jostled the bone fragments free.
Shen Wei ran a hand over his face. He should never have let him do that. He should have known better. He knew ten thousand years ago that Kunlun was reckless with his own health.
The surgeon had unknowingly echoed his opinion, commenting that the attack must have fractured the bone and subsequent motion had pulled them loose as he breathed, his chest wall already damaged with severe bruising.
He couldn't follow him there. Not only would it be irresponsible in terms of infection protocols, something he understood well considering he was a bio-engineer...but the very idea of someone holding a blade of any kind to Zhao Yunlan's skin was beyond his ability to bear.
No intellectual understanding or reasoning could help him control his dark energy in the face of that image. He came from a Dixingian generation far older than this country and only a few generations after the arrival of the original species to Haixing.
His abilities and many of his instincts were entirely inhuman aspects of his nature, but he couldn't overcome the very human instinct to panic over Zhao Yunlan either.
So he waited outside, the tether of dark energy allowing him to monitor his vitals and feed very slowly a constant stream of healing energy.
It was a long wait. But he had lasted ten thousand years waiting for this man, even if some of it was in slumber. He would wait for however long it took, because he knew, in his heart, in his bones that this wasn't the end of their story.
Kunlun had just returned to him. He wouldn't leave so soon. He couldn't, because if he was right, if this ridiculous idea was true, Zhao Yunlan had to leave this time, to meet him back then.
Shen Wei pressed his back against the wall and watched the operating room doors. He closed his eyes and focused his senses on one man. He listened to that heart beat and breathed.
-------
The call came from Dragon City's main hospital in the middle of a tense meeting between the Xingdu Bureau and the SID team, in the main office of their building. The conference room was filled with agents all reporting what they had discovered at the warehouse.
They concluded that the thugs were killed by the same person and seemed impressed by Chief Zhao's sniper skills. The shell casings matched none of the guns at the scene, but did match a discarded rifle found twenty minutes west of the warehouse.
They re-watched the videos and concluded that Chief Zhao had advanced training, which Da Qing was forced to confirm. It was there in his record after all.
And no he wasn't part of a cultivation Sect.
Why?
Chief left them when he left Shanghai.
Da Qing sat tiredly with Lin Jing , agitation thrumming through his body, making him yearn to transform. Instead he clutched the chair arms and tried to focus on the information, when he wasn't watching Zhao Xin Ci or being asked stupid questions.
Lao Zhao's father was sitting forward in his chair, hands locked in front of his mouth. He looked exhausted and was silently fuming, Da Qing knew. Five days. And some information about his son that he might never have known. Like the advanced training and Sect connections.
All those videos...Lao Zhao being tortured...then getting free and now they still didn't know where he was!
The forest had been checked three times with no clear signs of where Lao Zhao may have gone. But as Da Qing told them, Zhao Yunlan was an Adept for a reason, the highest rank of cultivator outside of the rare few who existed in legends that were even higher. He was an expert in the field, trained for that purpose by the Special Jianghu Police Division in Shanghai.
Helicopter sweeps had found three bodies near a river and for twenty minutes Da Qing had only known fear. Finding out they were thugs from the warehouse was both heartening and worrying. The river was two miles from the warehouse and if they had hunted Chief that far...
He didn't want to think about it. It was all he was thinking about.
Lao Zhao was combat trained and a survivalist at heart. He would be fine! But he was still human and injured.
Now back in the city, they had plenty of evidence to blame on any surviving thugs and a far too clear picture on how they had hurt the hostages while the camera wasn't rolling. They had found Lao Zhao's blood in three locations and that was horrible enough.
He could see that agents around the table were not hopeful about Lao Zhao's chances and it angered him no end. Lao Zhao wasn't dead until Da Qing was staring at his corpse! He was his cat, he would know if Lao Zhao was gone.
He wasn't gone! Da Qing nursed that faith right up until his phone rang. The annoying, loud ringtone startled and irritated the others around the table, but Da Qing ignored them all. "Yes?" He answered without glancing at the ID.
"This is Dragon City hospital, am I speaking to Mr Da Qing?" A soft voice asked and Da Qing's pulse picked up.
"Yes, I am Da Qing. Are you calling about Zhao Yunlan?" He asked hope warring with fear, unaware that the entire room had gone quiet.
"Yes. We have a patient here who named himself Zhao Yunlan?" The nurse replied.
"By Kunlun!" He said breathlessly, "Chief Zhao? Yes! That's Zhao Yunlan."
"How hurt is he?" Demanded Zhao Xin Ci, as all argument in his face ceased as he realized who it was and he violently gestured for one of his people to come over. "Its the hospital isn't it?"
"Yes." Da Qing said quickly, "They have Lao Zhao!"
Lin Jing cheered and immediately began typing on his own phone. Da Qing took a breath and answered the nurse, "I'm sorry. He's been missing. What is his condition?" Da Qing asked, swallowing panic, seeing the same sleepless fear in Zhao Xin Ci's dark eyes.
"Chief Zhao is in a stable condition, but his injuries are significant and he needs surgery." The nurse told him in a calm firm voice. "He was airlifted here fifteen minutes ago."
"You are listed as his next of kin, is that correct?"
Feeling Zhao Xin Ci's stare, Da Qing nodded, "Airlifted...Yes. Yes, I'm his next of kin."
"We are on our way." He said, not even ending the call before he was through the conference door, shouting for the others. Lin Jing met him on the way out and called Chu Shuzhi who waiting down the street, to pick them up.
Guo Changcheng was back at HQ with Zhu Hong and Wang Zheng. They were tracking the maps and satellite information, trying to trace Chief's movements.
Da Qing had privately thought that Lao Chu and Zhao Xin Ci in a room together, in a stressful tense atmosphere would have been a terrible combination, Lao Zhao would have kicked him for. So he had asked him to wait for them, under the pretext of a getaway when things got too much.
"They found Chief!" Lin Jing shouted at him as soon as they hit the pavement.
The journey to the hospital was blur, heart hammering against his ribs as Chu Shuzhi drove through traffic, followed by agents and Zhao Xin Ci in a separate vehicle.
"He was pursued into the forest, like we thought." Wang Zheng said loudly, her voice tinny on the phone speakers. "The search has turned up some bodies, two in the forest and three near a river, matching the general description of the thugs in the warehouse. It's a good two miles away."
"Chief Zhao killed them?" Chu Shuzhi asked, easing the car to a stop as the traffic light turned red.
"If they were hunting him, they better be dead." Da Qing said coldly, willing the light to go green. By Kunlun, this was taking forever!
"Looks like it." Wang Zheng agreed. "Chief must have made it across the shallow river and into the fields. They are saying he was found by the side of the road by a truck driver. The guy took him to the clinic nearby, who arranged for an airlift."
"And his condition?" Chu Shuzhi asked, flooring it as the light went green.
"Bad. The hospital says he was critical but he's stabilized since he got there." Zhu Hong said worriedly from beside her. "He's in surgery."
"Stay there." Da Qing ordered. "Chief said he didn't want any plants in the SID offices and the Xingdu have been dying to get inside. Contact Dixing and try get us some answers. They will need to retrieve the bodies for transport back to Dixing, don't take no for an answer!"
Thankfully it was only minutes before they pulled into the hospital car park. "We'll call you immediately to tell you how he is." Lin Jing promised as they got out of the car, but Da Qing ignored them all, racing up the steps.
As they burst into the right department, Zhao Xin Ci was only steps behind Da Qing as they asked for directions. They were told to wait and like for the last five days, it felt endless. A knot of worry was sitting in Da Qing's chest and he wondered how this had happened.
Wondered how Kunlun's reincarnation had been kidnapped. How this had happened.
One eternity later, when Lin Jing was asleep in his chair and the other Xingdu agent was dozing against the wall, the surgeon exited a doorway, heading for them. Zhao Xin Ci who had been sitting silent and morose beside Da Qing, bolted to his feet. "How is he?"
"Family of Zhao Yunlan?" The man asked, his greying hair tinted blue by the overhead lights.
"Da Qing, I'm his next of kin. This is his father. How is he?" Da Qing demanded.
The surgeon nodded and smiled reassuringly. "The surgery went well."
Relief nearly took them both to the floor, but Zhao Xin Ci pulled himself together quickly. "What happened? What are his injuries?"
"Please sit down." The surgeon invited calmly, "Your son is stable. They are moving him to a private room, so you will be able to see him soon. He won't wake for a while yet."
"He's going to be okay?" Lin Jing asked from behind them.
"Yes. His ribs are broken and a fragment of bone lacerated his spleen. We've closed the wound and realigned the bones. He'll be in a lot of pain for a while." The surgeon explained gently. "He lost a great of blood and he has traumatic bruising to his chest, so we'll keep him overnight at least to make sure he is breathing well."
"His spleen." Da Qing repeated.
"What are his other injuries?" Zhao Xin Ci asked gravely.
"His feet are badly lacerated. We have cleaned and bandaged them. He has two wounds, we believe are knife inflicted injuries, one to his flank, the other to his bicep. Both are infected and so we've put him on a antibiotics regime to help with that. " The surgeon paused and then added, "He has a few first and some second degree electrical burns to his lower to mid back."
"They tortured him." Zhao Xin Ci said hollowly.
The surgeon looked shocked and glanced at Da Qing who nodded jerkily. "Chief Zhao was kidnapped and beaten."
"Can he talk anytime soon?" The agent by the wall asked and Da Qing glared at him. The surgeon correctly identifying a law enforcement officer, frowned.
"I don't think you quite understand." He said firmly, "Chief Zhao nearly died. If he had not been found when he had and given immediate medical attention, he would have bled to death."
Zhao Xin Ci paled and Da Qing made a soft distressed sound.
"It is clear that Chief Zhao was beaten severely, several times by several different people. His right scapula is fractured and his ribs will take time to heal."
Which must have happened after the firefight, Da Qing thought numbly. He was using both hands just fine on the video. By Kunlun.
"As a cultivator, his qi is currently re-stabilizing, or else we will risk qi deviation, which will kill him more effectively than his injuries." The surgeon continued. "We are not entirely sure why it destabilized, but I presume he was attacked?"
"We are not really sure at this point." Lin Jing said shakily. "I'm a cultivator as well. Chief is my Boss and my friend. I've realigned qi before. I'm trained in the art. If he needs help,"
"Thank you, but you need not worry. We have a specialist here at the hospital who performed the treatment and we have prescribed a muscle relaxant enabling his qi to help with the injuries." The surgeon said reassuringly, "He has a strong core so with focus, I think he will be able to heal some of the damage himself."
Then the surgeon refocused on the agent. "But he will not be available for interrogation until tomorrow at the earliest."
"No one is interrogating Chief." Da Qing snapped.
"No." Zhao Xin Ci agreed. "My son needs to recover and there is little he can tell us at this point. I doubt the lunatic who held them, told him anything."
Someone was humming.
A low soothing melody that sounded vaguely familiar as it broke through the darkness of exhausted sleep. The voice was almost a purr, masculine and soft as it filled the space around him. It mingled with the more distant sound of the rain, tugging at his mind.
Zhao Yunlan felt as though he should know the person, know the song, but drifting here in the half-waking world, everything felt too far away. As though if he lifted a hand, the edge of a sleeve would slide from his grasp.
For an endless amount of time, he was suspended listening to the song, neither fully awake or actually asleep.
There was an odd noise he couldn't place somewhere in the distance and the humming stopped, the world quiet except for the rustle of cloth and the beat of the rain. A bleeping sound followed it and then the oppressive quiet returned. He missed hearing the song, the soothing voice...
He was lying down he knew as he listened to the rain. Sleep beckoned, his body unwilling to move and his mind subdued enough to be tempted by darkness, the sweet oblivion for a little while longer.
It would be so easy to slide back under, to drift away and dream but he was cold and there was something on his face. Mask, his mind helpfully supplied. Oxygen mask. Hospital.
He mumbled, his throat dry and tried to move his hands. Immediately pain stabbed from his right shoulder, sparking down to his wrist, then fingers. It took him a moment realize that he couldn't move the throbbing arm.
Reaching out with left was less agonizing but still hurt. Against his left hand he was startled to feel a scratchy sheet not his duvet and blankets. Definitely hospital. Pain sparked hot and undeniable as he shifted and the world rushed in assaulting him with conflicting facts, his senses overloading.
The smell of disinfectant when he moved the oxygen mask and the slanting bed sides reinforced to him that this was a hospital. It was freezing and when he pried his eyes open blearily, the artificial low lighting in this beige room was muted, rain battering the single window.
He couldn't breathe, even when he replaced the mask. His chest felt as though he was being suffocated by concrete and he wordlessly cried out as he tries to sit up.
Eyes closed he felt a hand cup the back of his neck, soothing and gentle.
Then he heard the door, a nurse rushing in. "Chief Zhao? Doctor!"
"Chief Zhao, I'm your doctor. We're going to ease you upright a little more." A calm voice said in his ear.
"Your right shoulder is broken and your arm has been put in a special sling. . I'm going to adjust your external fixator, it's going to feel strange around your chest. You're ribs are broken. Okay. That's it. One breath at a time."
Mentally he swore. A broken shoulder wasn't the worst thing but damn breathing felt like inhaling fire. And his ribs? Well, he amended, he knew about the ribs. Being hit with a steel bat was going to achieve that end. Running with broken ribs didn't help and the fight with the thugs before meeting Shen Wei had caused the shoulder damage.
Wait...Shen Wei...
The hand on the back of neck stroked the skin sweetly, brushing the ends of his hair. Energy cool and surprisingly gentle filtered into his system. It didn't clash with his roiling qi, but calmed it instead. Seconds ticked by and slowly he was able to breathe and the pain washed away.
He couldn't think why it was familiar and he focused on the touch. There was someone on his left, a warmth close to his exposed hand.
"That's it Chief Zhao." The doctor praised and slowly he opened his eyes, feeling oddly bereft when the touch slipped from his neck. He looked to left but there was nothing but shadows, so he glanced back at the doctor who smiled. "I'm Doctor Li."
He saw the faces of the nurse and the doctor, both around his age. His mind catalogued everything it could about them, the room and his own body.
Private room, he noted.
The nurse smiled at him as he injected what he assumed was either anti-inflammatory drugs or painkillers into his IV. The doctor nodded encouragingly, and then asked a few questions, explaining that he had undergone surgery.
"How do you feel now Chief Zhao?" She asked, 'Is breathing becoming easier?"
"Better." He croaked. "How many did I break?"
The doctor's brows lifted, her pretty light brown hair catching the light. "Four ribs are fractured, the others are badly bruised. You had surgery yesterday to fix the breaks. How is the pain? On a scale from one to ten?"
He considered lying and considered the actual truth. "Five." He settled on. "As long as I don't move." He added with a smile.
Doctor Li nodded, "Okay. That's good." She then gestured to his feet and hands, "Your feet are healing well. We've put stitches in a couple of the lacerations."
Walking was going be something else, he thought.
"When you are feeling better, we have a specialist here to help you regulate your qi, to encourage faster healing." Doctor Li added as she checked his bandages.
"Thanks doctor." He said as he eased back, tired and feeling now slightly nauseated. "How long have I been here?"
"Since yesterday Chief Zhao. You were found by a clinic and they airlifted you here to Dragon City. It's now three am."
The painkillers began to kick in as the nurse gave him some water. "Your family was here a little while ago, but I kicked them out when visiting hours were over." The doctor reassured him.
Family? Ah, Damn Cat must have been here. Which meant he would probably be here any minute as a cat. No one else would visit, he thought and it really wasn't good for the team to see him in hospital either.
"I'll be back to check on you in a couple hours." Doctor Li said as she left, closing the door behind her and as soon as they had left, he tugged the mask off. Taking a deeper than advised breath, he realized the extent of the damage and winced.
The adrenaline that shot through his system when he couldn't breathe, had him wide awake.
Closing his eyes he focused his senses and qi outwards. Nothing. He was alone in the room. So where was Shen Wei? Because that touch, he knew belonged to Brother Black.
Who wasn't here now, if his own cultivation wasn't failing him.
Lifting his hand he hissed as the IV line pulled and grimaced, then cursed as his shoulder flared with white hot pain. "Aiya!" He exclaimed quietly. Who knew the aftermath of hanging in chains was equivalent to being shot in the shoulder! He would know having now experienced both.
He shouldn't have lost that last fight. Wouldn't have if he had been in top form. But what was done, was done and they were dead.
Panting, he stared up at the ceiling, breathing until the pain eased back into a warning ache. At last after a handful of minutes, where he resisting tensing, he was able to ignore his discomfort and the pain still radiating from his shoulders.
This, he mused was far from his last visit to a hospital and even further away from the first time he had woken up in a hospital bed, but damn did that hurt.
Pressing his free hand to his head was painful to the point of his jaw clenching, the painkillers competing with his qi as was to be expected, but he rubbed his right eye defiantly.
Sinking back down he took stock. Both of his feet were bandaged and his ribs ached with every breath. Both hands were wrapped and there was a new bandage on his arm over the knife wound, he had managed to hide from Shen Wei...
Shen Wei. The most beautiful man in existence and Zhao Yunlan's new contradictory obsession.
Brother Black who had just been the same room, invisible to everyone. That was a new ability. A useful if slightly disturbing one. Kind of hot...if he let himself consider the possibilities at some other point. What was nerve-wracking and disturbing to most, simply wasn't to Zhao Yunlan and Shen Wei was really something else.
Brother Black had miraculously healed the worst of his injuries, the ones that could have skipped over into 'life-threatening'. He was certainly an Envoy loyalist, yet he had cared for him inside his own home and eventually agreed to bring him to the clinic.
He had embarrassingly little memory after standing on the hill beside Shen Wei, looking down at the clinic. He could remember Shen Wei asking him something and then the ground had been rushing up to meet him. So blackout.
He thinks frowning, that he may have woken at some point, fighting when someone held down his arms. Zhao Yunlan could remember a voice, telling him he was fine and he wonders if it was Brother Black, and why that should make him, the greatest cynic of Dragon City, feel warm.
Just thinking of the stunning features and smooth voice had him closing his eyes.
Well, he thought, if being kidnapped could have a silver lining, his had two. His fellow escapees were safe and he had potentially put an end this feud with Dixing, having been saved by someone who was clearly influential, used to power and respect, if his promises were anything to go by.
Slowly, Zhao Yunlan drifted and began the long process of re-centering his qi, focusing on his breathing, to heal some of the damage. His core had replenished his used energy and he had performed this technique enough times, that it was simple for him to channel power to the injured areas.
He didn't see concerned eyes watching from the room next door, his face haloed by a wash of purple and black energy, cupped in Shen Wei's hand. A mirror, allowing him to watch over the Guardian, over Kunlun without being detected.
Shen Wei leaned against the door and watched him meditate, worried at the disorientation and obvious pain his love was experiencing. Kunlun's free hand was curved over his ribs in a protective, hurting gesture. He was just considering speaking to a nurse, when Zhao Yunlan's door eased open.
Shen Wei was seconds from transporting himself to the room next door when he realized it was Da Qing. It had to be. Because shutting the door behind itself in very non-feline like behavior, a large black cat moved inside.
It pounced on the bed at speed, landing right beside Zhao Yunlan's leg with the accuracy of a missile. Far from being startled, Kunlun simply lifted his head and glared balefully at the cat, who meowed pitifully, rubbing his head on Zhao Yunlan's chin.
"You..trying to kill me Fatty?" Zhao Yunlan croaked, even as he lifted his free hand to gently stroke the cat's head. "Don't break the ribs any more than I did.."
"Thank Kunlun you are awake!" The black cat said and Shen Wei nearly laughed. That answered that question.
"I don't think he had anything to do with it." Zhao Yunlan said hoarsely, rolling his eyes which only added to Shen Wei's amusement.
Da Qing ignored that and dropped off his leg to transform into a human, "You have been missing for five days!" He said low and angry, leaning right over his owner and Zhao Yunlan winced.
Jeans and striped t-shirt were a far cry from the clothing Shen Wei remembered, complete with a stylish haircut and white sneakers. The bells were around his neck and his eyes were bright in the near darkness.
Da Qing made a soft sound that was entirely feline and stretched out his hands, activating his own qi. The Yashou had through genetics, a slightly different form of cultivation. Some clans had excellent healing abilities, while others had no interest in cultivating to form a core like Haixingren.
Kunlun had flat out disagreed that Yashou couldn't form a core, use qi or cultivate. His opinion was so immovable, so solid that it seemed beyond doubt. When someone so free and flexible becomes an intractable force, believing is not difficult. Not that Shen Wei or Da Qing were really sure, no one was at that time. Such things were not the fixed ideas they were today, with this more rigid thinking.
Da Qing had for a little while trained under Kunlun, who taught him the basic of higher qi-based cultivation, over the life-energies beliefs of the Yashou tribes. They believed that one took energy from outside the body, from nature and nurtured it to use when needed. Haixingren however, cultivated power through techniques, built strength and mastered keeping it as neigong, the internal power or core.
Far different from Dixing. They were people born with a gift, an ability their dark energy was uniquely suited to. One ability and beyond that, cultivating to do other things with the energy they possess was a hard road. Some managed it, after a great many years and passed on a few technique that some of his people still teach.
Shen Wei's ability was learning. Perhaps because he was born in an early generation well before gifts settled into family lines, or because of a quirk in his own genetics - handed down from a family line he had no memory or knowledge of. It pains him sometimes even now, millennia later, that he never discovered what Ye Zun's ability had been.
Re-discovering his brother had been alive, had come after finding his body. He still remembers with exacting agonizing detail, the nausea and horror badly masked in Kunlun's eyes. The soft compassion and fierce grip as he unwillingly guided Shen Wei through that hanging curtain into the small room where they had laid Ye Zun.
Kunlun was the only reason the world still stood and he had his sanity.
In the present, true to those techniques Shen Wei remembers watching Kunlun teach, Da Qing laid both hands on Zhao Yunlan's chest. For his part Zhao Yunlan winced but let him do what he wanted, "Your qi is a mess. Some expert they had work on you." Da Qing groused, "What was the point of putting blocks in?"
Blocks. Shen Wei repeated silently. He hadn't thought to check Kunlun's qi. He rarely interacted with cultivators but cursed himself for not thinking of it. Everyone knew that qi-deviation could kill and the symptoms were not something Shen Wei had ever studied in detail.
"They did that." Zhao Yunlan repiled grumpily. "Back in the warehouse. The hospital probably just thought I was less awesome than I am."
"Well I'm getting rid of them." Da Qing said firmly, "You can't heal with them."
"Trust me Damn Cat, I know." Zhao Yunlan said shortly, then he smiled, his eyes hooded in the darkness. "I knew if I held out, you'd find me."
Da Qing huffed but tilted his head for Zhao Yunlan to ruffle his hair. "They beat you." He said mournfully.
"Killed most of them didn't I?" He replied flippantly, flicking a hand impatiently.
"I had to work with your father." Da Qing admitted softly. "He came in to see you for a few seconds, then left."
"To check if he needed to pay for my funeral?" Zhao Yunlan asked caustically and even Shen Wei winced at that tone. It was acidic and came with years of resentment, shadows of the room darkening his eyes to coal dust.
"He's part of the investigation."
Kunlun looked at Da Qing for a long second and then cursed with feeling. "Mā de."
"You had it worse then. Cào. What the...why?" The question was plaintive and deeply annoyed, a hair trigger that Shen Wei realized, he needed to avoid.
That he didn't see eye to eye with his father was a relief, Shen Wei had to admit that. To himself, if no one else. But...he wondered what difficulties lay in Zhao Yunlan's path as a result? Zhao Xin Ci had a mandate. If you were not with him, you must automatically be against him. Where exactly in that code, did his own son fit in?
"Agent Wen works for him." Da Qing told him, shoulders hunched slightly as if he knew this was a rage-inducing subject.
"Mā de." Zhao Yunlan repeated the curse and covered his eyes, hissing at the pull on his injured shoulders.
"We have Bureau agents everywhere, rifling in your office, asking stupid questions...I was interrogated three times! Three! Because they thought I hurt you!" Da Qing raged.
"As if you could. Did they see anything?" He asked, sounding concerned. "Did they plant anything, did you check and did they find all my files?"
That didn't sound good. Shen Wei mused. Trust was fragile then with this Bureau. He wondered how they affected Kunlun. As a rule, Shen Wei didn't interfere with any agency beyond the Guardian Order. He had no interest or right to under the charter and the Guardian decided the important things within the bounds of the Treaty.
"No. To all three. Ha! They barely know where their own front door is!" Da Qing said angrily, handing him another glass of water. "Drink. You sound horrible. Your ribs are broken. I made sure they couldn't nail anything to the team."
"Thanks Fatty. You are so sweet." He said sarcastically, but smiled anyway. "Agent Wen and the prosecutor safe?" Zhao Yunlan asked as Da Qing retrieved the empty glass.
"Recovering. The prosecutor just left hospital with her son and Agent Wen is expected to go home tomorrow. They are not in this hospital and I said no to them visiting you."
"Good. The Bureau will protect their own and I presume the prosecutor. That kid did well, for all the hell they put him through." Zhao Yunlan mused then held up a finger, "Don't start about her! Either her. I didn't know Agent Wen and the prosecutor is ancient history."
How ancient? Shen Wei wondered, considering their love was millennia old.
"She cheated on you anyway." Da Qing huffed angrily and Shen Wei frowned deeply. "With the guy who is now her husband. He blamed you for it. Her kidnapping."
Hearing that Kunlun had been with other people, did not hurt as it perhaps might have done once. His mountain warrior was no virgin when they met and he had accepted that at the time. But, that didn't mean there wasn't scalding jealousy at the thought of anyone touching Kunlun. He might never deserve a fraction of the love and care that Kunlun gave so freely, but they certainly weren't.
Not if she cheated on him. Cheated. On a man Shen Wei would burn the world for. It was unthinkable. Hideous. Dark energy sparked in his hands, a brief flash of blue light that Shen Wei snuffed quickly.
Zhao Yunlan just waved a lazy hand, "Don't care."
Which silenced Shen Wei's anger. If he didn't care...then she could not have meant much to him...could she? No. He nodded to himself. If there was no hurt in Kunlun's heart, it would be foolish to think any more on her, he decided.
"Why did they take you?" Da Qing said, something vulnerable and angry in his tone.
Zhao Yunlan patted his knee, "For what I know, for what they think I know and for revenge on the Bureau. Biggest way to achieve that is to take the Guardian out, exactly as they did a year ago."
"They killed him?" Da Qing asked in shock. "Ma de."
"And left us with a disaster." Zhao Yunlan groused. "Why did I take this job?"
"Because you wanted to take it." Da Qing said blandly, "And if we stayed any longer in Shanghai, we'd be dead."
Shen Wei stared at the mirror in his hand in horror and worry began to tighten his chest. What did that mean?
"So what's the disaster?" Da Qing asked, lifting his knees onto the bed.
"An assassination group from Dixing is acting to eradicate Crown loyalists in Haixing and to undermine the new negotiations between the two worlds." Zhao Yunlan replied tiredly.
There was a pause as the two people listening absorbed that and then Da Qing said, with a low hissing sound - of disapproval, Shen Wei presumes, "Kill the Guardian, delay the negotiations."
"Why so public?"
"The guy running the torture show was rebelling." Zhao Yunlan replied with a grunt as Da Qing pushed more energy along the connection. "You out of practice Fatty?"
"The last time I did this, you'd been shot." Da Qing said softly, then at Zhao Yunlan's obvious look, he returned to the task at hand. "So the epic asshole left the group to pursue his own plans?"
"This is not coming from Dixing. They are not apparently acting on orders by the Lord Envoy."
Da Qing snorted, "As if we believe anything from Dixing. They have been trying to kill us for months!"
Shen Wei winced and guilt swirled before settling like a stone in his core. He found himself listening intently to whatever Kunlun might reply with. Here in private, Zhao Yunlan might actually say what he thought and no matter how distressing, how painful it was going to be...at least he would know where he stood. Knowing had to be better than taking single steps that felt like the rotten planks of an ancient rope bridge.
Kunlun was too precious, this reunion all he had been living for. He had to made amends, had set things right.
"I know." Zhao Yunlan said calmly, agreeing and Shen Wei's heart plummeted. "But I know this because one of the Envoy's circle came to my aid while I was getting away."
"Why?" Da Qing said suspiciously. "You think they're playing nice now, so you won't ruin them at the negotiations?"
The distrust however justified, still hurt. Especially from Da Qing. Shen Wei thought sadly.
"I think the Envoy knows his boat is about to sink." Zhao Yunlan said flatly.
Shen Wei frowned thoughtfully, the distrust stinging still but there was something in Zhao Yunlan's tone that wasn't vindictive anger or justified resentment. It was a fact and disconnected to feelings or trust.
And he might be imagining it, but he looked... disappointed. Kunlun wasn't happy about this development and Shen Wei had no idea what to think about that.
"So..." Da Qing drew out the word.
Zhao Yunlan sighed, shifting in discomfort. "We both know, that for as long as the Treaty has been in effect, Dixing has periodically placed some of its people within Haixing, to live undercover, blending in with the crowds. "
Shen Wei folded his arms and waited, feeling slightly less guilty about spying now. Kunlun always had information that no one else had discovered or at least woven together into a cohesive picture.
Before meeting him, before falling in love - although he might have fallen for him, hearing his name, hearing of his bravery and clever strategies - Shen Wei had first and foremost, admired him. He wanted to learn his strategies, earn his respect, listen to his ideas and wanted to be more like him.
Kunlun had been his hero.
And every second that passed between meeting Zhao Yunlan and this very moment, that admiration, that worship, it had come flooding back. Respect and love were their foundations. Even with all the time that had passed, with his role as Emperor and the millennia of time - he was still admiring. Coveting and dreaming. Zhao Yunlan was the center of his world and it had been less than two full days.
So, knowing Kunlun as he did, Shen Wei acknowledged that beyond Da Qing, there was very little chance Zhao Yunlan would tell Shen Wei in any guise. He wouldn't tell his team fully either, especially as he knew Chu Shuzhi had been planted.
He would know that, Shen Wei thought. Nothing avoided Zhao Yunlan's notice.
"Yeah." Da Qing agreed capturing Shen Wei's attention immediately. He sounded confused. "For information and to fulfill the apparent promise that rebels would never again rise." He said, then snorted. "No rebels. So what do you call mercenaries looking for your death?"
"A distraction." Zhao Yunlan said thoughtfully and then at Da Qing's look, he glared. "I didn't think that last week...but after the last few days of hell, I learned some things from the dead leader. He was unhinged and he liked to brag."
"What do you mean?" Da Qing asked. "I mean he was unhinged..."
"A handful of times Dixing's plants were discovered by the Order, with little proof that is what they were. Often using families, they blended well, mingling with influential groups or high status individuals. In ancient times this included the Imperial Court and in modern times, I suspect it means the Minister of this or that."
"CEOs, financial institutions and government officials. A finger on the pulse" Da Qing added, nodding along. "Yeah."
"He mentioned in his great rant, when I became a problem. Turns out it was the case involving Qi Weigang."
Da Qing frowned, lowering his hands. "The missing family? The one where we were investigating a murder, the daughter of a local government official?"
"The one killed during a party at the home of Dragon City's Minister of Science and Technology. Yeah that one." Zhao Yunlan confirmed leaning his back onto the pillow.
"I thought at first he chose that one because it was a high profile case." Zhao Yunlan said biting his lip as he rotated his left shoulder. "He seemed the type."
"But the girl had been murdered by her father's ex-lover, who had used a Dixingian poison." Da Qing concluded, nose scrunched in confusion. "She was following the father wasn't she? Obsessed with his infidelity. You read her journal that detailed all his exploits."
"Noting his whereabouts during the times he was supposed to be with her mother." Zhao Yunlan added nodding. "Yeah that one. But his focus was Qi Weigang, the stalker friend."
"The stalker friend?" Da Qing repeated, then nodded. "She worked out that her father's friend was spying on him, didn't she? We had no proof. She had some proof but he denied it. Went with the whole, he's innocent line, until you trapped him in his own lies."
Holding the girl's record in his hand, Zhao Yunlan had looked at the times and dates she had logged and wondered.
This close friend had a flawless record, but as someone who had worked undercover he noticed several things that didn't add up. When Lin Jing checked, there were holes, in his education, in the dates. But, one question too many and the family disappeared, only for the parents to die in an convenient car crash three weeks later.
The surviving two children were collected and left presumably back to Dixing. Tragic accident, if you didn't have drinks with other investigators from time to time, who might mention...after one too many... that the brakes were cut.
...Who might equally mention that a guy was caught on camera. A guy they can't identify. An offer to help, to run the image through the data-banks they have access to, connected the same guy on thirty eight cameras, all investigated over a five to eight year period.
After meeting the tattooed wonders at the near murder scene, Zhao Yunlan had remembered the Camera Guy as he had dubbed him, had an exact copy. Right arm. Inner wrist.
"The guy on the camera footage, he had the same tattoo. I saw him in the warehouse Fatty. He took orders from the dead leader." Zhao Yunlan said sharply. "He wasn't happy with him though. Tried to talk him into killing me cleanly and dumping the bodies. Dead leader wasn't having it. He wanted drama."
"He was there?" Da Qing said shocked. "But, if the family had been placed as informants by the Dixingian Crown, why kill them?"
A good question. At first he had suspected Dixing, but that didn't add up. Why kill so many agents when you need the agents in place? None of the others had received threats or had their cover blown. So someone else was doing the killing.
Widening his net only added more crimes to the list. Other murders of Haixingren citizens, all influencers of some kind, supported by an individual or family who also went missing at the same time.One Haixingren dead. One or more potential Dixingian victims.
A murder covered up as another crime, an accident or suicide. Shortly after there would be a family killed or another individual would turn up dead. The link - somewhat loose - but still suspicious, was that the dead of the first crime would always be connected, often closely with the second.
A good friend. A business connection. A boyfriend or ex-lover.
People die all the time, cynics say. To Zhao Yunlan's thinking, connected people don't die in separate violent deaths without help.
Someone was paying to have these people murdered quietly. Assassins are not cheap and have a risk all of their own. Killing influential people brings in the news press, attention, shock and anger. These individuals have ties to other influential people, often in government. People who demand answers.
After he thought that, it made a little more sense. Perhaps that was the whole point.
Angry people demanding answers.
After all the negotiations with Dixing were approaching, an event that Zhao Yunlan himself wasn't looking forward to. As Guardian his role was ceremonial but his decision carried weight. These negotiations happened every century and what the Guardian in charge did back then, was still in force today.
If Haixingren people were being murdered and the Dixingian agents possibly put into place to prevent that were dead, things at the table would begin sourly. The trade of raw goods and commodities would be hinged on a angry, terrified view that Dixing with their scary powers were trying kill them.
He interrupted a murder and one of the assassins tried their luck killing him.
The fight was brutal and the cause of the two knife wounds. Da Qing coming home had startled the guy enough for Zhao Yunlan to strike with one of his daggers. When the guy escaped, Zhao Yunlan figured that with the curse on the blade he had used, the would-be killer would have two days at most before death claimed him.
What he hadn't expected, was to become a pawn. In revenge for his fellow assassin's death, the leader who had kidnapped the prosecutor had decided to achieve two ends at the same time. Kill the Guardian, get revenge and use him as leverage against the Xingdu Bureau, with ultimate goal of screwing up the negotiations.
"Was he trying to get back at Zhao Xin Ci?" Da Qing asked softly.
Ma de. That was a bitter, worrying thought. And possible. Zhao Xin Ci was good at making enemies and good connections.
"Maybe." Zhao Yunlan said with a carefully casual shrug, burying the concern and anger. "But Dead Leader's reasons are separate from the group. They are going to want to tie up loose ends Fatty."
Zhao Yunlan ruined that plan and so enviably they would come for him. Finish the job while they had time. Killing the Guardian would still, this close to the negotiations screw up the deal. Debilitating the trade process and the negotiations already in progress now ahead of the official day.
Personally, Zhao Yunlan doubted that his death would destabilize much of anything.
"Camera Guy didn't die did he?" Da Qing in a low horrified tone. "He wasn't there, was he?"
"No." Zhao Yunlan said easily.
"So he's told the group and...and they'll want to kill you. For what you know."
As the door behind Da Qing closed, Zhao Yunlan switched off the light, plunging the room into shadows. Shen Wei had no difficulty seeing his beloved though, his night vision near perfect.
Zhao Yunlan seemed..for lack of a better word poised, an undefined tension in his wounded body. As if he was standing at an edge, the sweep of a cliff below him and the bite of the wind to circle his tall form.
Watching in the shadows, Shen Wei lovingly admired his perfect features and worried at the sudden stillness. He was sitting back against the pillow, clearly uncomfortable on the hospital bed, silent and remote long after Da Qing had left the room with his orders.
His heart felt bruised and worry drifted like the tide in the face of all these revelations and the very real possibility that the assassins would come for Zhao Yunlan. A fact that Kunlun was banking on and doubtlessly planned to take advantage of, placing his own life in the balance again for justice.
This frankly was not acceptable.
Worry chased some undefined emotion in his chest, watching as dark brows lowered in a thoughtful frown. Was he worried? Shen Wei wondered, did he feel this ache behind his breastbone? No. Shen Wei decided, he was planning. Weighing and considering and it wouldn't be his life he was protecting.
The world was quiet, the sounds of the hospital muted with dawn some hours away. It would en another three hours before the nurse would check on Zhao Yunlan, leaving them together in this hushed lull.
Slowly Shen Wei leaned against the wall, his eyes fixed on the dark energy mirror.
He watched him breathe, watching as he chewed lightly on his lip, pleased when he seemed to settled back against the raised bed, hopeful he might sleep. Rest is what he needs, Shen Wei thought lovingly.
This quiet is interrupted when a swirl of blue energy appears in the room, framed by darker blue clouds. Shen Wei is instantly on alert until he recognizes the classic sight of a Dixingian missive. Why are they sending the Guardian missives? Who dares to interrupt his recovery!
Frowning, he watches as a scroll is dropped into Zhao Yunlan's hand, his dark eyes wide now in surprise. When he flicks the scroll open, they switch to an angry glare and Shen Wei can feel his heart drop slightly. That lush mouth tightened and his cheeks were almost taut with rage, the tendon in his neck visible with how tense he had become in the span of a few seconds.
He looked incandescent with rage.
Lifting a hand in a sweet elegance gesture, entire dance forms in every motion, as additive to watch now as it had been then, Shen Wei thinks. Except this time he fiddles with the IV line and before Shen Wei can work out what he was doing, red power gathered in Zhao Yunlan's palm.
Ah there it was, that consuming scarlet pulled from a powerful core and with a shiver, Shen Wei remembered how well it flowed with his own energy. How it rippled when it met dark energy. How it felt like flames.
What was he doing?
The answer came a second later when Zhao Yunlan sat up fully and flicked the covers off his hospital pajamas. The scroll went up in flames, an unnatural vivid emerald that somehow never set off the fire detector, even though the smoke curled around Zhao Yunlan's hand.
One bandaged foot pressed down on the floor and a slight grimace touched his stunning face. The other foot followed and striped pajamas that barely fitted clung to muscular lean legs as he somehow rose to his full height.
Is he using qinggong to stand? Shen Wei wondered aghast. Followed by an equally frightening thought, how many times has he done this?
Shen Wei watched half horrified, half deeply annoyed, for anger never came to his heart easily when he looked at Zhao Yunlan, not as Kunlun and not in this form either. But this was reckless!
His injuries were bad enough to fell any warrior and most of them would have died.
Zhao Yunlan had in fact nearly died and that was too much to bear.
He also was not moving towards the bathroom as Shen Wei had expected, but towards the door to the corridor.
So when the infuriating, precious man wobbled dangerously six steps from the door, a hand creeping up to touch his painful ribs, Shen Wei could not here stand idle.
As he pitched forward, Shen Wei's heart nearly stopped and it was only through dark energy that he didn't crash to the floor. As it was he ended up cradled in Shen Wei's arms.
Afraid to put any weight on his back, Shen Wei had tucked his hand under Zhao Yunlan arm from behind, his forearm curled around his waist. As soon as he was stable, Shen Wei let go of his arm and rested his hand lightly on his waist.
Zhao Yunlan lifted his head and stared fully at Shen Wei, his obsidian eyes foxfire brigh beneath that sweep of dark lashes, his body warm and solid in his gentle hold. "Chief Zhao." He said breathlessly, lost in the beauty of that gaze, in the open warmth in his expression and the drugging feeling of being so close.
"Brother Black." He greeted, his voice soft, trembling with exhaustion and something Shen Wei didn't dare name. He didn't sound startled or surprised.
This for some unfathomable reason, warmed his heart.
His other hand had traitorously curled over the curve a perfect shoulder and Zhao Yunlan had steadied himself, with one injured hand pressed to Shen Wei's chest, the point of his middle finger a hair's breath from his pendant.
Heat burned through the black cloth and the protective layer of dark energy seemed to evaporate, leaving him acutely aware of every finger and the line of his palm. It took nearly more self control than he had, not to lean into that hand.
They were so close, the temptation clenched Shen Wei's heart. A lush mouth smiled, a little crooked and beautiful, paralyzed him. The desire to brush a kiss over that forehead in an echo to ten thousand years ago and his first kiss, bestowed by this very man, had him by the throat.
"You need to rest." He said softly, trying to distance himself.
A brow lifted in a silent sardonic retort, dark eyes measuring as they looked at Shen Wei. "I hardly have time for resting. They're going to release me in the morning anyway."
This was the warrior who led campaigns and ran battle strategies, who invented plans at a moment's notice. This was also the man he had waited ten thousands years for.
"You are too injured to leave!" She Wei said in disbelief. "You had surgery yesterday."
"I don't have time." Zhao Yunlan said stubbornly. "I need to get to the SID office and find out what they have discovered. They've had the evidence long enough."
"You could call them." Shen Wei pointed out, his tone touching the borders of irate.
Zhao Yunlan struggled out of his grasp, and Shen Wei was forced to let him go. ...After ascertaining that the wall was right there, taking Zhao Yunlan's weight when he wobbled again. Just to make sure.
For a moment he simply leaned against the room wall, but when he looked up his eyes were fierce and there was genuine anger brewing in that gaze. It took Shen Wei aback, but he had been half-fearing this reaction, ever since he had learned Zhao Yunlan was being hounded by assassins and again just now when he saw that missive.
The flames were a giveaway. He doubted Zhao Yunlan burned written communications regularly. Emails were common now.
"What would you have me do?" He demanded, his voice low. "Listen to Dixing's threats? You expect me to cower away? Just who do they think they are? Who do you think you are Brother Black?"
The man who loves you more than anything else in this universe. He thought desperately followed by, Dixing will pay for this insult.
"I know you have a low opinion of the Order," He said harshly ignoring Shen Wei's expression, and Shen Wei heard the other half of that clearly, for all it made him cringe, The Envoy has a low opinion of me.
"No," Shen Wei hurried to say, involuntarily his feet moved him closer. "That is not what I meant! I know you would never stand by. I know that each death grieves you and it does me."
Memories of Kunlun sitting with him after a day of losses. His wise words and the echo of pain in his voice. His strength give so freely, his shoulder there for Shen Wei to rest his head on, when the world fractured and he felt himself bending under its weight.
Suspicious but slightly mollified, Zhao Yunlan gazed at him. So Shen Wei threw his last card on the table, hopeful and worried. "The Envoy seeks a meeting with you."
At this, Zhao Yunlan huffed a small laugh that sounded slightly bitter. "This does not please you?" Shen Wei asked anxiously, panic tightening his chest, locked now within the grip of its sharp claws.
Surprisingly, Zhao Yunlan reached out a bandaged hand and patted Shen Wei's chest. "Ah ignore me." He said contritely and Shen Wei stared at him confused.
Ignore Kunlun? The man was risking his health at the moment to protect citizens of two nations without a care for himself. He could hardly love Kunlun without loving is righteous heart and zero self-preservation as well. It was fine, Shen Wei thought. For he would protect Zhao Yunlan.
I'm here now, he wanted to say, but bit his tongue until blood filled his mouth, locking those words away.
"Hospitals always put me in a bad mood and official threats by your government don't help." Zhao Yunlan said testily. "Maybe someone should deal with the factions? I don't know...have a clear mandate?"
Shen Wei swallowed and Zhao Yunlan reached out suddenly and patted his chest, right over his heart. "Ignore me on that too. That's an unfair insult and I should be better about this."
Shen Wei had no idea how to feel about any of this. His heart was a mess of emotions and his head was trying to dream of a new future and panic strategize about the current situation.
"In a year? A week? Five months?" Zhao Yunlan asked snappily.
Shen Wei tried not to wince and said quickly, "Whenever the Guardian wishes it."
For a moment there was silence and Zhao Yunlan's expression closed off entirely. It was an impenetrable poker face, as smooth as jade and his eyes were hard, cold diamonds in the shadows. Shen Wei could hear his own heartbeat and he waited, willing Zhao Yunlan to meet him halfway, for all he didn't deserve it.
"Then," Zhao Yunlan said in a surprisingly warm tone, "Tonight."
"Its nearly four in the morning."
Zhao Yunlan waved a lazily irritated hand, "Night, morning...Whatever. If the Black Robed Envoy wishes to meet this servant of the Realms, why wait?"
Servant? Shen Wei blinked and then shook his head. Kunlun was adorable when he was trying for modest. "I shall communicate this to the Lord Envoy." He replied, thinking he would have wait a few minutes to seem as if he was fetching the Envoy and change into a more elaborate set of robes....
'Where shall I direct the Lord Envoy?" He asked, waiting to suggest some decent options that offered seating, privacy and safety for Zhao Yunlan.
"Rooftop." Zhao Yunlan said abruptly.
He couldn't have understood correctly, but Zhao Yunlan was staring at him intently. The hospital rooftop? Right now? He questioned, looking at that determined expression, knowing in his heart, Zhao Yunlan was waiting for the first sign of hesitation, to prove how unreliable and disappointing Dixing really was. "It is the middle of the night," Shen Wei said numbly.
"Perfect time." Zhao Yunlan replied glibly, "Unless you're telling me the Envoy gets cold easily."
"Zhao Yunlan," Shen Wei tried in his most reasonable, reassuring tone that always worked with his more fragile students.
"Shen Wei." The man snapped in reply, "There are people dying. Two families are going to be torn apart or outright murdered. We have no idea where or even who, the targets are. Dead Leader kept nothing at the warehouse where I was kept, other than proof of other murders. I have no evidence, no witnesses other than myself and we are running out of time!"
"If standing on a rooftop in the middle of the night arguing with your boss, gets me halfway there, I'm more than ready!" He added, eyes flashing fire. "I need help and its taken a damn year to get this far!"
"Like it or not," He added continuing this pent-up rant, "The Envoy is actually responsible for his citizens in Dixing and here in Haixing!"
With anyone else he would be furious. At the insult, the sheer irony of a Haxingren telling him what to do, telling he needed to take responsibility, would have him seeing red at this point. But this was Kunlun.
Kunlun had been fighting for Dixingian citizens, grieving for those families he couldn't save, keeping the torch of justice and revenge well lit. But alone, outnumbered and pursued. Emotion ran deep in Kunlun. He felt everything acutely, to his bones. It was who he was. It was one of the million or so reasons, why he loved this man so much.
So rage didn't rise in response, only worry and shame.
He didn't know families were dying. He didn't know Kunlun was being attacked regularly. He didn't know what else Kunlun had suffered trying to get justice for his people either.
The only thing he could say, that he could allow himself to say, in the calmest voice he could manage was, "Please Zhao Yunlan, do not be upset. I will speak with the Envoy."
Satisfied, Zhao Yunlan nodded, the sighed. He looked tired, irritated and injured. All Shen Wei wanted to do was wrap him in blankets and sit with him as he slept. "We have to find them Shen Wei. Before we run out of time."
For all his annoyance and injured pride, Zhao Yunlan didn't envy Shen Wei's position.
Shen Wei's eyes were soft and beguiling. Bright, sweet brown orbs that made the obviously highly dangerous soldier, seem impossibly young and wounded. Not much worked on Zhao Yunlan's jaded heart, but he felt himself lose the hard ground of his righteous stance the longer he looked at him.
He reminded himself that this was hardly Shen Wei's fault. Not the natural doe eyes nor the current problem with Dixing. It wasn't his fault either, but Zhao Yunlan had accepted ungraciously sometime in the middle of his one year tenure, that he was going to pay for his predecessors poor decisions no matter what good he did. Perhaps for the rest of his career, until probably one of those assassins or his own poor choices killed him.
It should have been depressing, but there was a strange freedom to accepting the most likely way fate was going to play out.
Shen Wei - flying the face of adversity, xenophobia and the set anti-Guardian Order stance, had saved his life, protected him when he didn't have to, and healed his injuries, which certainly wasn't what the Envoy would have asked him do. No king would ask one of their trained guards of a super high tier, to play nursemaid to their sort-of-enemy.
So it was possible, even probable, that for some unknown reason, Shen Wei actually liked him. Because pity was a short-lived currency and expectation at this point about the Order was low.
So getting in Shen Wei's face about his Dixing-related problems and semi-anti-Envoy stance wasn't a smart move. And Zhao Yunlan only believed in making smart moves, despite what Da Qing would argue.
"Do you want to summon some of your people?" Shen Wei asked interrupting his chain of thought and the long stretch of silence between them. It wasn't said stiffly or snidely strangely, considering Zhao Yunlan had just insulted his boss. No, it was asked with concern and his eyes had thankfully turned almost businesslike.
Truly this man was one of a kind.
"What for?" Zhao Yunlan asked, eyebrows raised.
"To...speak with the Envoy?" Shen Wei asked tentatively and Zhao Yunlan thought how ridiculous they looked. A Dixingian soldier and a police-trained cultivator hovering in a doorway.
"What like...an escort? Back-up?" Zhao Yunlan said eyes widening, deeply unimpressed at the idea. "I've spent a year trying to speak with someone in Dixing higher than a prison transport guard...and I actually needed some kind of employee parade to have a conversation?"
He ran a hand through his hair. Currently, he had on an chest fixator, a sling and hospital pajamas. "Shall I ask Chu Shuzhi to iron his robes? Or Da Qing to put on something nice? Do I need an outfit?"
The doe eyes returned and Zhao Yunlan would have cursed their power, if he had the will. "No! I..." Shen Wei said hurriedly.
"Tradition. Its always tradition!" Zhao Yunlan said tersely. He considered it and determinedly didn't gaze into the doe eyes watching him. "No. If the Lord Envoy needs to bring an army to feel safe talking to me, he can do as he pleases." Waving a hand in an abrupt gesture, he missed Shen Wei's heartbroken expression and parted lips.
"But he'll just have to accept that I only employ who I need and they are needed to find the would-be victims. Not hovering around like idiots." He finished tartly. "Its not like the whole of Dixing doesn't already know the identity of my people. They've tailed them home enough times. Probably have their DNA and relationships on file!"
If there was one thing that annoyed him, it was posturing. And hovering....And his employees embarrassing him in front of the Envoy really wouldn't help his cause.
"I will tell the Lord Envoy." Shen Wei said firmly, as if he was accepting a mission to a distant planet. Forestalling Zhao Yunlan's rant and somehow stood there now, unruffled as if people complained about their employees being tracked regularly. Zhao Yunlan had to wonder if they did. How much of a police state was Dixing anyway?
Then he ruined the effect by snapping his fingers and teleporting a pair of black boots, with a sweet smile. They landed at Zhao Yunlan's feet silently in a cloud of blue and black energy. "I think they might be your size. They are new." He added nervously.
And Dixingian in both design and in material. Zhao Yunlan snatched one off the floor and looked at it. It was a nice boot, heavy on the military style but the sole was flexible. Looking over the boot, he met doe eyes worriedly waiting for his reaction. "I also have this...from the clinic..." He began before pausing, his beautiful mouth shaping soundless words.
Zhao Yunlan looked at the clear plastic bag containing the Guardian whip and beamed at him. "So thoughtful Brother Black!"
Taking the bag gratefully with a happy expression, he turned back to the bed, wobbling less thankfully. When he sat down, Shen Wei carried the second boot and unfastened the series of small clasps that closed the boot at the side. Clever. "Brother Black is so kind." He said demurely, lifting his eyes in a way that he knew made him look seductive.
Shen Wei swallowed. "I'll take you to the roof, before I go."
"No need." Zhao Yunlan replied swiftly. If that was hesitation to have to go and meet his boss, he could understand it, but time was running out here. Feeling like a mother hen about to kick its chick out the hatch, he nodded decisively. "I'll make my way up using the stairs. Don't worry Shen Wei! I broke out of a warehouse under heavy fire. I can find the roof access."
"I know you can." Shen Wei said almost heatedly. "But you are hurting."
"I've had worse." Zhao Yunlan tried for comforting, which failed spectacularly when Shen Wei blanched.
"Worse?"
"I was poisoned once and survived a organized crime hit, which crashed my car over a bridge." Zhao Yunlan offered. A poison which left him with a stomach compliant ever since.
"...Here?" Shen Wei asked and Zhao Yunlan presumed he meant Dragon City.
"No." He replied and for some reason he didn't understand, he added, "Shanghai.
"Ah." Shen Wei said and then smiled, "Thank you for explaining. You will be careful?"
Zhao Yunlan's instincts were rarely wrong and he knew this was not goodbye. Shen Wei might be absolved of this duty after this night and may plan to never think of the Guardian Chief for the rest of his life, but he knew in his bones, somehow that they would meet again.
Whatever motives and secrets Shen Wei possessed, it was clear that for some unknown reason, he cared about Zhao Yunlan. He was also attracted to him. He had stayed close and Zhao Yunlan hadn't missed those eyes doing more than checking his injuries.
So he walked back to him slowly, wrapping the whip around his waist and stood close. Shen Wei didn't step back. And when he ran a hand over his navel, tucking the whip handle into the coils to secure it, Shen Wei's eyes followed the motion, swallowing hard.
"Decent?" He asked, slowly blinking at Shen Wei who seemed to force his gaze back to Zhao Yunlan's eyes. He looked momentarily confused and then coughed lightly.
"You look...fine." Shen Wei said eventually.
"Only fine?" Zhao Yunlan asked playfully. "Ah Shen Wei...I'll have to dress up, next time we see each other."
Shen Wei flushed ever so slightly. "I..."
Listening to those instincts, he lifted one hand and gently ran the back of three fingers down Shen Wei's cheek, stopping only when his last knuckle touched Shen Wei's upper lip. He slowly dragged his index finger along the edge of his lower lip and rested them there for what felt like eternity and seconds all at once.
It was gentle and a promise, watching those eyes widen, flutter like the wings of a moth and then close. His head tilted so slightly into his fingers, it was hardly noticeable but Zhao Yunlan was watching for it. Hoping for it. Shen Wei wasn't backing away.
"Don't be a stranger." He whispered and Shen Wei's eyes fluttered open, vulnerable and as deep as the cosmos above.
Zhao Yunlan smiled and dropped his hand. He turned and opened the corridor door, waiting for motion beside him, but when he sensed nothing, he stepped through. Not an ending, he reminded himself as he walked slowly down the hall, feeling the hair on the back of his neck rise as dark energy washed over his skin. Then it was gone. Much like Shen Wei himself. Bittersweet, he thought and smiled.
Time to find the roof.
---------
Opening the roof access door should have in his opinion, been harder than it was. He had spent far too much time on rooftops across the span of his career, not to see them as potential crime scenes.
Shutting it behind him, with the starlight just visible above him, Zhao Yunlan considered the space. The relentless summer heat that had stirred tempers as the humidity rose, until every room had been an oven, even in the air conditioned buildings like the SID offices. In the overcrowded buildings and busy streets, the air had been practically steaming.
A time when every police officer starts to dread the day. Overheated and mostly sleep deprived, the average citizen considered violence hourly, especially in the traffic jams and market places.
But the heavy blanket of heat that fell on the city the week just before his kidnapping, had eased somewhat, the air warm but not unbearable like it had been.
It was at time when the streets were almost completely deserted and Zhao Yunlan, not by accident had chosen the back roof of the six tiered hospital building. This was the older part that overlooked the streets behind the building, rather than the one directly above the emergency room.
He considered the ducts, air ventilation system and elevator shaft spread out in the center of the roof space. Nodding, he tugged the Guardian whip from around his waist and flexed his left hand.
Stepping away from he door, he flicked the whip a few times experimentally, ignoring the answering twinge from his left shoulder. Turning in a half circle quickly, he sent the whip out sharply, slashing the ground in what looked like a random crazed pattern.
The crack of the whip was loud, the long tassel dancing as the metal sections seemed to shine in the shadowy light. The lines on the ground glowed red for a few seconds and Zhao Yunlan hummed. Walking carefully past the ducts, he cut a few more lines until a casual web was etched in fine slashes on the ground. Pleased, he chose a wider area near the back wall of the hospital, overlooking a forlorn looking car park and settled in to wait.
He didn't have long to work on his patience when dark clouds began to gather in the sky, in a way that was entirely unnatural. Slowly, they coalesced into a sold black form. As he watched impassively the mass seemed to fall, dropping to earth.
A column of power, purple and blue winding and enmeshing with a black power so dark it seemed to swallow the light from the street, appeared on the rooftop. It flared into an arch and from within, a figure wreathed entirely in black stepped out carrying a pudao.
The air was still and sound was muted, as if the world was holding its breath. Frost raced from the soles of his boots, forming a wide semi-circle that halted just before Zhao Yunlan.
The Black Robed Envoy had arrived.
"Chief Zhao." The voice was a baritone, a pleasant masculine voice with a faint ring to the words as there was a greater distance between them than a few feet. It was both exactly what you expect meeting an ancient being and its own kind of otherworldly experience.
"Bixia." Zhao Yunlan offered with a respectful nod, dredging up the ancient term from his memory and extensive study.
The Envoy returned the gesture graciously, "I am pleased to see you are healing Chief Zhao. The reports I received, said that your injuries were extensive. I am grateful to you, for allowing this meeting."
A year. He thought with deep annoyance. ...Allowing this meeting.
Not what he expected him to start with, but Zhao Yunlan had learned all he knew of negotiation from a mother who took no prisoners and a superior officer who could always find that clink in the toughest suspect's armor.
So he graciously smiled and waved his left hand idly. "If not for your intervention Bixia, I would have died." He replied, "That I'm still breathing is because of your choice to help me and the efforts of Shen Wei."
The Envoy stepped closer, "I cannot accept your gratitude Chief Zhao. I am undeserving of it. " He said softly, "I wish for you know, that I never ordered any attack on your person."
The relief was sharp and he didn't know how much he could trust, how much he could believe, but somehow he did. Shen Wei had sworn to him that the Envoy hadn't known and wouldn't have agreed. If it was true, then it was a double relief. "I am grateful to hear that Bixia."
"I do not blame you for not believing it." The Envoy continued and despite everything Zhao Yunlan's lips quirked in a genuine smile then. "Neither I nor Dixing, has done anything to strengthen your trust." He came forward three steps, "I swear to you Chief Zhao, that I will not rest until I have found every mercenary, assassin and corrupt official. Until they pay for these crimes, against you and your people."
"What has been done to you, is unforgivable."
"If you don't want me dead," Zhao Yunlan said in a pensive tone, not missing the way those pale fingers clenched on the pole of the pudao at his side. Interesting. "Do you know who does?"
"No. But I will find out." The Envoy swore fiercely, taking Zhao Yunlan aback. "I wish to understand Chief Zhao. I have been told that you were kidnapped over a murder investigation. That the one holding you captive, was a rebel even to those who shared his ideology."
"Yes, it relates to a case involving both Haixingren and Dixingian victims." Zhao Yunlan said, "But you said understanding?"
"Yes." The Envoy intoned evenly. "I wish to understand and I ask, however undeserving I am, that you trust me, to help you."
"Then in the interest of understanding," Zhao Yunlan began looking at the Envoy squarely, "I must confess my part in this."
"I do not understand what you mean by that Chief Zhao."
If this was to be a new beginning and the end of the old feud, honesty was required. Zhao Yunlan had over a year to argue with shadows and discuss it endless times with everyone on his team at least once. And he realized some things. Things that Chu Shuzhi didn't know and couldn't understand. The records, the histories and careful probing conversations with Da Qing had led him some conclusions.
And he realized that the Lord Envoy might not know this either.
"I was born in this city," He said waving a hand idly at the streetlamps above them and forced himself to leave out any bitterness or sadness in his voice. "And at the age of fifteen, I left here with no intent to ever return."
"Fifteen is young." The Envoy remarked and perhaps it should have rankled, but something struck Zhao Yunlan about this meeting, that just made it morbidly amusing.
"I joined the Jade Mountain Sect." He said looking now at the streets in the distance. He waited but the Envoy said nothing so he forged ahead. "They took me in."
After Da Qing had forced them to. By that age, he had progressed in martial arts beyond what he could learn at the dojo and under Da Qing's tutelage. The fights between him and father were getting worse and he had been staying out late, finding trouble and reading too many 'off-limits' cultivation texts. So Da Qing had found him a place, before as he put it, I find you in the morgue.
One of the most prestigious sects and one of the more secretive ones, having survived dynasties, takeover bids and the changing world of the jianghu. Da Qing was one of them, an honorary elder having been there during the sect's inception and he had been the one to vouch for his scrawny kid. Few could say their cat was their martial arts shifu and martial elder.
After that he had joined the Huátíng Sect during his time at the police academy, who married cultivation and law enforcement training. A decade long career, decorated and meaningful, until the day it all went horribly wrong.
"The Jade Mountain sect...follow the teachings of Lord Kunlun, don't they?" The Envoy asked, head tilting.
"They do." He agreed. "He founded them... or more likely trained the one who did." Well they claimed to, at any rate. Who knows if they are actually his teachings? The guy died ten thousand years ago after all and was mentioned in four ancient books...and the Treaty Records as a Haixingren war leader. Da Qing swore they were, but Fatty believed a lot of things.
The obscure Lord Kunlun was right about a lot of things, if he was truly the one to credit for their teachings.
In response though Zhao Yunlan sighed. "When I joined..."
The Envoy came a single step closer, "What is it Chief Zhao?" He asked softly.
Marshaling his courage he looked back into the darkness of the hood, knowing somehow he had caught the Envoy's eyes. "There was a ritual shall we say? And during this ritual I was chosen by the Kunlun Token. I had no idea what it meant and no one explained." He added, frustration and old anger leaking through his control.
"The Kunlun Token?" The Envoy repeated, sounding confused. "What is this?"
He thought quickly for a way to explain that wouldn't be patronizing or generally offensive. It had been the Kunlun Temple that broke the relationship with Order last time after all.
In the end he went for the throat. "Lord Ma Gui of the Order, the first Guardian... forged three tokens with Lord Kunlun. One for the Order, one for himself and the third one is possibly just a legend."
"Three more Hallows?" The Envoy asked sounding shocked.
"Not Hallows." Zhao Yunlan corrected before he could stop himself. "The tokens were made using Lord Kunlun's blood. They contain some of his power...but can only be wielded if the token chooses you."
"Why is this token not in the Temple of Kunlun?" The Envoy asked in a deceptively soft voice, like velvet covering a wickedly sharp knife.
This he could answer, "Because Kunlun forbade it."
The silence seemed to stretch and then Envoy repeated, "Forbade it? From being kept by the Three Realms?"
"Its written multiple times in the records." Zhao Yunlan said calmly, "Even in the Histories of the Order itself. A book kept completely separate. Its on page three. If the Sect falls, the Order has to recover the Token and hide it." There was a pause heavy enough to be considered tangible, so he added. "Lord Kunlun gave the Token to some loyalist swearing them to secrecy. Whoever they were, they founded the Jade Mountain Sect eventually."
"And you are still one of them?" He asked.
"The Guardian can have no sect affiliation. Only the Order." Zhao Yunlan reminded him. "But yes, the Jade Mountains count me as one of them."
"And this Token...is for what exactly Chief Zhao?" The Envoy asked, sounding not exactly angry or confused as Zhao Yunlan had half-expected, being told about some obscure Haixingren artifact, but rather sounded...lost.
"The problem is not what the Kunlun token does Bixia, but what it means when it chooses someone." He actually had little idea what the token was for. Other than lighting up and giving the recipient power if it liked you. Da Qing had cried like he was at wedding when it happened.
"Please explain." The Envoy entreated, stepping closer still.
"You are likely well aware of this Bixia, but the Token of the Order chooses the next Guardian. Only through the token's acceptance can the full...abilities of the Order be used." Taking a breath and wincing slightly as his ribs protested, he continued, "The last eight Guardians were refused by the token. They operated without the abilities of the Order."
It was a dirty secret and Da Qing would be howling if he knew he was telling the Envoy this. But, it was time to reveal that people like his father and predecessor might have been holding the title, but they weren't holding any actual power. The big moment at the centennial negotiations was the Guardian Token and some displays of power. Hardly something you could if the token was trying to kill you. Whatever they threatened or actually did, it was not the fault of the Order.
"They were false agents?" The Envoy said in a strained tone. "But the Kunlun Token chose you?"
"At fifteen yes." Zhao Yunlan admitted. "It was only after I was in hospital, in Shanghai at the closure of my last case in the city, that the Sect Leader decided to explain."
"Why only then?' The Envoy asked. "I understand you were still a child...but to wait so long..."
"The Sect Leader thought I would be killed if I went back." Wasn't that an irony, he thought. "When we spoke, just before he died...I had been betrayed. Left for dead. I was in hospital too long and my superiors wanted to promote me."
"They wanted you to leave the streets." The Envoy concluded and Zhao Yunlan smiled grateful someone understood.
"Yes. He said that my predecessor was dead and that if the Kunlun Token accepted me, the Order Token would have as well." That was the confession. "What I'm saying Bixia, is that my predecessor did not operate truly as the Guardian. What he did at the Temple of Kunlun, involved, I believe trying to win favor from,"
"But you were already chosen." The Envoy intoned.
"If there is to be punishment on behalf of the Order, for all that Dixing has suffered as a result of this, I ask that you direct blame at me." Zhao Yunlan said squarely. "I am the current Lord Guardian, it is my duty."
The pudao tapped the ground, ice splintering. "I do not blame you for this Chief Zhao. There will be no recompense demanded. You have suffered enough. This is not your burden to carry."
"They," Zhao Yunlan began
"Were false. Claiming to be what they were not. Using the Order for their purposes. Your predecessor is dead. Let his death be the end of it, the punishment demanded if this is what you need." The Envoy said flatly. "If they had been rejected, they may well have brought you harm...as a child. I thank you, Chief Zhao for your honesty."
He stepped away and faced the wall of the rooftop, staring down at the streets below. "I too must offer you honesty Chief Zhao. It does not absolve me of responsibility. Do think that I am trying to absolve myself."
"I'm listening." Zhao Yunlan said numbly, trying to reconcile everything about the Envoy he knew, with the quick forgiveness he had just been offered.
"After the events at the Kunlun Temple, it was suggested that I no longer engage with Haixing directly." The Envoy said calmly. "They suggested I was biased and could rupture the agreements made separately to the Treaty."
"They could have done nothing to those agreements." Zhao Yunlan was quick to reassure. "They didn't have the authority.'
"Perhaps, but I did not know that Chief Zhao." The Envoy replied. "I appointed one of the Ten Judges to act in my stead."
"I can promise that we never met them." Zhao Yunlan said flatly.
"That is what I have recently realized." The Envoy said softly. "As part of the governance of Dixing, the Judges are ministers to the public. The Judge I appointed was murdered three weeks ago in her office."
"The perpetrator?"
"Has not been caught, despite our best efforts." The Envoy explained and Zhao Yunlan frowned.
"Assuming he left for Haixing, you looked this way and realized it wasn't exactly how the reports betrayed it?" He guessed. "I presume the assassins were responsible?"
The Envoy nodded, "Exactly as said."
'When I appointed a replacement, a loyalist of mine...she reported that not only were there reports that made no sense, but there had been no connection with the Order."
"And the agents sent here, were not reporting either." Zhao Yunlan said flatly. At the Envoy's silence, he sighed. "You might think me a fool Bixia, but even I could work that one out."
"I don't think you are a fool." The Envoy said firmly almost snappily. "Far from it. I believe unlike your predecessors, you have integrity."
That actually stunned him into silence for a few seconds. "I hold no grudge against you Bixia. But this is getting out of control. Innocent people are being murdered. Children for one thing. I need to know if you will help us, because right now, we have an assassination group roaming around with powers we have no idea about."
"I will do everything in my power Chief Zhao." The Envoy intoned. "Please tell what you know."
"Only if you do the same Bixia. I need to know how many agents we are talking about." Zhao Yunlan refuted.
The Envoy turned towards the wall once more for a few seconds, as if deciding. There was a snap, like the breaking of a dry branch, but it was silent to everyone else but Zhao Yunlan. He spun, whip already in his hand.
Another snap and he quickly shifted his stance, realizing with dread which way the assassin was. "Get down!' He yelled moving forward, in front of the Envoy.
A gunshot rang out and for the second time this week, Zhao Yunlan felt something tear through his skin, ripping into muscle. He staggered, pain exploding in his chest.
"Chief Zhao!" He heard the Envoy call and saw a blurred shape from the left. Turning, he flicked his whip and heard the crack of a successful blow.
He felt it hit, the ripple up his arm from a hard strike, then he all knew was his body was dropping, the stars blurring. Once more arms curled around him and he turned into them. Shen Wei he thought tasting blood.
Well that wasn't a good first meeting.
At Zhao Yunlan's warning cry, anger thrumming through the syllables, Shen Wei whirled around from the wall where he had been carefully choosing his words, thinking to protect Kunlun. It was his only thought, right up until he realized that the injured man had just bodily thrown himself forward, so the knife spinning in the air, struck him not Shen Wei as it was intended for.
There wasn't enough time to see the blade and block the attack, when Zhao Yunlan was already right there.
It was now protruding from Zhao Yunlan's back.
For a endless moment of time, that was perhaps at most a few seconds, Shen Wei stared at the blade and dimly registered that it was a yuānyāngyuè. The curved blades of the crescent knife arched up to greet the sky, the longest section of exposed blade buried in Zhao Yunlan's body.
His arms embraced Zhao Yunlan's falling form, registering Kunlun's grimace and his anger, without thought and terror swamped him as his love slumped into his hold, not even trying to regain his feet.
Rage had his dark energy lashing out, the strike hitting the gunman directly in the chest. His body fell to ash on the rooftop, falling from the ventilation duct, like sand.
The second attacker, the one who had thrown the knife was wrapped in the sparking coils of the Guardian whip, that had transformed from red leather into white chain. He was screaming, as he twisted, then sobbing.
Dixing aptly called him the Ghost King. From nowhere he returned to the underground world centuries ago and seemed forever undying, unchanging. It was the Ghost King, not even the Envoy that Kunlun had known, that stared for a single second at the trapped man.
It was easy to ignore him, knowing he was contained. It was harder not to lash out and silence those cries, considering his crime.
The gunshot was a distraction and Zhao Yunlan in a split second had worked this out.
My clever fox, why must you take so many chances?
Hurriedly he laid Zhao Yunlan down, realizing that the longest knife of the crescent blade had plunged into Zhao Yunlan back. Judging by his gasping breath, choking, and wheezing sounds, it had gone through into his lung.
When he already had broken ribs and a badly bruised upper chest, from being pummeled by Dixingian strength hands.
"You shouldn't have done this." Shen Wei said angrily, aware he sounded plaintive even to his own ears. The memory of the cliff side millennia ago, when Kunlun had saved his life, was fresh in his mind as if he had lived it yesterday. He supported Zhao Yunlan's back with his knees, trying not to caress his face to reassure. He didn't have permission to do that and in truth, he was the one that needed reassurance, with panic clawing up his throat.
"They...aim...you." The infuriating, precious man rasped out, blood staining his lips but his eyes were wide and defiant. His face was so pale, but those eyes were demanding, foxfire depths that all but glowed, yet were dark enough to be night itself.
"Please don't talk. The blade is in your lung." He retorted somehow sounding level if not calm for all the torment in his soul, cradling him gently. It took more courage, more control than he would have thought possible to gently pull the knife from Kunlun's back. He wanted it gone...wanted to just throw it out in panic...but he swallowed that impulse.
Slowly he eased it out, grimacing unseen at the wet sound it made as it withdrew and Zhao Yunlan's face contorted in agony. It fell with a clatter on the ground and Shen Wei threw up a shield around them in case, others tried their luck. He wasn't moving Zhao Yunlan. Not for worlds was he putting him through that pain.
Shen Wei bit his lip hard, when blood poured from the wound, soaking into the folds of his robes over his knee. "Don't move." He whispered as he channeled energy into the straining chest.
It had been Shen Wei who had made the deal from before. Where he would only heal the life-threatening injuries and the ones that no one knew of. Justice was to be served using the documented evidence, lacerated and bruised into Zhao Yunlan's skin.
Well, that evidence had been documented, Shen Wei thought grimly. And the deal had not been made with the Lord Envoy, but with Shen Wei.
Same person, same deal. Kunlun's voice said in his ear.
You don't know that it is the same person. He replied silently.
A technicality that chipped away at the barrier of respect and honor, for he was going against Zhao Yunlan's will, his request. But, with blood seeping once more into his robes, far more of it than he ever wanted to witness leaving this precious body, Shen Wei thought Kunlun might forgive him for breaking the deal.
He channeled energy into Zhao Yunlan's body, cradling him to his chest on the rooftop. His eyes, those stunning foxfire orbs were now closed, breath coming in shallow pants and the hand buried in the loose material of his robes was white-knuckled with agony.
Shen Wei wanted to stroke that hand, wanted to caress the pain lines along his eyes, wanted to erase even the memory of pain, but he couldn't. He wasn't allowed, Kunlun's didn't remember him...
So this time he focused on healing the knife wound, repairing and rebuilding the torn lung. He was rewarded immediately with hearing and feeling Zhao Yunlan's chest expand, breath ghosting over his skin. It was the sweetest relief and beat back some of the terror clawing its way up his throat.
Then he moved outwards, healing the fractured scapula and the intense bruising around his ribcage on the other side of his chest, where he had just had surgery to reset his ribs.
If he let himself think, he was going to shatter.
If he let himself consider what this wound meant, the possibility that that such wounds had happened before, that this man was being harassed, hounded and hurt weekly by mercenaries...that he was a law enforcement officer before he was the Lord Guardian...he was going to shatter.
If he let himself absorb the fact that this was a mortal wound, that without Shen Wei's intervention, he would have bled out on this rooftop, or in his hospital room....he was going to shatter.
If he connected that whether he needed saving or not, Zhao Yunlan had just saved his life, by nearly giving his own. Exactly as Kunlun had millennia ago, shooting the Enemy Chieftain and several of his soldiers when Shen Wei was facing certain death. That this was connected to the life debt he already owed the man. Two life debts now.
He didn't have time and Zhao Yunlan certainly didn't, for him to shatter.
The one advantage was that Shen Wei was conditioned, through a lifetime of war to compartmentalize. To fight and function, until the quiet eventually came. When he could step away and sink into the horror and darkness, without anyone realizing. Where he could grieve and panic, relive this terrifying moment and remember the slick wet, too red blood staining his hands.
A place where he could quietly break, then rebuild himself.
So with a calm he certainly didn't feel, he healed the significant damage and only took a full breath, when Zhao Yunlan could.
It took a lot more self-control to relinquish the grip he had on Zhao Yunlan's body, when the man shift, eyes widening when he realized he was lying in Shen Wei's lap. To not fumble his way through words that might reassure, and break his own heart. To not frantically check again, when Zhao Yunlan coughed and blood dotted his full lower lip, or to use his sleeve to wipe it away.
The first words however, from his lips were naturally ones that could easily break Shen Wei's calm and had nothing to do with the awkward political situation. "Are you okay?" He asked, in a rasping voice, eyes concerned as they wandered over Shen Wei's...The Envoy's robes.
There were a hundred replies to that question, but first Shen Wei needed to bite back his temper. He was about to 'calmly' inform Zhao Yunlan that he absorbed dark energy and he was a highly experienced, powerful war general, perfectly capable of creating shields and defensive fronts, none of which required the sacrifice of Zhao Yunlan....
...But in the pause, Zhao Yunlan had already turned his head looking at the still writhing, now whimpering assassin. A complicated expression stole Shen Wei's attention, diverting his anger. "Chief Zhao?" He asked concerned.
"You know, by sending him," He said gesturing at the man, as he eased off Shen Wei's knees, leaving him feeling cold and foolishly bereft, "They have actually given us something priceless."
The only thing priceless on this roof was Zhao Yunlan's life, so Shen Wei asked in a tightly retrained voice, "You know him ?"
"Camera Guy." Zhao Yunlan said with a flapping gesture, his eyebrows lifted. Then he turned his head, eyes as sharp as a hawk's. "I will not have you harmed on my watch." He said it evenly and with the solidness of stone.
It derailed Shen Wei's arguments, his counters and defied the terror written into the beat of his heart. "Not at the cost of your life!" Shen Wei snapped.
Shockingly Zhao Yunlan smiled.
"I'm pleased you think me dying is a cost." He said and Shen Wei felt his heart stop for a second.
Ruthlessly he shoved his reaction to that statement away, to address later. To turn over obsessively in the quiet and solitude of his own space, considering every possible reason, every heartbreaking reason why Zhao Yunlan actually sounded earnest, cautiously surprised. As if the concept of someone treasuring his life was unheard of and something to distrust.
Because in this strange, dreamlike moment on a hospital rooftop millennia after he first fell in love with this man, their roles seemed almost reversed. Ten thousand years ago, Kunlun was the first person to see Shen Wei, to value him as more than a soldier, a general, a tool in an endless bloody war. A person, with thoughts and feelings and ideas, never spoken, never shared.
Zhao Yunlan had to know that he was priceless. He had to.
If he didn't, Shen Wei would spend the rest of his life showing, telling him that he was, until he believed it.
You are everything to me. There is no price I will not pay to keep you alive.
"I will not accept your death." Shen Wei said instead and it was the cold, honest truth for all it made no sense. Except that 'not' was in complete truth actually 'never', but as Shen Wei had learned, truth has layers.
Zhao Yunlan seemed cut adrift by this statement and Shen Wei knew he was going to question it. So he added, "You saved my life."
This had that beautiful head tilting, and that stunning sharp mind turning. "You just saved mine Bixia. I think we are even there."
No. Not even. Not even close.
Shen Wei watched as he moved his shoulder, "And you fixed my shoulder!" His smile turned sweet and Shen Wei was utterly lost, spellbound.
The sudden transformation to hardened cop was stark, all warmth and softness gone as if it had never existed. "Dead Leader from the warehouse where I was held Bixia, was visited by this one. He wanted me dead, clean and quick to cover up what the renegade was doing."
Shen Wei's gaze focused on the man with cold intent. "He will face justice for that."
Zhao Yunlan made a clicking sound with his tongue and Shen Wei was immediately looking at him. "He'll face justice for more than that I hope. I can pin him to five murders, eight at a push. He's on camera stalking the victims, both Haixingren and Dixingian."
Watching Zhao Yunlan gazing at the shimmering shield around them, then glancing at every concealing structure on the rooftop, with a flat interested expression, Shen Wei became aware of the world around them. It was easy to become lost in Kunlun. It always had been.
Traffic was beginning to move on the streets, the sky lightening significantly. There were so many things he wanted to ask, so many things he needed to think about. The Token. The deaths.
Just this meeting was staggering progress considering everything that lay around them. But Shen Wei had hope now. A platform to work on building trust and a thin dark energy tether that connected him to Zhao Yunlan.
He could feel the life thrumming through Kunlun even now, the heady power so different to his own, the warmth he had missed so much. Shen Wei held onto that tether, that warmth and was no longer alone.
I have missed you so much.
The warmth settled in his chest. He could feel it tingling in his fingers and when he focused, he could sense with perfect clarity where he was. The shape of him, the heat of him. It wasn't right and he certainly had no permission for doing this, but Shen Wei was weak. He knew he could not leave this man's side, after all of this, without that tether.
"I have taken up a great deal of your time Chief Zhao." He said formally, gathering his restraint, his courage. Now he rose from the ground when Zhao Yunlan did, trying to ignore the still wet blood on his robes and focused on the other half of his soul, who now looked at him quizzically.
"I asked for a meeting." Zhao Yunlan, his tone neutral, reserving judgment or hiding anger. A fox waiting for his prey or the other predator to make a move.
"And I am incredibly grateful that you did. That you chose to place trust, however sorely abused, in my hands." Shen Wei said with as much warmth as he could allow. "We have much to discuss."
"I am willing to answer your questions. Willing to place my faith and trust in you." Shen Wei said formally, the words he thought he would never say to a Lord Guardian. But there was no else Shen Wei would ever trust as he did Kunlun. "Only you."
There was safety in Kunlun's hands. There was loyalty, justice and kindness in that heart. There was salvation in those eyes, a home and a place of sanctuary. A righteous, clever and jaded hero.
Shen Wei's hero.
Once he had given himself over to those hands, given and entrusted the lives of the remaining Dixingian forces. Not once did Kunlun let him down. Even when the benefits outweighed the advantages poor as they were, Kunlun never betrayed him. Never let a single Dixingian die, when he might have suffered less if he had.
Dixing was no longer few in number, struggling or poor, but without any hesitation, Shen Wei pressed their future and safety into Zhao Yunlan's hands.
That full lush mouth twisted in momentary indecision and Shen Wei felt as though he was balanced on a knife edge. Then he nodded and said at length, "This situation Bixia, is not one I can trust with Haixing."
Shen Wei unseen frowned at this, confused and with the acidic burn of worry, but Zhao Yunlan huffed an entirely unamused laugh and gestured to the man on the ground. "There are factions at play both here and Underground Bixia. People who want or would at least prefer both of us dead and who are willing to pay to see that happen."
Shen Wei considered everything he knew about Kunlun, remembered the strategies of old, the nights spent tracing lines on a faded map, Kunlun's fingers rewriting history as they sketched plans and made a mockery of their enemy. He realized as a student of this man's tactics, what Zhao Yunlan was hinting at. "You wish to set a trap."
A pleased expression flitted across that beautiful face and Shen Wei's heart swooped like a swallow in the light of the setting sun. Then it settled on a determined thoughtful expression and for a moment Shen Wei was back in the deep caves of headquarters, looking up at Kunlun as he tapped a dagger on the map.
"Arresting the assassins and taking down their group will not be easy, but they are only doing what they were paid for. Someone has paid a great deal, spent a long time planning this." Zhao Yunlan said pointing idly at the man. A flick of his hand and an array shaped like the symbol of the Guardian Order hit the man. The whip uncoiled and in its place gold bands locked around his hands and feet. Another talisman was slapped on his mouth, glowing purple for a second.
He glared and struggled, but the muting talisman and the golden bindings held. The whip returned to its dull red color, with its long painfully familiar white and black tassel. Zhao Yunlan collected it calmly, shifting his feet gracefully when the assassin tried to kick him.
"If we remove them," Shen Wei said considering what Zhao Yunlan was not saying carefully. "The actual people responsible for these murders and for these attacks on the Order, will never face justice. This unacceptable."
"That we can agree on Bixia." Zhao Yunlan said, re-winding the whip around his waist. "The mercenary attacks on me were organized and must have been expensive. An expensive distraction that had the bonus of possibly ending my life."
Beneath his mash Shen Wei frowned and hidden within the long sleeves of his cloak, his hands tightened into fists. Zhao Yunlan however continued blithely. "From what you told me, several enemies colluded to remove you from a position where you interacted often with the Order, possibly by triggering my idiotic predecessor."
"You spoke of him looking for favor?" Shen Wei asked softly. "If the Token had chosen you and was refusing him, what favor could he seek within the Temple?"
A temple built to worship yes, but also to remember the fallen. A place people from all three Realms went to confess, grieve and remember. It was the place to honor the murdered and battle slain, to give thanks for another year of good fortune and peace. Shen Wei had gone there regularly from the first moment he had learned the place existed. He maintained it with some of the more devoted Yashou.
Da Qing probably went there, he thought. It was in the middle of the countryside, down a lonely path from Dixing that was hidden from curious eyes and accessed normally by the quiet modern road. The mountains rose above the building, a winding path taking you up the temple bridge, a feeling of serenity and something ancient lingered here.
Shen Wei often walked along the pretty bridge, marveling at the clever design balancing strength with beauty. Perfect to represent someone who smiled lightly, and shifted the world while you looked solely at him. He would watch the river below, framed by willows and river bank grasses, as it disappeared into the mountain stone.
Now he wondered if the Jade Mountain Sect were the ones who maintained it. If they were the ones who had built it and wondered further why they followed Kunlun's teachings. He followed Kunlun's teachings devotedly, a devout student...but it seemed so odd that this Sect would carry this torch so long after all memory of his love had vanished.
Kunlun never showed his hand and Shen Wei never thought of looking for any hint of deception. Millennia later he was well-versed in finding such things in other people, mainly in the Crown court, but even he could tell that Zhao Yunlan was strangely uncomfortable suddenly. "What's wrong?" He asked gently.
"I have no proof," Zhao Yunlan said cagily. Shen Wei only stared.
"But I think he was planning on using a...a dark...forbidden...array to...force the Token to accept him, using the power of the Temple, or else assumed the Kunlun Token itself was hidden within the Kunlun Temple." The breaks in his speech were not stuttered, but they were pauses that hinted of other words, unsaid, discarded that were even more damning.
Kunlun never sounded what he actually said, so the pauses were in fact an entire library of things he wanted known but refused to say.
Shen Wei despite everything smiled. His love was so often complicated and enjoyed making things needlessly complex.
Continuing his line of thought...This was why Kunlun didn't want the Token anywhere near the public, if he had made it for a specific function. It wasn't distrust or some failure on Shen Wei's part.
Knowing Kunlun he probably thought it would be lost or forgotten after whatever purpose it was created for, had been fulfilled. Kunlun didn't keep things he wasn't interested in. Either that, if his suspicions were accurate, Kunlun made the thing for himself to use in the future and wanted some way of making it mystical enough, followers of his teachings would keep it secret.
Were these teachings and followers the people Kunlun had taught basic cultivation to? His own brand of cultivation, his martial arts that were even now unique. His students like Ma Gui, himself and Da Qing included? Were these the people who began the Jade Mountain Sect?
Was Da Qing the one entrusted with the Token? It made sense it if were. The cat seemed to be able to absorb Kunlun's power easily and also seemed to be immune to its more destructive side. Either that, or Lord Ma Gui.
Which meant it had been forged using his power, which most Dixingians could not directly handle. Even Shen Wei could not interact with Kunlun's power for long. So giving it to Dixing would be like handing them a grenade to cherish.
"You think it is possible someone told him this?" Shen Wei asked.
Zhao Yunlan snorted. "I don't think he did much thinking on his own."
Which implied that the feud between the Order and himself was planned. "Why kill the Judge obviously working for them? She was killed brutally, in her office no less, with a Haixingren silencing talisman on the door."
Zhao Yunlan considered this and ventured, "Without more information Bixia, I suppose she might have been buckling under the weight of the deception. Or someone else who was here in Haixing was pushing for action, for an audience with you. She might have been murdered to deflect suspicion. Couldn't frame it as suicide or it went wrong and they settled for making it look like her enemies had killed her. Pile blame on her and deflect attention."
Chu Shuzhi was pushing for an audience, for action to protect Zhao Yunlan. The people monitoring the missing agents had been trying to speak with him and perhaps the main trigger had been one of his own Circle, worried when his brother had stopped making contact. A brother he had yet to find.
"It was rushed and not as believable as they hoped." Shen Wei intoned. "They left the reports that were distinctly different to the ones given to me by trusted officers."
"I have little doubt that you are right Chief Zhao." Shen Wei said decisively. "But this means that there are agents on both sides of the border who wish you harm."
'Difficult for them to act just now." Zhao Yunlan said gesturing at the struggling man. "He's a paid assassin possibly for Dixing and he just failed his mission. The Bureau can do nothing, if they are involved, as I have just very publicly survived. Dead Leader is the end of the investigation for them. They have no way of knowing how much I know."
"If guards take him back to Dixing, it will alert the enemy." Shen Wei said unhappily.
"Lao Chu can deported him back to Dixing as a high value prisoner transport. He is guilty of at least five murders, but its likely the enemy in Dixing will want him dead before he can talk."
"If I transport him personally Chief Zhao, no one needs to know in Dixing just yet." Shen Wei said considering his options. He wanted to know everything, because not only did the lives of would-be-victims rest on this information, but the life of man in front of him did.
"I can't be sure that the Bureau hasn't compromised my office." Zhao Yunlan said irritably. "Until I am sure we are once more secure, I cannot take him and risk losing him."
Shen Wei looked at the sky. "The world is waking and your presence will be missed. I will take him to Dixing and report back my findings."
Zhao Yunlan looked at him for a long searching moment. "I'll get my team to analyze every murder we can pin on him," Pointing once more at the man, "And try and make a profile for potential victims."
"If your office is not entirely secure," Shen Wei ventured, wincing at the aggrieved expression that immediately cross Zhao Yunlan's face. "Where can we next meet?"
Then he winced again. That had sounded like they were courting. Which he desperately wanted but now was not the time!
Thankfully Zhao Yunlan didn't laugh or tease him, despite the obvious choice of salacious comment that would have been inspired in Kunlun. Instead he looked thoughtful. "Anywhere of mine will be under surveillance for a few days at least."
"Shen Wei's garden will be secure for us to converse Chief Zhao."
An eyebrow rose. "I owe Shen Wei a great deal. I don't want to needlessly trouble him."
Warmth blossomed and embarrassment had his cheeks heating behind his mask. He wanted to flatly deny Zhao Yunlan owed him anything, but could only offer, "He will not mind."
"I will collect you from SID or another location if you wish." Shen Wei offered softly.
"I will be expected to remain home for a few days considering," Zhao Yunlan ran a hand down his front, indicating his external chest fixator. Shen Wei swallowed and refocused his attention on those stunning eyes.
"I will open a portal to your apartment with your permission." Shen Wei offered, "Tomorrow night?"
"That works." Zhao Yunlan said agreeably.
Shen Wei contained every emotion and thought that engendered...ruthlessly. "Do you need help returning downstairs?"
"No, thank you Bixia." Zhao Yunlan said and strode over to the man on the ground. A quick check of his clothes as he fought uselessly and no doubt insulted Zhao Yunlan every way he could think of, produced a smartphone.
"I'll confiscate this as evidence and find all his connections Bixia." Zhao Yunlan said triumphantly. "I'll also call Lao Chu. I don't need a hospital but I'm under surveillance, so I'll stay until the morning officially. Lao Chu can drive me to SID later. They won't try again. Too frightening that their team didn't report in. They'll wait a little longer."
Considering that Shen Wei had planted loyalists to watch over Zhao Yunlan for his remaining time in hospital and was going to warn Chu Shuzhi to be careful, he only nodded. "Very well."
There is undeniable power in the carefully organized exit. Even more can be found in relaxed responses and an unhurried walk, the polite warm smile and smoothly directed disappearing act.
After all, if you have nothing to hide and no need to rush, why would you?
So Zhao Yunlan waited until he spoke with the doctors and had his mini miraculous recovery assessed. The Lord Envoy had kindly left the more minor injuries, the bruises and lacerations behind when he healed the knife wound and surgical site. So he played the role of the injured shoulder still and avoided having an X-ray that would be a little too telling.
He couldn't explain away the suddenly perfectly fine shoulder but he could explain the way he could breathe normally, as a product of self-healing through cultivation practices. The in-house cultivation expert had not long graduated and had never actually treated a high-level cultivator, which was helpful.
They stood around shocked and awed by this overnight progress and carefully checked him over. He offered the super-complex explanation of the process, with the necessary mystical elements... and with the right about of charm, they bought it.
This meant that four hours after he had met with the Envoy, he was sauntering down the hospital corridors with Chu Shuzhi as if he had all the time in the world.
The reason for this long-winded deception was simple. Zhao Yunlan knew he had to protect his team and himself from being investigated any further.
He couldn't risk it for many reasons. Firstly, the Bureau couldn't investigate the assassins, partly due to jurisdiction and partly because they would ruin any chance of apprehending the entire group. Like fighting a mild blaze with a blow torch.
The Xingdu Bureau had been humiliated and people like his father took that badly. Plus, the offender was a Dixingian criminal and they didn't seem to be expanding the search as he did to other cases.
Dead Leader from what Da Qing had told him, had no prior convictions, was not on the watch-list and was of course dead along with most of his paid-for thugs.
The overt scrutiny and full interrogation of his people had alarmed Zhao Yunlan. Searching their offices and the pathway of the questions was a sign that the Bureau believed that SID had some link to Dead Leader, one they were hiding.
This meant inevitably that scrutiny was going to follow SID for at least a week. His father was going to be watching, considering the embarrassment and the connection to baby agent Wen and his own son. Two kidnap victims he personally knew and that meant dear old dad had been made to answer some interesting questions, from higher-ups and his own team.
No, this investigation had to be closed with the death of Dead Leader. With no follow-on leads and no further problems, the Bureau would move on and so would the scrutiny. The negotiations were rapidly appearing on the horizon and this had to be dust by the time that happened.
So Zhao Yunlan wore his sling and got Chu Shuzhi to drive him to the office. Once the congratulations over surviving were over, he collapsed onto the office sofa and demanded answers.
Lin Jing had checked everywhere he could for bugs and other recording devices. Zhu Hong had accounted for every document they had taken away and had already contacted the hospital and Bureau to get them to return his things. Wang Zheng had double-checked the surveillance cameras that were not standard issue, cataloguing everywhere the agents went and what they touched.
Old Li had made sure that no one had set any arrays, as a mid-level cultivator himself and Da Qing had shone as the Deputy interfacing with the agents, while Chu Shuzhi took Xiao Guo and tracked down leads or sat as the two perfect employees at their desks.
Relief settled like a butterfly landing on a leaf. Temporary and ethereal for someone as cynical as the Chief. As soon as the feeling passed, he ordered them to gather around.
Taking a sheet of talisman paper, he scrawled a design in red paint and burnt it quickly. It appeared in the air as a shining golden mark that expanded into a blue and gold shield around the sofa and desks.
"Isn't that a bit extreme?" Da Qing asked from the table where he sat as a cat.
"What I'm about to tell you is confidential and will affect the negotiations." Zhao Yunlan said firmly, ignoring that. At once all of them gave him their full attention, complete with worried looks and angry shuffling from Lao Chu. "When I escaped from the warehouse I was pursued by several thugs." He began carefully considering what he wanted to say.
"The agents found their bodies." Guo Changcheng blurted and the entire room looked at him. He blanched but Zhao Yunlan smiled with faux friendliness.
"Glad to see you working with other agencies Xiao Guo." He praised sarcastically but Xiao smiled tentatively and Lin Jing rolled his eyes.
"Well around that time when the running people became corpses, I was helped by a Dixingian agent working for the Lord Envoy." Admitting he was one of the Circle wouldn't help matters so Zhao Yunlan avoided mentioning that. For one thing no one would believe him.
"Why would the Envoy send anyone to help when Dixing has been trying to kill you?" Zhu Hong demanded, pursing her perfectly painted red lips. Her hand went to her hip in a defiant gesture when Chu Shuzhi angrily glared at her.
"Because the Lord Envoy has uncovered a plot against him within Dixing." Zhao Yunlan said simply. Before this could begin another round of argument between the pro-Envoy and anti-Envoy camps in his office, he continued. "This in turn relates to our current problem."
Being a little sparing with the complete truth, he explained the meeting with the Envoy and murder of the Judge in Dixing. Camera Guy was now in Dixing with the Envoy and said Emperor had promised that he would meet him again tonight and provide all the information he had gained from interrogating said suspect.
He glossed over the attack and Shen Wei, but reminded them that the negotiations had to go smoothly and an attack by assassins was not going to look good. They needed to work out the pattern of victims and try to figure out the end goal. If disruption and bad press was the idea, why those people as targets? If that was the bonus and not the main purpose, why subtly kill these particular people if terror is what you want?
Then on top of that, they still had a murder to solve.
"The Bureau has spent a year trying to undermine us and try to damage us over Dead Leader." He said shortly.
'Why?" Asked Lin Jing plaintively.
"Because not everyone in the Bureau wants the negotiations to go well. Xenophobia is the too easy answer." Zhao Yunlan warned them. "We've been hearing whispers of corruption about my predecessor from day one. SID is clean, but the Order has been tarnished over missing money, artifacts and everything from suspect harassment to murder in the cells."
"The Bureau is going to be keeping SID under surveillance. Agents are likely going to be appearing here to nose around under the cover sheet of tying up loose ends. Get me the files on the murder and when they come in, let's be ready to welcome them." Zhao Yunlan finished with a cold smile. "No mess. No aggravation. Let's be done with them."
It took them another two hours. Enough time for Zhao Yunlan to reorganize his paperwork, for his mood to worsen over the mess they left behind and the gaps in his records. He maintained scrupulous records and of course back up copies. What they removed were not the originals, because he was slightly paranoid, but it was the principle!
So when Lin Jing opened his office door hurriedly, already ducking like he knew he was going to have face down an enraged tiger, he all but shouted, "They're here Boss!"
"Record on." He snapped and made a show of waiting. He collected a simple folder and glanced out his glass windows into the office. Chu Shuzhi was writing on the whiteboard, pinning up a new photo of their main suspect. Xiao Guo was at his computer writing a report and Zhu Hong was 'greeting' the agents leading them into the bullpen. Wang Zheng and Lin Jing were in the labs with Old Li.
Show time. He thought with a smile. Leaving his office with his sling firmly in place, he wandered into the doorway, asking loudly without looking up, "Zhu Hong, what did you learn from the friend?"
He had stopped calling her Zhu Hong just after her probation week ended, preferring Hong-jie or shimei when he was in a bad mood. It was the truth after all. She and Wang Zheng felt like his sisters.
He had been waiting for exactly this, but lowered the folder as if he had been surprised, seeing an older man with greying temples and a woman with her hair pinned into a bun. Zhu Hong said into the space in her most cutting tone, a hand flicking from one to the other. "Agents Li and Fan. They've come to return your items Chief."
Saying that Zhu Hong stepped away from the agents, contrasting from their demure and matching dark blue suits, in her brilliant white blazer, offered him the bags. One contained his missing dagger and the other contained his wallet and keys. "We recovered them from the crime scene Chief Zhao." The man, Agent Li on the right said with faux warmth.
Opening the bag he removed the dagger, intentionally making it burst into flame for a second, just to see what they would do. Both reared back and Zhu Hong simply turned and walked back to her desk, to answer the phone. Tucking the dagger into his sling, he opened the other bag ignoring the agents and took out his wallet and keys.
The money was missing but his credit cards were in place and a small wad of talisman paper. The slim leather pouch that contained his oil pastels, charcoal and slate chalk pencils was intact. Cinnabar was so messy and carcinogenic. Expensive too these days.
"I didn't expect to see you up and about Chief Zhao." The woman, Agent Fan said in what appeared to be pleasant surprise.
"Oh I'm not on active duty yet I'm afraid." He replied, flashing a bright smile. "But we were investigating a murder before I was chained in a warehouse. I was just ascertaining what my team had discovered in my absence and organizing our next steps."
"Any leads?" Agent Li asked as if this was casual conversation, "You shouldn't push yourself Chief Zhao. You nearly died...or so I was told."
"Tying up some loose ends and then an arrest tonight when our guy shows up." Zhao Yunlan replied, his tone still easy. Then he made a show of handing Zhu Hong the folder and gestured to his office. "At least I saved you a trip to the hospital. We might as well get this over with now."
"Now Chief?" Agent Fan asked pretending to be confused.
"The interview for the official record?" Zhao Yunlan replied, a little confusion bleeding into his tone. "I doubt you came here for the view or look at our suspect list." He said with a soft huff of amusement. " The Minister of Justice assured me not an hour ago, that as I didn't kill all the thugs, the Ministry is planning to prosecute when they are released from hospital."
There was a benefit to saving the Minister of Justice's life and never asking for a favor in return. That and he liked to drink and within a month of moving back here, Zhao Yunlan had managed to be invited to a wedding, every party and at least three dinner gatherings held by the Minister and his family.
That and the Minister and his wife were members of the Jade Mountain Sect.
"Of course." Agent Li said smoothly, after a moment. "You're right. We were coming to see you."
Right....I believe that and Da Qing is light enough to fly. Zhao Yunlan thought sourly but his Chief face was firmly fixed.
The fact that they sauntered into his office like they had some Divine Right, pissed him off. The second fact that they had chosen to do this, because they thought he was staring at a hospital ceiling, also pissed him off.
It was there in the too sharp smile that was pure insincerity and a bright gaze that easily communicated his true state of mind to his team, especially Da Qing watching from the library above who smiled, pleased that it was the agents facing Lao Zhao's wrath. The rest of his team looked busy. Zhu Hong walked like a catwalk model to the labs and Chu Shuzhi studiously read a file and cross-checked something on his screen.
"Please come into my office." He invited, making sure to touch his 'injured' arm.
As they turned to follow where he pointed to the glass doors that marked his personal office, Zhao Yunlan whirled red sparks in his hand subtly as he walked behind them. Grey lines appeared in the air for a moment and then fell to the floor to shatter into nothing.
Agent Li staggered slightly, but righted himself quickly. Wasn't that telling? Zhao Yunlan thought snidely. "Are you alright Agent Li?"
"Yes. Sorry. Tripped over my own feet." He lied quickly, flustered as Zhao Yunlan opened the office door.
Serves you right for using illegal talismans in my office.
As soon as they were clear, the entire SID team hurried into Lin Jing's labs. "Have you got it?" Da Qing demanded, "Chief's pissed and if you don't want him pissed at you, you better have it!"
"I've got it, I've got it." Lin Jing replied stressed enough without that threat looming over him. "Both are wearing wires and its transmitting to the van parked down the street. One is wearing a camera and I'm already tracing its home location."
Though why on earth anyone would feel the need to wear a wire to SID offices, that were loosely a law enforcement department, but also a diplomatic division and something else entirely, he wasn't sure. This made no sense whatsoever. But Chief had known they were coming here with wiretaps and that was plain disturbing.
Putting the link on screen, they watched as the person wearing the camera, "Glasses?" Zhu Hong asked sounding unimpressed. "Must be Agent Fan."
"Glasses." Lin Jing confirmed. On screen the person sat down, opposite Chief while the other one was forced to stand. Chief didn't offer him a chair either.
Chief was wearing a neutral face, but his eyes were intent and deeply assessing. He wasn't playing the charming role or the relaxed one. This was all hard edges and barely concealed power.
Agent Fan shifted uncomfortably. It was a skill of Chief's. To make some uncomfortable, disturbed even without actually doing anything overt. "So Chief Zhao," She began glancing at Agent Li who nodded. "Why did you go to the tea house, in your own words?"
Almost done.
Shen Wei looked at his watch, the hands of time glowing faintly in the dark. Almost time too.
Not that he had set a specific time for this meeting, but he wanted it to be at a reasonable hour. Zhao Yunlan had been through a horrific experience, had been nearly fatally wounded and was despite what he might pretend, exhausted. The last thing he needed was more sleep deprivation.
Shen Wei leaned down and set the last dark energy light to hover above the surface of the water. It floated as a softly glowing pale light, pulsing a gentle blue and then an off-white color, illuminating the edge nicely.
He wanted this to be good. Decades of planning for a future involving Kunlun visiting these gardens, had fallen to the wayside when he found Kunlun only days ago, but that didn't mean he wanted him to leave this time with a poor impression. Of Shen Wei as a host or of the cottage.
It wasn't a home and he was over thinking this, but he had built it in Kunlun's memory...so that made it...that meant that he had built it for Kunlun...didn't it?
And as it was for Kunlun....then it was Kunlun's house and Shen Wei wanted him to like it. Ridiculous and desperate, he thought... but no amount of discipline could shake the painfully strong need to make a good impression.
Love makes fools of us all. He thought with a soft laugh.
Rising, he dusted his suit pants and checked his handiwork nervously. The cottage was pristine. A new table purchased in Dixing was now in the middle of the main room, carved from safe trees not from the underground woods that could harm Zhao Yunlan's health. Better to be paranoid than risk harming his compromised health. Not Kunlun.
He had purchased a new collection of bed sheets in a light blue after hours of consideration, a matching quilt embroidered with small white flowers and a modern mattress. He had replaced the old crockery with an Imperial set and spent half an hour frantically cleaning
Lights had been set at intervals along the garden path and Shen Wei had swept the stone work only an hour ago, to ensure that Zhao Yunlan could safely walk along here without being harmed. He did not have Shen Wei's night vision and as much he wanted to believe that his love had properly rested during their time apart, he knew Kunlun's tendency to overwork.
He had chosen this area for the portal, on the other side of the garden away from the memorial tree and closer to the night plants, that he hoped Zhao Yunlan would like.
Kunlun had often spoken of plants and had expressed delight in the idea of flowers that bloomed overnight. Knowing Kunlun loved ferns and anemones, he had planted thick rows of cascading favorites, joining the flowering tobacco and Dixingian white lilies that lined the short avenue between the trees and pond.
At the end of the path behind Shen Wei was a wall of moonlight pearl flowers, their large leaves glowing blue in the nighttime air.
Switching to his formal black cloak, Shen Wei took up position in the middle of the avenue. He had chosen his Emperor robes, with the fine embroidery along the sleeves and the more elaborate belt.
Readying this garden and the cottage behind had taken far longer than extracting the information from the prisoner and the arduous but necessary court audience to decree his new policies.
Namely that anyone who attacks the Lord Guardian, or the Order itself would be met with the harshest of punishments.
All the while the Judges were arguing, Shen Wei had been considering his life choices. He desperately needed a plan for this new era in his life.
All the time he had spent rebuilding Dixing, modernizing and improving this dark world for its citizens, he had been waiting. Poised always on the edge of flight like a bird waiting for the rains to end. Now the time had come and Shen Wei despite his joy, had realized he wasn't ready.
The quiet life of Professor Shen Wei had taught him about Haixing, gave him an outlet and connections between the sunlit world and the darkness. Through this time, he had discovered inventions he could replicate in Dixing, modern systems that would work Below and ways to remedy issues that, while not the purpose, had ensured he remained popular with his people.
Banking, education reforms, trade, technology, energy generation...all the things he had been able to achieve through the life of Professor Shen, but....
...He was the king of Dixing, supposed to live in the Imperial Palace underground, presiding over state affairs.
...But he lived in Dragon City University housing in Haixing as a Professor of bio-engineering, with a sub-specialty in genetics.
...How was he going to match both lives up with the world of Zhao Yunlan?
When he had also created Shen Wei, a member of the Imperial Circle, who were Imperial Guards and some of his oldest loyalists?
And then there was his position as the Black Robed Envoy, who he now refused to give up, considering it was his only current way of contacting the love of his life and reason for continuing to exist.
He had to find a way to balance everything, but in the mean time, they had a crisis to solve.
Eventually, when he had run out of tasks, he checked everything one last time before focusing on the single thread of power that connected him to Zhao Yunlan. Immersed himself in the faint but heady feeling of Kunlun's life force and ripped open a portal through space.
Within moments, a tall figure stepped through the swirling black gateway and Shen Wei stared.
When Zhao Yunlan said he would dress up for their next meeting, he had not been joking.
A short black leather jacket zipped up to protect him from the chill in the air and promise of rain forecast for the night, over black jeans that sculpted long legs and lean muscular thighs, down to black combat boots.
Hidden by the hood of his cloak, Shen Wei's eyes roamed hungrily over his form. Noting the crescents of blue beneath his stunning eyes that spoke of little sleep and too much stress, but was pleased to see the creases of pain around his mouth had all but vanished.
Shen Wei noticed everything, his mind already cataloging all the differences and changes from the last time he had seen him. Zhao Yunlan had trimmed his beard and shaved his cheeks, washed his hair in a shampoo that smelled of bamboo and was wearing a watch on his wrist.
He had no doubt that he had his whip concealed somewhere on his person, his daggers and at least two guns.
Another person meeting the love of their life once more, might have been offended about the weaponry, but Shen Wei was pleased, thinking him sensible, all things considered.
He was lovely in the light of the dark energy lanterns and stunning in the moonlight.
He also looked...faintly satisfied. A cat who had successfully stolen a fish. It fell somewhere on a line between smug and the content of a plan that went exactly as you hoped.
"Bixia." He greeted, using that odd archaic title. He might have rebelled, this was Kunlun, what need for titles did they have? But, the sparkle in his eyes and the curve of his lips, when his mouth shaped the word, was precious all on its own. Besides, chances were high that if he did this correctly, they would keep working together.
If that did happen and somehow they could forge a working, functional relationship, then knowing Kunlun as he did...because he did know him...chances were even higher that Kunlun would relax and ease up on the restraining formality.
It was a relief to be able to see, past the modern look and carefully constructed facade that let someone as otherworldly as Zhao Yunlan actually thrive in this world, there was so much that was truly Kunlun. It was there in those curving lips, in the immediate delight as he leaned a little more into the Dixingian night jasmine to breathe in the scent, in the gait that reminded him then and now of a pacing tiger.
And frankly, considering everything, a formal title like Bixia was not the worst Zhao Yunlan could have come up with. His love was petty enough to use something far more dramatic disguised as faked respect.
He had been upset, genuinely on the hospital rooftop, so had opted for something he felt comfortable using, otherwise Shen Wei shuddered to think what he could have gone for. Zhao Yunlan's predecessor had called him Gracious Starlit Emperor of the Underground Realm, Cloaked in Black Shadows.
So Shen Wei restrained his happiness at seeing Zhao Yunlan and instead poured respect and as much warmth as he felt he could get away with into his greeting, "Chief Zhao."
And as Shen Wei couldn't get away with reaching for his hand, which was the impulse he was fighting at the moment, he settled for stepping closer and asking the important question, "Are you well?"
"Bixia is most kind." He replied with a devilish smile, "I'm good. One less murderer on the streets. Chu Shuzhi will be escorting him to Dixing about now."
Ah, that explained the satisfied expression. Shen Wei thought. "Has the Bureau relinquished their part in this case?"
Zhao Yunlan shrugged, "Partially Bixia. SID remains under surveillance."
A drop of rain landed on the stone work between them.
"Please Chief Zhao," Shen Wei said quickly turning slightly to gesture to the cottage. "Come inside. There is no need to talk in the rain."
Not to mention the man had only a short time ago been in surgery to fix his broken ribs. Tortured, hung in chains and deprived of basic needs like food and water, Zhao Yunlan could very easily get sick. If he got a chest infection, who would take care of him?
Zhao Yunlan smiled affably, "I would be grateful Bixia. While some rain would be good to finally chase away this heat, summer storms tend to be long."
Shen Wei quickly led the way to the cottage and watched delighted when Zhao Yunlan brushed his hand along the moonlight pearl flowers, saying softly as he passed, "Beautiful."
At the threshold it was starting to rain more fully, droplets turning to a light shower by the time Zhao Yunlan was safely under the porch roof. "Please extend my thanks to Shen Wei, Bixia." Zhao Yunlan said suddenly startling Shen Wei, who blinked owlishly at the Chief. "His home and garden is truly beautiful."
A house that was a testament to a dream and a garden that existed to memorialize the two people who occupied Shen Wei's heart, was not a 'home', but the very fact that Kunlun liked it, somehow scrubbed away some of the not inconsiderable bitterness he felt about this place. The mess of feelings associated with the building process, adding to it over time, the tears an grief this land had witnessed, rose to stick in his throat.
Zhao Yunlan looked out over the night garden, at the moonlight pearl flowers and touched one of the hanging baskets with an admiring look. Drinking in the sight of him, Shen Wei said softly, almost hoarsely, "He was honored."
Zhao Yunlan turned and smiled, sweet and beguiling, those dark eyes charcoal pools in the lantern light.
It took actual effort to look away and even more effort not to break the door.
Once inside Shen Wei gestured to the table and hoped he had done the right thing by using a traditional low table with seat cushions. It was still prevalent in Dixing even now in this more modern time and it explained why he didn't have table the first time Zhao Yunlan came here.
Most people would overlook that, considering they were exhausted, in great pain and suffering from the effects of blood loss at the time, but Zhao Yunlan noticed everything.
Shen Wei settled down at the table and after a beat, Zhao Yunlan smoothly dropped to sit in a meditative style. It was so familiar, so Kunlun that it took Shen Wei a moment to remember that this wasn't a dream.
"Did you learn much from Camera Guy? " He asks as he unzips his leather jacket. Its not warm in the cottage, so he keeps it on, just removing his boots as a sign of respect.
He's respecting Shen Wei's space. His space. It makes something warm and soft settle in his chest, alien in his harsh world, but precious.
Ah yes, Camera Guy.
Knowing he was guaranteed to lie and with limited time to act, Shen Wei had asked one of his loyalists to use their gifts to find the truth. One sleeping drug later and while the man slept, Shen Wei's actual Head of the Imperial Guard had overseen Chu Nianzhi, the twin brother of Chu Shuzhi.
Chu Nianzhi had a rare gift. He could after careful training, search people's memories, witness their dreams and visualize their most recent memories.
Shen Wei, from Chu Shuzhi had procured several photos. The first was a recent photo of Zhao Yunlan from his records, handsome and professional. The others were of Dead Leader as Zhao Yunlan had dubbed him and the two other unknown people that Camera Guy had been witnessed speaking with.
Chu Nianzhi had returned with the Head Guard three hours later. He told Shen Wei that Camera Guy's actual name was Zhang Hao.
From his robes, Shen Wei pulled out the neatly compiled report. Zhao Yunlan's eyes widened for a fraction of a minute as he took in the expensive black Imperial paper and thick white characters, bound with a large metal clasp.
While Zhao Yunlan is looking at the cover page, Shen Wei turns to the ceramic tray on the table to their right. It holds a tea kettle on a wooden plate and a ornate purple sand tea set in blue. The Imperial black was too heavy and Professor Shen's white one too...formal.
Blue was arguably Kunlun's favorite color so it seemed safe.
"Very impressive." Zhao Yunlan said gesturing at the report. With anyone else that would have been a slight, a hint behind a false smile that Dixing was less than Haixing. With Zhao Yunlan he could see him admiring the scroll backing and neat font. Millennia ago, he had admired maps in the same way and the ancient form of writing that must have been truly alien to him, thinking about it now.
Suddenly, Zhao Yunlan reaches into his jacket and pulls out a palm sized wooden token. It intricately carved and holds the Guardian Order symbol on one side and a complex talisman array on the other, with a long dark red tassel that reminds Shen Wei of Kunlun's whip.
A glance up at his face is alarming. Zhao Yunlan's warmth has disappeared. In its place is a carefully neutral expression that guards all thought and intent. A gambling face as Haixingren are fond of saying.
Its casually presented, but the very fact that Kunlun is offering it to him, especially like this inside cupped hands, means that it is important.
Because it is Kunlun, Shen Wei puts down the kettle and takes it. He's confused but watches a relieved expression flit quickly across those beautiful features. He thought he would be rejected? Is this peace between them, this intimacy so easy broken? Shen Wei wonders in dismay.
Professor Shen might praise its beautiful design and the quality of the carving, the fear that Kunlun himself might have carved this lingering in his mind. The Emperor of Dixing would have to accept this as a gift and anything from Kunlun's hands was a gift anyway. Shen Wei could come out an ask, not expected to instantly know. What did the Envoy do?
Because he had no idea why Kunlun was giving him this token and really didn't want to offend him by asking. He wasn't worried about looking like a fool, because Kunlun had never, not once in the face of every laughable, bumbling moment of his younger self, every way conceivable he could embarrass himself he had at some point back then, but Kunlun had never mocked or laughed.
So Shen Wei took it in both hands and cradled it. A gold light appeared around the token and a warmth briefly caressed his hands, but his dark energy was not triggered. Warning would have been nice, but maybe he was supposed to know that it did that? Was this a test? No...Kunlun didn't like tests like these. His tests were rapid and pulled the rug from beneath your feet, but you were never actually aware at the time you were being tested.
Chu Shuzhi was probably more than obvious even with his vigorous cover story.
"It will work now." Zhao Yunlan said sounding partly relieved and partly determined. The kettle with the small amaount of dark energy Shen Wei was using, finally boiled, steaming whistling through its spout.
With hands that wield fire so easily, Zhao Yunlan picked it up. Whipping the lid off the pretty blue teapot waiting below, he poured in the steaming water.
It was a wonderful display of good manners and a complete insult to Shen Wei's position. It made Shen Wei smile and the warmth returned to his chest. He was so...
The tea box on the tray is sniffed delicately and then expertly added in with the tea chopsticks. Within a short amount of time and with a condensed tea ceremony, that he wasn't expecting, Shen Wei has a steaming cup in front of him and a dried chrysanthemum flower is floating gently to the bottom, its golden petals unfurling in the heat.
He pours his own tea and Zhao Yunlan settles back. His eyes have returned to that foxfire brilliance, his posture relaxed.
"Forgive me for sounding naive Chief Zhao," Shen Wei begins seeing no other option, "But as much I appreciate the gesture, why are you giving me a Guardian Token?"
He blinks in surprise and then his mouth twists. He looks offended and Shen Wei winces behind his mask. He's about to try to rescue this disaster when Zhao Yunlan sighs. "I don't think if I live another century Bixia, I'll ever stop running into things like this. Of needing to find ways to undo all that has been done."
He sounds upset and that was the last thing Shen Wei wants. "Whatever it is, I shall not hold it against you." Shen Wei immediately promises, forgetting the royal 'We'.
"There are a great many who would not agree with you Bixia." Zhao Yunlan says sadly.
"It is my decision." Shen Wei replied mulishly and at that Zhao Yunlan flashes a small smile.
"This Token," Zhao Yunlan says looking at the thing still cradled in Shen Wei's hand, "Is a new one admittedly,"
So he did make it. Shen Wei thought looking back down at it. Whatever it was, it was automatically special now.
"But it is the Token of Passing."
He says this as if it should mean something and smiles sadly at Shen Wei's confused silence, which as Shen Wei discovers is painful to watch. Kunlun's smiles were always bright or reassuring or sweet. Not sad. "Originally one of these was made by Lord Kunlun. It is supposed to be given to the Gatekeeper of Dixing in a tradition which began long after the first Lord Guardian left this world. But the likelihood of the Gatekeeper speaking to me are pretty slim."
Symbols are important Xiao Wei. People like symbols and honoring peace is the same as keeping the world peaceful, for as long as peace matters.
There was an irony to Zhao Yunlan, millennia after Kunlun said this single line of wisdom adhering to a custom that not one Guardian since his return to life, had ever performed. Did he, when he said that think of this moment?
"Since the last few Guardians have not had Kunlun's blessing," Another painful irony and deeply satisfying at the same time. "I cannot fault you Chief Zhao. I believe that for a long time, the single Token that is kept in Dixing, was considered good enough."
Shen Wei had never seen it. The token was never named and barely mentioned, but there was one and Zhao Yunlan's mouth twisted in displeasure. "I receive this on behalf of the Gatekeeper with gratitude Chief Zhao."
Shen Wei certainly wasn't giving this up. Not to the Gatekeepers or anyone else. And Zhao Yunlan wasn't meeting with them either. No if Zhao Yunlan himself carved this, Shen Wei was keeping it safe. Sliding it into his robes and taking a sip of the truly excellent tea, seemed to please Zhao Yunlan though, so Shen Wei counted it as a success.
"Its not the same as the traditional model Bixia." Zhao Yunlan says suddenly looking at his tea. Shen Wei nearly chokes and looks up just in time to hear him add, "It will open any of the Guardian locking arrays and grant you or anyone you give it to, immediate passage into SID...and find me at any moment you need me."
I have a thread of power connected to you, so I can do that. Shen Wei thought and then smiled. "After all Dixing and I have knowingly and unknowingly put you through Chief Zhao...I cannot fathom why you are giving me this. But know that I will," Treasure it, his mind supplied. "Use it wisely."
Zhao Yunlan smiled, the breathtaking one and sipped his tea. "It is all there in the reportChief Zhao," Shen Wei said softly, "But the condensed version is that the assassination group as we feared, wishes to his disrupt the negotiations by killing off key members in both camps."
Foxfire eyes glittered in the light of the lanterns. "By killing those for and against, both sides are diminished and will inevitably blame each other, creating further divisions. Chances only improved if I conveniently die."
Shen Wei held himself very still and waited a breath until he was sure he had himself under control. "Camera Guy is actually a man called Zhang Hao. He was born in Haixing and was lured into the assassination group by Dead Leader's father."
"So the assassination group has been hanging out in Haixing for a while. Replacing or at least infiltrating the underground Dixingian community and possibly the agents sent here to...keep a finger on the pulse?" The head tilt and sparkle in those eyes told Shen Wei that Zhao Yunlan knew he was right.
"There is a list of names in the report, ones I do not recognize." Shen Wei said side stepping that neatly. "I assume they are significant perhaps to the Bureau?"
Zhao Yunlan blew out a breath. "If Agent Wen was the latest, not the first like we assumed...that would explain the fervor."
"According to what Zhang Hao was involved in....a field agent responsible for a handful of assassins at any one time, all handpicked by him, Dead Leader was in fact a leader within the organization." Shen Wei added.
"So by opting to strike out on his own, he drove a wedge in the group?" Zhao Yunlan asks, sipping his tea. "Lovely tea."
"Thank you Chief Zhao." Shen Wei replied gently. "Perhaps a wedge or if we are lucky, he broke something vital."
"Perhaps." Zhao Yunlan granted. "How many leaders?"
"Unknown. Dead Leader's last conversation with Zhang Hao mentioned that he had angered 'the others' and wanted to speed things up with your kidnapping. I believe that someone had told him that you had information on the group."
"I told no one." Zhao Yunlan said calmly. "But the case which triggered my interest put SID under scrutiny from Dixing and Haixing. The girl who was murdered was in essence following her father, convinced he was having an affair on her mother. She saw some things which she wrote about in a classic notebook, hidden among her textbooks."
"Her father had a 'friend', who I believe was Dixingian. She saw this friend meeting her father and there was some show of power. The father was a cultivator, well trained but pretending to be mundane and I think the friend was as well." Zhao Yunlan said gesturing with his cup. "We solved the murder, but a few days later the parents were killed in a fatal car crash."
"Killed by the assassination group?"
"The father never drove himself. At the time, he seemed to be the classic businessman type with a driver, but when I checked it turned out that he was an epileptic and his wife had cancelled all of her appointments suddenly that afternoon. She thought he was having an affair. They lived in constant argument. So why would those two get into a car by themselves, with him driving?"
"Threatened?"
"The driver arrived at the usual time. He can't remember anything about that afternoon and was found in the driveway with a concussion. According to the CCTV cameras, things were fine until the car accelerated rapidly on a main road and drove into oncoming traffic, killing nine people in total." Zhao Yunlan reported. "It sounded like a hit."
"And the Dixigian friend?"
"Murder, suicide. Killed his wife in the middle of the night with a single gunshot, then himself." Zhao Yunlan said simply, eyes sharp. "This was after the funeral for the friend and neighbors told us that they were moving. Going back to where they moved from, after the tragedy. No location was ever used. Someone else came to collect the children from the hospital and the follow-up officers couldn't find them at all, the day after."
"So removed back to Dixing." Shen Wei said darkly. "After being forced to witness such horror. Do you have a name?"
Zhao Yunlan stared at him for a moment and then nodded. Trust was being offered, distrust reserved for the inevitable disappointment. "The friend's name was Chen Daihu. I do not believe he killed himself, or his wife. People do not clear out their home, pack all the essentials and then decide to off your partner."
Shen Wei had been born into a world of violence, where depravity was easy and kindness was rare. Where hunger was a part of life and peace was a hopeful concept. But, he wanted to think the best of people, because otherwise fighting for peace...keeping the peace was pointless in his eyes if you wrote off everyone. Kindness and love existed. It was sitting across from him.
Plus, despite the fact that this Chen Daihu might well have murdered his wife, traumatized his children and committed suicide....they were dealing with an assassination group and the man opposite him was an excellent judge of a situation.
He was also according to the files he had received and quickly read earlier , Zhao Yunlan had over ten years of police experience. A blink compared to ten thousand, but his career had not been easy, spent in a massive city and he was highly decorated for a reason. He had also according to the second file, gained somehow by his sources - climbed the ranks of the Jade Mountain Sect quickly and through skill alone had made a name for himself in the Huátíng Police Sect too.
He remembered Kunlun's fighting skills vividly. The speed and dexterity he had shown which was actually far more impressive than brute strength or dark energy to Shen Wei. Kunlun seemed to know endless ways to throw a man over his shoulder or to the ground. Some he taught Shen Wei, that he has used since coming back. He remembers the way Kunlun had called on his qinggong to literally swoop up from the ground and break a man's sternum.
Making a show himself, he takes from his robes another sheaf of paper. Also black but the writing is made of white smoke. He casts some dark energy over the top page and a list of names appears. Obsidian eyes watch with interest but while others would lean forward with their intent interest, Kunlun leans back slightly.
"His real name is Su Hang. He is from An Hu, the second largest city in Dixing." Shen Wei states calmly.
Those foxfire depths caught his gaze and hold it for an eternity and too few seconds. Now he leans forward, his voice pitched low and intimate. "How long was he operating in Dragon City and was he watching Qi Weigang? Spooked by the murder of he daughter at the party?"
There is a beat as Shen Wei considers what to say and Zhao Yunlan leans back, "I'm well aware that operatives are living here undercover Bixia. I'm not interested in them. Its not my purview and its been happening for longer than I've been breathing." The tone was polite but as hard as granite. "What I care about is who else might be on the hit list and why they are on the list?"
As Zhao Yunlan said with Da Qing, an assassination group from Dixing is acting to eradicate Crown loyalists in Haixing and to undermine the new negotiations between the two worlds.
"The operatives are in place to monitor the politics of Haixing and some are there to keep agreements with your government Chief Zhao." Shen Wei admitted, "Su Hang was put into place to keep one of those agreements."
Dark brows lowered, "A science project?"
Silence sometimes says everything.
"Ah." Zhao Yunlan said smoothly, "And Qi Weigang knew?"
"Yes." Shen Wei said calmly. "This project benefits both of our peoples and will form part of the negotiations."
"Operatives work on clusters." Zhao Yunlan stated in a neutral tone as if he was discussing the weather. "I take it the murders are taking out one cluster or has more been affected?"
That mind was stunning, Shen Wei thought, excitement rising. This was Kunlun millennia ago at a war strategy meeting. This was Kunlun looking at a map and seeing victory.
"Only one cluster." Shen Wei admitted. "The other clusters have been moved and the people slowly replaced."
"So the murders go back a while?" Zhao Yunlan asks immediately.
"Ten months from what I can find out." Shen Wei says and smiles, visible even with his mask. It usually unnerves people when he smiles as the Envoy, but Zhao Yunlan grinned in response. "I answered your questions Chief Zhao. I have shared my information. It is time you answered mine."
Those eyes glittered, walls going up instantly, but Zhao Yunlan didn't need Kevlar or a sword to defend himself or his intentions. Not from Shen Wei who knew that heart. No one loved or respected him more than Shen Wei. No one could ever cherished him more. But...getting to the heart of Kunlun's strategies was like trying to find the top of a mountain... underwater.
First steps my love, he thought. But I'll earn your trust.
"Ask away Bixia."
Tension rises in the air even though Zhao Yunlan's posture is still relaxed and Shen Wei hardly breathes.
Foxfire eyes watch him, no assess him.
For the memories he hoards and the moments he cherishes, Shen Wei knows that in the grand scheme of things, the time he actually spent with Kunlun was short. Less than year. Less than that full amount as lovers, but most of it as friends.
The time is apart is a yawning chasm and Shen Wei knows he is not untouched. Nothing in life remains untouched by time. He knows this as a scientist. As a warrior who survived a war. He knows it as a bio-engineer, taught the same lessons to others. Knows it as a geneticist. Just because something can be inherited, carry along through generations, does not mean it remains the same.
Time changes everything, because the world is not static. Events come and go, lands change through patterns of growth and erosion. People are born and they die. Most are not like him. Physically unchanged because of whatever the Hallows did or the genetics of his ancestors that came to this planet. He is one of them, one of the generation that was first born here.
He knows this but that doesn't stop the desperate need to hold onto those precious memories. It doesn't stop him from comparing Kunlun with Zhao Yunlan. It cannot stop the joy and this fervent need to be close, to drink in his features, soak in his presence, his nearness, his warmth.
So he looks up across the table and finds Kunlun watching him, in this tiny pause.
For a man that stopped feeling fear long ago, when he lost the one person that made life livable, when he just stopped caring if he lived or died, and started caring more about his impact on the world...its startling to feel fear acutely. Even more bizarre and unsettling to feel fear when you are sitting so close to the only person you love, can trust and truly worship.
But he is nervous.
They haven't even begun and already he's manged through bad choices, guided by other people's decisions - something he will neither forgive himself for, or forget any time soon...to endanger and alienate Kunlun. Unthinkable and yet it happened. Was happening until a painfully short while ago and here they are.
He wants to sit here and just listen to his voice like he used to do, he wants to earn his trust and wants more strongly still for this man to feel that could rely on Shen Wei, to help him...to be there for him in any capacity he will allow.
Zhao Yunlan sips his tea and Shen Wei is struck mute by the three things he realizes.
Everyone else in the world might be fooled by that relaxed posture and friendly smile, but Shen Wei was not. He had seen the real version, basked in it. So he knew that this was an attempt to appear less distrusting that he actually felt. Shen Wei couldn't deny he was disappointed by it, but still appreciated the effort.
Zhao Yunlan is waiting to defend himself verbally. Doesn't really trust this quiet but is giving Shen Wei a chance anyway.
And he must strike the right note. He cannot use the tones of the Envoy, of command or the teaching voice of Professor Shen either. In this, he must be Shen Wei. Kunlun's Shen Wei and he doesn't know if there is enough red in his black heart to still be that young man sitting at Kunlun side.
He must.
And Zhao Yunlan does not like the tea. It feels good to be able to recognize that ten millennia on. His right eye winces ever so slightly when he sips from the cup.
So instead of asking a question, Shen Wei offers an explanation first.
"Someone once said to me, that the past must guide our choices and inform our actions, but never be allowed to control our hands." The words slip from his lips, watching those dark eye for any reaction.
Foxfire eyes blink at him. Its not what Zhao Yunlan expected and it brings a far more genuine smile to curve sinful lips, making Shen Wei feel abruptly warm. This was not what he expected of being questioned, but he'll wait for the attack, sure....depressingly sure that there is going to be one. Oh my love, he thinks. Has this precious man ever been treated well?
"Wise." Is all Zhao Yunlan comments again praising himself unknowingly and it makes Shen Wei smile. "Its a belief I share."
That has a certain amount of relief filling Shen Wei's heart and all at once he relaxes. This is Kunlun. He has no need and no way to pretend to be anything else. All he ever wanted was Shen Wei, to be his Wei. If anything for all these centuries of change, can he be anything else? Has he not waited for exactly that? He will be, he vows. He'll be Xiao Wei once more.
With more confidence, Shen Wei leans forward and takes the teapot. Caring for Zhao Yunlan may shock him, but Shen Wei cannot do anything else now he has the long awaited opportunity. It was nearly dry and he quickly, with as much grace as he could emptied the spent leaves and refilled the kettle using dark energy. A blatant use of his powers, but he's not getting up from this seat. He won't break this calm quiet.
That...and this seemed to impress Zhao Yunlan as much as it had Kunlun.
The only way to build trust is to explain his position, he thought.
"I believe in the law Chief Zhao and in tolerance." He began aiming for a soft tone and notes with relief when Zhao Yunlan doesn't react defensively, or in annoyance at being lectured.
"As do I." Zhao Yunlan nodded, fingers twitching slightly.
"It was never my intent to become the Emperor of Dixing." He admits, because its true and because he wants Zhao Yunlan to know this. "I took the role to end the bloody civil war that was raging when I..." What was the right word to use?
"Returned?" Zhao Yunlan offered calmly.
"Yes." Shen Wei smiled at him warmly and let a soft laugh escape. Dark eyes sparkled at the sound and Shen Wei quickly looked away before he did something mad.
"Even now, centuries on there are small factions in the government of Dixing that do not believe that children should have artificial lighting and access to education. Medical care and equal opportunities. I do." Shen Wei said simply. "I believe in modernization, but some our traditions should be kept."
"A fine line." Zhao Yunlan said thoughtfully and again Shen Wei was reassured.
"Yes." He agreed. "The progressives in Dixing believe I could go further, push the boundaries and leave what they call the 'old Dixing' behind."
"Balance is important." Zhao Yunlan said calmly, "Too far and the youth lose touch with their cultural identity. Not far enough and nothing changes. Old views don't change. Someone is always getting abused or failed by the system."
That mind was so sharp and yet hidden by this playboy facade. So strange, that Kunlun would wear a mask too here, when he didn't then...
To be able to have a conversation like this with his own hero and love, was a dream never to come true. Now it was all Shen Wei could do not to openly smile. He wasn't offended but was curious. Still politics and beliefs were not the primary points of his explanation.
"It is." He agreed easily again, "Something else I strive for. However, for all I believe in supporting the youth and demanding tolerance from our society, I am intolerant of rebel ideology."
Zhao Yunlan did not speak, so Shen Wei continued his voice taking on the bitterness left over from the war. "The Enemy Chieftain did not develop the rebel beliefs. They were already there as a consequence of the meteorite. The famine and despair. The clash of cultures and language. But he used them. Turned it into a weapon. Hundred of thousands of people were slaughtered. Villages burned. Children were beheaded. If you were not with him, you died." Shen Wei said looking at the kettle as it whistled.
"Wait long enough and anyone can be rewritten as a hero." Shen Wei quoted Kunlun yet again and folded his hands. "I refused to allow my enemy, the enemy of freedom to be called anything other than a genocidal murderer, so I have made sure that is the public opinion of him. Every school child in Dixing learns the truth and the faces of the real heroes."
He took the kettle from the heat and poured water back into the teapot. He made the tea by habit alone as he thought of what to say. He chose another flavor watching the subtle hints around Zhao Yunlan's expressive eyes, for which of the three options he might prefer.
Zhao Yunlan was silent but his eyes were bright with sympathy, with a kind of understanding that quelled the pain burgeoning in his heart as his thoughts inevitably fell to Ye Zun. To the twin murdered and used. Tortured and held captive for so long. For his own failing to save him. Guilt and the sick horror that never left him, washed over him once more.
A calloused hand suddenly appeared over his own. His eyes flashed up to look at Zhao Yunlan and was lost immediately in those foxfire eyes. Silently those warm fingers guided him to put the kettle down and he let him maneuver him as he wanted, a strange bright new phenomena, giving away that kind of trust, that kind of surrender to anyone.
"Your hands are cold." Zhao Yunlan said in a soft voice, as smooth as cream.
Before Shen Wei could form a coherent thought, he turned from the waist and with his free hand hurled a red talisman at the fire pit. He had remembered to set the fire and it was burning when they arrived, afraid as he was of Zhao Yunlan's health declining. But now a large whorl of flame twisted and spun unnaturally above the stones, a scarlet red nearly the color of blood. How many types of fire could one man create? He wondered, his grief temporarily shunted to one side, in place of surprised quiet awe.
His hand lifted and Shen Wei wanted it back, but contented himself staring into those dark eyes. He swallowed convulsively and forced himself to continue, his voice deeper than usual. "Every time in our history since the War, that ideology has caused bloodshed. Like a curse, it strips all conscience and all reason from its believers. I will not tolerate it."
"You cannot." Zhao Yunlan agreed and Shen Wei nodded relieved.
"No one in government, in any position of power, any educator for that matter is tolerated, if they share those beliefs. It has become rarer within the mainstream population with education and opportunity, with a better economic position. But it lingers. None who share those beliefs are allowed a platform and the Crown Court knows my stance well." Shen Wei added. "If there are any sympathizers among them, I have no knowledge of it."
"You...are concerned that it.... rebel ideology, is responsible for the assassins group?" Zhao Yunlan asked in a painfully neutral voice.
"I cannot be sure." Shen Wei admitted. "But, there is a hidden faction who keep this evil alive. One I have never been able to fully eradicate. They cannot thrive in Dixing and so flee to Haixing. Many do so to fund their activities and entrap the innocent in the schemes. For every one I return as the Envoy, to face justice for their crimes, there are five more to take their place."
"And that is where SID is supposed to be." Zhao Yunlan said mildly.
"And for the most part the Lord Guardians, your predecessors Chief Zhao have either killed innocents or failed to be of any assistance." Shen Wei admitted softly, unwilling to deny it even though Zhao Yunlan might take great offense.
Surprisingly Zhao Yunlan only nodded, "That I can believe."
"If you asked me three weeks ago, I could have easily given you a list of names on both sides of the negotiations who might wish for it to fail."
"There are many who wish that I am not Emperor of our people. I am willing to step down, but it was the people's decision that I remain." Shen Wei huffed a self-depreciating laugh, quiet like a breath of mist on the valley. "The people of Dixing value stability above all else."
Zhao Yunlan smiled, soft and sad. "What else can you do Bixia? Stability is a precious resource."
He could have been saying this ten thousand years ago in that exact tone. Shen Wei was as bewitched by it now as he was then, and he flushed exactly as he had then. Zhao Yunlan continued though, but thankfully the shadows and his mask hid his face.
"The list is changed now?" He asked and again didn't sound surprised, only curious.
"Yes." Shen Wei admitted easily. "With a Judge murdered, Dixing is in a state of shock. Each Judge represents a province of Dixing, separate to their other duties. The last time one was murdered was during the revolt five centuries ago."
"The time Bixia, of your coronation?" Zhao Yunlan said in answer and Shen Wei nodded. "I presume I was on that list?"
Oh how right he was. Shen Wei thought shame bubbling through him like a river of acid. But Zhao Yunlan held up a hand, and shook his head. "Don't answer that Bixia. There is no need to dance over that fire pit."
The odd turn of phrase had a small fleeting smile curving his lips. "My question is this Chief Zhao. From our earlier conversation and from what I learned from the prisoner, you...implied that you suspect who is paying for this at least. Am I right?"
Zhao Yunlan watched as Shen We poured him a cup of the new tea, his eyes intent on the curls of steam rising into the air. "I am not a politician."
Shen Wei raised a brow but as his hood was down, he raised a hand as well in a vague gesture. "You are the Lord Guardian."
Zhao Yunlan watched his hand and then he looked directly at Shen Wei. "I have issue with Dixing." He said flatly, his tone cold. Shen Wei held onto his silence and waited, knowing that whatever came, he would no doubt deserve it. "But that is not your fault Bixia and I do not hold the people of Dixing responsible."
Shen Wei's hand rose but Zhao Yunlan raised his own to forestall him. Silence fell and Shen Wei felt his heart beat a senseless rhythm against his ribs. "Its not the thugs and hit-men." He said confusing Shen Wei no end. If not that, then what? And could he fix it?
That lush perfect mouth twisted and he sighed. "Unlike my predecessors, I believe that corruption is the enemy of justice and I have a personal reason for my issues."
Shen Wei frowned in open worry and confusion.
"My concern is what is fair and what is true to the Treaty." Zhao Yunlan said putting down his cup, without actually admitting the issue. "I am a cop foremost and becoming the Guardian has not changed that."
"I understand and respect that." Shen Wei said earnestly.
Zhao Yunlan sighed. "My position as Guardian is not precarious. Only by a three realm decision can I be fired... basically."
"Surely the Yashou and Haixing have no desire for that!" Shen Wei said in a tone that was for him, nearly scalding. The idea was unthinkable!
Zhao Yunlan grinned, fierce and beautiful. "Some. Not enough." He said idly. "I can be hindered and potentially removed from my Haixing legal position. Killing me is quicker and cheaper, considering."
"Haixing...is trying to have you killed?" Shen Wei said slowly the dawning horror of its implication, ending in the sudden sharp impulse to throw open a portal to Dixing and offer Zhao Yunlan refuge.
"The cause of this, is not the negotiation itself." Zhao Yunlan said skipping over the threat to his life. "Too many people are making money from the black market, from the illegal trade that your proposals and the new legislation, that if agreed upon, would make that trade unprofitable."
Dark eyes held his effortlessly. "If I die,"
"You won't." Shen Wei promised, low and deep, cold unbeknown to him seeping into the cottage, urged by the anger Shen Wei was restraining.
A grin quirked his lush mouth, and fingers tapped on the table. "If I did," He continued calmly, "The negotiations would have to be postponed."
"But the proposals would still be reviewed, the legislation considered. They only delay the inevitable?" Shen Wei countered.
"Enough time to get a replacement Guardian who agrees with the corrupt, tainted proposals. The assassins are targeting the people who structured this plan against the trade. Who drafted it, away from public records, deep within the government. The Ambassador set to meet you, is dead. The advisor and chief architect of the plan is dead. The co-author and secondary advisor is being hidden by SID."
That they had a 'replacement' lined up was unforgivable, Shen Wei though darkly.
"Disagreeing with the proposals set a decade ago, also drafted by Dixing with the chief architect. I know of whom you speak. I am sorry to hear that he is dead." Shen Wei said slowly. "This would bring the negotiations to stalemate."
"Making the current group in Haixing look like fools and cause another round of politics. Dixing I doubt would fare well either."
Shen Wei had to concede that was right. He would have reprimanded the negotiation team and demoted or fired some depending on how badly it went. If Zhao Yunlan had died, and he didn't know who he was, he would have been furious. Knowing it was the love of his life...well there was no life, if Zhao Yunlan didn't breathe.
"Under the rules, it would take another ten years for another trade deal to be re-drafted and piece-by-piece negotiated until the big meeting." Shen Wei pointed out, considering this. It would be in essence a disaster.
Modernization came at a cost. A bearable one for as long as the trade between them and Haixing continued. One of the biggest concessions to the more traditional of his court had been the sale of excess volcanic-generated power to Haixing, along with certain industries that would fail overnight without this trade. The glass industry for one.
Waiting another decade for a re-try would ruin their economy.
He wasn't blind to the fact that Haixing would suffer as well. Since Dixing had allied themselves with the Haixing nearly three hundred years ago, both economies were tied to the other. Haixing had few natural resources, whereas Dixing had few viable, safe food sources.
Who would want both sides to fail? Who would be stupid enough to believe that short term black market gains would be enough to sustain either realm?
"So I assume it is the group running the black market, that have employed the assassins?" Shen Wei ventured.
"Yes. With help from a faction within Dixing and a faction with the Bureau." Zhao Yunlan said, watching him.
Shen Wei tried to make sense of what Zhao Yunlan was telling him, but it was instinct that gave him a certain insight into why he was being told this.
"You plan to lay a trap...with you as bait." Shen Wei said slowly.
"With or without you Bixia." Zhao Yunlan said calmly. "I hope with, but I'll take without if stops people dying."
He held up a hand before Shen Wei could argue and he was going to argue.
"I'm a high level cultivator with good experience taking on Dixingians, an entire team and if you should agreed, with your assistance as well Bixia." Zhao Yunlan said flatly. "The only way to find more of this group is to literally set a trap that put them in the spotlight. They need me dead and a lot of people seem to recognize this fact."
"I'm a far safer bet than the people needed to ensure these negotiation goes as they should." He added. 'They're running out of time. We've hidden the key people and a word in the right ear will activate the group to eliminate the threat."
"Except you are planning to, or are already feeding them false information." Shen Weir realized torn between impressed and horrified. This was the war general, the battle hero.
"And Dead Leader's death proves I'm no lightweight. Plenty of people for varying reasons and a money pool have spent a year trying to take me out." Zhao Yunlan added a metaphrical knife with a smile.
"This is your life we are risking!" Shen Wei snapped.
"As I said Bixia, I'm a cop." Zhao Yunlan replied, "And we are running out of time."
"Its happening." Zhao Yunlan said leaning forward, "So, are you with us?"
"I'm with you." Shen Wei said immediately. If he was going to be this reckless, where else would Shen Wei be?
It was late in the evening when Zhao Yunlan finally made it home.
As he didn't really trust anyone to watch over him, considering everything, Shen Wei dutifully waited for him outside the government premises where he had clearly been summoned and then followed him along the winding roads to his home.
Zhao Yunlan had been wearing his police uniform.
It had been such a shock, a pleasant one too. Pride and curiosity had surged within Shen Wei, when he saw the medals adorning the dark blue and worry had followed seeing how exhausted Zhao Yunlan was beneath the brim of his police cap.
Standing in the shadows across the street, he had watched him enter the three story building and waited until the third light on the second floor eventually clicked on. He waited as the light went off not long after and he wondered if Zhao Yunlan had remembered to eat.
Shen Wei wove his power in fine threads around the building, too fine even for Kunlun to detect. He welded the two ends together and the loop of power chased around for as long as it remained unbroken. A Dixingian seeking to gain entry, would have to break Kunlun's wards and would, unless they were either too arrogant to know how to care, or too stupid not to see the connection...have to break his lines.
The staff meeting at the University was set for ten am and before then, Shen Wei had a great deal to achieve, especially within Dixing. His meeting with the Judges was in an hour, so as much as he wanted to linger here, imagining Zhao Yunlan curled in his blankets...he couldn't stay.
With one last longing look at the window and a fresh check on the surrounding area, the Black Robed Envoy slowly, reluctantly stepped backwards into a portal.
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Zhao Yunlan tucked his cold feet deeper into the blanket and stared at the ceiling above his bed. Sleep was just out of his reach waiting for him to succumb but his mind refused to give in, gnawing at his focus until he gave in.
Sharp claws like tiny needles pricked at his skin and he glanced at his chest. Da Qing was curled into a ball of black fur, deceptively small paws folded over his sternum.
He stroked his hand down Da Qing's side, the soft brush of velvet soothing.
It was always the same for them. When one was hurt, the other crowded close. He could remember stretching back over years doing exactly this. Da Qing on his chest, denying all upset, lying in the dark.
He could remember the days after losing his mother and gaining Da Qing, when grief drowned him and loss made life seem so empty. Da Qing's latest heartbreak or nightmares from his past. Calling for someone and then pressing close as a cat, denying it as a person. Recovering, drunk, depressed or overcome. Always like this, quiet and together. It didn't matter if they didn't talk about it, neither were good at that. What mattered was the quiet comfort and solid presence, the loving care.
This time it was Da Qing who needed the comfort.
So he lay in the dark, stroking soothing patterns along Da Qing's back, ignoring the vibes of crankiness and anxiety by staying silent and slowly his cat relaxed enough to sleep.
There was a restlessness to his energy and a counterpoint of bone weariness in the rest of him. The easiest solution would be to meditate and settle his power, that had been thrumming against his control since he met Shen Wei.
Maybe it was the attraction.
Maybe it was the dark energy interaction.
Maybe it was both.
Damn but he really needed to get control of these romantic notions, he thought wishing not for the first time that he hadn't given up the cigarettes. If he saw him again he could try for something more, the interest was definitely there on Shen Wei's part...but who knows when he might see him.
As hard as it was, he was going to have to stop thinking about Shen Wei....
Focus on the Envoy. Your deal with the Envoy, he instructed himself, fishing around in the bedside drawer for a lollipop. Aha! He pulled one free and stared at it in the semi-dark. Mango and cream.
He needed something to help him think and he needed to meditate his power fluctuations away too. But Zhao Yunlan saw no benefit to sitting on the hard floor for an hour, until his ankles burned and his ass cramped. What could be done in lotus position, should damn well work on his back, he thought grumpily.
He closed his eyes and slipped into his own head, keeping a tether to the real world and a lock on his power to protect Da Qing. It was familiar and Da Qing, so used to his ways for all he didn't really approve, just stabbed him a little more with his claws and carried on snoozing.
He breathed out and set to controlling the flow of power through his meridians.
Of course like with most things, Zhao Yunlan preferred the interesting over the boring, so soon began considering his situation as he worked.
Like Shen Wei. You don't meet the most attractive man you have ever laid eyes on and forget him. Especially since the same man saved your life and then nursed you, laid out on his bed! Zhao Yunlan thought of those eyes and struggled for fifteen minutes not to think of anything else.
To distract himself he thinks of murder.
He needs to find a way to send a strong enough message to the ones employing the assassins and a way to corral the assassins into attacking him, after making them believe he was vulnerable.
He hadn't lied to the Envoy. He was the bait, they just needed the trap.
Zhao Yunlan knew that they had two options and the Envoy believed the same. Find the employer or capture the assassins before time ran out. Inevitably, capturing the assassins was the priority so close to the negotiations, because tracking the employer could take months.
It rankled. Focusing on the arrests of the murderers was one thing, but tuning away from the employer was just as as dangerous.
But he also wasn't stretching the truth when he said that the assassins were one problem in a collection of many. Namely, who exactly was supposed to be next?
The Envoy's report looks like it should belong in a private collection, complete with a metal motif that could probably buy this entire building with money over. It's concise and there in that beautiful calligraphy is a mess of missing links, for all the information it provides.
What it does offer is a tangible list for his eyes only, about the Dixingian agents in place within the city.
The Envoy admits to having a total of fifty six in place and somehow Zhao Yunlan just knows that the definition of 'agent' is the only reason its not more like two hundred. Because Shen Wei wasn't an agent, but he's operating in Dragon City all the same.
He had compared earlier the list to one he shouldn't have. The one given by the people he has in hiding, still working on the deal with Dixing. The names of the known dead are underlined and he has his team checking the names of the others.
So far they have found three families and alerted Dixing through Chu Shuzhi's connection to the Envoy himself. Three off a list containing fifty six known agents and thirty eight people working on different aspects of this deal.
His bosses have forces watching the thirty eight and most of them have been hidden, guarded day and night. So far, so good.
Red power arcs in the air and Da Qing snuffles.
As much as he said he wouldn't, his thoughts spiral back to the employer problem. Who had the money and the connections to reach out to them? Assassins were dangerous to employ. They could turn on you easily and your death could be covered up as easily as their contracted victim.
So who was desperate enough that the risk was satisfactory? Who had their fingers in a hidden black market?
Dixing was one part, he mused, with a Judge dead and someone's careful plan to pull the Envoy from the front. Someone from Haixing in an alliance with Dixing? Then there were the Haixing supremacists.
Racism is poison, he thinks as he strokes Da Qing's back.
His own father was a supremacist for all that he would deny it. Well, he would deny the word just like he would deny words like, 'prejudice', 'bigotry', 'murderer' or 'fake jingoism'. But he never denied his hatred for Dixing.
This had nothing to do with nationalism and everything to do with fear. He thinks darkly.
Of all the people involved in this a good percentage were ignorant of the actual details. A tiny percentage were supremacists like his father and they mostly worked for Xingdu Bureau. The rest were made up of people with varied reasons to promote the continuation of the alliance with Dixing.
A decent number of them were his superiors and government officials. And the reason for their fear was simple. During the tenure of his idiotic predecessor, the Haixing government were invited to Dixing and this was where things took a turn for the better and he suspected, for the worst too.
He had been two days on the job, his apartment keys in hand when they summoned him to the Nine Ministries building in downtown Dragon City. From there, they drove him three hours from the city to their bolthole.
Several of them belonged to the Jade Mountain Sect and saw him as their hope. The last one to be chosen by the Kunlun Token and the Guardian Order Token was too long ago for human memory. Centuries. A dirty secret and the shame of Haixing.
They explained in a comfortably furnished room complete with strained smiles and coffee, that the visit to Dixing had been eye-opening. The city of the Underground was flourishing, with what seemed to be a vast population that was highly skilled and well educated. In their words, 'wealthy, beautiful and powerful'.
It was modern and while underground, it was light filled using geothermal technology that Haixing wanted to license. It was also staunchly Imperial and that meant that the Emperor could decide to wipe out Haixing with little restriction.
While the deal was lucrative and necessary really for both sides to prosper, the Haixing government also wanted to keep an steady alliance with the Envoy, to protect Haixing from a potential threat.
The Envoy had put on an 'artistic display of Dixingian powers.'
Having met the man, Zhao Yunlan wasn't surprised, his display of might was subtle but obvious. Like a man who could destroy the ground and cause earthquakes. Or another who could cause colorful explosions midair.
Things that would have the supremacists babbling in rage and terror.
Before his kidnapping they were calling him twice a week for updates, to give him updates and generally tie him into this as much as possible.
They did after all send one of the Jade Mountain Sect members, one of their scholars in fact to Dixing, with a high ranking General of the Army, pretending to be just another diplomat. The scholar impressed the Emperor so much he was allowed to visit the Underground Temple of Kunlun, grander than the Haixing version and well tended.
Somehow since that meeting Haixing, to his dark amusement for weeks afterward, believed that the Emperor put more stock in the Guardian's view than anything else. The role was considered sacred in Dixing and now they had one apparently blessed by Kunlun himself, they went from marginally interested in him, to fervently interested.
Since his kidnapping the calls had now escalated to at least three times a day, a medical checkup he didn't need and numerous painful interviews with his superiors. All of them.
Half of them were to make he was ready for the big day and the other half were demands for answers.
Answers he didn't currently have.
His mind kept circling back to the Xingdu Bureau, who had no business interfering, yet one of their own had been taken.
Dead Leader's ire had been with the city prosecutor and tormented her over his brother or lover, that was in prison. Personally, Zhao Yunlan suspected he was dead and that Agent Wen had been taken for revenge.
The prosecutor had worked with Xingdu Bureau, and knew Agent Wen fairly well. Both were tied into the case involving the man Dead Leader wanted revenge for.
His ex-girlfriend had left him years ago for choosing the cultivation path...that and his anti-marriage stance and general personality. Agent Wen had been clear in her feelings regarding cultivation. There had been outrage and fear in her eyes, when he had shown off his talents.
He had been blocked finding out what the case was, but the connection was there. The supremacists were linked to this, certainly to the assassins. Who were Dixingian...
On the surface that made no sense. What racist would employ the very people they loathe?
The answer was more than you might think. Some like his father rather would shoot himself than work with a Dixingian, but there were plenty of others that would shelve their lofty racist views for personal gain, perfectly comfortable using Dixingian guns for hire to destroy the Dixingian economy and Haixing by the same sword.
Which might explain why they were burning through funds watching him. He didn't believe that it was concern. That they feared another kidnapping before the deal. Da Qing was an excellent read on people and that was the opposite of what he discovered in their offices.
They had stalled all the way through and had practically forced their way into SID, to copy his papers and bug his office. Which pissed him off no end.
So if the people paying the assassins were working for Xingdu Bureau...or at least powerful enough to demand they work for them...that was going to leave him in a burning coal field of problems.
However...
He sucked on his lollipop thinking.
If it was the Xingdu Bureau...in whatever form...the surveillance on him might be the answer to the trap.
If they captured enough of the assassins group, he had no doubt that the Envoy would learn every piece of information they know...including who hired them....
All he needed to do, other than trap the assassins, was to trap the Bureau in their own mess, without the Envoy discovering the full truth about it. Haixing trying to destroy Dixing was not a good opener for the deal after all and he would look complicit.
And how was he going to explain that to Shen Wei?
Zhao Yunlan was utterly beautiful and completely out of place as stood in the middle of the stone expanse before the towering Palace
Modern and entirely non-conforming, standing in the heart of ancient tradition and old-world pretentiousness.
Perhaps he had always been, perhaps from their very first meeting or at least his first meeting...Shen Wei suspected that this loop effect would continue to be confusing for some time to come.
The truth had settled into the marrow of his bones. Zhao Yunlan had been Kunlun ten thousand years ago, with his lollipops and his dark energy gun, his cultivation style and unique weapons. It was no ancestor or some fault in Shen Wei's memory.
Every moment he had spent with Kunlun was encased in amber, every detail lovingly preserved and every feeling he had ever provoked in Shen Wei was still kept in his heart. He had been Kunlun and with that acceptance came the frightening thoughts. To be Kunlun then...he must become Kunlun at some point in the future...which meant time travel and circumstances that Shen Wei was loathe even to imagine.
He felt utterly unprepared for this future. It was as blank to him as perfect white space. He could not dwell on all the possible reasons, situations or what might cause time travel by some bizarre accident. What he suspected was that it involved the Hallows.
Looking at him now, Shen Wei thought him otherworldly and entirely too unprotected.
Because Zhao Yunlan was standing before him, waiting for Shen Wei to reach him on the ridiculous traditional walk across this walkway, along the bridge to the steps of the Peach House.
Over the centuries Shen Wei had known the place, it had been called variations of the same name. The Palace of Peach Trees, Peach Trees Over The Lake, Imperial Lake Residence, even for some years, The Estate of Peach Blossoms.
Chosen to suit the government at the time, be it imperial or not. Whatever its name, its function has always been to settle Treaty, discuss trade and generally the alliance between Haixing and Dixing. Situated miles from Dragon City, the ornate building and its avenue of peach trees was even further from where defeat for the rebels had come, where Kunlun had been pulled into the sky and where Shen Wei had murdered the Enemy Chieftain, taking his revenge for all the lives lost. For Ye Zun.
No, this place had been chosen for reasons Shen Wei never cared to learn.
Exactly as he had for all the other times, Shen Wei in his full black robes befitting the Emperor of Dixing, along with the traditional nine attendants, ironically from the very Circle, he claimed himself to be from. But unlike all those other occasions, he had been trying to see from the moment he exited the portal, just one glance...if Zhao Yunlan was there.
The Lord Guardian was not always present for these meetings. Tradition dictated that the Lord Guardian met him over the bridge, to formally welcome him to Haixing. They would bow and the Lord Guardian would step to one side with a traditional phrase, letting him past to greet the king or like now, the President.
And he was. Waiting by the steps, wearing the sleeveless outer robe that had been in fashion for the Lord Guardian role for the last two centuries over solid black. It didn't fit. Shen Wei's third thought directly after, its him and Kunlun.
Was Zhao Yunlan looking at them, hoping to see Shen Wei? It was a paralyzing thought.
Above him waiting at the doors to the Palace, again in the traditional position was the current President of Haixing, Xie Jin Tian, in her trademark cream attire.
Shen Wei remembers voting for her last year, conscious that a Professor's vote would change little, but his choice of candidate was certainly based on the meeting today. He wondered what she would think of the Black Robed Envoy voting for her. He had liked her economic policies and her pledge to do more the vulnerable, a little swayed too by her patents being both teachers and her love of the environment.
Now he would have to negotiate with this clever modern businesswoman. He was looking forward to it.
Anticipation curled in Shen Wei's chest as they rounded the peach trees and stepped onto the bridge.
Zhao Yunlan's eyes were fixed on his, his feet spaced apart. He held no weapon visible, but unlike so many of his predecessors, with him, with Kunlun standing there like this, it truly felt as thought Zhao Yunlan was standing as a sentry, willing and able to prevent them from advancing.
It had a glorious thrill thrumming through Shen Wei's blood.
Since their meeting, Shen Wei had been thinking. For the first time in the centuries he had been doing this, Shen Wei considered what this arrangement meant for the Lord Guardian. Specifically, what it meant for Zhao Yunlan.
His words from their meeting rang in his ears, the many possible meanings that were carried with his words, echoes rumbling beneath the tones, until there was too much context bundled hopelessly with Shen Wei's fears.
Before the Uprising, before the Troubles began, he only saw the Lord Guardian at meetings that included the Three Realms, often years...and Guardians apart. Then he saw them a little too frequently. A few he had liked or at least respected, most he had vehemently disliked and never trusted. A list that included Zhao Xin Ci.
Now the rivers were no longer the glassy clear he had thought them to be. Now the world didn't only pertain to Dixing. Now they were churning waters and muddy reflections, because there was no world without Zhao Yunlan.
It wasn't simply the love burning in his chest for this tempestuous soul. It wasn't solely about the devotion written in endless calligraphy on the walls of his veins. It wasn't about his yearning, his dreams or the adoration suffusing his soul just at the mention of his name. His real name. Kunlun was a name bound up in love and the thorns of grief. Zhao Yunlan was a mouthful of precious syllables.
They had peace because of Zhao Yunlan. They had the Treaty because of Zhao Yunlan. He was alive because of him. Him and Da Qing and countless others who got to live a full life of peace after the War, the generations that came after them...all of it existed because of one man's beautiful heart and stubborn nature.
But no one knew that except for him and possibly Da Qing.
As Shen Wei had become painfully conscious of Zhao Yunlan, his place in the world and began to properly obsess over the state of his life...so too had he realized the challenging position that Zhao Yunlan held.
He was a dedicated servant of justice in the description any Dixingian Judge would have offered, perhaps for fear of insulting Shen Wei. He was a police Chief, young for the job but peerless in skill. Shen Wei thought of a great many things in the dark, in the lull period between seeing Zhao Yunlan again.
A job that the government could easily take away from him. They could harm Zhao Yunlan in a multitude of ways that didn't involve physically hurting him. Rendering him less harmful to the assassination group and whoever was employing them.
This was unacceptable.
He thought about the War, something he tried hard not to do, lest he lose himself in grief again or dwell too long in the bitterly brewed black tar of his own rage. The past was ashes but only he could say he was still holding them in his hands, still seeing the grey dust filling in the lines of his skin, could still smell them on the wind sometimes.
Kunlun once said in a wistful tone that, solace is the hardest thing to find.
A lesson Shen Wei could never unlearn.
More than happiness, for at least that could be something to remember or something to strive for, however elusive the actual meaning of the word was in reality. Shen Wei for most of his life had no idea what happiness was before Kunlun. He found it without knowing it, simply lost on the feeling when Kunlun smiled at him, or held his hand in those stolen snatches of free time.
But solace? Shen Wei knew too well what it was like to yearn for that and never find it. Or perhaps he now had, in foxfire eyes and in the quirking corners of a full lush mouth.
His warrior somehow different and exactly the same, was still taking risks, still trying to save lives that were never his burden to carry with the same grim resolve.
The main meaning that Shen Wei gripped onto was that while had supporters and schemes, his perfect fox also had detractors, that were enough of a problem that Zhao Yunlan was willing to acknowledge them to the Black Robed Envoy, who for almost a year had been practically an enemy.
So Shen Wei's primary concern should have been the negotiations and the trade alliance, securing assurances and expressing solidarity. Important aspects, but to Shen Wei they came very much second to how he was going to protect Zhao Yunlan in this. Or better described, how he was going to be able to publicly support Zhao Yunlan?
Because while Shen Wei considered him peerless...after all if they were married, he would be co-ruler of Dixing by law... and Shen Wei for his skills alone would have promoted him to the position of Judge by now....a Division Chief was a long way from the office of the Haixing President.
Madam President's attention would help him to a point but it was also scrutiny that Zhao Yunlan clearly didn't want.
So Shen Wei had schemed. There was little he could do to protect him from the politics and problems of his position in Haixing, but he could show that he was important to Dixing and hope that gave him some coverage.
Tradition said that in this moment at the end of the bridge, he should wait as the Emerpor of Dixing, for the Lord Guardian to bow and state his piece.
Shen Wei raised his arms, laying his right hand on top of his left forearm and bowed. Deeply. "Lord Guardian." Like the first time he had bowed to Zhao Yunlan, it was easy and cost him nothing.
Disturbed or confused, after a beat so too did his Circle.
Long fingers, callused and exactly how he remembered them to be grasped his arms, eliciting an aggressive shift in his people. "Bixia." Zhao Yunlan greeted, his voice deep and warm.
He rose from his bow and letting go of his hands with a bold smile, Zhao Yunlan swept into an equally deep bow that made Shen Wei feel decidedly flustered, off-keel and vaguely mortified. Kunlun should not be bowing to him.
As if it has cost him nothing as well, Zhao Yunlan then stepped to the side, offering with the same glint in his eyes that he remembered from horseback, from tent doorways and cavern hallways, said brightly in Dixingian no less, his accent perfect. "I bid you welcome Imperial Majesty of the Underground Realm. Haixing awaits you."
Then added because he was Zhao Yunlan, "Bixia."
Shen Wei stepped past him with great difficulty and forced himself to keep walking.
There was a note hidden in hand and he tucked it carefully as he ascended the steps into his wrist guard.
If he used dark energy to check behind at the top step, well no one else knew that.
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He could admit his attention was split between the President of Haixing and the note in his sleeve. That, and he was discreetly reading using dark energy .
Nevertheless, he felt that it really shouldn't have taken him fifteen minutes to understand the first line.
It might take longer for him to accept that the love of his life has truly awful writing. The type of poor penmanship that in one of his students would have resulted in them failing one of his tests for poor comprehension, going as far as to address it formally. Information is only useful as he tells his students, if it can be shared and understood.
He made excuses he would never have allowed for a student or anyone under his command. The pen was cheap and he must have been hurried. Maybe he wrote while walking...
But the paper was beautifully sliced so it formed a neat rectangular when unfolded and when his finger brushed the edge he felt the faintest ting of energy. Had he cut the paper with one of his daggers? Shen Wei smiled gently, feeling that responding echo like a kiss against his fingertips.
The characters were cramped, slanted and missing strokes. Interpretation was required.
In anyone else it would have annoyed him deeply. From the time when he was born, writing was a precious rare skill. Education was something to strive for, something that offered opportunities.
Shen Wei's mind offered three possibilities for the problematic character as he listened to the President detail the trade deal.
Eventually it dawned on him that the character and the likely message of the line meant, 'Bixia, we are being watched.'
That was nearly guaranteed. Shen Wei thought, knowing that they would observe his meeting with the President, before the larger government heads meeting that always followed this traditional more private setting. But the last lines didn't make any sense.
Hooded crane flies at night.
Enemy....a character he couldn't decipher followed by, triggered by today.
Then he thought it said, Before night dies, they will come.
What did that mean? Night dies was a line from poetry, classical and hardly used, meaning midnight or dawn and the who must be the assassins.
Do hooded cranes fly at night and why would that be relevant? He wasn't sure. Sandhill cranes occasionally migrate at night, from what he remembered from his studies...
Shen Wei thought furiously, considering every option until Madam President asked him a question. As he answered he gave his attention to her fully and some inspiration struck.
Xie Jin Tian poured the tea and handed him a delicate cup, her eyes fairly warm as she sat back a little, thinking over his answer. So far the meeting had gone well, his experience with these things helping to smooth the way and frankly he thought, this was actually easier than meeting with the Dean of the University, who could be so unpredictable.
When the conversation lulled after about an hour, Shen Wei carefully ventured, "The Lord Guardian was incredibly brave, in the recent troubles."
If she was a Haixing supremacist as Zhao Yunlan was calling them, she would either be neutral in her answer or evasive, for she was not like some emperors had been, grease slick and vague. That was not the style of Xie Jin Tian and he liked that. If she was generally neutral and disconnected from the Three Realms pre-Presidency, she might stumble, not sure of the correct answer.
Instead Xie Jin Tian frowned genuinely. "The Lord Guardian's ordeal was terrible." Replacing her cup on its saucer she added, "Our Guardian tells me though that he is close to solving this dilemma and that Dixing has been most helpful."
Her eyes were momentarily sharp and Shen Wei smiled. Our Guardian. The most common term to describe the position among the Yashou.
"He is most diligent and admirable." Shen Wei answered. "Zhao Yunlan has the utmost respect for the people of the Three Worlds. His Dixingian is nearly perfect. It has given me great confidence."
Xie Jin Tian looked unsettled for a moment. "You have met with the Lord Guardian, Your Majesty?"
"Not officially, though I am greatly looking forward to meeting him." Shen Wei demurred. "My people have reported to me regarding the situation. I admit Madam President, it angered me greatly that this deranged man kidnapped and injured the Lord Guardian. Blatant disrespect and an outrageous crime that must be punished to the fullest extent."
As he spoke he used the smallest amount of dark energy and found his question answered. The President was Yashou. There was no mistaking that energy signature.
Xie Jin Tian considered his words, her smile a little too quick. "The Lord Guardian deserves great respect."
Shen Wei inclined his head. "He does indeed. I intend to offer him the reciprocating visit to Dixing later this year, at an advantageous time. He is so busy, I am told."
Shen Wei had denied every Lord Guardian the reciprocating trip to Dixing that was tradition and expected for the last two hundred years. Offering it so proudly to Zhao Yunlan was a definite sign of either goodwill or respect for the man himself.
"He is unique." Xie Jin Tian replied, "Both in his attitudes and skills."
"He is bold. In the way Lord Kunlun of the Jade Mountains was bold." Shen Wei said calmly sipping his tea. "But more that this, I find he has a love for the Three Realms and that is priceless in a Guardian. He employs Yashou and Dixingian, giving them equal pay and rights."
If she was about to take offense, Shen Wei added smoothly, "The last two Guardians I have interacted with had no respect for the Yashou, or for Dixing. This is unjust. We won the War together, our peoples came onboard the same ship to this world. I myself, would not be alive now if it were not for the Yashou Crane Clan or the Fox Tribe."
"The Crane Clan?" Xie Jin Tian asked with great interest. "I confess, I did not know this."
Shen Wei smiled warmly., "Forgive me, war stories are not for such a meeting."
Xie Jin Tian sat forward on her chair, "I would be delighted to hear more, Your Majesty."
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The night air is alive with a gentle breeze and the faint hints of spice as Shen Wei walks through the old district of Dragon City. Some streets and some buildings are utterly unchanged by time and Shen Wei finds it amusing to see certain areas that no one, back when these buildings were new, would have expected to see still standing in the modern world.
Certainly not the government officials who once called this area, poor and rat infested. And for Shen Wei, there have been many versions of 'modern' in the time since he 'returned'.
A tea house he recognized from the Twenties and a bookshop from about three centuries ago. A new restaurant that was once a hotel and shops selling things that never existed in prior eras. He crosses the street and sees a now famous bar that used to be an imperial official's city house, he thinks. Oh how the world changes.
Dixing is no different, but his cities down Below keep to the same architecture, with minimal changes. There are new buildings and they often have a similar layout, but the change is more expansion than such obvious difference in centuries, as it is here.
The ironic thing is that, for every single time Shen Wei has walked down this street, pretending to be Haixingren, he has been thinking about Zhao Yunlan. Has thought about having tea together, or asking what he thinks of this 'modern' age. He's thought about music and the opera, about if not that bookshop, then a hundred more like it. He's dreamed of holding Kunlun's arm as they walk, of night skies and that beloved voice.
And just like all those other times, with the moon above him and the grey stone of Dragon City reaching up into the sky, Shen Wei follows his feet and thinks about Zhao Yunlan.
In the past, there was yearning and hope, pricking his bruised, blackening heart. There was loneliness and grief. There had been daydreams and ridiculous conversations with his missing lover in his head, listening for any change in his memory of Kunlun's golden voice.
Now, he just thinks about Zhao Yunlan. Wonders helplessly about his life, the pages of the official and not so official reports on the man, telling him a great deal and almost nothing, at the same time.
And he has read every record they have given him.
His medical record is worrying. Zhao Yunlan has been hurt badly, many times. The poisoning he mentioned from before is written in neat black characters and he's been shot three times. Before he came to Dragon City, came back he reminds himself, Zhao Yunlan had nearly died from a skull fracture. He's been to the hospital four times this year with injuries that needed stitches and treatment for infection. Guilt churns in his stomach at the thought and his heart is heavy enough to sink through the floor.
His career is one of a modern day warrior and he is highly decorated, with bravery medals and he did achieve an impressive rank for his age, well before becoming the Chief of SID. Shen Wei is so proud and even after all these centuries, still as awed by him. It is obvious that Zhao Yunlan, while he pretends to be a playboy, was never idle. Always fighting for someone.
It makes something fond and proud burn in Shen Wei's heart. It proves in paper he doesn't need, that Kunlun was real in more ways than one. Different name, same man. Same hero.
He learns that Zhao Yunlan had worked on the streets and then in Vice for a while. Then he moved into Homicide, prolifically solving cases there before leaving Shanghai. That's his police record. His academic record tells him he attended a decent school in Shanghai starting at fifteen, and then graduated well from university, before joining the police academy also in Shanghai.
It was a little shocking that he didn't attend Dragon City University, with his clever mind and aptitude for absorbing knowledge. But he suspected so, long before Zhao Yunlan had told him, that he had left this city at fifteen. Shen Wei is pretending to be one year older than Zhao Yunlan and he knows he would have seen him, if he had been here.
And to think at the time, when everyone else was involved in a romance, he was imagining Kunlun. When all along Zhao Yunlan had been in another city attending another university.
His cultivation record is far more secretive. There is no mention in the records that he belongs to the Jade Mountain Sect and from his research, this sect is obscure and bound up in legends. They follow Kunlun as a kind of martial god and call him the Peace Maker. The one book his people find, was written two hundred years ago from cobbled together research.
The Dixingian records are better, listing them as the Sect that works with, or is at least tied to, the Guardian Order. The Ancient Archives of Dixing, name them as the sect founded by Ma Gui and other Haixingren leaders after the war, to keep Kunlun's Tokens, his Tools and his other works. Others say it began hundreds of years later after a book was found about Kunlun.
Shen Wei has learned about the Tokens, but has no idea what the Tools are referring to, because Kunlun had no hand in the Hallows. And he shared a cavern room with him! He, of all people, should know!
Zhao Yunlan is listed as a rogue cultivator, but tied loosely to the Shanghai police affiliated sect, who speak of him highly. His cultivation record is staggering when compared to any other than Shen Wei has read.
Which was to be expected. It is Kunlun. Fire is his own gift, inherited through his mother's side. He's listed as a Second Ji which is impressive on its own, making him a first rank cultivator. He's a Master in talismans, arrays and several obscure cultivation disciplines. He is ranked highly as a martial artist and Shen Wei's eyes had widened when he had read the martial disciplines Zhao Yunlan has mastered before reaching thirty years of age. The disciplines don't seem linked and seem almost a chaotic trajectory, but Shen Wei suspects that all of these and the ones not listed, are in fact hallmarks of the Jade Mountain Clan.
But outside of the records and the little hints Kunlun had given him ten thousand yeas ago...he knows very little. Oh he knows Kunlun. Knows his heart and the way he thinks. Knows how he sleeps and how he sits. Knows the many tones of his voice and knows what it is to be loved by him, to share love with him....
But about this modern life? Very little.
He owns a cat, which he already knew. He owns a motorbike and the Order owns his car. He knows the address of his current home and the times he leaves for work on average and what time he often returns.
Shen Wei sighs as he crosses another street.
Zhao Yunlan lived not far from this street as a child, in an apartment opposite a dress shop. He used to imagine living in a house here in Haixing with Kunlun, with a pretty garden and at times close to the street, because Kunlun liked chaos or outside the city, where was quiet and green.
Instead of imagining Zhao Yunlan as Kunlun in the 'modern world' of five centuries ago, or in last century or, as he had nine weeks ago...he imagines him as a child when he passes the apartment building. Second floor, apartment twenty one. Probably, the most adorable child in existence, with those bright dark eyes and naturally bright smile.
He thinks of him as a fifteen year old teenager leaving on a train and then as a young man coming back. He thinks about the Dragon City that formed this perfect soul, the grey stones in his blood and the indomitable force of will that would have propelled him from it. The man who no doubt helped him out the door. Zhao Xin Ci, he thinks, a new grudge against the man forming easily. He wonders if Zhao Yunlan missed it.
When he reaches the next street, he pauses. It's getting late...Standing outside Zhao Yunlan's home for the third night in a row would be wrong, he thinks. It might make him look obsessive. Maybe it was excessive....
Shen Wei decides to return to Dixing for a few hours, he has work to complete there after all. Satisfied with this plan, if also dissatisfied at not seeing Zhao Yunlan, the yearning stronger than ever, he turns into a narrow alleyway, hoping to use the darkness pooling at the end to open a portal.
Two men step from the darkness, postures aggressive, expressions smugly unpleasant. The next thing he knows, he's being mugged at knife point.
Its ridiculous.
He has more power than any other Dixingian, his core saturated with dark energy, overflowing with it. He's was a soldier for years before he was a general, with a kill count that's legendary if born from nothing more than war and survival at the time....then a king with enough free time to hone his skills even more as techniques evolved in the jianghu. Both here in Haixing and Below in Dixing. So a mugging, a successful one at that is truly ridiculous for someone of his skills and pride.
But...there is a camera in the middle of the alleyway. Shen Wei can see it above them and he knows he has to play along to escape this one. He can fight a little but he cannot afford the police to track him down, so he hands over his watch and money badly pretending to be afraid, uninterested in either. They are replaceable. The money is in the wrong currency to spend in Haixing anyway.
But they go too far. Touching him and loosening his tie. It irritates him, but he allows it, gritting his teeth. Right up until they try to take his pendant, recognizing it as jade.
He snatches the man's wrist. Not twisting or pushing his thumb up break bone yet and swallows back the rising tide of angry energy. Just the promise of it.
Outrage burns through him. No one but Kunlun can touch this, the yellow jade from Kunlun's belt holding Kunlun's sweet wrapper. Reformed to cradle the other safely. Two of the last things he has from the love of his life. The necklace that keeps his sanity and his connection to Kunlun, to Zhao Yunlan. Its proof of their love, of their life together. Its precious, hallowed, nothing filthy unworthy hands can touch.
“It’s not something that you people can touch.” He snarls and man grimaces in pain.
Shen Wei stared at the men before him, irritated now. He planned to shove them away and extricate himself from this mess, when he suddenly heard his name shouted from above,
"Shen Wei!"
What the...
Shen Wei turned, shoving the idiotic mugger backwards and stared at the rooftops and down the alley way. The disembodied voice called again, sounding more frantic but distant and that was when Shen Wei finally recognized the voice.
Zhao Yunlan.
His heart immediately began to throb in his chest, power rising to his hands in automatic response. Where is he? What is he doing here? Its no where near SID, no where near his home...
He sounds frantic, this must be bad. He thinks as he scans his surroundings searching for some sign of his love and life. The alley way was still quiet and the thug in front of him is smirking and taunting as his partner stalks back to presumably hit out at Shen Wei for shoving him. "Whose that? Sounds like your girlfriend is in trouble."
Assassins and the new enforced, too new to truly hold water, Decree that the Lord Guardian is untouchable, flit through Shen Wei's mind. He was born in bloody war and forged in open combat, everything in him honed for violence. And he wants to rend the bones of whoever has hurt or upset Zhao Yunlan.
Only a little while ago, he was lying on gurney in a rural hospital after being tortured for days. The memory will never leave Shen Wei and it has anger sparking fully in his veins.
A second or two tick by and there is no sign of him! Shen Wei focuses on the thread connecting them. He's close. Too close to narrow down easily. He needs to strengthen that thread, its too thin! Then he feels it. The rush of cultivation energy, Haixingren and strong. Zhao Yunlan and someone else.
He was turning again, thinking to jump onto the roof above when something shockingly warm snakes around his waist. He was unbalanced, his weight moving off his heels as he shifted around to look down the alleyway, possibly to block some move of the idiots in front of him, so he had no time to react as the power crackled. It surged over his skin, almost too hot to bear.
Then he was flying.
Like a fish stuck on a hook, he was flung none too gently into the air, spinning past the pair of muggers who gape in shock. He reached to stop his fall but the tie around his waist lets go suddenly. Shen Wei rolled expertly as he hit the alleyway ground, flowing to his feet in anger, power collected black and smoking in his hand.
If they wanted to hurt Zhao Yunlan...
But when he looks up, there he is.
Horror fills Shen Wei's chest as he sees Zhao Yunlan on one knee on the ground, two ornate sai trisula daggers locked onto a much larger blade held by a man in a gold sports jacket. Fire surrounds them, the daggers glowing green and Zhao Yunlan loosens one hand to block the fire with an energy shield.
One thug is dead, his head smashed like a ripe melon on the wall. A weapon thrown and now fallen to the ground but Shen Wei doesn't waste time looking at it.
"Zhao Yunlan!" Shen Wei shouts and he throws power to hold the shield, meshing dark energy with cultivation energy. He's aware that Zhao Yunlan cannot burn because Kunlun never did, could in fact stick his entire hand into a campfire. Inherited from his mother, he had said at the time. But reason doesn't work with raw fear and the buildings around them will burn.
The man in the gold sports jacket glares hostile and hate filled at Shen Wei, trying to stab Zhao Yunlan by driving down his blade, using his greater strength. Daggers against swords is not an easy fight and its too tight for his whip again.
Its stunning to watch Kunlun's skill once more, but he's not the young general he had been, stupefied by Kunlun's grace and unique style. Well he's still awe-struck by him and possibly always will be...but he acts to guard Zhao Yunlan's back, knows his own skills better now and will not let harm come to his love.
This act frees Zhao Yunlan to block the next swing, daggers glowing as they fight, before Shen Wei's dao hits the other sword tossing it away, with far more power in the anger driven strike. The man almost loses his hand, his sword breaking as Gonggong hits it again.
Unfortunately, Zhao Yunlan is still in front of Shen Wei and still in danger. Although the man is several paces away now, his weapon broken. He doesn't run, but faces them, a madness in his eyes that unsettles Shen Wei. Its been a long time since he has last seen that look.
"Rebel." Shen Wei hisses in Dixingian, the old slur and low toned words easily falling from his lips. "Traitor."
The alleyway is too narrow for Shen Wei to help from behind, Zhao Yunlan has both long daggers up in an offensive position, so he kicks one foot into the wall and flips over the pair. He's behind the man with the golden sport jacket and he lashes out with dark energy, wrapping around the attacker before he can surge at Zhao Yunlan.
The second thug is screaming and instead of running he cowers against the wall.
Its not as if Zhao Yunlan doesn't know he's Dixingian and thinks in fact that he is one of the High Guard Circle who guards the emperor. Denying his skills here would make it appear he doesn't care for Zhao Yunlan's safety and that is unforgivable.
A tug and Shen Wei has him away from Zhao Yunlan, leaving an opening for a killing blow because that was the life Shen Wei knew best, or Zhao Yunlan to retreat, which is what he will hopefully do.
"Shen Wei! Look out!!" Zhao Yunlan calls panic in his voice.
Shen Wei has no idea what the idiot is trying to do, but he's not the Envoy for his cloak. With his free hand he throws a shield over the attacker and releases his energy chains. There is a popping sound and Shen Wei reacts, throwing another shield over Zhao Yunlan.
The world goes white and Shen Wei's last thought as the ground reaches up is, Zhao Yunlan. His name, the perfect syllables of his true name, the image of his face. Then he knows nothing.
------
Kunlun murmurs sleepily in his ear, his arms curling around Shen Wei. Its not even light yet, he thinks muzzily. Kunlun is cold...he thinks then. He slides his arms around a too-thin waist, feels warmth and thinks, this is home. I'll always warm you, he wants to say. When we live in the mountains.
Then he's on horseback, Kunlun behind him. His arms are secure around Shen Wei's waist and he thinks, I won't fall. A feeling of safety wrapping around him with Kunlun's arms. Which is ridiculous because why would he fall? But of course he is safe with Kunlun. His heart and his soul, his body. The horse moves in a long slow gait, the sun bright around them, the heat bearable and he feels Kunlun's beard against his cheek as he hooks his chin over his shoulder....
The sword rises to strike. He won't move in time. He's going to die. His men are injured, dying. He's failing them. His heart breaks as he thinks of his didi. He failed him too. Then a loud sound and shouts. His enemy runs and a face peers out of the long grasses, the afternoon sun above them. The same face grins at him, bright and so beautiful in candlelight. Kunlun. You saved me.
He's moving and it hurts, hands that are not Kunlun's are gripping him, so he punches out. He connects with flesh and there is a thud, a pained noise and a Dixingian curse. A pause and he's left alone.
"Shit. Shen Wei? Easy Shen Wei. Its just me."
He murmurs low in his throat as a hand touches his hair. Says, "Zhao Yunlan." There are hands touching him and its okay. He knows those hands, smells bamboo, sugar and that musky scent of Kunlun. He tucks his face into a shoulder, happy. Then he knows nothing.
-------
Awareness comes slowly, like leaves floating along a current in a stream. Then all at once, Shen Wei is very much awake and he sits up rigidly.
The room is dark but with his near complete night vision Shen Wei can easily see that this is not his room in the Professor accommodation block and he had never seen it before.
The walls are white and there is a green fabric armchair by the window at the foot of the bed, on his right. The room is small and smells faintly of paint. The bed he's sitting on now, is a bare mattress and really too big for the space.
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Shen Wei feels slightly dizzy and his waist aches. Looking down he sees that he still dressed exactly as was and his briefcase is on the chair, his glasses on the white nightstand and his shoes are by the door.
He reaches a hand up to his neck, panicked. The pendant is warm and secure against the hollow of his throat, so he breathes out evenly.
He opens the buttons of his shirt and sees three rings around his waist, bruised skin. He remembers the something that caught him around the waist and the flight through the air. Worrying, that he's doesn't know the cause, but he feels fine and his body, now awake is already healing the damage.
Worst of all, his dao is sitting on his other side, the hilt wrapped in white fabric painted with talismans, resting on his suit jacket. It hasn't returned to the ether and its staying in this form, the fish scales along the hilt gleaming unnaturally. There is an odd ceramic charm sitting on the blade, like a coin with a strange symbol on the upturned face, red thread looped through a hole at the top.
Horrified, Shen Wei plucks the charm off and it breaks into two before dissolving into fine white powder. When the charm is destroyed the talismans slowly fade from the cloth and it appears to be an uninteresting white strip of linen that Shen Wei pulls off his blade. GongGong in this form, seems fine resonating with power and he tucks it away. The talismans must have held the blade in stasis and as Shen Wei was unconscious someone brought it with him...or he passed out holding it.
The blade refuses any other to touch it except him, so maybe the latter and he let it go here on the bed....
After a second, Shen Wei says in a aghast tone, "Zhao Yunlan!" as memories filter back into his mind, the exhaustion he feels so uncharacteristically, now seeping away immediately. He's on his feet, everything else forgotten. He shoves his shoes back on and opens the door decisively, ready for whatever may lay beyond it.
A living room with a tiny kitchen is what lays beyond it, as it turns out. The kitchen units are blue and there is a brown fake leather sofa in the middle of the room and a plain table. At the far wall there are balcony doors and Shen Wei's entire body relaxes so rapidly, it feels like falling.
Zhao Yunlan is standing out there gorgeous against the night sky, leaning on the railing, lollipop in his mouth and he's talking grumpily into the phone. "....And you're sure?" He asks, shoulders tense. "Right. Fine. Get on with it, we don't have until New Years!"
Zhao Yunlan turns and he smiles at Shen Wei, unsurprised to see him standing there as he steps back inside. His lip is split as it was in the fight, Shen Wei thinks, but there are no visible injuries other than that. He's changed his clothes, and Shen Wei drinks in the sight of him.
He's okay. He's here. You didn't lose him.
"Are you okay Shen Wei?" Zhao Yunlan asks softly, coming closer. "Forgive me, for this," He says waving a hand at the room, turning his body slightly. As Shen Wei wouldn't forgive him everything. "You were out cold and I didn't know where to take you."
The SID office would have been the most appropriate, Shen Wei thinks, but wonders if Zhao Yunlan is trying to protect him and it makes his heart warm. He clears his throat, "Where is this?" He asks, looking at the balcony. Its not Zhao Yunlan's apartment. He knows that street, has stood opposite it enough times. "Are you alright Chief Zhao?"
"An SID safe-house." Zhao Yunlan tells him with a smile. "We were not far from the crime scene, actually."
Crime scene....oh yes the mugger died and presumably golden jacket did as well. Shen Wei refuses show his satisfaction, primal and unbecoming.
It would be mortifying and deeply disturbing if it were anyone else, Shen Wei knows. The thought of being so vulnerable, he didn't stir when he was moved, while he was being transported here...but Zhao Yunlan is here and that means Zhao Yunlan was there for that move. Possibly was the one who moved him. And that is alright, Shen Wei decides.
He belongs to Zhao Yunlan, all of him; body, heart and soul. He was safe in Zhao Yunlan's hands, in his care. So all Shen Wei feels is fondness for this man's kindness, annoyance that he made himself a burden to Zhao Yunlan and embarrassment.
"Thank you Chief Zhao for all you have done. I apologize for being a burden to you and for not being of more help." He says formally.
"Aiyo," Zhao Yunlan says in reply, his eyes foxfire bright and as deep as an ocean at midnight. "None of that! You saved my life tonight and the least... after everything, I could do was bring you somewhere safe. How are you feeling?"
"I am well, thank you Chief Zhao. It was the concussive blast that knocked me out, as it was a mix of Haixingren and Dixingian energies." Shen Wei wasn't entirely sure why he had been knocked unconscious, but he runs with this theory, wanting to ease the concern in those beautiful eyes.
"Who was it that attacked you?" Shen Wei asks boldly, when Zhao Yunlan's mouth tightens. "What happened Chief Zhao?"
"One of the top assassins of the group." Zhao Yunlan says eventually. "Its a good thing I have stamina, we were fighting for over an hour! He attacked while I was having dinner."
Shen Wei knew his stamina well.
"Are you injured?" Shen Wei asks watching Zhao Yunlan move to the kitchen. He hands Shen Wei a cup of tea, plucked from the counter.
"I'm fine. Its probably gone a little cold, I made it while I was waiting. You sound hoarse." Zhao Yunlan says and Shen Wei smiles gratefully, more than willing to drink anything Zhao Yunlan has made.
"Good tea." He comments because it is, despite being tepid. "I hope you didn't have long to wait." He finishes in a mortified tone.
"Only an hour." Zhao Yunlan says waving that off as an unimportant, while Shen Wei stares at him shocked. An hour?
And flushes, he hopes subtly, at the thought of Zhao Yunlan laying him out on that bed.
Shen Wei really needed to get out of here, already wanting to touch that hurt lip and heal it. 'I will inform the Envoy." Shen Wei says demurely.
"That's good." Zhao Yunlan agrees, "I assume as those two have been arrested before for mugging, you were not meeting them down that alleyway?"
Shen Wei frowns, "No. I encountered them and was attempting to talk them out of stealing my things."
Zhao Yunlan nods but Shen Wei has a sinking feeling that he is going to ask him something challenging any moment now. He must have looked through his briefcase. There were grading papers and research documents, so a teaching position is obvious unless he going to think it is a ruse of some kind. He's wearing a suit not black robes, walking down an alleyway in the middle of the night, a long way from the University.
What he asks instead is, "Are the people you were extracting safe?" His eyes sharp and serious, body tense.
Shen Wei moved some of his people yesterday and for a moment he's defensive, stunned that Zhao Yunlan could have witnessed that, when Shen Wei was being paranoid in his attention to detail. Then, he catches what Zhao Yunlan is implying. He thinks he was there in this district, to extract some of the people on the list he gave Zhao Yunlan, tonight.
"My people are safe." The Envoy dressed as a professor tells him.
Zhao Yunlan relaxes and he loves this man, Shen Wei thinks.
"Good." He states simply and Shen Wei is a little surprised that he doesn't ask any further questions about his activities. Its obvious that he wants to, but Shen Wei won't lie to him. But as he has shifted his agents, he can tell him in a neutral voice,
"They and their family have been moved back to Dixing. The Envoy has ordered more Dixingian security for those who remain to work with the Haixingren trade team. We understand you have hidden others as well?"
Zhao Yunlan nods, his face grim. "Not for long. They will only agree for four days. A week for the others. We must move quickly."
Zhao Yunlan grimaces, "It was my intention to involve you in my fight." He says.
Shen Wei understands this, even if it stings a little. If Zhao Yunlan had been fighting for an hour across the old district, it must have been chance or fate that he met Shen Wei.
"I saw you and the assassin threw a fireball at you as a distraction." Zhao Yunlan explains, his tone rueful. "I tried calling out but it would have hit you. I managed to grab you with my whip instead, before you were barbecue."
The three rings around his waist...Zhao Yunlan's whip. He doesn't sound apologetic in the slightest, but he explaining why, clearly expecting Shen Wei to be angry.
He has no idea what he does to Shen Wei. What learning that however unnecessary it might have been, Kunlun has saved his life again.
It makes him want to gather Zhao Yunlan to him, he feels overwhelmed and there are tears pricking in the corners of his eyes. He wants to kneel at his feet or any number of things that he cannot not do. Like kiss him.
"I really wasn't expecting to see you!" Zhao Yunlan adds with a smile, hands tucking into his leather waistcoat. A far more dangerous man than the muggers could ever hope to be and far, far more devastating.
Shen Wei has never felt more devoted or more in love and he didn't that was possible.
"Nor did I." Shen Wei agrees softly, throat working, restraint straining. "I am very grateful you saved my life Chief Zhao. I will do anything you ask to repay this immense kindness."
He is willing to repay the first debt with his life, plans to pay back Zhao Yunlan in full. But now he has two life debts, with the same man, the same hero, the same love of his life. And Shen Wei only has his life give.
Zhao Yunlan's grin is crooked, "I didn't know Dixing held strong value in life debts?"
"Immense." Shen Wei says, watching him intently. Heart in his hands, in his eyes.
He could ask for anything or keep the debt and Shen Wei will keep trying, for as long as he breathes. But Zhao Yunlan tilts his head and for a moment Shen Wei thinks he going to say, smile for me! like last time. The past and present collide a little so he startles when Zhao Yunlan says, "Well we keep meeting after fights and you've helped me when you really should have kicked me out into the rain."
He is so beautiful like this, framed by street lamplight and the warm glow of the table lamp. He looks otherworldly and painfully real for all he's so far away. Untouchable and so precious.
"I would never." Shen Wei says low and a little too fiercely. Its unthinkable even though he knows Zhao Yunlan is testing him and teasing him, because he's Kunlun.
It makes Zhao Yunlan smile more widely, more genuinely. He reaches into his pocket and offers Shen Wei his watch, the 'stolen' watch now folded neatly in the palm of Zhao Yunlan's hand. "I thought you might want it back?"
Breathless, Shen Wei takes it and brushes his fingers over that callused palm as he does . Lightning licks up his spine, dark brows quirk and his restraint barely holds. The watch is so warm from being held against Zhao Yunlan's body. He holds it as the gift it is, puts it back on not as armor, but as a token. He's never parting with it again now.
"Thank you." He says quietly, his barriers fallen to rubble, his heart full of hope and love as he looks up into a foxfire gaze. A lush mouth curves sinfully and then he asks, an eyebrow lifting,
"How about friendship then Shen Wei?"
Seating arrangements are a power move and a nightmare, Zhao Yunlan thought grumpily. Regretting for the ninth time not just meeting on a rooftop, rain or no rain.
Where you invite someone to sit suggests a lot about your intentions. A piece of advice from his mother, never meant to be remembered by her son, but oh was it true.
Especially when you are having a semi-clandestine meeting with the near-immortal king of another nation, in your office because your joint investigation, was taking a sudden turn and reaction had to be swift.
This had to be broached carefully and he was not and never had been good at this. Give him a murder, give him commanding officers or a complex social situation and he would be fine. He could hold his own in most fights, understood politics to a survivable degree and was excellent at reading people. Their wants, motives, vulnerabilities and at calculating probable reactions.
Playing nice to this degree was not something he felt prepared for, so he needed to be inventive in how he went about this.
His own office was too formal and very much looked like a desperate power play. Downstairs was too casual and might be seen as irreverent. A meeting on another rooftop might end in another fight against the idiots trying to kill him, which would be embarrassing - that and it was raining. A bar or restaurant was too disrespectful for a meeting with a king and everywhere else Zhao Yunlan could go was dark, backstreet and not really nice enough for a royal.
His own apartment was out. He could have requested the cottage again, but that was an ancestral home, Shen Wei's property and somehow he just knew that this meeting was very much 'his turn'.
This could not be his life! Overthinking a damn meeting, like it was his first date. But there was a lot riding on this. Plus, the conversation they were about to have...well Zhao Yunlan wanted it to happen on his turf.
He trusted the Envoy but they both had their own agendas. It would be foolish to believe otherwise. That this investigation had temporarily stuck them on a shared path, only meant that for a finite time, the Envoy would be amendable to helping him. Zhao Yunlan expected that to change as soon as it ended.
It really didn't surprise him that the Envoy teleported into the office, proving that you could do that through the shield, when you have enough power. It didn't surprise him that he arrived one minute before the scheduled eleven pm, or that he greeted Zhao Yunlan warmly.
He did experience mild surprise, when the Envoy flowed up the spiral flight of stairs like a proper regal force, without a single moment of hesitation, not even allowing Zhao Yunlan to descend them to properly greet him either.
'Thank you for coming Bixia." Zhao Yunlan tried, with one of his best smiles. "I hope I didn't pull you away from something important?"
"Not at all Chief Zhao. I am happy you summoned me." The Envoy replied and actually sounded honest as unbelievable as that would have been to the Zhao Yunlan of a month ago. The Envoy happy he had called.
Taking a look at the setting once there, a casual once over, he chose the leather sofa against the wall. A lingering gaze on the white boards set up not far from the library door.
Well, the library Zhao Yunlan had stuffed into a room that was never meant to be a library and wasn't exactly sitting on the same plane of existence either. It was both a relief and slightly disappointing that for all their posturing, the agents from the Xingdu Bureau completely missed it.
But the Envoy had sensed it and still sat without hesitation. As if sitting together was something they just did. It was this very reaction from the Envoy who, he had been soundly informed for a year, hated him... that was so jarring, jolting him from his usual stable ground.
If The Envoy or Shen Wei for that matter, had treated him aggressively or were cold in their manner, Zhao Yunlan felt that he would be better equipped, a familiar territory. But this calm gentleness, this genuine undisguised warmth, was something Zhao Yunlan had never experienced. No one, save for his mother had ever been happy to see him.
It stripped him of many of his patented defenses and he found himself making room for the Envoy, and despite his unforgiving nature, it made Zhao Yunlan actually willing to forgive the past year.
A strategic choice, Zhao Yunlan thought with interest watching the Envoy, feeling impressed and slightly put out that his rehearsed greeting had been accepted so smoothly, even if it feel odd.
It allowed the Envoy to see the front door of SID from this angle, whoever was coming up the stairs and the entirety of the mezzanine level. It was the seat, Zhao Yunlan himself would have taken in an unfamiliar and possibly unsettling place, considering the long, often bitter history between Dixing, namely the Envoy himself and the Guardian Order.
To truly take this peace offering and equally gain something from it, to as unrealistically as Da Qing said it was, actually heal some of the unhelpful, ugly rift between Topside and Underside...he needed to continue this fragile relationship. Basically, as he always had in every situation and level of his education or career - he needed to prove himself.
The tricky part was defining in what way he needed to prove himself. Because bizarrely, getting kidnapped and identifying a murder spree led by a bunch of Dixingian assassins, had proven something fundamental to the Envoy. He'd taken a risk and had been surprised when he had been rewarded for it.
Personally, he didn't think it made him or the Order look good, professional or reliable. It didn't make him look like a steady pair of hands. And there was a Haixing-led conspiracy in this mess too, involving the Xingdu Bureau. If not for Shen Wei, he would be dead.
Far from putting a strike against him, these events seemed to put the Envoy at ease. And not because it made Zhao Yunlan look weak either. His confession on the hospital roof had forged the first planks of a bridge across turbulent waters and every meeting since had only improved things.
Maybe because he had tried to protect the Envoy on the roof, something his predecessors would never have done, or because he had convinced him that justice was what Zhao Yunlan served. Maybe it was the Token choosing him or the approval of the millennia dead Lord Kunlun.
Zhao Yunlan had no idea and no way of finding out. All he knew was that he had working relationship with the Envoy that was stronger than anyone deemed possible, but still new and fragile.
It was a relief, an itchy twisting something in his gut he couldn't name and made him feel wrong-footed somewhere.
For some reason though, it made Zhao Yunlan smile to watch the Envoy elegantly flick his left hand, arranging his robes in seconds just so, and then sit in a way, Zhao Yunlan could only describe as 'primly'.
Still, Zhao Yunlan chose not the opposite sofa as expected, but the armchair to the Envoy's right. It wasn't proper and looked vaguely disrespectful, but opposite was another power play and the Envoy had yet to be offended by him being too close. Another oddity.
The Envoy somehow elegantly swiveled so he could look at Zhao Yunlan, but didn't seem offended or annoyed, if anything he seemed...pleased.
He watched Zhao Yunlan make the tea and took the offered cup with hands that were not eager, but certainly not hesitant. More...reverent. As though this too was a well-tread ritual. Perhaps it was, Zhao Yunlan wondered. There must have been other Guardians who had offered tea and...
"Excellent tea Chief Zhao, thank you and a beautiful tea set." The Envoy commented in that deep lovely voice.
Zhao Yunlan didn't react for a second and then said, "It was my mother's." Why he felt the need to admit this, he didn't know, but it was out there now, filling the air.
It was one of three things he owned that were once his mother's. This cream colored tea set, with hand painted cherry blossoms and grey mountains, made over a hundred years ago and handed down lovingly through her family. This and a stolen pack of photographs and her bracelet. His father had destroyed everything else.
"Ah. She has impeccable taste." The Envoy replies softly, his right hand gently cradling the cup.
"She did." He agreed in a too-light tone, knowing this would admit simply that she was dead. Except for her taste in men. But on a happier note, she would have been thrilled that her tea set had been used for royalty.
The Envoy's lovely mouth tightens, face hidden by the mask. "Forgive me if,"
"Not at all." Zhao Yunlan says interrupting him, as he picked up his own cup. Wang Zheng had washed the tea set, he had asked her to, knowing she would be incredibly careful. He hadn't trusted himself not to accidentally break something.
He offers the Envoy the platter plate of dried fruit, tiny bakery biscuits and carefully shelled nuts that Wang Zheng had arranged. He could have gone for sweets or cakes, something elaborate - suitable for a king, but there was something about the Envoy, that made Zhao Yunlan shy away from that. He didn't think that the Envoy would go for something that could potentially be messy, not with black robes.
But, sharing food is a vital custom in Dixing. Offering it even more so. This was a truce and while Zhao Yunlan was born a non-conformist, there were times when traditions had to be used. He also had to take into consideration that the Envoy was the king of Dixing, a mythical being and immensely powerful. Offering him fruit was far easier than many of the alternatives.
The Envoy didn't seem to like fuss, grand gestures or anything that was too ostentatious. The king as Chu Shuzhi had once told him, preferred simple living and valued some key traditions. He was, as Da Qing had pointed out, ancient.
And he had offered tea at the cottage at their last meeting, so it would only be right to reciprocate.
.....And Zhao Yunlan was probably over thinking things.
It would be rude for the Envoy to decline, so he takes with the tiny black chopsticks, a small dried apricot, placing it on the provided high quality, small white plate. Where Wang Zheng got them from he didn't know. Zhao Yunlan just hopes he didn't buy a bitter pack of apricots, as he takes a pitted date and chews slowly.
Right, that done he turns back to business. Enough tradition. "Your report was immaculate Bixia. I am especially grateful for it."
He offers the platter again as soon as the apricot vanishes and the Envoy selects a tiny biscuit. Thank the Heavens he let Wang Zheng choose all this. She bought the good ones from the bakery down the street. "The message you gave to Shen Wei, indicated you have concerns." The Envoy replies, tone warm and curious.
"I do." Zhao Yunlan replies keeping his posture open and relaxed, "But on the subject of Shen Wei..."
The Envoy lifts his head and looks directly at Zhao Yunlan from beneath his hood. How he knows this is also a mystery as the hood is nothing but a cavern around his head, so black its like looking into a cave, but Zhao Yunlan forges on. "I must offer reparation for what happened last night. I take full responsibility for it."
Because that nearly been a complete disaster. Zhao Yunlan can still taste his own panic and fear when Shen Wei had stepped right in front of that explosion shielding them both and when he had seen the assassin going for the well-dressed man he had mistaken for a businessman until he had seen that face. For a moment he had thought the whip wasn't going to be able to pull Shen Wei fast enough, from the perfectly aimed blade which was a breath from hitting him.
"For the attack on your own person?" The Envoy sounds bemused and confused in equal measure. "You think I wish to demand punishment Chief Zhao?" The lit in his tone with that question suggested annoyance.
"Shen Wei is without doubt a skillful, brave warrior," Zhao Yunlan begins, "...But he nearly died. This was my fault."
There was a pause and then the Envoy said, "...In the report I was given, it said that you were attacked over dinner? That you fought for some time against one of these assassins, who then tried to use...Shen Wei... as a distraction?"
"That is correct." Zhao Yunlan says calmly, wondering at the pause before Shen Wei's name.
'We promised truth." The Envoy said, tone somewhere between his usual respectful consideration and something just a little challenging. As if he was talking about wedding vows and blood oaths.
They had and Zhao Yunlan had little choice here but to opt for the truth. "I was there to meet someone from the Jade Mountain Sect." Zhao Yunlan admitted after a beat. "One of my people came in following someone I had no evidence on, but was curious about. The assassin was targeting one or the other. I ordered Chu Shuzhi to clear the building when the assassin pulled out his fire tricks and to get the suspected target out. When I followed, we fought. I do not believe though that he recognized Shen Wei or targeted him specifically for being Dixingian."
"A convenient potential victim in the heat of the moment?" The Envoy clarified. Ah, so he didn't think he recognized Shen Wei either. Curious. Perhaps he was operating on the Envoy's direct order then, when he moved the key people.
Time for a professional verbal report, Zhao Yunlan thought. "Unfortunately, yes. Chu Shuzhi had just made it to us and the potential of his Dixingian gift made the assassin rash. He lashed out at Shen Wei purely I think as a distraction." He frowned thinking, "It seemed a familiar tactic for him. I grabbed Shen Wei using the Order whip. Chu Shuzhi prevented him from killing me, but he was thrown off the roof. In the end, if not for Shen Wei, I don't know how that would have ended."
Badly. He thought but he kept his voice calm and that thought off his face.
The Envoy was quiet for another long pause, "Were you aware of the...explosive device?"
Zhao Yunlan frowned, "Yes and no Bixia. I didn't know he was carrying one, but the devices themselves... are known to me."
"Someone has used them on you before?" The Envoy sounded incredulous and angry.
"Yes. They sell him openly in Dixing apparently. Talismans and devices, normally concealed in a packet or small box . But Bixia, Shen Wei..."
"Should have known better." The Envoy said lowly. "Do not excuse him Chief Zhao. I am only grateful that you saved him and that he could help you."
"It was my fault he ...and his mission were in danger." Zhao Yunlan said firmly and pointedly offered him the platter.
"There is no fault." The Envoy replied and used the chopsticks to take another apricot almost defiantly. "Was this man linked to the report I gave you?" The Envoy then asked, watching him.
Zhao Yunlan hesitated and the Envoy replaced his chopsticks on the small plate and folded his hands, as if daring him to prevaricate or otherwise weasel out of this. Zhao Yunlan openly stared at him for a moment, assessing him and then sighed. "All of what I tell you Bixia, is Order to Envoy. I cannot interfere with any other domain or potentially damage relations between our worlds."
"Anything you tell me will remain confidential unless it involves a threat to my people." The Envoy said formally, then he leaned forward and the air felt kissed with power. It wasn't posturing either, non-threatening and he thought entirely involuntary. "Believe me Chief Zhao, I know the risk you are taking doing this - trusting me. I will not allow them to hurt you for it."
It was earnest and his voice rang with emotion that did not match this situation or their fragile truce. It made him think of Shen Wei's doe eyes and Chu Shuzhi's desperate need to help keep the Treaty, all while badly appearing not to care.
So Zhao Yunlan pulls the file at his elbow closer and retrieves two pieces of paper to hand them to the Envoy. "I don't have this in formation." He says emphatically.
He waits for the Envoy to nod and then gives him the papers. "I understand Chief Zhao."
Zhao Yunlan sighs, "The guy on the left is Fan Wei," He points idly to the whiteboard where on the left all of the Haixingren murder victims are labeled. Fan Wei's photo was listed with a blue number 5 beside his name.
"His murder was not an SID case but the detective who investigated, could not find a culprit and there was something odd about how he died." Zhao Yunlan explained. "I was never supposed to get involved, but the detective wanted SID involvement but was stopped."
"Odd? I assume the Xingdu Bureau for whatever reason didn't want you involved." The Envoy asks softly, glancing up from the pages. The page on the right was a Dixingian agent straight from the in-depth report the Envoy had provided him with at the cottage.
The names given were the names used in Haixing. Their real identities were unknown, but that was more, far more than Zhao Yunlan had expected at the cottage. The twitch of the hand holding the papers, told Zhao Yunlan that he had been recognized.
"There was a hole burned through his chest, like a laser. Small enough to be missed at first but it was the cause of death." Zhao Yunlan replied. "He also works for the Ministry, worked on the trade deal draft and was a lesser known member of the trade deal team. But none of that made him odd. "
The Envoy's expression could not be seen obviously, but Zhao Yunlan sensed a certain confusion. "Was his death still posed as an accident?"
Zhao Yunlan shakes his head, "No. He was executed in the middle of his living room, blood from minor facial wounds splattered over the furniture. He wasn't married, had no partner preferring to frequent brothels at least twice a week. Had some interesting kinks too which made him very memorable. No debt that we can find and no known enemies."
"But you think the assassins killed him?" The Envoy queries in that soft tone still, trusting Zhao Yunlan's judgement.
Zhao Yunlan shrugs, "Someone fried the alarm system to gain entrance. Cops were immediately called and arrived within minutes to find blood and no Fan Wei. Around ninety minutes later, the cops were standing on the threshold of his apartment filling in their superior, when the body appears."
"Portal?"
Zhao Yunlan helps himself to some pistachios and nods, "I assume so, but no one actually saw anything, just heard the thump when he landed on his carpet. The attending cops were knocked out somehow but woke again within minutes."
"Not a gift I am aware of." The Envoy says concerned, sipping his tea. "Do you suspect drugs?"
"Its possible, but there is a cover-up in place. None of that info was allowed into the official report." Zhao Yunlan poured them both another cup, sliding a warm talisman beneath the teapot casually.
"All of the other cases were subtle. Framed as accidents or suicide. Yet this one was showy, dramatic." The Envoy said lowly, as he chose another biscuit and took his fresh tea, "And yet this case was not given to SID?"
"No. It was given to the Xingdu Bureau and the local cops didn't have a choice." He doesn't hide his annoyance. "There's more. What's curious is that Agent Wen, was purposefully kidnapped a day before I was, by Dead Leader's crew and was unofficially the last person to see Fan Wei alive, outside a restaurant at seven pm." Zhao Yunlan explained. "This got me thinking."
"The Dixingian murder you have linked him to?" The Envoy asks his head turned to the board.
"Was the odd one out." Zhao Yunlan explained. "All of the other Dixingian murder victims have been close contacts with the Haixingren. Friends, lovers etc and were killed in faked accidents. This one, Jizeng Mao was found in a parking lot outside Fan Wei's apartment block, face down and had died from no visible wounds. The cops thought he was drunk at first. His cause of death is listed as suffocation. He also saw Agent Wen."
"Was he a close contact?" The Envoy asks dryly.
You know he wasn't. Zhao Yunlan thought. You have been over the same list of Dixingian plants and probably know them backwards and forwards by now.
But still, Zhao Yunlan took the bait.
"No. He is an accountant at a leading firm and has several close Haixingren friends. He had no reason to be on the other side of the city, at that time of night either. His Boss had invited him for dinner, but he never showed up. They were so concerned, his Boss contacted the police for a missing persons investigation." Zhao Yunlan said simply, ignoring the elephant in the room. There is no kind way to talk about this, the reciprocal murders. All he can do is forge ahead and be professional.
"I can find no link, not even a loose one to tie him to Fan Wei without directly asking his co-workers and friends, which I don't have any jurisdiction to do. The only person I can connect him to is Agent Wen."
The Envoy sipped his tea silently for a long pause, "You suspect her?"
"I have no evidence against her. But she was there that night, on CCTV. Her car was parked near that spot where he died and she is known to hold anti-Dixingian views." Zhao Yunlan replied, splitting another pistachio nut idly. "What I did find was another link to all of them. Every murder, beyond the scope of the trade deal and I really don't have any true evidence to back it up."
"What do you mean?" The Envoy asks immediately, lifting his head from where he had been staring at his teacup. "Tell me. I know if you believe it, then we will find the evidence."
"This is conjecture to a certain point Bixia." Zhao Yunlan reminds him, surprised by the declaration of trust.
"Then we will theorize together." The Envoy replies selecting a pitted date.
Zhao Yunlan really likes him. "The question I could not answer, was why not kill Huang Jianxin and his close contact, whose name is listed in your report, as Song Jia?" Zhao Yunlan says calmly, as if he is not talking about someone being murdered. "If I know about them, they must do."
The Envoy shifts in his seat, his hand tightening on his cup, before visibly, carefully relaxing. "What do you mean Chief Zhao?"
"I'm not fishing for information on her." He reassures quickly. "I believe it would prudent to put in safeties for her life however. She might be a target. But, he's my interest. He is one of the main pro-Dixing architects of the trade deal. He went to Dixing as part of the big visit and he's having a very obvious affair with Song Jia. He visits her apartment at least once a day usually at eight pm. They drive to restaurants together, walks...easy targets."
"I have found him to be an respectful diplomat and as you say, pro-Dixing." The Envoy admits but it doesn't sound like a warning, more like a suggestion that Huang Jianxin is a good man and should be respected.
"...Is doing nothing wrong. Not even morally. He's divorced and they're both consenting adults." Zhao Yunlan smiles thinly. "Like I said not my business. But...he has little security, refuses any curtailing of his personal freedom and frequents quiet areas to hangout with his girlfriend." Zhao Yunlan counters smoothly.
"His death would derail the negotiations, if that was the main goal. A dream for a group of assassins looking to ruin the chances of both worlds. A dream for the Haixingren supremacists, if they knew she was Dixingian." Zhao Yunlan adds immediately. "So why not go for them? An unfortunate car accident like so many others?"
"I do not know." The Envoy admits, "But I suspect you do Chief Zhao."
"No. I only know the link between them all and its not one I can prove in court. A link that Huang Jianxin does not share." Zhao Yunlan informs him and pulls out another piece of paper.
"These are the deceased Haixingren... The Blue Ouyang Sect?" The Envoy reads aloud. "I have never heard of them."
"Very few have." Zhao Yunlan admits drinking his tea, "They have almost zero fame, no specialties or martial disciplines of their own. They started out as the Yueyang Sect. I know them well."
"And I understand that this knowledge has come to you, through criminal investigations?" The Envoy asks, cradling his cup.
"They murdered a friend of mine." Zhao Yunlan said flatly, eyes turning cold. "She was a journalist. When I investigated, I put eight of their members behind bars, including their sect leader."
The Envoy says nothing for another long beat of silence, "I am sorry for your loss Chief Zhao."
Zhao Yunlan nods and then smiles more warmly. "Thank you. No one else has ever said that."
"They should have." The Envoy counters.
Zhao Yunlan sighs and sips his own tea in the lull. "Most of their members have low cultivation. Their interest lies with forging ties, in companies and in government, selling themselves as cultivation experts. They have deep pockets and usually pay for their disciples to gain higher education through their funded university choices."
'And all of the Haixingren victims are members?" The Envoy asks, an edge to his tone.
"All of them. None of them are from Dragon City either. But the key part, is that Dead Leader is apparently one of them and so were at least four of the Dixingian victims as well." Zhao Yunlan says enjoying the sudden pause as the Envoy fully turns towards him.
"They joined...a sect?" The Envoy asks disbelievingly. "I have no record of this!"
"Ah." Zhao Yunlan replies, eyebrows raised. "Well, I assume they went in undercover to learn more about the organization. As I said, its not cultivation they are primarily interested in, certainly not your spiritual power. Without needing a demonstration of skill, any Dixingian agent would find it relatively easy to be a member."
The Envoy sits back, by an inch perhaps. He doesn't deny it, possibly didn't even know about this. Its impressive to see on a leather sofa, the king of Dixing reclining ever so slightly.
"And this contact of yours from the Jade Mountain Sect warned you of this?" The Envoy guesses and Zhao Yunlan smiles.
"Exactly Bixia. Which is why I have no proof." Then his smile dims and he frowns. It causes the Envoy to lean forward again.
"What is it Chief Zhao?" He asks, warm concern in his deep voice.
"Lord Kunlun ...." There was a sudden tremble in the Envoy's hand holding the cup, but Zhao Yunlan forges on, "Is not much quoted, but there are rules, his rules that I must follow."
"Someone wants the Tokens." The Envoy says with a far harder edge to his voice now, body tensing beneath black fabric.
"My contact...He also came to warn me about something else." Zhao Yunlan admits and he must be crazy, but Kunlun and the Envoy were friends. Its all anyone really knows. Some call them zhiji in Dixing. "That there are more people than ever looking for the Hallows. Lord Kunlun warned that the Tokens must be kept separate from them. I don't know why, only that they must. Fan Wei had information about the Tokens. That's all he said."
"So...Dead Leader kidnapped you and Agent Wen potentially to gain the Tokens...or because the group he left was not the assassins as we had assumed...but the Yueyang Sect?" The Envoy considers. "I assume as well that the Yueyang are involved with the black market?"
"That was my understanding originally. They have made themselves indispensable and have lesser known ties to the black market between our worlds. They do not come from Dragon City, but they operate here, not as a Sect but for business interests. They have money in Dixingian companies too, things like pharmaceuticals if I understand correctly." Zhao Yunlan told him calmly. "They are donors and always have links to the supremacists."
"Holding out coins to both sides." The Envoy says in realization. "Did they pay for the assassins?"
"They have deep enough pockets." Zhao Yunlan admits, "If the trade deal is bad for business, then they have opportunities in their members being on the team. If its good for business they can use this to shape the deal to align to their interests.
"Are the assassins then being paid to get rid of the Yueyang sect members?" The Envoys asks, "Is that their actual purpose?"
"It might be." Zhao Yunlan says considering the options, "They are members of the Yueyang and that sect only operates for their own gain. So they are tweaking things for their interest and benefit without doubt. But they can only do so much. If the rebels are employing them to level up the playing field, the Dixingian victims might be considered traitors."
"Any one against the rebel ideology is an enemy." The Envoy said sharply, mouth twisting.
Zhao Yunlan really wants a lollipop.
"Where does the Xingdu Bureau fit in with this?" The Envoy asks, flicking a hand at the board.
"Either trying to stop the Yueyang, or unknowingly working with them to keep the trade deal running smoothly." Zhao Yunlan said thoughtfully. "The rebels might be using the Bureau to find the Yueyang members. Agent Wen reacted badly when she realized I was a high-end cultivator. The Bureau didn't outright mistreat my people, but they tried the basic ways to discredit or demean them. Trapping Lin Jing for example in an interrogation room for hours..."
"Trying to keep all the cultivators away from your office then?" The Envoy theorized.
"Ah, Bixia..." Zhao Yunlan purred. "As if that would stop me?"
The Envoy cleared his throat. "What were they looking for?"
"The Tokens cannot be found easily. " Zhao Yunlan reassured, "We don't have the Hallows. They might have wanted to confirm if I was a member if the Yueyang. Two of my predecessors were members...or to find my connection to the Jade Mountain Sect."
"Agent Wen might be Yueyang. If someone is paying the assassins to kill off the Yueyang Sect...and they do not have enough understanding of the jianghu to realize that you don't have to be a member of them..." The Envoy theorized. "That means we have two parties at play. One to kill the Yueyang and break the trade deal and the other to...in a consolidated attack on the Guardian. An attack on you."
"Agent Wen certainly didn't have much understanding and the Yueyang hate me openly." Zhao Yunlan adds.
"Is this a coup against you?" The Envoy demanded in a serious, determined tone, as of the very idea was betrayal.
Zhao Yunlan had thought about it. They didn't have the best relationship...a non-existent relationship spanning twenty years...but he didn't think his father wanted him dead. The Yueyang however had tried before.
"Perhaps," He allows calmly. "Killing the Guardian does destabilize the talks to a certain degree...but it hinders rather than destroys. The rebels perhaps don't know this. It gives the supremacists an excuse but again, its the government that is interested in the trade deal primarily and my death won't sway them much. It would make the Yueyang very happy."
"Your death would change a great deal." The Envoy replies darkly. Before Zhao Yunlan can ask, he forges on. "Perhaps they know that you are investigating and by knowing you, they will anticipate that post-trade deal you will act to shut them down."
The Envoy says this with no doubt, as if he had long been aware of Zhao Yunlan's private plans. He was right. The Guardian could very easily shut down a sect.
"Perhaps that was why Dead Leader kidnapped you. Not for the rebels but for the Yueyang. The assassins must understand the jianghu. They must to be able to operate." The Envoy considers, still holding his cup.
"Two parties or one controlling two?" Zhao Yunlan asked. "We know someone wants the talks destabilized. Someone is murdering key people. The Judge who monitors the agents in Haixing. She was hiding a lot. Murder for one thing. Ten murder cases in Haixing at least, half of them Haixingren, all belonging to the Yueyang. The other half are Dixingian citizens well concealed as agents positioned to be in close contact with the first group."
"The trade deal has taken ten years to achieve at least. That's a long time to monitor the people involved."
The Envoy tilted his head, "A long time to wait but not if you consider the impact of killing them now over then. They would have been replaced."
"Yes." And ten years was plenty of time to plant agents and Zhao Yunlan doubted it was just Dixing. "The murders are only beneficial if they die now. My death is the same."
"I will not allow harm to come to you." The Envoy said flatly, hands clenched.
"You are too good to me Bixia." Zhao Yunlan said sipping his tea.
"A year of suffering would disagree with that assessment Chief Zhao. I certainly do." The Envoy replied sounding beaten down...which Zhao Yunlan for all his pettiness didn't like.
So he changes tactic quickly. "If Dead Leader was rolling with two parties, he ended up betraying one. There are no records on the guy he wanted to trade me in for and the Xingdu Bureau is refusing to answer me. Is there a chance he is in Dixing? Either that, or he was betraying "
"I will check." The Envoy promises, then he asks, "What if Dead Leader wanted to get rid of Agent Wen because she discovered he was Dixingian? And killing you was a peace offering to both sides. If he didn't want her to out the rebels and agents that the Judge planted inside the Yueyang, even inside the Bureau?"
"The Bureau would want to save face which would explain their desperate interest. Getting their attention is hard normally. Why would the Judge care?" Zhao Yunlan asks. "The Yueyang are a controllable problem. As you said getting rid of them earlier would have little effect on the outcome? If we are right, the Judge was corrupt and working with the assassins that eventually killed her."
"True. But what if they have only just discovered this?" The Envoy counters. "If the Bureau have discovered they have been infiltrated and used...they would want revenge. Agent Wen might be in the middle."
Zhao Xin Ci would be the flag bearer, Zhao Yunlan thought.
"That's certainly an option." Zhao Yunlan said thoughtfully. "We know Dead Leader was running both sides. His henchmen wanted me dead, but he was reluctant. He excused it as using me as a bargaining chip...unless he was working for the Bureau?"
The Envoy stilled and he seemed to meet Zhao Yunlan's wide gaze. "And kidnapped Agent Wen, the prosecutor and yourself as hostages against the Bureau, to bend them to his will."
"Someone wants the Yueyang and the Dixingian agents dead quietly and quickly." The Envoy says slowly. "The Judge set mercenaries on you, in the hopes she could have you killed eventually."
"Expensive and long winded." Zhao Yunlan had to point out.
"I doubt she was paying them, only offering a generous reward for your death." The Envoy said darkly. "But the assassins have not come for you directly like they have for others. A car accident or on the job shooting. They attacked on a rooftop, to kill you before you could investigate."
"But I've pretended that its over." Zhao Yunlan said calmly. "They don't know that I've been investigating as many of their kills as I can find."
"Yes. Which means that the rebels are not looking for your death, but Yueyang are." The Envoy concluded. "The Bureau are waiting for you be attacked." He added in a low horrified tone.
"I filed a complaint with the Xingdu Bureau over the murder case. They knew all the conflict with the court." Zhao Yunlan mused.
"Explaining the cruel use of the prosecutor and her child." The Envoy agreed.
"So Agent Wen knew that Dead Leader was Dixingian and he needed to hide his involvement with a Haixing sect...he kidnaps me to look convincing and Agent Wen for protection. The prosecutor was the lure..." Zhao Yunlan theorized. He turned to the Envoy and asked, "Are your people safe?"
The Envoy cradles his cup and says, "Yes Chief Zhao. They have been moved back to Dixing."
Which must have been Shen Wei's job, Zhao Yunlan muses. It also means that some agents have been left in place, that didn't have involvement in the trade deal.
"Fan Wei must have known something."
'The facial injuries suggest that." The Envoy agrees, "That means anger or a need for answers."
"Someone must have told Jizeng Mao." Zhao Yunlan adds. "He has no connection to Fan Wei, so there must have been a call, an emergency."
"I cannot answer who made that call Chief Zhao." The Envoy replies, "I do not know. If I did I would tell you. Do you believe that Agent Wen killed him?"
Zhao Yunlan raises both hands, "No footage, no one to ask. She is too close, without a warrant I'd get no where."
"Chief Zhao?"
Zhao Yunlan sighs, "No. I don't. She was there for Fan Wei."
'So the rebels are scrambling to kill the remaining Yueyang members or the rest of the trade deal team." The Envoy states calmly, "The Yueyang are scrambling to find out who is killing their number, possibly blaming you."
"I cannot say that the fights I've had this year have all been private Bixia." Zhao Yunlan says bluntly. "If I have been under surveillance, they would have that on file."
Which means the whole of the Xingdu Bureau have reviewed those fights by now. The Yueyang have no love for him and if they have infiltrated the Bureau, they know about it too.
"The Yueyang will try for your life." The Envoy intones it viciously.
"By using Agent Wen probably." Zhao Yunlan says thoughtfully. "She has a reason to come and see me. Stoking her will likely bring them to my door."
"The rebels will want her dead." The Envoy points out reasonably.
"And me conveniently framed for it." Zhao Yunlan counters.
"This will put your life in danger." The Envoy snaps.
"On a paper plan yes. But they don't know that I'm working with you Bixia, do they?" Zhao Yunlan replies.
"I won't let them hurt you." The Envoy solemnly vows. Its sweet.
"What about the man you had your people following?"
"Li Mingcheng." Zhao Yunlan draws out his name. "I found him through the one case we do have jurisdiction for."
"The daughter who was following her father?'
"That one." Zhao Yunlan nods grimly. "And the father wasn't Yueyang either. According to my contact, he was investigating them and he knew his friend was Dixingian."
"Where does this Li Mingcheng come into it?"
"He was the one supplying the kid with information over email. Lin Jing finally tracked him down and it turns out he is working for the same accountancy firm as Jizeng Mao, but we can find no link between the two. He's in IT support and he had a grudge I suspect against her father or his friend."
"You have him in custody?" The Envoy asks.
"Yes. In a safe house guarded by Chu Shuzhi. But he won't talk. Denied everything until I shoved the Dixingian murders in his face and then he started demanding protection. Won't speak a word now." Zhao Yunlan admits. "I have no proof against him other than some emails and a loose link to the murders."
"Will you allow me to speak with him?" The Envoy asks immediately.
"I was really hoping you would Bixia." Zhao Yunlan says with a bold smile.
When summoned by a king, one must be prepared. Ages old advice that was still passed down through the Imperial Service, but only the high echelon members of that service were actually supposed to ever see the king, let alone converse with him.
For the first time in his life, Chu Shuzhi felt that he was actually prepared to meet with his king and for once, he was early.
His skin prickled with the weight of the judgemental gazes he could not see, here in this urban sanctuary for any loyal to the Crown of Dixing. The wealthy avenue hardly seemed the right place for an audience with the mystical king of their people, the Protector himself. But this was where he had been directed and one really didn't argue with royalty.
Even when it took him six hours to the get the right piece of permission paper for entry and another half an hour to actually get inside the gate.
Zhao Yunlan, whose great cultivation gift seemed to include bureaucracy, was no doubt laughing at him.
So here he was, an hour before dawn outside in the pretty garden, lit with expensive lanterns illuminating the greeting dais that had been used perhaps once before.
Based entirely on the style of report that Zhao Yunlan preferred, all of his gathered intel was assembled into one of those brown paper folders, he had taken from Wang Zheng's stationary store last night. Now resting on the stones beside his feet.
Intel that could be described as 'stolen', certainly reviewed without permission and somewhere also broke one of Zhao Yunlan's cardinal trust rules. Guilt however he liked to deny it, was not unfamiliar to him, even if it irritated him that he was feeling guilty for going behind Chief Zhao's back.
That was if the irritating man didn't already know. There was no telling with him. Often until it was too late.
Somewhere, he thought along this dusty road he had begun to enjoy working for the Haixingren gangsta with a police badge. He shook his head. Zhao Yunlan was an unorthodox Guardian if compared to the last five of them, certainly to his last two predecessors...but it could be said that he was truer to the spirit of the first Lord Guardian, than any other.
For thirteen months he had held the office and rarely had a week passed without an attack. For the ten months, Chu Shuzhi had been working for SID he had despaired of Dixing doing anything to change this.
Now the Emperor was involved. Personally.
Power coalesced suddenly, heavy and oppressive. The temperatures once too warm for comfort plummeted to icy winter. The scent of ozone was in the air for a brief moment and a deep voice commanded him to rise from his knees.
Chu Shuzhi knelt respectfully and then at the command rose, folding his hands in front of him, eyes on the floor.
"Greetings, My King." He said humbly.
Dawn had not yet touched the sky and shadows clung to the long robes and sweeping cloak, as the Black Robed Envoy stepped from the portal to the lantern lit garden. The old house towering above them, had been built in the early thirties for a wealthy businessman and his family. Agents for the Crown of Dixing and passed along a family line to the present day, all of them loyal to the king.
"You have news?" The deep voice asked from the shadows of the wide hood.
"Yes, Your Majesty." Chu Shuzhi answered readily enough. "I have discovered information about the Sect Your Majesty mentioned, the assassination group and...Lord Kunlun, The Blessed Protector's Tokens."
It always paid well to use respectful titles when referring to Lord Kunlun. His role in the Great War against the rebels that culminated in the Peace Treaty and ultimately, prosperity for Dixing...was such that the King made sure that his contribution and sacrifice was remembered. Celebrated and thanked with genuine gratitude at the Kunlun Shrine and War Memorial.
Peace and prosperity had come at price and those who had paid it in blood, were always remembered. Everyone had an ancestor they thanked at the Memorial every year, beginning when the thunder of the New Year drums rang across the land.
"How?" The Emperor and Envoy asked, his voice smooth but carrying something, a hint of censure in its depths.
He might be projecting, but it reminded him of his own guilt, so Chu Shuzhi answered it anyway, in full. "Chief Zhao believes there might be something about the assassination group that we have missed. He gave a standing order three days ago to find out as much as we could."
It was a standing order, because it had an urgency, an undeniable 'I want it now' flavor, but he had used to gain access anyway.
"The fact that they have a tattoo, suggests they have been around for awhile." Chu Shuzhi continued when there was no reply. "Chief Zhao wanted to know if they were a wannabe old group or an actual historical assassination company."
"Are there such records in the Order?" The Envoy asked quietly.
"Before my employment...I have no idea My King. Chief Zhao...." Here Chu Shuzhi had to pause. Then he sighed, a tiny breath barely heard but registered by sharp ears across from him. "Chief Zhao likes to pretend to be lax and stupid....to lure his prey closer, but he has the eyes of the Great Plumed owl in Dixing. He misses nothing and hoards knowledge like a dragon would keep gold."
"Wang Zheng told me that Chief Zhao, when he took over the building as the new tenant, spend a fortnight constructing wards and...false places." He added not sure if that was another broken trust in a cemetery full of them.
"False places?" The King asked sounding curious. "What kind of false places?"
"Haixingren cultivation is no specialty of mine, My King." Chu Shuzhi had to admit this, "But from what Wang Zheng told me, he hides rooms in plain sight warded to look innocuous. Chief Zhao stuffed a library into a storage room, but is not...of this plane? Its somewhere else with a doorway in the SID building. No book can leave and because its Chief Zhao, there is no organization either. He says he 'inherited' it. He also knows all of the obscure, shady bookshops."
He lets the slightest hint of irritation creep into his voice before it smooths to respect once more. "Chief has a set of ancient records in another room. Its circular in design and windowless. In there are the Guardian records. He allowed us in there to check if there was mention of a group."
It was more than windowless room, sizzling with power and stifling in its stuffy intensity. Shelves almost at breaking point with scrolls, books and ledgers, from every century. All of it preserved through some cultivation array, or for all he knew, some Haixing sunlit magic. Zhu Hong had been just as awestruck and just as confused. Chief Zhao? Unhelpful and almost smug about the state of it.
"What did you find?" The Envoy asks politely.
Chu Shuzhi grimaced unseen. "There are mentions of an assassination group suspected to be from Dixing, that has committed murder here in Haixing on and off for around three hundred years. The Order has intervened several times but times of devastation or conflict usually happen just before or after them. They have no name in the records."
"I also found out that the Yueyang Sect re-branded themselves a century ago as the Blue Ouyang Sect. They are sworn enemies of the Jade Mountain Sect and Clan." Here Chu Shuzhi paused not for breath, but for courage. "They slur the name of the Heroes of the Great War. They call the Blessed Protector.... a warlord.... and mass-killer. They call him a...a...I can hardly speak the words... demonic practitioner."
"They dare," The chill intensified and the voice of the Envoy was the arid wind caressing bone. A echoing promise of violence but its sharp blade was hidden in soft vowels.
"And this Jade Mountain Sect?" The Emperor asked coolly.
"The Jade Mountain Sect worship Lord Kunlun. They claim to be descendants of his first disciples and follow his teachings. A lot of it cannot be ascribed to Lord Kunlun, but his martial arts and cultivation techniques are handed down to their inner disciples for the protection of the Guardian Order, but held separate to them."
"Protection?" The king echoed sounding displeased. "Why do they not protect Chief Zhao now?"
There was little doubt that somehow the Chief had wrangled his way into favor, the Emperor's favor. A thing so rare almost no one one held it. The Emperor was fierce but good and always honorable, caring for his people with deftness and kindness. But. He held no one living in esteem. Only Lord Kunlun.
"The Jade Mountain Sect believe that interference to protect the Guardian is against their code. The Guardian is disposable but the Order must be preserved." Chu Shuzhi nervously explained.
"Disposable?" The Emperor repeated, a knife edge and the pressure-in the air increases to the point of pain and then vanishes. In a calmer voice he asks, "And the Yueyang?"
"They claim that the Jade Mountain Sect are unfairly involved with the choosing of a new Guardian. They argue that the Guardian position is an unfair one, describing our people as ghosts and demons." Chu Shuzhi explained in an even tone. "The Order however, is not well-known. Even in the past, the Order was a secret one. Only five sects have ever officially known of them."
A thing that both greatly surprised Chu Shuzhi and at the same time was something of a relief. Zhao Yunlan had explained when he had passed probation, that the cultivation world the jianghu had no influence over the Order. He served the interests of Haixing in relation only to the Treaty, the same as the Envoy did for Dixing and the Bearer to a smaller degree did for the Yashou, though this was position was dominated by the Guardian.
But the Guardian was more than that. The Guardian stood as the neutral figure between the two worlds and three peoples. With power over the three, demanded by the Treaty in fairness. Whatever that meant, Chu Shuzhi thought as he offered the relevant text to his king.
"Yueyang, Jade Mountain and who else?" The Envoy demands softly.
"Shaolin Sect, who used to have a say in the choosing as they are nearly the oldest sect; White Cloud, who also honor Lord Kunlun and Ridge Mountain Stronghold, who are now known as the Green Saber Sect."
"All of them old and powerful." The Envoy murmured and then in a strident tone he demanded, "Why is the Yueyang so filled with hate for Lord Kunlun, a son of Haixing who sacrificed everything for peace and freedom?"
A loaded quiet question and Chu Shuzhi swallowed. "I cannot give one specific reason Your Majesty. I can however answer, why they despise Chief Zhao. In Shanghai, there was a case involving their sect leader. He murdered a journalist and Chief Zhao was one of the investigating officers. They threatened him and while Chief Zhao proved the sect leader's guilt in the court of law, he was later required to fight for honor by combat under jianghu law."
"They had Chief Zhao fight for his life, when he had proven justice?" The Envoy's tone was cutting. "What is this barbarity?"
"They claimed he had deliberately dishonored them and himself under jianghu law. The Huátíng Sect is the sect created for those who serve in the police or in the military of Haixing. Its an association more than a traditional sect. They sent a representative but he had no Sect backing."
"Not even the Jade Mountain Sect?" The Envoy demanded. There was a pause because Chu Shuzhi had no answer and then he added, "Since he is alive, he must have won the honor battle." His Majesty noted, tone cool.
"He won using Kunlun techniques and was likely trained by the Jade Mountain Sect or the White Cloud Sect." Chu Shuzhi could guess that was reason the Chief was so damn powerful. "Only they have those techniques. He would not admit to either which made things difficult for him. It was witnessed by several minor and major clans. Chief Zhao was honored bowed by the White Cloud Sect though, so he might be a former member." Chu Shuzhi reported.
"White Cloud Sect? At least they have some honor. Did he arrested anyone, other than the sect leader?" The Envoy asked.
"Eight of their disciples. One in the ring died later of his injuries, but eight were arrested with their sect leader." Chu Shuzhi reported. "A year later, Chief Zhao from our sources, was badly injured during an explosion. He came here when he was discharged, accepting the position of Guardian."
The Emperor and Envoy was quiet for a handful of minutes, his body turned slightly away from Chu Shuzhi. Then he asked abruptly, "What about the Tokens?"
Begrudgingly, Chu Shuzhi had to admit working for Chief Zhao had taught him a number of things. The Chief always made it clear, that if something was not witnessed 'reliably' and backed up by good evidence, then all you could rely on was the evidence itself.
Simple facts, he always said. Evidence leads to truth. If that's the right truth or the absolute truth or one that you could even argue for in court...well that depends, but to Chief, if you can't prove it, it didn't happen.
Getting to that truth, was often a case of 'this implied', 'indicated or inferred' and of course, the confessed.
The most important 'simple' fact here was a complex one. The Emperor and Envoy before him was crowned king to save Dixing when he 'returned', but even if he had not chosen to be king, he would nevertheless, have been the Elder of their people. Every schoolchild could tell you this across the entire kingdom. You didn't need to be like his brother Chu Nianzhi, who had attended University studying history, to know this.
The only 'reliable witness' was the Emperor himself. For he was ten thousand years old, the only known survivor of the Great War and Lord Kunlun's biggest fan. So if he didn't know about the Tokens, it must have been a secret, a creation that in fact happened well after the Blessed Protector had died or something else. And if it was a secret, that implied that the Blessed Protector, who was again as any schoolchild could tell you, was the Envoy's Benefactor and Savior....
.... implied that it was something illegal, unlawful in the eyes of the prehistoric jianghu or something the Envoy would not have agreed with....and somehow Chu Shuzhi had a feeling it was that last one.
Which left Chu Shuzhi as the bearer of bad news. It left him handing out information that was once Lord Kunlun's big secret, when any confession on the subject should have come millennia ago from the man himself.
So Chu Shuzhi loyal to the king and hopeful that this would not be disaster, knelt again so he could hand over the carefully copied information, all in his best handwriting. "This was all that was written in the Order records, Your Majesty."
The Envoy accepted the yellow hardback notebook, a spark of power ghosting over Chu Shuzhi's hands, but he didn't flinch. "The summary?"
The summary according to one book had been romantic: Kunlun of the mountains stood with Ma Gui, Guardian of Haixing. At the sunlit summit away from blood and death, a pact was made.
Chu Shuzhi strongly doubted that would be the summary the Emperor of Dixing wanted.
"The information was spread across several texts My King, written in different languages or translated in different eras. In summary is that, during the war the first Lord Guardian approached Lord Kunlun and asked for his help."
There was no reaction from the king, so Chu Shuzhi marched on.
"Lord Kunlun and Lord Ma forged the Tokens, using the Blessed Protector's blood and his spiritual energy. What they are is a little vague. I don't think anyone really knows." Chu Shuzhi admitted. "Some say the Protector forged a jade or wooden talisman, a whip stained red with his own blood and the third one is unknown. Some say it was a sword that can choose the Guardian, others say it was a perfect orb of power. A third source claims it was a jade necklace the color of the sun.... and that it wasn't given to Lord Ma."
"Why?" Asked the king, in a low voice.
Presuming that was 'why did he make them?' rather than the question he feared which was 'why didn't he tell me?'.... Chu Shuzhi rushed to answer. "Lord Kunlun was quoted as saying, that Lord Ma and whoever was given the third Token...had to live, for peace to hold. That Lord Ma's unique position meant that he could help craft a Treaty that benefited both worlds."
Silence met his words, but not a heavy one, so Chu Shuzhi carried on. "The other texts hint that Lord Kunlun knew that death would find Lord Ma quickly, if he did not help solidify his power base. The oldest text states that Lord Ma had to complete five great tests or would complete five legendary deeds. When they were over, the Tokens were kept separate from the Order, as Lord Kunlun's instruction. They are immensely powerful spiritual weapons carrying the essence of the Blessed Protector himself, ready to be called to battle."
"And the necklace?" The king asked softly.
"Only that one mention, My King." Chu Shuzhi answered faithfully. "If it is true, Lord Kunlun gifted it to another, meant to continue life."
"Continue life?" The Emperor repeated in a strange tone.
"The necklace supposedly has some power of immortality, like the Hallows." Chu Shuzhi answered slightly confused why this of all the things he had said, was being considered the most important.
"I see." The Envoy said quickly. "This is good work Chu Shuzhi. Where are these Tokens now?"
"Chief Zhao has a red whip and wooden token in his wallet." Chu Shuzhi admitted. "If he was the recipient of them, he doesn't use a sword and he doesn't wear a necklace."
"If he was the recipient of them, we must assume that he has been chosen by Lord Kunlun, to be successor." The Emperor said enigmatically.
With the negotiations coming closer like a tidal force, and intense surveillance from the Bureau the last thing Zhao Yunlan wanted on his plate was a murder.
A murder committed on the grounds of the city University, strange enough to be handed unceremoniously over to SID, involving a young cultivator.
Although it was entertaining to watch the Xingdu Bureau agents try and keep up with his motorbike through traffic, even more so when the only viable parking spot was a terrible angle for surveillance.
...Thankfully, he looked good in side profile.
A murder, another politically installed recruit, this time whose cultivation was low enough to be non-existent and the reports the Envoy kept sending him, guaranteed the next few days were going to be interesting.
Of course when he saw the scene, things escalated up from interesting. The murdered student was sprawled oddly on the grass, a wide band of discolored skin around her neck the only sign of violence. There were no other injuries and no signs of a fight or struggle.
It was as if the student had simply been walking past the window of the university building and collapsed, her limbs arranged as she had fallen from height, her sightless eyes staring at the brickwork.
A scene, arranged exactly like this, that Zhao Yunlan had seen before.
"Was she a cultivator?" He asks Da Qing, idly glancing at the black cat pretending to be innocent on the pavement.
The cat, always unsubtle, glances in turn at the forensic agent close to them and then at Xiao Guo vomiting in the bushes, before speaking. "She was. Mid level skills. Outer disciple of the Dragon Blades Sect. Her Sect name would be Fei Ruomei I suppose. She's listed here as Lu Ruomei."
"Dragon Blades is one of those sects that call everyone that, after the Fei sect clan. Desperate. Sect name Fei and birth name Lu." Zhao Yunlan agreed. They didn't exactly get on well, he thought. They were the largest sect in Dragon City, occupying a prestigious estate area outside the city limits and were renowned for being incredibly strict... and for their obsession with morality.
His father had wanted him to join their ranks...
... And he doubted they would tell him much. He would need someone - like Zhu Hong - to call them, to report her death and begin the proceedings for a cultivator funeral, when the body was released.
Not that he needed them to. This he had seen before, almost exactly five months ago. Only last time, it had not been his case and his opinion had mattered little.
He stared at the girl for another long minute, then looked around slowly, calculating angles. Then, he saw it.
He rose from the grass beside the girl and pointed to the open second floor window directly across from them, exactly as the last murder had been. An open window looking down onto the murder. "Come on Fatty." He ordered. "Let's see if they left a nice hand print."
"Why there?" Da Qing griped, but his owner was once again pretending deafness and ignored him, sauntering off like a catwalk model to the building entrance.
"Bring the intern!" Zhao Yunlan called as he pulled open the door.
Da Qing looked back at the bushes and hissed at the smell. As Deputy, he always had the worst jobs.
Shen Wei hurried along the back path, having heard only fifteen minutes ago that a student had been murdered.
It was entirely possible that it was an attack, that had nothing to do with Dixing, but as the Envoy he was on edge. The assassins had gone quiet these last two days and a public attack on an Haixingren institution, would be an excellent way to distract them.
He planned to find out what he could, unsure of Zhao Yunlan would have access to the information, if the Xingdu Bureau was involved. If there was an assassin operating on this campus, he would see them arrested or dead before they could touch another student.
His progress was cut short though, when he noticed the tall student dangling from the window two stories from the ground.
Why must youngsters do these things? He asked himself. One is dead, murdered and now this one is hanging from a window. A dare, I suppose.
"Student, what are you doing?" He demanded, still on the path. His voice startled the boy and he unfortunately let go of the brickwork. He plummeted to the ground before Shen Wei could try and break his fall or catch him from below.
As Shen Wei hurried to the student's side, he heard the unmistakable voice of Zhao Yunlan calling from above, "Xiao Guo? Xiao Guo? Are you alright?"
Zhao Yunlan?
Leaning out the window was none other than the chief of SID and Kunlun himself.
He was scowling at the student and then looked up, shock registering on his face for a moment as he saw Shen Wei. "Ah." Zhao Yunlan said, not loudly but Shen Wei even in his surprise could read that generous lush mouth well enough to interpret.
Disappearing into the darkness of the room, the dormitory room Shen Wei noted, he was gone before Shen Wei could think of something to say. His traitorous heart sang, pulse skipping at the thought of seeing him again and the awareness that one secret of his was about to become public.
It was alright, he reasoned. Zhao Yunlan had discovered his true Haixing identity, but he didn't know he was the Envoy and king of Dixing. He doesn't know that you are his Bixia.
Not his. You are always his though aren't you? But. You are not his king. He would be your Consort by right in Dixing. His mind argued, that corner of his black heart that had never given up on dreams of a life together.
Shen Wei clenched his teeth momentarily and reined himself in. He hadn't lied to Zhao Yunlan about this, never denied he was a Professor. Panicking would be pointless.
Zhao Yunlan would come to him and he would work out what to say, based on Zhao Yunlan's reaction. If he was angry or upset, silent or aggressive.
You cannot lose what you don't have and he doesn't know you are the Envoy.
By his side or hidden behind his back, close was...had to be...close enough.
Reaching the student who was wailing and moaning on the ground like the dying, Shen Wei crouched down and assessed his injuries. "Student are you okay?' He seemed fine. A twisted ankle perhaps.
"You leg is fine. Get up." Shen Wei put his hand under the boy's flailing arm and hoisted him easily to his feet. "Come on."
The boy wobbled, looking tragic, but Shen Wei glanced up at the window. What this boy was doing with Zhao Yunlan, he didn't know, but he looked at him sternly. "Don't you know that was very dangerous?"
The boy looked miserable and lost but any further reprimand was halted by a loud meow. A large black cat wearing even more familiar cat bells wandered over to them. As he had seen from the hospital that night, Da Qing was alive and well, still as loyal to Kunlun as he remembered.
It made him smile. For so long he had wondered and now here he was.
Crouching down again, he looked into yellow eyes and reached out in friendship.
"I've never seen him so well behaved." Zhao Yunlan remarked, his tone studiously idle and studded with something unnameable. If that wasn't his own conscience and desperate need for Kunlun to like him still.
He looked up and stared into foxfire eyes, dark enough they seemed to call all the light around him into their depths. Eyes he could stare at for millennia and never tire of seeing them. Eyes that seemed amused. The left corner of that perfect mouth was tugging downwards in a smirk, long enough for Shen Wei to register the expression, before it was carefully rearranged into a neutral, polite facade.
He came over, his posture open amusemnet still burning those eyes and crouched down beside Da Qing. "Ah what it is with you?" He said to the hand, a long fignred hand stroking the cat's back in a smooth gesture, Shen Wei could onyl stare at. He remembered those stroking fingers ghosting over his chest...
Shaking his head to stop the barrage of sensory images and beloved memory, Shen Wei said the first thing that came to mind. "This cat is very clever. What's his name?"
"Da Qing." Zhao Yunlan said, that smirk appearing again. "Also known as Damn Cat. I prefer Fatty."
Da Qing glared at him balefully, and Zhao Yunlan flashed an unrepentant smile. Then he gently shoved the cat away, "Get me those names."
Shen Wei was surprised at this, not expecting Zhao Yunlan to reveal Da Qing so easily. Or perhaps he didn't see the point. For his part, Da Qing bounded off in the direction of the pathway, with a loud jingling sound.
He is so beautiful. The sunlight is reflecting in his eyes like light refracting in a black diamond.
He is here, right in front of you.
Zhao Yunlan.
Shen Wei rose and waited, for Zhao Yunlan. Dark eyes glanced around, head tilting. Then he looked at Shen Wei, rising smoothly to his feet with a friendly expression, "By the way, I'm Zhao. I'm handling the investigation. What's your name sir?"
Shen Wei also glanced around not sure what had disturbed Kunlun, the weight of his pendent warm against his throat. At this, he glanced at the man and realized that Zhao Yunlan was offering him an easy way out. Or perhaps now was not the time to admit they knew each other? Either way, Shen Wei smiled bashfully and huffed a laugh softly. "No 'sir', I am Shen. Shen Wei."
He may have pronounced the first tone a little loudly and he didn't know why, but he tried to cover it by holding the papers from under his arm, like a shield in front of him. "I teach here."
A confession, an offering. A hope and a prayer. A truth he had wanted to press into Zhao Yunlan's keeping, among many. How long had he wanted to tell Kunlun of this? How many times he had wanted to share his achievements and breakthroughs with this one man? How long had he wanted to see that impressed glance and proud smile? What did it mean really, that Zhao Yunlan's evident approval for his choice of career meant more to him than any academic prize or crown?
Zhao Yunlan smiled again, this time one that brought out the dimples in his cheeks. Shen Wei's knees felt weak. It was once thing to help him and meet him, another to see him like this, in summer sunlight healthy and well.
"Shen Wei." Zhao Yunlan repeated, an eyebrow lifting. Possibly, he was questioning why he was giving the same name, or if he had provided his Haixing identity to him in the cottage, as a ruse and not his true identity. Then he smiled broadly, "A good name!"
Flicking open his jacket with another slightly glance off to the right and here Shen Wei had to fight not to follow his gaze, Zhao Yunlan retrieved a card, "This is my business card."
Shen Wei reached for it with a reverence he forgot to hide, gazing down at the modern style and the name 'Section Chief Zhao Yunlan' printed at the mid-line along with a contact number.
"Let us have a chat later, when you are free." Zhao Yunlan suggested as if this was a causal meeting and offered Shen Wei his hand.
"Yes." Shen Wei said warmly, refusing to think of consequence and took the offered hand. It was warm, callused and a little dry. The feeling of home and belonging slotted into place somewhere inside Shen Wei's chest and he couldn't help himself. Zhao Yunlan's life-force pulsed beneath his sensitive fingers, the flow of raw power exactly as he remembered it surging through his meridians, channeled to a truly impressive golden core.
Shen Wei was not human though he appeared to be and so when Zhao Yunlan, strong as he is, turned and instinctively expected his hand to slip free from the gentle but firm grasp, it was like pulling against a mountain. He turned back to look at Shen Wei, who had a fixed almost dazed expression in his eyes. He lifted his brows and smirked at him.
Shen Wei startled with a softly exhaled, "Oh." He let go and held his papers. Looking around for something to dispel the awkwardness he gestured to the 'student'. "Is he alright?"
Zhao Yunlan slowly lowered his hand and blinked at the boy. Then in a truly Kunlun expression, he scoffed, "He's fine. He passed a cultivator test. He's just skinny. Looks are deceiving." He added with a devilish look. Then he gestured at the young man, "Let's go."
Shen Wei watched Zhao Yunlan walk away with that characteristic loping stride and glanced back at the card.
For as long as he had lived since his return, Shen Wei's life had been busy but desolate. A field of rocks and a towering mountain of age, time and work. In this tiny block of time, so fast compared to all the years he had lived, sunlight finally was filtering its way through the cracks and gaps. Something alive and bright in all the darkness beneath, responding and growing.
Five minutes with Kunlun, with Zhao Yunlan and Shen Wei felt more here than he had for centuries.
Now the sunlight had come here as well, shining for the first time in his life as the Professor.
Shen Wei slipped the orange and black card into his waistcoat pocket and relished this opportunity to have him so close.
Zhao Yunlan watched student and Professor leave the office SID had commandeered, his foxfire eyes assessing as he stared at the strong back, the silver silk of an expensive waistcoat as Shen Wei turned the corner, effortlessly guiding and emotionally supporting Li Qian.
He had never felt this odd combination of suspicious and jubilant, didn't know you even could....Shen Wei, High Circle Guard to the Black Robed Envoy, Supreme, suspected immortal Emperor of Dixing - was a Professor. In Haixing. A Professor of...
Zhao Yunlan whipped out his phone and typed rapidly. Then stared, darkness curling the corners of his lovely smile. "Who are you about to ruin?" Da Qing asked from the doorway.
"No one." He replied irritably, then focused his attention back to the screen.
There was a black and white photo of Shen Wei on the University website, wearing a polite, pleasant smile and a determinedly bland look in clever, old eyes.
Professor of Genetics and Biotechnology. He speed read through the available bio and learned, that he had a sub-specialty in genetics, biochemistry and bio-materials. He was also an Associate of the Traditional Literature Society. Reading this, you could get the impression that he was a pure academic, who did martial arts as a healthy hobby.
Zhao Yunlan snorted, the jubilant feeling growing. Shen Wei. There were very few people that Zhao Yunlan could say, that he found impressive. Not just their skills, but the person. Shen Wei was impressive, kind and incredibly hot. He also was the person who had helped Zhao Yunlan with no obvious gain and no doubt caught hell for doing it. Zhao Yunlan could imagine the comments and didn't want to imagine the punishments.
And rather than being this untouchable High Guard in Dixing, a place Zhao Yunlan could hardly visit - he was living here... in Haixing! As a Professor...which was interesting. An odd choice for an agent placement and an odd person for the job. The High Guard were too valuable surely, too skilled...and Shen Wei was an awful liar.
Unless this was some special mission or repentance. Dixing certainly had a million and two repent things going. Seclusion in the inhospitable mountains, serving the community through unpaid manual labor for months on end, remaining mute for a year...they had some bizarre ones by Haixingren standards.
Zhao Yunlan suspected it was to discourage rebel ideology and fueled a generations long guilt complex for the rebels in the first place. Self-regulation and respect were only two of the precious seven rules Dixing culture was built on.
How that melded with a vibrant artistic and musical culture, Zhao Yunlan wasn't sure.
Zhao Yunlan returned the phone to his pocket and sighed. "Don't we know her?" Da Qing asked, partly just to see a reaction.
Zhao Yunlan looked at him and the motioned for Guo Changcheng, "Boy, come here."
Like a young duckling, Xiao Guo immediately skirted the desk and came to his Chief's side, with terrified, eager eyes. With his eyes still on the door, he slung an arm around thin, bony shoulders and rolled his half dissolved lollipop across his tongue. "I'll give you one more chance."
He gestured to the door, "Keep an eye on both of them."
He would not of course, learn much about Shen Wei. His role here would be ironclad and with that intelligence, Zhao Yunlan was willing to bet that he could, and probably did, run rings around anyone asking. But Li Qian...
"Even if you lose Professor Shen, do not lose Li Qian." Zhao Yunlan instructed.
Guo Changcheng stuttered and nodded eagerly, "Yes sir."
"He's a tricky fellow...but it's Li Qian we're interested in." Zhao Yunlan added.
"If he's doing that, what are we doing?" Da Qing asked pointedly, watching as Xiao Guo sped off out the door, clutching his bag.
"We," Zhao Yunlan said slowly, "Are going to go and upset some people. Find out everything about the kid Luo Ruomei. Her connections to the Dragon Sect. I want to know if one of their charming representatives are going be banging our door. Where did you say she worked part time?"
Leaving the campus behind, with a bad feeling settling in the back of mind, that had nothing to do with the surveillance van following him, Zhao Yunlan went off on foot. With an ambling walk some described as the loping gait of a big cat, he avoided the busy streets and picked his way through the quiet backstreets to a particular building.
The ancient tea house always smelled of incense, dark wood furniture generations old was tucked into shadowy corners. As he crossed the threshold, the array carved over the door glowed for a count of twenty seconds. Immediately, behind the counter at the back, a man in his thirties looked up alarmed, then relaxed when he saw Zhao Yunlan.
"Long time Zhao-ge!" He said in greeting, his voice deep.
"I was chained in a warehouse for a few days. Knocked me off track." Zhao Yunlan said as he leaned on the counter. "How have you been Bi-ge?"
Bi Hongyong who had known Zhao Yunlan since school, snorted. He flicked his long ponytail off his shoulder and looked at Zhao Yunlan warmly. Some friendships really work, when you hardly see one another. "Baijiu or tea?"
"Tea. Your pick." Zhao Yunlan replied, assessing the customers. It was a slow morning, with only a handful of regulars, none of which wanted to catch his eye.
Bi Hongyong raised a brow but set about making the tea, choosing a canister off the shelf behind him, waving off one of his serving staff. "Its good to see you Zhao-ge. But, you're not the tea in the middle of day kind."
Zhao Yunlan actually was, but that was in his office, when he was tackling paperwork.
"You too. Business good?" He asked, sliding a wad of talisman papers over the counter, before choosing the empty table close by. The wad disappeared within moments.
"On the house!" Bi Hongyong said brightly, making Zhao Yunlan laugh. "Yeah its good. So?" Bi Hongyong prompted, never one to let a question go unanswered. If he hadn't taken over the family business, mixing rogue cultivator and tea for generations, Bi Hongyong would have made a brilliant lawyer, or cop.
"Luo Ruomei." Zhao Yunlan said simply.
"What's she done?" Bi Hongyong asked irritably, eyes narrowing. "She's a good kid Zhao-ge."
"She must be, for you to be employing one of the Dragon Sect." Zhao Yunlan replied calmly.
At this Bi Hongyong's temper subsided and he shifted subtly as he spooned tea leaves into a readied pot. "So what if she is?" He tried, but missed the defensive mark by a mile, making it sound like a question. "Only an outer disciple and barely that. What has she done?"
"Nothing. She's dead." Zhao Yunlan told him evenly.
Bi Hongyong put down the teapot and stared for a moment at the flames of the burner. "Dead?' Then he looked at his childhood friend, "You mean murdered?"
"Murdered. At the University last night." Zhao Yunlan told him. "Did you see her last night? Was she working?"
"No. She only worked weekends." Bi Hongyong sat down on the chair opposite. He stared at the wall for a moment, "Sunday was the last I saw her. Damn....she was so young. A good kid like we never were. I took her on because...well she was helping my older brother's son, you know...Yan'er? "
Zhao Yunlan vaguely did, the lasting impression being that he was barely surviving university and life in general. His parents had a plan for his life - doctor, he thinks and like Xiao Guo, he didn't really fit the predestined mold. Maybe another of Shen Wei's students. "And she was a good kid. She was leaving the Dragons." Bi-ge was saying, then swore.
"Has your nephew seen her?" Zhao Yunlan asked, "Isn't he in..." He couldn't remember the place, "...some study exchange thing?"
Bi Hongyong nodded and waved a hand, "No. She has taught him for weeks. He's only coming back next Friday. His mother's got her hopes up."
"She was suspended from the Sect. You know why?" Zhao Yunlan asked after a pause, watching Bi-ge expertly pour his tea, breathing in the fragrance.
"What? Do I look like her girlfriend?" Bi Hongyong demanded, "I hardly knew her. She was helping my idiot nephew and she was a good worker. That's it."
"There is no way you had a kid, good, blessed or otherwise working in your mother's tea-house, if you didn't know everything there was to know." Zhao Yunlan replied pointedly. "I doubt you would tell your mother either."
The Dragon Sect after all had ruined his family, a tale Zhao Yunlan had known since he was eleven years old.
Bi Hongyong didn't deny it this time, his angular face bathed in shadow. "There wasn't much to know. Luo Ruomei was a decent cultivator, mid-level...but her heart wasn't in it. She wanted a science degree and a career in a lab, not on Night Hunts and in training yards."
"Any trouble?" Zhao Yunlan asked taking his first heady sip. Good tea.
"None." At Zhao Yunlan's stare, he caved. "She was missing training and deliberately failed an exam. They suspended her, on probation which she had every intention of failing."
"Ever mention a Professor Shen?" A long shot....
"Worshiped the guy." Bi Hongyong told him with a laugh. "Most of his students do, I think. My idiot nephew certainly does."
Well that answered that question, Zhao Yunlan thought with amusement.
"He ever come in here?" Zhao Yunlan asks.
Bi Hongyong levels him with a look, "Only cultivators come here. Only cultivators can come through the door, Great Guardian of the Realms."
Interesting.
"Was she nervous? Preoccupied? Anything abnormal?" Zhao Yunlan asked, already knowing the answer.
"How would I know?" Bi Hongyong retorted. "You should ask that friend of hers. What's her name...Qian? Something Qian. She had trouble with her."
"Yeah. I'll do that." Zhao Yunlan agrees, watching one of the Bureau agents planting himself by the window.
At the office, sprawled on the sofa, he listened to Guo Changcheng's report and the foreboding sense he had been carrying around was realized.
"So Li Qian was the intended victim." He said to the ceiling.
"Why her?" Da Qing asked beside him grumpily.
"Luo Ruomei's friends at her workplace all mentioned that she was usually with Li Qian. It was Li Qian that got her the job and she used to work at the tea-house, until she missed work one too many times. We know Li Qian is a low-level cultivator, no admission to a Sect for further training. Then they said Li Qian was having trouble of some kind and Luo Ruomei was worried, but their friendship was on the rocks apparently. They had not been on speaking terms."
"Plus, everyone confused one with the other. They often swapped clothes. If that's true, then whoever murdered her, thought she was Li Qian."
"And Li Qian was the first eyewitness." Da Qing added considering the evidence. "Did she know?"
"Its possible." Zhao Yunlan replies, "...And now, after murdering Luo Ruomei, the shadow-man goes and attacks Li Qian's house."
"Does this have anything to do with the assassins? Is this shadow guy one of them?" Zhu Hong asks from her desk. "Is he even alive? Is this some ghost or ghoul? Born of resentful energy?"
As a non-cultivator, at least in the classic sense, Zhu Hong like Chu Shuzhi, was always fascinated by Haixingren folklore, Night Hunts and monsters.
"How would it?" Chu Shuzhi demanded, "Its not like there was a tattoo. And he was no ghost."
"He was shadow!" Zhu Hong replied flatly, "Could you even see one?"
Zhao Yunlan didn't agree or disagree, simply watched them argue.
"So...you're saying Luo Ruomei was Li Qian's substitute?" Da Qing said slowly. "You think Li Qian knew she was being hunted and gave Luo Ruomei as a sacrifice... or that she was wearing Li Qian's clothes?"
"Maybe she was murdered to push Li Qian? Frighten her?" Zhu Hong theorized. "Like a warning?"
"Could be any of the above." Zhao Yunlan said sinking deeper into the sofa. "We need to find out which one it was."
=======
Time dragged and a kernel of suspicion formed, by the time Zhao Yunlan had followed Li Qian for the entire morning and the beginning of the afternoon.
The Bureau failed to track his movements for part of it, after he lost his tail, but between the different hands pulling at him, Zhao Yunlan decided that 'obvious' might be his best option. So he parked his Ducati, right where Li Qian was handing out leaflets and settled in to watch, with a surveillance van parked nearby.
She was a study in grief and misery, badly hiding behind a watery smile.
She had just sat down on the bench to tidy up her pile of spilled leaflets, silent tears dripping down her cheek, when Shen Wei appeared. If she was misery, he was resonating quiet strength, his expression gentle as he approached her.
He was a comforting presence, sincere and gentle without even coming close to any lines of propriety, something Zhao Yunlan found himself admiring. That...and he looked gorgeous in blue...
When Li Qian rose at Shen Wei's prompting, Zhao Yunlan shifted off the bike to follow. Of course, those canny eyes had not missed his presence, nor was going to let him simply disappear after his student. "Chief Zhao."
He was so beautiful, was Zhao Yunlan first intelligent thought, followed by curiosity. The Professor was protective of his student it would seem...
"Aiyo, Professor Shen." He greeted him happily, as if he hadn't spent the last fifteen minutes watching him and Li Qian. Shen Wei folded his hands demurely on the handle of his very traditional briefcase and smiled gently. Not the polite one either, but something genuine, pleased almost - which Zhao Yunlan didn't know how to respond to. People generally did not smile at him like they had missed him.
"As they say," Zhao Yunlan began, tucking his thumbs into his jeans pockets, "We can meet wherever by chance."
That sparked an amused smile. "I see Chief Zhao is starting to grasp it." He retorted amused, eyes sparkling. He was far less hesitant than he had been when Zhao Yunlan had been bleeding on his cottage bed, concern replaced by this...warmth. "Why don't you take a tour of our school when you are free?"
Ah so you know I didn't attend here. Zhao Yunlan guessed. Which means you have read a file on me. ...Which might have been handed around Dixing for all he knew. Zhao Yunlan's smile remained, perfectly intact and nearly completely genuine. Nearly.
"Ah," He began thinking rapidly, "I came here to ask you something." He widened his eyes intentionally, "After all you did help me...and I believe I can trust you."
Shen Wei's eyes went wide and bottomless, dark enough to be shadow itself, but Zhao Yunlan had walked in shadow and knew the differences, subtle and overt. "Plus...you know everything there is to know about... genetic mutation and biochemistry."
Shen Wei shifted looking slightly uncomfortable at this, "For example?"
"A plant-based drug that was modified expertly to become a poison." Zhao Yunlan said calmly, "A poison that alters cultivators... stopping their ability to...well cultivate without damaging their meridians?"
Shen Wei looked mildly alarmed and then his eyes narrowed in concern, "I have not heard of this precisely. There are some drug combinations known to badly effect cultivators."
"Is..is this something you are concerned about?" Shen Wei asked, looking worried of all things. Aiya...how could such a man exist?
"Me?" Zhao Yunlan asked, "No. I know the cure for it. But it has been used recently."
Shen Wei shifted, "I am glad to hear that you know of a cure." He stepped closer, "Are you aware of the man staring at you from beside that tree behind us?"
Zhao Yunlan let himself grimace, "Bureau. I'm still under watch. I'm not sure what excitement they're planning or hoping I'll lead them to."
"Are you asking me about this because it is a threat?" Shen Wei asks coming closer. "From Dixing." His voice deepened on the word and it did things to Zhao Yunlan.
"The drug is Yashou made." Zhao Yunlan said in perfect Dixingian, just to see the widening of his eyes again. "There has been odd attacks on the Sects around the city. They make no sense."
"You suspect assassination? I must say your Dixingian is excellent." Shen Wei complimented in the same tongue, seemingly flustered by it.
"Ah. Its rusty." Zhao Yunlan demurred. "Your student is in danger."
"Thank you. You did not need to tell me this." Shen Wei replied, eyes still wide. "Are you not concerned they might hear you speak this?"
"If they cannot identify Dixingian standard, the tax payer should stop paying for them." Zhao Yunlan replied with a smile, but his eyes were serious. "I can read three of the national languages. Not so well with the fourth. I think Professor," He said looking up through his lashes, "I might fail the gentleman's exam with that one."
"Cui? I presume?" Shen Wei asks delighted. The fourth language of Dixing and by far the oldest.
Zhao Yunlan grimaces, "I can read some of it. Too many repeating sounds."
"Lofty mountains speak on the wind. That was the beginning." Shen Wei quotes in Cui, then thankfully switches back to standard as he sees the crease in Zhao Yunlan's brows. He smiles, still delighted as he watches him translate slowly. "It is not spoken that commonly now."
Zhao Yunlan smiles warmly, "I am glad to have met you again." He laughs honest and surprisingly happy. In Haixingren he adds, "The first moment I saw you...I felt I knew you."
Shen Wei looks surprised but his smile is sincere, "Perhaps we have met in another life."
Whatever reply Zhao Yunlan was going to make drifted away as his phone rang. "Excuse me."
Turning away, knowing it was highly likely Shen Wei was listening, he simply said, "What is it?"
Da Qing's voice was excited, "Boss, we have a lead."
"Alright. Understood." Turning back he looked apologetically at Shen Wei who nodded in understanding. 'I have to go."
"It was good to see you Chief Zhao. Be safe."
Sometimes, Zhao Yunlan wonders standing in a darkened warehouse, half an hour later as a trio of assassins break through the wall - if those words are a curse.
As the first one reaches for Xiao Guo and Lin Jing, he catches them with the Guardian whip, throwing talismans, just as all hell breaks loose.
Guo Changcheng shrank back against the wall, where he had been tossed by Chief Zhao. Like a packet of lollipops, he thought somewhat hysterically. He stumbled further into the corner watching the fight happening right in front of him.
But as he looked at them, the bad guys who broke the wall and then at the people he had arrived with....
Chief Zhao's expression could only be described as malicious, his whip crackling with flames. Lin Jing was glaring, a glowing white sword in one hand, while he threw destructive talismans with the other . Chu Shuzhi was wearing a ferocious expression, only too happy for the fight.
For the first time since he had joined SID. - perhaps for the first time in his entire life, Guo Changcheng felt that he was going to be okay. Even though this should have been terrifying, he discovered that he had an unshakable faith in his new office family, finally understanding what some of his school friends had meant when they too had found their place in an office.
Clutching his bag, he waited for the fight to end, not even wincing when Chief Zhao spun past him, clashing with a man, Xiao Guo presumed was an assassin. The guy was dressed in a terracotta sweater vest, didn't look like an assassin, but Chief Zhao didn't look like someone who could bodily swing from archways, like he was doing now either.
Terracotta as Xiao Guo decided to call him, was slashing through the air, aiming for Chief Zhao's face. Chu Shuzhi caught his foot with his cords and tripped him. Chief Zhao wasted no time slicing the man's forearm with one of his daggers, so he dropped his weapon. Lao Chu took the blade and used it on his opponent coming from the back.
It was a really violent dance, Xiao Guo thought. But he didn't think his aunt would approve.
Lin Jing appeared right beside Xiao Guo for just a second. "Stay here!" He shouted, before launching into a series of vicious sword attacks, all aimed for the assassin's neck. He then ducked close to Chief, who looked at the glowing sword and said, "Gaudy, really gaudy Fake Monk."
"It was my grandfather's!" Lin Jing shouted slicing a line across the cheek of his opponent. "These are real pearls!"
Guo Changcheng wondered where the sword had come from, because Lin Jing was not carrying one when they entered the building. Since the assassin in the blue shirt was hardly going to fight fair and Lin Jing rarely played by such delicate rules like the 'classic etiquette', he poured power into the blade, concentrated through the thin metal. At the same time, he wove a complex spell with his free left hand, rolling a small metal ball between his fingers.
Chief Zhao though had already disarmed his opponent, but his whip was too long for the tight confines of the space and he didn't want to risk hitting one of his team. With a slight snarl that made him look very unstable, nothing like the kind boss Guo Changcheng had been getting to know, Chief leaned quickly out of the way of a nasty strike and balled power into his fist, punching Terracotta in the stomach.
Terracotta then for Chief's side and he ducked underneath the man's arm, swinging his leg up so Chief's boot clonked the guy on the head.
Chief was really flexible!
Terracotta pulled a long knife from his holster and slashed at Chief. In response, Chief side stepped the move and did this strange chopping motion with his hands, his face nearly blank. The knife hit the floor and the guy's wrist was broken. He smashed into the pillar near Guo as Chief hit him in the head.
Chu Shuzhi slipped past them kicking his opponent in a frenzied attack, blue cords of dark energy meeting green bands of power in a pretty display - that also tore a chunk of the wall off as they flung each other into the stone work.
The moment Terracotta pulled out a gun and tried to shoot Guo Changcheng, was the moment he sealed his fate with Chief.
A dagger buried itself in the man's forearm, half of the blade protruding through his arm. Guo Changcheng squeaked as dark energy rippled from the man's left hand, also aimed at his corner. Chief leapt into the air, his knees landing on Terracotta's shoulders, his elbows coming down to crack the guy on the head, once, then twice.
As he fell, Chief broke Terracotta's leg and slammed a talisman onto his chest, that exploded into a red net that engulfed him. He fell to the floor, contained and out cold...or possibly dead...but Guo refused to think about it.
Blue Shirt had stepped into Lin Jing's trap, the metal ball spinning from his hand to activate a green array that struck the assassin on all sides, knocking him out.
Not a few seconds later, Chu Shuzhi gained the upper hand with his and threw him bodily into the wall, which partially collapsed onto the man.
Chief Zhao dug around in his pocket and pulled out a lollipop. "I hate Mondays." He said grumpily. "Call Da Qing. We need transport for these lost princesses. Make it look good in front of the Bureau too. I want a prisoner van."
Zhao Yunlan had just set the warding array on the cell doors, after carefully placing a silver needle in the center of their foreheads, ensuring their dear prisoners did not kill themselves or use some previously unknown power to kill his team - when his phone rang.
Li Qian. Why was she calling?
"Li Qian? What's wrong?" He answered checking the needle placement.
"It's me." The voice was urgent and male with a deeper, dulcet voice.
"Why is it you?" This was a surprise and a bucket of ice water washed over him. "What's wrong?"
"They're here."
Do they train people to be cryptic in Dixing? Zhao Yunlan thought irritably. "And here is?"
"The assassins are at the University. They are here for Li Qian." Shen Wei clarified in Dixingian, his voice low.
This was a High Guard of Dixing, so Zhao Yunlan doubted they were frightening him. "I'm on my way. Don't kill them. I want them alive." He told him, rushing out the cell, throwing the problem of the prisoners to Wang Zheng who looked alarmed.
He ran through the office shouting orders and hit the garage as fast he could. Chu Shuzhi got in the car, but Zhao Yunlan got on his bike, knowing it would be faster.
Getting there was a blur, knowing the assassins never played fair and there were hundreds of innocents students, entire buildings of kids perfect for hostages, mass causalities and death.
The journey getting there was a blur, parking and running for the science building. "Where?" Chu Shuzhi shouted.
Zhao Yunlan ran through the possibilities and shouted back as he hit the doors, 'Rooftop!"
He charged up the stairs grateful for his free-time runs and slammed open the roof access door just as Shen Wei was facing off against nine assassins. Shen Wei had Li Qian behind him, eyes fierce as he watched them advance.
None of them had seen him. Time for that to change.
Zhao Yunlan flung out his hand in a controlled move and with concentrated power, frustration and brute arm strength he slashed out the whip. It tore across the backs of five of them, blazing fire across the rooftop ground.
In the second part of the move, this time bringing the charge of lightning, what this whip was famous for, it flicked it out in a wide arc blocking the oncoming dark energy attack.
"Chief Zhao!" Shen Wei shouted, urgent and demanding, but Zhao Yunlan was already moving. Red and gold power laced together following the smooth flow of Zhao Yunlan's hand, sending a wave of energy that hit the three coming for him. He stepped to the side in a fast spin and kicked the one coming for his right, catching him in the chest.
"Shen Wei! Protect Li Qian! Get your student out of here!" He shouted to Shen Wei, who looked half dismayed at the order and half torn.
The ones he had hit with energy fell back bleeding and Chu Shuzhi threw his cords to throw the others, Da Qing bringing up the rear with Xiao Guo who shrieked but held the door open gesturing wildly as instructed, to Shen Wei.
One went for Shen Wei directly, but Zhao Yunlan slashed down with the whip, sending him away. The assassin wasn't entirely unnerved by the display, but Shen Wei was already moving. One fist swung forward, a look of concentrated anger in dark eyes and when it connected, Zhao Yunlan could see the assassins rib cage break.
Shen Wei looked at Zhao Yunlan who nodded sharply, already grabbing the foot aiming for his head, twisting to throw the assassin off balance, calmly shooting another with Haixingren bullets. Grabbing Li Qian's hand, he hauled her beside him where his body could shield her and ran for the door.
For the second time in his life, the first also belonging to Shen Wei... Zhao Yunlan thought without a shred of suspicion, that how sweet that was.
Of course, not five minutes later the sky darkened to a stormy rage and an icy wind, in the middle of summer no less - blew across the rooftop. And time...just paused for most of the campus.
Li Qian was gone with Guo Changcheng on his orders, Shen Wei behind her. Which frankly was a relief. If Zhao Yunlan could spare Shen Wei any more trouble, he would.
His moment of his distraction cost him as the assassin got a little too close, a blade sparking with dark energy glancing too close to his cheek. He knocked him back glaring, trying to keep him from following when a massive blade sliced through the air and through the assassin's sword.
A spiraling black shape whooshed past him and wrapped itself around the assassin - around all of the attackers. All nine, even the ones on the ground.
Coughing, Zhao Yunlan turned around slowly watching from the corner of his eye as Da Qing bowed low and Chu Shuzhi dropped into a kneeling position, one knee down, both hands folded at chest height.
"Bixia." He said in greeting, his voice a little hoarse.
The tall figure in black robes turned, the thud of his pudao dropping to rest blade-up resounded through the concrete, icy patterns forming in a ring. "Lord Guardian. I am late. This is unforgivable."
Zhao Yunlan was a little stuck at this point. Did he admit that he ah been having private meeting with the king of Dixing right now, where anyone could be listening or did he play it cool and potentially offend the most powerful entity to ever hold a throne?
"Its been a busy day Bixia, forgive this one for the lack of proper reception." He said in a genial tone.
"I hardly require flowers Zhao-dixiong." It should have been derisive and frankly offensive, but considering they had met in Shen Wei's flower garden only a short while ago, and the shock of the Emperor of Dixing call him of all people an old term meaning 'comrade and brother'..
Zhao Yunlan grinned at him.
"Well you should come by, I make good tea." He replied cheekily. Then he gestured to the wrapped killers, "We have another three at SID headquarters. I can only assume they intended to kill myself and three of my team while the others cornered the child they are hunting."
"Nine." The Envoy said in that low voice.
"Mn." Zhao Yunlan agreed. "They sent nine to capture or kill a university graduate, who is barely a cultivator. I cannot say I can explain it, unless they assumed SID was guarding her."
"Was she being watched?" The Emperor asks, not accusingly, but Zhao Yunlan stares him down anyway.
"She is not threat or agent. She is a harmless child trying to make her way in this world. I have no evidence against her and I confess Bixia, I had no evidence they," He gestured to the wrapped killers, "Would try for her." Zhao Yunlan said with some sincerity.
"It is strange." The Emperor and Envoy said simply, but not disbelievingly. "These," He gestured to the killers as well, "Are wanted for murder in Dixing. I will repatriate them, to face judgement."
"Wanted, this I believe." Zhao Yunlan retorted, "Assassins from an Order of trained killers? No. These are mercenaries. None of them have ever faced a Haixingren cultivator."
Zhao Yunlan let the implication drop like a heavy stone in a pond. The folds of the robes across broad shoulders tightened as the Envoy shifted. "The laws of Dixing are changing. I will not allow mercenaries and will pass judgement based on your guidance Lord Guardian. For breaking the Decree and aiming for your death, they will face the penalty."
"I ask only that whatever can be learned from them, can be shared Bixia. These are a few of many if there is a price on the child's head. Even if there is not, I would still like to know what they wanted the child for."
"This I can grant." The Emperor said flatly.
He turned facing the killers as if assessing them. "If what I feel is right, we shall meet again soon Zhao-dixiong."
With that sweet goodbye, blue power ringed with black engulfed the wrapped killers and a portal split the sky. Ice receded, gone as if it never happened and with another breath all of them were gone.
"That went well." Da Qing said in the silence. "Maybe he doesn't want you dead?"
"His Majesty called you Zhao-dixiong." Chu Shuzhi said, shock and something that could be disgust mingling.
"And you're going to be unemployed if you lot don't check this entire facility." Zhao Yunlan said with a winning smile.
As they turned to leave, something caught his eye. A necklace. At first he thought nothing of it, but as soon as he touched it, just thinking to pick it up...the world violently tilted and his stomach rolled.
"Lao Zhao? Chief?" He heard Da Qing call just as he hit the ground.
---
There was not and probably never had been much information on Lord Kunlun. A warlord from the mountains - who knows which ones - that came when the Allies were at their lowest and transformed the war effort with his unorthodox ways, martial arts, cultivation power and general but highly successful warlord practices.
A cultivator and an inventor, same as Lord Ma Gui, first Lord Guardian of the Order.
A hero who appeared before a great storm and left much the same way.
Some said he was immortal, others said he was a misunderstood cultivation genius.
He was an enigma scholars argued about, those who knew of his existence anyway, in two nations and among three peoples. Ten thousand years ago was a time before cultivation manuals and sects, before 'enlightened cultivation learning' and established practice. Before honor codes and long hanfu hem lines. Before qinggong was described or 'immortality assured martial arts' were a thing.
But absurdly, Lord Kunlun was a...kind of prehistoric cultivator, with dynamic martial arts that Zhao Yunlan had found second nature, and to everyone else were mysterious. Some went as far as to call them 'unnatural', 'jarring' or 'too chaotic to be seamless or useful'.
Ironically, those martial arts techniques had saved his life more than once.
Zhao Yunlan had studied the fragments of the text talking about him, listened to the Jade Mountain Sect Elders when they whipped out their 'hushed facts' voices, or condescending airs at just the mention of his name.
He had read contraband texts from Dixing smuggled over the borders, had listened to Yashou stories featuring the legend of the man, and had even read a treatise written by the Envoy. More tellingly, he had observed the complex almost grief stricken expressions and often violent aftermath of Da Qing hearing about Kunlun, even when he denied remembering him. The fierce pride and grief stained joy the ancient cat had openly expressed when the Token chose his modern owner.
Considering the guy lived and died ten thousand years ago, had the barest mention in the history archives, he had achieved a certain longevity. And a certain, small but influential fan-base.
Like a celebrity whose career achieved an upswing, certain people in lofty places took notice of him again centuries ago, when the Envoy to Haixing and Emperor of Dixing himself - openly revered the man. If you wanted to get anywhere with Emperor you had to know enough about Lord Kunlun, not to trip on the various honoring ways devised by the Emperor himself.
There were Kunlun prayers, Kunlun offerings at specific shrines, Kunlun blessings you were supposed to raise your cup, or hand to at the right moments at the table. Offering good wishes by Kunlun was a safe way to back out of the throne room.
...And Da Qing used similar ones...burning offerings and muttered prayers calling on Kunlun when his modern owner threw himself into danger...
And the genuine reverence the Envoy had practically emanated when speaking of Kunlun.
Hard to argue with that.
But while he didn't revere the man and would deny any interest in him, Zhao Yunlan was living with his strange ten thousand year old legacy and had bizarrely been chosen by the Tokens as a living Kunlun replacement. Which complicated his police career, relationship with his cat and life in general - immensely.
He might be a little resentful of that.
But as he knelt on Dragon City University's rooftop, gasping for breath, nausea and disparate pain shooting through him - he had to admit that the most quoted rule Kunlun was said to have proclaimed, was true.
Don't mix the Hallows with Tokens.
Yep. That information was priceless. He wonders if Kunlun ever found himself wheezing on his hands and knees on a rooftop or mountain or some such shit. Probably. He had to have discovered this nugget of information by experience. Which meant they had something else in common now too.
"Lao Zhao!" Da Qing shouted right by his ear.
"Get Li Qian. Now." Zhao Yunlan ordered, his voice rough as he struggled to right his breathing.
===
Li Qian was gone.
If Shen Wei had not been hardened through the brutalities of war, he might have been surprised to find Guo Changcheng on the floor rubbing his head and no sign of his student.
War and government however, had trained him to react in a crisis with impenetrable calm, but that didn't mean he wasn't...disturbed.
"Officer Guo. What happened?" He asked easily hauling the young man upright. "Where is my student?"
He had excuses for his absence ready, a living embodiment in one of the campus security personnel who rushed past Shen Wei to the roof. Guo Changcheng had hit his head, was probably concussed and blinked owlishly at Shen Wei. "She shoved me and I hit my head."
Da Qing charged down from the roof bells tinkling, transforming at the bottom of the steps just barely out of sight, into a human and skidded to a stop, "Where's the girl? Li Qian?"
"I was getting the security officer to help." Shen Wei told him, "When I came back I found Officer Guo on the floor. Li Qian has gone."
Da Qing glared at him and then Guo Changcheng, "Go and find her!" He ordered, "I have to take Lao Zhao to the hospital. Lao Chu will be down in a minute."
"Chief Zhao is injured?" Shen Wei asked immediately, racking his mind for an answer. He looked fine on the rooftop minutes ago, as bold, vibrant and defiant as Kunlun. What had happened!?
"He'll..." Da Qing paused and then said in a rush. "He'll be fine. Lin Jing taking him now."
"Was he injured in the..." Shen Wei started to ask, but Da Qing's phone rang and he answered it quickly, "Lao Zhao what?" Then he looked at Shen Wei, "Yes he's here. You want to talk to him?"
"Is he okay?" Shen Wei asked instead, but Da Qing handed him the phone. Shen Wei took it gingerly, half afraid he was going to fry it or drop it on contact. "Hello? Chief Zhao?"
A phone line was centuries more contact than he had a month ago, but it still wore on Shen Wei that there was any distance at all. The breathing on the line was rough, ragged and ice dropped into Shen Wei's stomach. "Shen Wei? Li Qian. Do you have her?"
"No. She knocked over Officer Guo and left before I returned with the guard." Shen Wei admitted. "I don't know why." This last part was a little plaintive, because Shen Wei really didn't understand. There were so many theoretical explanations, stress, trauma, needing some time to breathe alone - as he had done. When two of his men that time had been beheaded in front of him with a wave of concentrated dark energy and the blood had....
"Shen Wei?" Zhao Yunlan asked sharper, shattering the memory of the dried mess that had been smeared over his face in a tent ten millennia ago. It always felt as if it had been hours not centuries. Why were so many of his unwanted memories still so vivid?
"Yes Chief Zhao?"
"Damage control. We'll find her." This kind reassurance and the reminder of his cover was ruined somewhat by cough and Zhao Yunlan swearing.
"Chief Zhao? Are you alright?" Shen Wei demanded.
"Fine." Came what sounded like a breathless automatic response, behavior Shen Wei recognized in himself and the man who thought it was perfectly fine to be dumped half dead 'near' the hospital. This time it was followed by, "Shen Wei Ah. Good point." As if he had somehow heard or felt Shen Wei's distrust.
"But, I'll be fine. Call me when she comes back. She could be in danger. I'll have my people find her."
Did he get hit by one of the attackers on the roof before Shen Wei returned as the Envoy? The man had broken ribs, fractured his hip and knee, all of which Shen Wei had fixed during their reunion and he hadn't sounded this...pained at the time. What had happened and who was responsible? Was he faking being fine?
He tried to recall Zhao Yunlan's face on the rooftop. It was summoned easily enough, but Shen Wei had been trying not to look at him overtly. He didn't think his face had been pinched in pain or that his eyes had reflected any discomfort. Then again, this was Kunlun.
"Very well Chief Zhao. You should rest. You don't sound good." Shen Wei said gently. Because he truly sounded winded and concern was ratcheting up to terror soaked worry. Millennia might passed since he was last with Kunlun, but they fell away like flakes of ancient mud making him feel like it was still the war front and he was just now facing the awful reality, that Kunlun was easily hurt despite his magnetic personality, strength and clever, clever mind.
"Tell the Envoy for me. The stakes have been raised." Zhao Yunlan said in Dixingian. "We have two armies against us, not one."
Shen Wei froze and then seeing Da Qing's curious eyes on him, nodded quickly. "I will. Thank you Chief Zhao." He replied in Haixingren.
"Watch your back." Zhao Yunlan said coughing and the line went dead.
Shen Wei handed Da Qing back his phone, "Chief Zhao does not sound good."
Da Qing grimaced, "I need to go to him. More of our people will be here and we'll find Li Qian. Thank you Professor."
With that the ancient cat vanished, darting off down the corridors leaving Guo Changcheng shivering like a newly born fawn and an equally ancient king mulling over how he could find out what had happened to Zhao Yunlan. And how to heal him.
"Is your...supervisor Chu Shuzhi still here Officer Guo?" He asked pleasantly.
"I...I think so..."
"Perhaps we should meet up with him." Shen Wei suggested, in a way that was very much a concealed order and as undeniable as a tsunami.
====
Finding Li Qian meant finding Zhao Yunlan first and the latter had only happened because the thread of dark energy connected to Kunlun had burned red hot for a few seconds. At the time, he had had no idea why, leaving his office at a near dead run with fear shadowing his breaths, his fingers itching for his weapons.
The thread took him to the rooftop once more and all the breath in his lungs froze, as his boots left the stairs for the ground of the roof.
Zhao Yunlan was poised over crumbling stones, the concrete giving way, hanging onto a person judging by his barked order, "Hang on!"
"Let me go!" A young woman's voice shouted back.
Zhao Yunlan who had thrown his whip around the hilt of a blade buried in the rooftop and was using it to keep both himself and Li Qian from dropping four stories to their deaths.
The roof section had broken, leaving Zhao Yunlan holding onto Li Qian with all his strength and the whip acting as their only anchor. Tendons stood out in Zhao Yunlan's neck and along his exposed bleeding forearm as he tightened his grip on the whip.
Shen Wei didn't think to hide his strength or slow down, curling his hands around that thin waist, then a lean arm to haul both of them to the safety of the rooftop. The whip snapped and sizzled with power and Shen Wei avoided touching it, like one should avoid touching live cables.
Then they were safe.
Shen Wei's hands were deeply reluctant to move from Zhao Yunlan's body, but he had no right to keep them locked around his waist.
Then he moved all his attention to Li Qian, who was shaking and silently crying as Shen Wei lowered her to the floor of the roof.
Zhao Yunlan flicked his wrist and the whip coiled around his waist, the dagger flying back to his hand. He sat down on a concrete ledge, huffed and examined his bleeding arm with a disinterested glance.
Shen Wei looked form his hurting suicidal student to Kunlun and wanted to wrap him in a blanket, heal his broken skin and find the answers that Zhao Yunlan had decided was the truth. The sight of the blood slowly gathering like red pearls on the torn skin, created a molten ball of emotions in Shen Wei's chest, called into being simply by how much he wanted, and how denied he was by whatever this was between them.
If this was them ten millennia ago, he could have simply reached out and healed Kunlun. Could have curled a hand around his calf or knee for comfort - for his own reassurance...But this was Zhao Yunlan who had already been through so much and most importantly, he wasn't Shen Wei's to guard and love.
But Shen Wei was going to guard and love him anyway.
What he hadn't expected was Zhao Yunlan's eyes to sharpen, his stance combative even as he sat. That intense foxfire gaze landed on Li Qian without mercy.
"No one has the right to disregard life." Shen Wei told Li Qian firmly, crouching beside her. "Not even your own."
"When you dig your own grave, you can't throw stones at the pallbearers." Zhao Yunlan said in a strange tone. "When you dig someone else a grave, you can't change your mind halfway there."
Li Qian flinched.
"You dug her grave, why should we let you dig our own?" He added, a viciousness to his tone that had Shen Wei staring at him. Of all the things Shen Wei expected him to say to a distraught child...that wasn't on the list. Li Qian curled up against his side tighter, away from Zhao Yunlan.
"Chief Zhao, that was uncalled for." Shen Wei said firmly, disturbed by this entire scene. Kunlun didn't bully people and this was exactly what this was. His student was young, disturbed and emotionally fragile. She had not killed anyone, of this Shen Wei was sure.
But the hard edge in Zhao Yunlan's eyes was black jade, basalt and a knife all rolled into one.
At this moment his instincts were torn. In the core of his being his trust and faith were always going to be Zhao Yunlan's, but his protectiveness over the helpless was rising, arguing that for whatever reasons Zhao Yunlan had, frightening and terrorizing his student, Li Qian, was not right.
The man in question looked at him for a long moment as if daring him to continue, and then leaned back. "You have yourself a guard Li Qian. That's impressive."
The weight on the word 'guard' was not accidental and it had unseen hackles rising, even as Shen Wei fought twin impulses. Support Zhao Yunlan or stop this unfair behavior? Then still that resistant loyalty and respect. Zhao Yunlan - Kunlun never did anything for nothing.
Then Zhao Yunlan tilted his head, a bird of prey sighting its dinner. "Does he know?" He asked her, as if the answer mattered little.
"Professor Shen has done nothing wrong. He knows nothing." Li Qian said from her seat. "You should have let me die!"
"Some thanks to your Grandmother." Zhao Yunlan said cuttingly. "All she sacrificed and hoped for and you throw yourself off a roof?"
Li Qian crumbled, "I don't have a grandmother anymore."
"You didn't go through with it?" Zhao Yunlan demanded urgently, leaning forward. "Did it go wrong? What happened?"
Li Qian opened her eyes and shouted, "What is it to do with you!"
Zhao Yunlan looked unimpressed and not the slightest bit moved. Shen Wei again was torn between reprimanding her for disrespect and cautioning Zhao Yunlan, who snapped back, "I've saved your life three times kid. Three. At this point I practically own it."
At this Shen Wei could only stare. He looked at Li Qian's devastated face and then back at Zhao Yunlan's set expression and fierce eyes. He...three times...
"I never asked for you to get involved!" Li Qian snapped tearfully.
"You were screaming. In public. In the middle of the night. That's an invite for a police officer." Zhao Yunlan shot back. "Second time you dropped right in front me on the road. In case you missed it, you were hanging off a building not ten minutes ago!"
"You're....you're not..!" Li Qian seemed to struggle to get the words out. Shen Wei's stare only intensified.
Shen Wei was convinced at this point, that there was a lot more going on here than he understood. He also realized that Zhao Yunlan was angry about this, or at the very least holding a grudge about it.
"Could one of you explain what this is about?' He asked aiming for calm and restraining himself.
Zhao Yunlan glanced at him, his expression unreadable and not friendly, then he turned back to Li Qian. "You want to tell him or me?"
Li Qian looked stricken, "Leave Professor Shen out of this!"
"Oh? So you can think of him and his safety?" Zhao Yunlan mocked. "That's nice. Pity you didn't think about Lu Ruomei. But then Professor Shen is not your twin in build and height, is he?"
Shen Wei might have flinched ever so slightly at the word 'twin' and then he frowned.
"I don't..." Li Qian stumbled on her words so uncharacteristically.
"Know who killed her? Or why that's your problem?" Zhao Yunlan asked, his eyes blazing in his nearly expressionless face.
"I never wanted anything to happen to her!" Li Qian cried.
"Where is he?" Zhao Yunlan snapped in reply. "You protect him after this?!"
"Chief Zhao?" Shen Wei asked, not demanded though he wanted to. But his voice was steel and his eyes were fixed on the love of his life.
Zhao Yunlan looked at Shen Wei again, assessing and again unmoved. "Li Qian will be taken to SID for further questioning after she has been assessed by a doctor. She will face charges."
"You believe that my student has committed murder?" Shen Wei asked disbelievingly.
"I believe this idiot child has messed with things she doesn't understand. Until I know what she's done, she will be held. By the Guardian Order." Zhao Yunlan replied looking at her. "I warned you."
"I didn't." Li Qian said imploringly, looking at Shen Wei desperately. "I didn't."
"You just helped the one who did." Zhao Yunlan replied harshly. "This is not what your Grandmother would have wanted kid."
"You have no right to speak about her!" Li Qian bit out, "No right,"
"To fix what you have broken? To tell you the woman who raised you, would want her life used in this way?" Zhao Yunlan snapped, "Getting involved? You should have thought of that, when I warned you. Now, tell me where he is."
"I don't know." Li Qian said, tears in her eyes, but her jaw was firm. "I haven't seen him!"
"Zhao Yunlan," Shen Wei cut in.
"Gao Tianyu." Zhao Yunlan said in reply, his tone the slice of a sword.
Shen Wei thought and shook his head, "I don't know that name."
Predictably Zhao Yunlan's upper lip twitched as if he wanted to snarl and was restraining himself. "That's...typical." He said in a flat tone, but his were on Li Qian. "You will be coming with me."
"You can't fix this." Li Qian told him as he stood up. "It's too late."
Zhao Yunlan looked down at her and for a moment, he was Kunlun with long braids and blue robes.
"You should have thought of that before you came here to kill yourself. You wanted my attention kid. You wanted me to stand for you in death. Well, you've got it."
Li Qian fainted halfway across the roof. Shen Wei caught her easily and Zhao Yunlan only sighed. "Hospital then." Was all he said, leading the way down the stairs and eventually to his car.
The hospital trip was tense and the meeting with the doctor was concerning. The consultant spoke about Li Qian's meridians being 'off-balance' and that she was suffering from exhaustion. He announced that she was suffering from a serious nervous breakdown and while Shen Wei agreed, he disliked the dismissive way his student's case was being handled.
Zhao Yunlan sitting in the chair by the window, spoke for the first time in a hour to ask, "When will she wake?"
"I don't know." He replied waspishly, "She's a cultivator. It will likely settle on its own." He clicked his tongue irritably. "Nothing is ever straightforward with one of them. You should get a referral from a sect doctor. All I know is that she is my patient! You police are always the same."
Zhao Yunlan's beautiful face, backlit by sunlight, went from expressionless and vaguely bored to combative in the blink of an eye. His love had limited patience for most things and boundless patience while he waited for his prey. Since he was not the latter, this doctor with his difficult attitude, had manged to reduce that patience even further.
It was a heady feeling being able to recognize that still. The war, his love affair with Kunlun - it was both another life and his life. His past. But now, in some ways it felt like a return to those days and something blindingly preciously new. It hurt to look at him and feel this distance. This argument brewing between them. It left him feeling unsettled and restless. It also hurt more not to look at him.
Yet, he did know enough of Kunlun's temper to see the warning signs of some savage response, so Shen Wei rose from his seat beside his student and apologized with false sincerity and added, "Perhaps we are too impatient."
Zhao Yunlan's near silent huff was obvious to someone who was watching for it, the sharp little rise of his chest...the irritated disbelief that Shen Wei had the gall to apologize to the insulting man... but Shen Wei carried on blithely ignoring his reaction. "She is my student and an important witness in a case."
The doctor's ire was redirected into a short rant about recklessness of cultivators and then added, "Her grandmother was in here, two days ago, for an overdose of sleeping pills! Sadly, we couldn't save her. Cultivator or not, her core wasn't strong enough to overcome the effects."
A handsome jaw tilted and foxfire eyes were trained on the doctor, but he said nothing. So Shen Wei said, "I always heard her grandmother was healthy...just a little...mentally unsound."
A flicker in those dark eyes. He doesn't seem surprised, Shen Wei thought. Good surveillance or something else?
"A year ago something happened, wasn't it?" Zhao Yunlan asked lightly, as if he was just making small talk. Those eyes told a different story.
"Yes," The doctor agreed, "She suffered a stroke. Everyone hoped, but a turnaround seemed very unlikely. She woke up in a daze and left hospital after a week. I suppose it was because of her core, her training? Still, she had after effects."
"The after effects?"
"Dementia." Zhao Yunlan put in, expressionless once more. Shen Wei glanced at him, but he was staring at the doctor, as if daring him.
"She cheated death." The doctor said sadly.
"A stolen life is hard to maintain, if you cheat death." Shen Wei said looking at Li Qian, a horrible suspicion starting to form.
"She's still in the morgue, waiting to be collected." The doctor added.
"No one else came for funerary arrangements?' Zhao Yunlan asked.
"No. I think this grandchild is all she had in this world." The doctor told him.
Zhao Yunlan nodded and rose fluidly. "A member of my team will be by to watch over your patient. They won't get in your way. "
"Is she dangerous or in danger?" the doctor challenged.
"All I know, is that she is my problem." Zhao Yunlan said echoing his earlier outrage, as he walked from the room. Shen Wei following closely behind, not wanting the man to escape before he could at least find out what this was about.
"Chief Zhao." He said swiftly sliding up to match his pace.
"You shouldn't get involved with this Professor. It will bring you trouble." Zhao Yunlan said as they turned the corner, a whiff of his aftershave catching Shen Wei's nose.
"I am already involved." Shen Wei replied firmly, annoyed at being sidelined, "That is to be understood."
Zhao Yunlan paused mid-stride and sighed. "Come on then." Without looking at Shen Wei, he crossed the floor, turned another corner and casually opened the stairway door. One floor down, he stopped and leaned against the wall, giving himself the view of the lower flight of stairs and the upper level. Shen Wei wasn't sure why they needed the privacy of the back stairs, but he paused on the last step of the upper flight.
Zhao Yunlan looked like a model in an advert, hypnotic eyes hooded and his body lean and strong against the wall. In another life, Shen Wei would have stepped into that space between Zhao Yunlan parted boots and pressed against that sinuous body.
"Chief Zhao?" His voice didn't shake to his relief.
"Professor," Zhao Yunlan replied, his eyes hard.
Shen Wei's mouth twisted ever so slightly, "If you are going to say that I am not a Haixingren cultivator, I will remind you of what I am. If you say I am undermining your authority or interfering in what is clearly,"
A hand patted his chest lightly, only a finger's breadth from his pendant. A shudder went through him. That palm felt like a brand, those fingers angling up just slightly to pat his sweater vest.
Mind wiped clean of all thought and irritation, Shen Wei looked up, straight at Zhao Yunlan who had stepped forward into his space, without Shen Wei really realizing. He had craved this man's presence for centuries and it was so easily to revert, no matter the crawl of time, to those days when Kunlun swayed into his space as easily as breathing.
"Shen Wei ah," He said foxfire eyes staring into his, "We have already been through much together. It's a little late for that mmh? There is no need to insult me." At Shen Wei's parted lips, his denial in his own gaze, Zhao Yunlan patted his chest again. "Or yourself. Don't confuse me with your Dean. That geezer." He shook his head and sadly stepped back.
His chest where Zhao Yunlan's hand had been felt warm. Shen Wei blinked at him, watching mesmerized as he leaned against the opposite wall, body relaxed as he watched Shen Wei in turn. "I'm not advising you stay clear of this Shen Wei, for any of those reasons." He lifted one shoulder, "We both know that this game only lasts if you can keep your record clean."
Shen Wei frowned feeling lost. Thankfully Zhao Yunlan continued, with an elegant hand gesture, "Getting involved in this will call attention to you. Expose you potentially. Both here and in Dixing. I'm sure you heard? We have a truce now. And that will last who knows how long."
Expose? Oh. Shen Wei's heart skipped a beat. Kunlun was concerned for him over his cover identity of being Professor, under the assumption he was here to spy for Dixing. He wasn't it, but he could see how Zhao Yunlan had come to that conclusion. To live like this, if he wasn't the Envoy, it would have been impossible.
"I need to know." Shen Wei told him.
Zhao Yunlan looked at him, assessing and then he huffed a laugh, tucking himself a little more into the corner, a knee bent slightly. "If you wish to get involved Professor, if you wish to know who killed Luo Ruomei, the answer is Gao Tianyu."
"You told me his name earlier. Can you please explain." Shen Wei asked watching his face in the light of the hospital corridor. "You were...aggrieved by the fact I didn't recognize his name."
Another wrong Dixing had committed, he was sure of it. Another wrong he had committed. To make it right, to address this, whatever it was, Shen Wei had to know more.
Zhao Yunlan looked at him and shook head, "You are hardly responsible for the corruption in Dixing." He said almost tiredly and Shen Wei flinched. Zhao Yunlan missed it only because he was fishing in his jacket pocket for a lollipop, the bandage on his arm so white in this shadowy corner.
Shen Wei shoved down his dismay and defiantly straightened his spine. "You sent him down as a convict and Dixing...returned him?"
It seemed impossible, but Zhao Yunlan's anger was plain and the cause in this case was obvious, no matter how much Shen Wei wanted to dismiss it. When the Lord Guardian convicted a criminal, the entire case was sent to Dixing and with the power of hindsight, an internal investigation and the centuries-long worship of Kunlun, Shen Wei knew that every case Zhao Yunlan put forward was airtight.
So it wasn't a lack of evidence or proof of motivations. It wasn't protecting the rights and innocence of a citizen thrown into the justice system on prejudice and hate alone. No. Because Zhao Yunlan didn't hate Dixing and he would never do such a thing.
Dark eyes glance at him and then he huffs a laugh. "For a long time, I've been wondering why your king," Here he looked sideways at Shen Wei, "Purveyor of Justice, the legendary Executioner is so determined to put innocent lives in harms way, simply out of grudge alone."
Shen Wei shifted and didn't know what was in his eyes, his anger, his despair, his outrage at being used, desperation for Zhao Yunlan not to lose trust in him or just angry devastation that through the moves of someone else and his own stupidity...he had lost Zhao Yunlan's respect as well. But the man opposite him shakes his head,
"No need for a display of loyalty Shen Wei." Tilting his head now, assessing and possibly waiting for an attack subconsciously at least. "From what I've been told, a corrupt Judge is the root of this problem. I also know that if the assassins hadn't killed her, your king would have. In the name of betrayal. So it's better that only he and I know this. Not the wider world."
"I know too," He added leaning back against the wall, "Now at least, that your king would not be willing to accept the blood of innocents anymore than I could."
"He would not. He does not. I do not." Shen Wei said emphatically, willing Zhao Yunlan to believe that.
That startled a laugh from Zhao Yunlan. He leaned back against the wall and took out a lollipop. As he unwrapped it, he looked at Shen Wei as if assessing him. Shen Wei remained still and unguarded, body held in loose posture trying to aim for solidarity rather than intimidation.
Zhao Yunlan however lowered his chin, those hooded eyes turning seductive, then faux offended. Oh no. Shen Wei was helpless in the face of this expression, already shifting closer, narrowing the gap between them.
"A little cheap isn't it?" Zhao Yunlan said coyly and alarms begin to ring in Shen Wei's head. "This little sharing session?"
"What do you want?" Shen Wei asked flatly, pleased it didn't come out as a rasp or worse, a croak - and raised his brows. Those eyes were too sharp, the curl of his mouth too mischievous.
"A guarantee." Zhao Yunlan said in much the same tone. "From you. Personally."
Shen Wei swallowed and silently readied himself as a king and as the envoy. "A guarantee for what?"
Zhao Yunlan pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, "That when this is over, you'll take Li Qian to this location. She won't go with me. She will go with you."
Stunned, Shen Wei took the paper and started at the unassuming address written in handwriting that was not Zhao Yunlan's penmanship. He could read it easily for one thing. "Take her here?"
Zhao Yunlan nodded leaning back against the wall. "And leave her there, for at least a week. They can help her. I don't know about her education, her career, but they'll help her."
Shen Wei's lie had taught him to expect the worst, but even he didn't expect Zhao Yunlan - who had been so furious with Li Qian earlier - to hand out a treatment solution, that didn't involve prison time. Shen Wei's heart softened even more. Of course he was. That noble heart only gave up on enemies, not misguided kids.
He's so...Shen Wei's heart sighed.... perfect.
"Help her how?" Shen Wei asks curious and slightly defensive, but mostly in love and confused. "You wanted her to face justice."
"I need to fix what she's done." Zhao Yunlan corrected. "There will be punishment for her actions. As she has no sect, she would be at the mercy of a tribunal which will opt for death. This way, she can serve her community and maybe gain some inner peace or something."
Death. Shen Wei grimaced at the thought.
He was so sweet and was trying hard to sound dubious about the whole thing. Shen Weir really wanted to kiss his cheek. "I am grateful Chief Zhao and I'm sure when she has had time, Li Qian will be as well."
It was not necessarily what he would have done in Zhao Yunlan's place, but that he thought to help the child, rather than condemn her, said everything about the man who owned his heart.
"Its a base of operations for the Jade Mountain Sect." Zhao Yunlan told him calmly, "They'll right her meridians, fix the damage and help her with her grief. For free." He added quickly. "All she has to do, is go there."
"It won't right on its own?" Shen Wei asks, "Was he lying?"
"The doctor? No. But he doesn't really have any idea what he's playing with. There is a reason sects have their own in-house doctors." Zhao Yunlan sighed. "The kid is not in any danger of dying, but this kind of imbalance is uncomfortable, painful. Its screwing with her head and add grief to it? Its a bad cocktail of hormones, qi and emotional pain."
"How long would it take?" Shen Wei asks, touched by that care hidden beneath the gangsta.
Zhao Yunlan shrugged, "A month. Two if she doesn't take to it easily. Three at the most. Then again, sometimes those places are soothing. She might choose to stay there."
"Did she kill someone?" Shen Wei asks directly.
"Indirectly yes. I don't think she meant to. But the idiot doesn't understand what she was playing with." Zhao Yunlan says with a sigh. "But I can't prove it."
"If she is willing, I'll take her there." Shen Wei tells him. "Is that what you want in return for the information?"
Zhao Yunlan smiles, "That and the answers to three questions. In return, I'll explain this mess."
Shen Wei was not a good negotiator, but he had a little experience with Kunlun. "Tell me the information and I'll answer your questions."
"I'll hold you to that." Zhao Yunlan said with a sly smile. "Fine." He relaxed a little more against the wall and Shen Wei really wanted to lean into that long body, curl his fingers over those hips and....concentrate. He warned himself.
"Its summer." Zhao Yunlan remarked and Shen Wei frowned at the non-sequitur.
Zhao Yunlan glanced at him and took the lollipop into his mouth in a way that was clearly habitual and highly distracting. "I came here in spring last year." He gestured at the door, "It was the beginning of autumn when an investigation took me to a shitty area of the city, looking for a particular dealer."
"A man was found dead in the north of the city. His limbs and torso looked as if he had been bound tightly with wire until it cut into his flesh, but not enough to kill quickly. His face had been mutilated too and he bled out over hours. The local cops thought it was a revenge attack. I knew it was a paid job." Zhao Yunlan said calmly.
Of course he did. Shen Wei thought, copying him and leaning a little into the wall. "Assassin?"
"Mercenary." Zhao Yunlan replied. "To cut a long, week long story short, I tracked the guy who deals with mercenary jobs down to the old docks. He specializes in cultivator mercenaries and underground fighting. I got a name. While I was walking back to the car,"
Shen Wei doesn't want to imagine this beautiful man in such a place and wishes he had been there.
"I interrupted this guy, Gao Tianyu, killing your student." Zhao Yunlan tells him, eyes faraway. "I figured she was a young disciple looking to buy drugs or support someone in the fight rings. Debt. That sort of thing."
She had been screaming, Shen Wei remembered him saying. "What did she tell you?"
"She wasn't happy that Gao Tianyu had bailed. That I had interfered." Here he shrugged and Shen Wei had a bad feeling about this. "When I pushed, she said that he had the cure for her grandmother. That he was her boyfriend and he just got angry." Zhao Yunlan shook his head. "Because strangulation is such a sign of love. I think though, she saw him start to transform into shadow."
"Cure?" Shen Wei repeated. 'For the stroke?"
"No this was before the stroke." Zhao Yunlan replied. "I showed her my badge and managed to get her into my car and off those streets, without attracting too much attention. When I took her home, I met the grandmother. She was nice. A mid-level cultivator, formerly of the Dragon Sect. And dying."
"Dying?" Shen Wei asks. "Why?"
"Her golden core was being poisoned by an curse. It was something I had seen before." Zhao Yunlan shrugged. "It took less than a hour to made the cure. A transfusion of my energy and the right counter array and she was fine."
Shen Wei marveled at the man silently and then suspecting that this 'curse' had not been normal, asked "Why would anyone attack the grandmother in this way?"
"I believed then and now, that the idea was to drive Li Qian to do something. Gao Tianyu, our shadowman needed her to achieve some end. He paid a cultivator to set the curse on the grandmother and strung her along with promises of her helping her find the cure."
"When I broke the curse, I sent a rebound to the cursemaker. All I had to do was follow the trail, to find him. When I did, I found Gao Tianyu and the mercenary who killed the man. We were two minutes from initiating the raid, when Gao Tianyu throws Li Qian into the mess. Plans to sell her to the wire-killer to pay off a debt."
"But Dixing sent him back."
"Not the wire-killer. He nearly killed Da Qing. I shot him dead." Zhao Yunlan admitted. "But Gao Tianyu was supposed to face justice for the two murders we could prove he had committed."
"Then what do you think happened now?" Shen Wei asked, "Her grandmother who she had already sacrificed for, nearly dies or does die from a stroke. I presume she used a forbidden cultivation practice?"
"She used one of the Hallows." Zhao Yunlan replied and Shen Wei felt his stomach roil. "The Longevity Dial."
"...How?" Shen Wei breathed. "Where is it now?"
"At SID. Passed down through her family as a keepsake. Probably given to her by the grandmother. A plea would activate the power, or else it activated during the ritual she was trying." Zhao Yunlan replied. "There is evidence of one taking place in the apartment. UV light clearly showed the blood on the wood floor, she tried to clean."
"But she had dementia." Shen Wei added, "After the regaining of her life."
"The Dial divides time. It buys the receiver time and takes from the giver. Either way, whatever the hell she did, it ended when the grandmother died of an overdose." Zhao Yunlan finished. "Gao Tianyu was looking for her. Lia Qian tried to hide from him using something. An array or curse. Luo Ruomei died mistaken for Li Qian."
"Is Gao Tianyu looking for the Dial?" Shen We asks. "Or for her?"
Zhao Yunlan shrugs, "He could very be. He might also be looking to kill her for ratting him out to me. I never saw his non-shadowy form. He could have the assassin tattoo and then's he's a part of this mess as well."
"It would be an attractive gift to use for the assassins." Shen Wei agreed. "And since he was sent back to Haixing...but why now? You said autumn? Its summertime?"
Zhao Yunlan's eyes gleamed, "Exactly. The way Gao Tianyu kills, fits the death of Fan Wei, my first assassination victim."
"So if he's not an assassin he working in that capacity for someone?" Shen Wei concludes.
Zhao Yunlan nods. "Two armies."
"The assassins working for the same party responsible for the corrupt judge and anti-deal group and then this guy, possibly working for the other side?"
The Yueyang Sect, Shen Wei realizes.
"Your turn." Zhao Yunlan says with a devilish smile.
Shen Wei blinks at him and then squares his shoulders. "Ask.
"Is your position stable?"
Shen Wei blinks in confusion. Of all the potential, highly invasive questions Zhao Yunlan could ask, this wasn't one he was expecting. "You mean in Haixing?"
"This identity of yours." Zhao Yunlan clarifies, staring at him.
"Yes. No one knows I am Dixingian." Shen Wei tells him.
Zhao Yunlan nods, "Good. How good is the security on your king?"
Again not the question Shen Wei was expecting. His security? He didn't really have any. He did have the Circle, but they had other duties and he was the strongest Dixingian in current history. "My king is defended and can protect himself."
"There is going to be a hit on him. You do realize that, don't you?" Zhao Yunlan asks.
A hit? On him? Let them try. Shen Wei thought. It was Zhao Yunlan's life he was more concerned with. "We have planned for that, yes." Shen Wei replied though. Clearly and very sweetly, this was something Zhao Yunlan was concerned about.
"Okay final question." Zhao Yunlan smiled brightly. "If your position is safe and you're not planning on being your king's security detail, would you be willing to help me?"
Sometimes taking a risk is the only thing you can do.
But as with all things, Zhao Yunlan balanced risk with gain even as he broke nearly every rule that had kept him alive for thirty years. He was trusting Shen Wei, if it killed him or not.
There were a million good, decent reasons why trusting Shen Wei, a man composed of secrets and unyielding loyalty to the Envoy, king of Dixing, was a colossally bad idea. Da Qing probably could name fifty off the top of his head.
But, those reasons didn't factor in one thing. No one who bargained with Shen Xi ever came out the good end of the deal and she had trained her son well, before losing her life to her husband. That and no one except Da Qing would try so many times o help and heal Zhao Yunlan, when letting die was more convenient.
That and he liked Shen Wei. He could not shake this frankly insane desire to be close. He could not stop himself from feeling as if he had known the man before, knew him now, when he knew very little about him. As if a connection as real and solid as the one he shared with Da Qing was strung out between them. Not a red thread of fate, but a damn chain that when tugged brought the other man closer.
The slow blink of surprise was honest. That strange devotion in those pretty brown eyes, was both disturbing and alluring. If he had sounded earnest, Zhao Yunlan would not have believed him. Instead, Shen Wei's voice carried fierceness, control forcing the syllables into softness that belied the vicious edge. "I will help you any way I can."
It sounded like an oath. It should have sounded fake. He's a homicide cop. People say versions of that answer when they've buried the murder victim! That and no one offers such assurances unless they are an actor in a period drama... and even then its usually the prelude to betrayal. Somehow from Shen Wei, knowing he's Dixingian and likely centuries old...its bizarrely genuine.
He trusts Shen Wei. And he trusts the Envoy. He is amazingly sure of a man he doesn't actually know. Except, it feels like he does.
There is a terrifying familiarity to Shen Wei and come to think of it, the Envoy as well.
Each interaction has arrived with a level of comfortable interplay that should be stilted and awkward. They were not exactly enemies, but the cold war between their two offices has been an unavoidable crisis, so 'easy' is not the word he would expect to use right now. But it has been easy. To speak with the Envoy, to wrestle precious time off the ancient immortal for backroom chats Zhao Yunlan has no privilege to. He's been told secret information and trusted with more than the Envoy should feel comfortable giving out.
Right now, Shen Wei is behaving like Zhao Yunlan is a friend he hasn't seen for years, but likes anyway. Its unsettling and it has curiosity burning in his chest. Where did they meet? Why is Shen Wei so comfortable with him? His reputation is terrible in Dixing, partly through propaganda against the Order, partly because he's...well, himself.
He knows that Shen Wei is attracted to him, past history or not. Its obvious in the way he looks at Zhao Yunlan. But that does nothing to explain the devotion in his gaze, the care in his mannerisms.
It does not explain why Zhao Yunlan cares about him in return. It does not explain why he wants to be closer. Purely attraction cannot explain this need, to know, hold and touch.
Really not helped by Shen Wei's response, the hopeful look in his eyes.
Shen Wei moves quickly on from defensive over his student to considering Zhao Yunlan as some kind of hero for caring about Li Qian. He's standing close and watching Zhao Yunlan, waiting for some kind of answer.
Don't we all? Zhao Yunlan thought sourly. But, even if this doesn't work out, Zhao Yunlan won't say no to spending time with a man this complex, this gorgeous.
And...As much as the jianghu adores a good ancient text and inherited knowledge, there was very little about dark energy cultivation. Some scholars swore that dark energy cultivation didn't exist. That each Dixingren was born with a single gift powered by dark energy, likely inherited down a family line on a similar theme. Others proclaimed that the 'one gift' policy was true, but that Dixingren cultivators could perform as any Haixingren cultivator did. A different method but similar processes, wielding their gift or pure qi.
Chu Shuzhi didn't stray that far from his gift and had little interest in doing so. He was charmingly ambivalent about the Great Question, but this case had made it clear that their enemies were using some form of cultivation. To keep everyone safe, he needed an actual practitioner.
"How experienced are you with," A pause as he considered the best way to describe it, Shen Wei's gaze growing sharper, "Locking arrays? Dark energy ones?"
Shen Wei blinked and gathered himself beautifully, like a model readying himself for the next pose. "Very. You have found one during your investigation?"
Zhao Yunlan nodded, "An old one, reused and repurposed."
A frown like a ripple of disturbance on the surface of a lake, there and gone in a breath, crossed Shen Wei's face. "You have no such...consultant?" He asked carefully, testing Zhao Yunlan's reaction.
Zhao Yunlan thought of Chu Shuzhi and his I don't know shrug. "Nothing he did worked." He said eventually. "Is it possible Professor Shen might be interested in helping me?"
Rather than be too much, Shen Wei's eyes widened and he nodded quickly, "Of course Chief Zhao. It was the Emperor's Decree, that you have the assistance you need."
That was an unasked question if Zhao Yunlan had ever heard one. Why me, when you could just send a message requesting a specialist from Dixing? Unable to help himself, Zhao Yunlan snorted.
Shen Wei to no surprise frowned, "You distrust the Envoy's word?" He even sounded sad about it!
Zhao Yunlan was prepared for this, so he laughed. "I have absolute faith that your king will do what is best for Dixing, Shen Wei. According to Dixing, I serve a means to an end."
"That is not true," Shen Wei began hotly, sounding nearly hurt, only to be interrupted by the stairwell door above them opening. A young man...early thirties, one hundred eighty pounds, side piece beneath his jacket, clinch piece left ankle...bad haircut...definitely Vendor Boy, Zhao Yunlan thought irritated.
Stepping closer to Shen Wei, who had turned with a soldier's grace to defend them, angling his body just so, to guarantee that any hit towards them would not hit Zhao Yunlan first. It stunned Zhao Yunlan to see him do that, something warm and sweet settling his own hurt.
Getting information out of Dixing was murder. Gossip was another story. The entire nation had been rocked by the king's sudden abandonment of the cold war strategy, demanding cooperation with the Order, respect for Zhao Yunlan specifically and a do or die order on ceasing hostilities.
Everyone had been sure that the Envoy was smoothing ruffled feathers for the Treaty alone, repeating some of the earlier statements about Zhao Yunlan that were less than flattering. Nepotism. Playboy. Corrupt. Too young. Those were the kind ones.
And though it shouldn't have, it had rankled. It had stung and Zhao Yunlan had no right to feel like that.
But this, from Shen Wei was unexpected.
It was likely training and instinct, but Zhao Yunlan could admit it was hot. He had never been worth anyone protecting before. Ignoring both of them, even as Vendor Boy reached the last step of the upper flight of stairs, about to turn the corner and see them, Zhao Yunlan threw a hand seal into the air and stepped into Shen Wei's space.
At the hand on his shoulder, Shen Wei stiffened. At the hand curling around his own, he looked at Zhao Yunlan, then at the glowing seal. Vendor Boy, who had been stalking Zhao Yunlan for days, skipped down the steps without pausing. "Wait." He told Shen Wei.
Into his phone, Vendor Boy said, "No sign of him Boss. He must have gone down to the parking area. I'll take the back stairs down."
He instinctively looked head and then his gaze slid away, eying the corner of the stair well uncomfortably. He hurried past.
His cheap aftershave followed him as he passed the pair on the stairwell, avoiding touching Shen Wei by a finger width of space. "Yes Boss. I'll find him." He was saying. When he ended the call, he cursed Zhao Yunlan soundly, before rushing down the stairs at breakneck speed.
Zhao Yunlan grinned unrepentantly, "He's so dedicated. Couldn't find his own ass, if he was holding it with both hands, but he's got drive. And three girlfriends."
"How long has been following you?" Shen Wei asked nearly tucked into Zhao Yunlan's side as they watched him go.
"A week. I had to prevent him from being mugged yesterday. Then his murder when he tried to chat up Zhu Hong." Zhao Yunlan admitted.
Zhao Yunlan looked at him as Shen Wei turned back to him, now that the threat was gone. He clearly didn't mind the closeness. Zhao Yunlan would have bet, the gorgeous professor would have launched back, away from Zhao Yunlan for propriety if nothing else.
Instead he stared at him, coal fire eyes lit with dismay and a mulish set to his mouth.
Damn he was hot. That look probably featured as the number one inspiration for the University poetry competitions.
"Have you actually tried to contact Dixing?" Shen Wei demanded, finally stepping away.
Zhao Yunlan let him make as much space as he wanted and raised a brow, then made one of his hand seals. It shone for a few seconds, and sixteen dark grey scrolled fell to the stairwell floor. He caught one as it landed and handed it to Shen Wei without ceremony.
Shen Wei's eyes were impressed at the hand seal and then he blinked owlishly, with that 'attacked' look that tugged on Zhao Yunlan's completely non-existent heart strings. He ignores it as Shen Wei accepts it and reads it quickly, "...Request for further information cannot be processed without further validation. Guardian Order has failed to provided relevant hard-copy evidence...lacks authentication seal....follow up authentication must be provided..."
"I literally offered them every seal the Order has. Even the big nine level blood stamp." Zhao Yunlan said casually. "Kinda glad they did refuse that one. Its take a full pint of blood."
Shen Wei glared at him for the very idea of using his own blood. How he knew that, Zhao Yunlan wasn't sure, but he smiled anyway. Then Shen Wei read the second one. "Cultivation information relevant only to Dixing cannot be shared with forces outside the Treaty purview subject to Code 0945."
Then a third, "Consultancy position cannot be fulfilled at this point.... Guardian Order cannot provide authentication....Allotted time for position will only be reviewed in six months."
Shen Wei lows the scroll, with the nice official calligraphy in white ink, his voice trailing off, "What is this Chief Zhao?"
"Bullshit." Zhao Yunlan replied flatly. "Bureaucracy designed to stonewall me and this investigation, like they have for the forty or so preceding investigations. Though, this time they sound nice when they tell me to go die."
Shen Wei looked enraged and heartbroken, before his face was schooled to Professorship neutral. "I will inform the Envoy."
"Not the Envoy's problem." Zhao Yunlan replied with a shrug. "Getting him involved shows favoritism. Not a good time for that."
"What do you mean?" Shen Wei looked outraged.
Zhao Yunlan looked at him nonplussed, "If the Envoy cracks down on the Justices, they will smile sweetly and go underground. Any chance of eradicating the corruption will become more like..." Zhao Yunlan searched for inspiration. "A fungus. You can kill the mushrooms, but you will never get to the underground network, without digging deep."
Shen Wei, ever the biology professor nods and the dismay is changing to a stubbornness that shouldn't look so good on him. So Zhao Yunlan continues, "A Judge is dead. A risky murder that throws up a neon sign for corruption, a thing your king is famous for despising. A Judge responsible for the connection t the Order and for prisoner intake management."
Or at least that was what Chu Shuzhi had admitted.
"If the Judge was funding the assassins, or employing them, someone, maybe the Judge herself, was used as a recruiter. They are not picking disillusioned punks from the street Shen Wei. Too must liability. You need triad infrastructure to control thugs and punks well. No. These people were chosen. Hand selected."
"Their gift." Shen Wei murmurs.
"Exactly. The Order sends maybe ten to twenty criminals back to Dixing every year. We take rehabilitation cases on as well and act as a social service for victims living here without support. That information is supposed to be guarded. So who had access in Dixing? If it was the Judge, if she selected them, she was killed to hide that as much as anything. I didn't take it well when I found out Dixing was being dishonest, so I had to be eliminated."
Shen Wei seemed to think about this for a second, then he nodded. "If Dixing cannot provide you with assistance, I will."
Zhao Yunlan blinked at him. "What time are you free?"
Shen Wei stares at him as if Zhao Yunlan had been speaking a foreign language. "I cleared my schedule when Li Qian was brought here, though I only had one class to teach. I am free now."
"Mmn." Zhao Yunlan said with a smile, "Well then, we will be watched, so I'll use the same array and keep our stalkers from recognizing you."
No one intercepted them from leaving the hospital, not that Shen Wei expected them to. He had no doubt that they were being monitored and followed though, so matched his pace to Zhao Yunlan as they walked out of the building to the car park.
Zhao Yunlan for his part, seemed perfectly at ease, but Shen Wei noted - as he obsessively noted everything about Zhao Yunlan with raw hunger- that his shoulders were a little tense, his boots striking the ground with a little more intent. His loose gait however, belied any notion of stress. Shen Wei had often thought whenever he tormented and comforted himself in his memories, that the Yashou Leopard Tribe had never managed to capture the same effortless grace and predatory ambling gait as the man beside him.
Still, he held his power carefully, the illusion working well. Gazes aimed their way, slid away from him immediately and a little more exertion meant that they didn't quite look at Zhao Yunlan either.
He was a little more pleased by that result than he should be. Zhao Yunlan was beautiful after all.
Outside, Zhao Yunlan led them to his four wheel drive, obsidian eyes checking the car park on reflex. He opened the passenger door for Shen Wei, in a bizarre polite gesture that Shen Wei was sure he was doing just to unsettle him.
Inside, the car smelled of Zhao Yunlan's aftershave and the faintest hint of fragrant cigarettes. Despite himself, Shen Wei sank into the seat more relaxed than he should be. It was scrupulously clean, a cat shaped air freshener hanging from the rear-view mirror and the light kiss of Zhao Yunlan's unique qi lingered wonderfully.
Shen Wei though, had no doubt that the glove compartment held a spare gun and a packet of lollipops.
Zhao Yunlan settling into the driver's seat had a wash of that precious scent and a hint of that cleverly concealed power.
Shen Wei would be willing to live another ten thousand years, if it meant he could experience this again. This, was exactly what he had been surviving for. Zhao Yunlan's presence.
Don't stare, he reminded himself firmly, but could not stop himself glancing at him. It was surreal.
Now though, out of all the options available to him, Zhao Yunlan had asked him for help.
As they drove, Shen Wei kept only a bare interest in their surroundings. There was a part of him, always there and always alert that was guarding Zhao Yunlan, from potential threats. The rest of him basked in the sheer sensory joy of being next to Zhao Yunlan.
It was playing havoc with his self control and sanity, but Shen Wei would fight entire worlds for this opportunity. He was vividly aware of him. The pull of the jeans fabric over his long legs. His beautiful long hands on the steering wheel. The bright dulcet tones of his voice as he chatted warmly, touching on various subjects without really demanding Shen Wei's input. The way the sunlight picked out blue highlights in his charcoal black hair.
To avoid doing or saying something, Shen Wei thought of the conversation in the hospital and that moment when the door had opened.
Shen Wei had heard the door to the stairwell open and half turned instinctively. It could be a hospital staff member and equally likely, one of Zhao Yunlan's Bureau employed stalkers or an assassin.
Half of his mind, his skin and very being was aware of Zhao Yunlan in exquisite detail, so he knew the instance that he moved. What he wasn't expecting was a warm hand sliding over his right collarbone and sudden proximity.
Heat had washed over Shen Wei and he glanced from the upper level stairs where the door had opened to Zhao Yunlan. He was so close, a hard line right beside Shen Wei, it shocked him into stunned silence. Foxfire eyes of the darkest jade watched him and an elegant hand formed a complex symbol, that swam through the air, organizing itself into an array.
Shen Wei had glanced away from those eyes with great difficulty, to the magenta pink array and then at the man coming down the steps. "Wait." Zhao Yunlan had said quietly and firmly.
He obeyed Kunlun as he would no one else. He looked at the man changing gear beside him, aware that he had so much to make up for.
It took twenty minutes to arrive at a nondescript apartment block some distance from the hospital and even further from Zhao Yunlan's home. Curious, Shen Wei followed Zhao Yunlan from the car, passed the restaurant on the lower ground floor and into a drab hallway.
Ignoring the elevator, Zhao Yunlan jogged up the dimly lit stairs to the second floor. Almost immediately, Shen Wei felt the invisible barrier beginning in the middle of the hallway. Half a second later, he felt the unmistakable ripple of Zhao Yunlan's qi.
Obsidian eyes gauged his reaction and then he smiled, his hand sliding around the banister post at the top of the steps. Following the cunning fox with a bemused, soft laugh Shen Wei glanced around him looking for the pulsing sensation of power he could feel.
Zhao Yunlan paused in front of apartment twelve, the door glowing around the edges. "This was Gao Tianyu's apartment. Before we sent him down."
Turning away from Shen Wei - a stunning sign of trust, especially as he knew that Shen Wei was a highly trained dark cultivator and believed him to be a High Circle member, which made him automatically one of the revered military chiefs of Dixing - Zhao Yunlan made another hand seal and a whirling nine trigram lock appeared before them.
It was beautiful, cleverly composed of twelve inner workings that were not immediately apparent at first glance, then three slotted talismans that had no obvious connection to the main array. The answering talismans made no sense which was a secondary defensive block.
Shen Wei, both the Envoy and the scholar felt a frisson of excitement seeing one of Kunlun's brilliant inventions. The rest of him just breathed a dreamy, proud sound as they unlocked smoothly.
Shen Wei knew, because he had seen similar designs before, that anyone from a non-cultivator background would walk past this door completely blind to its existence. The landlord might have forgotten he even had this space. A mid to high level cultivator would see the door perhaps, but getting through the lock would be a significant challenge. Zhao Yunlan and Kunlun if provoked - being the same man he reminded himself- could both be petty.
If being in the past had bound Zhao Yunlan's hands limiting what he could get away with, this modern world had in turn, no chance of holding him back.
Flicking on the light, Zhao Yunlan stepped inside, glancing back at Shen Wei as he did. There was no risk. No one could get that door without alerting Zhao Yunlan miles away, that it was broken.
Not that Shen Wei had ever seen anyone break this array.
The windows were covered in, letting no light into the room at all. A bare mattress was on the floor just visible from the doorway of the small second room. The main floor was bare and just around the corner was the kitchenette spanning just a few cupboards and an old stove. It smelled stale and something else that Shen Wei couldn't quite put his finger on. Cloves? No...some kind of root though....
Zhao Yunlan moved to the center of the floor space and smiled, crooked and genuine. In the dim artificial light, shadows curled and his eyes were pool of black jade crinkling at the corners so they resembled happy half moons, that full generous mouth quirked in amusement.
His jacket hid the lean muscle Shen Wei knew was there, defining that lanky body. It was fitted so it made those shoulders look wide, the t-shirt subtly clinging to his waist. When he turned, hands spread wide to encompass the entire small room in his gesture, Shen Wei saw the overlay of swishing braids and flowing robes. The same tilted hip and arching foot.
"Most of the stuff was evidence," Zhao Yunlan was saying and Shen Wei blinked back into focus, having missed the first part.
Right. He was here to help Zhao Yunlan. Focus.
Reaching out with his dark energy, Shen Wei felt the pooling power in the room and noted the strange pinned sensation. As a being that had reached the highest level of dark energy cultivation in existence, having being trapped underground as top if basic cultivator ten thousand years ago, the trapped power wanted to escape its bindings, reaching for Shen Wei.
A needlessly showy hand gesture, had an array appearing in crystal blue, slowly rotating.
"Shen Wei ah," Zhao Yunlan said and he sounded so gratifyingly impressed, "So talented."
Shen Wei tried everything not to blush and ducked his head a little at the praise. "This was hidden?" He asked, knowing Zhao Yunlan had seen or knew something.
"I could detect there was something protected by ark energy, but no attempt so far can unlock it." Zhao Yunlan said easily. "Gao Tianyu was not, according to the file we did receive from Dixing, a known cultivator. We assume he was an orphan and received basic cultivation teaching?"
In Haixing becoming a cultivator was a choice and even then based on the spirit veins present in the individual, determining if they even could cultivate. Some families had long lines of descendants that were all cultivators of varying strengths. Very few of them actually make it to the Formation Stage, when immortality was inevitable. Those that do, often carry on and cultivate to Ascension. Although what happens at that point was a secret no one would share with a Dixingian.
In Dxing, with natural and often dangerous gifts, training was mandatory. Families could train younger generations in control and guide their gift safety, if it was of a similar type. A family known for energy discharge gifts, would be able to guide any child with lightning gifts for example. If there was no family, or the ability was outside family history, outside intervention was law. These children, usually young teenagers, were trained by the closest version to Haixing sects that Dixing has.
These schools were based on Shen Wei's experience with Haixing cultivation sects and training grounds. He had taken the parts he found admirable and changed other elements to suit Dixing culture. The youngsters received a full education and a safe environment to learn how to harness their gifts. Shen Wei policed them on a personal level for corruption, rebel ideology and abuse.
The more dangerous gifts could be lessened by a cultivator of his power or sealed if the owner desired it at the right age for autonomy. The rarer gifts were always reported to him directly, especially mind control, mental manipulation of any form or incorporeal abilities. He's checked, going back a century just to be safe and no one had reported to him of shadow abilities.
"I suspect that this Gao Tianyu might have been raised in Haixing." Shen Wei admitted. "The Envoy personally checked the school records and national records."
Zhao Yunlan didn't look surprised, but he did look thoughtful. Standing closer to the bedroom doorway in the yellow light of the old fixture above them, he somehow looked remote and ageless.
"What is it?" Shen Wei asks mapping out the array limits. It didn't seem to be a dangerous array exactly. There were protection written into its matrix, but it was...folded...ah...
"Would I be mad to suggest that this seems too...involved Shen Wei?" Zhao Yunlan asks, his eyes on the array.
"This took skill Chief Zhao." Shen Wei reports. "This is a master's work and....somewhat familiar to me. And why put it here? In his accommodation?" He doubted it was a home. Nothing but a base of operations as he preyed on young women.
"You recognize the qi signature?" Zhao Yunlan voice had sharpened, a fox scenting prey. "As to here? He rented it in a false name two years before we caught him. He was broke too. The money for the rent, was stolen from the girl he murdered."
Shen Wei's heart sighed in admiration. Zhao Yunlan was a born hero, no matter how he would deny it. "Not clearly enough to name the person, but I've felt this before." He glanced up and saw the flicker of disappointment before it vanished. He considered for a breath and then asked, "That is not what you meant though is it?"
He half expected Zhao Yunlan to deflect. It was his nature. They were both secretive. But the look he received was openly assessing before Zhao Yunlan said, "I assume the Emperor has forewarned his most loyal?"
Shen Wei hated this territory, half interrogation, half hinted distrust. He could use it though and did shamelessly, "The Emperor has." In fact told no one, because Zhao Yunlan is in jeopardy. He offered truths and threw pathways to those most loyal to him to follow, ordered others on fact finding missions and locked down his operations to those he knew he could trust, so it wasn't an entire lie.
"We knew from the attack on the Order, when we first met Chief Zhao, about the assassins.The murder of the Ninth Judge. The Lord Envoy informed us of the Yueyang Sect recently and the corruption links. His Majesty also spoke of the infiltration of both Dixing and Haixing organization." He added. "We are all involved. It is out duty to eradicate them."
"You are sworn to remove Dixing's enemies I presume?" Zhao Yunlan said, as if this was a casual piece of information like the weather or sport results.
He was in fact sworn to do exactly that. But not at the cost of Kunlun's life. So, Shen Wei nodded.
"Are you still under orders?"
"My situation is unique." Shen Wei told him. "I am better served here than there." A complete lie. He was the Envoy. It simply suited him to be unavailable and then very much present in Dixing, throwing them off guard with his unpredictability. More importantly, he knew they couldn't overthrow him or take over Dixing. They could kill Zhao Yunlan.
Zhao Yunlan digested that, considered implications spoken and silent. Then he nodded, "I think someone is playing both sides for the same end goal."
"But the Yueyang from all reports are loyal only to Haixing." Shen Wei pointed out.
"Supremacists yes," Zhao Yunlan agreed, "But there are signs that one party is using both. We know that the assassins must have a rich master. Money is their end goal more than loyalty or anarchy. When the risk outweighs the payment, they end the payer. That's how it works. I've screwed over the Yueyang before, and they were not a rich sect."
There was too much...resentment in Zhao Yunlan's tone. It had ancient instincts prickling. "What have you heard that disturbs you so?"
Zhao Yunlan shot him a look and Shen Wei looked back placidly. Then he laughed and smiled at Shen Wei, a charming one that he lovingly tucked into his heart like the desperate sap he was.
"The Yueyang has not had, not for the last five generations of their cultivators at least, a grand success story." Zhao Yunlan told him.
Which meant Shen Wei presumed, a pupil that reached a high level, or least a decent level of cultivation. Someone they could show off. He was a University Professor after all. There had to be a level among the graduates that was impressive for the school to attract parents. The University's reputation was built on a brand of excellence.
"There were whispers of the Elders choosing some students and dosing them with 'supplements' and some shady cultivation manuals for short term gains."
Like dosing an athlete on performance enhancing drugs. Or concentration aids in capsules handed over to desperate students.
"To the detriment of the students?" Shen Wei asks watching him.
"Deaths particularly." Zhao Yunlan replies, an angry arch to his brows. Enough to tell Shen Wei, someone died and Zhao Yunlan believed it was preventable but out of his hands. A grudge, Zhao Yunlan would hold onto. "They don't boost cultivation really. They just act like an energy drink or nicotine. They have a price."
So a semi-failing sect with a lot of influence - by putting clever semi-cultivator students into positions - now wants to end the treaty with Dixing. A tall order. Shen Wei considered everything and still put his bets with Zhao Yunlan. Assuming that theory was correct then,
"Someone is paying them in some currency to use their influence in organizations like the Xingdu Bureau to affect the changes they want. On the other side of the drama, someone perhaps the same person, is paying the assassins to rid the playing field of the influencing people."
"Chucking mud on both sides, who will of course," Zhao Yunlan drawls
"...Blame each other and void several clauses of the treaty and void the trade deal entirely by ancient laws, neither side can overlook." Shen Wei finished.
In his head he imagined a chart for this information, the scholar in him arranging the information with some shapes and arrows.
Zhao Yunlan beams and then grimaces. "Question is who?"
If this wasn't mitigated, ten thousand years of work was going be destroyed overnight!
Zhao Xinci would be a good candidate, but he would not be foolish enough to harm Haixing. He was a bastard, Shen Wei thought, but he wasn't a fool.
Then a thought occurred, "You are wondering if Gao Tianyu was employed outside of either player?"
"If he wasn't raised by the assassins club," Zhao Yunlan wondered, "And raised as you suspect in Haixing...someone must be employing him now. Why get a judge in your pocket? Why watch the incoming prisoners, choose a prime candidate and not use them?"
"Good point. So when we find Gao Tianyu, we might find his boss." A long shot, but Shen Wei wanted to capture the shadow man. This had become personal on several levels.
"They would be close," Zhao Yunlan said thoughtfully. "A plan like this could go off the rails easily."
"Yes," Shen Wei agreed, "But someone overlooked enough they can move around several easily riled members in all of the teams." Like Zhao Xinci. He thought a little more and suggested, "What about Agent Wen?"
Zhao Yunlan did not dismiss the notion, proving Shen Wei's idea held weight, something that thrilled him despite himself. "Its possible...she is pretty much the poster child for a plant. And she holds connections in the Xingdu Bureau and the Yueyang Sect."
And Zhao Yunlan had mentioned she was there nearby when one of the victims was killed.
"She'll approach soon." Zhao Yunlan said thoughtfully, "Either way I think. They'll assume a pretty face and fellow victim can reach me."
Shen Wei wondered irrationally how many 'pretty faces' had tried that tactic.
"Let me unlock this. We'll see if this holds any answers." Shen Wei said gesturing to the floor.
Shen Wei focused his attention on the floor and used dark energy to unfold the energy envelope hidden in the floor. It unfurled resisting his brute force. He didn't have the missing key, but more than enough power to unravel the entire thing. A spark of light brightened the room for a second and the array snapped.
Shen Wei transmigrated the items inside, back out onto the floor.
"Well, well." Zhao Yunlan hummed. Waiting for Shen Wei's signal he approached the boxes on the floor with suspicion. All three were wood, carved with traditional Dixingian motifs. Shen Wei broke the locks on the boxes, using energy to flip them open.
A silver laptop lay in one. A stack of red books was in the larger one and in the last was a set of CDs, a strange necklace and a green bottle.
Zhao Yunlan picked up one of the red books. "Manuals." He said sounding surprised. "They are written in Dixingian bone script."
Shen Wei took one and glanced at it, "Old but usable. These are forbidden texts though."
"Why forbidden?" Zhao Yunlan asked innocently.
Shen Wei sighed but capitulated, "In ancient times, a cultivator researched how to seal power from other cultivators and recorded his findings. These techniques are for harvesting another person's life force and gift."
"I do have to log them as evidence." Zhao Yunlan told him seriously. "When that's complete, they will be returned to Dixing with a person you trust. Otherwise, I'll destroy them with permission and give you the receipt."
If he said he would destroy them, he would. Shen Wei knew that.
The Envoy considered, "They may be useful for the investigation. I will report their existence and when permission is obtained, you may detroy them." HE waited a beat. 'The Lord Enoy, may wish to see them."
Zhao Yunlan raised an eyebrow, "Why?"
"If soemone has copied these by hand, which seems likely, the Lord Envoy might be able to trace them." Shen Wei told him.
"Ah."
Just as Zhao Yunlan was about to put the book back, a light that flashed near the bedroom door alerted Shen Wei.
Without thinking Shen Wei didn't reach for any of his accumulated gifts. His hands were wrapped around Zhao Yunlan's body, pulling him away from the discharge of energy. With Shen Wei in front, he let go of Zhao Yunlan's arm with one hand and absorbed the hit. It stung at first, but soon joined the rushing force of his dark energy qi, already turbulent for the first time in centuries, with Zhao Yunlan so close and in danger.
He turned anxiously looking over Zhao Yunlan for any sign of burns, "Are you okay?" He asked, his voice worried.
Zhao Yunlan, the indomitable force of nature that he was, stared at him. Eyes flicking from the large scorch mark on the floor, then back to Shen Wei. He didn't move, eyes intense. Shen Wei was currently physically incapable of moving away, his entire flank once again pressed to the long very warm line of Zhao Yunlan whip cord body.
A strange moment settled in the room. Shen Wei would later blame it on several things and his own poor judgment when it came to Zhao Yunlan, but for a time, in this hollow space that belonged to neither of them, Shen Wei fell into the enchantment that was Zhao Yunlan.
His power was singing at the feel of Zhao Yunlan's always restless qi. His skin felt too thin and because he was stunned by the way those coal black lashes dipped, the arching curve of those sweeping brows...he was disconnected from the surging desire coursing through his veins, his mind stuck on how beautiful Kunlun was. If he had been, the intensity of it would have forced him to step back, or risk exposing his heart to a man he apparently 'didn't know'.
Zhao Yunlan didn't step away, didn't laugh or deflect, or charm his way back to level ground. He looked at Shen Wei and his hand, the outline and pressure of it a precious brand of heat against Shen Wei's chest.
Zhao Yunlan sucked his lower lip in thought and Shen Wei watched enthralled and too lost to be self-conscious. Then he smoothed the hand up Shen Wei's shoulder, dragging up against the wool of his sweater vest and Shen Wei's eyes wanted to close.
The conscious decision to remain here in Zhao Yunlan's orbit seemed so easy, when he was breathing the same air, Kunlun filling all of his senses. Centuries of want, of grief and yearning, subsisting on memories just to keep his sanity, all of it chipped away at his defenses.
Long callused fingers, gun calluses, knife training, maybe a sword as well, Shen Wei thought feeling them. And oh, they were the same. Exactly the same as he remembered. Heat spread through him, and his defenses dropped even lower as he reveled in the touch.
Shen Wei didn't think of the consequences, didn't want to. The urge, sharper than before, to give Kunlun something, anything he might want was too strong.
Those fingers touched his jaw, slid up to his cheek, a warm palm, the thenar eminence* of his thumb pressed to the corner of his mouth. Kunlun had cupped his cheek so many times, just like this and Shen Wei was helpless to stop himself dipping his head just slightly to feel more of it.
Neither of them should be doing this. There was too much at stake, too much risk to Zhao Yunlan...
Shen Wei stared into foxfire eyes and wanted.
No one, he thought fiercely, would take this man from him again.
It didn't matter if Kunlun in this time, didn't want him. He wasn't the same man he had been ten millennia ago, Shen Wei had to accept this, couldn't pretend otherwise. He had been a young general then, his soul scorched by war, his heart still naive in so many ways.
The creature he was today was a far cry from that young man. He was immortal, a king that had forged a new nation, rebuilt it and carved a path forward. He was a judge and a battle hardened enforcer. He could pretend softness and held himself in the form of a teacher, pretending peace and etiquette.
So it didn't matter if Kunlun couldn't find that young man. It hurt, but pain was something Shen Wei could bear. He was used to it. No, what mattered was that Kunlun was alive.
The man in his arms, because his arm was still around Zhao Yunlan's waist, didn't seem bothered that they were standing too close, that he had his own hand on a immortal made from darkness and malice.
His lips parted and Shen Wei's gaze dropped back to that now wet bottom lip. Gently, slowly enough that Zhao Yunlan could back away at any moment, checking his strength with all his self-control, Shen Wei reached up with his free hand and encircled his fingers around that deceptively thin wrist.
Zhao Yunlan's mouth, lush and perfect quirked in amusement, and he licked his lips, as if he just knew that Shen Wei was checking his meridians for damage after the attack and his pulse. It was gratifyingly rapid, proving that Shen Wei was not the only one affected.
Zhao Yunlan's eyes sharpened, but Shen Wei even in this dim awful light, could see how they were darkening to true obsidian. They truly were the darkest shade of brown he had ever seen on anyone, lit with a warmth and a glint that was all foxfire personality.
The hand cupping his cheek caressed his cheekbone and Shen Wei was drunk staring into those intense eyes, all his love, all his desperate need right there swamping his heart until very little rational thought remained. Not even his instincts were working. But then, why would they? There was no safety for him, except in Kunlun's arms. Here, he was only Shen Wei. Stripped back to who he truly was, as frightening and exhilarating as that was.
Gentle fingers ghost along his cheekbone and then slide around his head to bury themselves in his hair. Zhao Yunlan always so brave, so reckless with his life, stepped forward right into the last vestiges of space between them. That long line of heat was now pressed close to him and Shen Wei's arm unconsciously tightened across his back. "Zhao Yunlan." He breathed, just to say his name, just to ask.
"You should run." Zhao Yunlan tells him and Shen Wei's mind screeches to a halt, saring at him. There is a terrifying vulnerability in that gaze, that is at complete odds with the dynamic man he loves. It pulls something viciously protective in Shen Wei. "No one would want to keep me." He adds, self depreciating and brutally honest.
Kunlun had said something similar, Shen Wei remembers. "I do." He tells him, far more honest that sense would dictate. Later, he might curse himself for it, but not now, not seeing the honest surprise and equally honest disbelief.
A man so complex, so different might be hard to live with. Not to Shen Wei. He had waited centuries to see him, the idea of anyone not accepting this man, not worshiping him was alien. Only someone...wrong...would not dedicate themselves to him, as far as he was concerned. Jealousy for his skills perhaps, his beauty and extraordinary mind. Whatever the reason, they had hurt this deeply emotional man who keeps himself hidden just as Shen Wei does.
The blood thirsty vicious part of Shen Wei wants revenge on these nameless fools. A even less kind part of him rejoices that no one has ever taken Shen Wei's place.
Zhao Yunlan would never believe words so Shen Wei dips in and brushes his lips over a slightly chapped mouth, a thrill heating his blood at being able to do that much. But, Zhao Yunlan surges into him and meets him in devouring response.
Shen Wei's hand rises to cradle the back of Zhao Yunlan's head, the fragile perfect curve of his skull guarding that incredible mind and loses himself.
The past and present clashed and melded into one.
Shen Wei lost everything, his sense of time, his awareness...everything focusing on Zhao Yunlan. The feel of him in his arms, the soft drugging pleasure of his kiss, switching from maddeningly gentle and viciously devouring at turns.
Centuries of hurt and disinterest fell away like rusted chains, rekindling the once roaring fires of his devoted love and consuming need for this man.
He was kissing Zhao Yunlan.
He was being kissed by Kunlun.
It was soaring on the headwinds and the plummeting drop, the thrill of the new sensations mixing with the grief-soaked familiar. Zhao Yunlan's hair was short as his fingers slid to the back of his precious skull, cradling his head as he once had with Kunlun's long braids. The zipper of his jacket was sharp, catching against his sweater vest. Hands, painfully familiar and long adored palmed his back, the sweet friction of clever fingers dragging up his shirt to caress his shoulders.
Shen Wei's other hand dropped to Zhao Yunlan's waist, heat radiating from the soft t-shirt fabric, lost in the jut of bone and smooth curves of muscle beneath his hand. A soft tongue pressed to the seam of his lips and Shen Wei gave in with a sigh of relief, welcoming his claim.
He didn't know who moved first, or why moved, but when Zhao Yunlan tore his mouth away to gulp for air, before diving back in, they had crossed the room. Zhao Yunlan's back was against the bare wall, a dark brown cupboard to their right, the front door to their left.
Shen Wei, drunk on sensation and burning with want, pressed in closer. Zhao Yunlan forever sly, slid a leg in-between his, pressing upwards. The heat of his thigh, the weight of it solid against his cock enough to make him gasp into that lush perfect mouth and press closer still.
The scent of him was in his nose, his hands gripping Shen Wei hard enough to bruise. Shen Wei leaned in closer still, resting his weight against the lanky body, fingers skating down his t-shirt seeking the smooth heat of his skin.
Zhao Yunlan's phone rang.
It was so loud in the deathly quiet of the apartment room and horrible enough to startle Shen Wei, so he tore away from Zhao Yunlan. Who scowled viciously.
His lips were tingling, his dark energy turbulent. He was hard and aching, his mind dazed from lust and from kissing the man he had yearned for. And the slap of reality had him reeling.
What was he doing? This was a murderer's former apartment in the middle of the day, in the middle of an investigation and he was...molesting Zhao Yunlan, holding him against a wall! And Zhao Yunlan had no idea he was the Envoy, the deception painful now he had kissed Kunlun once more.
Cold that had nothing to do with his gifts plunged down his spine.
He could not afford to strain his relationship in any way with Zhao Yunlan! Mixing passion with it was a disaster in the making! A semi-friend who helped you once, is one thing when you discover his true identity. Your lover? How much betrayal would that be? And Kunlun had no tolerance for betrayal of any kind. Plus, if he did this, it would not be a one-time thing.
Shen Wei had committed himself to this man body, heart and soul, ten thousand years ago. Control was only thing preventing him from plucking that stupid device from his hands and throwing it across the room, so he could go to his knees.
He tried to move back, but Zhao Yunlan glare balefully as his phone, then frowned, his grip still tight on his sweater vest. Rather than letting Shen Wei step away, Zhao Yunlan's grip intensified.
Shen Wei paused his attempt to run, when he saw the irritation in Zhao Yunlan's eyes fade to a speculative look. "What is it?' He asked hoarsely.
"Agent Wen? What the hell is she calling me for? Now?!" Zhao Yunlan said aggrieved and answered it. Despite the flames flashing in his eyes and the spark of his qi, his voice was as smooth as silk. "Chief Zhao."
The fist holding his vest didn't let up and Shen Wei was physically incapable of moving his hand. Almost against his will, Shen Wei basked in the pleasure of that hand pressed to his chest, the strong grip of those fingers.
"Agent Wen?" He affected surprise, but his face didn't change. Having no where to go, as he leaned back into the wall, Shen Wei followed the tug. He tucked his face into Zhao Yunlan's shoulder, breathing him in, his own hands encircling Zhao Yunlan's waist as the man exchanged pleasantries, his eyes annoyed, his voice laid-back. A feat Shen Wei had never mastered.
This is perfect. This is bliss. This is a terrible idea.
Shen Wei floated on a sea of love, shock that this was actually happening and arousal.
"What can I do for you?" Zhao Yunlan asked above him, sounding deceptively helpful.
"What would you like to talk about?" Zhao Yunlan said in reply and Shen Wei tuned back into the conversation, noting the sudden tension of his body.
"...There is something I need to speak with about Chief Zhao. Not your office. Somewhere...quieter. There is something you might need to know."
Shen Wei's brow arched and Zhao Yunlan raised an eyebrow sardonically. "If not my office, why don't you meet me at Crescent Place? Its a quiet little bar. You know it?"
Shen Wei did not like where this was going.
"That would be okay." Agent Wen said after a pause.
"Good. What time?" Zhao Yunlan asked.
A pause and then she said, "Six? Seven?"
"Fine." Zhao Yunlan said calmly and ended the call.
"Its a trap." Shen Wei told him firmly, levering off him, the hand still gripping his vest.
Zhao Yunlan nodded, distracted. 'Oh yeah. Its a trap. But for what?"
"Your murder?" Shen Wei suggested tersely.
Zhao Yunlan's lush, kiss red mouth did the equivalent of a shrug. But before Shen Wei could launch into any response, he shook his head. "Or a distraction? The same day we have Li Qian in hospital, Agent Wen remembers her trauma and needs to talk?"
"You think they intend to hurt my student, while you are at dinner?" Shen Wei asked, a hint of coldness seeping into his tone.
Zhao Yunlan makes a 'pfft' noise, Shen Wei should not think was endearing. "I wouldn't eat with that woman. The Yueyang Sect and I are no friends Shen Wei. But, you're right. If I'm away, it would give her an alibi, the Xingdu Bureau; the catalyst to interfere in my investigation and hurt a witness, who might not realize she is one."
"I need to return there." Shen Wei tells him with some urgency.
"They won't attack her in broad daylight." Zhao Yunlan declares. "Too risky. There is something we are missing. Some connection to Li Qian. Why her?"
Shen Wei considered, "Her grandmother? Or Gao Tianyu?"
"Maybe. Chu Shuzhi interrupted our shadowman a few days ago, trying to steal a box from Grandmother Li." Zhao Yunlan told him. "He didn't succeed and Lao Chu did hurt him badly."
"The Longevity Dial." Shen Wei said in understanding. "The purpose of his relationship with Li Qian originally, might have been to gain the Dial. If she had not worn it as a necklace back then, her grandmother may have kept it as a heirloom keepsake, to give it to her as a gift on an auspicious date."
"Couldn't find it. Didn't for some reason want to scare her, or threaten her." Zhao Yunlan said thinking, "Gao Tianyu likes to frighten. Gets off on fear. So why not threaten?"
"He enjoyed the fake relationship? Hurting her and tormenting her, while she didn't know his form?" Shen Wei considered.
"Can you force a complete gift reveal?" Zhao Yunlan asked suddenly.
Shen Wei blinked at him, stuck for a second with gazing at those foxfire bright eyes. "...Yes. Illegal, unless needed for a medical reason."
Zhao Yunlan snorted, "I doubt this person cares for the law on either side of the realm border. What if someone, our mystery boss forced him to completely become shadows? Or he reached a level of his skill, where complete immersion was inevitable?"
Shen Wei truly loved Kunlun's mind.
"Its possible. Either one is possible. Forcing requires immense control over your own gift."
"Could you, for instance?" Zhao Yunlan asked.
Shen Wei tilted his head at him, but he wasn't looking at Shen Wei, in favor of frowning at his phone as he texted. Probably SID. "I cannot say I've ever tried. I have seen it done as a medical procedure. A student in Dixing had energy discharge abilities that only manifested when she was angry. By holding her power, she nearly put herself into cardiac arrest."
Zhao Yunlan grimaced, "Poor kid. Was she okay?"
And that heart was the other reason he had first fallen in love with him.
"Eventually yes. She chose to have her power sealed." Shen Wei told him reassuringly, something pleased twisting in his chest, when Zhao Yunlan's features relaxed. "Another thing that only a top-level healer should do."
"Well, it was either the Dial they want Li Qian for, or its because she saw something." Zhao Yunlan says, returning to their topic. "We need to speak with her again." Holding up a hand, the one with his phone, he added, "But most importantly, that kid needs to be elsewhere when they try it."
If they were wrong, it would be fine. If they were not and they failed to move her, Li Qian could be killed. Shen Wei would rather ensure his student was protected. "What do you suggest? Can we be sure that this is related to the assassins?"
Zhao Yunlan frowned, "Not really. Nothing is sadly concrete with this case. These files," He said pointing at the boxes behind them, "Might shed some light, proving it one way or another."
Zhao Yunlan then looked at Shen Wei, "Does Dixing...."
"Yes?" Shen Wei said encouragingly.
Zhao Yunlan swallowed and then said, "...Test DNA?"
Shen Wei blinked but nodded, "The national laboratory does. Why?"
"I would like to submit a sample." Zhao Yunlan said vaguely but his eyes were hinting something.
"Gained without permission?" Shen Wei asked flatly.
"Gained from the site of a kidnapping, collected by law enforcement officers as per procedural requirement. As such no permission was required." Zhao Yunlan said primly.
A kidnapping site? Shen Wei blinked, "You need to test the DNA of Agent Wen and the Prosecutor?"
"The Prosecutor is clear I think and convenient for them. She's in the clear for now. No, I mean Agent Wen." Zhao Yunlan replied.
"You think she's Dixingian?"
"I think she's not who she says she is." Zhao Yunlan says coyly. "She was at two of my crime scenes, shared a warehouse kidnapping torture situation with me and some of the spiel Dead Leader was babbling on about made a scary amount of sense. He called her Traitor."
"He called her Traitor?" Shen Wei repeated.
"I was concussed." Zhao Yunlan said grumpily. 'Took me awhile to put together what he said. I was also being drowned at the same time too!"
Shen Wei kissed him. When they pulled apart, Zhao Yunlan's eyes were half moons and there was something smug about his expression. "If he wasn't dead, I'd kill him."
Zhao Yunlan finally released his sweater and kissed him again. "I like you." He purred against his mouth, "Please tell me you are not married."
"No!" Shen Wei barked outraged. "Zhao Yunlan."
The man in question, looked pleased. Which really should not diffuse Shen Wei indignant outrage as fast as it does. "Good. When do you want to go out? Can you be seen with me?"
Zhao Yunlan....Kunlun...wants to date him?
"I...yes." Shen Wei says dimly. "There is something I need to tell you first." Shen Wei adds, gripping his courage with both hands.
Zhao Yunlan watched him seriously and then jerked ever so slightly, when his phone rang again. He answered it with a terse, "Chief Zhao."
A female voice came on the line, "Boss, Lao Chu finally got word back from his contact in Dixing. We have another victim, dated three months ago with a corresponding Haixingren family dying in an accident. They worked in the same office. The CEO of the company had a combined memorial service."
Zhao Yunlan swore, "Good work." He eyed Shen Wei, "Any word back officially?"
"Yes and no. We received one missive that says Gao Tianyu is in prison serving time for his crimes, which we know is lie and another one, sent by the Emperor's official office, giving us a direct line of inquiry."
Shen Wei straightened Zhao Yunlan's jacket and didn't dare look at him.
"Use it. Send the Blue Box." Zhao Yunlan ordered as he ended the call.
The Blue Box hailed from an era when the Guardian Order sent official missives in a blue lined ornate box. Shen Wei had last received one a century or more ago.
"Poverty, widespread famine and a changing political ideology was what brought down Haixing's monarchy. " Zhao Yunlan said thoughtfully,
Shen Wei had studied this as a student and lived it as a person. All he could say was, "Yes?"
"The Reckoning of Dixing was centuries ago. Your Emperor took a struggling, tormented people and remade Dixing into a stable economy. Employment is widespread, good education, energy...all of it."
Shen Wei didn't know how to feel about Kunlun listing his proudest achievements in this considering tone, so he nodded. Zhao Yunlan took that as encouragement because he continued, "What he cannot make, the one thing holding back complete independence, more than anything, is food."
This was the linchpin of the Treaty and the negotiations beginning soon. Dixing had made themselves invaluable and respected by Haixing for their technology and abilities. Shen Wei had liberally used legend and shows of power to tame Haixing's ire, giving Dixing a mystical identity backed by technology over a century ahead of Haixing. They were from another planet after all, and Shen Wei was the only one old enough to know how it worked.
But with Dixing's harsh landscape, agriculture was a nightmare. Their realm was actively volcanic. The mineral soil available was rich but the space for growing food was limited. It was part of the deal with Haixing for that reason.
Shen Wei followed Zhao Yunlan's hinted reasoning and looked at him in shock. "Famine and poverty. If the trade deal fails, Dixing suffers. Famine would be inevitable, presuming we did not renegotiate and retry until we had a solution."
"Which you cannot do if the deal completely breaks down. Trust would be ruined and the bureaucratic process would take years." Zhao Yunlan said.
"You think they are playing the long game." Shen Wei said in realization. "Put corrupt agents into the system, slowly affecting the whole, kill off those making the direct changes and relationships in Haixing, to destabilize the government, dethroning the Emperor."
"Your king told me of the rebel ideology." Zhao Yunlan said, "But what if someone has melded parts of his thinking with the modern world, to replace one king with themselves."
"An ambitious plan." Shen Wei said.
"To affect the system, they need to work both sides." Zhao Yunlan suggested.
"To crash both, yes they must be." Shen Wei said solemnly, then looked at Zhao Yunlan. "What are you thinking?"
"That Agent Wen wants me away from the hospital." Zhao Yunlan replied, eyes darker than night. "That your student knows something, maybe she doesn't know what it is, but someone targeted her, probably for the Hallow she was wearing. I'm thinking that Agent Wen was near one of my victims when he died and was chosen as a fellow kidnapped for a reason."
Those eyes locked onto Shen Wei's, "And I'm thinking that I trust you."
"I will not let you down." Shen Wei vowed, a king and a man in love, offering heart's blood and his entire being, all his power and the might of Dixing without hesitation.
"Then," Zhao Yunlan said finally letting go of his sweater to lay his palm flat on Shen Wei's chest like a brand. "I swear as Guardian, that I pledge all my resources and myself at your king's disposal."
Shen Wei's mouth went dry, because this was Kunlun. The last time he had pledged help, he had ended a generations long war and saved the entire world.
After several tries, Shen Wei found his voice. "What do you need from me?"
"An illusionist." Zhao Yunlan replied immediately, "Your help. And if your king is willing, the specifics of the system in Dixing. It will be held my hands alone and for a specific time." Zhao Yunlan acknowledged, not that Shen Wei right now cared. If he wanted the moon, Shen Wei would have given him that.
"I cannot turn down this meeting, but I cannot guard Li Qian at the same time."
"I can be bait." Shen Wei offered, disliking leaving Zhao Yunlan but seeing the merits of the plan. "Will you take Chu Shuzhi?"
"I'll have backup, but I don't think she'll try for me. This is a test. She'll try buddy tactics, then seduction." Zhao Yunlan replied patting his chest.
That rankled, but Zhao Yunlan had been kissing him, not some pretty murderous agent.
=================================================
The script was beautiful.
Zhao Yunlan looked at the page before him, a finger tracing the characters and sighed.
Alone in his office, only two hours from the time when he was supposed to meet with Agent Wen, Zhao Yunlan knew there was something obvious, he just wasn't seeing.
The books collected from Gao Tianyu's apartment, a long shot and entirely dependent on how trustworthy Shen Wei was and his skills - his willingness as well - had paid off big time.
What was biting at Zhao Yunlan was why. He had been willing to bet that Gao Tianyu had been caught by SID and when he was transferred to Dixing, the corrupt Judge had taken a shine to him and his useful abilities, happily chirping to her boss, the one behind it all. And it was one person, that he did know. All the evidence and rumors pointed to it.
However, the pile of stuff at the apartment concealed by a cultivator, which Gao Tianyu was not, said something entirely different. Expertly hidden by a master Shen Wei thinks he might have encountered before.
And the type of people the High Circle of the Emperor dealt with were not average Dixingian citizens. Rumor had it - and Zhao Yunlan had checked with more than a little excitement- that the Circle were basically a hybrid of Imperial Guard, generals and assassins themselves. Other rumors whispered they were the descendants of the Envoy's most loyal generals during the War, sworn generation after generation into his service. Another said that they too were immortal, Core Formation level cultivators and they sided with the Envoy when he took the throne.
Battle born and blood soaked, he thought wryly.
The Envoy had of course another name and title in Dixing. Executioner. Anyone who broke the most sacred laws of Dixing, the ones that safeguarded the Treaty, faced capital punishment, often - again according to rumor and legend - the sharp edge of the Envoy's blade.
Theory had it, that the lesser executions were handled by the Circle.
So it was possible that Shen Wei recognized the signature because he had executed the guy responsible or...it was yet another traitor and Shen Wei was already looking for him. But the idea stuck. It would explain why no one had recovered the stuff from the apartment. Or even tried. Because no one had tried to break his seal, not even by portalling into the apartment.
Then there were these strange texts.
The first text, the one Shen Wei had looked at, was in a bone oracle script. The kind found in tombs and on decorative charms promising health and wealth. An equivalent to the same bone script, cultivation manuals in Haixing have been using for centuries. The one that sect leaders won't change because it gives them 'authenticity'. The other volumes however, were written in a language, Zhao Yunlan had seen only once before.
And he was mostly sure that was only going to make them more forbidden, than 'well these are on the banned list, for health and public safety reasons'. Zhao Yunlan himself had an extensive collection of banned books and one he had started around the age of nine. By the time he was fifteen and one of the inner disciples of the Jade Mountain Sect, he had an even bigger and better hidden collection, with solid connections into the shady world of forbidden knowledge.
So he knew that these were rare, highly illegal and possibly the biggest find of the century.
During a long period of history, Dixing had used a script - this script - in most of its published scholarly work. It was absolutely nothing like modern Haixingren Yi, the characters taught in every school, since the unification of the country eight centuries ago into one nation...the one Da Qing rudely said Zhao Yunlan had trouble with, when he was squinting at his Chief's writing.
This was something else. These characters curled downwards in pretty loops with oddly spaced dots and had to be read right to left, down to up.
Then for whatever reason, within a period of months he suspected, the nameless script vanished. Dixing revived what could be considered their jiǎgǔwén - more likely their homeworld planet's written script, he thought personally with not inconsiderable awe - and turned it into a more modern version. All texts using this pretty script, disappeared and were automatically banned, then burned when discovered. Except for a random few.
And Zhao Yunlan had no idea what the pages said.
As Shen Wei had said the other ones contained guidance on how to steal power from other cultivators, harvesting another person's life force and gift. So it was likely these were along the same theme. And not an uncommon idea here in Haixing either.
Shen Wei. Zhao Yunlan must have lost his mind kissing a Dixingian High Circle Guard, stationed in Haixing. But he regretted nothing. If that crazy woman hadn't phoned, he might have seen more.
Shen Wei. He had never been attracted to anyone, the way he was to what he personally considered, was world's most beautiful man. Or more intrigued by anyone else. There was something so familiar about him and so different, the juxtaposition keeping his notoriously short-attention span laser trained on him. The connection unnerved him as much as it beckoned, a strange solid trust between them, he couldn't explain.
Sliding the red books back into his security box, a traditional wooden box that belied the strong protection charms placed on it and handed them to Wang Zheng as he left his office. The old Dixingian boxes were in storage, ready to be shipped back to Dixing, or destroyed. "Put them in the library on the table. They're no use right now."
Then he turned to the profitable business, for him at least, of harassing Lin Jing for answers.
He had Zhu Hong at the hospital helping to move Li Qian quietly out of her room and into another. Chu Shuzhi and their nervous novice were pretending to guard the current one. So he had time.
Lin Jing grimaced over his lab table as he entered and sauntered up to the counter. His eyes were magnified behind his glasses, his teeth gritted in what could be dismay, a tension headache or unfortunately for him, his stumped look. "Well? I don't have all day and neither do you, if you want your bonus Fake Monk." Zhao Yunlan declared as his greeting.
"It's delicate work!" Lin Jing cried, launching up from his desk
"So is department accounting. You said you would soon have answers Fake Monk. So here I am" He replied flatly, looking intently down at the bagged evidence on the tray. Arranged a little too much like one of those tea trays from a traveler lodge place. "What's the necklace?"
The necklace in question on the stainless steel tray in front of him, was a simple design. A tooth from some kind of carnivore, set in a black enamel piece on a long leather string. The type macho men buy, for protection charms, he thought and at odds with Gao Tianyu's personality.
"Cursed." Lin Jing said gesturing wildly with tweezers. "Old, but not very strong. It seems its purpose is to detect Haixingren cultivation wards."
A lot of Dixingian citizens doing something shady in Haixing buy such items so it was not necessarily a surprise.
"The bottle?"
"I opened that in a containment chamber and within a field." Lin Jing said, wheeling over to the printer so he could hand his boss the results. "And ran a..."
He trailed off when he was met with the Chief's infamous obsidian stare and got to the point. Quickly. "The bottle was made in Dixing. There are traces of ores not found here - that's why its green- and a particular kind of volcanic sand, again not found here. The contents are a low-tech cultivation supplement."
Zhao Yunlan frowned, "A low-tech cultivation supplement?"
Lin Jing nodded briskly, "The high-tech ones, like all performance drugs, are hard to detect without the right equipment, high-end lab etc. This is a low tech one. Wouldn't do much for a mid-level cultivation student, but might do something - like a placebo effect with nausea - for a beginner. Recipe is pretty basic, and old school. Ground roots, some ground minerals, ground fish bones, small amount of qi energy, also traceable and we could find a match if we have a suspect... that kind of thing."
"The ground roots are from the park like some of them?" Zhao Yunlan asked eying the bottle.
"For once no." Lin Jing scratched his bird nest hair. "This recipe contained actual Yashou plants. And no Yashou-person DNA before you ask."
They had solved that one nightmare case, where the serial killer in question had been harvesting body parts from plant Yashou people. He had been making tonics and selling other parts on the black market. Hideous.
"...Nothing rare, or dangerous, just what counts for the Yashou as houseplants. They cultivate - no pun intended - a lot of wild flora, especially tribes like the Fox, Monkey and Crane. If we discount the Plant Transforming Yashou."
"Nice save on the official name." Zhao Yunlan said carelessly. "Interesting. So a cursed neck piece to detect wards and a low grade cultivation potion, I could make at home. Only the one?"
Lin Jing at that point hadn't known that the Chief had plants and wisely didn't comment. But that razor sharp tone had his 'detective' senses tingling. "Did they rough up your home Chief?"
The same obsidian stare that seemed to see his very soul, then "Do you think they could enter my home?"
Chief's wards were something else, so no and yes they did try. "That's...that's good. And yes, only one was found. Possible it was super expensive on some scam, or one of a set he bought and disposed of the other bottles. Doubt it was a refill kind of business and one wouldn't do much."
"For a Haixingren no, it wouldn't. CDs, laptop?" Zhao Yunlan asked ignoring that, skirting the counter to look at the computer himself.
Lin Jing gestured to the laptop, "Two years old. CDs are between ten years old and four. Affordable model, nothing fancy. What's on there is very interesting. It had pretty good security too."
Zhao Yunlan leaned over his shoulder and read quickly. "Gao Tianyu was employed as an IT consultant, so no surprises there. Well, well. Is Agent Wen on there?"
"No, but there is a long list of names. I'm betting Wen is not her family name." Lin Jing grimaced remembering his own experiences with the Bureau recently.
Zhao Yunlan handed him a thumbdrive, without saying a word. Lin Jing took it like he was touching a live-wire and took a moment to be grateful Zhao Yunlan was not asking him to read something hand written. He whipped it into his usual computer, checked for malware retroactively. When it flashed green, he wasted no time opening the files.
In the first folder was a complete set of documents, police files and a report written by the Chief dated two years ago.
"The case against the Yueyang Sect. All the people I identified, are on there." Zhao Yunlan told him flatly. "There are photos too. Cross-check those faces and names against this master list."
There was a commotion out in the main office and Zhao Yunlan straightened as Da Qing barreled into the lab. "What?" He barked.
"Someone from Dixing is here Boss." Da Qing said hurriedly. "There is a portal opening in the middle of the office!"
Zhao Yunlan cursed looking down at his clothes. Tidy, all clean and even semi-smart for him. He turned to Lin Jing, "Get me everything you've found, compiled on paper and bring it to the library."
"Why would His Majesty come here?" Da Qing's use of the title was not respectful in the vaguest sense. Slighting Zhao Yunlan, meant permanently slighting the cat. He's have to work on that.
Wouldn't you like to know, he thought and lied smoothly, "That's what we are about to find out. Get Wang Zheng to make tea. Make sure its the good kind and get Lao Li to put something on a plate."
Usually Da Qing would have make a comment about guest and serving, but with the Emperor of Dixing coming for a visit, even he scrambled about for the good tea. "You want your mother's tea set again?"
And that mind is one of the many reasons he loves his cat. "I bought a new fancy black one. Use that."
If the person was from the interrelations department, not the king of Dixing, he was not in damn mood. Zhu Hong was out and that meant he's have to deal with the paperwork crisis, the sneering and weird comments.
Striding into the bullpen, Zhao Yunlan paused for half a second, leaving only a tiny hitch in his gait. Still in the outer office area, with smoke and find mist curling around him, was the Emperor of Dixing.
Zhao Yunlan beams, unbidden and natural, pleased ridiculously so to see the Emperor again. Relieved too, that he didn't have to fight this on his own for once.
Remembering where they were, that his anti-Dixing cat was behind them and they were in broad daylight in SID offices - and they were pretending they didn't have a working relationship- his features were schooled in an instant. "The Guardian Order welcomes Bixia." He bowed lightly and saw Shen Wei's hands fidget immediately.
So sweet. Damn he likes this man! Very few...okay no one else, disliked Zhao Yunlan showing them proper respect. Most people , ones he couldn't add to his drinking buddies or acquaintances list, spent a significant portion of time posturing, using false respect or blatant disrespect when communicating with him, so that uncomfortable quirk of the Envoy's entire body as he saluted him was special. Not that he would admit that.
Only it did remind him of Shen Wei....
"Lord Guardian." The Envoy replied and bowed to him firmly. It made Zhao Yunlan smile again, staring down at the black cloth covered head as baffled now as he had been four days ago. The Envoy turned so minutely it was hardly noticeable and saluted Da Qing. "Dashi."
"Your Majesty of Dixing." The old cat greeted in the Yashou style.
"This is my Deputy, Da Qing." Zhao Yunlan introduced quickly. Wanting Shen Wei to think well of SID, considering their little truce with Dixing these days, he turned to his cat who was eying the Envoy nervously and suspiciously. "Bring me the report from Lin Jing."
To the Envoy he said in the same neutral tone, "Please come with me . The books are in the library. Wang Zheng will provide you with the Guardian Order receipt, transference papers and the form for property destruction, if Bixia should decided he wishes us to burn them."
The Envoy, again similarly to Shen Wei, twitched, but followed as Zhao Yunlan turned and headed up the stairs. A kernel of doubt, an idea so ludicrous he tried to dismiss it, lodged in his mind.
Not the time, he told himself firmly.
Wanting to show off a little and hide some of his more...banned property, Zhao Yunlan took his sweet time unlocking his pocket realm library. The mandala array whirled at dizzying speed but like an orchestra conductor, he chose the right hexagrams with precise motions. It dropped from in front of them, to fall to the floor beneath his feet, going from green to gold.
Zhao Yunlan handed the Envoy, a wooden entry token with a smile and the mandala let them both walk into the brightly lit interior.
He was proud of his collection and the long rows of shelves devoted to the history of the Order, so he did preen a little when the Emperor said with genuine awe, "This is a remarkable space Chief Zhao." As if unconsciously, he stepped further than what Zhao Yunlan suspected his tightly wound sense of property would normally allow, to stare at the shelves. "I have never felt anchoring like this."
"My invention." Zhao Yunlan admitted without humility. "It's built from a power web as it's base."
Because he was Zhao Yunlan and beginning to silently panic, which as Da Qing would say, never manifested normally in the Chief, he let the qi he had painstakingly printed into the walls of this pocket realm, wash over the Envoy gently.
The Envoy shuddered, head tilting back ever so slightly. Zhao Yunlan pretended he was showing him the design in a play of cultivation light, the tower structure stacking in his hands, like a holographic projection. As he did so he let the feeling fade as if it was entirely unintentional. But oh so informative.
Most Dixingians, Chu Shuzhi included, despised the feel of Zhao Yunlan's qi. It was hot, they complained normally. Like hot sparks or an abrasive material, one even calling it painful. No one had ever shuddered like this, leaning into the power as if called to it. He was nearly a hundred percent sure that was not a pain reaction.
If Shen Wei reacted in the same way....he had no idea what it meant.
"Chief Zhao." He sounded slightly breathless now. A fact Zhao Yunlan squirreled away. His deep voice different from Shen Wei's smooth baritone, his soft phrasing and yet so similar.
"Bixia." Zhao Yunlan replied easily, and rejoiced in the knock against the door, the unlocking sequence announcing someone entering. It was silent but the mandala swirled beneath his feet then out the door, returning with Da Qing. He bowed stiffly and handed his boss with some ceremony, a stack of files. The other things, he put on the table.
"Is she on the list?" Zhao Yunlan asked his cat, deliberately sounding concerned.
Da Qing quirked a brow at his owner and said, "Lin Jing thinks he has a match Chief."
Zhao Yunlan knew his grin was a little too predatory, but he had been raised by a cat. "Take him to the rendezvous place and set up. I'll be along shortly. I need to check with the hospital."
You don't need back-up here? Da Qing's eyes demanded.
"I'm good." He told him and shooed him out the door. "We might have Agent Wen."
Moving to the table, Zhao Yunlan laid out the evidence and began to quickly, explain what they had found, the evidence it was linked to and what they could prove. He heaped praise on Shen Wei anyway, in case he was insane and they were two separate people.
The Envoy sat in the old fashioned chair by the table and looked at everything, lingering on the books and the print out pages that explained the bottle contents. Time ticked on, but Zhao Yunlan used a lull in their conversation to think a moment as the Envoy read.
"What's wrong?" The question was gentle, posed in that deep voice that had long been calibrated for command.
Zhao Yunlan glanced at the Envoy, holding his gaze despite not being able to really see his eyes. Then he looked forward, not in submission but in thought, his left thumb rubbing the knuckles of his right hand, over the old scars. "It feels like a plant." He said eventually. The admission costing him.
It was good evidence, but Zhao Yunlan didn't like the idea that he was still being used. This cache of solid proof seemed too easy, too suspicious to just buy into it.
He waited for derision, shoulders tensing for it, but like all the other times with the Envoy, it didn't come. The Emperor of Dixing looked at the print out again in his elegant hand and nodded. "I believe that it is, as you say, a plant."
He wasn't Guo, so he didn't react with a 'you do?', though some part of him wanted to. Instead he grimaced. "Too easy. But that doesn't make it wrong or false..."
"Or completely trustworthy." The Envoy continued.
Zhao Yunlan rubbed his mouth irritably, "If I take this as reliable, it may be pointing at someone who is innocent. However, it is interesting that some would take the time to do this."
"You said that you first detected the containment after your second run in with Gao Tianyu?" The Envoy asked, still in that gentle tone.
"After we identified him, we got a warrant for his home." Zhao Yunlan put that out there, the sting of being accused of being corrupt, still very much present. "It was during the initial sweep of the apartment that I began to sense what I thought was a trap." Zhao Yunlan reported calmly. "So yes, someone was watching."
"Watching and waiting for you to arrest Gao Tianyu. But it is possible this was placed within his home, for someone else to find, not SID. Someone would have to have known you were there that night, when you first saved Li Qian. Know that you would intervene to save her Grandmother. Then that you would be wherever you were at that time, when you encountered Li Qian being attacked again. A lot of variables to control." The Envoy suggested. And that was a possibility.
Zhao Yunlan hadn't opened a case after the first run in with Li Qian. There was a report he had submitted as per regulation, but not a case. It was a cultivator matter. Curse breaking, a free antidote that sort of thing. Second time, it became something personal. Gao Tianyu wanted to kill Li Qian, shoved himself right up in Zhao Yunlan's face and the inevitable happened. Zhao Yunlan took him down. But no one in SID knew it was happening until he stormed into the office and announced it, until they had his sketch and a name Li Qian finally provided.
"Gao Tianyu is an idiot." Zhao Yunlan said harshly. "He was a charmer, with a nice face and looked younger than he is. He's all shadow now, but back then, he had perfected his act. He preyed on young women, around university age and he had a very specific type."
The Envoy had turned his head and seemed to be listening intently, so Zhao Yunlan continued, gesturing at the air. "Usually it's the aesthetic, but he wasn't looking for beauty or their figure, some fantasy ideal. His interest was time. All of his victims, all four that we could prove, were focused on their studies. They all had bad student jobs, debts to pay, difficult parents or none at all...barely surviving academic pressure. None of them partied or even went out with friends. They were focused on the end goal of graduating well and getting a good job, of making their Professors proud."
"Four?" The Envoy asked his voice low. "You said four and yet he was arrested for one murder and assault on Li Qian. I conferred with Shen Wei. He told me there was only one murder Gao Tianyu was supposed to be prosecuted for."
Conferred with Shen Wei. Zhao Yunlan tucked that away too.
Zhao Yunlan huffed an angry breath, "The interrelations department refused the evidence on the three others, citing discrepancies. We had him nailed on the murder of Chen Yuqi, so that's what I went with."
"This time he will be prosecuted for all four. I will take your evidence Chief Zhao." The Envoy intoned.
Zhao Yunlan looked at him and nodded, a pleased smile gracing his lips for a second, before a morose expression took its place. "For their parents. Jiang Xin, Wang Pen and Shang Hong, deserve justice. The oldest was twenty one. All were suffocated."
The Emperor inclined his head, "All from Dragon university?"
"Yes and none of them were cultivators. Different studies, no pattern there." Zhao Yunlan told him. "No two had the same Professor. No, what he wanted was time."
"Because they were focused on their studies they didn't want that much from him?" The Envoy asked curiously.
"Partly," Zhao Yunlan agreed, "He wanted them unavailable for most of the day and wanted them to live on campus. We found a few who remembered him, and being rejected nastily by him too, when he knew they lived off-campus or had too much free time, or were too social. One woman warned Wang Pen off him, saying he was a predator."
"A pity, she did not listen." The Emperor said sadly.
Zhao Yunlan sighed and nodded. "He strung them along for months, weaseling out of meeting the family or friends. No sexual relationship either. Then, at some signal, he decides to murder them, at his apartment."
"Disturbing." The Envoy says quietly.
"So someone had to be watching him, involved with him, to have planted the stuff." Zhao Yunlan adds.
"Perhaps a relationship he couldn't afford his victims to discover, which was why he wanted them away for most of the week days." The Envoy suggested.
Zhao Yunlan looked at him sideways, "You think he might have been keeping it for someone else?"
The Emperor didn't shrug, monarchs perhaps don't do such things, but the air felt like he had. "At this point, before we capture him Chief Zhao, all we have are theories. However, strictly between us,"
"Yes," Zhao Yunlan agreed.
"These names are correct on this list. Dixingian birth names, that are not used in Haixing."
A gleam entered obsidian eyes, "This is the list of agents...are my deceased on there? Their real names?"
The Emperor nods, tense. But maybe he was trying to work out to diplomatically get this list permanently from SID.
Zhao Yunlan sat back, "Gao Tianyu was keeping this for someone...but why?"
"And why not retrieve it?" The Emperor continues.
"Because my seal was on the door." Zhao Yunlan says thoughtfully. "Maybe he was planning to use it, for his new boss....or sell it."
"But he isn't a cultivator." The Emperor points out.
"Could this low-tech cultivation supplement, designed for Haixingren...could it be the reason he's stuck as a shadow?" Zhao Yunlan asked.
The Emperor seemed to consider that, "Looking at the chemical analysis results, it might well be the reason. If it contains Yashou spiritual power, it might have triggered his gift in a complete, irreversible fashion. It would not take much."
"So it may have been bought for that purpose. Though, this one was untapped." Zhao Yunlan said thoughtfully. Then he leaned forward, "That DNA sample....were there any results?"
Deep inside the Palace, Shen Wei knelt on the soft changmao carpet before a large chest. Dark energy lights formed pretty luminescence pearls around the Emperor's rooms, casting glittering light on the traditional quilt.
He hardly ever slept here. Twice a year at best. The bed was ornate and never his taste, but this was a compromise he had made centuries ago, when he agreed to be 'temporary' king of his nation.
His Professorship- provided rooms in Haixing were spartan and compared to this room, with its splendor, they were drab and utilitarian. But just being in Haixing, had made him feel just a little closer to Kunlun. Had allowed him to beat back his worsening depression. For a while, decades really, he had been fine, able to enjoy this century, with all its new wonders and his burgeoning career, but slowly the darkness had returned and with it, familiar guilt, bitter grief.
Now, Kunlun was back. And there was no wonder that could compare.
Incense smoke curled and drifted in the air, as he gathered courage and opened the lid, breaking his own seal. Inside were his treasures and the remnants of his past.
It was a qiankun space, so it allowed him to keep some of his Kunlun portraits, the more risque ones private. His heart should only have felt bitter opening this, a reminder of his grief, but now he had found Kunlun again - kissed Kunlun again - it held very little sting. At the bottom folded carefully and beautifully preserved were his original robes.
Warrior robes. Marked with the distinction of his rank. Burial robes too, he mused. He retook Dixing wearing them, became king wearing them. Won a war beside the love of his life. Learned how to love, how to look at the world. Lost Kunlun to the sky wearing them. Had each piece removed by warm hands, his flesh singing as he lost himself to Kunlun. He had bled and fought, carefully patching them over years. Darker times too, like discovering the corpse of his twin brother wearing these same robes.
He remembered starkly, the look on Kunlun's face that night. The shock in his eyes, mingling with horror. The way it had smoothed out when he saw Shen Wei, only to be replaced by grief. That mask, the marble construction that was skin and bone, was more disturbing to Shen Wei, drove his fear ever higher than even the grief. At that point loss was normal. Loss should never be normal. But that look...Shen Wei had braced for the worst.
He remembered the small stone room Kunlun had commandeered in that empty village. And it had held a pain that all the reasoning in the world could never have prepared him for. He remembered brushing past the warmth of Kunlun's robes, taking a breath of the unique scent as he passed, remembered thinking how good he smelled, when so few do. He had not seen inside yet, still unsure and disturbed by Kunlun's visible grief.
He remembered seeing what was left of his little brother, carefully laid on the stone sleeping platform, covered by a blanket of some kind. A dignity that Kunlun had given him. The rage and welling grief, the pain had taken him to his knees. Kunlun's warm arms, his own wracking sobs. Then - very little. He had destroyed the mountainside, and gone to find the Chieftain. Then the fight, losing Kunlun to the sky and years of solitude.
To say this bundle of fabric held his history would be an understatement.
But now....now he needed a set of robes to infiltrate SID, without being the Envoy. It was too soon, but he couldn't rely on anyone else to do this, to help Zhao Yunlan. Dixing had entirely failed his love, when he was the reason they had freedom, and this modern world!
Pulling up the old outer robe, Shen Wei looked at it critically. Kunlun had once liked him in these robes....Would Zhao Yunlan?
Would Da Qing recognize them?
Perhaps...not all of the old form...he mused as he looked at his old uniform. The leather armor was redundant...but the rest of it...maybe a plain mask...his old one was too telling...
Maybe no mask...Zhao Yunlan knew his face and Shen Wei didn't think he could handle Zhao Yunlan taking off this one, in a mirror of ten thousand years ago...
He wasn't that young man anymore and that night was so...it was the foundation of what he was living for. He fell in love that night. He didn't want anything to change it.
=====
Zhao Yunlan had chosen his location well.
Crescent Place was a quiet little bar, on an equally quiet street straddling the line between Old Town and the more modern trendy district with the night market, eateries and clubs.
The reason it was on very few guides and reviews sites, was simple. It was and always had been, cultivator territory. Across the road from a quaint tea house, the same one where Li Qian had briefly worked and as both were owned by the Bi family, he had cooperation from his childhood friend.
If Agent Wen had been involved, directly, with Li Qian inside the Bi-owned tea house, her former boss would remember her. Either way, this street was not under the purview of the local police or the Bureau. It was governed by the largest local sect and the Cultivation Council.
It wasn't a magic shield for him, but Zhao Yunlan knew this would give him the slightest edge over his enemies for long enough to hold off the worst of it.
"Surveillance?" He asked Lin Jing, the earbud relaying his voice perfectly, as he walked down the street at an ambling pace.
"From what I can tell Boss, Agent Wen is wearing a wire and the signal is returning to a van." His resident mad scientist reported. "She's inside the bar."
"And then back to Xingdu Bureau." Da Qing said sourly. "Status Check. Zhu Hong and Lao Chu are in position. Li Qian has been sedated and she's being hidden by an illusion."
"Dixingian agent?" He asks curiously. Because the 'agent' Dixing had sent was Shen Wei, and the man was occupying far too many of his thoughts.
"Polite. Respectful. Gentle with Li Qian. He's in position." Da Qing sounds like he wants to be impressed and refuses to acknowledge good behavior. Classic cat. Zhao Yunlan could sympathize. Shen Wei was just so otherworldly, it was hard to believe he was real.
Most of the Dixingians they worked with, either interacted with them very little or were incredibly hostile. Having one who was happy to interact with them, polite and...nice....was a little jarring.
It was hard work doing anything, but he had never blamed them. If he had to face down his own father's vitriol, racism and astute mind on a daily basis, there would be no force on this planet that could stop resentment from brewing. No one wants to deal with a supremacist. And he had a poor relationship with the man on an average Monday.
"The Envoy sent him." Zhao Yunlan told his cat in a benign tone.
He'd literally nearly walked into Shen Wei, when he had whizzed by earlier to set up the scene and check Lao Chu was focused and Zhu Hong was genuinely willing to be the bait. Xiao Guo had been clutching his bag in the corner, nearly passing out when Zhao Yunlan had tried falsely praising him.
Shen Wei had caught him easily and Zhao Yunlan had taken a long moment to be thankful they were alone with a sleeping Li Qian, because wow. And another moment to be grateful it was Shen Wei and not a stranger he had nearly crushed, because that would have been a wonderful anti-bonding moment.
If Zhao Yunlan had not already worked out Shen Wei was High Guard, the robes his....soon-to-be-lover was wearing would have proved it. Formal meetings with Dixing always involved robes of some kind, so when taking on the job of Guardian, Zhao Yunlan had desperately needed a crash course in Dixingian fashion, specifically robes, insignia and masks, all of which weren't discussed or written about. Anywhere. And TV period dramas could only help so far.
Working out the rank of the person wasn't always easy frankly, and so for diplomatic reasons he had been forced to grill Chu Shuzhi, who took that like having salt thrown in his eyes.
But this...It was the first time he had ever seen deceptively simple black robes, edged in yellow with a crossed standing collar, combined with the more usual billowing sleeves. The traditional outer robe had fine barely noticeable stripes! A long cloak covered broad shoulders and the hood hid the Shen Wei's face. All of the belts had gold symbols on them and Zhao Yunlan had been forced to fight the impulse to tug on them.
Not helped by Shen Wei's embarrassed reaction and the way he'd held Zhao Yunlan's arm, like it was precious glass. The soft cultured voice of the man who was fast becoming his favorite person, had him smiling. "Chief Zhao." He had greeted, a tenderness in his voice that had Zhao Yunlan shifting closer.
"You're here officially then?" Zhao Yunlan had said with perhaps too obvious happiness. He had run his hands over those supple shoulders, down toned biceps to curl around strong elbows.
So hot. Who knew robes could be hot?
In the present, his cat paused which Zhao Yunlan waited out, "Yellow edged robes." Another pause and then, a very disgruntled, "I think I recognized them."
Zhao Yunlan didn't reply knowing his cat, but filed that knowledge away. Da Qing's poor memory was something they both lived with...but when he said he recognized someone - admitted he recognized them - it usually meant the event was bad.
But it was hard to believe that Shen Wei had done anything bad to his cat. He did not as a rule trust many, but against all his usual beliefs, he trusted Shen Wei. To a frightening degree. He trusted him like he trusted Da Qing.
Not that he was admitting that to said cat.
But he did. And genuinely enjoyed his company, his reactions and wanted to know him. Which was even more frightening for someone who doesn't do commitment. Especially when he had tugged back the hood and met Shen Wei's large doe eyes, his gaze vulnerable in a way that had Zhao Yunlan's hot flirtatious reaction switching to something gentle and admiring. And when does that happen?
"Beautiful." He'd whispered and Shen Wei had looked down flushing slightly, which was so adorable.
The hood was back on the instant , the door had opened admitting Xiao Guo who completely missed his Boss stepping back to a safe distance. Following him inside was Da Qing who thankfully had been looking at phone and Zhu Hong. Coming up in the rear was Lao Chu. Who had interestingly, gone into the full salute, complete with heartfelt bow and allegiance pledge.
Da Qing had Xiao Guo bowing with a iron grip on the kid's neck one second later. Zhu Hong, a little surprised, had offered the polite Yashou salute and nothing more.
"Well," Zhao Yunlan had said cheerfully, sidestepping the awkwardness. "With His Honor here, I'll leave here for now. I have a date with a Xingdu surveillance van."
'You'll call if it turns ugly." Lao Chu had demanded.
"If it gets that ugly, Fake Monk will call. You'll be on the same line." Zhao Yunlan had said flatly, then leveled the famous Zhao stare at his employees. "Make sure Zhu Hong doesn't get injured." He had ordered curtly, waving off her annoyed look.
"..And all of you, make doubly sure that kid doesn't get kidnapped, hurt or more damn traumatized than she already is. No damage to the hospital either. Send me an update every half-hour. If it goes wrong, you call me the same damn second. This stays clean and I want them alive."
He didn't realize that Shen Wei was not only listening but nodding along, bizarrely taking his orders to heart, until he followed him out of the door, the illusion charm hiding them. Here, he took Zhao Yunlan's hand and said, "No harm will come to the child, or your team Chief Zhao."
What an opening. Zhao Yunlan had taken it with gusto. "Ah Shen Wei," He said dramatically, widening his eyes and dipping his head down slightly, his best mournful look. "Don't tell me I'm already your regret."
Probably thrown and confused, Shen Wei had stepped even closer automatically, "There is no life, where I could regret you Zhao Yunlan." He had said, promised really, in that smooth baritone.
That actually meant far more than Shen Wei would ever realize. The strange part, was that Zhao Yunlan found himself believing it, not just throwing it off as fake. "Ah Lan." He had replied with a wicked smile. "Yunlan. Xiao Lan if you like."
Shen Wei ducked his head and repeated, "Ah Lan. In private. I respect you too much and you have worked so hard to be respected. You are Chief Zhao, the Lord Guardian, chosen by Kunlun."
Touched, Zhao Yunlan overplayed it, but offered a kernel of truth. "Ah Shen Wei, knowing you are watching over my team, gives me relief. Usually, I'd rely on their skills alone, but these are assassins and they've killed skilled people, who should have been able to walk away."
"I won't let anything happen to them."
Ducking forward, despite the deep hood, Zhao Yunlan unerringly pressed a well-aimed kiss to that perfect unmasked forehead, before walking away. "Don't let anything happen to you either. You owe me a date."
What a glorious thing to think of as he entered the old bar, catching the eye of every agent placed in the building and Bi Hongyong, like he was in a shampoo advert, flicked his long hair off his shoulder.
Showtime.
Agent Wen had done a decent job of trying to blend in, but it was obvious she wasn't comfortable in the shadowy interior, that was packed with the typical crowd. He spotted her easily in her brown jacket and watched as she tucked a strand of her bob cut hair behind her ear.
Trying to look like she was waiting for her date at the bar. Bi Hongyong was watching her like a hawk, without actually appearing to be.
The youngest agent, Vendor Boy was sitting in the corner. Three others were sitting together facing the bar. They were, he mused, as obvious as a panda in a flock of pigeons.
What was his father thinking? Or maybe, he should take this as proof, that his father had not in fact organized this operation.
Zhao Yunlan sauntered over, counting the agents, greeting the waitstaff he recognized. Sliding onto the open bar stool, he greeted the guy on the left, a regular and fellow cultivator and nodded to Bi-ge. Who flicked his hair again and said loudly, "Zhao-ge! Long time! Heard you were in hospital."
Zhao Yunlan laughed lightly, "Busy week." Then he smiled at his quarry, who was watching him with a odd gleam in her eyes. It vanished, like a stone dropping into waves, but he had seen it. Anger. He thought. Old, bitter anger. "Agent Wen, sorry I'm late."
"It's fine Chief Zhao." She tried to smile back and looked around, "Nice place."
"You didn't tell you were here for a date." Bi Hongyong fake exclaimed, flashing his eyebrows at Zhao Yunlan.
Ah, so he did recognize her and this was why she was uncomfortable being here. Zhao Yunlan thought. Uncomfortable with Bi-ge's attention.
"Oh no, this..." She began but Zhao Yunlan steamed rolled over her. "Cop business Bi-ge."
Bi Hongyong shook his head, "All you do is work. You're off duty, buy a damn drink and at least talk death comfortably."
"I can do that in the morgue." Zhao Yunlan replied casually, leaning on the bar.
Agent Wen looked flummoxed at their banter and he almost laughed at the expression of those in the van, he could picture so clearly. Bi Hongyong just grimaced at him, "You can take the back room, if you're talking about corpses. I don't want you putting my customers off."
To Agent Wen he smiled, "Just don't let him get kidnapped again or beat up. That pretty face is his only good feature."
Zhao Yunlan laughed and slid off the seat, "Baijiu then. You owe me a jar. I've not had a single cigarette in a month!"
Bi Hongyong snorted, "I'm not holding my breath gege. You've been smoking since forever."
The back room was actually a private dining, drinking space with a traditional table and chairs. The back wall held a bookcase filled with tea caddies and a traditional lantern hid the light bulbs above.
"Your friend is a character." Agent Wen said as they sat.
"We went to school together." Zhao Yunlan said easily. "His family owns this place. He would have made a good cop or lawyer, but his destiny was set."
"Second signal is going directly to a separate location Boss. Not the Bureau itself. I've patched into their link. They were talking to the van guys. Director Guo is listening, the prosecutor who was kidnapped with you and at least two others. Older men I think." Lin Jing told him in his ear.
Zhao Yunlan mentally cursed. Older men could include his father and Director Gao.
"I forget that you grew up here.' Agent Wen tried, as the waiter arrived with the alcohol jar, tea set, drinking cups and light snacks.
Zhao Yunlan didn't reach for the jar first, but for the tea pot. He sniffed. Chrysanthemum tea. The cheap stuff too.
"I was talking with Yang Rong, just to see how she was doing and she told me you two dated. It must have been hard for you, with what...happened...you know at the warehouse." Agent Wen said so sympathetically.
Zhao Yunlan sat in a lotus style and snorted. He was putting a bullet in this romantic notion before Lin Jing or anyone else could run away with it. "I was fifteen. Can't say I ever thought about her after I left the city. I had plans. She wasn't part of them."
"Don't think the prosecutor liked hearing that Boss." Lin Jing told him. Good. "She's wearing a camera too. Its in the necklace or the top button of her jacket. It's wirelessly connecting to the van too. Patching in now."
He poured the tea, "Now, what do you want Agent Wen."
"You aren't one for making friends are you?" Agent Wen remarked watching him.
Zhao Yunlan smiled viciously, knowing he had to go for the kill if his own superiors were weighing in.
"If you want to waste my time talking about your fake trauma Liu Shishi, go ahead. I might even find entertaining." His tone was dry, artfully bored. "But we both know why you are really here and it doesn't include the four useless agents cluttering up the tables out front."
"What...what did you call me?" She demanded, voice a little too high.
"That's your birth name isn't it?" Zhao Yunlan affected surprise. "Liu Shishi, parents Liu Shanghua and Liu Bei, both deceased. They had the same surname too. Some people call that lucky. Wen Dai, the cop whose identity you stole, died two years ago."
"I don't know what you're playing at Chief Zhao," She began hotly making to leave.
Zhao Yunlan snapped his fingers loudly and let his power activate the wards he had placed earlier in the day. "You might as well sit back down Liu Shishi. This was a cultivation school long before it was a tea house. Your rather sad fellow agents - or should I say, hopeless agents, can't break you out and Bi-ge isn't one to mess with."
He tilted his head, "Not that they could fight their way out of a paper bag. Or work out they were inside a paper bag." He laughed darkly at her expression. "Oh don't bother lying. You've had them tailing me for days. It took me three minutes to work out." He held up three fingers, " And that's only because I was high on painkillers. It took my Deputy, half of that time!"
"This is imprisonment!" She tried, going to the door anyway and receiving a nasty spark from the door. "Stop this Zhao Yunlan!"
"This is having a quiet chat with a Dixingian citizen, suspected of murdering a Haixingren law enforcement officer." Zhao Yunlan snapped loudly, his voice ringing with power. "You forget, that I'm the Lord Guardian. I don't need a warrant to hold you for interview, and you have no right to legal representation, unless we are on diplomatic immunity registered land. Of which there are two plots in the entire world. The Xingdu Bureau made sure of that lack of rights. You should thank them for this kind foresight." He finished in a cheerful tone.
"Complete uproar." Lin Jing reported. "Half of them are panicking you made the tails and the others are shouting about her being Dixingian."
"Now sit down." He ordered. "There is no running and killing me would be hard - and for you - fatal."
"This is madness." She protested hotly, "My name is Wen Dai. Your own,"
Father she was going to say, is my boss and your overlord. Zhao Yunlan thought mentally. Zhao Xinci would be listening he thought angrily, so let him learn he, the prejudiced, obsessively anti-Dixingian was actually employing one.
"My mother would have called you a Painted Doll." He interrupted, slapping his father at the same time. "And I have never met anyone who fits that description as well as you do."
"I don't know what that means and you're mad." Liu Shishi snapped, "End this madness and let me go! I am reporting this to your superiors!"
"Your DNA was found at one of my crime scenes." Zhao Yunlan spoke tersely and all too clearly. "It was sampled in Dixing at the national laboratory. I confirmed your identity and correlated this find with Wen Dai's former romantic partner, a homicide cop in Shanghai. A cop, I know really well. A cop who confirmed, seeing your photo, that you were a good lookalike, but not his fiancee who he buried."
"The switch of IDs, capable of passing the Bureau's checks must have been expensive. But, then revenge always is." He added. "Don't worry, the Minister of Justice himself has the copy of the report. The Bureau will be under investigation for corruption."
"There is no national laboratory in Dixing!" Liu Shishi snapped. "And you couldn't send them a sample. Dixing is refusing all attempts at dialogue. And you wouldn't go to the Minister. You're nothing."
"Well you did grow up in Haixing, so I'll let that ignorance pass." Zhao Yunlan said generously. "Clearly your agents are useless. As for the radio silence part, you'll find I have very good connections."
Zhao Yunlan lit the single candle on the table and breathed out over the flame. The wards flared and a portal whooshed to life towards the right of the room. The Envoy, wreathed in black and frost stepped inside, dropping the butt of his pudao so it clanked loudly.
"Chief Zhao, Lord Guardian of Haixing." He greeted in his deep voice, his tone warm.
"Bixia." Zhao Yunlan rose and bowed formally, but looked up through his lashes, as his qi powering his wards washed over the Envoy.
And there it was. The shudder.
Shock dropped into his stomach, his mind scrambling for a reasonable explanation.
Liu Shishi perhaps fortunately for his sanity, chose that moment to attack. She grabbed his arm and pulled her service weapon.
The Envoy lifted the pudao and a hand filled with the darkest ball of power Zhao Yunlan had ever seen, but Zhao Yunlan calmly, snapped her wrist in a quick move and retrieved the weapon.
She cried out and tried to counter him, but he slammed her into the wall, slapping a binding talisman on her shoulder. Golden threads wound around her waist, trapping her arms neatly. She hissed and struggled, another proof that the average Dixingian had a very low tolerance for his power. Unlike a certain someone.
"Really? I knew you were desperate Liu Shishi, but that was dumb." He told her tersely.
"Attacking the Guardian was a fatal choice." The Envoy informed her coldly, pressing the blade beneath her chin. The air was heavy suddenly, bitterly cold as if they were outside in a ice storm.
The Envoy was ten millennia old and while the history books said he had been in 'rest' for at least five thousand of those years, he had fought for the peace of the world, fought a revolution that nearly tore his nation apart and was very much a war-born leader, with untold abilities. Right now, Zhao Yunlan thought there could be little doubt otherwise. Even he, felt a little unnerved by the realization that it would take only a slight angle change of that blade for Liu Shishi to die.
"Sit down." Zhao Yunlan ordered authority sharp in his tone. The blade lowered and he quickly, for both their sakes, pushed her to the floor, to sit on the cushion across from him.
The Envoy settled beside him facing her, his sword across his knees. Zhao Yunlan couldn't see his unmasked features well, and really his mouth and jawline were often the only tells you had with him. "Who is this?" He asks Zhao Yunlan in a polite tone.
"Whoah." Lin Jing says in his ear. "From their camera, the Envoy looks like a black hole! And a man person! Everything looks frozen and his sword is like...pure energy..."
Get a grip Fake Monk! He wants to shout as he opens his coat. In the inner pocket he kept a qiankun pouch. He extracted the files, the copies of the evidence and laid them out on the table. Her fate was sealed, he knew. But he would make damn sure it was rock solid and that no one, on either side of the border, would be able to claim that SID had done this poorly.
"Total pandemonium." Lin Jing then reports. "You're entire side is being...stroked...by dark energy. They're freaking out. But you look good Boss. Total hardcore."
Stroked? Zhao Yunlan surreptitiously looked sideways and saw nothing. His shields were strong through, he might not even feel it. He was a cop and cops don't allow themselves to look frazzled in interview. Especially in front of his superiors.
"Firstly, the Order and I personally, thank Tsang Tsi-Lan for his efforts." Zhao Yunlan began. He was a new member -appointed literally hours ago - of the interrelations department and been incredibly helpful. An older man wearing a deep mask, he had been efficient, focused and seemed to genuinely believe in the Order, gathering the relevant information without once claiming they had no authorization.
He had also called Zhao Yunlan, the Kunlun Blessed Guardian.
"I am pleased to hear this." The Envoy intoned. "Was he helpful?"
"Extraordinarily so." Zhao Yunlan praised. "He retrieved for the Order, the relevant information matched to the DNA sample. This," He said pointing at their quarry, "Is Liu Shishi, born in the capital of Dixing, January fifth, 1989. Her parents fled Dixing, after her father murdered his father-in-law. They changed their name. In Haixing, they came to Dragon city in 1998. Liu Shishi became Leng Yun."
"I see." The Envoy said still watching her coldly. "And her sample matches the DNA found at your crime scene?"
"Yes, Bixia." Zhao Yunlan stated. "When her parents were killed, Leng Yun joined the Yueyang Sect."
She glared at him viciously. "This is ridiculous." she said still trying to get out of this.
"Surely, this sect realized she is Dixingian?" The Envoy asked in a neutral tone.
Zhao Yunlan blithely continued, "The then-Leader of the sect employed her mother as a cook according to the records. He enrolled Leng Yun as a disciple. The sect is failing. Hardly any of their disciples possess cultivation skill."
"That is slander!" She snapped across the table.
"This is fact, not conjecture or slander." Zhao Yunlan said sharply, meeting her glare with one of his own. "I was ordered by my superiors to work an investigation undercover within the Yueyang Sect. I was an outer disciple for several months."
"Were you aware of Liu Shishi at that time?" The Envoy asks almost gently.
"No. I was not." Zhao Yunlan replied, "However, the DNA sample was not collected in Dragon City, Bixia. It was found in Shanghai. In my apartment. Where a friend of mine was kidnapped."
"Your bed warmer." Liu Shishi snapped. "You care nothing for anyone. I read the file."
Zhao Yunlan's face went to marble, his tone matching it. "Wang Xiaoxi was a journalist. She knew I was undercover. They tortured her for days, but she refused to betray me."
"And it was for her murder, that the former sect leader was convicted?' The Envoy asked delicately.
Which is how Shen Wei would ask, isn't it? Zhao Yunlan thought sourly.
Zhao Yunlan slapped a page on the table, "Your DNA matches the sample found at my old apartment and the sample recently collected at the warehouse where we were all held." He leaned forward, "You should have done something about him before Liu Shishi."
He sat back. "Some people are really good torturers. They enjoy their work. Others need to..." He pretended to struggle for the words, "Work up to it?"
"Our kidnapper, I still don't have a name for him, forgive me Bixia, needed time to get into the mode. To be camera ready. And I'm really good at upsetting people." He drawled, setting more photos out. "He told me a lot, thinking I would die painfully, he didn't care about discretion."
She blanched. "He was mentally unstable. Like you."
"Be careful." The Envoy asked in a soft, menacing tone. She tried to look cool, but Zhao Yunlan doubted anyone - maybe him - could be cool with the Envoy staring at you.
"Our kidnapper, told me about the Yueyang Sect. He thought it was hilarious that I had basically killed your sect leader."
"Someone told the prison he was a cop snitch." Liu Shishi said with barely contained fury.
Zhao Yunlan smiled.
"Under Haixing law he would have been executed for murder, by the government authorities or by the Cultivation Council." The Envoy intoned. "He would have been too high a risk to have simply imprisoned. Why would Chief Zhao need to have him killed?"
"You went to ground, found a dead cop you could steal the identity of. When I moved back to Dragon City, you followed and became Agent Wen." Zhao Yunlan interrupted. "Someone enabled you."
"Names." The Envoy demanded.
"I have no need to tell you anything." Liu Shishi stated.
"Under Dixing law, there are ways to find that information that does not require verbal communication." Zhao Yunlan said easily.
"Then," He added, "We have Jizeng Mao." He laid the photo pf him and the CCTV still of her on the street at night, her car and one of Fan Wei. "You were there the night of his murder."
"I have nothing to say." Liu Shishi spat.
"Jizeng Mao was found in a parking lot outside Fan Wei's apartment block. Another victim you might recognize. He was found face down and had died from no visible wounds. His cause of death is listed as suffocation. The last person to see him was you."
"So, did you drug him to induce his death? He was Dixingian so his case is mine. There were traces of the street drug Mighty in his blood work. It can cause similar effects to tranquilizers in Dixingians. There were no fibers, no DNA, no bruising...or," He leaned forward, "Can we assume you gift came in useful?"
She slammed forward and the Envoy raised his sword automatically. "I have no gift! I am not Dixingian!"
"You are." The Envoy replied viciously cold.
Something slammed against Zhao Yunlan's wards. "Oh your friends have arrived." He said brightly. "Sounds like Vendor Boy is getting dramatic."
The Envoy doesn't react only nods. Except, did he know Zhao Yunlan had nicknamed the idiot this because he was Shen Wei, or had Shen Wei told him?
"As Liu Shishi has been confirmed as Dixingian, I will officially collect her for questioning Chief Zhao." The Envoy decided, rising. "All the information I discover, I shall pass onto you."
"The Order is most grateful." Zhao Yunlan said in reply, bowing.
"You can't do this!" Liu Shishi shouted struggling.
"He is the Emperor of Dixing, the Envoy to Haixing and the Executioner of the Underground lands." Zhao Yunlan said blithely. "Returning you to Dixing, is something he can certainly do."
He knew there was nothing he could do to avoid this, no jurisdiction he could use to keep interrogating her here in Haixing, when the Envoy decided he wanted her removed.
"The Xingdu Bureau cannot be trusted if it has been infiltrated." The Emperor declared.
"The Bureau is under investigation by the Ministry of Justice. The Yueyang Sect infiltrators will be arrested. " Zhao Yunlan said bowing again.
"I have assurances from the President of Haixing." The Envoy added.
"I will add mine as well."
The Envoy wrapped dark energy around Liu Shishi and laid a hand on Zhao Yunlan salute. "Then I am satisfied. Will you need assistance with these corrupt agents?" He asked then pointing at the door.
"The Ministry has already arrived. They will be arrested and investigated." Zhao Yunlan replied.
The majesty and audacity of Zhao Yunlan's mind was as alluring as it was impressive.
Shen Wei wasted no time returning his charge to a pocket within Dixing. Liu Shishi struggled gamely, but no one escaped from the Envoy's net and she had the barest fraction of power compared to him.
"You can't do this!" She shouted as she struggled.
Shen Wei looked at her without a trace of mercy. "You threatened the life of the Guardian and attempting to harm the Treaty ensuring peace between our worlds. The sentence for this crime, either of them, is death."
There could be no other answer for attempting to murder Zhao Yunlan or hostage him. His love had suffered enough and now, belated and foolish, undeserving of his compassion he may be, but Zhao Yunlan had Shen Wei now. And no one would harm Zhao Yunlan while he breathed.
Liu Shishi was a small part of a larger problem, a wider net. One that Zhao Yunlan understood and was perfectly willing to threaten, uncaring if they sought his death.
Sealed within a containment chamber of his own making, no one within or beyond Dixing could free her now. She could wait. The hospital could not.
Slipping back out of the created chamber, he left her to shout and rage, the seemingly endless desert of Dixing stretching out in all directions. Summoning a portal, he quickly swapped his robes and returned to the bathroom of Li Qian's former hospital room, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw his too-strong-to-explain protections were still in place. No interruptions, no changes.
His student was resting well, the sedative giving her the false promise of peace, a little shelter from the pain of reality. No one one other than himself and Zhao Yunlan would be able to break inside.
He stretched out his senses immediately, and calmed when he felt that all of the SID team were still in place and felt their life signatures anxiously. They were okay. He had kept his promise. Chu Shuzhi was in place with Da Qing, ready for anything. Zhu Hong was pretending to sleep, an illusion cast to make her appear as Li Qian's clone.
With nothing to do for the moment, Shen Wei leaned against the sink and trained his senses on the team. Nothing could happen to them, he thought determined. But there was nothing for him to do, until an attack came or until Zhao Yunlan arrived and called off the protection detail for Li Qian.
This of course gave his traitorous mind plenty of time to revisit the interview with Liu Shishi.
For the first time, he had seen the other side of Kunlun's personality in this modern world, and it thrilled him to the bone. No trace of emotion, concealing his hurts, even his anger was tempered by a sharp professionalism, Shen Wei greatly admired.
Not to mention the shock of heat, he had felt when Zhao Yunlan calmly and so smoothly took Liu Shishi down, when he had heard that brittle anger directed at the Yueyang Sect. How badly he had wanted to touch, to comfort when he had detected the guilt laced pain in his short recounting of Liu Shishi's crime in Shanghai.
And his cleverness! Zhao Yunlan's mind was kilometers ahead of everyone else and ten thousand years on it, was still as awe-inspiring as it had been when he was genuinely a young man.
Shen Wei sat alone in the darkness of the hospital bathroom watching over his charges and sank into the warm seas of a ten millennia vintage love. And felt wounds he had lived with for so long, slowly fade.
The peace didn't last. Not that Shen Wei thought that it would.
The first sign was the sizzle of energy as someone stepped into his wards further down the hall. He had created them carefully, with the idea that the person crossing the threshold would possibly be able to detect any of the standard wards he could have used. This one didn't block access, it instead alerted Shen Wei instantly.
Quietly, Shen Wei wrapped the hilt of his sword in dark energy concealing the famous and easily recognizable design of the Envoy. And waited.
His senses tracked their progress working their way up the corridor. They were using a gift to block them from ordinary sight thankfully, but Shen Wei rose and loitered near the door, ready for his moment.
It didn't take long. Three people were converging on Zhu Hong's door, one now opening it quietly. There two others one floor down, but those could be dealt with separately.
One waited on the door, the other two entered, his second seal broken as they crossed that threshold.
Shen Wei allowed the door to close, let them move closer to the bed where Zhu Hong lay, knowing that if they had any sense they would detect the array that Zhao Yunlan had put into place, with three talisman pages stuffed into the mattress.
As they gathered around Zhu Hong, Shen Wei stepped out blocking the door. They were dressed in black linen jackets and loose pants, one with his hand already raised to strike at 'Li Qian' and the other, had a blade.
"Black Robed Envoy!" The first one shouted in alarm, his eyes going wide as he recognized Shen Wei.
Shen Wei struck at the one with the blade first, propelling him into a wall. Number two whirled around and Shen Wei saw both the tattoo on his wrist and the burn across his face. Cultivation fire makes similar scars, impossible to fully heal until it eventually scars badly.
Shen Wei looked at the man threatening Zhu Hong, who rose from the bed, her eyes slipping into the red of her Yashou Snake heritage, and he realized that this man had fought Zhao Yunlan. This filth had tried for Zhao Yunlan's life. His lip curled in anger.
As the man attacked, a smirk crossing his distorted mouth, Shen Wei opened his hand and released the ball of dark energy he held. It tore through the assassin, killing him within seconds. As the first one attacked, Shen Wei dodged his blade and slammed him back down.
The assassin was good, Shen Wei could give him that and he could see why most had not survived this man. Shen Wei however, had been fighting for centuries. He laced every blow of his own with near pure dark energy and their exchange blurred with the speed of every parry and attack.
Zhu Hong was out of bed, a Yashou knife in her hand. She watched keeping out of the way.
Shen Wei feinted backwards as if struck and the fool stepped forward, sure of his victory. His instep immediately slid into Shen Wei's trap, dark energy coiled around his limbs.
"Chief Zhao will be pleased." Zhu Hong said looking down at him, struggling angrily in the coils of smoking chains.
Shen Wei ripped open a portal and hurled the assassins inside. Another sealed chamber, no one could escape from. He did though make sure to flash a useless token that made it look as though he had not personally opened it.
His senses sparked and Shen Wei hurried from the room, to find Chu Shuzhi battling with three more. The same linen uniform and the same dark energy tattoo. This was a bigger than a quick squad to kidnap or murder a child of Haixing.
One assassin was using dark energy blades, a multitude of them that Lao Chu was trying to contain from breaking the shield and killing the unsuspecting ward matron writing at the nurse station behind them.
The second was using water on Da Qing, who was blocking it with power. Number three here was attempting to kill Da Qing from behind. Shen Wei stepped forward, coating his blade with dark energy to keep it concealed from any wold recognize it.
Except before he made it beyond Chu Shuzhi's shoulder, the sound of a whip cracking in the air had him looking up. Zhao Yunlan stood at the other end of the hallway, arms swinging back and out, his red whip sparking with flames. The bladed tip caught the third attacker directly, slamming him into the wall.
Da Qing transformed just as the water was aimed to drown him and Shen Wei neatly slid into the space, coiling chains around two. The man tried to stab Shen Wei, who lifted his arm to block almost casually, but blinked as he saw the red whip was wrapped around the attacker from wrist to shoulder, smouldering.
The assassin was screaming and Shen Wei finished the chains, subduing him. Only then did Zhao Yunlan let go.
Something warm and achingly familiar rose in Shen Wei's heart as Zhao Yunlan strode closer, whip flicking away. Something like love, like devotion and awe. Benefactor, he thought with an inward smile, remembering a distant day millennia ago when this man had truly saved his life.
"Did I not say to call me?!" Zhao Yunlan asked belligerently.
And there was Zhao Yunlan infamous temper. Shen Wei soaked it up nonetheless, finding it both alluring despite himself, adorable and slightly alarming. If it also made him want to press closer and soothe him, well that was for him and his dreams.
"Zhao Yunlan." Shen Wei greeted.
The love of his life flashed him a smile, sunlight on river water, bright and dazzling. "Aiya Shen Wei, if not for you my idiots would be dead." He sighed.
Da Qing leapt onto his shoulder. "Water. Can you believe the levels they stoop to?" He demanded disgruntled and wet.
"Urh." Zhao Yunlan replied, nose wrinkling. "Wet cat."
"You try taking on a maniac with water gifts!" Da Qing snarled back.
"I have. I didn't drip on you!" Zhao Yunlan retorted, making Shen Wei smile even wider.
Quickly, Shen Wei dragged the last assassin away from Lao Chu and as he produced a knife to stab Zhao Yunlan, Shen Wei struck with dark energy forcing his heart to cease beating.
Zhao Yunlan looked at the corpse at his feet and glanced up at Shen Wei. "So talented."
----------------------------------------
Time stretched between them and Shen Wei, after several hours of interrogation, fact finding and organizing, gave his final orders to his most loyal and swept back through a portal to Haixing.
He had a considerable amount to share with Zhao Yunlan.
But when Shen Wei returned to Haixing, he discovered from Chu Shuzhi that Zhao Yunlan had taken Li Qian to SID and learned that Zhao was taking heat from his superiors, the Bureau and even as high up as the President's office. They were trying to box Kunlun in and Shen Wei didn't know what was going to happen, what exactly was going to give.
He was deeply annoyed he had taken Li Qian, who was still recovering, to be interrogated. His student had been hurt, wronged and was grieving. She hadn't murdered anyone, even if she had used the Dial to resurrect her grandmother.
So, he took a moment to consider his choices. He could return as Shen Wei, the Professor or the 'Guard'...or as the Envoy.
As a Professor, Zhao Yunlan might be sympathetic to his concerns over his student, but that would not move him far. Especially if he wasn't in a good mood. He had an investigation and people to protect. He could return as the Guard and that would give him leeway. Zhao Yunlan might be more inclined in that role, to let him help.
Or he could go as the Envoy and no one could argue, including Zhao Yunlan.
But...going as the Envoy was a political statement. To those watching and those in SID.
Part of him wanted to go, to make the bold statement that he, the Emperor of Dixing, trusted and supported Zhao Yunlan. That he had his attention, even though that sounded so crass or judgemental - and clearly held his favor. ...Which made him sound like a concubine in an harem drama, but that was what the court in Dixing and the government here was going to think.
The downside was that it could make it look like he didn't trust Zhao Yunlan....
Paralyzed for a few moments as he weighed the ramifications, Shen Wei decided that if he opted to portal directly into SID, only the office and Zhao Yunlan would know he was there. The Order would know they had his support and he could properly communicate with Zhao Yunlan about his findings in a professional, respectful way...
The portal opened just inside the main door of the office and as he stepped through, he let his power seep a little, sending frost along the floor and up the windows in fractal patterns.
Chu Shuzhi was already on one knee in greeting, his other hand outstretched in respect. "Your Majesty."
Behind him were Da Qing,nd Zhu Hong, both looking...not hostile but nervous. As if Shen Wei was about to declare war on Zhao Yunlan. It made him smile.
"Huángshang." They said in greeting, bowing with the Yashou salute.
Again a choice, but Shen Wei decided he could not pretend on all fronts.
"Da Qing. It has been a long time, since I saw you last zhànyǒu."
Da Qing looked honestly surprised, his eyes already considering what this meant with his fractured memory. But he bowed and smiled, touched anyway. "Kunlun blesses us still."
"That he does." Shen Wei replied. "Our Benefactor would be pleased to have you here, helping his....successor."
If Shen Wei had realized Da Qing was here, before discovering that Kunlun was in fact sharing the same space and acting as Da Qing's boss....he would have been furious. Would have thought that the cat who had once swore supreme loyalty and lifetime faith with Kunlun, was betraying all his oaths to work for the organization dooming them all. Now, it felt right that the wily cat was guarding and helping him.
He had no idea if Da Qing remembered Kunlun, beyond stories of him. If he did then he was protecting Kunlun and would expect Shen Wei to remember as well. If he didn't, then he was with Zhao Yunlan heart and soul anyway.
Shen Wei couldn't overthink everything. He was going to send himself mad or find himself falling apart right in front of Zhao Yunlan.
Da Qing offered him a bright smile, delighted. "You honor me."
Shen Wei nodded to Chu Shuzhi and stepped past him, allowing the man to rise. "I have come here to seek an audience with the Lord Guardian, the true successor of Our Benefactor."
"I will fetch him now." Da Qing said.
"If he is busy, I will wait." Shen Wei said quickly.
"Chief Zhao is interviewing a witness." Zhu Hong said quietly, still looking at the floor.
"Then I would observe, if you will allow?"
===
Da Qing led him into the Observation Room, frightening Lin Jing, who flailed and nearly fell off his chair trying to rise to greet him formally. It was the classic cultivation greeting and Shen Wei found this incredibly amusing. The energy being standing beside, dressed in white, gave him a cultivator's greeting.
He already knew they were Lin Jing and Wang Zheng. He had heard both of them speak during the night at the hospital.
"Huángshang....Hēi Páo Shǐ."
But Shen Wei was looking beyond him already to the room beyond the glass.
Zhao Yunlan was siting on the left of the steel table directly in front of them.
What struck Shen Wei, beyond the breathless love that struck his heart every time he saw him - was the absence of warmth, of the vivacity that Zhao Yunlan exudes. He was blank. There was not an iota of friendliness or charm.
Across the table was another woman, sitting beside Li Qian. She wore her hair in a chignon and a dove grey suit, her long nails a deep claret. There was a legal pad on the table in front of her.
"Why are you asking about her?" Li Qian was demanding. "Why are you doing this?"
"Chief Zhao, my client is under no requirement to answer your questions." The woman said tartly.
"Who is she?" Shen Wei asked Da Qing.
"Gu Minhua. She is a criminal defense lawyer. One provided by the Xingdu Bureau. She's worked with us before." Wang Zheng explained from his right, her voice soft. "She's representing Li Qian, the witness in the University murder."
"Why does she require legal representation?" Shen Wei asked immediately.
"Dragon City University is claiming Chief Zhao is harassing Li Qian." Da Qing said cuttingly.
In the room, Zhao Yunlan didn't even blink, entirely unbothered by her response, as he thumbed through a file folder in front of him, photos spread over the table. The dichotomy of him was stark as it was confusing, Shen Wei thought. He had found her sanctuary, saved her life three times and yet refused to show her compassion. Both of them were determined, usually rational, calm people, to bring this...battleground between them. Shen Wei didn't understand it. At all.
It was as if he was wearing the armor of the law, every inch of him constrained into the role of the police officer, the investigator. His professionalism was a shield and a sword. His foxfire eyes were intent, belying the relaxed posture and soft, beguiling voice.
Zhao Yunlan's left eyebrow twitched and Shen Wei just knew what was coming, was not going to be good.
He had seen that exact expression once, just before Kunlun made an announcement that changed the war.
Tucking his hands into his sleeves, Shen Wei thought to himself, that it was emboldening to still be able to recognize a lover's expressions and quirks, after ten millennia apart.
Zhao Yunlan folded his hands and stared at Gu Minhua. "I do not believe that Mrs Li's death was accidental, because her dementia was not natural."
You could have heard a pin drop in the room, and Shen Wei stared at Zhao Yunlan genuinely surprised.
Gu Minhua glanced up at him, her stare just shy of a glare. "And you have evidence to back up these claims?"
"My Nai Nai..." Li Qian managed, seeming to be torn between anger at his implication and horror. "You think..."
"That you killed her? No." Zhao Yunlan said flatly, then turned to her representative and said, plucking a sheet of paper from his stack, and a file. "For the record, this is a report filed on an incident that occurred last year. It is dated and signed by me, as the on-scene officer and later, investigating officer."
Gu Minhua took the file and glanced over it. "This report states that you, Chief Zhao, acted to protect my client in an incident outside a club? It also states you took her home and discovered my client's grandmother was suffering under the effects of a curse."
"Gu Minhua is a cultivator." Da Qing said.
"The witness," Lin Jing spoke again, "Li Qian, is not a fully trained cultivator. She was taught the basics, but she never completed her training after the age of sixteen."
To focus on University and a science track career, Shen Wei could have told him.
Li Qian though nodded, "He broke the curse on Nai Nai."
"Mrs Li was suffering under the effects of a Three Phases curse." Zhao Yunlan said in the same abrupt, cool tone.
"For the record Chief Zhao, explain what the Three Phases Curse is." Gu Minhua requested, making notes on a pad.
"Curses can be categorized by various systems. Personally, I favor the Ten Celestial Records." Zhao Yunlan replied, eyes till focused on Li Qian as he answered.
"Which is like the oldest record ever written." Lin Jing said at the computer. "I can't believe Chief has actually read that."
"Lao Zhao knows every system." Da Qing snapped in reply.
Shen Wei memorized the name and planned to read it himself if he could. Kunlun had always said that information and knowledge, were both different and essential. Zhao Yunlan was fishing for something, but he wasn't sure what it was..
"According to this, the Three Phases Curse is a mid-level one and uncommon. It takes a good level of skill to enact. As its name suggests, it effects the victim in three distinct phases. At first the victim starts to feel unwell. Achy joints, headache, tiredness and malaise. Maybe they think they're getting sick; a cold or flu. Twenty four to forty eight hours later, the second phase begins, with hallucinations, fever, unsteady qi and fluctuating meridians. At the third and last phase, what's called a curse eruption occurs. Curse marks, particularly large and vivid appear spontaneously and... often painfully."
"We were eating dinner." Li Qian said woodenly, tears dripping down her cheeks. "We were eating and...she...it hurt so much...I thought she was having a heart-attack, then all these..black splotchy marks appeared on her arms and face."
"Once the curse marks appear, you only have three days to undo the curse, before the victim dies of a stroke or heart-attack." Zhao Yunlan adds soberly. "It quite famously was used to murder a Crown Prince centuries ago."
"And according to your report, you personally broke the curse?" Gu Minhua asked, glancing at Li Qian for confirmation.
"Yes. I used the Quanzhou technique to stabilize Mrs Li and administered the antidote. It's a fairly standard one, using basic ingredients they had in their kitchen and talisman forms, plus some of my own blood." Zhao Yunlan replied. "As stated in the report."
"Quanzhou is an advanced technique to quell a qi deviation." Da Qing explained, perhaps to Shen Wei or to the others in the room. "I taught him that."
"You are Chief Zhao's shifu?" Shen Wei asked in a tone of polite inquiry, but he was helplessly amused considering Kunlun taught Da Qing originally and incredibly touched that the cycle had repeated.
"This cat is an Elder. I have one student and I've invested all my knowledge in him." Da Qing said haughtily.
"Chief Zhao never calls him that." Wang Zheng told him quietly.
They were brothers millennia ago, but cat and owner. Fated Warrior and Fated Master. They were the best of friends and if Shen Wei is right, Da Qing practically raised Zhao Yunlan as his kitten in this modern life, took him as an apprentice and was his sponsor for the Jade Mountain Sect. Maybe even officially his shizun in the Sect.
To say their relationship is complex, is like trying to find the beginning of a lace masterpiece.
"You didn't come back." Li Qian accused.
"Wrong. I returned the following morning to check on your grandmother and to formally interview her. Mrs Li stated she had no idea who would want to kill her or why." Zhao Yunlan replied flatly. "The Three Phases curse is not one that can be tracked to its source. However, the curse-user would have been badly effected when I terminated the link."
"You allege that someone wished Mrs Li harm and had in fact attempted her murder, both brazenly and in a premeditated fashion?" Gu Minhua queried, her pen pausing above her pad. "Did you believe or have evidence that the suspect and convicted felon, Gao Tianyu is responsible for these crimes? Is he capable of using this curse as he is Dixingian?"
"He's not. Gao Tianyu never hurt her!" Li Qian said loudly, her voice breaking with tears.
Considering last time, Shen Wei expected Zhao Yunlan to say something brutal or cold, and braced himself. Instead he looked at the legal representative and said coolly, "Gao Tianyu to my knowledge is not a cultivator. He is suspected of being involved, but the evidence is circumstantial. He was convicted for murder and escaped prison."
"That's one of putting it." Da Qing said from his perch, with a huff.
"This time he will be executed." Shen Wei told him peaceably. "I will not tolerate corruption."
Da Qing clearly didn't know what to say to that, but Shen Wei was focused on Zhao Yunlan and his student. Trying work out what Zhao Yunlan was setting Li Qian up for. There was purpose in every line of his deceptively relaxed body.
"Than do you have a suspect?" Gu Minhua demanded, her tone cool.
She was somewhat respectful, but it was clear she didn't like Zhao Yunlan and wasn't hiding it. Shen Wei disliked her on principle.
"There are two facets of the Three Phases Curse that are important to note. The first thing, is the spell requires a decent amount of fresh blood. Refrigerated or dry blood doesn't work. The second is that, power dictates everything. If one of my cultivators, used the curse for example, at his power level, Mrs Li would have died over hours, not days."
"But..." Li Qian pauses and really looks at Zhao Yunlan. "Blood? Where would they have...how did they get my grandmother's blood?"
"How much blood are we talking about Chief Zhao?" Gu Minhua asked a beat later.
"More than a tablespoon at least." Zhao Yunlan replied.
So not much but more than a little cut. Shen Wei thought. Someone must have planned this. He didn't doubt Zhao Yunlan though. If he said the grandmother was being played and was basically murdered, then she was.
"And it has to be fresh." Lin Jing said with a jabbing finger.
"How?" Li Qian asks desperately.
"After I spoke with Mrs Li, I interviewed everyone in her area. According to several witnesses," Zhao Yunlan passed over another sheet of paper, "And this timeline, the blood had to be collected on the Saturday. Mrs Li went to the fruit seller as she always did in the afternoon on a Saturday and it was here she had an accident."
Li Qian slowly nods, her eyes wide. "She hurt her hand..."
"According to witness statements, Mrs Li was leaving the shop when she 'bumped' into a woman holding a folded umbrella. Somehow she was injured, a significant wound to her hand. The same woman took her to the hospital, after using her own scarf to stem the bleeding."
"It wasn't a big cut..." Li Qian said thickly, distress and grief heavily in her voice.
"Mrs Li was an accomplished mid-level cultivator before her retirement. She admitted when I asked her, that she had used her qi to heal the injury and had invited the woman over for tea, when she called."
"You believe this woman to be the perpetrator." Gu Minhua commented.
Zhao Yunlan slid a photo across the table. "Li Qian, do you recognize this woman? For the record, I am showing Li Qian a photo of Liu Shishi."
"Liu Shishi...that's her real name?" Li Qian demanded.
"Yes. Do you recognize her?" Zhao Yunlan's eyes were intent.
"Yes." Li Qian said and if anything that answer had Zhao Yunlan leaned forward.
"She's the one you saw with your grandmother?"
"No." Li Qian replied. "She might have been, but I only saw her from behind when I returned home. No...I know her from the University."
"She spoke to you there?"
"Yes." Li Qian frowned as she thought. "It was before my grandmother...before."
"What did she want?"
"She...it was busy. Professor Shen had done a lecture and the auditorium was packed. I was putting everything away.... I thought she wanted to speak to the Professor." Li Qian paused and Shen Wei racked his mind trying to remember.
"A lot of people came...from other universities and laboratories to the lecture...I thought she wanted information."
"What did she want?"
"To talk about Gao Tianyu." Li Qian replied sounding lost. "She claimed she was his cousin and was looking for him."
"His cousin?" Zhao Yunlan replied, sounding surprised.
"He didn't have any family." Li Qian said looking at the table. "I know it was true, because he always looked so...wistful when he met Nai Nai. He said he had never had anyone. So she was lying."
"Did she ask where he was?" Zhao Yunlan queried.
"Yes...kind of...she wanted his address." Li Qian said mystified. "I had never been there, I told her that. That I didn't know."
"What she say?" Zhao Yunlan pushed.
"...She was disappointed I guess. She kept pushing, but I told her he had been arrested." Li Qina said almost defensively.
"She curses the grandmother and then asks about Gao Tianyu after she kills her?" Lin Jing murmurs.
"Gao Tianyu was not working for Agent Wen?" Shen Wei asks, realizing who the photo was of.
"We do not believe so." Wang Zheng replied, "We believe Gao Tianyu was employed to steal something from Li Qian, his benefit being presumed payment and killing Li Qian. He is a serial killer."
"To steal the Hallow, the Longevity Dial." Shen Wei assumed.
"Which Li Qian only received on her birthday, after we arrested Gao Tianyu." Da Qing adds. "The grandmother was keeping it."
"Does this Liu Shishi have a motive for wanting to curse Mrs Li?" Gu Minhua asks coolly.
"Mrs Li was in contact with a man Liu Shishi was sent to kill." Zhao Yunlan told them calmly. "They were old friends, from her former sect."
"Who?" Li Qian asks, drying her tears.
"Her former shidi, Zhuang Yu. Your grandmother attended the funeral for his son, six weeks before she died."
"Yes...They played mahjong sometimes. Nai Nai was close with his wife, Bai Fengjiu. She died maybe...eight years ago." Li Qian said, her eyes fixed on Zhao Yunlan. "He's...he has something to do with Nai Nai?"
"I'm sorry to tell this, if you don't know laready, but Zhuang Yu, his daugher and her young family were all killed the week before your grandmother passed away." Zhao Yunlan told them quietly.
Li Qian's face crumpled, her hands rising to cover her face.
Gu Minhua took over. "Their murder is confirmed as such?"
"Confirmed. They were all killed. First kidnapped from their home and driven to a location outside the city, where they were executed." Zhao Yunlan told them and Li Qian lowered her hands, her face horrified.
"But why?"
"Your grandmother didn't come from Dragon City did she?" Zhao Yunlan asked gently.
Li Qian frowned at the question but shook her head, "No. She moved here when my father was born."
"And joined your grandfather's sect?"
"Yes. Why are you..."
"She was a member of the Jade Mountain Sect before that wasn't she? Mrs Li mentioned it when I visited her." Zhao Yunlan replied in that same tone. "She was burning incense for Martial Lord Kunlun."
Gu Minhua frowned in confusion but Li Qian, blissfully ignorant said, "Yes. She always said that for as long as the maternal line believed in him, we would be safe. He brought us luck." Li Qian was crying now, tears soaking her sleeves as she wiped them away.
And Shen Wei could see it. Zhao Yunlan so courteous and charismatic, gently talking his way through the door. Sitting on her sofa and chatting with Mrs Li, casually teasing out of her all the details as she made him tea and talked about her granddaughter.
Zhao Yunlan seeing the shrine perhaps, admitting he too was from the same sect. The shared loyalty, swapped history, shared ideology. Calling her shijie perhaps, with that same bright smile.
"Your lost necklace," Zhao Yunlan began, knowing full well it was the Dial and didn't even blink as Li Qian touched her neck where it should have been. "Did it belong to your grandmother?"
Li Qian nodded sadly, "It was an heirloom, passing down through the line, mother to daughter usually. She gave it to me on my birthday."
"And it came from her family?" Zhao Yunlan pressed, "Something to do with Lord Kunlun?"
Li Qian again dried her eyes and looked at him sharply, "You think they wanted the necklace? Why? Nai Nai said it was a gift passed from Kunlun, but he was some super cultivator from a million years ago! It wasn't true. No way was it true."
Li Qian was half right. The Hallows were never made by Kunlun, but it was ten thousands years ago and they were looking for the Tokens. Kunlun Tokens.
Shen Wei had punched a hole through his heart multiple times considering the full picture of their past and their present.
If Zhao Yunlan was going to fall through some portal, somehow, some terrifying way that Shen Wei couldn't predict and plummet to the past...then he took on the role of Kunlun.
If that was true and it must be, because the man he loves is on the other side of reinforced one-way glass interviewing his student. Not just a haunting memory with precious echoes who was tak...di...went missing...ten millennia ago. So he must be Kunlun.
Then...and this was where Shen Wei had lost any hope of keeping his composure, his stalwart mask.
Because...he understood how Zhao Yunlan thought, how Kunlun had thought and...
To his very bones, Zhao Yunlan was a pragmatist. Often ruthlessly so.
There would have been no guarantee that he could return to his own time, so being the man he is, forever courageous, he had made contingencies that did guarantee or help to guarantee his own future.
Fifteen year old Zhao Yunlan was going to run away from Dragon City with a Yashou Cat and big dreams. He was going to join the Jade Mountain Sect and shine. He was going to, one day, be tested. He was going to touch one of the Tokens made by Kunlun and receive the full undiluted power of the martial lord, announcing him as Kunlun's Chosen. This paved the way for him to escape Shanghai when his life was threatened beyond his capacity to ignore or more importantly survive. He didn't want a desk job so he chose Dragon City. He became the Guardian and eventually was going to find the event that throws him to the past.
Shen Wei believed wholeheartedly that they were bound by red thread. That they were fated lovers. That he had been destined to meet Kunlun and now Zhao Yunlan. It as all that had kept him alive for centuries.
It was fate, that Shen Wei had decided to investigate the strange disturbances around his cottage, had found a beaten, bloodied Zhao Yunlan by the shore. And in the past, Zhao Yunlan would have thought about this.
This revelation is massive. Its raking claws through his heart, the pain of a sword blade slicing muscle and cleaving bone. Its chokes him, his power wanting to rip a portal through time and space just to see, just to check that Zhao Yunlan was safe, was here, still here with him.
He's never cherished a thread of power before, but he did that night. Does daily, if he's honest.Focusing his mind, heart and will on that simple, too-thin connection to the man he loves.
Shen Wei imagines him doing so, just to torture himself further. Did he lie awake in his bed in the caverns of their headquarters? Did he think this through bored on horseback while returning from patrol? Did he think of it lying next to Shen Wei, or during the tedious moments of the meetings? When had Zhao Yunlan considered his own death and thought of an expedient way to ensure it can happen again?
The Tokens were insurance.
Ma Gui, another pragmatist, knew that peace came at a price. He had the unfortunate job of working with the remnants of the Alliance to pull Haixing together, so they didn't fall to war themselves. So he asked Zhao Yunlan for help.
Chu Shuzhi had said that, "Lord Kunlun and Lord Ma forged the Tokens, using the Blessed Protector's blood and his spiritual energy. What they are is a little vague. I don't think anyone really knows." Chu Shuzhi admitted. "Some say the Protector forged a jade or wooden talisman, a whip stained red with his own blood and the third one is unknown. Some say it was a sword that can choose the Guardian, others say it was a perfect orb of power. A third source claims it was a jade necklace the color of the sun.... and that it wasn't given to Lord Ma."
A power transfer was Zhao Yunlan's main goal. When he passed the test, and received the bottled power boost, he would be handed the whip and jade or wood token small enough to be hidden in his wallet. Or that was his only link to the Jade Mountain Sect.
The whip was an immensely powerful spiritual weapon, possibly along with his daggers. The other one was the pendant, he wears. Kunlun had given him the little orb not long before he lost him, before the final fight. The third one he was sure, was to transfer power.
These were made by Kunlun to help Ma Gui and save himself.
"This Zhuang Yu. He was Jade Mountain Sect?" Shen Wei asks to be sure, then adds, "He is one of the victims connected to a paired Dixingian murder?' Shen Wei asks Da Qing.
Da Qing looks at him and then nods, "Yes Huángshang. Zhuang Yu was Jade Mountain Sect, but his presence here was for the Treaty."
"The corresponding Dixingian murder was of Shao Zhenrong." Wang Zheng told him. "They were the fourth murdered family."
"His connection to Shao Zhenrong?" Shen Wei asks.
"We have no record of them together." Wang Zheng admits. "His murder coincides with Zhuang Yu and we discovered his name from the Imperial Report."
"Shao Zhenrong was not an agent." Shen Wei admits. "He was an emissary."
Zhao Yunlan had less than a minute to fully absorb Da Qing's wide-eyed frantic look, as he left the Interview Room, before his eyes fell on the unmissable form following Da Qing, sedately.
Somehow, though it should have looked ridiculous, a man in long black flowing robes and an even longer cloak trailing the floor, in the middle of a tight hallway inside a law enforcement office...but there was nothing even vaguely cosplay, about it. Cold air collected, swirling around Zhao Yunlan's feet like a cat and he could taste ozone in the air. Power skittered and lingered, the presence somehow soothing and ominous at the same time.
In the shadows, death felt close. And because he was Zhao Yunlan, he smiled brightly.
"Bixia."
Da Qing looked at him like he was crazy but he ignored that.
"Lord Guardian."
And we are back to Lord Guardian. Zhao Yunlan thinks and mentally sighs, torn between annoyance and amusement. Betrayalhe wasn't sure he could claim and anger were lurking, ready to surge, but he had no proof as of yet, that the Emperor of Dixing and Shen Wei were one and the same.
If they were the same person, or just 'close friends', arriving to find him interrogating Li Qian was not a mood-improvement. Tough living, as his old Captain used to say sarcastically.
"Forgive the intrusion," The Emperor says blandly, his mask just visible under the wide hood. "I wished to speak with you."
Ah. The interrogations in Dixing had come through. This explains the unexpected, public visit to the SID offices. Timed well and executed so that only his team can see it. Wouldn't want to be known he was supporting the Order.
Zhao Yunlan nodded politely, aware of his team and all the ramifications. He was still being bombarded day and night over the negotiations and worrying about just who Shen Wei was. Faced with the biting potential of it, he felt nothing but irritable and tired. The Xingdu Bureau also had not gone quietly, and he had spent hours arguing with or debriefing various superiors.
For the movement he had the advantage and had won himself some time. He had a few sympathetic ears including the President's office. That would change the longer it took to put this to an 'acceptable' ending.
Zhao Yunlan thinks about his new black tea-set, Dixingain customs and then looks at his team. And thinks, no way in hell.
"My pleasure, Bixia." If they were going to be sickening in their manners, he could double. "Allow me a moment to give orders."
He wasn't Dixingian and he jumped for very few. A tense second passed and the Emperor gestured grandly, which only served to irritate Zhao Yunlan further. But he hid it well. "Of course, Chief Zhao."
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out an especially ugly pendant. It looks like a misshapen clay fish dangling on a metal chain and he can feel everyone watching, but ignores them. Deftly, he rips a single strand of hair from Da Qing's head, ignoring the startled yelp and betrayed expression, as if Zhao had just called him a dog. He wraps it around the fish and holds in his right hand, extending his thumb. Whipping out his switchblade with his left hand, he quickly cuts his right thumb, perhaps a little too deeply, and lets the blood drip onto the fish in a tiny river.
Envoy takes a step forward for some reason he notes, catching the movement from the corner of his eye, but the fish lifts up to hover in air, squirming inside a cage of green array symbols made form light. Its horrible to look at, but after a minute it lands back in his bloody hand as an unremarkable, ugly coin pendant.
"Get Li Qian to wear this. Make sure it has skin contact." He looks at his cat, the order clear. She wears it, whether she wants to or not. "Deputy, take Chu Shuzhi and move her to the safe-house. For as long as she wears it, anyone watching will see her as Da Qing. There are not that many Core Formation level cultivators wandering around the city and no one they can afford."
"Yes Chief." Da Qing says immediately. "Full hours?"
Around the clock protection? Or stuck under a shield array no one can enter anyway?
"We have twelve hours legally, to offer her protection. After that," He looks meaningfully at the Interview Room door, "We have zero grounds to keep her."
He twitches his eyebrows and Da Qing takes that as a warning sign. He bows to the Envoy and hurries off, followed more slowly by Chu Shuzhi who needs to have his parting moment. "Zhu Hong."
She steps forward smoothly, casting anxious looks at the Envoy as he tucks the switchblade back into his pocket.
"Finish the paperwork process with Li Qian."
"Yes Chief." She replies, acting as the devoted employee under the Emperor's gaze. "The Dragon Sect is asking if you need assistance."
"Like a bullet wound to the stomach. Evade." He replies archly. "Deal with the lawyer."
He adds quietly, "Get Wang Zheng to bring tea. The nice set."
Turning, he made his own grand gesture, forgetting he was using his right hand and flicking blood everywhere, "This way, Bixia."
It showed how tired he was that he didn't just circulate his spiritual energy and heal the cut.
The Emperor did not simply pass him by, exuding his royal power and commanding experience. He paused directly in front of Zhao Yunlan, close enough that it felt as though he was half immersed in a storm cloud, lightning in the air.
A strong hand appeared from the sleeve that was neither fabric or simply power, cool and surprisingly gentle as it wrapped around Zhao Yunlan's bleeding thumb, smearing the red rivulets pouring down his skin. A kiss of energy, cold enough to burn and then he was released, the cut gone as if it had never been there.
Zhao Yunlan tried very hard not to think of the caress of that those fingers as they ghosted along his palm before embracing his thumb. A lover's touch.
"It was still bleeding." Is all the immortal tells him as he lets go, sounding unimpressed.
==
The water made almost no sound as it poured into the cups, filling the air with the scent of almond tea.
Lin Jing had made himself scarce as soon as Zhao entered the lab space with the Emepeor in tow. He was next door in the smaller more secure room, but for now with Envoy examining the domed glass cage containing the Longevity Dial, he was pleased they were alone.
Right now he wants his board, a timeline and a minute to puzzle this out. Li Qian had given him some new insights, and he felt they were closer than ever to finding the truth.
The Envoy eventually returns to the steel counter where Zhao Yunlan hands the Envoy the cup with simple ceremony. He waits as the ancient immortal accepts the cup, but he doesn't have long before predictably, the Envoy asks, "Are you charging the Haixingren student?"
Worried Shen Wei? Zhao Yunlan thinks uncharitably, but as he has no proof, he shrugs, keeping his gaze locked on the hood of the Emperor's cloak. He also has no reason to play nice either. "The kid is heading towards a mental breakdown as well as a qi deviation. I have little evidence against her."
"You have little sympathy for her." The Envoy notes almost judgmentally.
"How many times do I need to save her life, before she dies? Youth is no excuse for poor decisions. She has made it clear she neither wants nor values my interference. " He asks instead of the hundred or so answers he could give. None of them kind and all of them complex. But he's not in the mood to argue for someone's psyche, to debate domestic violence, if someone should be made to pursue cultivation training if they have no desire to be a cultivator, or any other reason for Li Qian's choices.
It certainly has the Envoy pausing, a supernatural stillness to him, that most would find unnerving. But Zhao Yunlan is not someone that spooks easily.
There are several city morgues and families in two realms mourning love ones, entire families dead and he's one of two people standing for them. He has a Treaty to help negotiate and enough pressure from his superior officers and the damn President to crush someone less stable. Li Qian is not the center of his world and if he can find answers, she can go back to life in twelve hours.
"Li Qian is old enough to make her own choices. Other than keep her alive for another twelve hours there is little I can do." Zhao Yunlan concludes. "And for the record, my reason for questioning her, may once again have saved her life. She was mentioned as part of a plan, heavily detailed on the laptop we found at the apartment."
Zhao Yunlan finally pours himself a cup and reminds himself that without sharing, this truce is not going to work. Everything is now on the line.
"I have no doubt that you are trying to save her life. But at least the child knows that her grandmother's death wasn't her fault." The Emperor said smoothly, "And I do understand that as her grandmother was a disciple of the Jade Mountain Sect, you are honor bound to find her killer, a duty separate to your Guardian duties."
"I'd stand for her regardless." Zhao Yunlan said flatly, then sighed rubbing his newly healed thumb over his mouth. "But you are right Bixia. Kunlun's Tokens were never meant to kill elderly women and destroy a kid's life."
The Emperor said nothing for a long moment, "Kunlun would be horrified." He said it so quietly, it was almost inaudible, and his voice seemed to hold the name for as long as possible before breathing it into the world. He had heard a number of relatives and friends, mourning a loved one, say their name in a similar fashion. As if speaking it, could connect them for the briefest instance with the one they miss so desperately. It becomes a treasure, the syllables precious.
The Envoy had loved Kunlun. He realized with brutal clarity.
So how much of his interest in Zhao Yunlan was the sea of power he absorbed from him and the remote - by ten thousand years kind of remote - blessing he received? How much of Shen Wei's interest was steeped in that?
He didn't know and it irritated him, thinking about it. So he side-stepped the question until he was alone, preferably with wine and pot noodles.
"What did you find Chief Zhao?" The Envoy asks, his tone now soft. Its an unfair advantage, with that deep, mellow voice that hints of the mists of Dixing, the shadows and legends only half of what Zhao Yunlan thought of when it hits that low note.
It is as if he knows that Zhao Yunlan is not having a good day, and that should irritate him no end. But for once, he savors the intent gaze he can feel, if not see. The way the Emperor is slowly relaxing incrementally into the seat across from him, strong fingers idly touching the sealed evidence bags containing all of the items retrieved from the apartment.
"Off the record," He begins, replacing the teapot on the tray.
The Envoy inclines his head immediately, so Zhao continues. " The information Lin Jing decrypted is a kill list, a version of the one we know, but this one was carefully categorized. All of the families murdered, listed as agents of Dixing, 'key personnel' of Haixing or double agents working for both."
He handed the Envoy the file, knowing that he was going to want the list of double agents. The black wrists guards are ornate, he notes as those callused fingers take the pages, almost gently.
"I cannot speak for the politics or their loyalty, but I do suspect that the 'double agents' were the ones infiltrating the Yueyang Sect."
"Your government surely did not authorize you to give this to me." The Emperor says quietly, still holding the file midair.
"No. They know nothing about it." Zhao confirms, "And I might live to regret it, but at this point, who exactly would they be working for?"
"The ones I assume want to eradicate the Treaty holding peace between are worlds."
The Chief lifts his teacup, and levels a Zhao stare at the Envoy, "Precisely."
In the pause, as the Envoy seems to absorb this, Zhao Yunlan continues. Now unwrapping a lollipop, his craving for a cigarette increasing with his headache. He gestured to the laptop plugged into Lin Jing's system.
"The original owner of the laptop was a man by the name of Zhang Jishan. I've checked the list you gave me Bixia, no luck there. He's listed officially as a student at Dragon City University, born here to deceased parents, and he died accidentally at nineteen. A fall down the stairs. Drunk."
Calmly he pulls out the file and slides it across the counter. The photo he knows shows a boy barely old enough to shave, with the drawn hapless look of a University student drowning in his studies. "The only link to Gao Tianyu is one of his victims. Before Li Qian. She worked in the same cafe as Zhang Jishan."
The Envoy is silent for a moment. "The name is not familiar. Shen Wei may be able to aid you."
Oh I'm sure he could. Zhao Yunlan thought, unsure how to even feel about that. "Gao Tianyu probably stole the laptop. Half of the documents on here are literature essays in that name and we believe that Gao Tianyu was using the kid's credits cards and social media platforms. We don't as of yet have a body.
"But, Lin Jing has found details that Gao Tianyu was being paid, by two different people. One to spy on someone. The other for an undisclosed reason, but the emails he found included Li Qian's photo."
"We know that he was in a relationship with her to gain access to the Hallow, the Longevity Dial." The Envoy pointed out.
"Yes. Except, Granny Li thought she was keeping a Token." Zhao Yunlan replied easily. There was no response, so Zhao added. "And I think that's what Gao Tianyu thought as well."
"Liu Shishi, Agent Wen...would not admit to anything." The Emperor began, tension in his tone. "Considering the nature and severity of her crimes, I ordered that her memories be...copied for lack of a better word."
"The Gift of The Full Hand." Zhao remarked in Dixingian, having read that somewhere. Cloning memory, giving someone permanent amnesia, or some kind of dementia. All of those were sensationalist gifts highlighted in several texts and the index of Dixingian abilities.
"Your mastery of Dixingian is impressive." The Emperor praised, but it was not said in a condescending manner, only sounding a little surprised.
"The assassins I have in custody do not know who employed them for this job. They enjoy their work and ask very little." The Emperor said coldly.
"Less they know, less the risk." Zhao Yunlan said thoughtfully. "Dead Leader said something similar. Send low-level killers to remove or kill Li Qian. Still...its expensive. Even to send the dumb ones would be costly. Public setting, actual cost of operations, risk....The more he uses them, the more likely he'll die at their hands."
"And he didn't send Gao Tianyu." The Emperor points out. "The witness, Li Qian is clearly still in denial regarding his role on the murders of her fellow students. She believes him to be wronged. Why not send him? In theory she might have left with him."
"With him yeah, but not a shadow." Zhao muses, "It perhaps cannot be undone."
"It is possible." The Envoy replies, sipping his tea delicately. "He may be stuck. Hence the tonic that you found in the apartment."
He always drinks the full cup and the refills that Zhao Yunlan offers. He doubts being a king, there is a lack of decent tea in his life, but the Emperor or Shen Wei as it might be, seems to savor the beverage that Zhao Yunlan hands him.
"The interesting thing is..." Zhao Yunlan says slowly. The Emperor looks at him immediately and he can't really tell how he knows that, except that he does. So he pushes on, "That tonic is not one that the Yashou sell. Its a family recipe kept within the tribe. Zhu Hong asked Fourth Uncle. It turns out it is brewed in a clay pot, sealed and only broken when needed."
"And the bottle you found is of Dixingian origins," The Envoy replies thoughtfully.
"And the Yashou wouldn't give a tonic for spiritual cultivation or Tribal abilities to Dixing. For one thing it wouldn't work and for another..."
"It could be lethal." The Emperor finishes. "You suspect a Yashou connection?"
"It might explain why so many Dixingian agents died." Zhao Yunlan carefully postulates. "Attuned to dark energy, a portal or other type of invasive power would be more than obvious. But a plant? A fox or crow would be easy to miss."
"She loathes you."
Zhao Yunlan didn't react, only waited and this seemed to...irritate the Envoy. Which was an interesting and for most people, terrifying development.
"She could not place your face. When the trial was ongoing and your role in the undercover operation was announced. That you had been an outer disciple of the Sect and she could not remember ever seeing you."
"Hardly my first undercover job." Zhao replied evasively, but even mentioning those times, the old grief dug its claws in. As did the guilt and the old anger. But he controlled it.
"I am sorry that this grieves you." The Emperor said softly, as if sharing a secret. "I do no wish you to relive pain."
Zhao Yunlan shrugs. There had been a hundred different things he could have done and perhaps the outcome would have been drastically different. Perhaps it would have run the same course. The Envoy didn't know the petty little details that set this case a part from others. He couldn't know that by defending him, by trying to protect him, his friend had died a horrific death. Nothing could make that better. Nothing.
"Murdering my friend was one crime." His tone was flat, but it matched the Emperor's softness. "They murdered a number of people and ruined a hundred more. I don't remember seeing her either, but I suspect she has had plastic surgery, to better mimic Wen Dai. "
"She did." The Envoy confirms. "She used her inheritance to plot her revenge. She discovered Wen Dai and chose to use her death to create a new identity. This you know. But she also killed Wen Dai before assuming her life and someone digitally changed the records."
"Expensive, but more than possible." Zhao remarked sipping his tea.
"Liu Shishi discovered that her gift was empathic. Not an uncommon gift in Dixing. But she used this gift to torture others and I'm afraid she left a considerable trail of corpses in her wake. Eventually she learned through torture that you were a member of the Jade Mountain Sect."
"Who?" Zhao Yunlan asked simply, his voice devoid of emotion, his eyes black diamonds.
"A man called Wang Cilong."
Zhao Yunlan bit back the curse that wanted to break free and ground his teeth instead.
"Was he...." The Envoy asked, pausing as he tried to find a diplomatic way to ask.
"He was there when the Tokens reacted. He performed the ceremony. Don't remember much of it." Zhao Yunlan told him seriously. "But he was a senior disciple, twice my age. He wouldn't have gone down easily."
"A teacher?"
Zhao's mouth twisted, "Da Qing's friend." He twirled the lollipop in his hand and then said, "So she learned I presume about the Tokens, Kunlun's legacy and I presume discovered I had come back to Dragon city."
"Yes." The Envoy confirmed. "At this point she had comne to the attention of the man she called 'Boss'. No name, but I have his face. They concocted a plan to have you killed and to steal the power of the Tokens."
Across the steel counter the Envoy offered him a file. It was bound in leather, a highly ornate pattern branded into the hide. Sliding it open he stared down at a hyper-realistic portrait of a man that Zhao Yunlan vaguely recognized. The Envoy could certainly draw. It was almost like looking at photograph.
"I know him."
"You do?" The Envoy asked quickly.
Zhao Yunlan rolled his chair over to the secondary computer station. "The first few days we were held in the warehouse, that guy came to argue with Dead Leader. It was a brutal one and it got physical near the end. He got booted from the facility."
"Did he come for Liu Shishi?"
"Perhaps." Zhao Yunlan actually had no idea what the purple haired guy wanted, only that for all the skills he had, he had failed to win against Dead Leader and the man had employed talent among his mercenaries. "He threatened to feed him to the changjinglong he was keeping."
Zhao paused, "Actually...he did say something about the changjinglong being his...I couldn't hear everything. They were drowning me at the time. I was kinda suspended between two idiots and they were watching the show. I wasn't blindfolded so I could see...aha there!"
Later he would ask himself why he thought showing the Envoy some of his torture montage would be a good idea. At the time, he was focused on the footage showing the day when purple-hair arrived. "That's him."
On the screen, captured from their end, from one of the videos Dead Leader had sent the Bureau and SID, was the tiny version of himself, stripped to the waist and being forcibly drowned in a open drum of water. He's forgotten how many injuries he had been sporting.
"It was a live stream. So they didn't think about interruption." Zhao Yunlan tells the air, distantly noting that the Envoy has gone silent.
In the corner of the screen, you can seen Purple Hair. Zhao Yunlan pauses it and zooms so he can better see his face. Feeling technologically pro, he printscreens the shot and sends it to the facial recognition software program that Lin Jing designed just to search the known Dixingian criminals list. "The database might pop out a name."
"Most of the argument seems to be off-screen." He notes. "The question is, was Liu Shishi working for both of them? Or just this guy? Dead Leader called her a traitor."
"Dead Leader name is Yang Jingwo."
It was said with....hate. Zhao Yunlan turns around to see black smoke surrounding the still form of the Envoy, whose body is turned towards the screen.
And that confirms that Dead Leader is a rebel with a crime history so bad, he's managed to piss off the king of their nation, Zhao thinks.
"Yang Jingwo." He repeats before he asks questions, he knows will not give him answers. "Was she working with him?"
"Yes." The answer is ground out. "He set Liu Shishi up within the Xingdu Bureau. He met her torturing another Jade Mountain Sect member."
"Another one." Zhao Yunlan repeats, heart heavy and swivels in the chair.
"He wanted to torture him. To find out where the Dial was. He had information that the 'Token' was being kept by someone in the Sect. The woman they murdered knew that Mrs Li had it in her possession. It is possible she was a relative of Mrs Li."
"So he wanted the Token, she wanted to kill me. She was working for Purple Haired Wonder and he was part of the assassins group. For some reason Dead Leader broke from them and thought Agent Wen betrayed him. I was his insurance. She thought Dead Leader would kill me. But I escaped. Got them out. But again I should have died on that roof surrounded by mercenaries. Again she assumed I'd die. I went missing, Shen Wei helped me. She thought she was in the clear, then I was harder to touch."
He grins, "I don't think I'm going to get much of a score for effort."
"Do not joke about your life." The Envoy says sternly, shifting slightly in place. It snot even chastising....more sorrowful.
Which is when Zhao Yunlan remembers two things. Firstly, if the Envoy and Shen Wei are one and the same....he might be distressed to see what Zhao Yunlan went through. The man irrespective of everything else, had healed some of those injuries, had been upset about it at the time and had been kind to him. Factor in that the man might be attracted to Zhao Yunlan and the distress would be substantial. Secondly, if they were separate people, the Envoy did seem to like him and perhaps this whole scenario was bringing back memories.
Could you even be ten thousand years old and not have trauma accumulated? Time doesn't heal anything as far his on life experience has proven. Perhaps age-related forgetfulness, but let's face the worst memories do not just disappear.
Over years Zhao Yunlan had altered himself, changing the weft and weave of his very being to better the survive the world he found himself in daily. He was a pragmatist above all. His mother had been idealistic, believing that hard work and conviction could surmount anything. For Zhao Yunlan, the moment that bullet had ended his mother's life in an arterial spray of blood he could still feel now if he let himself wander that gruesome path...the moment she died, all idealism he might have had, had died with her.
Being pragmatic he had known that there was a fair chance that he was going to die in that warehouse. Known that the torture for 'information' was a sham and death was the end goal.
What they hadn't counted on, was his mother's conviction that her son was going to be a cultivator. Not a cop like his father, but a cultivator. She dreamed of seeing him one day in the azure and gold belt of the Dragon Sect, nominated as one of their senior disciples. She wanted him to be a role model and a cultivation teacher one day. A Master.
That last one he had achieved, but his belt was yet another honor to Kunlun.
Yet now it seemed that someone else was upset for him, grieving what happened to him. Those strong hands had disappeared into his sleeves and those shoulders were tense.
"Liu Shishi will be held accountable." It was said as a death sentence, with no room for mercy or probably even a fair trial.
"I'm just glad they didn't traumatize the kid too badly." Zhao Yunlan says calmly. "Kid is probably gonna need therapy for years to come, but,"
"You saved his life and prevented him from being forced to watch his mother die."
That actually stabbed a lot deeper than the Envoy would ever realize and Zhao Yunlan blinked. Right. Time to get back to work and drop the emotional fireball.
"Did she kill Mao for Yang Jingwo....or Purple Haired Wonder..." He concluded.
"Yang Jingwo put her in contact with Gao Tianyu. She attempted to kill Mrs Li as you discovered. You interfered and she felt that this was proof that you were strategically still attacking the Yueyang." The Envoy tells him calmer now.
Zhao Yunlan snorts at that and sees that the Envoy is still watching the screen, He thinks he looking at Purple Hair, but when he had turned around in his chair, he had accidentally gone back to the original image, where he was being forced underwater on the right and Purple Hair was gesturing on the left.
"She believed that he," A sharp gesture at the screen and the page still held in Zhao Yunlan's hand depicting his face, "Was a supremacist like her. He set her up inside the Xingdu Bureau."
"Where she found or reconnected with the Yueyang members already working there. " Zhao Yunlan mused. "So someone wants Purple Hair to bring them the Tokens, or the Hallows, depending on which one he believes. Liu Shishi wanted my death. The assassins are working for someone else. Purple Hair is likely working for someone else."
"Do they want the Tokens for the power?" The Envoy asked. "Liu Shishi believed you could,"
"Murder me and suck me dry?" Zhao Yunlan asks dryly.
There is a pause and its one that Zhao Yunlan seamlessly fills. "Murdering me would not release Kunlun's power. There are plenty of illegal and lethal ways to harvest someone's core or even siphon energy from me like a battery....but that wasn't the purpose of the Tokens."
"Dead Leader wanted me dead. Whoever is running this outfit wants me dead, so its possible the actual plan was to harvest my abilities" The end of that process would be death. "But...A Dixingian would not be able to harness that sprituial energy."
"Another Haixingren cultivator might." The Envoy replied, his voice low. "Is this 'harvesting' a known technique?"
"No. Since cultivation began people have been trying to shortcut the hard work and time it takes to become a cultivator. So those manuals have always existed. Some actually work. Most don't. They simply kill the victim in an excruciating way." Zhao Yunlan explained, "But I wouldn't say its common knowledge, how the real ones work."
"How do you know about this?" The Envoy asked, sounding vaguely upset.
"I was a homicide cop and one of the few cultivators with a badge." He replied shrugging. " A few of the cases I worked on involved serial killers looking to harvest someone's cultivation or life energy. That and the Order has extensive records."
The computer pinged loudly and Zhao Yunlan crossed the room. "Looks like we have a match. His name is Zhu Jiu. Two years ago, he went missing from Dixing after being suspected of murdering his superior officer. A Palace Guard. Six months ago, he was ...ah yes...he was in a fight with Chu Shuzhi....Da Qing snapped a picture of him and we added him to the database. Looks like he was testing our defenses."
"He will not succeed.." The Envoy said coldly.
Why did he suspect that Zhu Jiu was on the execution list now as well?
----------=============-------------==============--------------------
Self-preservation is supposed to come first in the biological model. Shen Wei had delivered a lecture on this concept for first year students more than once. It underpinned survival, establishing a future for a species after all. There had been some decent essays written on the subject and a few that had garnered his attention for the quality of their thesis based on it as a theme.
An organism would choose survival in a dire situation. Some leading scientists thought it to be the basis of rational and logical thought and behavior in a sentient species.
He had not added, not once, in his carefully organized lecture notes, about the preservation of the planet, when you have abilities tied to your emotions, capable of destroying everything around you and devastation was all you can feel.
Shen Wei took a deep breath and held it for the count of four. It wasn't helping.
He had been born in a time when finding a village of corpses was normal. A war-torn world of atrocities and desperation, famine and slowly crumbling hope. He had ended a civil war in more recent times, when blood had run in the streets of Dixing, a nation trying to move forward and yet slipping closer back to that ancient, broken time.
Right now, he could not think of a moment in his checkered, blood stained life, when he had felt more traumatized than at this very moment. With perhaps only the exception of finding his brother's body and finding Kunlun once again, only to nearly lose him to death's waiting arms. Every nerve alight, his heart scoured, his mind robbed of coherent thought as horror and grief fought for space within his struggling lungs.
Shen Wei had been forced to know himself, conditioning his behavior and controlling his impulses, many of which were violent, in order to fit in with the modern world. He could argue that such control was necessary to manage his abilities as well. He was not gentle. He was not kind. Not without work. For centuries he had molded himself and most of it was built on what Kunlun had stood for and believed in.
So he had very carefully avoided acknowledging the well-documented torture, of Zhao Yunlan at the hands of the assassins and the rebels spitting a broken version of the Enemy Chieftain's doctrine. He knew he would not be able to control himself, if he saw it. Knew he would not be able to forgive that no one had saved Zhao Yunlan. Knew as well, that he could level the city if it got too much.
He knew it would tear his heart into pieces and ignite the desire for revenge, one so complete there would be nothing left. It would bring about the disillusionment he had avoided for centuries, the heartbreak leading to resentment and the blood-thirsty craving for obliterating his enemy.
This was never clearer than the moment he saw one clip, a tiny fragment of that suffering.
On the screen, directly in front of him was a paused video, where a tiny version of Zhao Yunlan was being held. Handcuffed. Shirtless. Clearly beaten, with heavy-handed fists aimed for the places where debilitating pain was the point, rather than death. Barely standing upright on his own, he was being held by two mercenaries, one on either of his long, lean body. And one of those soulless rebels had a cruel hand gripping his hair, ready to dunk his head forcibly back into the tank of water.
To drown Zhao Yunlan.
Not interrogate. Torture. A power play. And at this moment, the concussed man was in so much pain, his lungs must be burning, panic must be devouring his mind - but he was paying more attention to his captors than to his own plight from what he was telling Shen Wei. With the indication that he felt he had done a poor job, because he couldn't tell Shen Wei more about what they had been saying.
Shen Wei wished these two were alive, simply so he could kill them. He really wished Dead Leader still breathed, simply so he could forcibly take that breath.
And if that was not horrible enough, after seeing Zhao Yunlan being hurt, he could vividly remember having had his own hands on the outcome of those terrible wounds in the cottage, having heard the bitten off sounds of pain and discomfort. That nearly ended his tenuous control right there, before the added recollection of the same man arguing that being dumped on the side of the road was fine.
But that wasn't the worst part. No. What was worse, somehow was the same reckless man with zero self-preservation, watching his own torture dispassionately.
As if what happened to him, what was done to him, didn't matter.
Was he really so divorced from what happened? How could he be? Was he simply hiding his pain and pretending to be stoic in front of the king of Dixing? A matter of pride and dignity? His strength of character and will so reinforced that he somehow didn't care?
It had Shen Wei's pulse quickening in a battle response. But running from the room needed a decent excuse. For as long as he was looking at Zhao Yunlan, he could control his powers, because Kunlun being safe was the core reason for his existence at this very moment.
He glanced at Zhao, watching him rub his nose in thought.
Right now, seated across from the man, Shen Wei realized that operating as a police officer in this modern world, had prepared Zhao Yunlan for those ancient days. And it said something that the man was so experienced, he could navigate the political and militaristic landscape of the far ancient past, stumbling perhaps only a few times.
Now he suspected that Zhao Yunlan had to have fallen into the past, through some terrifyingly unknown way, Shen Wei had allowed himself, as a distraction from that paralyzing fear, to consider the full implication that a modern man, this intentionally scruffy, scrupulously tidy homicide cop, beautiful and vibrant had been sent back so far.
How had he managed all the things he couldn't possibly know about? Like horse riding. Tribal politics. Family feuds and the logistics of food, shelter and medicines for hundreds of refugees. Coordinating people in the hundreds. Camps of roughly made tents, no plastic in sight. No running water or telecommunications. No sanitation. The children in his classes, for they were infants compared to him, would have had a complete mental breakdown. Zhao Yunlan? He won a war.
Shen Wei was struggling to imagine how he had done it, but it was easy to see that his indomitable will and forever scheming mind had allowed him to imitate. Pulling information from every source available until he was sure he wasn't going to be killed for making the wrong choice, outed as a fake or embarrass himself.
How much juggling was he doing now? Zhao Yunlan was reforming the Order, remaking it into something closer to it's original goal. And he had no idea he was Kunlun, not the 'chosen successor', randomly selected or however the strange process of choosing him had been performed.
It was obvious he was balancing his superiors, team and perhaps those even higher up the chain of command. It wasn't fair. The sheer amount of pressure they were putting on him. He wasn't responsible for the Treaty. This re-signing process had in fact taken most of the thirty years Zhao Yunlan had been alive, to get even this far.
In the time he had been here, Zhao Yunlan had received eleven calls, five of which he had taken in his office for privacy, excusing himself politely. But Shen Wei had studied those eyes with an obsessive focus and he knew, that Zhao Yunlan was losing patience. And sleep.
Shen Wei wanted to close the screen. He wanted to rage and let the simmering, icy power that gathered close to his skin free. Wanted to demand why. To plead with him not to watch this, not to do this to himself because there was nothing to prove. Wanted to unleash hell on earth for what they had done.
....And he wanted to hold Zhao Yunlan, comfort him and protect him. Even and perhaps especially, from himself.
He craved being closer, to prove he was alright. He wanted to run his hands reverently along those shoulders and toned arms. To rest his lips against the strong beat of blood under Yunlan’s skin, count the beat of his pulse and fold himself tightly into Kunlun's embrace. Just to be near him made Shen Wei recklessly happy.
Because frankly, if this brief span of two weeks had taught Shen Wei anything, it was that Zhao Yunlan was not good at looking after himself. And definitely had limited to non-existent self-preservation. The one skill Shen Wei really wished Kunlun had cultivated above all others.
He did know he was precious didn't he? Shen Wei thought wildly. Kunlun did realize that Shen Wei would do anything to help him, protect him and love him...from afar or as close as he could be? Had no one ever looked after him? Had he ever let anyone?
From the file he knew Yunlan had no siblings, no additional family on record other than his father Zhao Xinci. His mother, Shen Xi was listed as having died in 2000. Perhaps all he had was Da Qing....and now Shen Wei.
It dimmed the rage a little, bringing back focus to Shen Wei mind, allowing him to be able to listen to and actually comprehend what Zhao Yunlan was saying. Was it intervention, he wondered. If he broke all of his decided rules of engagement with Zhao Yunlan and actively took care of him, guarded him from enemies and from himself? Shen Wei wanted to do both, arguably he had wanted to be needed by Kunlun for the entire time he had known him.
And Zhao Yunlan did need him. He needed someone devoted to him, to be there for him. Because clearly no one else was.
But the idea of Zhao Yunlan withdrawing from him was terrifying. Locked in this battle of differing choices, he watched him. Strong fingers flick through files looking for something, an elusive note or scrap of data that meant something to him, a fragment in the massive picture he was building. His eyes were dark but the warm glow of the lamp lights here in the library were painting slivers of bronze in the nearly black irises he loved.
Zhao Yunlan moved to the screen again and Shen Wei tensed, the folder dropping from his nerveless fingers as he watched, praying he was not going to be shown another snapshot of Kunlun's time as a political hostage.
Thankfully, Zhao didn't access the footage and instead brought up a sleek database with enviable deftness. Within minutes he was running two search programs, his fingers rapid fire on the keyboard.
The sudden ripple of power in the air, did ironically give him an excuse to rise from his seat wordlessly and open the door to the library, where they had relocated after leaning about Zhu Jiu. Hovering in the air in front of the door was a missive from Dixing. Below, Zhu Hong worked at her desk and he could see Wang Zheng moving to the board set up at the back.
He stepped back inside, shuddering in half pleasure, half sensation as Zhao Yunlan's power washed over him when he reentered the barrier.
Dark eyes watched him warily. "I wasn't expecting that so soon." He remarked.
"Perks of kingship." Shen Wei quipped to lighten the mood, pleased when Zhao Yunlan grinned, bright and wolfish in response.
Returning to the old, well polished table, Shen Wei flicked open the document with ease, then had to suppress another shudder, this time of desire when Zhao Yunlan skirted the desk and opted to stand slightly behind him. It was a dangerous position that should trigger his instincts and age-old war trauma. Because it was Kunlun, it made him think of turning around to kiss him.
He spread it out on the table and predictably Zhao Yunlan leaned in. It took immense self-control not to turn his head, especially when that precious scent reached his nose.
"Palace Guard, level two. Listed as a Level 5, Middle-stage cultivator...hmm. Pre-Dark Core Ascension Level then. Chu Shuzhi is a late-stage Dark Core. Um...Assumed dead?" Zhao Yunlan said curiously, effortlessly reading the Dixingian, which made something warm and undeniably fond curl in Shen Wei's chest.
Shen Wei found his voice after another breath. "It appears Zhu Jiu worked as a Palace Guard for three years after a five year career in the Dixingian military."
"He was stationed within the main government building?" Zhao asked.
"The layout does not work like Haixing." Shen Wei told him gently. "Each one of the Judges operates from a different side of the main city." He began to explain.
Zhao Yunlan nodded still reading, his mind clearly not entirely anchored to the here and now, because his next words were, "Yes. An enneagon I suppose. The founding symbol of Dixing. Nine factions within the Dixingian remaining forces, who banded together following the remaining leader. The layout of buildings I presume follows a pattern. From above the shape is a projection of the nine vertices and thirty six edges of the eight-simplex or enneazetton isn't it? ...Or an enneagram I suppose with the Palace sitting in the very center."
Shen Wei blinked. An enneagram was a nine-pointed star. Which was the symbol of Dixing and an enneagon was the result. That he knew this, was a sign that Zhao Yunlan's grasp of his history, the politics and culture of Dixing was far better than anyone else he had ever met in Haixing. And in fairness, Zhao was someone who devoured knowledge with no one to actually ask.
And that feeling of his people being valued and mostly understood but always respected....that had first bubbled up inside of his heart ten millennia ago, when Kunlun showed zero discrimination when faced with the falling-apart Dixingian Army.
And he must be tired and stressed if he's being honest with his intelligence, Shen Wei thought concerned and in complete awe of that mind.
Zhao Yunlan leaned on the table, a finger tapping the file. "So who did he work for?"
"He was operating as the third layer of security with the building of the murdered Judge." Shen Wei told him. "Security on the door is mostly ornamental. A tradition. They rotate every week. The second layer is technological and defended additionally by dark energy cultivation arrays. The third is a guard."
"So the corrupt Judge recruited him. Turned him from his ideals....but she's not his boss. Her employer calls the shots."
Zhao Yunlan turned from the document and chewed his lower lip. Shen Wei swallowed and look away at the sight, grimaced at the screen even it wasn't showing the torture scene and then focused back on the document.
The sound of a wrapper pulls him back as Zhao Yunlan opens a lollipop. Watermelon, Shen Wei notes with interest. The slight twitch of his lips, suggests he doesn't like the flavor....
He offered Shen Wei one from his pocket. Pomegranate. Half of Shen Wei wanted one just for nostalgia, but he declined with a small shake of his head. Zhao didn't seemed bothered and wandered back to the table, thinking.
"He killed his superior. Not within the Judge building, but in an argument outside the barracks." Shen Wei told him. "It appears that he used his service weapon to fire a single round into his back."
"Then bailed, we assume. We have at least thirteen murders that began not long after Zhu Jiu fled from Dixing." Zhao Yunlan finally said. "That number is closer to sixteen now. Eight Haixingren cases, eight Dixingian. Murdered families or singles, covered up as accidents, burglaries or suicides. Some are just missing and we can only presume they are dead."
"We know someone is paying the assassins to commit the murders." Shen Wei added.
"But not all of them." Zhao Yunlan said thoughtfully. "We can place Liu Shishi at the scene of two murders and it says there his ability is teleportation with light. I have to ask Bixia, why is someone with that ability working as a guard?"
Good question.
Shen Wei looked back at the file and noted the stamp and additional code written after his name. "Unstable power. This code," He said pointing to it, "Means Chief Zhao, that his ability was Sealed as a child."
"Like Liu Shishi."
"We assume that her ability was locked." Shen Wei replied.
"Is locking or Sealing common?" Zhao Yunlan asked and sucked on his lollipop distractedly. "More tea?"
The chance to hide behind the teacup and not focus on that lush, red mouth was sensible. "If it is no trouble Chief Zhao." He demurred.
Zhao Yunlan rose from where was leaning and carried the tea tray out of the library. Clearly he passed it to Wang Zheng, because he returned quickly.
"It is not uncommon." Shen Wei explained as soon as he approached the table. Sharing Dixingian secrets felt normal with Kunlun and that was no different with Zhao Yunlan. "Every child is assessed by experts and teachers, when their ability manifests. They are registered and training specific to that ability commences."
"Sealing is only really employed in cases where the ability has matured before the child is ready to handle the gift. This is for destructive abilities mainly or mental gifts such as intensely strong empathy or coercive forms." Shen Wei told him, "Rarely is it used for an adult."
Shen Wei considered and then added, "Occasionally, in times of great hardship, trauma would impact a gift negatively, or the person with the ability could no longer cope with it."
There had been many of those during the Chieftain's reign of terror. Gifts that turned on the wielder, a terrible form of self-harm or suicide. There had been many children he remembered, with a roil of his stomach, that had suffered toxic shock, their body and mind failing, so their ability had manifested, often in a self-harming cycle.
"And in prison?" Zhao Yunlan asks in a steady tone. "I assume some are too dangerous for the safety of others."
"Yes. That is a form of locking. Similar to how Haixingren cultivators can lock their own core, sealing off their power. Usually this is a harmless process. When the child is old enough, through diligent training and careful supervision of a medical professional and family, their gift is Unsealed. If they want. Some choose not to. A taboo, but personal choice." Shen Wei explained.
"So why was his gift not Unsealed?" Zhao Yunlan asks, sounding curious.
"He perhaps could not master control over it. Or he was a member of the Essence." Shen Wei considered.
"A sect?" Zhao Yunlan asks, looking mystified.
"A group or order. Somewhat religious. They believe that abilities over simplify cultivators and focus on martial arts and Dark Core formation." Shen Wei explained. "Often their members will lock their abilities and claim they were never Unsealed."
"So a purist cult." Zhao Yunlan said thoughtfully. "And I assume since he busted out of Dixing, he was banned from the group and so unlocked his abilities. Which in turn made him more useful for his employer."
Shen Wei watched his face avidly, his gaze concealed somewhat by both his hood and mask. For most of the centuries keeping them apart, his heart had felt hollow, arid. A dry desolate place held in a brutal stasis as he waited, like the plants of the desert just waiting for the rain.
Now it was overflowing, the broken dam and barely held together restraint were obstacles, that did nothing to dampen the love and devotion swirling in his chest.
There was something both beautiful and almost disconcerting watching how Zhao Yunlan thought. For as long as he had known this man, his Benefactor and hero first, then the love of his long life - he had reveled in how clever he was. A genius hiding in plain sight, unapologetic even behind his carefully crafted image.
He used to hold back. Shen Wei remembered, sitting in various meetings wondering why Kunlun didn't speak, didn't argue with the other leaders. Eventually, and only after overhearing other people - namely Da Qing - talking about it, he realized that Kunlun was scheming. Listening to opinions, identifying where each person had their boundaries, where their loyalties and political interests lay.
Picking the right moment with careful deftness, the well-timed stab with a honed blade, to reveal his thoughts or ideas. His plans were always as rock-solid as they could be and Shen Wei had, at the time, marveled at it. He seemed so otherworldly and painfully real at the same time.
The ease with which the man had considered defenses, weaknesses and the more difficult answers, such as correctly identifying which path of ten possible choices the enemy would take. It was unparalleled.
"You think he murdered Fan Wei." Shen Wei realized, as he connected the dots . Zhao Yunlan had focused on that one particular murder above all the others. It was strange, there was no denying that, but it was one of the less connected to the Treaty. Which remained Shen Wei's main priorities, followed by obtaining justice for his slain people, as he had no jurisdiction over Haixing.
In fairness though, Zhao was also obsessing over Jizeng Mao, the Dixingian accountant found outside Fan Wei's apartment building, having been suffocated by an unknown force, assumed to be a Dixingian ability.
"Liu Shishi does not have an air related ability. To suffocate someone, you have to prevent breathing." Shen Wei said patiently.
Zhao Yunlan quirked an eyebrow sardonically, "A pillow is the preferred method. Especially when murdering children." He replied with a caustic touch to his tone. "Closing your hand over someone's nose and mouth works well."
Touche.
Giving in because Zhao Yunlan was clearly focused on this for a reason, Shen Wei ventured. "Jizeng Mao had no wounds. His ability was controlling water."
'What is Liu Shishi's ability?" He then asked curiously.
"An empathic gift, where she can rebound feelings. Dislike for example can become hate. Anxiety can become terror." Shen Wei explained, which was how she had tortured several members of the Jade Mountain Sect, hunting Zhao Yunlan. She amplified fear and something like psychosomatic pain.
"Liu Shishi was nearby. She had not long ago tried for Granny Li. The umbrella trick. She saw him outside a restaurant at seven pm. Rumor has it, unconfirmed, that Fan Wei dealt in identities. He was a lawyer specializing in employment and fiance. If that's true, he was potentially the person Dixing was using to organize genuine resumes and identities here in Haixing." Eyes of black jade looked up at him, almost in challenge.
Wang Zheng appeared with the tea at that point, breaking the subtle tension and Zhao Yunlan rose to collect it calmly.
Shen Wei said nothing for a long moment, watching the love of his life resettle at the desk. "I have no awareness of this. It is however, possible."
"If it is true, sanctioned by the government of Dixing or not," Zhao Yunlan let that statement hang for a second, "Then he had records and probably a keen awareness shall we say, of the people he was helping."
"So he might have murdered for what he knew, or for who he was connected to." Shen Wei finished."
"I think Granny LI knew his father. Fan Lubing."
No, Shen Wei had never met anyone who thought like Zhao Yunlan. "You found a link?"
"Why go to the trouble of cursing an old woman who lived with her undergraduate granddaughter?" Zhao Yunlan asked waving his lollipop. "Its a lot of effort. Everyone else dies in explainable ways. Suicide. Accident. Car crash. Not one of them were cursed that we can tell."
"It took a lot Bixia," Zhao Yunlan rubbed his brow and Shen Wei wondered what the price had been, because his relationship with the Jade Mountain Sect, seemed complicated at best and strained at worst. "But I eventually received her file. Or cultivation resume, if you like. Fan Lubing was listed as her shidi. He was mentioned because of the scandal he was involved in and to make a long story short, he left the sect, moved around but settled in Dragon City."
"Mrs Li moves to the same city." Shen Wei considers. "Fan Lubing is dead?"
"Aneurysm. I know of two curses that can cause that with no visible signs, if he was murdered. One son, Fan Wei." Zhao Yunlan tells him. "She supported him at the time and Li Qian talked about how her grandmother was friendly with other Jade Mountain Sect members."
"People who are also dead." Shen Wei pointed out. "Perhaps Zhu Jiu believed, or his employer, that the son held the secrets of the father."
"They wanted what they thought was a Token." Shen Wei added accepting the perfect tea, with an eager hand. Anything from Kunlun was gift and it was really good tea.
"Yeah and why?" Zhao Yunlan asked. "The Tokens, theoretically might give Kunlun's power if you got all of them and killed me. Most likely I'd just die."
Shen Wei bit his cheek until blood flooded his mouth.
"How does that help a Dixingian, who cannot use that power?" Zhao Yunlan asks. "So its not a Dixingian who wants Kunlun. Liu Shishi wants me dead, that's revenge. The assassins only grew interested in me, when I interrupted them. So, I don't think there was originally a contract out on me."
"But a price was illegally put on your head." Shen Wei replies.
"Yes, but if someone wanted the assassins and the Kunlun part kept separate?" Zhao Yunlan theorized. "They kill the parties vital to the Treaty, frame Dixing for the murders and vice versa. The bridges and Treaty itself is under threat. If Zhu Jiu, hard to kill with his teleporting ability, is being used to manage the assassins, then Liu Shishi might be their leader for the Tokens."
"Other than power, is there another reason why someone might want the Tokens?" Shen Wei asks quietly.
"Start a war in the jianghu." Zhao Yunlan said calmly. "Earn a better position among the sects."
"And if our suspicions are correct and the Yashou are involved?" Shen Wei asks next.
"Domination over the other tribes." Zhao Yunlan answered promptly. "Ah."
"What?" Shen Wei knew that sound.
"The Crow Tribe have been pushed the edge over the recent problems and for the murder of the Monkey Tribe's heir." Zhao Yunlan replied, eyes wide. "Having the Tokens would allow them supremacy."
"Conjecture." Shen Wei said tersely.
"Maybe." Zhao Yunlan said thoughtfully, "I could reach out to my contacts among the Yashou. It might bring us answers Bixia."
"Are you safe doing this?" Shen Wei asked worriedly.
"Ah Bixia," Zhao Yunlan said with a purr in his voice. "I'm sure, you'd come if I was in trouble, wouldn't you?"
"Of course."
A simple promise, too easily given and Shen Wei swallowed at the soft, slow smile that curved that sinful mouth.
------------------------------------================
The oldest faculty building on the even older Dragon City University campus, was undergoing renovation. The facade of the building was an echo back to the turn of the 20th century, with poor feng shui and a mix of Western styles and some palace from ancient history. The effect was dramatic, but the interior had last seen an update some time in the Seventies, the overhaul long overdue. In time, they swore they would be holding music recitals here again!
Zhao Yunlan was not holding his breath in anticipation.
It was to the back of the campus and some way from the newer Science Faculty building where Shen Wei worked. Here, he was surrounded by bushes with pink flowers and strong hints of resentful energy.
There are, he muses, maybe twenty thousand students here and it shows. There are ghosts in nearly every corner; suicides and murders, hungry or just lost. Pretty much as they were in life, he thinks, cynical to his bones.
The lost don't want prompting to Heaven. They won't listen, still stressing. The hungry are a growing issue, but not exactly his jurisdiction either, and he doubts the Dean wants a cultivator from an undisclosed sect performing rites, when he pays the Dragon Sect a hefty fee for the service.
He looks around considering. A vast pool of hope, optimism and misery. Hundreds of kids, overwhelmed, stressed and dragging their feet through a life of terrible undergraduate jobs, family pressure, graduation stress and a crippling workload. Half of them will have some kind of psychological collapse before they make to their doctorate, and he knows that from experience.
He didn't attend this university himself, already far from this city when he graduated school in Shanghai. The Jade Mountain Sect had pushed and prodded until he had scraped into Fudan University, ironically more prestigious than this one and he had never looked back. Sometimes he wondered if Shanghai was more his city than this one, certainly it had been more of his home and more suited to him than these leafy green avenues.
He flicks his fingers idly to dispel some of the oppressive suffering and resentful energy and thinks he should send Lin Jing here to perform Rest. Or Purge.
He was down to the flavors he didn't much like, he realized as he dug into his pocket for a lollipop. Then grinned as he found a mango pop, in his inner pocket, reserved for his candy stash and talismans. A shadowy corner and candy, typical of his life. But it did offer another entrance into the campus and he was still under surveillance. Bringing trouble unnecessarily to Shen Wei's door was unfair, considering the man was operating as Dixingian agent, might be the Lord Envoy and king of Dixing having fun in the sun with a Professorship job or High Circle member in place for entirely different set of reasons.
It was still giving Zhao Yunlan a headache just thinking about it, on top of everything else. And thanks to his obsessive mind, all the other supposedly vastly more important things like the Treaty, serial murders and Li Qian, were just not getting the same airtime.
That and thinking about Shen Wei.
This man was going to be his ruin.
He shifted slightly on the seat of his Ducati, just thinking about giving into temptation and reaching for his phone for an update, a game; something, because boredom and having things on a backlog of 'To Stress About When Alone' were a terrible combination - when something white caught his eye. Ah. Shen Wei had come.
Across the tree-lined avenue of the internal University streets was Shen Wei, looking both remote and gorgeous in a crisp white shirt and grey suit, sans jacket he noted. Long toned arms held hostage by armbands that really shouldn't be as sexy as they were. He wondered idly if they indicated a desire to be restrained or if he wore them as a to remember restraint....
Zhao Yunlan shifted again, simply to accentuate his legs.
Shen Wei crossed the island of manicured pink flowers and hurries towards him, never pausing to look for him. The area is wide, so you would think he might look around to spot the cop.
But he doesn't. As if, Zhao thought, he had a tether to Zhao Yunlan or was using some kind of dark energy trick to find the cultivator in the bushes. Or artfully arranged on his motorbike in his case.
No, Shen Wei crosses the avenue without pause, his focus on Zhao. And there is nothing mundane or innocuous about that obvious military stride or the air of command he exudes. The rolling gait of someone who has walked for miles for most of their life, conserving energy without a second thought. The other professors must assume military service.
For a second, Zhao imagines the sheer number of conspiracy theories that must follow this man. When not adored, he must be loathed and that combination breeds rumors like fungi.
"Ah Professor," He drawled in greeting, around the ball of his pop. "Hope I'm not stealing you from a class."
He wasn't. He had memorized Shen Wei's class schedule already.
"Zhao Yunlan." Shen Wei called and quickened his steps to reach the overhang, critically eying his motorbike, after giving Zhao a once over. Satisfied he's not bleeding, he focuses his full attention, coal-eyed and mission focused, on asking, "What has happened? You sent a fire message."
...Maybe in Dixingian culture, you literally only contact someone when you're dying or in need of help. Or else, Zhao himself has set a president, with the amount of blood, his blood specifically, that has recently stained Shen Wei's immaculate clothing.
"Well you don't own a mobile phone and odds are really high that your office phone is tapped." Zhao Yunlan drawled.
Shen Wei looked shocked that such a thing was possibly happening to him, then frowned at Zhao Yunlan and repeated, as he inched closer still, "Fire message."
Zhao laughed softly. "Hey, I sent you something a lot more advanced than a fire message." Zhao Yunlan said grinning. "Only high end cultivators could have seen that message. Trust me, I don't make paper chrysanthemum messengers that often. Takes me a week to make one."
Shen Wei ducked his head as if overwhelmed at the thought, that Zhao Yunlan was making an effort.
"What's wrong?" He asked a beat later, his dark eyes hooded as he looked up at Zhao Yunlan in the shadow of the building. The sheer presence of him was both a feast for the eyes and commanding enough to be the Envoy. He wondered if Shen Wei realized what he projecting.
Maybe people only contact Shen Wei when they want something? Well, Zhao wanted a lot of things and most of them were not fit for public consumption. Some of that list was only fit for bad romance novels, the type his very, very ex-girlfriend had read, or the crappy wuxia novels he had sold his childhood to. Da Qing could never find out, he decided.
Zhao finally slid off the seat of the motorbike, since the seductive pose was lost on Shen Wei, and smiled gently, "I'm going to be gone for a couple of days. Off-grid. And I was pretty sure vanishing on you was a crappy move."
He shot him a, I'm trying asshole, unless I'm bothering for nothing look that produced a wounded look on Shen Wei's face in return, that was a lot more effective on Zhao's black heart than he wanted to admit.
So he waited, refusing to cede ground and break first. Shen Wei blinked at him taken aback. Was that because he already knew having had the conversation with 'Chief Zhao', or because,
"You're leaving?" Shen Wei repeated, "The city?"
Zhao Yunlan nodded, gleefully noting the dismay in Shen Wei's tone and the glimmer of displeasure in his eyes. Shen Wei was a crap liar, regardless of how much experience he had on a daily basis, so Zhao believed his instincts. Shen Wei was genuinely 'not happy' at the thought of Zhao leaving.
Damn. He was turning into one of Shen Wei's students. Next he was going to be trailing after him like a lost puppy.
Zhao pulled the pop from his mouth, noting the way Shen Wei's eyes were temporarily focused on the action and sighed. That had Shen Wei's attention immediately back on him, his stance shifting to something vaguely defensive. A hold on Baobei, I'll get my sword type of move that shouldn't be so alluring. Zhao was a lot of things, but a damsel wasn't one of them!
"I have a line of inquiry with the Yashou. They'll talk, but alone, on their turf."
"Alone?" Shen Wei demanded.
"Alone." He confirmed.
"Their representative should come to you." Shen Wei said unhappily. "You are the Guardian. Have they no respect?"
Zhao shrugged. "For me? Not much. Didn't have much for Kunlun either, so that's fitting."
This seemed to annoy Shen Wei even more. "Zhao Yunlan,"
The lollipop landed perfectly in Shen Wei's mouth. His adorable look of shock was worth it on so many levels. Zhao Yunlan smiled and pressed his palms to Wei's chest, tilting his head winningly. "You owe me a date Professor. And I intend to collect."
Shen Wei watched him for a long second, then flicked his tongue, twirling the white stick, his eyes impossibly fond, adoring and challenging all rolled into one. "I owe you?" He whispered, his voice rough.
Zhao Yunlan was pretty sure he was never going to entirely understand this man. Perhaps it was price of lo......liking an immortal and an ancient one at that. It was something he was going to have to think about. Later.
His hand slid down to Shen Wei's hand and those eyes went wide, but his body turned even more into Zhao Yunlan's space. However this worked between them, he had Shen Wei's attention and his devotion, unearned and unexplainable, but strong nonetheless.
"This might go wrong." He told him, simply and honestly. "I might be gone two days."
"Zhao Yunlan...are you telling me, you are at risk?" Of kidnapping? Murder? Zhao Yunlan could see the options pinging like radar in Shen Wei's mind.
"We met while I was bleeding to death and running for my life." Zhao Yunlan pointed out, noting with interest the spark of something in that gaze. "You might be,"
"I would find you." Shen Wei interrupted, determined and wow. This was kinda like having a hero.
"...I was going to say, at risk as well. There are a lot of people who might want you dead, because of me, because of Dixing." Zhao Yunlan told him.
Shen Wei seemed to shake that off like dust, entirely uncaring and that irritated Zhao Yunlan, for all he understood it. If he is the Envoy, people trying to kill would be a terrifying kind of normal. If he isn't, Shen Wei was really old and had sided with said Envoy, marking him wholesale. "I mean it Shen Wei. You need to be careful."
"You have been wronged and attacked multiple times." Shen Wei told him, pulling the lollipop from his mouth. Erotically. Or maybe that was just Zhao. "Do not trust the Yashou."
He would have been deeply annoyed and being told who and when to trust, by anyone else, but Zhao Yunlan was sure he had never seen heartbreak and worry in anyone's eyes, directed at him, solely for his well-being. It was novel. So it bypassed his usual triggers and he shook his head. "I haven't lived this long by being trusting."
Shen Wei looked down at this admission and came closer, but Zhao didn't let him give reassurances and didn't have the stomach for devotion or more lies when this was barely starting between them. Inevitably, Zhao Yunlan would be a disappointment or Shen Wei would lie badly to his face once more.
So he shifted forward and seized Shen Wei's mouth, his hands rising to cup his jaw. It was fire and need and desperation. It was the gravitational pull, he had never felt with anyone else. Shen Wei halted for a breath and then was pulling him closer, hands sliding beneath his leather jacket to grip his waist. Shen Wei kissed like he wanted to devour, welcoming Zhao Yunlan's tongue, simply to worship it, a hand cupping his skull, dark energy sparking against his scalp.
The lack of air eventually had him pulling back. Shen Wei chased him for just a second, his gaze taking a moment to refocus on Zhao Yunlan.
Kiss-bitten lips, flushed red and wet....eyes dark now with want as well as residual worry....Zhao Yunlan swallowed and wondered how he had thoughtlessly chosen a public place. Then he remembered his mission.
"Like I said," Zhao Yunlan told him breathlessly. "You owe me a date."
Shen Wei huffed, a soft exhale of amusement and disbelief. "I owe you." He said smiling ruefully. Then he looked at the bike and Zhao Yunlan felt that strong hand caress his lower back. Where a knife was hidden, the false belt that was actually his whip and ghosted higher up to feel his full weapon harness.
"You are leaving now?' Shen Wei asked, something vaguely like betrayal in his tone.
"Technically, I should be at the rendezvous right now. " Zhao Yunlan said with a smirk. He took Shen Wei's unresistant hand and turned it gently, hearing the little catch of breath and trying not to look up back into those dark eyes. Teasingly, he pressed a kiss to the arch of one cheek as he dropped the heavy Peking glass bead necklace into the waiting broad palm, lined with calluses.
Shen Wei brushed his nose against Zhao's temple, tilting inwards tenderly, his hands returning to hold him close for a moment, before he eased back.
Gluing his cognitive function back together and dragging the rest of himself away from thoughts like, 'abandoned building, horizontal surfaces and he doesn't have another class for two hours', they both looked at the chain of intricately carved beads.
Theoretically, it could be mistaken for a longer Buddhist prayer bead bracelet. The design wouldn't stand up to close inspection, as each black glass bead was imbued with power and inscribed painstakingly with different arrays.
"You made this?" Shen Wei asked, his eyes large and impossibly dark.
The necklace had made Chu Shuzhi bare his teeth in discomfort and Zhu Hong to hiss. Da Qing, immune to his power to a certain degree only grumbled. Shen Wei? Cradled it in his hand, practically celebrating Zhao Yunlan's unique power signature, when other Dixingian wanted to run. One bead, he noted studiously only looking at it from the corner of his eye, lit up very briefly.
If it lit again in the presence of the Envoy, well that would be one confirmation.
Zhao Yunlan tapped several, as if he was miming playing the piano. "These will light up if Gao Tianyu comes near. Li Qian will be released soon. He may come for you, while you are with her. These," He tapped a few more, "Will warn you of a cultivator, Haixingren at least."
"You suspect a Haixingren accomplice?" Shen Wei asks in a hushed tone.
"Someone was helping select the targets on this side of the Treaty." Zhao Yunlan told him. "You'll be meeting him or her soon probably."
"Zhao Yunlan," Shen Wei started, but Zhao Yunlan shook his head. Denying he was vital was really pointless.
"Don't." He advised calmly and then added, "If you want to block Li Qian from him, get her to hold it or wear it." Zhao Yunlan told him. "I suspect, he's using resentful energy on top of dark energy."
"To control her?" Shen Wei's gaze turned troubled.
"To influence her." Zhao Yunlan admitted. "No proof, as getting into other people's minds is not my forte."
He could influence quite easily, but he wasn't admitting that to Shen Wei.
"What do the other beads do?" Shen Wei asks instead.
"Protection, deflection, subtle misdirection." Zhao Yunlan said easily, "Don't have them out of your pocket if you want to keep a student's attention." He grinned mischievously.
"You suspect...that someone will be checking if I am a cultivator or Dixingian?" Shen Wei said wonderingly, as if he couldn't really decide how he felt about that.
Zhao Yunlan stepped back and Shen Wei let him, though his body almost shifted forward too and his hands twitched before they let go. "I've brought trouble to your door." He side-stepped and in one fluid move, designed to be more sexy that anything, he straddled his bike, righting it off the kickstand.
"I would have that trouble, than attend your funeral." Shen Wei said sharply, his eyes hot.
"Carry it for me." Zhao Yunlan asked, picking up his helmet. "If you don't want to keep it, I'll take it back when I come back."
"If you are in danger," Shen Wei began stepping in front of the bike.
Zhao Yunlan considered his options for a second. A phone wasn't going to work from the Yashou lands. Summoning the Envoy would be an act of war almost. A fire message wasn't subtle. "The power in the beads will fluctuate, if I'm using too much energy or get my core sealed. Or if I pass out, come to think of it. I certainly won't be sleeping."
"You need sleep." Shen Wei said softly.
"After three days, you bet I will. But, I'm planning on only staying two max. Don't worry Shen Wei. I'll be fine." Zhao Yunlan smiled reassuringly.
Shen Wei to his surprise, stepped up to the bike and leaned over. He pressed his mouth to Zhao's in another searing kiss, a hot slide of slanting lips and biting teeth. "Be safe. And thank you."
Zhao Yunlan hummed and smiled up at him, "I have plans for him," He drawled, just to see Shen Wei's eyes flash. "So keep a certain hot Professor out of trouble for me?"
As if determined not to falter or blush, Shen Wei stood back, "For as long as an incorrigible Lord Guardian keeps himself safe."
Zhao Yunlan grinned and put on his helmet. "Good deal." He revved the bike and Shen Wei retreated to the grass as he cruised out of the space. Just as he turned the corner to take the back entrance, he waved, shocked when Shen Wei waved back.
Damn that man was going to be his ruin and wasn't he happily screwed?
=================
Feeling unsettled was hardly a new phenomenon for Shen Wei.
Losing hours at a time, in snatches or all at once, devoted to thoughts of Kunlun was depressingly familiar. Aching fear over him was also a painful normal. And for the last fragment of time, spent finally aware that the love of his life was alive, thirty years old and the Lord Guardian...
Well he had spent most of it worrying.
Sitting in his office, the morning sun filtering through the blinds, setting ablaze to the dust motes in the air for brief moments, he is forced to accept that he is not coping well. His efficiency was not hampered by the turmoil in his heart, in fact he had achieved more in his stress, than normal, seeking a distraction. Any calm he had maintained for centuries fell by the roadside as the first casualty.
He had finished all of the grading that had been slowly piling up on his desk last night. He had finished his own scientific paper this morning, words flowing from his mind without tremendous input from his attention, somehow producing a well-thought out argument and the usual high standard he demanded, from his notes. He had delivered three lectures, spoken to eleven students and spent his break hours rehashing the up-coming Treaty documents with his council in Dixing.
And he could remember very little of it.
His admin, Cao Liyang looks at him with an unimpressed stare, from across his desk. "You should see a doctor." She declares in her usual no-nonsense tone, that marries respect with an attitude that has cowered even the most arrogant souls. That and her honey brown eyes can offer up a glare, even dictators might be nervous of inducing.
It was, he had long thought, entirely a pity that Cao Liyang had not been born when the Enemy Chieftain was destroying the planet, or during the civil war of Dixing. He was a firm believer that she would have slayed the enemy with her contempt long before she lifted a blade. If she was trained to murder with weapons beyond voice or sheer indifference, she would be a terrifying force.
He was also sure, that if she was his admin in Dixing, he would be the most efficient king in the history of their people - and he would never have the free time to be a Professor above ground.
He had fought wars, battled to make himself want to live after losing Kunlun and had killed in the realm of thousands of lives. No serial killer, had anything on him. He had been the head of the Dixingian Army, a soldier, Arbitrator and Executioner on and off, for ten thousand years. But he still bent backwards like a blade of grass when Cao Liyang stood her ground. She'd fight him on administrative decisions, questioned student activities, rearranged his class load irrespective of his desires and never failed to point out his failings in his personal life.
She also, despite only having met him twice, likes Zhao Yunlan. And had smiled at him genuinely. By comparison, it had taken three years before she had smiled at him and he was pretty sure she was being sarcastic at the time. .
"Such a respectful young man. Clever too. He's going to go far." She had told him when Zhao had left. "Even if he could do with a haircut."
She had called him, "a real police officer" when he had told her, how Zhao Yunlan had saved Li Qian from suicide, pleased that he had someone else he could admire Kunlun with.
But no matter how difficult she can be, Cao Liyang never fails him. She graciously helps him with the grade submission system, handles his schedule which is challenging because he's not always in the right time zone or realm, the library online resources and guides him through every digital pitfall with patience. Not once does she mock him for his struggles and won't let anyone else either. He cannot do this without her and lives in fear of her retirement.
"I'm fine. I've never had flu." He tells her, fixing his attention on her respectfully. Most of it anyway. The part that wasn't solely focused on the tether to Zhao Yunlan and the beads in his pocket.
Cao Liyang, unassuming at a first glance in her long brown skirt with white ribbon detailing and elegant white blouse, only raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You have the concentration of a first year student discovering what studying with a hangover feels like." She informed him blandly, "You are needed in the lab in one hour and your plant needs watering."
"Thank you." He tells her with a smile, that he knows doesn't reach his eyes. She's asking what's wrong, intending on handing him a solution or an entirely unsympathetic ear, but there's no explaining this one.
"You are sick. Over fifty students and three other teachers are down with flu. You should go home. If you die on the job, it will look bad for the University."
Shen Wei knows how to win battles and yet desperately thinks of some response. What would Kunlun say? "If I feel any worse in an hour, I will go home." He settles on and this magically, placates her just enough to ensure she will not launch countermeasures against him.
"Then I'll check on you in an hour." Cao Liyang informs him, handing him papers. Somehow it sounds like a threat when she says it like that.
She leaves him to his work, his head bending to examine the papers in front of him studiously. When the door shuts, he goes back to thinking and worrying about Yunlan.
Zhao Yunlan is in the Yashou lands. Its immovable fact and really wishes he was with him.
At first he wonders if he's being disrespectful or controlling. Zhao Yunlan is highly trained. More to the point, he's Kunlun. A master strategist, a warlord who brought victory to their falling rebellion and a warrior down to his bones. He's seen the same man when challenged to an honor fight, break twelve bones in three moves, that Shen Wei still couldn't replicate in the same way. He was and always had been Shen Wei's hero.
But he was not invincible. A person made of fragile tissue, muscle and tendons. He wasn't glass or ceramic liable to break. But while Shen Wei's hands bore no visible sign of it, in his minds eye, they were still stained red with Zhao Yunlan's blood. The lake where he found him again. The rooftop after taking a blade to the back. Surgery. Far too much hurt and blood-loss. And Zhao Yunlan's irreverent attitude.
Reverently, he pulls Zhao Yunlan's gift from his pocket and stares at the Peking beads. Smooth to the touch, they are shockingly warm, filled with a tiny inner bead of Zhao Yunlan's power. Long fingers had scratched in the arrays decorating the surface of each one, picked carefully to not interfere with or counteract the next bead.
If had been simply decorative, it would be a cherished gift. But, because he had placed that precious little pearl of cultivation energy, something of himself, painstakingly in each one, it was something Shen Wei was going to treasure for the rest of time.
The energy trapped with the cage of the beads, was a siren song. He cradled them gently, running his fingers over them, utterly enthralled.
After another useless hour, the beads in his hand as he reads or types, he gives up to go to the lab, pocket the beads once more. If he spends all of that time, trying to focus on his students and trying not to focus entirely on the beads, with their tantalizing link to Zhao Yunlan himself....well that was his struggle.
Zhao Yunlan is coming home tomorrow and until he does, Shen Wei is going to be useless. But he could find some answers in the meantime.
=====
Shen Wei leaves the University campus at the end of his working day, for the SID offices dressed in his official Envoy robes.
He's armed with two viable excuses. One is the set of documents that the Lord Guardian has to countersign for the Treaty negotiations. A subordinate, picked for their respectful attitude and excellence grasp of Haixingren politics and culture, should be the one to deliver them to Zhao Yunlan, but Shen Wei had plucked them from the courier.
The second, was a small matter with Li Qian.
The space is quiet, devoid of the vibrancy from before. To Shen Wei it's another symptom and proof that Zhao Yunlan is not here, although he knows that might his adoration speaking.
Zhu Hong halts in the corridor ahead and bows. Chu Shuzhi greets him immediately, rising from his desk with hurried steps and sincere welcome. Wang Zheng rights Guo Changcheng as he stumbles on the stairs and bows to him. Chu apologizes for the missing Chief and admits that Zhao Yunlan is in the Yashou lands, seeking the counsel of Fourth Uncle.
He wants to ask if they have had any news from the Chief, but as he considers how to inquire, without seeming too interest, Da Qing exits Zhao Yunlan's office at the commotion and doesn't look surprised to see him. "Huángshang."
Zhu Hong is here and so is Da Qing. Either Zhao Yunlan went alone or he took Lin Jing.
Shen Wei produces the documents. "For Chief Zhao's viewing only."
"Put them in the vault." Da Qing orders and Zhu Hong takes them gingerly from his outstretched hand. "Lao Zhao is not here Huángshang. He'll be back tomorrow."
"Chief Zhao is on a mission?" He asks redundantly.
Da Qing doesn't look happy about it either, Shen Wei notes. "Chief had received an invitation and wanted to take the opportunity to ask about some evidence we have obtained." Da Qing tells him, trying for formal. The cat comes closer, pausing at the main table, where a sea of files, photos and notepads are scattered across the surface.
Da Qing is not blind and despite his attempts to pretend to be non-threatening for the others in this office, Shen Wei remembers the clever scout. He knows Da Qing is assuming that things are becoming more...tension-filled the longer this case goes on. He might see it as added pressure or a slight against Zhao Yunlan, but he nods suddenly as if Shen Wei has passed a test.
"Evidence?" Shen Wei asks, then waves a hand, frost forming in the air for a moment before falling as flakes on the ground. "I have no interest in igniting another feud with the Yashou. My people have every right to occupy the mountains north of Dragon City. It was a right given in the original Treaty. Beyond this dispute, I have no issue with the Yashou."
Da Qing clearly didn't care about the mountains, because he shrugged. "Chief spoke to a few contacts. Apparently that cultivation enhancement...potion...found in Gao Tianyu's apartment was part of a set."
"A set? Chief Zhao mention it would not be effective."
"Well it turns out when its used with the other bottles, its actually causes qi deviations in Haixingren and a terminal boost of power in Dixingians." Da Qing tells him gravely.
'Terminal?"
Chu Shuzhi gives him a file with solemn hands. Shen Wei takes it and reads the chemical formula with growing dread. "Why would anyone give this to Gao Tianyu?"
"Chief wonders if the idea is to harvest power." Wang Zheng offers as she enters the office.
Shen Wei pauses, then tilts his head. "May I make a request of you zhànyǒu?"
Da Qing stares at him. Chu Shuzhi steps forward as if awaiting to take the task and the others just watch. The old eyes flicker to yellow and then the cat shrugs, "If I can fulfill it, yes."
"I have no jurisdiction here and cannot ask you to go against any orders of the Lord Guardian."
"I would not." Da Qing replies, but its in agreement not defense.
"I have a question for your witness. The young cultivator." Shen Wei tells Da Qing, "I cannot speak with her. I would frighten her. Perhaps, one of you could ask her instead?"
Da Qing looks surprised and glares at Chu Shuzhi for a second. "What would you like to ask?"
"This is no reflection on anyone's character, or discrimination." Shen Wei begins, waiting for Da Qing's acceptance. "I have been considering Chief Zhao's words."
Somehow he just knows that half of the room immediately thinks that Zhao Yunlan has said some offensive and everyone tenses. The other half are simply curious.
"Chief can be," Da Qing tries, while Chu Shuzhi's face darkens.
"Very wise." Shen Wei interrupts, startling everyone. "As I said this is no criticism."
Da Qing glances at each member of the team, then back at Shen Wei. "Please tell us your theory Huángshang." He invites.
Shen Wei pauses and then nods, "You are most gracious zhànyǒu. In your witness's report, it was clear that several people made an attempt on her grandmother's life. For the Longevity Dial. This of course makes sense, but it is uncertain if the Dial was the sole purpose. Chief Zhao however, believes that some of that interest stemmed from Mrs Li's connections. Specifically her connection to the murdered Fan Wei."
The obsession with Fan Wei could not be for nothing. Kunlun had fixated on the two men. Jizeng Mao and Fan Wei. Out of all the murders; families with children, the heartbreaking fake suicides and brutal accidents, he had focused on them. So something about it, was agitating that clever mind.
Back during the war, Kunlun had fixated on one of the scouts. Claiming there was 'something about him'. No one really listened, right up until the guy tried to kill Ma Gui, the Allies Chief. Kunlun had also fixated on a obscure pathway and was later proven right, when the enemy used it to walk right into Kunlun's trap. So this focus on the two men was, to Shen Wei, disturbing.
If Shen Wei couldn't guard his back, he could help find answers.
"We did discover that Fan Wei received one call a week from a public phone." Zhu Hong added quietly. "Could that have been Grandmother Li?"
"But why not use her house phone, or mobile phone?" Wang Zheng asked.
"Because in the past, the public phones were considered safer, protecting the caller's identity." Shen Wei explained. "Mrs Li was not a young woman and she was suffering from what Chief Zhao believes was a curse manifesting as dementia."
"Fan Wei led them to Mrs Li." Da Qing mused. "That was Chief's theory."
"Was Fan Wei in a sect?" Shen Wei asks.
"Not that we know of." Zhu Hong replies, picking up a tablet, her fingers scrolling quickly. "No one has admitted that he was."
A limit for the Order then, getting the sect to communicate. Or else, Zhao Yunlan had little interest in asking them.
"What do want to ask Li Qian?" Da Qing asks, watching Shen Wei with yellow tinged eyes. He wasn't the only one worried for Zhao Yunlan.
"Liu Shishi believed she was Haixingren." He lets Da Qing hear the past tense. "She did not know that the gift she used to torture and interrogate her victims was a corrupted dark energy gift. She loathed Dixingians. Her lack of abilities, golden core included was not remarked upon, because her sect, the Yueyang have multiple failed cultivators, using enhancements. During his undercover stint, Chief Zhao was able to fool them into thinking he had not formed a core either."
"They are inept." Da Qing agrees, "Lao Zhao took a big risk taking that undercover job."
So clearly Da Qing had never agreed with him doing it and had no doubt stalked him as a cat to watch over him.
"But their leaders were not inept. Corrupt, vile beings, but focused on the success, however falsely built, of their sect." Shen Wei replies easily. "To the world, Liu Shishi was Haixingren."
"How many other Haixingren cultivators, are looking for the Dial, or more accurately, the Tokens?"
And then Da Qing understood. The power of Kunlun was the lure. Those eyes turned full yellow and he swore. Chu Shuzhi looked torn between Envoy and Deputy and the others stepped back, unused to Da Qing's temper.
"They are looking for Kunlun". Da Qing snapped, the language he chose so old, Shen Wei needed a moment to remember it. The rest of the team are startled, confused and stare at them as Da Qing becomes more agitated.
"My King," Chu Shuzhi asks, not sure what to make of this.
"It is fine." He reassures and to Da Qing he answers. "Zhao Yunlan is the Chosen Successor. They want his power and the Tokens Kunlun made."
No. Da Qing snarls. He is Kunlun reborn. Kunlun was my Chosen, my other half. All Cat Yashou have one. It is our greatest gift and curse. A Fated One. Kunlun was mine. I might not remember because of what the Hallows did. But he was mine. Zhao Yunlan is mine. We can only have one. He is Kunlun reborn.
Not exactly, Shen Wei thought. He is the past and the present and the future.But he could not fault Da Qing's logic.
To Da Qing, he says, "Then...Zhao Yunlan is Kunlun."
Da Qing sits on the table, "You understand. They want his power and revenge on him!" Then he adds morosely, "Agent Wen, Liu Shishi... was sent to kill him."
"We will not let them." Shen Wei declares coldly. "We could not protect him then, but we will protect him now."
"What is he to you?" Da Qing demands. "Once he was the sky, the sun and the stars to you."
A hard question and so easy at the same time. He had asked himself that a hundred times, so he knew the three options he could say, better than he knew anything else. The true answer was, he is everything. The diluted answer was, he is my love. But Shen Wei went with the third answer.
"He is still the sky and the stars. The savior of my people. My hero and my friend. I owe him all we have, peace and prosperity included. This day alone we have because of him. We would have neither Dixing, nor Haixing. There would be Yashou. But I will not burden him. It is enough that he is claimed as successor."
"Its why I've never told him." Da Qing agrees after a moment. "Not that he would believe me. Or you. He doesn't see himself as a hero."
"Kunlun didn't either." Shen Wei points out. To the team watching, he says, "Chief Zhao is in the Yashou lands. I planned to ask him for this allowance. Would you ask Li Qian?" Shen Wei looks to Chu Shuzhi. "I understand she is still in your custody?"
"She suffered a qi deviation, My King." Chu Shuzhi told him. "Chief stabilized her before he left and convinced her to stay with the Order for another day. I will ask her now."
Twenty minutes later, Shen Wei has his answer. But he has no chance to do anything further with the information his student gives him second hand, because the beads hidden in the folds of his robes, next to his heart, suddenly fluctuate.
Zhao Yunlan's words come to mind instantly. "The power in the beads will fluctuate, if I'm using too much energy or get my core sealed. Or if I pass out, come to think of it. I certainly won't be sleeping."
So was he under attack and using his energy at an alarming rate? Or was he unconscious?
Shen Wei dropped centuries of experience and practiced control, his mind shifting straight to panic. He reached out feeling along the tether connecting him to Zhao Yunlan.
Zhao Yunlan was alive. But he was not...well. That knowledge and the fluctuating beads were enough of an answer.
The fire message that appeared seconds later, landing in front of Da Qing was only added fuel.
It was from Zhao Yunlan. It read, Crows. Betrayed. Don't lose sight of Li Qian.
His pillow is cold.
Its a strange thought, dragging Zhao Yunlan's blissfully unaware mind, from its sweet darkness, up into coherency. Reconnecting mind with body slowly, he doesn't move.
His second thought sends alarm blaring through his body and the discordant note ripples along the channels of his power. He doesn't know here he is. This isn't his bed or his office, or even SID. This is nowhere even vaguely safe.
...His mouth tastes of blood, the tang of iron, sour and horrible. His head is stuffed with cotton balls, but as he moves very slightly, a stab of pain from his abused ribs adds to his misery. Is he still at the warehouse?
For a second he thinks he truly might be back in the damn warehouse, chained and all too vulnerable to Dead Leader's more creative side. He half expects that weird off-key giggle that has become synonymous with Dead Leader in his head. That guy is nuts. He doesn't need a psychiatrist to tell him that.
But then he searches back through his memory and its hazy which alarms him further. It's something that Da Qing had forced him to learn as a child. Memory can be altered, but the course of events, critical for any homicide cop - was the key to determining if head injuries or spells were involved with any gaps.
Spells and resentful energy in particular can be used to change certain events, but the entire story? Too intensive and too intricate to be easily faked. All the little details, that's the key.
So he thinks back and realizes that no, he was in the Yashou lands. The Tribal gathering had been challenging to say the least. The leaders pushing their agenda over the Treaty, some with openly anti-Dixing views, others uninterested and bitter about the whole thing. No spell could alter that.
Then the public execution they had not been previously informed about. The staged trial of a Crow member, followed by the public breaking of the ties between the Crow Tribe and the rest of the Yashou. He as Lord Guardian had stepped in to referee and the Crow were on probation.
He had done the tense lunch and tea thing, stayed overnight for the small party thrown in his honor. Neither he, nor Lin Jing had indulged - avoiding intoxicants altogether - and the next morning, he had...He had been talking with Fourth Uncle...he remembers the veiled mentions of Zhu Hong...the enhancement drug....then what happened?
...They left....the Tribal lands...no they had been leaving the lands, waiting for the damn carriage that was so ridiculously theatrical - Lin Jing behind him as they returned to the portal site....he had been readying himself to transport Fake Monk and himself back, when Ying Chun, the leader of the Flower Tribe had approached them. The carriage delay had made sense then.
Ying Chun had dismissed her six honor guards, disguised as flower maidens and had requested that they speak. It had been a strange place to approach him, the ancient path from the hidden lands where the carriage was designated to pick them up, blindfolded, when she had had plenty of time before.
Yet he didn't have a choice but to agree, Lin Jing hovering nervously as he steps to one side, to speak with the leader, resplendent in her blue hydrangea dress, decorated with wild flowers and vines, almost sparkling in the cover of fading afternoon light, dappled in the forest. Ying Chun had been anxious, her usual polite distance and gentle smile gone. In their place was a leader at her wits end.
Her eyes spoke of tragedy and her mouth was trembling with rage or tears he wasn't sure.
She had told him about one of her people going missing in Haixing, after reporting to her about a shadow creature. Gao Tianyu, unless there was more than one serial killer prancing around as a shadow-person.
He promised to look into it as soon when he returned....then what? He shoves harder against the pain in his head and the languid heaviness of his body. Drugged. Concussion. Great. Shen Wei is going to be soo happy.
Ying Chun...with a jolt he remembers blood on a blue dress, the hydrangea arrangement splattered with it as the crows descended....her assistant had screamed and had been blinded by the birds swooping down...the honor guard had moved in and some crows had fallen.
Lin Jing had been bleeding from a head wound... He had ordered them to stop, announcing he was the Lord Guardian and then started firing. He had killed or at least wounded ten of them, when things got worse.
The power grenade for lack of a better name was a hideous invention and completely illegal. It was also a Dixingian weapon which made no sense. He had thrown all his power at a quick shield, hoping like hell Ying Chun and Lin Jing were not going to be incinerated.
The heat he blocked. The shock-wave though send them hurtling through the trees. When he had got back on his feet, Ya Qing, the unofficial queen of the Crows was holding Lin Jing hostage. His Fake Monk had been out cold and badly bloodied. Ying Chun was out as well, but Ya Qing refused to kill her, citing that she was just a dumb plant.
Nice way to address your ex.
He was fairly certain they were former lovers, based on their interactions in the past. Childhood friends, didn't quite cut it. Ying Chun, if she was okay, would raise some kind of alarm. Not returning tomorrow would alert Da Qing and they had twenty more hours probably to go before then. Shen Wei...might be alarmed by the power flux in the beads. But knowing his luck, he had shoved it in a drawer.
With the threat to Lin Jing, Zhao Yunlan had agreed and lowered his weapons, never seeing the explosive hit of power that smacked the back of his head. Just felt it. Awesome.
Where the hell was Fake Monk? And now where were they? Against his left hand he feels rock, the cold rough surface doing nothing for his head. His hands were bound as were his feet, but his power was still thrumming through his meridians, his core strong. He spread out his senses and recognized the threads of energy, ancient and protective. Yashou. Concealing array probably.
He pushed further and felt Fake Monk. Ling Jing was here. He breathed out unsteadily, dizzy with relief. Realizing, there is no one around, he slowly opens his eyes.
He's in a dark room because of course they end up being held captive like this. Da Qing would say he's getting a reputation as a kidnapping risk and epic damsel. The air is fetid and dusty, but its the heavy, intense resentful energy that has him taking note. Wherever this, a lot of unhappy people have died here.
Anger and hatred are etched into these walls. Misery, screams of terror and madness echo, until he blocks them. Its like a layer of tar, so thick he doesn't think Rest is going be much help. There are damned haunting here and the ones that cannot let go, the lost and the sinners. Attracted as always to those with high enough cultivation.
Lifting his pounding head, he sees that he's lying on an old gurney, in what looks like an old hotel room with a rotting desk in one corner and the disgusting remnants of a bed in the other. The windows are barred and look out from this angle at the night sky.
They're probably off Yashou lands, because with the near execution of one of her Crows, Ya Qing is not stupid enough to keep him close by. No, they've been moved, probably through one of the pre-existing portal tracks to a village in the middle of no where.
He's handcuffed with Dixignian restraints sadly, surrounded by candles and chalk drawn arrays, spreading out on the no-doubt rotten carpet, like a cultivation practice sheet. Or like the damsel in a bad cultivation movie about to be murdered by the demon worshipers.
He needs a fancier outfit though to pull that off.
He can't see the array set up very well from this angle, but he's going to lay money on a power transfer or core stealing plan.
Stealing someone's cultivation is a whispered story designed to frighten, problem is, that there are manuals available on the black market, that do actually work. A core transfer is near impossible and requires incredible skill. Draining power for a boost is not that hard.
He solved a case in Shanghai involving exactly this and it wasn't pretty. He knows that it works if done correctly and guarantees a horrible death if it doesn't work and a quick one if it does.
Lin Jing is a cultivator too and Zhao Yunlan cannot risk Fake Monk's life.
Zhao Yunlan takes a moment to really hope that Shen Wei's is carrying the beads, then he sighs and settles in to wait, for his answers. Because he is Zhao Yunlan and he's never going to go down without a fight or without the last word.
He hasn't passed level fifteen on his current phone game and he hasn't arrested Gao Tianyu or solved these murders. He also hasn't found proof that Shen Wei is the Envoy. Nor has he been blessed with that promised date. Or even had the opportunity to take Shen Wei's clothes off.
He can't say he's pissed he'll miss the signing of the Treaty rehash, but that last one? Yeah, he's not dying until then. Ya Qing can go wax her feathers.
Zhao Yunlan closed his eyes, ignored the creepy air and starts singing softly, the Song of Xi'an.
"...In its center, people call it the drum tower..."
====
He's moved on to A-Mei's song Full Name and he's just about hit the chorus line when the door is opened to the room. Its creaks ominously and he imagines Shen Wei with a spray can of WD40.
"Why are you like a specimen etched in my heart.. really Ya Qing, couldn't you have chosen better rooms? I feel cheap."
"You always talk too much." She spits as she strides inside, black feathers appearing almost pinguid in the shadows. Her dress rustles as she pauses near his gurney and sneers at the rotting bed. "Welcome Lord Guardian to Northern Dragon Sanatorium."
Zhao Yunlan considers the slime mold and the slithering, bitter anger in the walls and says, "Good choice for a hideout."
It was famous for being the epic failure of every sect around Dragon city. Build as way to deal with a tuberculosis outbreak in 1908, it's housed plenty of unwilling psychiatry patients, political prisoners and more than one unlucky Dixingian.
He's surprised her apparently, her face contorting in anger, "We are not hiding."
The dead whisper and there is a hint of a mocking laugh, all of which he ignores. "I take it you wanted a private talk then?"
'Well, I didn't bring you here for your body." She snaps and resentful energy coils around her faintly. Ah. The old Crow curse. Centuries ago, they realized they had a higher tolerance for resentful energy, courting the dead and darkness like the true crows of Haixing. Tolerance didn't mean immunity though.
It was, he thought a lot like smoking. You can tolerate it, get addicted to nicotine and yet it will still kill you.
"So harsh." Zhao Yunlan replied, "I'm spoken for."
Then he looked at her as the Guardian, "This will break the probation rules, but then you don't want to remain with the Tribes, do you?"
"I don't need them." Ya Qing snarls. "We don't need the Treaty either. Chains and chattel. Its time this era ends and I'll make damn sure it starts with your blood draining to this carpet."
He has a retort, but there is a whirl of light to their right and a purple-haired version of the arrest warrant photo appears. Zhu Jiu doesn't appear any more stable in the flesh though. 'This wasn't the plan!" He shrieks at Ya Qing, who glares viciously.
"The Boss wants him. He was right there!" Ya Qing snaps irritably. "You didn't have the spine for it!"
Zhu Jiu's face goes splotchy with rage and power floods the air. It has no effect on Ya Qing, considering the Crow leadership is won through murder. While they spat like two enraged cats, Zhao Yunlan takes a moment to really look at the former Guard.
He's insecure and yet fairly powerful. Emotionally unstable and struggles with abandonment and feelings of inadequacy so he compensates with violence. No family on record. He had some kind of breakdown when he killed his supervisor and now he's had a taste of power.
Basically, he's the classic type often picked up by gangs and triads. Useful to a point, unstable and disposable. Eager to prove themselves and enough of a coward to be kept down. The type who likes getting covered in blood splatter, as long he's not the one doing the damage.
'When is the engagement party?" He calls interrupted this lovely argument. "And where is my employee?"
"You took two?" Zhu Jiu explodes.
"He'll be fine, as long as you don't cross me." Ya Qing decrees.
"Where is he?" Zhu Jiu demands.
Ya Qing rolls her eyes and suddenly calls in an inhuman, high-pitched cawing sound and two of her people drag in Lin Jing, handcuffed and panicking. He's dropped to the rotten carpet, where he gags and wildly looks around the room, settling when he sees Zhao Yunlan. "Boss! We're in a sanatorium!"
"Could be worse." Zhao Yunlan tells him. "They could have picked the quarry."
The old mines which had the highest death toll for cultivators was legendary in the region, was really not his preferred location. He watches as the two depart, bowing to Ya Qing and ignoring Zhu Jiu entirely, which has him seething.
"This wasn't the plan!" Zhu Jiu complains
"We are draining the Guardian's power tonight!" Ya Qing shouts. "We of the Crow are not cowards."
"Or chattel apparently, so why are you sharing the bed with Dixing?" Zhao Yunlan asks coldly.
Ya Qing laughs bitterly, her collar of feather fluttering. "This array at your feet Guardian is designed to rip every last drop of power from you."
Lin Jing gasps and fights his restraints in an admirable show of loyalty. Zhao Yunlan holds her gaze. "Great drawing skills, except neither of you are Haixingren cultivators. This doesn't work with dark energy."
"Oh we have several of those." Zhu Jiu purrs, turning to him. "You might know Ma Jianzhong the third of the Dragon Sect and Chang Zhekuan from the Yueyang, who wants to pay back Zhao for the arrest of their leader and the humiliation of their sect."
Which is when Zhao Yunlan realizes that the twin of Li Qian, the murdered Lu Ruomei was a partial mistake. Lin Jing is staring but Zhao Yunlan shakes his head.
Ma Jianzhong is a meticulous bastard, he thinks. He is one of the partners of the accountancy firm where Jizeng Mao worked. He went to warn Fan Wei, the son of a former Jade Mountain Sect disciple. That's why Agent Wen killed him, Zhao realizes with a cold sinking feeling. That's why the Kunlun-loving sect was hovering close. They were in some deal with Fan Wei. He was their man on the inside of the Treaty negotiations and a link to Mrs Li, who supposedly had a Token.
Chang Zhekuan was a name he knew well enough. Sixth inner disciple of the Yueyang, he was one that Zhao Yunlan had 'befriended' while undercover. Not particularly talented, he had been using cultivation enhancements to boost his abilities and had been semi-groomed by the late leader. So eager to please and get ahead, he had signed up for the pills with no questions.
Zhao Yunlan had played the role of an easily led, often confused young outer disciple with no actual skill, and had landed himself the job of being an aide to the guy. An idiot to the great one. So he knew about the vomiting, the night sweats and daily struggles Chang Zhekuan faced, on the pill regime that nearly killed him.
So revenge really wasn't that much of a surprise. Chang Zhekuan was an idiot. Ma Jianzhong had no imagination and a lot of ambition. So who was leading these two? Agent Wen was working for Ma Jianzhong, or at least with him. Chang didn't like women, so he wouldn't have worked with her.
Which one was the Jade Mountain Sect looking at? Or rather into, using Fan Wei?
"If Chang Zhekuan is your choice, you really were lied to." Zhao Yunlan told him with a smirk. "Guy couldn't cultivate out of a paper bag. And Ma Jianzhong is will not play ball if he's not king. He will look down on a DIxingian dog."
Predictably, he snaps. Zhao Yunlan braces for the impact of a dark energy hit and blinks when Zhu Jiu howls. He opens his eyes to see Zhu Jiu grimaces and clutching his hand.
Zhao Yunlan blinks at him surprised and glances at Lin Jing, who is also staring at him. Okay, he's toned, but he doesn't have ribs of steel.
Ya Qing doesn't move to help him, but she does rise from her elegant hatred long enough to stare at Zhao Yunlan. "Dark energy shield? Who would protect this piece of trash?"
The Emperor of Dixing? Or Shen Wei? Zhao Yunlan wonders as Zhu Jiu launches to his feet and hurls another ball of power at him. It bounces off a thin wall of wispy black smoke that appears in the brief moment it connects.
Before he can decide if he wants to taunt or not, Ya Qing strides forward and slashes a line across his abs with a knife. "Ow." He tells her blandly, "Dinner first at least."
"It doesn't matter." Ya Qing declares, as if her being able to hurt or kill him is enough. "Stop being so pathetic." She barks at Zhu Jiu. "Even if those two are losers, we have the Boss. "
Give me a name, Zhao Yunlan thinks. "Someone with a brain and skills?" He asks tauntingly.
She glares at him witheringly. "Someone who wants you dead anyway."
"That's a decently large group of people. At least he won't be lonely." Zhao Yunlan replies easily. "They had money on it for while too."
"You think this Boss isn't going to drop you and your family when he's had enough? What are you expecting Ya Qing? Fair rights or a fast death?"
A shadow moves and Zhao Yunlan bares his teeth as Gao Tianyu strikes. It hits the same shield but then he decides to go for Lin Jing, who does have that luxury. "Leave him alone Gao Tianyu, you brainless coward!" Zhao Yunlan snarls.
"You'll pay!" Gao Tianyu spits.
"You murdered teenage girls and tried for an old woman." Zhao Yunlan snaps, "Some brave ass you are."
The shuddering darkness and seething resentful energy is poised, listening. Ya Qing is not the only one who knows how to wield it. Zhao Yunlan however, can wield the undead, feeding off of spite and malice. Plenty of that here.
"This is such great drama." Zhu Jiu says calmer now. "You are not of low status, for a human."
"Enough!" Ya Qing snaps, "Call the cultivator, either of them! We are going to do this tonight!"
"Boss, Ma Jianzhong?" Lin Jing asks.
"Never liked the bastard." Zhao Yunlan replies. He looks at Lin Jing and Fake Monk nods, understanding.
----===
The office was quiet, a handful of people gathered around the main table, washed in the golden light of the many lamps.
At one end, Shen Wei stood rigid and furious, wreathed in his black robes. His fury was sending icy chills into the room, frost collecting as it seared fractal patterns along the floor.
Lin Jing had some kind of device on him that the kidnappers had yet to find, that was allowing them to listen in on the conversation.
Wang Zheng was quietly and frantically checking all references to a sanatorium in or near Dragon City. Zhu Hong was using the other computer to triangulate the signal. Chu Shuzhi stood slightly behind Shen Wei and glowered at the receiver.
Da Qing was biting his lip, eyes flickering with yellow.
"Enough!" The female voices shouts, tinny on the microphone in the SID offices. Shen Wei is fairly certain it belongs to someone he has met before, but cannot immediately place it. "Call the cultivator, either of them! We are going to do this tonight!"
"It sounds like Ya Qing. Queen of the Crows." Zhu Hong says worriedly from across the table. "I recognize her voice."
"If she is responsible," Shen Wei intoned, "I cannot act against her. I will however bring those of Dixing's blood to the seat of Justice in Dixing and personally take their lives."
Shen Wei however could deal with Ya Qing. Shen Wei would gladly wipe out the entire Crow Tribe for making any stand against Kunlun, who had saved them millennia ago, when the Enemy Chieftain had all but annihilated their people. No Crown, agent or order would stop him.
Lin Jing clearly expected an epic plan, worthy of Chief Zhao, to get them out of here.
If he had one coming into this disaster he was sure, it would have been epic, but as he didn't, Zhao Yunlan lay back and glared at the ceiling of this abandoned institution building, which was who knows where in their province.
Lin Jing was chained in the corner and despite everything Fake Monk had tried so far, he hadn't loosened the restrictions in the slightest.
As the shadows grew longer and the candles barely illuminated the room enough to see each other, he decided, they were going to have to wing this, noting for the fifth time how Fake Monk was wincing
The Northern Dragon Sanatorium. Constructed not as mental institution at first, but for tuberculosis. The outbreak of the disease in the Thirties killed thousands and the government's plan was to take the sick and bring them here to die and to be experiments for a vaccine or cure.
The realization that hiding the victims away didn't actually stop the spread of the infection, had meant most of these places ended up housing those society didn't like, genuinely mentally unstable people and the occasional Yashou or Dixingian who ended up in police custody.
Could be worse he supposes.
The ghosts and rage in the walls disagrees. It presses in on them, resentment and hatred lingering. The victims that remain are very lost here, clamoring and crying. Nearly mindless with the torture that was done to them. The damned are unrepentant, vitriolic in their poisonous anger. Its like wading through tar and drowning in icy water. He ignores it as best he can, tells the condemned to go screw themselves.
They were being held by dark energy restraints that his own spiritual power had zero effect over. Which made him wonder what exactly they wanted his power for.
It didn't surprise him in the slightest when the door reopened and Ya Qing stalked inside, her eyes cold, her posture as arrogant as ever.
"Come to play?" He asked her in a charming, flirtatious voice.
She glared viciously and Lin Jing struggled harder against his restraints.
When the door shut, she threw a talisman against the painted wood and just stood there for a long moment watching him. Silencing, he sees burning red on the door. Interesting.
"I thought you would have fought harder." Ya Qing observed, as if this was a casual conversation at the bus station, her head tilting as it would if she were in bird form.
Zhao Yunlan was getting a crick in his neck trying to look at her, which annoyed him so his voice was a bored drawl when he replied. "You know me Ya Qing. What I can do. How many Crows did you want to see die?"
"We would have killed you." She snaps, defensive.
"Perhaps. What's more likely is that I would have killed at least thirty of your number. Be grateful you are Yashou and supposedly under my protection."
"Protection? We have been ousted from the Yashou Tribes." Ya Qing spits, "What is it to you?"
What an interestingly tame response. Zhao Yunlan thinks and even Fake Monk looks surprised.
"Ousted or not, you are Yashou and my responsibility." He spits back. "And what are you working for a Dixingian for Ya Qing? You have spent the entire time I've known you, telling me and the damn world that Dixing is nothing but filth and entirely beneath you. Telling me that they stole your ancestral land, that trading with them was prostitution! And now what? They're good enough?"
"I hate Dixing." Ya Qing agrees
"So why work for them?" Lin Jing asks from his corner. "Money can't be that good."
She hits him hard across the face and Zhao Yunlan snarls. He twists the lingering resentment in the room, power channeling despite the chains, but then dark energy doesn't block resentment. It would kill another cultivator, but has little effect on him. It hits her, barely a slap but warning enough. She spins around to stare at him and Lin Jing looks shocked.
Chief Zhao had a reputation for having taken down and killed five demonic cultivators over his police career. Its partly why Director Gao offered him the position of Guardian.
"Like I said, you know what I'm capable of Ya Qing. Hurt him again and we'll see how many feathers you'll keep." Its a damn risk. She might snap and kill them both. Stalk out of here and demand assistance from Zhu Jiu or some other Dixingian agent. But power dynamic in the Crows are so complex and entirely built on a weird balance of care-taking and viciousness.
She takes his measure and steps back from Lin Jing. Turning, Ya Qing wanders over to his gurney and looks down at him, as if proving to herself that she isn't afraid of him. Zhao Yunlan stares back at her, lets her see the violence in his heart and the malice that he holds for her.
"If I liked men, I might have fallen for you Zhao." She tells him and Lin Jing splutters. She presses her talons against his chest, strokes along the line of his sternum. He doesn't move , just watches.
"What did they threaten?" He risks to ask. She's betrayed the Yashou, broken the code, threatened the Treaty. She's nearly killed her lover and put the Crows right at the forefront of everyone's rage. If Ya Qing is the reason the Treaty breaks, Shen Wei will be aiming for her neck, without any restraint. Zhao Yunlan can't be seen to be supporting her.
No one does revenge better than the Enforcer and king of Dixing.
Damn. Even in his head, he's coming to terms with Shen Wei being the Envoy.
Ya Qing's face pinches and spite enters her gaze, "It's a wonder no one's killed you for your tongue."
"I'm good with my tongue." Zhao Yunlan replies caustically. "What. Did. They. Threaten? You might as well tell me. You didn't come here to amuse yourself. Not your way Ya Qing."
"And you know that?" She demands, talons right over his heart. "I could kill you now."
"If you wanted me dead, I'd be dead. You're clever enough." Zhao said casually, "You hate Dixing."
"I do hate Dixing. It's something your father understood." Ya Qing tells him.
"My father is a supremacist. He never did anything for the Yashou." Zhao Yunlan snaps.
"You don't like your father much do you?" Ya Qing asks, eyes gleaming. "But then he did murder your mother didn't he?"
Lin Jing gasps and Ya Qing smiles at his shock. "Oh yes. Though they say he was possessed by a Dixingian at the time."
"And no one is going to believe Ying Chun is blameless in this." Zhao Yunlan says cuttingly. Thinking about his mother hurts, like warm water on frostbite. Its been over twenty years and the wound has never healed. Her death and the manner of it, cruel and brutal taints every good memory he has. And Zhao Yunlan is not the forgiving type.
Rage enters her gaze and she hits him, a ringing blow to the head. Zhao Yunlan grins even as his lip splits. "That stupid flower has nothing to do with this!" She snarls.
And there is the gaping chink in her armor.
The split blood running down his chin is not the most glamorous way to do this, but he can call the resentment to him with it. He knows a lot of spells that can call armies and reap lives with it. All illegal. All condemned works. All contingent on blood.
"That stupid flower lured me to talk to her. That looks like she's complicit." Zhao Yunlan says. "The current President of Haixing is half Yashou. Crane. The time when the government was unaware is over. She's in with the Envoy of Dixing. Payback is going to be a bitch."
She wavers, clearly not aware that the President was partially one of them and then glares at him. "The Flower had nothing to do with this. She wasn't supposed to be there!"
"So why attack?" Zhao Yunlan asks.
"Because," Ya Qing says as she lowers herself until she's inches from his face. "If I hadn't swooped in and captured you Chief Zhao, you would have died at the hands of the assassins. From Dixing. Sent by the king of Dixing himself."
Zhao Yunlan thinks of Shen Wei, about what he knows and remembers Shen Wei's hatred of the rebels. Then he makes a choice. He'll trust Shen Wei. Whether the bastard lied to him or not.
"The true king I take it?" Zhao Yunlan asks and Ya Qing laughs.
"Someone should rip out your tongue." She purrs and Lin Jing struggles again.
Something in this doesn't make sense. Ya Qing is anti-Dixingian and often anti-Haixingren as well. She lives and breathes for the Crows. She is more than Chieftain, she is their caretaker and guardian and whatever she is, a fool is not one of them.
If Ying Chun is her lover, then there was a weakness he could exploit. But still, the Crows come first. And that was excactly what she did.....
"You wanted her to be the witness." Zhao Yunlan realizes. "Ying Chun...the one with the flawless reputation...with the ear of every Yashou Chieftain...she is never anti-Dixingian either. Ying Chun cautions you on your views, tries to reason that Dixing is good....you wanted her to speak. To run to whatever friend she has and tell them."
"Like I said," Ya Qing comments drily. "Someone should really have killed you years ago."
"So you 'save' us for your own ends. What do want Ya Qing?" Zhao Yunlan asks."Ying Chun has been her friend...that's why you're here now. So,"
"In an hour, that purple-haired twit is going to swan in here and declare that you're heading for Dixing. There they will perform the ritual and you'll die." Ya Qing tells him, tilting her head again. "If the Flower's friend is useful he might save you. Doubt it though. He's some courier. I can save you in theory, for a price."
"The Crows."
"For over eight years, there have been crimes blamed on my people that we never committed. Breaking the bylaws and agreements that we would never jeopardize. And it's not just us, but the attacks blamed on us were certainly more elaborate." Ya Qing spits.
"The dead tourists, missing children and this latest one. Your cousin accused of killing the Fox Chieftain's daughter." Zhao Yunlan comments. "I said there was no proof." He adds bitingly.
Ya Qing looks at him a moment and then just nods. "You did. You said there was a serial killer. That the deaths of the tourists didn't fit with our culture. It didn't help." She finishes with a icy look, but then adds, "I am grateful for that. Its more than anyone else did."
"Dixing claims that you have murdered their citizens, the ones living in the mountains. In the sacred guarded lands hidden from prying eyes." Lin Jing declares from his corner.
The one that always sounds like something from a good fantasy novel. An alien people living like a sect in a story in the mists of the mountains some distance from Dragon City. Rumor has it that it's some kind of spiritual place or school built into the caverns that once held the Alliance ten thousand years ago. Others say its where Kunlun was from. Still more claim it was where the meteorite hit.
"We have never touched those filthy bastards." Ya Qing snarls.
"I know." Zhao Yunlan says calmly. "The assassins killed them and blamed you. Why would you?"
"Why indeed." Ya Qing agrees, calming. She shakes her head. "He owns them. The assassins."
"So someone frames you." Zhao Yunlan could see it and it was clever. "My father and direct predecessors did nothing and when I address it, the Yashou Tribal Council launches a vote to oust the Crows. They seemed urgent. Don't want a proper investigation."
No one had. Which was bizarre. Shen Wei had seemed content that the Crows were the cause and ousting was right. His second solution was to strip of their powers. Then and there, Zhao Yunlan knew that relationships between Ya Qing and Shen Wei was barely existent. Rumor had it, that Ya Qing had called Kunlun a 'warlord with sticks for brains' and that he was 'spineless pig that had murdered enough Yashou to rival the Enemy Chieftain.' That unsurprisingly had gone down like fire on gasoline. It wouldn't take much to cross Shen Wei's final lines.
"Blackmailed and bribed." Ya Qing says icily. "We are innocent, but then they came and said that if I didn't do what they wanted, they would annihilate my people entirely."
"...And they killed a few to prove they were telling the truth and likely kept some to hold over your head." Zhao Yunlan agrees. "Probably children. Sick."
Ya Qing stares at him, and then says, "They say you are Kunlun Chosen."
"They also say I'm a devil in bed." Zhao Yunlan replies and she glares disgusted.
"You have no respect for Lord Kunlun." Lin Jing bites out. And when did Lin Jing become a Kunlun supporter? How long had Da Qing been working him over? Zhao Yunlan thought a little struck.
"Only a fool would." Ya Qing spits back.
Zhao Yunlan ignores them. "Good plan though. If I survive, I tell everyone it was plot devised by me. That you were working for me to prove your innocence. The Council repents and life returns to normal. If I die, you make it work with Dixing." Zhao Yunlan could see that too.
"We survive. We are Crows." Ya Qing tells them. "I hate Dixing. If I have a choice, I'd help you. If you fail, no one knows. They'll get a new Guardian."
"Dixing will want blood." Zhao Yunlan tells her. "Haixing will want blood. The Treaty fails we all suffer. The Yashou will just blame you. This true king will not be able to hold Dixing and I doubt he'll be able to kill the Envoy."
"Drawn out civil war." Ya Qing agrees, pleased with his understanding. "Corpses on both sides. Haixing crashes economically. Dixing is plunged into forever night. It will be carnage."
"Why do they want my power?" Zhao Yunlan asks her. "Dixingians can do nothing with it."
Here, Ya Qing smiles. "The Envoy is obsessed with clinging to Kunlun's skirts. He worships him. Forces Dixing to worship him. Take the Kunlun Chosen, who inherited the bits of the warlord? Its like ashes in a jar. The Envoy will be more amendable."
"You can't give Chief's power to some trophy side piece!" Lin Jing snaps and Fake Monks sounds righteously pissed. Why Zhao Yunlan's not really sure. Neither by her expression is Ya Qing.
"The 'trophy side piece' you misogynistic twit will be owned by the king. A pawn against the Envoy." Ya Qing snaps. "And who said it was a woman?!"
"Its a side piece anyway!" Fake Monk argues. "Woman or man! Or non-binary!"
Ya Qing snorts, "Who said the Snakes had an opinion? Just because they don't ascribe to gender?"
"So he has something on the Sects in Haixing." Zhao Yunlan loudly interrupts their argument before Lin Jing loses an eye. They both look at him, angrily.
"Gets the old ones on his side. Yueyang, Dragons etc and has them against the Envoy too. Infiltrates the Xingdu Bureau who is supposed to be the safety, infiltrates the government with Haixingrens loyal or cowered by him..." Zhao Yunlan considers.
"My corpse mutilated and broken hanging on some wall. So he can destroy the Order too and that earns the support of the far right Dixingians, who hate Haixing. Tells the Haixing government how weak they are. Probably believes my father will care and cave to some demand...."
"He already has some support in Dixing, has his eye on the throne. The Envoy is well-loved and even more feared...so he needs to corrupt where he can, employ who he can and blackmail the rest." Zhao Yunlan laughs, "He really took tips from the Enemy Chieftain didn't he? Used his rebel ideology and made a version of it for the modern world. An inverted invasion plan that uses greed, fear and corruption at its base."
Ya Qing stares at him again, "I helped you." She says eventually, as if deciding that he did have a shot at surviving.
"So you did." Zhao Yunlan agrees.
Ya Qing has her hand around his throat choking him when the door opens to emit Zhu Jiu. She's raked her talons lightly across his upper chest. Lightly because her talons can tear down to bone. It stings and burns and Zhao Yunlan glares at her.
Zhu Jiu giggles.
===
Ying Chun's eyes were bright tears and anger as she explained what had happened to Shen Wei.
Anger coiled in Shen Wei's heart as he listened, picturing all to easily how Zhao Yunlan had fought and knew immediately why there were so few dead Crows.
Standing on the borderlands of the Yashou enclave, hidden away from the Haixingren public - by Kunlun's magic no less! Shen Wei knew.
Kunlun would not kill those he considered allies, even as twisted and corrupted as the Crows, without hesitation. What stopped him from the next obvious step was the sudden tug on his power, followed by a surge on inbound energy. If he hadn't been so attuned to the small chains that were binding him to Zhao Yunlan, he might have missed it.
But it was unmissable. The tug led him to testing the different spells he had woven around the man and he soon realized that it was the protective shield mechanism he had created, that had been activated.
Someone was using dark energy against Zhao Yunlan.
Frantically, Shen Wei followed the tug and used the small chains to guide to him to where Zhao Yunlan was. Ignoring Ying Chun's warning and urgent pleas not to harm Ya Qing - he let the warp and weft of the world take him elsewhere.
The portal ripped open inside a darkened, dilapidated building. The floor beneath his feet was old bamboo and the walls around him heaved with resentment.
A lobby of some kind and beyond was a set of stone stairs leading upwards to at least four floors. Second floor, Shen Wei thinks.
Two Dixingian guards rushed at him from either side.
It took one sweep of his blade to take their lives and then he was running up the stairs. Around a corridor, another three dead. A door was open in the middle of the next corridor, the smell of rot and misery permeating the entire building.
Shen Wei's heart clenched at the thought of Yunlan being anywhere near a place such as this, even as anger led him.
Up anoither starircase and he was in a wide open space, a mezzaine level where doors lined the walls and in the middle was Zhao Yunlan and Lin Jing. Surrounding them was Ya Qing, her talons at Zhao's throat and Zhu Jiu. Six others flanked them.
Zhu Jiu smirked and threw something. "Your Majesty!" He called, "A gift!"
Resentment flooded his senses and something heavy like a blanket was dropped over him. Zhao Yunlan's eyes were pinched with pain, gleaming with intent and Lin Jing looked terrified. Shen Wei had just enough time to look at him, before one of the six ripped open a portal.
Shen Wei reached with his own power and ....then the world went white.
Shen Wei fell, the floor tilting violently, the blanket falling away and he called his own portal crashing through to land outside the building.
An explosion rocked the building, an abandoned structure with a low wall running along the front. The stone engraved sign that read Northern Dragon Sanatorium split as the rubble cascaded around him.
Shen Wei covered his face and glared at the dust cloud.
An explosive talisman that was not dark energy and one of the rebels was a portal maker. Zhao Yunlan had been right.
And he was gone. The chain stretched thin.
Shen Wei switched back to his suit and stared in dismay and anger at the building, at how close he had been to freeing Zhao Yunlan. He lifted his hand and reached again.
Something wet hit his hand. Blinking his eyes open, Shen Wei stared horrified at the large drop of blood staining his skin, burning like acid. Swiping his other index finger through the red pearl, he felt it. Familiar power weak like this, but still recognizable zinged against his skin.
Zhao Yunlan's blood. That had been his use of the resentment, dark energy chains holding back his power.
And with this blood, he could find him.
They...someone with enough training and power, broke the chain.
His chain to Zhao Yunlan.
Some of the rubble explodes backwards with the force of Shen Wei's anger. His jaw works, a muscle twitching as he turns some of that rage inwards. He had made a thin chain, a basic, barely there link for emotional reasons and now,
Now someone has snapped that link.
Now he has no idea where Zhao Yunlan even is.
The snapping of branches, a hoarse cry and the unmistakable sound of a body hitting dirt, have Shen Wei turning on his right heel, Envoy cloak resettling over his form, sword held gleaming in the night air in seconds.
To his surprise, when he walks over to the decently size crater in the soft soil just beyond the now burning pile of rubble that was once a sanatorium, he sees not a Dixingian rebel, but Lin Jing.
In the lull of guilt and recrimination, that came after discovering that Zhao Yunlan, the Guardian of Haixing was in fact Kunlun, Shen Wei had demanded every report, every whisper and hint of information, even the gossip about the Order. He had poured over files, using every resource he had in Haixing and as the king of Dixing, to learn everything he could about Zhao Yunlan and the Order. All the details he had simply been uninterested in during the last year.
All of it was vital now in any interaction with Zhao. Kunlun had always been highly protective of his people. Once, Shen Wei had been one of those people. And so, he knew that any implied threat, insult or misstep over his team at SID, would be judged as a direct slur against Zhao. Vengeance might not be quick, but Zhao would see it done regardless.
Having actually met the team, having put personalities to the dry retelling printed on paper and the unfortunately thin files on each team member that had fallen on his desk, Shen Wei felt connected to them. They, like he himself had been once, were chosen by that quicksilver and unorthodox mind, out of probably hundreds of candidates. He had seen something he liked in all of them and had no doubt, spent the year or more - fifteen months, his mind helpfully supplied - molding them into the people they are today.
Like water erodes rock over thousands of years, carving its way through layers of stone until the landscape is forever altered, Zhao Yunlan changed perspectives, brought people around to his way of thinking and often rewrote a person's self-esteem. Having little patience for modesty, insecurities or ego.
He certainly had with Shen Wei.
Every report Chu Shuzhi had ever filed was scoured for information. Every rumor checked and every fact memorized painstakingly.
So Shen Wei knew a great deal about Lin Jing, or 'Fake Monk' as Zhao Yunlan usually called him. Born into a family hailing from a long line of monks and cultivators, Lin Jing had a strange mix of ancient pedigree and yet no sect to call his own. He was over qualified for the job, graduating university with degrees in forensics, computing and engineering, while also standing as a senior cultivator of impressive rank. He was a blend of modern scientist and traditional cultivator.
And Shen Wei suspected that he was a member of the Jade Mountain Sect. Possibly born into the sect.
Rather than get a job with the University, which had been his plan, or with a tech company that could have made him millions, Lin Jing opted to leave his high flying laboratory job for the Guardian Order. Opted to work for Zhao Yunlan, choosing the Guardian over money, fame or glory.
And Zhao Yunlan would be devastated if he died....
Shen Wei is beside him in a moment, crouched in the dusty soil, the younger man struggling to move. He's bound by dark energy that Shen Wei removes quickly, grimacing unseen at the sickly feel the power has.
He's badly injured, from the fall Shen Wei suspects.
What in the name of Kunlun, did Kunlun do? Shen Wei wonders. Putting his hands on Lin Jing's struggling chest, ignoring the blood and pained feeble gasps, he shunts healing energy into him. Within minutes, Lin Jing is coughing, his broken ribs and shattered spine remade.
"Where is Chief Zhao?" Shen Wei asks quickly, but Lin Jing passes out before he so much as opens his eyes.
Irritated, fear roiling in his chest, Shen Wei gathers the younger man and rips open a portal to SID.
===
The air is cold enough to see mist forming, when someone speaks. Its oppressive and abnormal in their normally warm office, the taste of ozone overlaying the light tea cradled in his freezing hands. Lin Jing looks at Da Qing sitting opposite him, watching Deputy's eyes flick from Lin Jing to behind him, where the Black Cloaked Envoy and ruler of Dixing, is waiting.
Lin Jing's been awake for eight minutes.
Waking on the office sofa like some kind of dying character from one his favorite web novels, to find the Envoy and all of the office excepting of course Chief himself, gathered around him, like its his deathbed. Chief would have said sarcastic something by now.
Zhu Hong is trying not to look like she's crowding close to the radiator near her desk. As a Snake Yashou, this cold is beginning to seriously affect her. Chu Shuzhi is on the other side of the room, caught between national loyalty and being a part of the Order. Xiao Guo is on the stairs, terrified. Wang Zheng is beside Da Qing, her eyes pained.
And Lin Jing knows he's screwed. He knows what Chief wanted him to do and the Envoy's presence makes that a lot more difficult. Political ramifications so close to the Treaty? The government might imprison him but Chief would make him wish for death, he knows.
So, Lin Jing takes a sip of the restorative tea and croaks, "Chief was furious. Nine tails furious."
Da Qing's gaze sharpens exactly as he expects, the glow of his yellow cat eyes bleeding through into the brown of his human guise.
Nine tails was a joke. Just a stupid joke that ended up being a kind of in-team code for saying or doing something simply because Chief told you to. Half the time when he does that, you have no idea why or what it's for. It's just trust and that die-hard faith in the man, as impossible as he is most days.
So he says the code words and sees Zhu Hong straighten and Chu Shuzhi grimace. They know whatever he's about to say is for the Envoy. His words are Chief's orders.
"Why was he angry?" The smooth, deep voice behind him has him suppressing shivers.
"The Yashou were - are- clearly trying to cover up killings. Murders. The last thing they wanted was for Chief to visit them right now. Children, tourists and locals from the villages in the area. All killed the same way. They refused to let Chief investigate properly, after accusing Chief of doing nothing. The village near the access point talked of nothing else. The woman who owns the hotel there, practically begged Chief not to go hiking."
"The Crows." Da Qing says, gaze practically a knife at this point.
"Ya Qing came through for us." Lin Jing says and holds Da Qing's gaze.
There is movement and then the Envoy is in front of Lin Jing, the table moved back entirely of its own accord apparently.
"What do you mean?" Its a simple question and the tone gives nothing away, but Lin Jing balks anyway.
"Ya Qing came to the collection point to warn us. She had to kidnap us otherwise the Dixingian assassins would have massacred the Yashou party and us. They had been sent to kill Chief. Twenty of them. Its revenge now for Chief killing a few of them and outing them." He said clutching his courage.
"Ya Qing...is working for Chief Zhao?" Again a direct question in a velvety voice hiding blades.
"No." Lin Jing denied quickly. Because that just wasn't believable and might make Chief look like he was supporting the enemy.
"The traitors in Dixing kidnapped some of her people and killed others to force her to do their bidding. She's putting some faith in Chief to save them, because... she hates Dixingians. Out of the two she picked Chief and he was the only one who disagreed that it was the Crows."
"He always called that hate short-sighted." Da Qing says into the silence.
Talk about holding a loaded gun. The tension ratchets up and no one actually does anything.
"Ya Qing was betrayed by Zhu Jiu, who thought she was trying to get one over him. So she took us to the sanatorium, hoping Chief would escape. But we found out, because they were boasting, about the people involved in this."
"Tell us."
Its a command, not a suggestion in that deep voice. So Lin Jing, swallows and does exactly that.
==
Zhao Yunlan has had a lot of bad days. This one might take the tiara.
Because as it turned out, they didn't want to empower a 'side-piece' as Lin Jing called it, to control the Envoy. Although that was a side benefit. The ransoming of Zhao Yunlan, already dead but the hope Shen Wei would feel, would be so powerful and if he didn't hate them before, he really did now.
No, the big plan was to use Kunlun's bottled power to activate the Hallows, using the Tokens.
And he, Zhao Yunlan, recipient of that power was strapped to a nice stone altar - because clearly someone had discovered web novels were also full of great tips - ready to be sacrificed. The stage was set to some theme, with a lava pool and dark energy lights, white chalk lines spread over the stone floor.
He could feel the surge of dark energy running like a constant current in the background. A well of power, massive and completely out of his reach circulating around the space. Whether that was natural, or a shield of some kind, he had no idea.
Zhu Jiu was arguing with Ma Jianzhong over to the left. The latter was dressed in his Dragon Sect robes, the flowing blue satin ridiculous in any era. Chang Zhekuan was staring at Zhao Yunlan with loathing and he hadn't changed all that much in the years since he had seen him last. Thinner, his sharply angular face no prettier, his voice no less nasal and his ego till hanging in there.
The glory part of the infiltration of Xingdu Bureau is as close to a confession as Zhao Yunlan is likely going to get.
He spouts about revenge and Zhao Yunlan tuned him out, uninterested. He had zero regrets about his undercover job itself, revealing the poisonous corruption of the Yueyang Sect. His only regret is that his friend died as a result. Her death was a catalyst for their more permanent end.
They had hit him a few times, but Dead Leader was a far bigger problem in that arena. Eventually, after he proved to be unmoved by physical violence, they shifted to the other side of the room to begin the ritual.
They're afraid of him.
He's well manacled with dark energy and they're keeping their distance. Even Zhu Jiu is unnerved by him. Watching him with a flickering gaze, his training as a guard coming to fore as he recognizes that Zhao Yunlan is not quite as he seems. The assassins that come for the show are silent. They lurk in the shadows and he rolls his eyes at their theatrics.
Idiots in robes have never impressed him. It's not like any of them are the Envoy, who manages to look sophisticated and otherworldly swathed in black cloth.
Ma Jianzhong tries though, his face smug as he looks down at Zhao Yunlan. "You could have everything if you had joined us."
"Poor fashion and dead teenage girls?" Zhao Yunlan replies cuttingly. "You murdered Luo Ruomei and gave Gao Tianyu the concoction that turned him into a shadow. You've help to kill over fifteen people, families with children! You think murdering babies makes you strong asshole?!"
"I didn't have anything to do with those deaths." Ma Jianzhong says almost primly.
Proving it would be hard, but that might be solved with his death. The idiots hadn't read the fine print of power transfers. The subject either had to be willing or unconscious and Zhao Yunlan was neither. He had two choices. Let them try or seal his power, so that when they tried his core would basically self-destruct killing him. Kunlun's power was wild and had taken him years to control. In the hands of these two, they could do so much damage.
Lin Jing would have made contact with the Envoy by now, but Zhao Yunlan had little hope that the king of Dixing was going to get here in time.
Chang Zhekuan is still an idiot and Ma Jianzhong was no genius either, but they could activate this array. The array was sadly a genuine spell, taken from an ancient book, written by a unhinged cultivator who had serial killing as a hobby. Most of the madman's spells worked and were recorded in various manuscripts, in varying degrees of wholeness.
Eventually, a new person enters the underground room and all of Zhao Yunlan's attention roots to him. Older, with a greying beard and tired eyes, he doesn't look like a threat, but the coldness of his gaze says enough. Ma Jianzhong looks nervous and Zhu Jiu simpers.
Dixingren traditional dress can't hide the ambition in his stance, as he takes in Zhao Yunlan and the array written on the floor. "You have done well." He praises, his voice resonating with command. "Soon we shall have a new era in this land, in both our lands."
"Not the most imaginative speech." Zhao Yunlan comments, watching.
"Shut up!" Zhu Jiu shouts and throws power at him. The dark energy spell ricochets off the strange shield once more, so Zhao Yunlan doesn't have to even think about breaking eye contact.
His face keeps the mask of disinterest and cold eyes. His mind however is racing.
The man smiles however, as if Zhao Yunlan said something amusing. "You don't think so Guardian? Forgive me for my manners. You are the Lord Guardian Zhao Yunlan. I am what our king calls me. Regent."
"And we do owe you a great deal. Without your power this might not be possible." He adds with a gentle, reassuring smile. "If you hadn't tried so hard to arrest Gao Tianyu, I would never have known you were Kunlun's Chosen. My spies have watched you flaunt that power for a year. But the shadows attract don't they? And Young Gao can really attract."
What? The old nutjob thought that Zhao Yunlan was attracted to Gao Tianyu? Or lured by some power?
"So you planted evidence, with the intent to drive a wedge between the Order and the government of Dixing."
The Regent laughs and says bitterly, "Government? Let's not be coy Guardian. You have conferred with the highest power of this land. You caught the attention and then respect of a king." He sobers and stares at Zhao Yunlan. "We spent years slowly boxing the Envoy into a corner. Your dear father helped immensely. He gave up on them. Called the Order some things you wouldn't like."
"But then he got interested." Zhao Yunlan finished. "And you needed the wedge or he'd get suspicious of you. Tell me, since I'm dying anyway, why kill all those families?"
"In my position it wasn't hard to find the names of all those involved in the Treaty." The Regent admits. "Killing them put suspicion on Haixing. Driving the king's rage and anti-Haxingren sentiment. The Treaty would fail and the king proven, finally to be defective as a leader. Killing the cultivators families had the Bureau and other Haixing organizations at each other's throats. Anti-cultivator against cultivator stronghold. And it had to be cultivators that understood about Kunlun."
"The known weakness of the king." Zhao Yunlan agrees.
The Regent nods pleased. "The Yueyang want you dead and they want power. The prestige their limited training and pathetic abilities cannot grant."
Chang Zhekuan bristles and Ma Jianzhong holds him back. Zhao Yunlan smirks. "Neither powerful or clever."
"And you are both." The Regent replies. "A snake in the grass taking what you want. A prostitute."
Ah. The Regent believes he infiltrated the Yueyang for personal gain and works with Shen Wei to get more power. A social climbing, power-tripping slut. Nice. He thought sarcastically. But then, the guy believes genocide is a good plan so remorse and nicety must be beyond him.
"You believe that the Emperor of Dixing will allow you to live?" Zhao Yunlan asks calmly. "If you break the Treaty? You ordered killings in Haixing, murdered Yashou. Killed Dixingren on Haixing soil and committed multiple crimes in both realms, including corruption, murder and if your plans works - killed me, the Lord Guardian."
The smile widens, "Soon I will be the king of Dixing and your lands, Haixing shall fall in line. No more shall we stay here in the darkness. We shall become one people, instead of this divided, secret people. Combined riches. Combined cultures. Your government shall fall. I shall rule."
"How long have you been planning this? Must have been a while. Corrupt Judges under your control, certainly your own forces under your command. All under the king's nose?" Zhao Yunlan asks, watching as Ma Jianzhong rolled up his sleeves, lifting a truly ostentatious sword from the table.
The Regent laughs. "One hundred years Guardian. Now, its time for your power to become mine."
Dark energy struck the array, lighting it up in a riot of pinks and dark blue. Ma Jianzhong and Chang Zhekuan stepped forward and one of the assassins, a sour-faced man with a scar down his neck, held a knife.
'You won't get away with this." Zhao Yunlan tells the Regent coldly.
"Oh I will Lord Guardian." The Regent replies stepping back, "Its time you died. Its time Haixijg burned as it should have centuries ago when the Great Chieftain walked this pathetic planet. Get on with it."
He fights but he can't get free, so he locks down his power. The first cut burns and within minutes they carve long bloody lines into his torso, beginning to chant.
Kunlun had said once that loyalty is hard to find and harder to keep.
He believed that there were three ways for it to stick, in his words. The first was to save a life - not reliable but good for most - the second was to give someone an alternate future and the third was to give someone purpose or lash their fortune to yours.
Zhao Yunlan had done exactly that at SID. He had given Zhu Hong a new future, Wang Zheng a purpose. He had saved Da Qing millennia ago and theirs was a complex relationship, one of family and psychic bonds. Lin Jing clearly had been saved too.
In the thousands of things Kunlun had said to him during their too-short time together, like most times it was when Shen Wei needed his guidance, did these things come to him.
When he reluctantly took the throne and became the king of Dixing centuries ago, he had considered it a temporary job. He was a war lord and a general, not the type of experience that he thought was suitable for peace times. For peace keeping; yes, and that as he ultimately ended up doing. Maintaining the peace between realms and building a prosperous future one choice at time.
But because he was a war lord at heart, and by far the most conditioned to violence, Shen Wei was not a man to betray. He couldn't be brow beaten, was hard to reason with and enjoyed threats. He was also nearly impossible to kill because of whatever the Hallows had done and was undeniably, vicious.
He kept his word to Kunlun to keep going and knowing Kunlun would be dismayed, built a world after his image with temples devoted to his memory. Now that homeland once again was being threatened. Not by another realm as many of his people feared, but by the ideology that nearly destroyed the world. Beliefs that came from Dixing, held close even after all this time, bloody revolts while he slept and a civil war he settled centuries ago.
He had made sure that word 'rebel' was the last description anyone wanted to hear from the king's lips.
Shen Wei had listened when Kunlun had said that taking on the world alone was a grand gesture and a good way to die. So he had gathered enough to him that were bound by the same thinking and loyal to him in one of the three ways.
"Because you'll find out through strain and temptation who is loyal and who is not."
And considering the lifetimes of Dixingren, he had discovered this threshold for everyone around him at least once.
When the portal closed behind him, Shen Wei swept into Dixing, his black cloak swishing along the ground sending ice shards and sparks around him with every step. He strode into the Palace, along the black stone floor and paused in the throne room.
Panic rolled through him like a winter storm, but none of it showed through his mask.
Zhao Yunlan had been taken, kidnapped again by a Dixingren rebel. Again was being hurt and threatened by a rebel from his people, now somewhere in Dixing, probably certain no one was coming for him! His fists clenched in his long sleeves, power simmering in his meridians.
Who?
Someone had under his nose, taking advantage of Shen Wei's inattention and depression, had been setting the stage for the failure of the Treaty. Not something that Shen Wei would have said was easy or something you could do alone. Again as Kunlun would say. Grand gesture, good way to die.
Suggesting, Shen Wei thought spinning on his heel, ignoring the people hurrying into the room. ....Suggesting that the person was old, more than two hundred and ambitious. They knew how the Treaty worked, how it functioned between the realms and had access to the information regarding the foot soldiers who ultimately, would reproduce the document as times and needs changed. The lawmakers, diplomats and spies. The people raised with the strong belief that through the Treaty, Dixing only grew stronger.
Access to them and access to Dixing's internal system, with enough money or clout to corrupt. Able to operate even in Shen Wei's court who were chosen for their loyalty, tolerated for their skills and all of them, he had ensured, lived in fear of being called a 'rebel.'
It didn't leave a massive list behind, but the names written on the ledger in Shen Wei's mind, did hurt. These were people he had known and cared for. People he had trained and helped. People that he had thought were smarter than this, fooled by the reputation of a madman who slaughtered thousands, all of them this generations great ancestors now. But Shen Wei was someone who had lived that past. He had fought the chieftain, made damn sure that his legacy was hated for good reason.
Three names. Three tests he didn't have time for.
Zhao Yunlan, Shen Wei thought desperately would understand by now, the entire scheme so clear in his mind. Zhao Yunlan would have waited to be betrayed with a list of who would go first, organized by percentage probably. Zhao Yunlan would only need one test and then would work fast, swift on his feet, watching the others on the list.
So. Shen Wei returned to the throne and began.
His most loyal came to him immediately, called and summoned by his presence and by his temper. And he noted who was not there. His court, already nervous with the detainment and deaths over the corrupt Judge, were not interested in their usual bickering. His High Guard, the genuine ones he thought with a dark smile, were generals and assassins, under his second in command's iron fist.
This particular general had no access to Haixing and was loyal only to Dixing, so Shen Wei didn't doubt him.
"There are more traitors are among us. Loyal to the dark words of the ancient chieftain." He told them, his voice reverberating around the room. "I had to learn of this from the Guardian Order!"
His shout had the actual foundations shaking slightly and all those before him dropped into useless bows. "We have been betrayed from the heart. These rebels have stolen the Lord Guardian! An act of war! Peace your ancestors died for, peace I bled for! This Treaty will not fail over incompetence and treason!"
"Your command, Your Majesty?" His second in command asked from where he knelt.
Shen Wei stared down at them and issued his own call for war. "I want them rounded up and I want my best at my back. As it was then, in the time of the meteorite and the birth of our world, as it will be now."
Because Zhao Yunlan's life counted on it and he had no idea where he was, in the land of the underground darkness.
==
It took ten minutes for the evidence to mount and the obvious gap in those summoned to prove all of it.
The Regent was either dead or the one doing this.
The Regent's people were arrested in rapid take-downs that tore through Dixing and many of those who knew him and didn't want to die for him, coughed up answers. He might want the throne and he might want to rule the world, but Kunlun's words still held true. Loyalty was hard to find and hard to keep.
Shen Wei's power base was too secure and too many thought of him as a mythical being as it was. The people of Dixing didn't want a leadership change. Shen Wei would know, because he'd been hoping they did.
Shen Wei stood in the middle of the throne room and called his power to him.
He forgot what this would mean and had didn't realize the impact of it either. The king swathed in black, his sword in one hand, head tipped back to face the sky. Power washed around him like the lapping tides of the dark seas, frost and licking flames the opposites he was so famous for spread across the floor.
One hand rose from the faintly rippling darkness that was neither fabric or of this time, and Called.
Everyone in Dixing has a unique energy signature. Shen Wei had been reading those signatures since the time of his childhood millennia ago. How he learned this skill was lost to his memory, but it came to come as second nature.
It was how he had known that Kunlun, the apparent 'mountain war lord with no skills', as he claimed, was in fact a powerful cultivator. Something no one had ever really seen before. Kunlun was very skilled and enjoyed hiding this fact, being mistaken for a talentless killer.
He couldn't find Kunlun's signature because it was being concealed, but he could find the Regent.
==
Shen Wei tore though the shields as if they were made of paper.
Zhao Yunlan was being held miles from the capital and deep in the wilderness of the north. The caverns of the ancients were rumored to be where the first Dixingren had evolved to wield the gifts that allowed them to live on this planet. It was supposedly the birthplace of their people.
An ironic choice to murder the Lord Guardian, who gave them peace.
An army swept behind him and the battle began the moment he ripped open a portal and surged through the shields. Now he could feel Zhao Yunlan and the panic suppressed through action, rose to meet terror.
His life was fading. Kunlun was dying.
Anyone who confronted him died as he led the way, blade cutting through flesh and bone exactly as it had millennia ago. Blood and battle was where Shen Wei had been honed. He deflected attacks and those bringing up the rear, defended his back and took those still alive, for answers.
In the main cavern, the worst sight he had ever borne witness to, staggered him for a second.
Zhao Yunlan stripped to the waist was chained to a altar, an array painted on the floor glowing blue and another carved into his skin. Blood dripped and still, Zhao Yunlan laughed.
The sound broke the paralysis on the room. Zhu Jiu came for him, blinking in and out of reality. Shen Wei snarled, a sound of rage born before the world knew chaos, and met the fool blow for blow.
His soldiers flew into the room after him and took on the assassins, ensuring the entire space was filled with competing gifts, dark energy gunfire and in the center the blaze of power that was Shen Wei.
Shen Wei ducked and instead of hitting Zhu Jiu, he hurled his blade through the crowd of people to strike the Regent who still tried to claim Kunlun's power. It speared through his back, spraying Zhao Yunlan with his filthy blood and ripped free from the ruined chest with a whisper of a call from Shen Wei.
The blade, Gonggong itself hovered above the altar protecting Zhao Yunlan until Shen Wei could gt closer. Zhu Jiou in his infinite stupidity, actually thought this meant Shen Wei was undefended. The blade was a pair.
His pudao swept up and struck Zhu Jiu a hard blow, but Shen Wei wasn't interested in his death. He needed desperately to get to Zhao Yunlan.
==
Blood drips onto the floor, the ruined mess of his chest hurts so badly, the knife cuts stinging and burning.
Darkness pulls at Zhao Yunlan as the chants continue around him, the scent of bitter incense filling the air. The world spins into a greyish blur of lamplight and blood loss, but Zhao Yunlan holds onto the seal on his core power, his will stronger than their spell. It shouldn't be, but whatever he's doing it's working and they try everything they can think of to derail him.
Dark energy just hits the strange shield. Blows to the head can't stop the tight rein he has over his power and he just laughs when they try to drug him.
He's the Guardian, he'll die for the three peoples, but he's got enough spite in his heart, that they won't win. Again he calls resentment and calls a rippling backlash several times, ruining the spell. Their rage just fuels him.
There is a distant thud and Zhao Yunlan laughs drunkenly, fatigue pulling at his consciousness. There is screaming and shouting and Zhao Yunlan muzzily thinks he should switch the TV off. When he wakes up it be on some horrible soap drama or a talk show debating fashion trends. Or Fatty will switch over to some shopping channel just be an ass....
A cool hand cups his burning cheek and Zhao Yunlan leans into it. "Xiao Wei." He murmurs and smiles without opening his eyes. He could get used to this, he thinks. Quiet nights and Shen Wei.
"Zhao Yunlan. Zhao Yunlan!" Shen Wei's voice is panicked and this is a strange dream, he thinks.
"We should stop meeting like this." He tries to say, amused at the thought. Most of their meetings have been blood soaked. If he doesn't soon let go of the power raging inside him, he'll qi deviate, but he just wants to bask in Shen Wei's presence, like its sunlight.
Then as he feels his meridians spark and ache, he realizes that he is anyway. He coughs, body spasming and he chokes on blood, on power.
" Da Qing." He says, knowing only his cat will be able to help him now. "Da Qing."
Then it all slips away....
==
When he opens his eyes he's sitting across from a fire.
He startles just a little, a jerk of his shoulders that he suppresses quickly. From the fire, his eyes track the stone wall beyond the flames, at the black almost pearly surface of the water lapping at the edges of a stone shoreline.
This isn't a cave exactly he thinks. It's a labyrinth. Possibly the famous Alliance labyrinth deep underground. There is a table across a narrower section of the black water and ancient books line the badly put together shelving unit, lit by several dark energy lights. It's a cozy, strange and definitely secret workshop, but what catches Zhao Yunlan's eyes even at this distance is the bed.
Shen Wei is asleep, a tumble of limbs tucked beneath a blue and white blanket on the floor, his dark robes a pool of fabric and power.
His dark hair coils on the blanket, loose over his shoulders and back, long strands falling into his face. He's serene, beautiful and appears untouchable.
He looks to his left and sees a mirror image of himself, watching him looking across the water at Shen Wei, with understanding in his own eyes.
Twenty years ago, he remembers sitting on the bathroom floor, watching his mother cut and style her hair. She had the same wavy, nearly unmanageable type of hair with the same crinkle but solved it by straightening it religiously. He remembers fondly that she had created a millennium fashionable bob, chatting to him as he watched her fingers deftly choosing strands and clipping the excess without really looking.
He remembers her turning from the sink, her eyes so like his own, holding his gaze. She had told him that morning that if you can't make a working relationship with yourself, you'll never get the life you want. Acceptance, she told him was the key. Change what you can, accept what you can't.
The mirror image of himself has braids.
Robes the color of a winter sky skim down his body to pool slightly at his booted feet, a dead animal draped over his shoulders. His hair falls to his waist and there is a sword idly propped against the stone wall. He's watching Zhao steadily.
It doesn't take a genius to work out he's Kunlun and himself.
It does take some considering to work how he's looking at himself, what the hell happened to chuck him in the past and what exactly this means. He glances at Shen Wei, sleeping peacefully in Zhao Yunlan's bed, then back at himself.
"Bone spell embedded in the power transfer."
It's his voice that speaks across the fire, echoing slightly over the expanse of dark cavern. It holds a touch of impatience and irritation that Zhao Yunlan can appreciate and right then and there, Zhao Yunlan decides he going to call him Kunlun. It who he is, this guise he's clearly created, so why not? Less confusing.
Zhao Yunlan takes a second to think. If he went to the trouble of somehow embedding a message, he'd be expecting himself to cotton on quickly and cope.
Bone spells were notorious in the cultivation world. They were mentioned in TV dramas today and hundreds of novels, plays and poems for the last six centuries that he knew of. In actuality, very few had ever used one.
It apparently required taking bone, no guesses for the name there and inscribing an array. In the dramas, it needed blood to activate, but Zhao Yunlan wasn't ask to bleed at the Kunun ceremony. And he had been bloodied several times since then....
The second activation was less known and required a near death experience. That to everyone else had always seemed stupid. If your character needed to nearly die to find out the crucial information, it was an extreme risk few would take. Messages hidden in drinks were cheaper and less life threatening.
...That meant that there was a piece of bone concealed in the ceremonial tools for the ceremony, passed down for ten thousand years. The spell was transferred in the ceremony but didn't activate until he nearly died.
Or did in fact die. But he couldn't be dead if he was to learn what to do.
If it was pretty enough, someone will keep it. If its a part of your identity......Da Qing had always sworn by that.
"Its inscribed in Da Qing's bells isn't it." He says, speaking for the first time. He sees the odd flicker in his own gaze reflected and staring back at him. A chasm of time, one body, one heart and mind, split across millennia.
A fast grin and then a unrepentant look.
"Da Qing would find me, know I'm the One because I'm his owner and he's my cat. Take me to the Sect, prove my worth through the billion odd tests those old goats put me through and then at the ceremony, his bells acted as the spell, the bone artifact the catalyst."
He laughs. "Good plan."
"Our plans always are." Kunlun says, again unrepentant. "Okay." He breathed out, as if about to launch into a report. Its a habit he picked up at debriefings as a homicide cop when he was working his way up the ranks in Shanghai.
"Your suspicions are right. Shen Wei is the Envoy."
Considering his suspicions, it should not sting. He tightened his jaw, worked through the instant flash of betrayal and anger.
"I've been here in the past for two years." Kunlun tells him. "The Shen Wei here is about twenty years old. Twenty something maybe. The war is raging and our side is losing. We, or rather I crash land here and agree to end the war."
Zhao Yunlan absorbs this and wonders why anyone would volunteer him for the job. As one they look at Shen Wei, still curled in the blankets.
"Shen Wei is love with us. Me. You. In your time and here. He waited ten thousand years for us."
At that, Zhao Yunlan looks at himself. He sees the pain of realization and the bitter struggle of acceptance. He reads the defeat in the line of his own shoulders and the steel core of himself that will power though anyway, though determination, spite and will alone.
"Ten thousand years." He repeats.
"We're angry right now. We were betrayed, but we dug this grave ourselves." Kunlun tells him.
"How?" Zhao Yunlan demands, though he suspects the answer.
Kunlun looks at him flatly. "We thought the Envoy wanted us dead. We certainly didn't give Shen Wei a chance to prove himself, so he lied. Pretended to be a foot soldier to get closer. Worked to earn our trust, but held too many identities for even him to hold." Kunlun huffs a laugh. "Professor, High Guard soldier, Envoy and Shen Wei."
That was true and Shen Wei had repeatedly saved his life.
"What we feel for him right now is more than we've ever felt for anyone. We know him and we don't why. The simple answer, is that he knew me. You. He loves us. If we ask for friendship he'll be devoted. If we want a lover, he'll move into our lives."
Zhao Yunlan looked at his own eyes and saw softness there and protectiveness. "Clearly, I end up in love with him."
Kunlun doesn't deny it, only looks sad. Its a familiar expression on his face. "The cycle must be completed."
This made sense, so Zhao nods and asks begrudgingly, "How?"
"You need to find more information on the war and study hard." An ironic grin flashed over his features, vanishing into a stony expression. "Our stash of illegal books help, but think of everything you know Kunlun did. You need to understand how he did those things because guess what? You're going to be doing it."
====
Kunlun's life was fading.
Shen Wei held him on the altar, the stone digging into his knees as he craned over the love of his life, pushing healing energy into his system.
Kunlun - Zhao Yunlan couldn't die.
His qi was running riot, his core destabilizing and Shen Wei had absolutely no idea what to do. He had a great deal of experience with cultivators from Haixing, but very little when it came to medical matters. No one was going to ask the Envoy of Dixing for help when they were experiencing a qi deviation.
He had only seen it happen three times in the centuries since he awoke. All of the people involved, died.
Zhao Yunlan was smiling up at him, crooked and genuine, escaping to that place that was beyond pain and exhaustion, drifting closer to the brink of no return.
"Stay with me." Shen Wei begs, but his dark energy is only keeping his heart beating. The uncontrolled energy in Zhao Yunlan's body is blocking the healing process.
"Da Qing." Zhao Yunlan tells him, his dark eyes, pools of infinite black in the dim light of the ancient caverns. "Da Qing." He says again, his eyes closing, body falling lax as he struggles to stay with him, to stay awake.
Shen Wei panics. There was no other word for how he gathered Zhao Yunlan to him and lifted him from the altar, or how he pulled open a portal to Haixing that should have been impossible in these ancient rooms. Folded into Shen Wei's arms, he's alarmingly light and again this reminds him too clearly of the mountainside, when he carried him down to the clinic.
That event can still be measured in days, in moments for someone as old as Shen Wei.
Shen Wei can feel the blood, Zhao Yunlan's blood wetting the cuff of his wristguards, seeping down the seam to splash on his skin. Terror finally settles and Shen Wei rushes his precious burden into the warm main room of SID.
There is the inevitable reaction as Shen Wei tears a hole in the fabric of the world and stalks inside, carrying the Chief of SID, the Lord Guardian himself. Bloodied and obviously dying.
Chu Shuzhi darts forward, his eyes wide with horror. Zhu Hong is over by his side in seconds, any fear of him forgotten, her voice shouting for Da Qing. Lin Jing barrels through the lab doors and he pauses as he takes in the state of Zhao Yunlan.
In seconds the entire assemble of the Order is gathered around the office sofa.
Da Qing launches from cat form, his body arcing in the air as he lands. Gratifyingly he wastes no time, his hands pressed to his owner's bloodied chest, even as Wang Zheng hurries in with the largest medical bag, Shen Wei's seen this century. She's pulling out bandages and antiseptic wipes even as Da Qing crouches beside Yunlan. Another man, older with tired, kind eyes hurrying in behind her.
"His body is not accepting healing energy." Shen Wei tells Da Qing frantically.
Their eyes meet over Kunlun' s prone body and the terror is shared without words, a connection born on either side of this man millennia ago, reforged by him yet again.
"It won't." Da Qing says in a brittle voice, one hand gripping Zhao Yunlan's arm, the other resting on his chest. Da Qing's eyes are fever bright as he battles against Zhao Yunlan's core.
"His core is destabilizing." Da Qing reports, a white glow around his hands, "I need to get that stable before you can heal. Keep your hands on him. Project your energy in a slow trickle. His body can't use the dark energy directly, so it won't worsen the overload. We got to keep his heart beating! Lin Jing!"
Lin Jing though battered himself is on the floor before his name is even fully out of Da Qing's mouth. 'What do you need?" He asks worriedly.
"Is he going to be okay?" Zhu Hong asks, her eyes fearful.
"Let Deputy work." The older man, Old Li as Zhao Yunlan called him, tells her gently.
"Get me a cold pack!" Da Qing snaps. "His temperature is going to skyrocket."
"How is he more powerful?" Da Qing asks Shen Wei over his chest.
Shen Wei relocates to Zhao Yunlan's head, kneeling at the head of the sofa over the armrest, so his hands are cupping his face, fingers curving over his jaw. He can feel his pulse, slow and terrifyingly faint. Shen Wei wants to pour every drop of his power into the man, but breathes through the impulse.
With as much control as he can muster, Shen Wei sends his energy into Zhao Yunlan in a steady stream, keeping his heart beating determinedly.
"I don't know." He admits out loud. 'When we found them, they were performing a ritual."
"To steal Chief's power." Lin Jing says from the floor. "He probably locked his core to stop them. It can create a rebound of energy."
He sounds awed and Shen Wei wonders how many cultivators have ever successfully done this. If it kills you anyway, perhaps not many. But he sees from Da Qing's face that his old comrade and friend doesn't quite believe that as an answer. It has another knot of worry tightening in Shen Wei's heart. What else could be happening?
For long frantic minutes Da Qing fights to stabilize him and has Lin Jing calling for reinforcements. "I can't keep him stable on my own." He says between gritted teeth.
'Who will help?' Shen Wei demands.
"He is Kunlun's Chosen." Da Qing retorts. The Jade Mountain Sect will help then, Shen Wei translates.
It takes an eternity but they arrive through the doors. The one in front is a tall woman in a long sleeveless dress the color of sunlight, with a high collar and a loose white robe. Behind her is a shorter man with white hair and Bi Hongyong, Zhao Yunlan's friend from the tea house.
The woman bows to him calmly and settles in Lin Jing's place.
"Lady Hao, Leader of the Jade Sect." Lin Jing tells him quietly, keeping his head down.
The shorter man opens another bag, getting out small bottles and a pack of hypodermic needles.
"Sect Healer." Lin Jing informs them and Shen Wei nods to him, watching his hands like a hawk. "Chief's...shijie."
"His condition is not good Master Da." The shorter man says blithely.
"Of course it isn't! He's having a Level Four qi deviation. If we don't stabilize him now, it will kill him!" Lady Hao snaps, her voice beautiful even as she presses power into Zhao Yunlan's body. He bucks, muscles seizing and Shen Wei tenses, ready to throw her off, if she's hurting him.
"They tried to steal his power." Da Qing bites out.
"Kunlun's power." She corrects as if Zhao Yunlan is simply borrowing his own power. "I'm not letting it kill him. It didn't when they shoved it into him, unwillingly I might add - and I'll be damned if I let it do it now."
Shen Wei listens as she defends him and decides he likes her. Lady Hao's hands are gentle as she wipes away the blood and concentrates on stabilizing Kunlun, siphoning off the wild energy so his heart doesn't give out.
It takes over an hour. They move him to the lab, where Lin Jing sets up a heart rate monitor he 'just happens to have'. He's lying on an unforgiving cold steel table, but as the other cultivators gather around him, Shen Wei retakes his former position.
No one questions it. Shen Wei wonders if it is because Zhao Yunlan is supposedly Kunlun's Chosen, a title that seems more ridiculous as the days go by and he is famously the main worshiper of Kunlun.
The shorter man whose name Shen Wei still doesn't know, injects various drugs into Zhao Yunlan's system, watching the monitor closely. The others of SID gather at the doorway, Wang Zheng holding onto Zhu Hong, Chu Shuzhi tucked into the corner, Guo Changcheng fretting in the doorway with Old Li.
Da Qing fights for Zhao Yunlan, his hands pressed to his chest right over his heart.
"They unleashed something." Lady Hao says after a while, sweat beading on her brow. "A curse?"
"They unlocked abilities I think." Da Qing says breathlessly as he pours more energy into Zhao Yunlan's overtaxed system.
Shen Wei stares down at the still features, so beloved and sacred. His skin is painfully cool to the touch, still painted with blood from wounds still bleeding, the red stains deepening on the bandages. When the power stops raging against everything, Shen Wei slips his dark energy beneath it. He heals as he goes, knitting together muscle and setting bone. He gives rather than takes energy, cooling his fever and soothing away the pain.
Painfully, slowly, his heart rate calms. His core stabilizes and his injuries recede, then fade altogether as Shen Wei works.
Da Qing's shoulders slump in relief and Lady Hao breathes out a long breath, then smiles. "Looks like our rebel will be fine." She means it with affection, fondness in her gaze, but Shen Wei still glares at her for using that word.
"He'll need around the clock monitoring." Lady Hao then says as SID celebrates, all them pale and relieved. "I doubt he'll wake until late tomorrow."
She then turns to Shen Wei and bows, "On behalf of my Sect, Your Majesty, I owe you greatly for helping to save my shidi."
"Zhao Yunlan is the Lord Guardian and the Chosen of Kunlun." Shen Wei says formally, forcing himself to release his hands from Zhao Yunlan's warming skin. He is also the love of his life and the one who Shen Wei would happily and proudly die for, but he cannot admit that here. "It is what Kunlun would want."
And its not even a lie. Zhao Yunlan would not want to die on an altar. It was not the end for such a hero. Shen Wei had no intention of letting him die anyway.
"Your Majesty," Chu Shuzhi says bowing, "Dixing is summoning you."
It takes everything in Shen Wei to leave, four false starts, six delays and slow steps towards the still open portal.
Its Da Qing's words that finally give him the drive to actually walk away from Kunlun.
"Make them pay for this." The old cat spits lowly. "Make sure that it won't hurt him later."
And he's right. Zhao Yunlan has stuck his neck for the Treaty, for Dixing. Once again, the hero of the past has protected Dixing, even when his people has hurt him repeatedly. Shen Wei will make damn sure nothing touches him.
"Look after him." Shen Wei tells him needlessly.
Da Qing looks back at the table where Zhao Yunlan sleeps and says quietly. "I'll never leave him. Besides, when he had the deviation, all of his wards and spells will have failed."
Shen Wei wasn't sure why that was such a problem, but guesses Zhao Yunlan will be annoyed by it.
Shen Wei wants to kiss him, wants to hold him just once before he leaves, but can't. He must fight while Zhao Yunlan is resting. He'll be fine. And Shen Wei will be back here as soon as he can, as the Envoy, as the Professor or as the High Guard. No matter the mask he wears, he's Shen Wei, a man in love.
Thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who hung in there for this ending. For all your encouragement and support, for every comment and kudo. I love you all.
The full smut is past the moon picture.
======================================
Life post qi-deviation was supposed to involve, rest, mediation on a rock somewhere and the martyrdom of cultivator isolation. Alone time to recharge and not kill yourself with another qi deviation.
The cold pond, hard rocks and outdoor camping - necessary cultivator favorites to fix any ailment - were really the cheap version of a spa week, Zhao Yunlan thought idly. He'd seen enough adverts for the local one in the mountains, to know those mud treatments were expensive.
Zhao Yunlan celebrated still being alive two days after waking up - by buying an ice cream and fixing the giant mess of the world before everything he had almost - and actually kinda did - died for blew up permanently.
But. It is a universal truth, in the same vein as four am calls are usually summons to a homicide scene, that when embers from a fire blow in the wind, the resulting fires will be both devastating and will in fact travel further than anyone wants to realize. Five minutes and you can have a wildfire ten miles away, seeded from the first.
And the embers certainly flew far here. Zhao Yunlan thought sourly as he gazed across the park that conveniently sat in between various government buildings and business headquarters in the newer, posher part of the vast city they called home.
Nearly dying is supposed to bring clarity and a feeling of greater connection. For Zhao Yunlan it had brought him a bigger headache and more questions.
His power was back to greater than full strength, his core stable, which should not be the case considering the qi deviation and power transfer spell he's been exposed to for hours. But whatever he had done, and memory was hazy, it had protected his vital organs and his meridians from frying.
He's pretty sure that Shen Wei had a lot to do with that. Whatever spell that lingered unseen and undetectable, that summoned a shield the second someone used dark energy on him, had also prevented the power transfer from working. He should be dead or fried. Instead he's basically okay. Shen Wei had somehow saved him, protected him.
And he really didn't have time to find a rock to go meditate on.
The cultivation world was tearing itself apart, the Treaty was two days away and he had to figure out to cover everyone's asses, fix the disaster and still make sure that the guilty spent time behind bars.
The families that had been murdered, all sixteen of them deserved justice. Gao Tianyu was still running around as a shadow, in Haixing he believed despite what everyone else claimed. Zhu Jiu was unaccounted for and that meant there were others, out there doing fine, stained by the blood of the lives they had taken. To him, this just wasn't acceptable.
Then there was the whole vision of Kunlun thing. He knew it had been real and knew now that he had limited time to ready himself for what was coming. For however long he had to absorb more knowledge, arm himself with whatever weapons he could lay hands to and just...be until then.
But he'd be lying, if he was fine about it.
His heart was a cocktail of emotions and reactions he had no time to process, his day packed with putting out those fires and starting a few of his own, counting down the hours until the Treaty talks begin.
The arrests in Haixing of the Dixingian assassins and corrupt cultivators had tremors shaking the earth in four directions. The court of Dixing didn't want to take responsibility, but the Emperor had demanded a reckoning. A public trial, a full shakedown according to Chu Shuzhi and an extension to the already fraught inquiry into corruption. The result would be executions, with charges ranging from murder for hire, serial murder and spreading rebel ideology.
Shen Wei had demanded that reckoning.
Had lauded the efforts of the Guardian Order and proclaimed him, Zhao Yunlan to be a hero. Publicly defended him to Dixing and sent some kind of positive review to the President of Haixing, a kind of 'he does good work, you must be so proud' review that everyone was talking about. It was an attempt at protection, he knew and since hardly anyone would even consider protecting him, Zhao Yunlan did find it endearing.
Except Shen Wei was the king of Dixing. And a Professor in Haixing. And had undoubtedly saved Zhao Yunlan, lied to him multiple times, acted in three different identities all to apparently aid Zhao Yunlan - and had kissed him.
Plus and this was the tiara taking moment, had known him for ten thousand years.
Had been waiting for his...what? Resurrection? Reincarnation? The time-loop to come full circle?
Zhao Yunlan had been planning a date and a hell of a lot more. Not reconnecting with a lover from millennia ago, he had only just met! And he had no idea what to think about everything he had learned.
Whether Shen Wei intended it or not, Zhao Yunlan felt used, humiliated and angry. He also felt loved, wanted and valued. Because it seemed absolutely insane that anyone would wait a year for Zhao Yunlan. Long distance relationship where both parties actually participate fall apart after months. Sane people don't wait for one individual, stay faithful to them for years on end.
But apparently Shen Wei had. And that was difficult to believe and also...believable when you considered Shen was ten thousand years old and still wholly himself. Everyone described him among the myriad of terms used, as unchanging. He was the mythical Envoy, who appeared centuries ago from an underground tomb to rise as the king that saved them all. He never aged, never altered his beliefs and let's face it,
He had a serious obsession with Kunlun.
Shen Wei was the reason Kunlun became a rediscovered entity in the first place, despite what the Jade Mountain Sect liked to claim. From obscure and forgotten really, to the most important thing you should know if you want contact with Dixing. Shen Wei had created temples in his honor, forced Dixing to accept the man as a hero, and made public days all about the man.
All about Zhao Yunlan....Shit.
Talk about a confusing mess. Try being the main character in an epic bromance story that's actually an epic love story and its about you by another name and you've spent thirty years completely ignorant of this fact!
And he was Kunlun. The enormity of this discovery was the truest irony in the world, considering he spent most of his life being compared to the man and literally following his footsteps when he inherited Kunlun's power. His own power. It was also completely crazy.
He was Kunlun, the obscure mountain warlord and rogue cultivator who stepped into help save the world. And everyone said that Shen Wei had more feeling for the guy than 'he was my friend and hero.'
Zhao Yunlan had to admit no one builds multiple temples and national days for a friend. Maybe for a hero, but that scene with Shen Wei in his bed in a underground secret workshop had one specific meaning. He had chosen that scene so he didn't have to lower himself to explaining his own love life to himself.
And Shen Wei had treated him as an equal, when his status made it so clear that he didn't have to breathe the same air as Zhao Yunlan if he really didn't want to. He was a king. An immortal warrior and a myth all on his own.
Shen Wei and Kunlun had been lovers. Zhao Yunlan and Shen Wei were going to be lovers and at the same time they already were. Had been. And Zhao Yunlan would be a liar if he didn't admit he wanted that. Wanted Shen Wei. Felt a connection he couldn't explain, felt that sizzling attraction and...weird affection for the guy.
He'd never been in love before, doubted he was now....but he did owe the guy the chance at relationship considering he waited ten millennia to see Zhao Yunlan again. Plus all the pushing had come from Zhao hadn't it? Shen Wei had never pushed. Only lingered and helped and healed and...pined. Shit.
Another thing he had neither the time nor the energy to come to terms with.
The scrape of a boot on stone had him blinking. He tipped his face up into the sun and held out another ice cream as a woman in a purple coat dropped onto the park bench beside him.
Like Zhao Yunlan, she took notice of the surveillance and the Haixingren agent pretending to focused on her phone just a few meters away, on another bench. Then the guy with the dog by the tree. He was Dixingian, Zhao was willing to bet. He has seen him with Chu Shuzhi before, a few weeks ago.
And Chu Shuzhi was a direct line to Shen Wei, put into place by the king or someone else. To presumably keep tabs on the Order and Zhao Yunlan, before Shen Wei realized that Zhao and Kunlun were one and the same.
By the river when he had first 'met' Shen Wei, the look of absolute shock had not been feigned. The desperate responses, the equally desperate need to 'help' and the simple fact that a Dixingian broke hundreds of years of strict cultural protocol to offer a Haxingren shelter in their super concealed home, were all signs that just didn't make sense to Zhao at the time. He'd been sort of dying at the time, so he hadn't been a state to ask too many questions.
Dixingian society from what he had learned over time, from tidbits mentioned by Da Qing, the slurs and bitter stories of the Yashou, even little mentions from Chu Shuzhi - had all hinted at the fact. You don't in Dixing, throw your doors open to strangers.
In Dixing, wearing a mask was normal. You don't ask to see someone's face unless you want to date them and he thought that might be a date three thing rather than the first get together over drinks. You don't ask about someone's powers, but your stars have to align. Spending the night at someone's place was tantamount to marriage. So why give an injured, pursued by baddies, clearly Trouble Haixingren access to your cottage? Sure he's the guardian, but bleeding, covered in mud and fake dragon blood, was he really so famous someone would just recognize him from a distance?
Even talking about visiting Chu Shuzhi's home was asking for a black eye. Shen Wei had all but carried him inside and put him, filthy and wet with rainwater and blood on his bed.
That was tantamount to saying, 'it's okay, we're already married darling'.
Subtle as a panda in a flock of pigeons.
The agent across the way was clearly texting someone and a third person, a young man Zhao Yunlan recognized from his father's office, that one time he visited the place, sat down one bench away to his right. They watched him openly for a long moment, then his companion side-eyed Zhao Yunlan, crossed her legs almost huffily and said, "You could have got me a Huangjiu Bangbing Lan-ge."
"Too early for wine." He replies cheerfully, still holding out the ice cream. "And you like duran Yun-jie. Fruit is good for you."
"Its never too early, especially not after the day I've had." Chen Yunshang replied grumpily, but took the offered duran and coconut ice cream anyway, peeling off the wrapper to expose the waffle cone. "What's yours?"
"Mango and yogurt ." Zhao tells her dutifully and notes the Dixingian shifting closer and the agent aiming her phone at just the right angle. Did they think he was on a date? Was this going back to Shen Wei?
Zhao Yunlan licked his ice cream pointedly.
"Uh." Chen Yunshang grimaces, glancing at his. "I hate mangoes."
A simple code, well practiced between them. You know they're watching? Yes. No problems I want them to. Fine.
"You hate life." Zhao replies around his own ice cream and grins when she glares at him, then winces as she punches him in the arm. "How is Meimei?" He asks sweetly.
Chen Yunshang was the internal review equivalent of the cultivation jianghu here in Dragon City. Another face that Zhao Yunlan knew well from his training days at the Jade Mountain Sect. Clever, immovable and grumpy, his old friend was the person who like Zhao had to manage this disaster so it didn't screw up the Treaty. Gu Yuezhen or meimei as he called her, was her long time partner.
Yuezhen called Yu-jie her wife. His friend, who struggled admitting she liked some mundane thing like coffee, tried to frame them as friends at first, then about twelve years down the line as 'girlfriends'. Gu Yuezhen always said she owed Zhao Yunlan for actually forcing Yun-jie to confessing she loved her.
To be honest, Zhao Yunlan felt sorry for her. She was nice. An artist who left the cultivation world behind years ago to pursue her dreams and Chen Yunshang. Who sadly fell in love with the grumpiest cultivation enforcement lawyer on the planet.
Zhao Yunlan had covered for both them for years. At this point they were like cousins he saw once in a while. But the three of them would go to great lengths for each and that included protection.
"She's good. She asked after you. Wants to do dinner sometime." Chen Yunshang replies trying her cone. "We bought a dog. She wants to call it Qing."
Zhao Yunlan pauses and turns to look at his former shijie. "After Da Qing? Fatty will be so affronted and proud."
She meets his gaze, snorts inelegantly and says, "Should you even be upright? They told me what happened." She asks taking a bite from her ice cream. "I mean first you were kidnapped and held by a psycho in a warehouse with dragons and your ex,"
"Changjinglong."He corrects but she barrels on ignoring him. "And she was my ex from when I was like fifteen, which you know,"
"...Then you end up on an altar." She finishes pointing the cone at him.
"That makes it sound like I left someone at the altar." He says grimacing. "No brides were involved, I swear."
"And you've caught the eye of the President and the Emperor of Dixing. Expanding your fanbase?" She continued ignoring his reply.
"I'm the Guardian." He replies with a helpless shrug. "Its the big redo, the renewal of the vows! Ten millennia since we first signed the Treaty. Too big a number for a cake."
"Even a longevity cake." His former shijie muttered. "Well. I've been off cigarettes for four months. You're three behind me and nearly had me going back to them. Xiao Yue cried for hours when she heard about it. Totally blames your ex." Chen Yunshang declares, side-eying him again. "Fake dragons on a rooftop, the shootout. Its like something from your head and I know you."
Zhao Yunlan nods in fake sympathy, "Don't let it go to your head."
'I know you' was a question that was actually asking: under control?
Yes.
Chen Yunshang laughs, startling their surveillance. "You never change Lan-ge." Then she sobers.
"Okay. Remember that I'm on your side." At his raised eyebrow, she huffed at him. "Lets talk about the hard stuff first. We will be pursuing the investigation into the Yueyang infiltration of our agencies and you will be called as witness. Plus, the Dragon Sect are aiming for your head. They want you to pay for the death of a disciple, they are claiming you killed."
Zhao Yunlan licked his ice cream and said in a purposefully flat tone, "I submitted the full report to my superiors, signed and confirmed by the Emperor of Dixing himself. Verified by my team and conveyed to the President herself. I was strapped to an altar and the Dragon Sect, including its leader Ma Jianzhong, attempted to do a power transfer. If a guy died when the Emperor busted inside - a cavern in Dixing mind you - I am not responsible. Technically, the Dragon Sect broke the Treaty by going unauthorized to Dixing."
"And you can't prove that Ma Jianzhong was actually there." Chen said glumly, trying her ice cream again.
"The bodies of the dead Sect members must have been in Dixing and transported back through the legal channels. Getting Haixingren to the surface would have required the Emperor's signature and an explanation to our government to avoid breaking the Treaty." Zhao Yunlan bit out. "I didn't sign it because I was unconscious and only the President and I can sign it."
Chen Yunshang nodded but it was sympathetic and Zhao Yunlan knew then it was bad.
"I know." She said and huffed a breath, nibbling her waffle cone. "But the problem is that Dragon Sect are outside the general law. They are within the jianghu. To avoid breaking the Treaty, Haixing is claiming that the Regent 'kidnapped' Dragon Sect members for this dark spell. They can and have claimed that you were there, but not the victim. They are claiming they were being held and refused to do something bad."
"Like cutting into my chest?" Zhao YUnlan asks tartly.
Chen Yunshang shook her head, "I'm on your side. Remember that. But with your restored cultivation there is no proof there ever was an injury."
Which was exactly what Zhao had meant when he had asked Shen Wei not to heal his injuries after the warehouse and on the rooftop when they had been attacked. No injuries, meant no proof they had ever existed. It was his word against theirs.
The Guardian position might be significant in the eyes of Dixing and the Yashou. What he did directly affected them. To a point, he was an important tool in the works for Haixing. Someone had to prevent crimes committed with abilities the public didn't even believe in and get justice for those who had been murdered. Justice as far as Haixing was concerned was his primary role. His purpose.
For the jianghu the role meant nothing. To them he was a rogue cultivator at worst and a decent disciple of the Jade Mountain Sect, one of the most obscure sects in the nation. Their martial arts were famous, their adherence to the word and teachings of Kunlun something that set them apart and not always positively.
"So I was apparently there in some capacity and what?" He asked, his temper settling in for the slow burn.
Chen Yunshang stared at him for a long second, noting his controlled anger and nodded. "It's a massive lie but I can only get them on another charge. What you suffered in my eyes should be the crime. I want justice for it. Know that." She looked imploringly at him.
"I know jie-jie." Zhao Yunlan said with a sigh.
"That's why you are demanded in court."
What Zhao Yunlan wanted to know was if his head was the necessary sacrifice.
"As in I'm likely going to be executed by the sects for pointing this out?" He asks in the same cheerful tone.
"Not with me at your back. But there will be some trying." Chen Yunshang told him seriously, looks at her ice cream and says, "This is too fruity."
Zhao Yunlan grins unrepentant. "I aim to please. Meimei will say I did a good job, getting you to do fruit."
"Don't let it go to your head. The Yueyang might fall but they'll try to take you with them." Chen Yunshang tells him, "Get your evidence ready and get some arrests done in the meantime. I need evidence on the Dragon Sect. Get me some. If anyone is going to do it, you are."
"You've got two days, at best before you're summoned." Chen Yunshang then tells him. "Make good use of them."
The Treaty re-signing was the day after tomorrow. Zhao Yunlan rises from his seat. "I will."
===
Zhao Yunlan stalked up the steps of the platform, following in the tradition of every Guardian that had ever come to this ancient palace outside of Dragon City.
The worn lacquered staircase was only lit by lamps at nine step intervals, giving it a theatrical air and just skirted health and safety rules. But Zhao Yunlan was in no mood for the theater or for people in general after the day he had.
Director Gao had to explain the multiple deaths involved with the Treaty to those even higher up the chain of command, with whispers of it reaching the President's office within hours. Zhao Yunlan had been wheeled from office to office, sometimes with a whiteboard, other times with his own charm, excellent memory and digital hard-copies to use, when explaining exactly how all of the parts fitted together.
The internal investigation ongoing at the Xingdu Bureau was another disaster. They wanted to blame Dixing, except all of the evidence suggested infiltration by the Yueyang Sect for their own reasons. Those that disliked cultivators were vocal with their opinion on banning cultivators within law enforcement. Those focused on Dixing, preferred to talk of evil, of theft, laying all of the responsibility on the Envoy.
For the Treaty to go ahead and for both nations to thrive, certain parts of this had be buried, sidelined or simply whitewashed from existence. Zhao Yunlan was many things, but naive wasn't one of them. He knew that were specific parts he could push, so they remained within the narrative, and others he should encourage to fade from memory.
He might have been the mastermind behind the entire plot, but the Regent's attempt had a coup was now public fodder.
The doors were opened for him by two security guards and Zhao Yunlan stepped onto a highly polished dark wood stage.
He felt like a presenter hosting an awards show, walking towards the podium thing they always set in the front, as he stalked forwards to his spot in front of a low table.
Down four wide marble steps cut into the stage, was a long aisle with dignities and officials lining both sides, sitting in the uncomfortable chairs events provide at weddings and police awards ceremonies. At the very back on a raised dais were the key members of the 'audience'. Back in the day of royalty, it would have been where the king presided over the court. Now, in three high back chairs were a different kind of royalty.
The head of the Yashou today was Fourth Uncle of the Snake Yashou Tribe. He had been decided as the chosen representative and sat in his full traditional dress, right in the middle.
Shen Wei sat on the right, his black robes stark against the pale gold of the chair. He was hooded, the embroidered black fabric or whatever it truly was falling in a graceful cascade, just revealing the black boots surrounded by frost.
The Emperor of Dixing was watching and Zhao Yunlan, because he was looking for it, noticed the way he altered his posture as soon as Zhao entered. Not much, but he saw it regardless.
If he'd been waiting ten millennia ans still liked the guy he was pining for, he'd be doing more than shifting in his seat, Zhao reasoned.
He hadn't seen Shen Wei since the night at the power-sacrificing altar in Dixing, only hearing secondhand how the man had fought for his life, healed all his injuries and then rightly so, left to save the two worlds from losing the Treaty.
Here he was shadow and power, hidden by both to wield both so deftly.
Beside him on the left was the President of Haixing, a granddaughter of the Yashou Crane tribe. Xie Jin Tian, in her usual shades of white attire, her make-up perfect, hairstyle immaculate. This time she had gone for a pale yellow, which was sensible because the Yin and Yang of black and white was a little too obvious.
A king and queen of two different nations, both vying for their own. Both of them bound to ancient tradition and a fundamental part of peace, brought here to this ancient place for another ritual.
Zhao Yunlan dressed in the traditional robe thing of the Lord Guardian, bowed to the three of them like he was about to recite poetry, not conduct the opening ceremony for the Treaty. His irritation was increasing the longer he stood here, but his face was expressionless.
He knew that while recording devices were forbidden, there were several operating in the room. The true High Guard were behind Shen Wei's chair, government security behind the President. Most of the room was security, with more hiding in plain sight. The air was tense, the anticipation of the agreement with its new changes weighing on everyone.
His two day window had whittled down to one hour and instead of using it for his preparations, he was spending it here, performing for this crowd. They hadn't arrested Zhu Jiu or Gao Tianyu. They had however proven beyond a doubt who had murdered the large list of Haixingren families, matched with a Dixingian family or individual each time.
Shen Wei was probably hoping Zhu Jiu would be stupid enough to attack here.
He had argued with Dixing, made his arrangements with Haixing, sorted out as much as he could with the Yashou over the tourist deaths and internal conflict. The government wanted to cover up the murders, so the case had to be proven quietly, the perpetrators dealt with by one government or the other.
Zhao Yunlan hadn't slept in two days and had been walking a very thin line trying to make this work. The Yueyang were falling and he was digging the grave, but keeping himself and several other people from genuinely ending up dead was not so easy. The jianghu didn't like change and they really didn't like admitting corruption.
He was being pressurized by the Jade Mountain Sect and threatened by the Dragon Sect, all while trying to adhere to the orders his superiors had given him.
So no, Zhao Yunlan was not in the mood to be stared at by a group of people.
At the table which was older than the building by another century, he felt the heavy weight of Shen Wei's gaze, far more than the interest of others.
When he looked down he saw a small bronze bowl, a wickedly sharp ceremonial knife, and the three stacks of official papers. On the top sheet on his left, was the golden Haixing government seal, one for the Yashou in the middle and another in black for the silver Dixingian crown seal on the right.
He was supposed to prick his finger, bleed onto the paper and try with his handwriting to initiate the opening of the Treaty. Then the 'symbolic' opening of the Guardian gates to allow the re-signing to commence.
Like a fucking art project. Zhao Yunlan thought glaring down at the table. He was not an arts and crafts teacher. He was a cop. He was Kunlun. And that last thought gave him an idea last night.
It was time everyone remembered that the Lord Guardian was not a paper man. Zhao Yunlan was a cultivator and one of the founders of this Alliance. Time he lived up to the hype.
And since they clearly wanted him to fail by not providing any guidance, he'd make his own spell.
He never considered that there wasn't one. That no other Guardian had possessed the power before. That the President had only stories to go by. That Shen Wei was expecting the usual pantomime and trying to work how Zhao Yunlan was going to do this, and Fourth Uncle was hoping for a good show.
So he picked up the knife, checked its gleaming edge and flicked his left sleeve up, to reveal his bare arm, his sweater sleeve pushed up past his elbow. ...And he dragged the knife down his arm to meet his palm, ignoring the painful sting and watched the blood pour.
There was a gasp and he saw Shen Wei shift, body leaning forward as if tensing to run the short distance to the stage and stop him. The President looked shocked. Fourth Uncle looked entertained, but then he had his own weird beliefs about Kunlun and the Guardian. This was probably matching up to his cherished fantasies.
Taking his whip with his right hand, Zhao Yunlan bled over the ancient leather and finally broke the silence with a chant. His voice rose to a decent level and power surged.
With a loud crack of the red whip, he rent the air, trailing a blaze of orange light. Blood flicked and then thinly flowed from his wound onto the whip, then into the air. And with the whip, light and blood created the symbol of the Guardian Order.
The whip lashed the floor, burning the symbol into the scarred wood, reflecting the air automatically. His right arm wove up and across, the knife suspended, his bloodied arm still bare, lifted so everyone could see the red tracks winding their way to his elbow to drip onto the floor.
"Today we mark ten thousand years from the moment this symbol was first chosen by the Alliance founder, Ma Gui." Zhao Yunlan declares to the room. "Millennia of cooperation, of peace and of duty. Those against this peace and shared prosperity have tried for every year of that time, to break us apart. Today we prove once more, that we cannot be broken."
The whip becomes fire, a whirl of blue flames that surrounds him, eliciting another gasp and tightening security not sure if they should shoot him or not. The idea amuses him. Zhao Yunlan takes the knife again and drops it into the flames, where it spins in a slow arc.
The Guardian symbol split and the seals of both nations and the tribes of the Yashou hover in the air. All three are golden, and like flowing honey they trace their own shape again and again, flecked with red blood.
The knife returns to his hand. With his other he adds more power and blood to the whip until it glows.
This was a ritual after all and he wanted to compare well to the other great Lord Guardians Shen Wei must have seen do this. He had to at least look good.
He just had no idea that Shen Wei had never seen this 'ritual' before and like he had been millennia ago, sat in awe of Kunlun. Or that most of the room was more than a little afraid.
"Haixing." He says his voice resonating. The floating symbol breaks into twin halves. One shrinks and drops to the waiting page, where it shimmers as a gold symbol embedded into the paper.
"Yashou." Again the symbol forms two and the one that shrinks, falls to the correct page, an orange red this time.
"Dixing." This time when it split the symbol turns into the silvery blue of the court of Dixing as it falls like a glittering star to the waiting page.
The three floating symbols then hover at his command, the flames converting back to the whip, which he slashed towards the ground, then flicked into the air with a deep cracking sound.
He snaps the whip and it violently coils around his bleeding arm, sealing the cut line in the most painful but efficient way possible. He'll use his qi to heal it later, at least now it will stop bleeding.
The Guardian Order symbol floats to the floor beneath the three and paints itself as a shadow. He stands in the middle of it, right in front of the table and energy pulses in a wide circle.
"The time of the Treaty is as it was then." The famous opening words feel heavy on his tongue. "With my blood, I open the gateways."
He didn't actually know that no other Guardian had ever been powerful enough to open all three simultaneously. A few had managed to open one. The idea of not opening them seemed ludicrous. What was he supposed to do? Use a mock-up? Complete with plastic ivy and spray-painted polystyrene?
So he broke his expressionless mask for a second, frowning as he unlocked them in his mind, gathering the threads and actually activating the gateways through the talismans. He pictured the gates as they were illustrated in the old book he had found, using the poetic words of the long-dead writer to build a firm idea of what they looked like.
The shimmering pool of icy black for Dixing, that led where he had no idea. Hopefully not some ancestral tomb or a bathroom. That would be embarrassing.
Then, he called forward the rippling sunlit one of Haixing - that might actually lead to his office because he had no idea where he was supposed to anchor it. Just having one seemed enough. The pamphlet thing they had given him didn't include that, the cheapskates.
And finally the strange earthy, twisted wood one for the Yashou, that led to the back of the third biggest Snake Tribe village, opposite the liquor shop and the golden tree.
"With these open gateways, the choice for renewal is yours." He intoned, bringing his hands to the front like the book depicted the ancient Guardian at the time doing.
Then he opened his hands wide, the whip moving to coil around his waist, his sleeve falling back into place. The leaders were supposed to walk to stage to finish the ritual, so he waits.
No one moved.
Oh come on. He thought irritably. He had better things to do, like find the drug money trail before the cultivation police came to collect him for his public trial. One eyebrow rose in challenge, his shoulders squaring unconsciously and the symbols burned even brighter in his annoyance.
Then Shen Wei rose from his chair. Without looking at either of the other two, he descended the three steps gracefully and drifted down the aisle that seemed dramatically longer than Zhao Yunlan had first thought.
His heart caught on his lithe form, the broad shoulders hidden by black cloth, his kind eyes concealed by both mask and hood.
This was the man who had waited millennia for him, choosing him again.
Shen Wei's boots appeared briefly as he ascended the four steps to the stage level and then were consumed by the folds of the silky black cloth. The gold belt and gold embellished hood were not the ones Zhao Yunlan had grown familiar with, but the scent of winter incense filling his nose was.
Closer and closer until he was standing before Zhao Yunlan. Then while Zhao stared, he bowed and said in Dixingian, his deep voice resonating, "On behalf of Dixing, I accept. Thank you Lord Guardian."
Zhao Yunlan watched him, somehow wanting to both keep his distance and close the gap between them. It felt like the entire world was watching, so he offered him the ceremonial knife with his left hand, maintaining his professional air. Even as he breathed in wintry incense, and his gaze tracked the slight lift of a strong chest hidden by layers of black fabric and power.
But Shen Wei didn't automatically take the knife and end this little bubble between them. Instead of just taking it, the hood tilted fractionally, but Zhao couldn't see anything in the endless black void that hid both mask and head from the world. Was this the deepest hood that Shen Wei owned? But like before, he seemed to find Shen Wei's eyes anyway and just knew they Wei was looking directly at him.
When he spoke again, voice deepened and with that accent that was not Shen Wei's usual choice, demarcating this as the Envoy, he asked abruptly, the right sleeve of his cloak twitching as if his hand wanted to rise, "Is your arm still bleeding?"
Oh the disapproval in that voice would send all his students into hysteria, Zhao Yunlan thought.
'Sealed." Zhao Yunlan replied calmly in Dixingian, his first word to Shen Wei for days.
There was a pause, as if he was weighing Zhao's words, trying to find the kernel of truth, but after a second, the hood nodded. "It is good to see you well." Shen Wei said next, softer this time. His fingers curled around the blade handle, nails trimmed short, old calluses pressed against the metal decorative handle. Holding it with the softest touch on Zhao Yunlan's hand.
"It's good to be alive. Thanks to you." Zhao Yunlan replied calmly, despite the electric zing traveling up his arm.
"I accept no thanks. It was my failure that allowed for your injuries." Shen Wei replied sadly and Zhao would like to address this needless guilt, that made him feel decidedly uncomfortable, but they were being watched, judged and the politics would screw up his life, if not Shen Wei's.
Strong fingers gently eased the knife from Zhao Yunlan proffering grip and Zhao Yunlan smiled. Shen Wei paused as if surprised and then stepped around him, the black cloak shifting and Zhao Yunlan's expressionless mask returned, like the sliding of two frames.
Before he turned around, Zhao saw Shen Wei cut his hand matter of fact and press a bloodied finger to the paper, before signing his name in ink with the provided brush. A white jade brush, Zhao Yunlan noted.
"We of Dixing, adhere to the letter and law of the Treaty, signed by our ancestors." Shen Wei declares, his tone pleased. And a sea of Dixingian people dressed in elaborate modern robes, bowed at his words, first to Shen Wei and then to the other leaders.
Did he sign the original? Zhao Yunlan wondered, remaining where he was at the front of the table. He could no longer see Shen Wei, but felt it when the cloud of dark energy moved. He would move gracefully he thought, tracking the slow shift of that cloud until Shen Wei had walked around to the front.
Shen Wei bowed to Zhao Yunlan, holding the cleaned knife with both hands to present to Zhao Yunlan, its handle tingling with power. Zhao Yunlan had no idea if there was some protocol to this, so he just took it, cheekily stroking his fingers down Shen Wei's palms, making sure to add a touch of his own power.
It brushed over Shen Wei's skin like a kiss, a whisper of heat. Then only breaking eye contact with him at the very last minute, Zhao then bowed to Shen Wei. Knowing how much he hates that and took the three steps back.
"I rejoice that Dixing has chosen the Aliiance." He intones.
Shen Wei steps back beneath the symbol of Dixing, watching him.
The spell broke and the President of Haixing stood from her seat and strode down the aisle in her matching shoes. She nodded to Zhao Yunlan and took the knife confidently. "I accept, on behalf of our nation, Haixing."
Like Shen Wei, the President didn't hesitate to cut her hand and pressed her dripping finger to the paper defiantly. Her pen was silver and she signed her name with a flourish.
"We of Haixing, adhere to the letter and law of the Treaty, signed by our ancestors." She declared, her tone triumphant. The rest of the room bows and claps in that oppressed muted way that officials and corporate people do everywhere.
"I rejoice that Haixing has chosen the Alliance." He intones again.
And like it was some kind of game show, she too stood beneath the symbol of her nation.
Finally, Fourth Uncle stood from his chair and made his way down the aisle, his expression unperturbed. "I accept. We of the Tribes agree to the new terms. Good to see you alive Lord Guardian." He said in one of the old tongues of the Yashou. Somehow he knew that Zhao spoke it which was interesting. Perhaps his well association and bond with Fatty, or it was a test.
"Good to be alive." Zhao replies dryly.
He didn't take the knife, not that Zhao Yunlan expected him to. He simply cut his finger on his own upper fang and pressed it to the page matter of fact.
"We of the Yashou Tribes, adhere to the letter and law of the Treaty, signed and bled for by our ancestors."
"I rejoice that Yashou has chosen the Alliance." He repeats.
"We of the Snakes know that our place is with the Alliance. For better or worse. " Fourth Uncle says in an odd tone.
"Less work." Zhao Yunlan replies, his accent and pronunciation excellent and Fourth Uncle laughs.
Looking thoroughly amused he steps beneath the symbol and waits, ignoring the other two.
Zhao Yunlan pulls the whip free once more and slashes a line across the shadow painted on the floor. Now all three symbols formed one. Above them now was the original symbol of the Alliance, once burned into the rock face above Kunlun in the vision he had seen.
"The Treaty is once more in effect." Zhao Yunlan declares and the audience claps in that weird way once more.
Job done, he bowed to the front and turned, the robe thing he was wearing swishing as he chanted the final command. The three symbols fell into a golden whirl and poured into the bowl as blood. The shadow chased across the floor and became his own once more. His whip was tucked away, the knife returned to the table.
To the three assembled leaders, who for some reason looked surprised - who could tell for Shen Wei? - he bowed twice for each as he was instructed to do. Then following protocol, he closed the three portals leaving only the symbols painted long ago on the walls.
Now the three leaders would enter the big talks as the ceremony was complete. His part was over. So he returned to the door where he had entered the stage as the leaders moved to the front and folded his hands into his robe.
But as soon as the three leaders turned, he escaped through the door, hurrying down the staircase as fast as he could without looking like he was running or falling down the steps.
Chen Yunshang met him in the antechamber, looking amused of all things, in a well-cut black suit. Beside her was Da Qing, fretting in the uniform of the jianghu cultivation police, complete with hooded robe. "Nice show." His old friend commented, "Took the wind right out of their sails."
"I followed protocol." Zhao Yunlan argued, taking off the heavy robes.
Da Qing grimaced at him, taking the clothing to put back into the wooden chest by his feet. "You showed them the power of Kunlun, which was the point."
"We need to leave." Chen Yunshang says worriedly. "Word is that the Dragon Sect have sent some people to have you killed and I don't want blood all over the Treaty re-signing. The Emperor of Dixing has given you his support, forcing the President to commit to your safety. It could mean serious trouble if you die."
"And you would hardly be able to function in your grief over my death." Zhao Yunlan quips as he conceals his weapons.
"Xiao Yue will cry and I'll resurrect you just to kill you myself Lan-ge." Chen Yunshang bites out. There is genuine worry in her eyes. "Lady Hao will meet us. She's going to claim you as one of hers."
"Risky for her." Zhao Yunlan says. And it was. The Jade Mountain Sect have been biding their time for centuries. He was the wildcard and his life choices of continuing on to become a cop was okay, if unpopular, but the Lord Guardian thing was the kicker.
Da Qing an Elder of that same sect, however bristles at the spoken and unspoken implications. 'We are not letting you fight this alone Lao Zhao."
"Rumor also has it that the Emperor is planning on giving you immunity protection." Chen Yunshang tells him, side-stepping the issue entirely. She could after all. It was neither her life or her career on the life if this failed. The Jades would carry on they always did. That she was even here was a matter of sentiment never spoken aloud rather than some specific duty or loyalty. If he was a rogue cultivator or from another Sect, she would still fight for him, because he was her friend.
What she just said had him pausing. Immunity protection basically meant bundled off to Dixing for a guarantee of total protection. But everyone else would call it kidnapping. Zhao Yunlan thought that was sweet, but hardly productive for continued good relations. He had to save Shen Wei from this bad idea.
Pre-Kunlun vision he would call that guilt. Nothing else, just guilt and covering his royal ass. Learning the guy had been waiting for him for ten millennia suggested it was more desperate and had a lot more to do with protecting Zhao.
But Zhao Yunlan couldn't do it.
The rest of the arrests he had so carefully planned and helped coordinate would happen over the next three days. The Xingdu Bureau would try to recover their name. The Regent's remaining loyalists from Dixing would try for an honor killing while Shen Wei was occupied. An irony that entering the viper's nest of the jianghu would also most likely ensure he lived.
"Get ready. Old Chu's coming with someone else." Da Qing tells them and quickly lifts the hood of his robes and rearranges his hand on the gun on his waist, to look threatening.
Chen Yunshang straightened and took a breath. She looked serious, with her clipboard, tablet and easy glare, just as the doors opened.
"Chief Zhao, you are required to come with me." She declares just as they enter. Old Chu looks confused and beside him is another Dixingian in black robes, a middle aged man he doesn't recognize.
"Chief?" Old Chu asks immediately, as if deciding if he was to interfere or not. "The Master of Ceremonies would like to see you."
Was Shen Wei trying to keep him protected, because the guy next to Chu Shuzhi had all the hallmarks of a soldier. Zhao doubted he was the Master of Ceremonies. More like a High Guard.
"Can't do I'm afraid." Zhao Yunlan replies shoving his arms back into his coat. " I've been summoned to the jianghu court."
"Failure to comply will mean your arrest Chief Zhao and prison time." Chen Yunshang says calmly.
"I'm complying. It's time this ended don't you think?" His tone is acidic, pretending they have no friendship between them. He turns to Chu Shuzhi abruptly, "Return to SID. Continue the cases and I expect results when I get back." Zhao Yunlan orders smoothly. "It will be a few days. Probably no real contact either. No slacking."
"Surely you don't have to pull Chief Zhao, the Chosen of the Great Kunlun, right now? He has duties to the Treaty." The middle aged man speaks suddenly, in an eloquent tone.
"Chief Zhao has finished his duties. He has returned the ritual robes and give over his pass." Chen Yunshang replies staunchly. "I must execute my orders. Zhao Yunlan is a cultivator summoned by the court. His duty now is to comply or face arrest and subsequent punishment."
Da Qing, pretending to be an enforcer steps closer and Zhao Yunlan flashes a coy smile at him. "No need for it to get rough. I'm coming."
"Chief Zhao." Chen Yunshang repeats and flashes her eyebrows at him.
"Coming dear." He replies just to see heat in that glare. To Chu Shuizhi, he says, 'It's fine. I'll be back in a few days."
With Da Qing at his back, he strides out into the corridor past Chu Shuzhi and follows his feet until he's outside, using the side door once used by the king's guards and servants. Then they wait for Chen Yunshang and together they walk down the long path to where a black car is waiting.
"It will be okay. We'll break you out if they try anything." Da Qing tells him worriedly.
"I'll be fine. Keep the team calm and don't let anyone do anything stupid. We are still under surveillance." Zhao reminds him. "The Envoy will be watching. Our superiors will be watching."
"Why does the Envoy suddenly care?' Da Qing gripes.
Because I started a relationship with him millennia ago, probably during the time we first met and you Chose me as your owner. He thinks, but Zhao only says, "Dixing's had enough embarrassment don't you think?"
To Fatty this makes sense. "They never take that well. And you're the Kunlun Chosen."
Old Chu and several others gather to watch them go, then more at the sidelines. Half the world is going to know that the Lord Guardian was marched off into a car, in about five minutes. He wonders who will get the unlucky job of telling Shen Wei. And the President.
"Did you name the dog Qing?" He asks Chen Yunshang as they approach it. Da Qing halts like he's genuine security at the gate before the curbside, but Zhao Yunlan feels the ghost of his power like a lingering hug. His cat must be anxious.
Chen Yunshang shrugs, "I think Xiao Yue's going for LanLan now."
Zhao Yunlan slides into the car and says, "I'm flattered. Fatty will be so disappointed."
"Not nearly as much as he will be if you die." Chen Yunshang says settling in beside him. "So let's make sure you come out of this in once piece. My Xiao Yue will probably paint your portrait for the SID offices, in remembrance. Don't make my girlfriend cry. Plus, I really don't want to write your eulogy. "
"He was gorgeous and I knew him well?" Zhao Yunlan suggests, closing his eyes for a well deserved nap.
"Too tame." She replies, unlocking her tablet.
Zhao Yunlan grins and focuses his qi on healing the stinging gash on his arm.
====
He gets updates on his phone until the battery dies and walks into the jianghu conference room, surrounded by virtually all the sects in Haixing, relieved beyond words that the Treaty was a success, peace reigns and they closed another four cases. The assassins ring was shut down, the members executed for being rebels. Agent Wen was in prison apparently.
Ya Qing is redeemed, her people freed. On the record she was his spy and this helps to reforge her position within the Tribes. The Crows parting from the Yashou is a disaster however you want to describe it. A headache Zhao Yunlan is not ready for. Better they are one, for better or worst.
She owes him for talking Shen Wei out of his own honor killing. Or Crow Tribe annihilation. He'll collect as and when he needs to, in the meantime it will burn that the debt hangs over her.
Eventually, he's summoned from his room where he's basically being detained in comfort, with a decent bed and a mini fridge. He walks in there as a cop delivering evidence to a court. He's Kunlun and on paper his Chosen. He's the Lord Guardian and he's already died for the three realms once.
Let them try.
The problem is simple. The jianghu do not recognize Dixing as a nation, or dark energy cultivation. This is pure racism but the fact of it remains like a rotten corpse.
So proving he was held and they tried a power transfer spell is near impossible. Proving they were the ones who killed the sixteen Haixingren families, is again near impossible. Ma Jianzhong, under the orders of the Regent apparently, had admitted to Zhao Yunlan that he used his status to 'help' with the Treaty. That he gained access to the parties and fed information directly to the Regent, who then employed his assassins to murder everyone.
Ma Jianzhong gave the Regent the damn kill order list.
Zhao Yunlan is painted as a vigilante, unstable and power hungry. His evidence that Ma Jianzhong killed a Dixingian is ignored. While Ma Jianzhong on day two, hotly denies carving an array into Zhao Yunlan's chest and there is no evidence he ever did so.
The charges against him from the Dragon Sect were worrying. They had power, political weight to make the flimsy charges stick. But right at the last minute when Ma Jianzhong was supposed to enter the court and make his heartfelt speech about how Zhao Yunlan had targeted him, he failed to show up on day three.
Zhao Yunlan already furious, was waiting in his room, a secured apartment and a cell by any other name, when he was informed that Ma Jianzhong is dead. He was found with his head two feet away but there was no blood decorating the floor, no one heard anything and none of the protective arrays had been activated. CCTV footage showed a blank screen for that room, at that hour and Zhao Yunlan was clearly on tape, fast asleep.
A beheading with no blood? That would in theory, be a case for SID. Zhao Yunlan thought ironically.
Chang Zhekuan claims that Zhao Yunlan did it and the Dragon Sect second-in-command agrees. Interestingly, number three from the Dragon Sect then declares number two is unwell on the fourth day and retracts all claims. Forget number two. He looks unwell, Zhao Yunlan thinks. The usually stoic tall man with angular eyebrows and an arrogant, bitter expression is transformed. He's pale, sweaty and stressed. When the court begrudgingly does retract those charges he looks so relieved, he might faint.
He declares that the Dragon Sect has no further intent with Zhao Yunlan which is a very strange way of putting it and offers their 'friendship' instead. Lady Hao who had an impassioned speech ready, blinks in shock and then frowns at Zhao, who looks at her helplessly.
So. After four hellish days they get the verdict and while it was a victory, it still leaves a lot to be desired. The Yueyang are disbanded and the Dragon Sect get a slap on the wist. They're advised to reconsider their leadership and given a year to make changes. Number three just agrees and thanks the court. His speech at the closing of the court was...stressed.
Chang Zhekuan is an idiot to his bones and does grandly admit that he nearly had Kunlun's power. He does have a speech about revenge and to no one's surprise he is imprisoned. Admitting it, with or without evidence is still a usable confession.
He's not imprisoned for assaulting Zhao Yunlan, for kidnapping or the power transfer. But Zhao Yunlan does get him for Granny Li's murder - because he confesses to it
The Yueyang Sect is disbanded amidst the shock and anger of such an old sect falling apart at the seams.
It bites that Ma Jianzhong's reputation is perfectly fine, that he's mourned for when he murdered so many people. Zhao Yunlan just can't prove it though.
By the end, Zhao Yunlan is bored near to tears and profoundly irritated.
When its over, Chen Yunshang has to stay for one more day and he's booted to the curb with no transport. Nice, he thinks sarcastically. Free and stuck, hopefully humiliated. Really childish, but then again it is the jianghu. Maturity is not their forte.
His phone is still dead, but Yun-jie kindly tells Da Qing he's not going to be executed and lets him have one call before he's escorted from the building, then dropped in front of the gates to the complex. He texts Da Qing and he agrees to send him transport back into Dragon City, since he's miles from anywhere.
The ancient neutral gathering is several kilometers from Dragon City in the middle of nowhere. A mountain road leads to the gates, off the highway and its two hour walk to the valley where the estate itself sits. Nine buildings were arranged in a petal pattern with the conference hall in the center, some offering a restaurant, others accommodation, it today had the look of a fancy spa place.
Fatty is understandably jubilant and tells him he'll call off the escape plans. Zhao Yunlan snorts and says quickly seeing Chen Yunshang's face, "Tell everyone to go home. I'll see them sometime tomorrow."
"I'll let everyone know you're not dead."
Who exactly is everyone? He wants to know but doesn't have the energy or time. Just to add to his irritation, Fatty tells him the wards are still down.
Its nearing dusk and its a long walk to the village, then another long walk to the train station in a downpour. Because of course it rains tonight, when his coat is not waterproof. His borrowed umbrella holds until he's on the train, then he has a two hour car ride into the city. By the time he's made it to his apartment block, its well past midnight and he's ready to face plant on his bed and call it quits.
Several people were following him, but as none of them tried anything, he ignored them.
Tomorrow he'll find the energy to charge back into battle and find out where they stand. Tomorrow he'll have to speak with his superiors on all fronts and give his final report. But that's tomorrow. Tonight he has sleep on his agenda. Maybe food, if he still has a microwave pot noddle in his cupboards.
He expects Da Qing to be home, if he's not with his current girlfriend and so doesn't bat an eyelid when he sees the light beneath the door. He notes with that obsessive tendency of his, that the door opposite his, is also showing light.
His neighbor left he thinks about six months ago...someone must have rented it while he was gone.
Zhao shrugs and hopes whoever it is, they are at least nicer than the last guy. He's tired, wet and hungry. Worrying about crazy neighbors is something for tomorrow.
He unlocks his door rubbing his eyes tiredly and halts as he enters, breathing in the scent of...incense, carpet cleaner and...bleach? He opens his eyes, half sure he's broken into someone else's home and then takes in the pristine condition of his apartment.
There is nothing out of place and that is not how he lives. His home is a dog den...or cat den since Da Qing lives with him. He's an utter mess. This....this is ready for a house showing. His gym equipment is neatly stowed, his kitchenette is gleaming, the files strewn from one end of the couch to the other have been consigned to a neat pile on the coffee table - which he can see and hasn't seen for months!
It's immaculate. And all his stuff. Nothing is exactly missing, except the piles of detritus. His bed is made, the sheets obviously clean. The fridge is practically glowing white.
Its magical and more than creepy. When the hell did Da Qing become tidy?!
Then he turns on instinct, to find standing in the middle of the room near his bathroom doorway - Shen Wei.
"Your wards are down and one of the last assassins came to kill you. He ransacked your home." Shen Wei tells him in a rush, his body poised on a half step.
Shen Wei looks....beautiful Zhao Yunlan thinks, fondness and amusement entering his heart.
He's wearing his glasses and a white shirt with a gold chain holding the top button closed. His eyes are sweet brown, anxious and strangely vulnerable as he stares at Zhao Yunlan.
"Ransacked?" Zhao Yunlan repeats hoarsely. How did they even find anything?
"Yes." Shen Wei pronounces this as if it is a wrong against an entire nation. "I attempted to put things to rights. I know you have not been home in a few days." Then he really looks at Zhao Yunlan, his face creasing slightly in dismay. "You're soaking wet."
Shen Wei clearly had been worried and waiting for him. Tidying his home must have been difficult and Zhao Yunlan is impressed. Plus, the whole home invasion cultural problem.
"Avoiding being executed takes time." Zhao Yunlan quips and decides he's not going to stand in his own home like an idiot. Shen Wei winces at his wording, but Zhao Yunlan shrugs out of his soaked coat, shivers and unlaces his boots. Maybe he should say something? Reassure him he's not going to be charging the king of Dixing with burglary?
So he shrugged and said airily, "No transport. I was thrown out the door into the rain when they couldn't prove I was the evil mastermind. It's okay. At least with you here, I didn't have to worry about burglary."
In reality who would steal from his dog den? Who would steal from a known cop's house? He checks subtly and his heavily warded books, weapons and papers are still concealed. Shen Wei hasn't even brushed over them.
"Thrown out?' Shen Wei's tone sharpens, his eyes worried. "They told me you were summoned as a witness."
"Keeping tabs on me Your Majesty?" Zhao Yunlan asks, rotating his shoulder.
Shen Wei blinks and looks like Zhao Yunlan just slapped him. Zhao sighs tiredly. Shen Wei might as well know who he's going to be dating. "There a lot of parties in the jianghu who would prefer if I died quietly. They let the Dragon Sect off. The Yueyang are being dismantled and I apparently don't have to die."
"They let them go why?" Shen Wei asks, stepping closer.
"Because I don't have an evidence against them. No proof Ma Jiazhong was even there, after he escaped Dixing with Zhu Jiu." Zhao Yunlan considers his fridge and then the microwave. Thinks about Zhu Jiu.
"Weirdest bromance if there ever was one."
"And he's going to come after you?' Shen Wei asks, sounding angry.
"Zhu Jiu? Probably. Which would be good as we can nail him. The famous Dragon Sect? Apparently not. The members of the Yueyang looking for revenge? Maybe." Zhao Yunlan fights his boots off, flexes his feet and eyes the blue carpet.
When was the last time he really saw the carpet? Was it always this blue?
Zhao Yunlan then looks up at Shen Wei, "Don't worry about it."
"Don't worry about about someone trying to kill you?' Shen Wei repeats, looking now as if Zhao Yunlan was half mad, half delirious.
Oh that bites and Zhao is very inclined to snap and snarl. He's never kowtowed to anyone in his life and never plans to. It rakes over the whole year of fighting for his life on his own, the obvious suggestion that he needs protection! Except....
Shen Wei's face in the soft lamp light of his apartment looks like a criminal awaiting judgement, one that has accepted their wrongs and hopes for a quick sentencing that might not include execution.
The man that has waited millennia for him. The man who has lied to him repeatedly and then saved his life with no thought about consequences. Shen Wei looks upset. Had been waiting here for the verdict for who knows how long, folding Zhao Yunlan's laundry. And Zhao Yunlan huffs a laugh at the thought, that confuses the man.
"The locked door mystery was a good idea. You chose the exact time when I was asleep on creepy cam to behead the guy determined to have me killed if he couldn't have my power. Very Emperor of you Shen Wei."
Shen Wei didn't deny it, only looked..pleased Zhao Yunlan knew it was him.
"He wanted you to die." Was all he said simply. So of course I killed him before he could hurt you again.
Then in a rush Shen Wei spoke again, inching closer. "You don't need my protection. You fought for a year on your own. Fought the worst of my people's abilities and the most violent of them. Fought the corruption and the evil." His eyes were so dark, his voice even but the temper that sparked there was glorious. "You stood when no one else would."
There was something...devoted in those eyes.
"You don't need your hand holding. I would never disrespect you." Shen Wei said earnestly. "But you were caught. They wanted your death. I wanted his. They, who should bend down, should kneel before you, instead wished your power for themselves. They served the Regent, called him the king of Dixing. Why should I not execute him as I would any other rebel? They should kneel."
Then to Zhao's shock, genuine and unwanted, Shen Wei knelt.
In the middle of his apartment on the blue carpet, Shen Wei knelt. To Zhao Yunlan. To Kunlun. To his lover and hero and obsession.
"As I kneel." Was all he said, shattering Zhao's paralyzed state.
He moved to him and took a fistful of his shirt and tugged. The man might as well be made of stone, he did not move. Didn't even look up at Zhao Yunlan. "Get off the floor? Why kneel to me? I'm nothing."
"You are everything." Shen Wei replied finally looking up at him. Looking dismayed and argumentative at this declaration, as if Zhao was being rude. "And I failed you."
"And you want what? Forgiveness?" Zhao Yunlan bites out. "Get off your knees!"
"I want to repent." Shen Wei replies almost gently, like Zhao is a child or too fragile to hear about bad things.
'For what? Hating me for a year? Calling me worse than an a power hungry leech? " Zhao Yunlan replies angrily. "Well you're not the first! You can ask my list of exes."
That doesn't help. Shen Wei looks wounded and that angers Zhao Yunlan even more. "I allowed my judgement of Zhao Xinci to," Shen Wei begins and Zhao Yunlan snaps.
"Do not say his name in my home." Zhao Yunlan snarls and Shen Wei looks startled. Finally, a break in that morose, repenting expression. He looks like is the last thing he expects Zhao to say and that has him glaring at the king of Dixing with actual temper.
Explaining his relationship with his father was something he avoided. Zhao Xinci murdered his wife, chose to kill her, chose to risk her life because he could not allow a Dixingian to escape custody. He could have found the man again. The guy wanted revenge on Zhao Xinci, so it wouldn't have been hard. His wife was a sacrifice he decided was acceptable. So as a child Yunlan had watched his mother take her last breath, screaming at Zhao Xinci not to fire, to take Yunlan away.
"I disowned him the day I left this city at fifteen." Shen Wei was staring at him, so he asked with venous sweetness. "Do you think all the enemies he made didn't come for his kid for recompense? He held a badge and killed anyone Dixingian he could find on some vigilante spree. You think the year I spent taking on mercenaries was something new? You think I didn't expect them to come? That I didn't expect your resentment? I have lived wondering when I was going to die for twenty years! Shanghai was easier."
Shen Wei looked...horrified, but Zhao Yunlan was not finished.
"Sorry to tell you this Your Majesty, but you're not the first to claim it was nepotism! For the fucking record, it wasn't. I owe him nothing. Nothing." He stressed glaring at Shen Wei. "Everything I have, I earned myself. My rank, I earned. My cases, were solved by me. My team was chosen by me. My mistakes are mine, my cultivation is mine. But of course, he is my damn father and he loves power. I hate him, but we're related! He trades on my name. People assume I'm proud of him. Assume that I'm his fucking puppet." Zhao Yunlan spits.
"I knew this was going to be a fucking problem when I took the job! So you don't like him either? Good for you. So he finally crossed a line and you didn't want to deal with it? Everyone has a fucking line Shen Wei. Then the idiot I took over from couldn't have found his ass if he was looking in a mirror!"
His voice rebounded off the walls, his eyes flashed and that temper was unleashed. "It was the dumbest idea to take over this job. Still did it. Because I believe in the Treaty. I believe in the Three Realms!"
"I didn't know you....don't get along with your father. You did not deserve such disrespect." Shen Wei says quietly.
Zhao Yunlan curls his lip. "The disrespect? It pissed me off, but I didn't fucking bend did I? I have just had to argue that I didn't take fucking bribes from the Regent! They couldn't say I was dirty. Don't disrespect me now by claiming I fucking needed you or Dixing or some seal of approval!" His hand rose and he pointed his index finger at the wall angrily. " I stand for the dead. I stand for the Treaty. And not because I was drugged, then forced onto my knees and made to take power I didn't want!"
Shen Wei blinked up at him shocked and Zhao Yunlan lowered himself to the floor in a heap. He wasn't graceful and didn't try to be.
"I..." Shen Wei began and then trailed off as Zhao Yunlan leaned into him. "They...drugged you?" He whispers horrified.
"The old leader is dead and Hao is not the same." Zhao Yunlan says tiredly. "I'm half Jade Mountain Sect these days anyway." Then he sighs.
"You're either with me Shen Wei, or you're not."
Shen Wei cannot maintain his rigid, perfectly kneeling posture and support Zhao Yunlan's body as it curls into him. So he ends up cradling Zhao Yunlan, stiffly at first and then gathers Zhao Yunlan to him gently. "I am with you. I am always with you." Shen Wei says softly. "I did not know how to explain who I am."
"Since I was pretty sure the king of Dixing wanted me dead and a convenient criminal to blame it on, I wasn't exactly receptive."
"Never." Shen Wei vowed into his hair.
Ten millennia. Zhao Yunlan thinks. I'm going to end up in the past and this man falls in love with me then.
A loop of time. A red string of fate. Connected and intertwined. Could he fall in love with this man? Zhao Yunlan turns his head and looks up at his handsome face, traces with one finger the charcoal slash of an eyebrow, the noble bridge of a nose. Shen Wei watches him and there is devotion in his gaze.
"What do you need?' Shen Wei asks, his hands gentle as he holds him. His voice washes over Zhao Yunlan and its a sweet balm.
Zhao Yunlan sits up and Shen Wei lets him easily, but his hands linger and his eyes are...disappointed for a span of seconds. So Zhao Yunlan kisses him.
His lips are cool and smooth, warming to touch and sensation. Its a slow kiss but then Shen Wei is right there, returning it with desperation. Its heat and the echo of nearly dying. Its the fire that Zhao Yunlan has always wanted, craved and never found before.
He pulls back and Shen Wei tries to follow, eyes nearly black. Zhao Yunlan strokes his cheek tenderly. "I don't have much to offer you Shen Wei."
Shen Wei frowns and clearly doesn't understand but Zhao Yunlan puts a finger over his lips before he can say, but you're Kunlun, because he's thinking it, he just knows. "Material things don't matter. But when I was on that altar and pretty sure I was going to die, I regretted some things."
Shen Wei's hands frame his shoulders and his eyes are wide, vulnerable and so trusting. If Zhao Yunlan breaks his heart tonight, he'll shatter, but he'll accept it.
"That I never got to have that date. That I never got to hear you call me Ah-Lan." He breathes against Shen Wei's mouth. "That I'd die alone and you might not miss me."
"I won't let you die." Shen Wei says around his finger, eyes crazed. "I'll kill anyone who tries. No one can hurt you. No one can take your life. I'd share my life force with you. Every day I've lived would be yours. Then you'd only die if I do."
Zhao Yunlan absorbed this somewhat crazy speech and thought, ten millennia.
"If I give you my heart, its yours alone." Zhao Yunlan tells him, honest for once. "Its the only thing of worth I have."
"If you give me your heart," Shen Wei says, eyes boring into Zhao Yunlan's, "You'll never be rid of me. I'll be yours and by your side for forever. You'll never be free of me. So you have to decide if that's what you want."
A commitment spanning ten centuries is more than Zhao Yunlan can imagine. But he knows, half straddling Shen Wei's lap, those fathomless eyes staring into his, that the creature in his arms is dangerous. Something inhuman and prehistoric. Something people fear and rightly so. Untamed and pretending at peace, pretending to be safe. Shen Wei could be his end and maybe his future too.
But the love in the same person is vast. It has lasted longer than imaginable. And meeting Zhao and his apartment hasn't dented it. Zhao Yunlan somehow has lived up to the dream.
Suddenly sitting here, he wants. The aching darkness in those eyes is mirrored in his own soul. The kindness and forgiveness in them is counterpoint to his own malice and ruthlessness and yet the reverse is also true. A mirror. A matched set no matter how different they are.
He strokes his thumb across the arch of one beautiful cheek and thinks of having Shen Wei in his life. Of that simple, incredibly intimate scene of Shen Wei asleep, trusting and content in Kunlun's bed. Thinks of Shen Wei in that cottage alone and trapped in a life he didn't want but was duty-bound to keep going.
He thinks of rooftops and nearly dying, of being alone and always missing something. Someone. He thinks of reading case files and sharing information, the easy flow of partnership and respect. Trust. He thinks of lonely nights and days passing him by where mercenaries were a distraction. He thinks of how Shen Wei walked down that aisle from the makeshift throne to the stage where he waited. He thinks of how he took the knife and how his only concern was Zhao Yunlan's bleeding arm.
"Keep my heart then. I'll keep yours." Zhao Yunlan tells him, knowing that he already owns it. That somehow there is an echo of that heart beat in every breath he takes. That there always has been, and a space where this man should be.
He wasn't expecting Shen Wei to all but fall into him, locking his arms around Zhao Yunlan like a vise. One arm snaked around his waist to allow Shen's hand to curve over his hip. The other folded up across his back, tightly pressing him to Shen Wei's chest, his head coming into to rest half on his shoulder, half in Yunlan's neck.
Zhao Was pretty sure that if they were falling out of a plane, this would be the handhold. This would be what a death hug feels like. His ribs creak, his breath is short and yet, Zhao could honestly say he had never felt safer.
A kiss was pressed so gently to his carotid artery, then very sharp teeth bit his shoulder.
Yunlan wasn't expecting the bite and gasped, then cursed. His own free hand he buried in Shen Wei's hair, curving around the precious contours of his skull.
"You have it." Shen Wei tells him and tips his face into his neck again, a promise of teeth. "You have always owned every piece of me."
If he had not been the recipient of a vision where the time-looped version of himself exposed bitter truths, he would have been very curious about that statement, even as lightheaded as he feels. As he has the knowledge Shen Wei denies him, Zhao Yunlan frowns momentarily and then turns his own head to bite Shen Wei's ear.
The growl that reverberates in Shen Wei's throat is decidedly not Haixingren. Its danger and murder and something so old its chaos itself. Zhao Yunlan decides he loves it.
"There is a bed right over there." He purrs as Shen Wei drags his teeth down his neck. He's actually proud his voice isn't a whine. "And a couch as a back up option."
"They touched your sofa." Shen Wei tells him as if this was a violation.
Zhao Yunlan hasn't the brain function not consumed by Shen Wei, thoughts of nudity and sex to really dwell on some killer dude, Shen Wei no doubt killed for burglary. But apparently touching the couch was a double sin.
"I've cleansed it, but its still drying." Shen Wei informs him as he nuzzled his ear, trailing kisses along Zhao's shoulder. Nimble fingers are sliding up Zhao's t-shirt, cool and yet he feels the power writhe against Shen's shields, the sheer power of him making Zhao Yunlan feel drunk.
"Bed then. You are wearing too many clothes." Zhao Yunlan argues trying to arrange his legs better so he can shift his hips closer.
"You wanted a date." Shen Wei reminds him, sounding breathless as Zhao Yunlan manages to sit more on his lap.
"If you are seriously thinking about bailing on me Shen Wei, I will hunt you down." Zhao Yunlan tells him viciously.
Shen Wei kisses his cheek so softly, its a whisper of butterfly wings. "I made you dinner." He tells him, muscle and power pressing into Zhao Yunlan from head to toe.
Considering his garden, millennia stacked age and general prowess, it was probably restaurant grade or better, but Zhao Yunlan snatches his chin and kisses him, devouring and hot. They lose seconds, eons and still its not enough as they eventually break apart.
==
They don't make to the bed.
Well not Zhao Yunlan's bed at any rate.
==
The portal closes behind them as they step backwards, Shen Wei first, so he can literally light the way for Zhao Yunlan.
Here in the cottage that he built for this man, this home that was never more than a dream, he takes a second to break their kiss and really look at him.
In the yellow light of the lanterns, Zhao Yunlan's skin turns golden, a honeyed hue that darkens his eyes even more, to black sapphires that Shen Wei can remember so clearly. Eyes just like this, reminisced and pictured every time he falls low, when he's broken and numb, crying out for the presence he's so long missed.
The cottage in the concealed realm is hours from anywhere and seconds from where Zhao Yunlan needs to be, if someone needs him. At the moment, the only person who needs him is Shen Wei.
The garden is dark, quiet except for the sounds of the water feature in the middle, the yawning expanse of all he has built for this one man, who asked - no suggested - that they come here, if Shen Wei didn't like his 'violated' apartment.
Shen Wei would take any excuse to bring Kunlun to these walls, except for the ones that ignited their reunion. Or meeting as Zhao Yunlan thinks. He shudders to think of how hurt he was, how close to death he was....
A dark brow quirks, a slightly challenging look chased by hunger, one that Shen Wei recognizes with a shiver. Here, somehow in this muted light the sweet wash of warm color and the echoes of uncertainty, the fear, when they reported that Yunlan had been escorted from the Haixingren Palace, everything feels different.
Zhao Yunlan likes to pretend to be - no perhaps that wasn't right, he constructs versions of himself when he needs them. Flavors, some more fake than others. But the real him, was very perceptive, calculating and .....kind.
He tilted his head, panting slightly and he looked in this moment like Kunlun. Older, wiser and timeless in all his idiosyncrasies. He looked like Shen Wei's Benefactor. His hero before he was his everything. The person who always knew what to say, what plan would work, what would soothe Shen Wei's hurting heart. The man arrogant and clever enough to swagger into a rebel camp, earning the alliance enough time to free their people and call it a good day.
He had finally welcomed Kunlun into the home he had built for him.
"Xiao Wei." He says and Shen Wei's attention snaps to him, past and future forgotten. "The mountains can fall into the sea, let them tumble rock by rock. Tonight, we have our beginning."
Shen Wei shuddered and something crude and rough like ancient stone crumbles from around his heart. Those were Kunlun's words, not exactly, but it was what he would say. Proof that Zhao Yunlan was going to be Kunlun, was Kunlun. His lover and hero wasn't going to transform like a butterfly, he was here. There was no magic that transformed him. Kunlun was Zhao Yunlan and he was here. Right here.
Shen Wei." Zhao Yunlan dropped his hands to Shen Wei's shoulders and stepped into him, the heat of his body, homecoming and joy. He held on tightly, dark eyes fixed on Wei's, One hand rising to cradle his cheek and then their mouths were touching. All thought fled, beyond this kiss, this unending glorious, fire of satin and need, the addiction of Yunlan's lips and clever, clever tongue, a shuddering beat unfurling in his belly.
Yunlan enveloped and consumed him, as his mouth plundered Shen Wei's with sweet ease and this time it was intense, their tongues meeting as Yunlan's hand fit against him, gripping his shirt without mercy. So good, Shen Wei felt intoxicated. His hips surge forward in answer as Yunlan pressed closer still, lost to the feel of drugging, intimate press of a lean leg between his thighs.
A long fingered hand palmed his cock and Shen Wei growled softly, need and possessiveness condensing into something raw and wanting. Shen Wei wanted to worship and claim and love. He wanted to please Zhao Yunlan more than he needed breathe. This was homecoming and the crash of the past meeting the beginning of a new future.
The feel of Zhao Yunlan stroking him and then tangling his free hand in Shen Wei's hair, urging him closer, to move, to feel more. Shen Wei's body slid against his, following the direction of Zhao Yunlan's hands. He wanted to slow down, to make it last, to make this a proper first for them, but he couldn't think with Yunlan's mouth tender and brutal against his.
When they could bring themselves to part, Yunlan pulled off his t-shirt, fingers finding the buttons of Shen Wei's dress shirt. Shen Wei backed up to the bed, pleased he remembered to install a nice mattress and new sheets.
Beside the bed, Shen Wei who could easily vanish all his clothing, waited breathless as Yunlan dragged his shirt off and cast it aside. For once he didn't care it ended up on the floor. His hands shook as he tried to unfasten the buttons of his black jeans, but Yunlan helped him, bracing him as he got them off one leg, then the other. He stood up, naked in the moonlight, and a small sound escaped Shen Wei, his hands moving to caress and hold.
He kisses Yunlan with desperate need and vanishes his trousers and shoes, eliciting a dirty laugh from Yunlan. He kissed him hotly at first and then gentling the kiss, stilling Yunlan's hand on him until he could breathe again. His hands spread against Yunlan's bared skin, roaming hungrily, and those perfect nipples drew taut under his touch. The sound Yunlan made when he nibbled along his jaw, adding bites to his shoulders only fanned the raging heat inside Shen Wei, making him ache with love and newfound lust.
The newly installed mattress is comfortable, the sheets a rich violet. The entire sight of Yunlan stretching back onto them, steals Shen Wei's breath. All those nights sitting here in the dark. Imagination that in turn fueled and soothed his grief leading to bittersweet, desperate fantasies. All of it is nothing compared to the reality.
A curl of energy red and the door to the garden opens, letting in the night air. Another flick of a hand and the brazier lights, along with the fire. But its the soft smile that turns Zhao Yunlan's already beautiful face into truly stunning. He breathes deeply and opens his eyes to stare at Shen Wei, inches away. "Always love the scent of the earth."
Zhao Yunlan is city to his core, but clearly the man who loved forests and the stamina to walk for miles is here in this time too. Suddenly, Shen Wei can imagine him wandering through the trees, hiking for miles along with his thoughts, following rivers for pleasure rather than the need for water or to trace a fading trail of rebels and....
Shen Wei kisses him to silence his thoughts, making himself stay in the present, where Zhao Yunlan is half-undressed and gorgeous in his arms. He's warm skin and the faint scent of fruit flavored sugar and cologne overlaying that cherished Kunlun he's craved for centuries. "You are always welcome here..." A pause and then he adds, "Ah Lan."
Yunlan grins, mouth red and kiss bitten, neck proudly showing the teeth marks that Shen Wei had put there. There is absolutely nothing shy or awkward about how he leans back on the carved traditional bed, one hand propped behind him, his knees invitingly spread.
The sheets were cool but Yunlan's body is hot, the lithe form whip thin and powerful. All he felt was joy, against the solid strength of him and his hard cock, the eager press of his hips. Shen Wei wants to make sure he eats better in the future. Wants him to be healthy and happy, so vows that he will care for this man for the rest of his life.
When he surges close, the night air smelling of the rain and wet earth, its unbearably intimate and everything Shen Wei's dreamed of for centuries. For just a second, Shen Wei closes his eyes and loses himself in the fully-body caress of laying curled in wiry arms, feeling the sparking echo of familiar qi in Yunlan's body.
An echo of nights in the past, twisted in the furs and blankets, trying to be as close as possible. Yunlan lets him be for a count of four, before he turns Shen Wei's head to reignite that passion, the demanding heat between them.
That demand is both comforting and erotic, purely Yunlan and startlingly unfamiliar. It had been so long since he'd been with Kunlun like this, just pressed into his arms, pressed against perfect warm, bare skin and know it was Kunlun. That Yunlan wants him.
Yunlan tugs and he follows that pull, flattening him to the bed. This kiss is fire and Shen Wei reaches with his power for the carved drawer hidden at the bottom of the frame. The box he put there days ago is polished wood and beautifully inlaid. A gift he was presented at his coronation centuries ago.
A gift ironically for an Empress.
Inside, he had placed a small bottle.
'What do you want?" Shen Wei asks, breaking the kiss for air. Dark eyes blink up at him and Yunlan hooks one leg around Shen's hip.
"You. In me." He replies smoothly, panting but still an irresistable, irrepressible flirt.
Hunger sweeps through him, driven by longing and the ache of need in his heart. He wanted to please Yunlan, wanted badly to give himself to Yunlan's hands, his mouth, his cock. Wants to give Yunlan everything he wants. He opens his mouth deeper for Yunlan's tongue, kissing him back with a fierce desperation that felt like like free fall, like flying, like opening a portal for the very first time.
Yunlan rocked against him and moaned into his mouth. Which gave Shen Wei an idea.
The last night he spent with Kunlun, before losing him to the skies and the Hallows, was a night enshrined in Shen Wei's memory, for better and worse. It tormented him and kept him alive.
Recreating it would be....detrimental. The beloved part of that night, the part Shen Wei treasured...
He didn't have immense expereince. What he knows about sex is a million and two soldier stories around a fire, most of which he detested. Everything he knows about lovemaking, he learned from the man lying in his arms, the only person who was allowed to touch Shen Wei. But that has its own benefits.
He wanted Yunlan to lose himself to pleasure.
Yunlan cried out hoarsely when Shen Wei's mouth sheathed him, hips surging under Shen's hands, exactly as he had that night. Satisfaction, a dark curl of it had him closing his eyes. He wrapped one arm around Yunlan's waist, cradlding him close, its own bliss.
Yunlan's scent overtook his senses, the drugging heat and the weight of his cock on his tongue. Perfection. Yunlan laughed and his hands slid down Shen's neck, a caress so tender that he shivered, pleasure and heat throbbing through him. But he didn't let it distract him from the helpless surge of Yunlan's hips, the slow rock and Shen Wei lost himself.
After a minute though Yunlan tugged on his shoulders, "In me." He demanded, eyes hot and wild.
Shen Wei smiled when he let his cock slide out of his mouth, "Patience Ah Lan is a virtue."
It was worth it, just to see the coy, flirtacious smile. "Haven't we waited long enough Xiao Wei?" He asks and oh is he right.
So Shen Wei inclines his head, kissing Yunlan's belly just as he lets drops of the warm oil slide over his fingertips and against Yunlan's opening, making him groan and laugh. Shen kisses his hips as he rubs in to the skin gently, making circles against the tight muscle.
Long lean thighs tremble where he holds them apart, but those eyes are smouldering. He makes another sound, thick and pleading, and Shen Wei answers pressing into him until he was seated inside Yunlan, his thoughts splintering into fragments, pleasure spiking hard through his body and making him groan softly.
"Move." Yunlan commands and again that is Kunlun, offset by a savage grin and the rock of his hips.
They fly together, chasing pleasure and each other as they slimb higher and eventually tumble over the cliff edge of climax, still chasing one another, still clutching each other.
Breathless and remade, Shen Wei kisses Zhao Yunlan, who replies lazily, one hadn in his hair. This Shen Wei thinks, is bliss. This is home and forever.
==
When the phone rings, its the dead of night and Yunlan makes a low growling sound that has Shen Wei's attention immedateily. He hardly slept as was his habit, content to lie here beside Yunlan and stroke his hair, guarding his sleep.
Helpfully, Shen Wei summons the smartphone ringing in jeans pockets folded on the chair. He gently puts into the scrabbling hand, blindly searching free air for a side table he isn't going to find. Its so sweet, Shen Wei kisses his shoulder.
Finally Yunlan comes up for air, leaving his cocoon of blankets, hair a wild, windswept birdnest. He kisses the first part of Shen Wie he comes into contact with, which happened to be his chest and answers with a terse, "Zhao."
"Gao Tianyu has been sighted Boss." A feminine voice announces and Shen Wei thinks its Wang Zheng.
In seconds, Zhao Yunlan is sitting up and wide awake. A predator called into being by the promise of the hunt. "Oh, so he is back."
Shen Wei slides closer and begins kissing those bare shoulders, pleased when Yunlan rolls his neck in permission. His fingers stroke over strong abs and along lean thighs, as Zhao Yunlan makes a battle plan.
When he puts the phone down he captures on of Shen Wei's hands and his right nipple. "Wang Zheng is calling in the team. Thnk you can portal us back to the apartment in five minutes?"
'I can portal you now if you like." Shen Wei replies, so in love it burns in his heart as a eternal flame.
Zhao Yunlan straddles his lap in one easy move, pressing down firmly. Shen Wei moans and holds his hips. He looks at that dark gaze with all the devotion of his ancient soul and rocks upwards sensually, exactly as Kunlun had taught him. 'Five minutes then?" He asks aiming for a light tone, and Zhao Yunlan smiles.
"We have the rest of our lives Shen Wei." He says as he leans down, for a lignering kiss.
|
"Swallow," Roci said. "Pleased to meet you again. It's been a while."
For an outsider who didn't know him like Doflamingo did, he sounded perfectly bland and polite. But Doflamingo knew him. He could Observe just how not pleased Roci was.
"I've seen this morning's news," Roci went on, just as blandly formal. "I take it your mission is done? Congratulations."
This morning's — ah. He meant Anne 'Faith' Bonny, didn't he.
Except — Roci and this alluring succubus of a woman obviously knew each other, apparently back from the Cartel mission, which ended in Roci facilitating the termination of one Mary 'Hope' Read, Anne Bonny's right hand and first mate. And while his Roci was definitely the most cock-hungry bottom Doflamingo had ever fucked in his life, he still obstinately insisted he was into women as well.
And this here was one fine, fine woman.
At his wild surge of jealousy, he felt a small, weak ray of mirth break through the dark storm in the ocean of Roci's soul.
"Thank you, Admiral," Swallow purred demurely. "It's been a long way, but now it's finally done. Would you like me to tell you how it went? You deserve it like no one else does. You were there, standing at the beginning with us, after all."
No. No, Roci wouldn't like to hear her story.
"Yes," he said anyway, as if driven by some strange compulsion.
"Shall we go someplace quiet?" Without so much waiting for his answer, Swallow put her hand on Roci's arm — she was a meter shorter than him, yet it was clear who was in command now — and drew him to the small, secluded garden on top of the Headquarters' roof: Sakazuki's haven. The man occasionally went there to take a breath, and to have a short break from yelling at people.
This early in April, the trees were still black and naked, but the sun was blinding, and the sky was awash with new spring. In her short red dress, with her long red nails, with her lush red lips, the woman looked like a drop of blood in an ocean of blue.
The moment they took a step under the black, skeletal tree boughs, Roci spoke.
"Did she — did she ever realize that it wasn't all Read?" he asked.
Doflamingo frowned. He didn't like puzzles he couldn't solve.
Swallow straight-out giggled — low, flirty, and mirthful.
"Ah, going in for the kill at once, aren't you, Rio?" she murmured, her voice low and velvety. And — okay, just that one line out of her lips, spoken in that tone, was enough to give a man a raging hard-on, but could she also please get her filthy hand off his Roci's arm?
"I take it she didn't," Roci said. It was miraculous he was still managing to maintain this semblance of composure to a casual Observer, when Doflamingo could well see the violent tempest raging within his heart.
"Oh, she did," Swallow leisurely shrugged, her dress lusciously hugging the curves of her shoulders. "At the end, with some help."
She gave Roci a coy half-smile — and Doflamingo saw this red woman was as cruel as fire.
His kind of woman, heh. Men like him, they loved being moths, and they loved them some flame.
Meanwhile, Roci didn't think she was hot. Roci thought she was a monster, and her fire chilled him.
"Until very recently," Swallow ruminated, "Anne was just too — disappointed. The more blindly we love and worship our idols, the more blindly we hate them when it turns out they're not, in fact, as flawlessly perfect as we believed them to be, hmm?"
Doflamingo felt a brief but mighty desire to chop her up like a cabbage head.
"So, too, did Anne… Oh, you have no idea."
"I do," Roci said. "She loved and trusted Read like she never did anyone else."
"Because Read was the strongest," Swallow agreed. "One of the mightiest warriors on the seas. Did you know they first fell in bed because Mary bested Anne in a fight, and that got Anne horny?"
"I did not," Roci said.
"Twelve years together," Swallow sang, "twelve years of Mary being invincible. The most reliable right hand there could ever be, and always stronger than Bonny herself. For someone like Bonny, who put power and might above everything else, it was a good enough reason to be — infatuated with the woman, for twelve long years. You wouldn't believe some of the things Bonny did for her," then, a single velvety chuckle. "Why, she even sold the Revolutionaries some weapons with a discount! For a greedy bitch like Anne Bonny, that's quite unheard of."
She trailed a single red-tipped finger down Roci's naked arm. He was wearing his regular Navy uniform with the baggy pants and the sleeveless shirt. As the damn woman pawed over him, Doflamingo could see goosebumps break out on his fair, pale skin.
"That is why," she spoke so softly, like she was in bed with him, "your help in getting rid of Mary Read was indispensable to the Government. Unlike Bonny, Read had principles, and she hated the Government with a passion. If it weren't for you, she might be able to — well, of course not topple the World Government like she dreamed, but deal enough damage to make things unpleasant."
The strangest thing, now that Doflamingo thought of it, was that he didn't exactly know the details of what Roci did in those three hellish months, back on Cartel soon after he turned seventeen. Roci just told him he helped zero out Mary 'Hope' Read, and that was all — and, distracted with finally having Roci back and all to himself, Doflamingo never asked for more info.
"Luckily, Read never suspected you," Swallow murmured. "Did you know she thought of you as a little brother?"
Even with Roci's very fair skin, it was very obvious he went ghostly pale.
"I thought as much," he said, in a normal, even voice. Only Doflamingo knew what it cost him.
"Yes," Swallow purred, very visibly enjoying Roci's pain, that bitch, "she trusted you. She trusted you a lot — all thanks to your scars. She told me about them back when the two of them only just took me into their bed. She said how you told her the World Nobles were the reason for those scars of yours, and then, she spoke of her sister. Did you know a World Noble killed Read's baby sister? She was her only family."
"I did," Roci said.
"I think Mary believed your coming was — a sign, maybe. A cute, silly kid, inexplicably sent her by fate itself, on her path of revenge for her own cute, silly sister. Otherwise, I can't for the life of me see why she'd trust you as much as she did. She was one shrewd bitch, that Mary Read. But she did trust you. She liked you — or maybe even loved you," she laughed. "You were certainly cute and silly enough."
Watching the shitshow unfold, Doflamingo had to marvel at two things: (1) how good Roci got over the years at maintaining his outward composure when inside, he had none, and (2) how obscenely greedy that emotional vampire bitch was for Roci's pain.
"And Anne trusted Mary," Swallow chuckled, velvet-deep, silky-smooth. "Oh yes, she trusted her a great deal. Respected her a great deal. Did a great deal for her, against Anne's own better judgment. But when the mighty fell that low… For six years, Anne couldn't speak of Mary without a sneer — that is, when she even spoke of her at all."
"But she had to know how strong Read was. It was utterly illogical that — "
Swallow scoffed.
"Please, child," she said, "you're better than that. With your infamous Observation, you have to know as well as I do that people in general live by reason no more than pirates live by law."
It was true.
"True," Roci said quietly.
"Anne didn't do whatever Mary wanted because of her logic and reasoning," Swallow chuckled, "she did it because she loved her. Mary's disgraceful performance against Chief Spandam was enough to make someone like Anne — someone who only respected strength, and despised the weak — resent her ex lover to no end. Do you think people like Alec didn't try to talk some sense into Anne? She just wouldn't listen. Too disgusted for that, and too ashamed for loving and trusting someone that worthless."
"But she did listen to you, I take it," Roci said.
Swallow's smile at this point was so satisfied, Doflamingo almost expected to see vampire fangs behind her red, red lips.
"One stubborn woman, she was," she sang, "both of them, in fact. Just like you. Maybe that was the reason why Mary liked you this much. If it weren't for your looks, you might really come off as siblings."
Oh, how lustily she kept striking the cold sharp dagger of her words at the deep, bleeding wound in Roci's chest, sending pieces of flesh and bone flying.
"In fact, Mary might just be the only one in the world Bonny listened to," Swallow mused. "It was almost insulting, you know. Even as she was just about panting after me, the only one she'd listen to was her darling Mary, who wouldn't even always deign to grace our bed. Even when Mary was dead and — not really buried," Swallow playfully giggled. This time, her words really made Roci jerk, like a physical blow, "when I was the only one in Anne's bed, she wouldn't listen to anything I ever told her. Shut your mouth and know your place, woman," Swallow was obviously rather good at impressions, her voice coming off as irate and distinctly inebriated. "Thankfully, in my job, that was just a slight hiccup."
"I take it you're the reason why the Kingston Pirates fell apart."
Swallow demurely shrugged.
"They were extremely liable to fall apart without Mary's heavy hand and unquestionable authority in the first place," she noted clinically. "So undisciplined, and so prone to infighting. But yes, I did help a bit."
"It took you six years to get the CP all the intel they wanted. Must have been one thorough job."
"The Underworld broker called Faith is no more," she agreed, "her business dismantled, her connections unraveled. We'd even have the Revs by the throat at this point, if it weren't for Raven."
"Did he find out what gave him away to Dragon?"
Swallow just shrugged again, now looking bored.
"I'm short on time," she said, "I'll only be staying here for two days, so I have no time to waste talking about Raven's shortcomings. But I do have five more free minutes, so here's a little something that might be of interest to you, Kingston sharpshooter Rio. Just before Anne's execution, I paid her a visit. This is what I told her…"
…
It felt almost strange, not seeing her drunk. In the past six years, Swallow barely ever saw Anne without a bottle, and there was always that sickly-sweet stench of booze on her breath.
Honestly, that pathetic woman. At times, Swallow almost regretted having to waste years of her life on that drunken wreck.
These days, the shrewd business shark, the formidable fighter Anne 'Faith' Bonny barely cared about her formerly booming venture, and hardly fought any battles. More often than not, she just watched her disheartened crew fight and lose, her eyes blank and glassy, and didn't raise a hand to swing her fearsome whip.
Strangely enough, even now in this Navy prison, Swallow couldn't Observe any concern whatsoever in Bonny's soul. It was like she didn't even care that she was in chains, in a dark, wet, moldy cell, shackled down so thoroughly she could barely move — and about to be executed in fifteen minutes.
Swallow's heels had clacked loudly on the slippery, moss-edged stones of the steps as she made her way down to the dungeon, but now that she stood in front of Anne Bonny's cell, the silence hung thick and stifling. In the chthonic darkness of the Navy dungeons, the flickering light of the little oil lantern in Swallow's hand reached only just high enough to feebly lick the low prison ceiling. On the old stone walls, its trembling glimmers snatched out swift visions of gray silent shadows: the myriad centipedes scurrying up and down, like long, thick gray lightings, with a frizzy fringe of their countless legs.
So different from that opulent bedroom, from those rich silk bed sheets and golden sconces, where Bonny first brought the new girl who caught her eye in one of Kingston's best brothels. Back then, on that very first night, with that laughing woman and her flaming cunt, Swallow actually thought the assignment might end up being fun.
Here in this lavish chamber, Anne 'Faith' Bonny was not allowed a candle or an oil lamp for her final hours. Under the trembling light of her lantern, Swallow could see rats and centipedes scurry up and down Bonny's face and body, and her long, thick, curly red hair.
Mary Read used to love that hair. She'd wrap it around her swarthy, scarred hand, so bulging with muscles it didn't look like a woman's; or she'd play with the tight bouncy curls, strewn on the rumpled silk pillowcase — and she'd smile, and say that Anne was her bright little flame.
Now, that fiery hair looked washed out and faded — though that might be simply due to the dim light of the lantern.
"Hello, Anne," Swallow said eventually, when Bonny failed to react to her presence in any way, curled up on the slimy stone floor in a fetal pose. The air was thick with the stench of piss, shit, and long-unwashed body. Swallow wrinkled her nose.
At her words, Bonny finally opened her eyes and looked up.
She threw one glance at Swallow's form, took in her red dress and red lips, her perfectly styled hairdo, the utter lack of any chains or shackles on her hands and feet — and muttered:
"Of course. I should have known from the start."
She sounded remarkably apathetic.
"Aren't you angry at me for betraying you?" Swallow purred — low, teasing, and intimate. Just the way she used to speak in their bedroom — long ago, before Read was dead, it used to drive Bonny crazy.
She had always been wanton, that woman. Couldn't go a single day without a good fuck, or maybe half a dozen — so hungry for any fresh pussy she saw. But she always, always went back to Read in the end, and sometimes, Read even let her bring a new whore Anne fancied to the bed they shared. That was how Swallow got there, and she never really left Anne's bed after that, till a few days ago.
"Angry?" Now, Bonny didn't even spare her a glance. "You're not worth my anger, rat."
"And yet you were so angry at Mary for failing your trust."
Your Mary. Remember her? Ah, but of course you do. You never forgot her, even though you tried, didn't you?
"Mary," Bonny scoffed bitterly. "As worthless as she turned out to be in the end, she was ten thousand times the woman you could ever be. Leave me alone, whore. You can gloat later, over my headless body."
"Mm. Have you ever wondered," Swallow stepped closer to the cell bars, and trailed her finger down the rusty iron, the way she'd sometimes touch Bonny's lips before kissing them, "have you ever asked yourself, Anne, why Mary's last fight was so pathetic? You must have. After all, it was so much unlike Mary Read."
Even in the dungeon shadows, she could see how Bonny paled, as a long-overdue recognition finally dawned in her mind.
"…You? What did you do?" This time, she lurched to get up, to where Swallow was watching her with a mild, mellow smile from behind the bars.
But the clanging seastone chains wouldn't let her: shackled up like that, she could only lie down or kneel. Anne Bonny was not a Fruit user, so the chains couldn't block the abilities she didn't have, but they were harder than diamond, and heavy — just under half a ton each — and there were many of them on Bonny's body.
"I did nothing," Swallow leisurely shrugged, "I didn't have to."
Her smile grew dreamy. And now, on to the best part… Ah, she was excited for what was coming next.
"Remember Mary's favorite, Rio?" she purred. "The new guy, lost in the Kingston carnage. Alec liked to call him the crew mascot. Young, silly, naïve, and the best shot on the crew. The one the Dragons mutilated, remember? Mary treated him almost like he was her little brother. She did so miss her sister, remember? So when he appeared, she must have thought it was a sign."
Drinking in the raw pain in Bonny's eyes, on her face, in her soul, Swallow thought with a shade of mirth how ironic it was — that this was the most alive Bonny had looked in the past six years.
"You never paid him much heed," she softly went on, "but you must remember him well enough to at least recognize his face in this picture."
And she showed Anne a newspaper clipping with an article on Donquixote 'White Seagull' Rocinante's unexpected but well-deserved early promotion to Navy Admiral.
Bonny stared at the picture for a few moments, soundlessly moving her lips. Donquixote looked older, and he was now half-gray, but the face and the haircut were the same, though his features now looked sharp and drawn.
"The younger Donquixote…?" Bonny finally asked in a faint, faltering voice, barely moving her lips. "That — He was Rio?"
"The younger Donquixote," Swallow agreed benignly, "the one with the psychic powers. Remember how they said he utterly blocked Red-Haired Shanks' Observation in that fight when he took both Red Hair's legs? Or how he sent Shiki the Golden Lion into brain death with just one look? And you must remember that story of how this past August, he single-handedly wiped out an army of ten thousand men — "
Curiously enough, now, looking at Bonny, Swallow had to think she had never seen anyone look so dead while still being alive.
"That was why Mary fought so poorly," she mellowly went on meanwhile. "She was fighting two people at once, and one of them was the Navy's elite, using a very strong, very insidious power to attack Mary's body and mind from within. And as she looked for that other enemy in the crowd, she never once thought to suspect the crew's new cute mascot, who was so much like her own baby sister in his character, if not in face."
Bonny wasn't moving, wasn't blinking. It almost looked like she forgot how to breathe.
"But you didn't know or care to find out, did you?" Swallow's every word struck Bonny like her own whip, which could famously break a Navy battleship in half with a single blow. "You let people stomp all over your Mary's body till it was a bloody, raw, mangled mess, and you let the Marines cut off her head, and put it up on display till all the flesh rotted away."
Remember how Alec wanted to come get her body? But you said no.
And so Spandam's Marines chopped off your Mary's head, and put it up on a spike in the wrought iron fence by the Old Town Hall… such a lousy adornment. But then again, the woman had never exactly been beautiful when she was alive…
Now Bonny was shaking, gasping, and whimpering like a kicked dog — just the way she did six years ago, the night after Read's one last little show in the town square.
"What's the matter, Faith?" Swallow sang. "Such an apt alias, that. Ever faithless to everyone: enemies, allies, booty calls. Even the one woman you claimed to love."
Bonny looked like she didn't even hear her words, but she did.
Oh, how deeply they cut her.
Swallow smiled wider. Delicious.
"You never retrieved her body," she drove in with relish. "Never buried her. Never told her goodbye. Didn't she even deserve that much from you, Faith?"
"Shut up," Bonny snarled. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!"
"Lucky you — that's the one thing you can still fix," Swallow went on, paying her little scene zero attention. "I have a photo with me, of your dead Hope. Would you like to look at her one last time before your own head parts with your shoulders… mmm, Bonny Lass?"
Bonny jerked. Bonny Lass was the sweet name Read had for her. There was little sweetness about the woman, but with the way she said that one name, it always made Bonny flush, and smile almost shyly.
Swallow crouched in front of the bars, careful not to get her dress wet or dirty, and held up a photo, moving the lantern so that Bonny could see:
Read's bodiless head, mouth wide open and crawling with maggots — the mouth Anne Bonny so loved to kiss.
White maggots in her eye sockets, around her faded, glazed eyes; maggots stirring in her nostrils, white worm flesh so stark against the black of dried blood. Green dung flies swarming over her shaved, rotting head.
Bonny howled, pulling on the chains so hard Swallow wondered if they really might break. But they held — no matter how Bonny yanked on them, no matter how hard she thrashed.
Behind her back, through the headache-inducing din of the clanging chains, Swallow heard footsteps — heavy and measured: at least two dozen Marine guards at once. Coming to drag Anne 'Faith' Bonny away to the scaffold — the last bed in Bonny's life: a lonely one, and less than restful, too.
All the while, Bonny howled, and howled, and howled.
…
"Worry not, she paid you very little mind in her final moments," Swallow told Roci lightheartedly. "She had other things to think of as they took her away."
As he looked at her, Doflamingo mused that Swallow was the least fitting name ever. Hyena would be way more like it, he thought.
What a peculiar woman. Even Doflamingo himself never got that excited while torturing someone.
"Read looked atrocious with those maggots in her rotten mouth, in her eye pits… I kept a picture, to show Bonny when the time came. Oh, you should have been there to Observe her emotions as they dragged her off to the scaffold… ah, the scene she made," Swallow breezily chuckled. "She still loved her, can you imagine? No matter how much she tried, she never managed to put Read behind, till the very end. How pathetic is that?" She gave a shrill laugh.
She was jealous, Doflamingo thought, of the love Bonny had for Read.
It wasn't even that Swallow wanted that love for herself; oh no, not at all. She was just jealous that Bonny could love someone that much, for that long — and Swallow couldn't.
And where there was no love to be found, there could only be death.
What a peculiar woman, with a dry, fruitless desert of a soul. Doflamingo knew the sort, and he well knew: their only living water was preying on other people's lust or pain.
And so Swallow ate and drank the anguish of that Bonny woman, purposely coming to whip and flay her in her final moments — just like Swallow was feeding on Roci's pain now, that luscious red vampire.
Somehow, in her spite-drunk giddiness, that venomous viper seemed to forget that Roci was not alone.
"What a woman she must have been, that Mary Read," Doflamingo spoke, "to command such love, while you with all your remarkable charms achieved none."
The pinprick was small, but it successfully brought the woman back to reality.
"You mentioned you were quite busy, my lady," Doflamingo inclined his head. "We can't presume to impinge on any more of your time."
Normally, when he talked to a woman, he'd kiss her hand before parting. That was just the way Father raised him — that was how he had always acted with women since his golden home, since Mother and Ciney.
He didn't do that now, as reluctant to touch the red woman as he would a cold wet frog.
He didn't hold Roci around his shoulders, although he wanted to. That single sign of support would have told the hyena woman that support was needed, that she got to his Roci — that she got him deep.
And, well, it was true. But there was little of that she could Observe, thanks to Roci's Calm-Calm mental shields. And his pain was something she didn't need to see. She had already gloated enough.
Once safely out of her eyesight and Observation range, Roci raggedly sighed and pressed into his shoulder, and allowed Doflamingo's arm to fall around his waist, under the white Navy coat; and he let Doflamingo's lips press into his fluffy hair.
They spoke not: there was no need. With the sight that required no eyes, they watched each other's souls, and saw everything that truly mattered.
And right now, with his soul sight, Doflamingo could witness the very foundations of Roci's conviction
shake,
reel,
and come loose.
Right now, right here, the only thing Roci wanted was to be far, far away from this place and these people — from all things World Government.
And, strangely enough, the wild, venomous, vicious revulsion and hatred in his silly soul were mostly directed… at Roci's own self.
Honestly, that Roci.
His silly idealist, his foolish dreamer with that beautiful butterfly soul. There were many things in the world that deserved detestation and loathing, and not a single one of them was called Donquixote 'White Seagull' Rocinante.
Yet even as Doflamingo felt Roci's sharp, burning, nauseous pain as his own, he couldn't help but rejoice —
For now, he could feel:
Now, Roci's soul was finally ripe for the picking.
Now, all his silly love needed was a teeny, tiny little push… to finally leave the Navy for good.
For eight long (and admittedly productive) years Doflamingo had been patiently waiting, suffering his humiliation and ire in silence, waiting for Roci to come around.
And now, Doflamingo saw: his patience was finally, finally about to be rewarded.
For the rest of the day, Roci was quiet and angsty. Angstier than usual, that was.
Oh, that strange, silly soul.
Doflamingo's Observation Haki first awoke when he was ten. The very first thing he Observed in his life — saw in the only soul in the world that he cared about — was that soul's violent thunderstorms and turbulent currents.
From what the ten-year-old Doflamingo could Observe in the people around him — which wasn't much: somehow, with all souls other than Roci's, his Observation was notably weaker than average, as if it actively didn't want to Observe any vermin's emotions — the commoners had all kinds of auras and all sorts of feelings, but there were very, very few people as peculiar as his brother.
His baby brother — that soft, warm, useless dummy — was remarkably cold inside.
From what Doflamingo was able to Observe, the cold was not inherent to his soul, but more like something of a strange affliction. It was hard to put in words, that thing he felt around his brother, but it could be compared to violent hails and winter night blizzards, all lashing Roci's soul at once — and rains, cold rains of pinpricks, and a dark yawning void that called out with voices from another side.
Yes, his brother had voices. It wasn't even that he was crazy or anything — just very, very strange.
And what an odd chorus they made, those many ominous, chilling voices. Shrieks and screams, cries and whispers, bellows and mutters, mad frenzied chanting, insidious crooning — a veritable cacophony of a hundred voices, a distant thrum full of stumbling words Doflamingo could never make out. He could only feel the discordant chorus in Roci's soul, the cold pouring rain of Roci's strange, strange emotions, almost as if they were his own.
Such was the nature of their soul bond. It was uncomfortable, and it was unpleasant, to say the least; and Doflamingo would sooner burn the whole island than give it up.
Even when they were apart — even across half the island — his brother was always there, shrouded in the chilly downpour of his emotions. He was never truly away, and there was no escaping that rain, no closing Doflamingo's ears to the voices of that strange, strange soul. Roci's cold rain soaked Doflamingo down to the bone, and the voices of Roci's void ever called out to Doflamingo's own.
And most strangely, most oddly… soon enough, the cold touch of Roci's soul started to feel almost — soothing. Like a wet, heavy cloak — rough, familiar comfort.
So instead of wrinkling his nose when the maelstrom of Roci's emotions got going again, Doflamingo just learned to utilize that cold, rainy presence by wrapping it around his own mind, like a cloak. It was helpful, he discovered, when he wanted to distract himself from the vermin's presences: the repulsive bright lights and flashes of their lowly feelings, the non-stop clamor, the winds of the commoners' feelings whipping him in the face from all sides at once.
It was not the most pleasant business, wrapping up his mind in the howling thunderstorms of Roci's strange soul. But in time, Doflamingo learned to take comfort in the chilly, wet weight of that cloak. It was — grounding, in a way. When he listened to the myriad voices of Roci's soul void, the voices of all the other souls in the world faded into the background and lost their meaning.
It went on for a very long time — for years and years — until one day, Doflamingo saw Roci being blue again. (Well, Roci was always blue, but that particular day was a deep, deep navy.)
By that time, Roci was no longer just his baby brother: instead, he was already his sweetness, his sunshine, his beauty, his heart, his soul, his greedy little slut. Instead of that small, soft, annoying, mostly useless ball of fluff, his Roci was almost fifteen, and a dream come true: an enticing creature of exquisite beauty, a wildfire between the sheets, a golden youth no one could possibly not desire.
And so Doflamingo wanted him, and watched him, and touched him, and claimed him, time and time again, growing all the greedier after every single time he took his fill; and so his brotherly tough love for that little klutz he was saddled with slowly gave way to something new, wondrous, and terrible.
Just as strange as his Roci, that feeling was, old and familiar and ever new, growing from Doflamingo's very bone marrow. It felt like it was there since the dawn of time — and like every single time he looked at his Roci, that feeling hit him anew, and ten thousand times as strong.
In a way, his Roci was the same as that feeling. His new grown-up body was strangely, newly alluring — as blinding as the midday sun, as bewitching as the midnight sea — but his soul was still the same old blue, rainy, sorrowful mess.
So when on a clear, blue, cloudy day, after classes, he saw his Roci be blue again, he did a singularly stupid and childish thing.
He knew it was childish. He knew it was foolish. He knew it was effectively useless, and a waste of energy. But he wanted to do this, so he did:
He grabbed his Roci by the hand, and dragged his blue ass to the eastern beach — and, his feet firmly planted on that hard gray gravel, he threw a glittering net of his threads all the way up into the sky…
And he caught an actual real cloud.
At first, Roci was still being blue and also dubious. Then he saw what was up, and gaped.
Then Doflamingo dragged the cloud all the way down to the ground, right to Roci's long, narrow feet he so loved to kiss in their bed. Then, he tied a bright, glowing, enormous rainbow bow around the entire immense white cottony mass, and announced:
"A present, for you."
The cloud was a fluffy mountain towering far, far over the two of them, and as far as the eye could see — gauzy and hazy around the edges, its nebulous white crowned with the most majestic bow ever.
"The fuck," Roci appreciated his efforts. "Fuck me sideways. Heavens, you're dumb."
And he smiled, and his smile was so glowing that Doflamingo was dumbstruck.
"You're so silly," Roci said then, in a voice that burned Doflamingo like his favorite brandy —
So Doflamingo seized him and kissed him. He couldn't not.
…It was so strange — so… stunning — how Roci didn't even play dead, this early in their joining.
He'd always stubbornly fight his own passion like it was his archenemy. He'd let Doflamingo do whatever he wanted to Roci's body, but he'd never allow his own self to want Doflamingo's touch. When he fell under the onslaught of Doflamingo's mouth, hands, cock, Roci's soul would be gutted and bleeding out, every time, every night a battle to death with his own damn self — and when he inevitably gave in, his first kisses always felt like death throes.
Now, not so much.
With that rainbow-crowned cloud mountain in front of them, Doflamingo's fake rainbow throwing glimmering flickers across that stupendously beautiful face, Roci opened his mouth for him, and he sighed when Doflamingo's hands traveled to his magnetic butt; and in a second or two, he kissed back.
And for the first time in Doflamingo's memory, the blizzards and thunderstorms of Roci's soul parted —
To reveal a sun-crowned blue sky, and an endless eternal rainbow.
Doflamingo had a very analytical mind. So the moment he was able to think after a truly spectacular fuck, he duly analyzed the cloud incident, and drew his conclusions. Which were:
(a) making Roci smile felt damn good, and
(b) Roci's smile was the brightest damn sun there ever was.
The next morning, when Roci slowly woke up in his arms with Doflamingo habitually watching his face, he patiently waited till Roci's long, long pale lashes trembled, and arose to reveal his dark eyes, and then he said:
"Morning, sunshine."
"Mgh," was the answer he got, due to the fact that Roci, as ever, took a while to fully wake up. And —
His soul was blue again, not in the nice way.
Damn.
Well, Doflamingo supposed he'd just have to work harder to coax that smile back on his face, so that once again, it could light up Doflamingo's whole being.
The job was likely to be pretty difficult, given Roci's most strange, inexplicable soul — but the easy things were never any fun anyway.
In time, Doflamingo did learn to light up that soul, with all sorts of silly, dumb, unexpected things. It helped that Roci's soul slowly, gradually changed on its own.
His cold rains never truly abated — but in time, bit by bit, the banshee howls of Roci's soul voices acquired more and more harmony. By the day Roci turned twenty-one, his soul was a marvelous chorus singing to what sounded like Mother's harp. It wasn't always merry and sunny, still more blue than anything — but there was harmony to those voices, and that was good.
Then, that damn Noxti.
Then, the Buster Call. And then, Flevance.
First, all the voices went mute at once — mute with unspeakable horror. Then, they erupted again in that old, disjointed, desperate howling.
Then, they rose all at once, in a grave, final requiem.
Now, they simply lay mute, with a faint golden trickle of their Mother's harp in the halcyon moments when Doflamingo and Roci were alone, together — and swiftly going stone-silent around anyone else. From behind the stone walls around Roci's soul, Doflamingo could hear no voices, whether lovely or terrible. Only the ominous, chilling sound of silence, and the never-ending cold rain of pinpricks.
But now, the pinpricks were knives — sharp glittering daggers flying at Roci's soul, ten thousand blades at once.
Honestly, that Roci.
For the life of him, Doflamingo could not understand why Roci was still so hung up on Anne Bonny's story, even well into the evening. Was it because the death she died was so, frankly — not good?
His Roci was the strangest thing ever. He had this bizarre fixation on the idea of letting his enemies die a good death. Well, unless they in any way threatened Doflamingo's health and/or wellbeing — at which point all bets were off, and his Roci turned into a literal black fire demon from hell. Frankly, even Doflamingo was somewhat afraid of that hellish Roci when the man got going. (Well, that, and really, really turned on.)
Ah well. Roci'd surely get over Bonny by dawn, and Doflamingo would do his due part by giving his man a nice quality railing. Alas, sex was not a panacea by far, but more often than not, it worked quite effectively on Roci's blues.
After a load down Doflamingo's throat, and a load up Roci's ass, and one more load of Roci's all over their antique headboard, and after a night of quality sleep with a quick break for a meeting call, and after a barely-conscious fuck that happened when neither Doflamingo nor Roci were fully awake but their dicks already required some action, and another hour-long nap after that, Doflamingo woke up, refreshed and well-rested —
To a cold storm of knives lancing Roci's soul, as it slowly bled out by Doflamingo's side in their messy bed.
Fuck.
"You still hung up on what that Swallow woman told you?" Doflamingo grumbled, and pressed Roci closer when his blue love made a half-hearted attempt to get up.
Roci turned his head to better look him in the eye, spilling a sea of silver-gold all over Doflamingo's bicep. He looked at him for a long time.
Then he said:
"I'd explain to you, but you wouldn't understand."
"Try me," Doflamingo grinned.
But Roci just silently shook his head.
"I'll bleed my soul dry telling you, and then you'll just say something like, you and your silly little ideas, the way you always do. So why waste the time? You can just tell me now that I'm silly."
"You're silly," Doflamingo agreed, "and strange. So very strange… the most inexplicable man in the world."
"You're saying it like it's a good thing." One corner of Roci's mouth was turning up, barely visibly. Success!
"It is," Doflamingo admitted readily. "It's the best thing in the world: you being you."
Roci laughed outright.
"Right back at you," he whispered. "Every time I think I can't bear it anymore, I look at you, and — once again, I'm reminded I still have something to live for."
…Can't bear it anymore? What the actual fuck…?!
But then Roci's hand was rising from where it lay limp on the wrinkled sheets, to land on Doflamingo's cheek, and softly thumb his cheekbone, as Roci was looking him in the eye like there was nothing else he'd rather look at; and then, Roci was kissing all of Doflamingo's rising dread out of his head.
His Roci was magic like that: every time Doflamingo got agitated, Roci just had to kiss him, and the rest of the world lost its meaning.
Overall, the day got off to a good start, despite the unfortunate hiccup just after the wakeup. Which was exactly what Doflamingo needed: a bit of good mood, a bit of good luck for the day.
Today was the day, after all.
As he cooked their breakfast, he silently sent out his Golden Knights to check on the work that his other marionettes did for him in the night. His remote eyes told him everything was in order, and the people talking to his remote ears told him everything was proceeding smoothly.
Perfect. A couple of small things to take care of, and they were done, then.
…And suddenly, Doflamingo was nervous.
Was he really doing this…?
Was he really leaving almost all of his life behind?
Was he really getting to be what he wanted, what he planned all along, back before Roci's foolhardy stubbornness upset all his plans those eight years ago?
He blindly stared into the frying pan, the spatula dripping oil all over the pristine marble floor.
He loved that floor.
He loved their entire apartment. He picked it with such great attention, and renovated it with such meticulous care when Roci nearly burned it down after that dinner mishap. He furnished it like he was going to live here forever. Every parquet batten, every tile in this place was as familiar to him as the back of his hand, and most every surface in this apartment — the fridge, the dresser, the windowsills — had been christened by a rowdy romp… or two, or a dozen.
This place remembered the heat of their skin, the sound of their laughter. This place knew their secrets, both whispered and shouted; this place saw their souls grow into each other, and fall in love more and more and more and more, till there was no greater love to be found in the whole wide world. This place — a treasured memory all in itself.
This apartment. That stony beach on the eastern Marineford shore — the place where Roci gave up all of himself, and chose Doflamingo, forever. That little grove with its tall green poplars and tender birches, with the bright amber lights of a billion dandelions, and the soft, thick, cool grass — the place where their love grew, where Doflamingo crowned Roci as his love and god.
The people who saw them grow up into the men they were now: Sengoku, Kong, Garp, Ma —
(…Ah. Right.
Damn.
It still hurt, thinking of her. How funny was that…?)
…The ships he sailed on. His own dream ship: his lady Chaika, his love and wings, the queen of his heart…
Who wouldn't be taking him on a new adventure this time.
…His people, his Chaika's crew. René with his dumb puppy love for Admiral White Seagull, and with his cheerful diligence, and his calm, easy confidence. Feb, whose Tekkai was second to none. Gelsomino with his Sound-Sound Fruit and its terrifying abilities. All those people who'd follow Doflamingo and Roci till the end of the line, till the ends of the earth.
All of that would be staying behind now, as Doflamingo would be walking away — into his future — with his golden love for his only company.
This was exactly how he planned it. This was exactly what he had wanted ever since he was ten.
So why, then, was he feeling so blue…?
A warm hard chest pressed into his back, warm hard arms encircled his waist, and a warm, thick, fluffy mass of hair pressed into his neck. And Roci said:
"Mmm, smells good."
He could see Doflamingo's thoughts were as far from breakfast as it got. But he asked no questions, and he made no demands. He just was there, by Doflamingo's side.
And this — this was everything Doflamingo truly needed.
As long as he had this, he could do without everything else.
"I love you," he said aloud.
"More than anyone or anything in the world," his Roci agreed, speaking for both of them. "Do you want me to blow you?"
"We'll be late for work," Doflamingo pointed out, one corner of his mouth quirking up. Usually, Roci was the one to blather about this sort of silly things.
"Is that a no?" Roci inquired with his own half-smile — a mirror image of Doflamingo's.
"Like hell. Get down, love, and I'll — uhhh — I'll finish frying these artichokes as you — "
"Please don't," Roci asked very seriously, taking Doflamingo's dick out of his mouth for a second. "Safety first, remember?"
"Gah." Really, Roci's mouth was magic.
With the last of his mind, Doflamingo turned off the fire under the sizzling pan full of olive oil, and then there were no more thoughts for a while.
The first half of the day proceeded as usual. He and Roci barely made it in time for a really, really boring meeting on the military threats in the East Blue; then Roci plodded off to another, fancy-ass Admiral level meeting, looking quite unenthused, as Doflamingo made his way to Madam Tsuru, who was taking her break in Sakazuki's garden.
They exchanged some small talk: the global news, the recent assignments, Garp's latest shenanigans. She invited him to go down to her office and have some brandy. He politely declined.
She suspected nothing. He could control himself very well. She was the one to teach him, after all.
Eventually, she nodded at him, and got up to go back to her office. This was it, then.
"See you later, Madam," he told her, sincerely hoping he wouldn't.
She was nothing but vermin. A lowly commoner. There was no reason for him to get so worked up over trash like her. No reason. No reason at all. No reason for his heart to hurt, no reason for his soul to roil.
She was no reason for his pain.
Why did it hurt so much, then…?
He looked at her — the woman he grew up respecting the most out of all the people around him, including his own damn brother; the woman who so very calmly, so easily told him she'd kill him if the Five so ordered.
And he thought, most strangely:
Once he was a free man on the high seas, he didn't want to fight her.
He was acceptably sure he'd win. It should have been reassuring — a reason for him to be proud and pleased.
Somehow, it wasn't.
And so he thought — wished — prayed, to the Heavens and destiny and to no one in particular:
May I never see her again.
And for a single moment, he wished she told him to stay…
But she was already walking away, her old, small frame blurring and melting in the violent sun.
The wish was brief, and passed without a trace.
Time for him to go, too, then.
He felt Sengoku passing by from a hundred meters away. He hid in the bathroom.
He was just — not in the mood to talk to the old man, was all.
He walked past Garp's office. It was empty and locked. Ha! Out of thin air, a glittering lockpick weaved itself in his palm.
He opened the door, and strode in like the office belonged to him. He raided Garp's cookie stash, and stole a cookie, and chewed on it, and couldn't feel any taste.
Damn.
He barely remembered to lock the door as he left. Fuck those pesky feelings.
He just — needed to get straight to business, was all. Then, there would be no time left for this maudlin bullshit.
So he did just that — and with his keen Observation, which suddenly started evolving like crazy about when he turned sixteen, he pinpointed the location of the woman called Swallow. It was easy: there was no such other soul on the whole island. (This one soul was already one too many, Doflamingo believed.)
She was walking down the third-floor hallway, talking to Steer Leets, the CP4 chief: somehow, that incompetent nincompoop still hadn't been fired or demoted.
Perfect. Now for a bit of Soru…
"Swallow," he purred once he casually strode up to them, "Steer Leets," he sneered habitually, both to avoid stirring the man's suspicion, and just because he felt like it. "Fancy meeting you here. Pray tell, what brought you to this lowly Marine abode?" he addressed Steer Leets.
"Nothing I'm authorized to tell you, Donquixote," Steer Leets snapped sourly.
"Is it, perchance, your Beasts Pirates infiltration program? Because I seem to remember how you promised results for December — which was, what, four months ago? — and delivered nothing."
"Why don't you go try infiltrating the Beasts Pirates yourself if you think it's so easy?" Steer Leets bitched.
Doflamingo scoffed.
"I don't need to infiltrate them to know more than you do — like, say, the fact that from this night on, Dragut the Drawn Sword is one of Kaido's Flying Six."
That just had Steer Leets looking both pissed and impotent, like the dimwit he was. Really, the guy wouldn't know counterintelligence if it bit him in the ass.
Swallow, on the other hand, gave Doflamingo a piercing look.
"The Cipher Pols have no intel on that yet. Your informer network is certainly — robust, Vice Admiral."
"I do try," Doflamingo chuckled smoothly. "Unlike a certain Cipher Pol chief here. Honest question, Steer Leets: how haven't you been fired yet?"
"Just go away, Donquixote," Steer Leets rebuked quite acidly, and — why, in fact, it looked like he might just be about to be fired for his Beasts Pirates infiltration program accomplishments (or lack thereof). "See what I have to deal with, Swallow?"
From the hopeful shade to his soul as he looked at her, Doflamingo drew the conclusion that she was likely his last bet to get a WG asset on the Beasts Pirates crew, to finally give the Elders some actual tangible results.
Heh heh heh. Good luck with that.
…
…
(…And now…
Now there really was no going back.
It felt — surreal. And almost scary.
But he was Saint Donquixote Doflamingo, the Heavenly Demon. No fear ever held him back.)
…
…
It was time for the lunch break, but Roci was, of course, still at his desk, busy reading some papers that Doflamingo identified as some sort of a treaty. Briefly, Doflamingo felt curious about the contents —
But it didn't matter right now. Nothing mattered but this one thing…
His befuddled love put the papers down on the desk, sensing his intent, as Doflamingo strode up to him; and he grabbed Roci's hand.
"Doffy? What is it…?"
"It's lunch break already," Doflamingo grinned at him. " Let's go take a walk, to our grove."
Now, at the brink of the future with just one step left to take, he abruptly felt bubbly and sparkly.
"Okay, okay," Roci laughed. "You're being so weird today. Did something happen, love?"
And he followed Doflamingo's back through the open window, into the boundless blue.
His hand clenched on Roci's wrist, Doflamingo turned to look him in the eye.
"Not yet," he wanted to purr, but his words came out so breathless instead, "but it's about to."
"So mysterious," Roci shook his head, but still ran through the sky where Doflamingo led him without further ado.
Damn, but he wanted, wanted, wanted —
To see this place, one last time.
Their love was born in the seafoam on that stony beach, on the eastern Marineford shore. But it grew here, amidst the tall glimmering poplars, and the dainty birches, and the bride-white, blood-red cherry trees, and the lush green grass.
He wanted to see them again. He wanted to tell them goodbye, and he wanted to kiss his Roci in the fresh green grass, one last time before they left for good.
The trees that saw their love grow and blossom were now black, naked skeletons — the buds already thick with new life, but still closed and hiding the young brilliant green behind the leathery brown. The branches were black lines cutting through the piercing blue sky. The dirt was black, too — dark and heavy with the snowmelt waters.
On that rich black carpet, the grass blades were peeking through — so young and so daring amidst all the cold; so startlingly green.
Here and there, small, white, fluffy snow mounds were still hiding under the trees, like little kittens or seal pups. Roci glanced at them with a smile, then turned to look at him.
"What's going on, Doffy?" he asked. "I gather there's something I need to know."
"My sharp little love," Doflamingo sang-sighed, his whole being trembling, like a violin string, "can never hide anything from your sight. What's going on, you say…"
He really, really had to hurry.
Instead, he pressed his face into Roci's hair, right over his ear hidden by that silver-gold waterfall, and just breathed in for a second or two.
"What's going on," he spoke then, "is that right now, the CP asset called Swallow is hearing about a certain appointment in the Flying Six of Kaido's Beasts Pirates. The news is huge, and it has only just been announced to the Beasts Pirates at large, including what few low-ranking assets CP4 did manage to get on the crew. Before that, only five people knew — the ones who discussed the appointment: Kaido and his All-Stars."
Doflamingo made a dramatic pause. Roci rolled his eyes with a little half-smile. Ah, my sweet love, just wait till you hear the punchline…
"The point is," Doflamingo gave Roci a bright, sharp grin, "even before CP4 found out, Swallow already knew."
"Five people?" Roci mused, still not catching up for now. "Ah, right… that elusive Joker. Any new intel on him, by the way? At least on whether it's a man or a woman? And — Doffy, please no speaking in riddles now, I still haven't had my lunch, you know. What is it with that appointment?"
Doflamingo gave him a mysterious smile. Roci snorted.
"I take it you have a mole among the All-Stars. Your intelligence network is really something else," he said, open awe in his voice.
"This time, I didn't need any," Doflamingo beamed. "I took part in the All-Stars' discussion. Remotely, that is, but it still counts, doesn't it?"
And he watched Roci's face freeze.
"Please, Doffy," Roci said then, barely moving his lips, "please tell me this is not what I think."
"My sharp little love," Doflamingo grinned.
"Why?" Roci whispered, paler than the last spring snow.
Doflamingo scoffed.
"Did you really think I'd loyally serve them for the rest of my life?"
He didn't need to say who they were.
"And you told Swallow," Roci said heavily, "that you know the Beasts Pirates' classified information only the All-Stars and Kaido had access to, up till now."
"Mm-hmm."
"She's going to inform the CPs at once. She's going to tell them you're a traitor."
"Uh-huh."
"If you get caught, you'll go to Impel Down."
"Nuh-uh," Doflamingo grinned, in a very good mood all of a sudden.
Roci looked down — at the slight, fearless grass on the fragrant expanse of black. Then he looked up at Doflamingo, the dried blood of his eyes dull and dim even in the violent glory of the young spring sun.
Then, after a long ringing silence, he said, his voice dry and rusty:
"Did you do this to force me to leave with you?"
"Force you? What on earth are you talking about, my golden love?" Doflamingo affected — the very picture of wide-eyed innocence.
Roci watched him some more, insurmountable walls around his soul.
"I'm not going with you," he said.
Why, hello, flashbacks.
When Doflamingo was eight, the vermin caught him and beat him up. They spat on him, stomped on him, and then tied him up and blindfolded him, and then they put him all the way up on a great stone wall, and lit a fire under his feet. That fire ate through his shoes and roasted his flesh. To this day, Doflamingo still couldn't stand the smell of well-done meat.
Then, they shot him with an arrow.
The wound hurt a lot. When the vermin let them go, Father had to push the arrow clear through the opposite side to take it out of Doflamingo's body. Doflamingo remembered crying a lot, crying and swearing and clenching his fists and teeth, because it hurt, it hurt so damn much. The wound took four months to heal, and it got infected, so it rotted and seeped yellow pus. When it finally healed, it left a small, puckered white scar. It was still there on Doflamingo's body, twelve years after that night.
Next to Roci's short phrase, that arrow was nothing.
Roci felt his agony. He winced and looked down.
He didn't take back a single word.
"You hate it here," Doflamingo just about pleaded, his soul raw and flayed, "you don't want to stay here, at all. So why stay?"
(Come with me, come with me, my love, my heart, my soul, my only treasure… Don't abandon me, don't give up on me… Don't leave me all alone in this desert.
No one can hurt me like you can.
Don't hurt me now.)
"I have a duty to fulfill," Roci answered Doflamingo's desperate words and unspoken thoughts. His voice was grayer than a rainy November day.
"But you promised," Doflamingo snarled. "You told me you'd always be by my side. You said I'll have you as long as I want you. Now I want you with me, on Kaido's crew."
"My place is here," Roci said, as immovable as a mountain, and just as stony. "You don't get to decide for me — where I go, whom I serve. I'm not your property or your slave."
"But of course you aren't," Doflamingo took Roci's chin in his fingers — softly, gently, as befitted the ultimate treasure that was Roci's face. "You're my love. You swore you would always be by my side. And as such, you shall go wherever I go."
But Roci looked at him, and said nothing.
His silence spoke volumes.
"There is but one way for us. You and I, we're meant to share it forever. This is what the High Heavens want," Doflamingo chanted — either cursing or praying, even he couldn't tell.
"This is not what I want," Roci said in that rusty voice, the screams inside him rising and rising.
(No more pinpricks, and no more knives. Instead, a thick hail of arrows, showering down on his soul ever since Doflamingo's little revelation — the blazes of pain relentless, unyielding… the voices inside him all howling and howling.)
"Are you sure?" Doflamingo crooned. Even to his own ears, he sounded a bit crazy.
Well… maybe he was.
Roci's face horribly, familiarly twisted. Now that was strange: Doflamingo felt like he had seen it somewhere, someday, this face Roci was making now. But it mattered little.
The important thing was the answer he gave.
He didn't say anything — but then again, he didn't even need to.
"You promised," Doflamingo whispered in a frenzied hiss, "you swore I could have you. Won't you keep your promise, my heart? My soul, my sweetness, my love, my Roci…"
But there was no more Roci in the small green patch of young grass.
In fact, there was no patch anymore. A large black pit yawned in its place.
Roci was waiting for him in the middle of nothing, dancing on air between the boundless blue and the distant black, the white kicks of his feet so forceful they sounded like small explosions. Doflamingo fondly shook his head with an enamored chuckle.
So beautiful, his love. So stubborn, so dumb, and so endlessly beautiful.
How could Doflamingo ever leave him behind? Nothing and no one could possibly tear them apart — not even his Roci's foolish, mad whims.
"You're getting ridiculouser and ridiculouser by the second, my golden love," he admonished. "Why waste your time resisting what is meant to be? There was never any other way for us, Roci."
Roci looked at him for a long moment, and then barked out a short laugh.
"Look around, Doffy," he said, "we're in the sky. Do you see any designated roads here? There's a billion ways to go."
"How about now?" Doflamingo grinned, and let the Birdcage slip off his fingers.
Ah, it was rare that he got to use his magnificent, grandiose creation. The conversation was dragging on, which was getting dangerous, but his hands itched to air out his masterpiece, and Roci's words seemed to call for it.
Meanwhile, Roci just raised an eyebrow at the giant, glittering cage (the eyebrow was invisible under his fringe, but Doflamingo just knew it went up).
Then, Roci lifted his leg — that long, long leg in his dark standard-issue pants, rapidly turning black.
"Seriously? Don't be stupid, sweetness," Doflamingo complained. "You know that won't work on my strings."
"Hmm," Roci hummed noncommittally, and threw an admittedly powerful, Armament-reinforced blast of Rankyaku at the cage.
The Sickle Wind harmlessly bounced off the cage, just as expected: Doflamingo's strings were famously tough, and Roci's Haki was too strong for them to slice through the wind blade. And —
Uh.
Ah, that was clever.
Doflamingo had a split second to think that as he hastily summoned an Armament coating, just in time before the wind blade struck. Even ricochetting like that, it could still well slice him in half.
When he came to, it was to the sight of Roci watching his face from above, looking grumpy.
Behind Roci's silver-gold head, the Birdcage was indeed gone, due to Doflamingo losing his consciousness for a very brief moment (as per the sun's unchanged location in the sky). His little love could be quite the tactician.
There was a hard, familiar lap under his head. Doflamingo made himself comfortable and crossed his legs.
"You idiot," Roci complained, spitting on his handkerchief and wiping the corner of Doflamingo's mouth. The white fabric came off red.
"Likewise," Doflamingo smiled up at him, so in love he even felt a bit seasick. "Hm, this is cozy." He snuggled into Roci's lap. "I think Imma take a nap."
"Fuck you," Roci told him darkly. "If you want to leave, leave now."
Doflamingo opened one eye and peered up at him.
"Am I to leave alone?" he playfully asked.
Roci's frozen face twitched.
If the answer was yes, Doflamingo just wouldn't be leaving at all, and Roci knew it.
Impel Down for Doflamingo or service to Kaido for Roci? Somehow, Doflamingo was almost sure what Roci was choosing.
"I don't have a choice, do I?" Roci answered his thoughts, as heavy as a North Blue iceberg.
"Damn right," Doflamingo grinned — suddenly so deliriously, effervescently happy.
Roci took a ragged breath and closed his eyes.
"I hate you," he whispered — quieter than the slightest wind.
"No, you don't," Doflamingo grinned wider.
Roci opened his eyes, and gave him another inscrutable look.
"No, I don't," he agreed.
What a contrary creature, his sweetest love. He wasn't even lying in any word he was saying.
In his soul — the most familiar soul in the world — Doflamingo Observed a wound: a deep, festering wound, scabbed over but still seeping pus for many years now. It had been there for many years, since the day Doflamingo freed them. Or tried to free them, anyway, since Sengoku happened and got in the way of his homecoming plan.
It never got deeper, that wound — because it couldn't. It already reached all the way down to Roci's heart and inside it. It didn't bleed these days, but it still kept rotting and festering — slowly, steadily poisoning Roci's soul.
The wound's presence didn't bother Doflamingo much: Roci's fifteen-year-long pain was by now as dull and familiar as the phantom pangs in Doflamingo's own once-broken arm and ribs, in his bad knee, in his dead leg. Many old wounds were like that: they just wouldn't stop being bothersome.
More importantly, Roci, too, seemed to be used to it like Doflamingo was used to his numb fake leg. Of course, the fact that the wound was there at all was rather unpleasant, but Doflamingo had never thought it was something worth proper concern.
And it wasn't, because Doflamingo could see the blade sitting deep in the wound. Spearing the heart that impaled itself deeper on that shining blade with every single new beat, bleeding and bleeding with that almighty feeling — louder than the cold voices of Roci's soul void, sharper than his pinpricks and arrows and daggers and knives.
The feeling that was all Doflamingo's — the reason why no one else, not even the arrogant brat Roci was so hung up on, could ever reach into that foolish, ever-bleeding heart as deep as Doflamingo did.
Doflamingo saw that. Doflamingo saw everything about his dumb little love, his glowing treasure — his gift and curse.
And Roci knew Doflamingo knew.
He let Doflamingo press him into the cold, rich, fragrant soil, and his hair was a spill of silver-gold on the green of the dawning spring. Doflamingo drank the bitterness off his lips, and felt them open.
Then, sharp teeth sank into his lower lip, so hard Doflamingo felt a hot trickle of blood dribble down his chin.
He opened his eyes, and drew breath; and he looked at Roci.
His golden love was defiantly staring up at him, his teeth stained with red between those open cherry bloom lips, and —
Damn, it was maybe the loveliest his Roci had ever looked in his life.
And Doflamingo laughed.
He was standing on the doorstep to his dream, just one step away from walking into the wide open blue. Finally, he was about to break free, after years and years of waiting — with his heart and soul by his side.
He was so happy, he couldn't help but laugh.
"I love you too," Doflamingo whispered, his words still interspersed with a dying tittering. "I love you so much… my sweetness, my heart, my Roci."
Roci groaned and squeezed his eyes shut.
"I'm glad you chose the right thing," Doflamingo said conversationally. Roci opened his eyes and stared at him with red venom in his gaze. "Now, don't be like that, my golden love. I want no wrinkle on your brow." He licked off that wrinkle with a quiet chuckle. "Just think of your promise to me. That promise is above any Oath. Our bond is above any other… So now, you're simply doing what's right," he grinned.
"Why?" Roci suddenly asked.
"Why what?" Doflamingo snapped. He didn't suffer cryptic questions lightly.
"Why did you choose to be a servant to Kaido? Ever since Sir Sengoku found us, you've been telling me you want to be free. You told me you didn't want to serve anyone at all. And yet you ended up as — "
Shut up! Doflamingo's Haki roared.
"…as Kaido's underling — "
Doflamingo pressed his lips tight.
"All in due time," he said. "We won't be working for him forever."
Roci's face did something indescribable at the we. Still, he said nothing about that.
"You don't have to work for him at all," he insisted, sounding a bit desperate. "You don't want to be in the Navy, fine. Let's leave. Let's go somewhere we can be free, from everyone. Surely there's a place like that, on the high seas or in the sky."
"Don't know," Doflamingo said lightly, "don't care. There's but one freedom for me. Surely you know that, my soul."
The only way Doflamingo could ever be free was this:
Having everyone else for his slaves.
The people, the gods, and the whole wide world.
Of course Roci knew, even if he chose to conveniently close his eyes to this little fact for most of his life. He wasn't his lover for nothing.
Ah, his foolish little love, with that foolish agony in his eyes.
"So let's just — start small," Doflamingo offered, "and work our way up to the very top. Bit by bit, we'll climb Kaido's back like a ladder — and one day, there will be no Kaido. Just us."
"You don't need a ladder," Roci said quietly. "You can fly, remember?"
"Which is nice, but more or less useless when it comes to overthrowing the powers that rule the world," Doflamingo snapped, getting tired of the senseless talk. "This is the only way for us. Believe me, if there were any better options, I'd have taken them."
"If you saw any better options, you mean," Roci said, as if not entirely to Doflamingo. "But you refuse to."
"Hmm? How do you mean?"
Judging from the rising worry in Roci's soul, they didn't have much time left. Ah, that Observation of his — the all-seeing eye that ever watched the whole island. So convenient, so nifty — and so fucking awesome.
For all that his Roci could be so dumb, he was still the most splendid thing in existence…
And fuck, but Doflamingo loved him.
Roci looked at him — all of him, seeing his face and his soul at once: the one man that always made Doflamingo feel seen.
His joy, his comfort, the home of his heart.
They wouldn't ever part. No matter what it might cost Doflamingo, he'd be keeping this man by his side, forever.
Roci watched him and sighed. He saw all of his soul, and he heard all of his thoughts, and he knew all of his love — and he loved him back, over anyone or anything in the world. That much he promised him. That much was true.
Roci watched him and watched him — and then he sighed, and shook his head, and thumbed Doflamingo's cheekbone.
"Nothing, Doffy," he said, "it's nothing. Let's go."
So hopeless, his love. So resigned and so hopeless, his soul a dim murky bog of despair and self-loathing.
Finally.
How lovely, Doflamingo marveled.
Could there be anything lovelier in this world than the vision of his golden love, finally bowing down to his will, the way he needed to ages, ages ago?
"Now you're talking," Doflamingo sprung up to his feet, feeling the twinge from Roci's Rankyaku in his gut. "Good boy. I knew you'd come around, sweetness."
Roci silently gave him two middle fingers. Doflamingo chuckled. Honestly, his sunshine was just the cutest.
His Roci would always obey him in the end.
Stubborn or not, idealistic or not, he knew his place. He wasn't Doflamingo's baby brother for nothing.
"Where are you going?" Doflamingo frowned, up in the sky when Roci made to walk the familiar way to their apartment.
(Well… in just a few minutes, it wouldn't be theirs.
Damn, the thought was wild.)
"Uh — home? To grab our stuff…?"
"No time for that, sweetness," Doflamingo casually steered Roci away from his chosen path, and towards Sabaody. "Everything of importance has already been shipped out by this morning." Thankfully, he had his handy Golden Knight doubles for that. What was more, they didn't have an aura of their own — just a vague shadow of Doflamingo's presence, noticeable only to the strongest Observers — which made them just about invisible for most curious CP mutts, and supremely handy when it came to covert affairs.
"Let me guess — everything of importance being your library and your liquor collection?" Roci rolled his eyes.
"Ah, how you know me so well, my heart," Doflamingo couldn't help it: he picked up Roci's limp hand, and gave it a long kiss, and grinned as it wriggled out of his fingers and clenched on his nose to pull it, hard. "All of that, and some other things… and my personal blood bank, of course. Now let's go, I've arranged for a ship to take us to Wano."
"A ship? Wait — what ship? We have our Chaika."
Ah, the most dreaded part.
"How do we man a ship when there are only two of us?" Doflamingo scoffed, carefully making sure to sound flippant.
"Our people love you. Some of them — some of them will follow you even to Kaido." That Roci, cutting him to his heart and bone with those wide, confused eyes.
"They will. But I don't want them to."
Roci blinked, and then his eyes widened even more. His sharp, keen little love.
"But — "
"No buts." Damn, he didn't manage to keep calm after all. Thankfully, Roci heard the rising distress in his voice, and wisely shut up.
As if Doflamingo wanted to leave his lady Chaika behind.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Shit. Fuck him sideways.
"Follow me, my destiny," he said to Roci to distract himself. "My Mandate of Heavens is calling me. Our future starts now. Here," he opened his palm, "my divine right in my divine hand, waiting for me to seize the whole world… and throw it to your feet."
Roci silently stared at his empty palm.
Then, he put his hand in Doflamingo's.
"Well," he said with a sigh, "I suppose there's no other way for us now. Let's go look for those Heavens you seek." |
The next morning, you find a pretext to visit David in the server room. His initial blush and subsequent hesitant conversation tell you clearly that he has remembered his dream from the night before. Pretext out of the way, you dive in with a smile.
"So ... Anything of interest happen lately."
You lose what eye contact you had with him as he busies himself with tidying his workspace then responds, "Umm ... Not really - haven't been out much lately. Maria and I are breaking up, I think, so we haven't been out much lately." His repetition only serves to underscore his un-ease.
With your copyrighted sincere frown, you reply, "Oh, David - I'm sorry. I really like her." ("really like her" you think to yourself) "So - its just been to work, then home to sleep - to sleep, perchance to dream ...?"
He freezes at this, then looks up at you, sheepish grin wrapped in layers around his face. Further silence as his eyes flit about the unoccupied room, then he speaks, “Uhhhh .... I shouldn’t say this, but I had another dream last night. I mean, a dream that you happened to be in, I mean.”
You grin broadly, vastly entertained by his attack of nerves. "I see - was this a hot dream, like the last one?"
"Much hotter. Much, much hotter."
"Just us or were there others? Anyone we know?" you decide to head right for your objective, since he is so flustered.
"It was just us together, I mean. You were looking out the window at some people in another building, but I think they were just talking in their kitchen."
The sharp, quizzical look you shoot at him sets him back, confused. You soften your gaze and wonder if he's lying (but why?), or really did see them just talking in the kitchen and not wildly fucking. You'll have to ask Weisshart about that.
You glance at your watch and realize you have three minutes to get to a meeting. "Damn - got to run." As you turn, one last question, "So - was there anything unusual in the dream?"
The confession of his beet-red face overrules his oral objections. You pause for one knowing qlance, then move on with your day. Outside in the hall, you mutter a soft curse over the information you didn't get from him. "Why don't I recognize her?" you wonder. "I wouldn't forget that red hair."
At lunch you make up nearby errands so you have a ready excuse for wandering about, staring at women in your local haunts. There is no flash of recognition, however, either in your mind or another's eyes.
The day slides by, and the evening follows suit. You consider going to bed early, but know you'll just lay there, too intrigued and curious for sleep to take hold. When you finally start nodding in your chair, you know that sleep will come quick and effortless.
Your head sinks into the pillow; in only a moment you slide into darkness. And, after a time, your eyes begin their dream-stalking motions.
... The cabinet door in your parents' kitchen catches slightly then creaks open. You reach in and deftly remove boxes of crackers and slip them into your backpack alongside the cheese and wine already there. You look around to see if you've awakened anyone, but when your silence is matched by the house, you creep stealthily to the back door where you are met by Kent, the American literature prof your friend Anita poached from you last winter.
"Did you get it?" he asks, peering into the backpack. "Mmmm ... " he confirms your selections, then takes your hand in his.
"Come on - I'm going to take you to the island." He begins running through the woods, and you race along to keep up, feet splashing through puddles of leaves on the way. Suddenly, you see him lunge forward and for a moment he seems airborne, but for you holding tight to his hand, wrenching him back to earth.
He turns to you, astonished, and slips an arm around you, whispering, "You still can't fly ...? "
Without speaking it aloud, you think, "I'm sure Anita the bitch could fly." and in your own head, you hear, "No - she only wanted to fuck. She got bored with me. Come on, we'll fly together."
He leans in, your open mouths meet, and then, instead of his tongue, you feel his moist breath fill your mouth. You press against him for support as you feel an intoxicating flush sweep through the provinces of your body.
He pulls back and jerks his head toward the horizon with a smile. "Come on, she's waiting for you."
With a leap, he takes the two of you into the air, just as an electric thrill runs through you from knees to navel. "Who?" you ask, already knowing the answer.
He draws you up into spooning position, nestling your now naked bodies together. His breath sings in your ear as his hands mold your pelvis to his. There is a pause, then he responds with a certain puzzlement in his voice, "... I don't know ... She's a redhead ... She said to come for you."
The two of you fall into silence as he controls the flight. You feel each thrust of his body and tightening of his hands as he periodically accelerates, his cock sliding familiarly against the lips of your increasingly damp and aromatic pussy. With each acceleration, you clench your thighs and squirm against his cock. Images cascade through your mind: bodies writhing against one another, sweat and shadows, long red hair, deep breathing and sharp panting. Long red hair weaving its way into your mind, seeming so real that you can feel the strands flowing silkily around your body. You drift out of your reverie and realize Kent's cock has slipped from between your thighs, then come to an awareness that your partner has changed completely. Breasts press into your back, and fine, small fingers grip you as strongly as before. Hair cascades over and around your shoulders. Soft lips touch the communication center of your brain, and from within you come the words, "Hello, Regina . . I'm Cassandra." She surprises you by using your full first name – does anyone call you Regina anymore?
As you melt against her, you wonder, "What happened to Kent?"
"We didn't need him anymore. I had him bring you to me, and now I've sent him off to another dream."
"Does that mean you're a DreamMaster . . . like Weisshart?"
She chuckles gently within you and replies, "Yes . . . and no. We're both after different things."
"And Kent?"
"Noooo . . . he's just a dreamer who remembers how to fly."
"So, what do you want from me?"
"For now, just to relax. We're almost there."
With that, silence overtakes your mind, and you become more aware of the body that nestles you. Somehow, the hands that grip you securely also glide along your thighs and stroke gently to the underside of your breasts. Her lips start at the base of your skull, then zig-zag along your neck before starting down your spine, depositing wet, gently sucking kisses at each vertebrae, down to an impossibly low place before retracing the path back up.
This massage, like no other, combined with Cassandra's secure embrace, drains away the last of your uneasiness. Whether by chance or design, Cassandra begins to descend now, spiraling the two of you downward through the treetop to a small clearing.
Landing, you walk with her to a moss-covered rock, where she gently lays you back, firm but soft hands sliding you fully onto the raised platform. She whispers, "We'll be right back . . ." You wonder about the plural pronoun, but are too much at ease to labor over it.
The soft and cool of the rock contrast with the heat from the sun filtering through the leafy canopy above. With closed eyes, you lay and wait, unmindful of the time passing, then she returns. They return. You feel fingers stroking your brow from above your head while at the same time, another hand takes your left hand and turns it slightly, unfolding it. Your hand is cradled as warm, soft lips arrive and land damply on your palm.
You open your eyes as the lips move to your wrist. You look down, then look up questioningly at Cassandra. Her voice reaches into your head and replies, "Look familiar but can't place him? I've sifted him out of your memories. Anyone you might have lusted after might be in there somewhere."
For now, you close your eyes again as he kisses his way up your arm, around your shoulder, then down your chest, one hand resting flat on your stomach. Cassandra thinks to you, ". . . watch my hand . . . "
Your eyes open and you see her hand hovering over your pubes. She circles for a moment, then dips her middle finger slightly and draws her hand back, as though gently plucking a string. Your clit trembles and your labia part in erotic readiness.
With each pluck, the trembling radiate out through your body. To your surprise, when you close your eyes again, the trembling continues with each pluck.
Everyman (what else would you call him?) pauses at each nipple long enough to bathe each with his tongue and to suck gently. When he returns to tracing the curves of your breasts, your nipples and areola cool under the gentle breeze in the clearing.
With both of them caressing you - him directly and Cassandra from above, your legs begin to draw up, parting at the knees in lustful anticipation.
You feel a warm tickle in the valley between your breasts; your eyelids part briefly to tell you what you suspected - Cassandra's hand is hovering over your breasts. In a moment, you feel a slow trickle of energy begin to flow from clit to breasts, swirling at points between your breasts and just below your navel. The stream twists and writhes like electricity and your back begins to arch and undulate under the flow. You feel yourself spiraling in toward your center, drawing Cassandra and Everyman with you in a rush of ecstasy and emotion.
Distracted, you do not notice that Everyman has moved between your legs until you feel the head of his cock gliding silkily against your dewy mound. He draws back, you tilt your pelvis slightly, and he slides in without resistance. Slow, deep strokes caress the inner walls of your vagina – deep kiss at the back and nibbles and sucking on the outstroke. Cassandra begins to move to the side, letting her hands roam more freely, but always bringing them back to where they started. Your skin burns and you feel Cassandra in your mind again, “... open – relax, take the energy, let it flow through, be one ...”
Your hips start to thrust upward, greeting Everyman’s cock as it fills you again and again, your legs locking around him to drive him forward, hands resting on his arms to steady the bounce and counterthrust. With your eyes closed, you see blue arcs cross your eyelids, the electric anticipation of the orgasm about to envelope you, your fingers lock onto Everyman’s upper arms and a rhythmic panting moan starts low in your belly and echoes from your mouth. Like crossing the sound barrier, your entire body trembles for a moment, then is launched into the incredible calm of complete orgasm. Entwined with Cassandra and Everyman, you are adrift in the ether, the energy that was flowing point to point through you now dancing off your skin and bathing the cells of your body. Your cells spin down in unison now, until all is at rest, and you float. No agenda, no vector, just presence and singularity.
You lay still for what seems like hours until you realize the mossy stone is now your bed ... you have floated up from dream to world.
You lay still, holding the memory of the dream until you can will your body to begin the day. You long again for the night, but know you are too depleted, and not yet ready for the next encounter.
|
August 30th Salzburg, 1938
Ian watched the mail boy peddle away from the house. The wind picked up, tossing his hair and ruffling the delivery boy’s satchel. He shivered despite the warmth of the day and glanced back toward Artur who had paused, still holding one of their makeshift barometers, watching the boy on the bicycle along with him and James. They were far enough out in the yard that the delivery boy’s retreating back didn’t disappear until he rounded the corner a few moments later.
“It’s not time for the post again.” James remarked at Ian’s shoulder. He was in charge of taking down the temperature in their log book. It was unusually warm for fall and Tony had Ian and his younger siblings tracking the weather for patterns. They’d made a barometer out of a jar, that actually worked. Still, their assignment might have gone smoother if Artur would pay attention and stop singing that song about the goat herder Tony had taught them.
Ian had been doing his best to keep the others focused on their work until he’d noticed the delivery boy.
James was right, the post had already come once today. That meant the message had to be urgent. Ian righted himself and wiped his sweaty bangs out of his face to look back out at the road again, biting his lip. Something wasn’t right.
There was a sound behind him, like the creak and swish of doors opening and Ian turned. Uncle Bucky nodded at him from where he’d appeared on the veranda, hands shoved into his pockets and shoulders hunched. Father was there too, trotting down the steps at a pace that while not charging was definitely the sort that meant they should go to him right away. Not that any of them needed much encouragement for that.
“Vati!” Artur squealed, so excited to see that father had returned that he dropped the jar. Ian made a lung for it but couldn’t catch it in time, but thankfully it landed with a soft thump in the grass none the the worse for wear. Artur plowed ahead and threw himself at father, James scuttling not far behind. Ian followed much slower, his stomach doing funny flips unable to shake the feeling of dread he had.
He was just being stupid, he told himself, but another more insistent voice kept whispering that something was wrong.
Father scooped up Artur and braced himself against James’s tackle. Now that Ian was closer he could see how pale he was.
“Da?”
Father looked up at him, the thin line of his mouth turning up slightly into a wane smile at the sound of Ian’s voice. The smile didn’t reach his eyes but at the same time there was something like relief in them – a sight that only made Ian’s stomach feel like he was in the middle of falling. Why was he relieved to see them? What did he think was going to happen to them while he was gone?
Ian’s eyes flicked over him in quick darts, looking for signs that he’d been hurt (because sometimes he came home hurt, even though he tried to hide it) and noticed that in the hand that was resting on James back, his father was clutching a gray envelop with a red seal on it.
Oh no.
Ian’s stomach began to sink into his toes even as his heart tried to climb its way up into his throat.
Their father hoisted Artur higher on his hip and turned back toward the house, gesturing for him and James to follow. “Come inside, boys. There is something important I have to tell you.”
Ian swallowed and trudged along behind them, that voice inside his head getting thinner and thinner with each frantic repetition.
Oh no. oh no. Oh no.
~*~
Ian couldn't believe his ears. No matter how many times he tried to refocus on what their father was saying, the words just slid past like water. Nothing seemed to stick.
"That means you’re going to war." Ian heard himself say softly, the words seeming to echo inside the suddenly quiet room. They’d all gathered inside the sitting room, the whole house. Even Cameron, who nobody ever saw anymore because Herr Hammer said that hall boys should be out of sight and out of mind.
Ian’s mother hadn’t thought that. She’d always been kind to Cam, and even let them play together sometimes when his work was done. If his mother were here –
Ian aborted the thought. If mother were here it would be the same.
Father would still be standing beside the fireplace, taking a deep breath and swallowing it down. Ian couldn’t tell what it was this time that father was trying to suppress. Whether it was sadness or anger or all of it. Ian stared up at him from where he was crammed between James and Maria on the sofa. Though there was plenty of space for them to stretch about around the room, he and his siblings had collected together till they were practically on top of each other. They were all silent as gravestones, waiting to hear what father’s answer would be. Artur was sucking silently on his fingers, his eyes round and glassy with welling tears.
Father was being called back to active duty, effective immediately. It could only mean one thing. But father shook his head and denied it.
“No. That’s not something you need to worry about right now.”
Ian didn’t have to be looking at Tony to know he’d tensed in his seat. It was something he could just feel in the air. When he did look he was not surprised by the stillness of his expression or the unspoken anger he seemed to be holding back behind clenched teeth. Tony didn’t believe him either.
“But I’ve still got to go,” Father sighed.
“I may be gone for quite a long time, which will mean a lot of changes around here. Lucky we’ve done this before, right?”
Father mustered up a smile for them to match the warm and tender quality of his tone. He didn’t sound at all like himself anymore. More like he was before mother died, back when he was just Da.
“I want you all to be able to stay here and continue on just as you are. Bucky will be leaving for a little bit but he’ll be in and out to check on you all. Herr Stark has agreed to be responsible for the children. I’ll be leaving word with the magistrate so there should be no issue, but he will need assistance from all of you.”
Father’s gaze roamed over them and Ian couldn't read what was swimming in their depths.
It scared him.
“Herr Hammer and I will both be staying in the house on a permanent basis until the captain returns. Julia we’ll need the rooms freshly turned over.” Frau Hogan announced to the servants before her gaze landed on Julia who nodded somberly to show that she’d heard.
“There will be some shifting of duties, which will mean longer hours for us all, but that is no excuse to let the house fall to shambles. Everyone will do their part or suffer the consequences. Anyone who wishes to stay at the house rather than continue their commute is encouraged to do so, and should let Frau Hogan know in a timely fashion so we can have the rooms cleaned, ” Herr Hammer added in addition.
"Do any of you have further questions?" Father asked once silence had fallen once more. He asked in the way that meant now he needed them to be soldiers, strong and clever even if they didn’t understand everything or even want to be.
Ian nodded vigorously, clutching the Barometer he still held closer to his chest, it's lid biting into his collarbone. He wasn’t sure what he was agreeing to. He couldn't think straight, couldn’t catch the words properly.
He understood. He nodded again. He understood. Maybe the little ones didn’t' but Ian would help them to understand. It was just like when he was little. Father would go away for months but he’d come back. Mama would smile and laugh and show him the new baby and the house would fill with music.
Only, she couldn’t. Could she? There would be no more new babies and no more happy music because she- Tony would play music. Yes. Tony would play music. Da would tell them stories.
Ian shut his eyes hard.
It was just like last time. They would make do, and then Da would come home. It was just like last time.
Something rustled and Ian’s eyes snapped open. Over by the fireplace his father was methodically folding the letter with his summons back into its envelop, paying it far too much attention to be normal. The bright red and black swastika seal stood out on the vanilla carbon paper. Father's gaze finally lifted to fall on Tony first, then Uncle Bucky, something dark passing between them all and then finally it landed on Ian and his siblings, where they were huddled. Ian stared back hard as his thoughts tumbled around his head.
Everyone was leaving.
First Peter and now their father.
And then like someone had flicked a light switch everyone was moving, the room emptying out like a water bucket with holes as the servants paused to give Father their well wishes and then rushed off to see that everything was set for his departure.
Uncle Bucky went straight away to father's office. Ian could hear the door slam even from down the hall. He could hear his father speaking, his voice gone brittle and clipped as he tried to explain again to James, who’d latched onto his arm, why he was leaving.
Ian didn't blame him for being aggravated. James wasn't stupid and neither of them liked it when he acted like he couldn't understand things.
Sara had started to cry, big fat tears that made her little body wobble. Father frowned and gave it up as a bad job and scooped her up, shushing her quietly.
Ian slid off the sofa, looking for Tony in the spinning room. In a moment Tony would touch his shoulder and maybe smile at him.
There, he’d say. Everything would be okay.
But when Ian’s gaze finally found him, rising from his seat, he was grim and silent. A muscle in his cheek bone twitched, making him look as if he was trying not to be sick. He seemed to not notice Ian at all as he approached father, eyes sharp and fierce like he intended to shout at father. But his voice was almost too low to be heard when he did speak in a calm and measured tone.
“Stefen. We need to talk.”
Something passed between father and Tony, their eyes speaking without words as they so often did. It was yet another look Ian couldn't decipher, though he always tried his hardest. Then father was nodding and handing Sara down into Natacha’s arms.
“Children, get ready for dinner,” Tony instructed them firmly, sparing them a brief nod. Dinner wasn't for another two hours but no one argued.
While father disappeared with Tony to some place private (some place they were not quite invited) Ian and his siblings stood in the now empty room, shooting each other with worried looks as the grownups quickly went about their business.
Ian worried his lower lip with his teeth, only stopping with a wince when he tasted blood.
Peter let out a breath of air that maybe was a laugh, maybe not, and turned to look at him. Rubbing the back of his neck he said, “I guess you’ll be the man of the house now, Ian.”
Ian’s insides were doing funny things again. He swallowed.
“Shut up.” Tacha hissed, glaring at Peter, and Ian flinched. Did she not think he could do it? That hurt. Ian didn't think he’d be so bad at being…a leader. Maybe.
“What else am I supposed to say, Tacha. You heard father.” Peter countered their sister waspishly, throwing a hand out in the direction the grown-ups had left in, frowning at her.
“I won’t listen to him!” James announced suddenly from where he stood, glaring at the floor. Ian felt his cheeks heat in embarrassment.
“You have to,” Artur whispered, clutching Maria's hand in his and sucking on the fingers of his free one anxiously. He was too old to still be doing that, Ian thought distantly.
“No. If father wants me to listen to him then he should stay and...and” James sputtered to a halt, his brow crunching together in explosive frustration as he failed to find the words for just what he thought it was their father should do.
“And what, make you?” Tacha raised an eyebrow, folding her arms over her chest, always a dangerous sign.
“He should stay.” James shot them all a glare, daring Peter and Ian to challenge him. As if he were the only one who cared that father was going back to the army.
“That’s not...you know that's not how it works.” Ian started to say, but James crossed his arms and stomped his foot angrily and shouted over him.
“Yes it is! He’s the Lion of Austria, he can do whatever he likes!”
“That’s NOT how it works!” Peter’s voice rang out. Maria cringed, covering her face and crumpled into tears.
Ian should have stayed, at least to comfort Maria but, but he didn't want to. He didn’t know what that meant.
Shame flushed through him. What would father think, Ian not wanting to comfort his crying baby sister?
But he knew a losing battle when he saw one. The look on James face coupled with the feeling in Ian's gut and Peters thunderous expression… Nothing good was going to come for the rest of the day. Maybe not for many many days.
~*~*~
Tony's heart was pounding as Stefen closed the door of the music room behind them. He'd been mildly surprised that Stefen had chosen the room until he remembered that he'd seen Bakhuizen heading for Stefen's study after he’d dropped the bombshell on them.
"I hope you don't mind that I told the children you'd be caring for them before we had a chance to speak." Stefen began as soon as the door had clicked shut and Tony shot him a peeved look.
"What? Angry that you presumed I would be willing to be responsible for the lives of seven children not my own, while you are gone for- what a year, two, three or four?" Tony growled and Stefen's nostrils flared, his brows arching minutely in a barely there and gone again expression of surprise and hurt, that Tony could only read because he was a damned fool.
"You're right of course.” Stefen replied stiffly. “I presumed. Herr Stark if I misread-"
"Do not Herr Stark me, and shut up if you're not going to say anything worthwhile." Tony growled once more in irritation, turning form the man to pace, because if he didn't pace he was going to possibly hit him or worse start kissing him again. He’d kiss the man and never stop, never let go of him so he couldn’t go off and get himself killed.
"You didn't misread anything and you know it." Tony reprimanded. That was the whole damn problem. Pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off the throbbing pressure between his eyes Tony muttered darkly to himself, "What the hell am I doing?"
"Tony," the captain walked toward him, his tone beseeching but Tony turned and glared at him in warning.
"No! I'd truly like to know. You hired me to teach your children and shield them from the scrutiny of the Reich. I accepted because I wanted to be free of the abbey and hoped to find an easy way to leave all this wretchedness behind me,” Tony cast an arm out tiredly, pointing to the entirety of the hopeless mess he found himself in. “But now there's you and the children and I… Stefen you're going off to war. Where does that leave me?"
"Tony," Stefen said his name again, even gentler and reached slowly for his hands. This time Tony didn't make any move to stop him.
"Tony haven't you been listening? I want you to stay. Nothing has changed."
Tony barked a disbelieving laugh. Was Stefen truly that naive? Or maybe he was just that stubborn.
"Everything has changed. You can't fight for them Stefen, you can't."
Tony didn't know if Stefen could live with he did. Tony didn’t know if he could live with himself, falling in love with someone who could do that. Raising his children in comfort. Eating at his table. Sleeping in his bed.
"Tony, I don't intend to.” Stefen refuted quietly, to Tony’s surprise.
“Do you mean that? Have you thought more about running?”
But Tony could tell by Stefen’s expression even as he asked it that it wasn’t the case. Stefen still refused to desert the army, desert Austria, when he still felt he could save it somehow.
“I know it's hard to see it now but you must trust me. There are people working to put an end to this, people who would do anything to stop us from going to another war. "
Tony made a sour face.
"Believe it or not vague promises aren't that reassuring to me right now. "
"Then trust this promise." Stefen squeezed his hands hard as if he thought Tony might try and pull away again. "Trust that no matter what happens I'll take care of you and the children. We'll go to Switzerland and start again together. You, me and the children."
"Until they are done with school?" Tony pressed and Stefen pulled him closer by the hand, until they were toe to toe and he could settle a hand on Tony’s hip, as if they might start a dance.
"I’d say till you were sick of me, but honestly not even then.”
“What a frightening thing to say to someone.” Tony managed to get out, swallowing to wet his dry mouth. He was right to be worried. Right to question why he was sticking around when all good sense told him to pack his bags and leave Austria on the morning train.
He needed to think with his head and not his cock. He’d say there was merit in trusting ones heart, but his was damnably flawed and past the point of corruption where the Captain was concerned.
And judging by the man’s smile he damn well knew it.
“You don’t believe me now but I’ll show you Tony. You’ll see.”
Stefen pulled him closer and Tony tensed, thinking he was about to be kissed and somehow terrified of that fact, but Stefen just tucked Tony tight to his chest, arms wrapping securely around his back and held him. Tony shuddered, eyes closing as he clutched the back of Stefen’s shirt.
*~*~*~
Ian had slipped away to his room. He stayed away for dinner too. Everyone must have been feeling whatever it was that was sitting in his stomach too, because father didn't even make him come down to eat with everyone at dinner time and Tony and Uncle Bucky let him be.
He'd gone straight to his room. Straight to his bookshelf.
Warmth had flooded through him as he’d plucked the green and gold book down from the little shelf just above his bed. A little American authored book. His favorite even though it was one of the ones Virginia and father told him he had to keep hidden. He had a few like that, that father had brought home and some Virginia had gotten from her father before they had been banned.
She’d even given him one that was entirely in English. Though he still couldn't read it well yet, he got a delightful thrill thumbing through the pages and guessing at the pictures.
His little green book opened easily, the pages worn to a soft almost velvety texture. He traced a finger over the letters, Calico Bush, and flipped it open to a random page, though really, there were no random pages in any of his books. Every time he opened one it was like restarting a conversation with an old friend.
Ian had lain on his bed, his books spread out around him, for what felt like hours. Artur had come in what must have been right after dinner, still smelling of Willamina’s cooking and after cooing a bit at Mon Ami in his frog cage about how they were all going to be fine (as if the frog were the one with the worries) his younger brother had curled up beside Ian on the bed with a book of his own book.
Ian noticed he’d drawn in the margins with pictures of birds and other animals. Artur was getting quite good at his little drawings.
Artur’s company had been nice, made his stomach less wibbly, but then Artur had fallen asleep, his face buried in Ian’s shoulder. Ian let out a shaky breath. His thoughts inevitably turning once more to his father leaving.
Maybe if he hid his uniform? Not the whole thing, just a vital. Or his cap! Then the army would have to wait for him to get another one before he could leave. Every good soldier knew a missing article on a uniform was as good as being naked.
No. He wanted his father to stay but that was wrong somehow, like wishing Peter wasn’t smart enough to go off to school.
Ian’s eyes skirted over the room until they stopped suddenly, stuck on a familiar shape hanging by his dresser. He sat up, careful not to wake Artur.
That was it.
His dress uniforms hung pressed and ready for use. Ian always had them ready, that was just how you did things. He snatched them off the hanger bed and without stopping to think and ripped off the patch Julia had sewn on. It lay limply in his hand like a crushed butterfly. Gritting his teeth, Ian began to rip off the buttons.
With his stomach in his throat he rushed to find his father.
~*~
“Father?”
Da looked over his shoulder at him. He was in uniform already. Ian swallowed, even in the low lighting he could see the sheen of sweat on his father’s skin, as if he’d gone for a run.
“Father?” he tried again. “I need my buttons sewn on. They’ve come off.” His father cocked an eyebrow at him. Ian’s face heated. This was a stupid plan. Da would see right through him. He could have gone to any one of the maids, he could even have gone to Tony.
Just when Ian thought he'd been found out, his father gestured for him to come in. Ian padded over and held out his dress blouse.
“I asked but Julia's busy,” and before he could stop himself he added hastily to the lie. "So are Greta and the other maids"
"Are they now?" Da said knowingly, a little smile playing on his lips.
To Ian's surprise he took the garment anyways and turned it over in his large hands. He could see the buttons had been ripped right out, Ian was sure of it. He looked down at his feet as he waited. His father’s eyes flicked to him and he turned from his canvas bag that was lying open on the bed.
“You wanna wait here while I fix it?"
Ian nodded and shuffled closer.
"I don't mind you missing dinner tonight, Ian. Today’s not been easy on anybody. But it would have been nice to see you,” his father said as he rummaged through his drawer, retrieving a little sewing kit. Thankfully he didn't say anything about how many buttons were gone. He just held a hand out, palm turned up as Ian dropped all seven of them into his hand.
Ian wriggled where he stood, waiting anxiously as his father began to repair the damage. He wanted to say something. It was on the tip of his tongue to do so, but the words wouldn't come out. They were all stuck like marbles in his mouth. He couldn’t even get past forming them in his head.
“When is Uncle Bucky coming back?” he asked after a few minutes of silence.
“In a week or so. He can’t leave for very long. He’s gotta get his papers done again,” da muttered, his attention focused on threading the needle. Though Ian’s father had a habit of looking focused on something but really paying attention to something else. He did it all the time with Tony.
Ian let out a sigh of relief and then felt immediately guilty. He shouldn't be happy Uncle Bucky’s papers needed updating but if it meant he had to stay in Austria Ian couldn’t help it. Maybe Peter’s papers would need updating too and they wouldn’t let him leave either.
Father made short work of the buttons with the needle and thread. Ian knew boys that would be embarrassed by their fathers knowing anything about sowing (woman's work) but Ian didn't find it so worrisome.
Instead he tried what the grown-ups did when they wanted desperately to make something go away.
Small talk.
He told Da all about Ada Brawer and Gisella Keats, two of the girls in Natacha's group that had been making strange faces at him for weeks. Gisella was an alright sort of girl with bright red hair and dark slanted eyes. She was good at running and told funny jokes. Ada on the other hand had a way of looking at Ian that made him uncomfortable. Like she wanted to own him or something.
Tacha said they liked him and that he had to do something about it, and that the best thing to do was to either start walking one of them home or say he was saving himself for God and country. When Ian told his father that he looked startled before he laughed.
"You should ask your uncle, or Tony. I've never been good at talking to woman. I still can't believe I managed to string two words together to talk to your mother." Da chuckled softly, working the needle deftly. Ian wrinkled his nose. He didn’t want to talk to those girls. James was much better at talking to people, girls specifically, and everyone adored Artur and Tacha. Ian just couldn’t seem to muster the courage, or the words. The words where the biggest problem.
He could feel himself blushing as he muttered, "I don’t want to talk to a woman, just girls. How do I talk to them?"
His Da paused to think, mulling his words over.
"Just...they're people, start with that first." He said slowly. "Like you’re talking to Peter or Tacha. Or one of your friends, you can talk to them can't you?"
Ian blinked. He wasn’t really sure he had friends.
He waited anxiously for him to continue but Da just shook his head, smiling ruefully at him.
"That's it, that's all I've got." He muttered.
"Really? But, but..."
"I told you I'm not any good!" Da reached out and pushed his shoulder, teasing him gently. "Tell her you like her dress today or something. Tell Gisella, she's good at running.”
A giggle burbled up from in Ian’s chest and he clamped his lips shut over it but just ended up snorting loudly.
"Isn't that just stating a fact?" He asked after he was able to school his expression.
"Don’t know. Is stating a fact flirting?” Da smiled back at him, like he knew Ian was fighting it. “I told you your uncles better at this than I am."
Ian’s chest clenched tightly and he fidgeted where he stood suddenly antsy.
What did it matter if he told? Da knew how to handle anything, he'd help make it better. Still his father was in a very talkative mood for once and Ian didn’t want to ruin it.
It was on the tip of his tongue to say it. He didn’t want to walk Gisella home and get her pregnant, no matter what their group leaders said. He already had his younger siblings to look out for and well, he rather have a dog instead. It wasn’t what he was supposed to want but dogs were nice. Even if they couldn’t grow up to be warriors for the empire like babies.
“Da?” his father looked up at him.
“When are you coming back.”
Father held his gaze, gently setting the blouse aside and fixing him with a very worrisome look.
“I don’t know Ian, you know that.”
It wasn't often Ian felt like grown-ups told him the truth. Tony tried the most and Virginia never out right lied to him but rarely did grown-ups try to tell him the whole truth. He wasn't sure he much liked it now.
“There’s gonna be a parade to welcome Commander Goering and Von Brauchitsch to Vienna” his father told him after a moment.
“Why? ” Ian asked, cocking his head. That was very different. In the past his father had always been stationed somewhere far away in the mountains.
“The regiment is escorting him to Berlin, for his tour with the Führer. They’re going to inspect us and they want to make a spectacle of it. They want people to see us and be proud of us...and you. They’ll be looking at you too.”
Ian’s stomach dropped and he looked down at the floor.
“I hope…” his father began, a hand gently tipped Ian’s chin back up and Ian blinked back the pressure behind his eyes. Men didn’t cry.
“I hope I can come back soon, but I don’t know. But I do know you’ll be fine. You’re brave.”
He smoothed back Ian’s bangs and Ian couldn’t help it. The tears that had been building since his father had told them he was leaving began to spill, hot and salty onto his cheeks. Da didn’t say anything, just wiped them away before holding Ian’s face in his hands and looking him in the eyes. Already Ian was beginning to feel better.
“You’re very brave, you’re gonna have to be braver still and it's not fair.” Da’s voice scratched and he cleared it before going on. “But I know you can be. You hear me? Everything will be fine.”
Ian nodded vigorously.
“And then you’ll be back?”
His father’s nod was barley there but Ian sighed a breath of relief he'd not known he'd been holding.
"You can write me. I'll answer” he said. “I'll try to answer. I'm not always able," he amended with a slight grimace. Ian knew that. They all knew that, but it hadn’t made it any easier in the past for mother when their letters went unanswered or were returned with a rejection stamp, revealing that he had never gotten them at all.
Ian stared at him. Even sitting Father was taller than him, even if just a little. Ian had never been at this vantage point, or at least that he could remember. He was almost eye to eye with him.
He could be brave like Da he told himself. He could. He would.
“You know I’m counting on you to look after everyone.”
The words seemed like they hurt father on the way out, but that was odd. Because that's what they did, he and Da, look after everyone. That’s just what you were supposed to do.
Da reached out and touched his shoulder again, his hand smoothing over the worn play shirt Tony had made him before he looked up and met Ian’s gaze once more, a smile playing in his eyes.
“Would you like a new book?" He asked suddenly. "I can’t promise it’ll be a book for children-”
“I’m not a child,” Ian broke in earnestly.
Da gave him a weak smile.
“No, you’re not.”
His father moved back and picked up Ian’s blouse again and started on the last button.
“Would…“ father cleared his throat and tried again. “Would you like a new book?”
“Yes, please!” Ian blurted and then tried to school his features according to a soldier. He must have failed because Da chuckled.
“What kind of book?” he asked and Ian eagerly answered, already knowing exactly what he wanted.
“About the mandolin. I want to learn to play.”
“Well that settles it then.” Da tossed his newly sown blouse at him. Ian caught it before it smacked his face, trying not to giggle but he couldn't help the little burst of laughter.
“I’ll still miss you,” he blurted, still smiling. It was important to say that, he thought, just in case Da didn’t know.
When he’d been little Ian had been what grown-ups like to call difficult. He had never liked it when Da had to go away. It wasn't that difficult to figure out. Father leaving had always made mama and Baka anxious and sad, and Ian had worried that he wouldn’t come back.
He’d get so worried that he wouldn’t eat, sleep, or talk, which would make him sick and Mama would have to call the doctor. No matter what Dr. Erskine said or tried Ian never perked up till his father was home again.
One time, a new book had arrived a few days after father had left on a campaign. Ian remembered that Mama had opened it with him and there had been a little note inside that had said: Here’s a friend so you won’t miss me. Practice hard. When I get back I’ll need someone to read me to sleep.
Ian had started eating again and practiced his letters with Mama diligently every day, content with the unspoken promise in his hands. He’d still miss him, but Da always kept his word. He would be back, and when he was Ian would be ready to read to him. From then on, whenever Da left with the troops he’d send Ian a new book. Ian thought he’d forgotten the tradition after mama died.
He was happy he’d been wrong.
~*~
September 1st 6:00 AM
The grandfather clock downstairs chimed six, sounding through the air with more strength than ever before thanks to Tony.
Da’s room still looked as if he might come in at any moment. His jacket was still thrown against the dresser and the dressing kit he’d used to fix Ian’s blouse lay open on his desk.
Everything he’d need at the base fit into his canvas bag so he had just left everything else where it lay.
Ian eyed his father’s jacket lying over the dresser as if it were going to take life in the mirror's reflection. He straightened up and checked himself in the mirror again, smoothing his dress blouse meticulously, for the fifth time. It was perfect. Which was good. They needed to be perfect today.
The clock chimed again in warning and Ian sighed and stepped away from the mirror. A tall young man in a smart uniform, hair perfectly slicked looked back at him. He looked right. He looked ready to march in the parade and see the soldiers off. He looked like a soldier himself, like he’d be ready to join them if they asked.
His leaders in the HJ said he should always be ready.
Tony's strained yell floated down the hall, echoing through the house, as he called for Natacha to hurry up. A moment later he was yelling incredulously at James, who apparently hadn't even begun to get ready.
Ian suppressed a ping of guilt. He wasn't keeping his promise. He should have made sure James was getting ready too. James had been so stroppy, ever since father had left to be with the men before the big ceremony. His mood had gone south even more so yesterday morning when Uncle Bucky had swanned in at breakfast with his suitcase in toe.
He was off to Krakow, he’d announced, to visit his sister Rochel and her girl’s. Though the pinched look around his mouth maybe said that he either wasn’t looking forward to it or he wasn't telling the truth again. Maybe.
James hadn’t thought that uncle Bucky would leave with the rest of them and even telling him that Bucky would be coming back soon didn’t make him feel better about it. Ian couldn’t blame him for being disappointed. Something wasn’t right about Bucky leaving so suddenly right when they wanted him there the most.
Uncle Bucky’s jacket wasn't as smooth as it normally was and Ian knew that meant he’d taken his money out of the bank and hidden it in the lining of his jacket. Uncle Bucky had shown him that trick when he was seven and warned him never to trust somebody else with his fortune.
“Ian?”
Ian turned at the sound of Tony's voice to find their tutor leaning against the door frame watching him with a strange look on his face. Tony was thinking again, those thoughts that made him stay in the garage hours on end, the ones that made lessons hard to follow and Tony brittle at meal times.
But in any mood, it was nice having Tony around. With him around they made eight instead of seven. Well, not always because Da was home far more than before but still. Peter usually banded with Tacha, Maria and Artur practically came glued together and made a little triangle with Sara. Ian normally got stuck with James who-
Ian pushed the thought away and the rising annoyance at James with a vengeance. With Tony here now there was someone there at the other end of his long thinks. He didn't mind being alone but it wasn't the same as being lonely. Being alone was simple enough to stop when you wanted, but Ian found he could be lonely in a room full of people and never knew how to make it stop.
It used to be his mother who found him in his thoughts, and when he could his father had before mama died. Because there was a before version of his father and an after. Sometimes, there was something frightening in the way father would hold himself, the way shadows crossed his face and made him different, someone Ian didn't recognize anymore. Peter used to complain that father had lost any interest in them when mama died.
Ian knew that wasn't true, but whatever father had in him that made him the way he was, he didn't want it. Ian knew this without a doubt because sometimes, sometimes he felt it was in him too. No one wanted to feel trapped in their head… but sometimes it was hard not to be.
“Yes?” he answered belatedly, and Tony took a breath, paused and then swallowed whatever it was he had been going to say. It didn't happen often but Ian knew what it looked like now. Tony had smudges of oil at the corner of his jaw, like he’d tried to wipe his face clean and missed a spot.
He pushed off the door frame and made his way toward Ian, an inexplicable expression in his dark eyes.
“You can fiddle with that all you like you know, but you can’t make it any more perfect.” Tony murmured. He rubbed at his eye absently, the aggravated white turned pink standing out now that he was so close to Ian.
“Did you sleep?” Ian asked, with worry. “You need to sleep, Tony.”
Tony blinked and looked down at him, startled, before he let out a bark of laughter.
“Your father gave you orders I see.”
Ian frowned, Tony made it sound like it was a bad thing.
“It’s important, Tony. Klaus Stolz fainted during a march once because he stayed up too late the night before.” Ian told him.
“I appreciate the advice, but I’m the adult, Ian” Tony replied. “I look after you, not the other way around.”
Ian stared back at him, mouth firmly set.
“Father told me to look after everyone. That‘s you too.”
Tony sighed and ruffled his hair, chuckling as Ian batted him away with a horrified squeal of protest. It had taken him so long to get it just right!
“Well then, Patino, help me get the others ready,” Tony requested and Ian nodded, smoothing down his hair.
~*~
“Get away from me, I don’t like you! No one likes you!”
James hurled the book in his hand and Ian ducked as the heavy volume sailed just past his ear.
“James Rogers!” Tony barked, snatching at the back of James collar, swinging him around and grabbing his arms. “DO NOT THR-”
James kicked out at him, struggling with all his might but Tony held on tight wrestling him to the ground. No small feat, Ian knew. James was still skinny and on the short end but his strength when he got going always caught people off guard.
“James, stop!” Tony shouted just as James wriggled free and barreled towards the bookcase again.
Ian wasn't sure what had set him off this morning. Tony had only told him once more that he had to get ready for the parade.
Maybe it was because Peter didn’t have to go because he had to pack to leave for school in the morning. Ian could understand that. James wasn't the only one that was going to miss Peter. Still he didn't throw a tantrum whenever he felt like it was too much, Ian thought savagely as another book went airborne. Even Sara didn’t act out like this and she was only three.
“James those are mine!” He shouted anxiously as James zig zagged away to avoid Tony and leaped on top of Ian’s bed, grabbing at the books he had left there to throw them. Ian’s index of natural herbs and plant life sailed through the air and he darted forward to rescue it.
This was so stupid! James was being so-
“James, so help me I will lock you in the seller-” Tony made another snatch for James shirt collar, but James darted just out of reach and snatched up another book, this one green with gold writing.
Ian knew which one it was without even having to glimpse the title. Calico Bush sailed through the air to land at Ian's feet, splitting open with a crack that resounded in his ears.
James whipped his head around, blue eyes wide and for a moment Ian thought it was because he knew. He knew and hadn't cared that he’d broken Ian’s favorite book, but Tony was staring at him in shock as well and Tony couldn’t possibly know.
Ian realized belatedly that a long low wounded sound was coming out of his mouth.
He didn't care. That had been his favorite book. The first one. The first friend to keep him company.
“Ian?”
Tony had stooped to gingerly picked up the book, but the spine just completely split down the center, a few pages drifting out and fluttering to the ground like wounded birds.
Ian had already turned away. It was too hot and he didn't want to see what was left of the little book. He didn't want to look at his idiotic selfish little brother either.
“Ian, wait!” James called, running over to grab onto the back of his shirt.
“It's fine, Tony can fix it, can't you Tony?” James was saying and a flare of rage surged through Ian. He wrench himself free of James hands with a snarl.
“Why don't you listen! I told you not to touch my books!” he screamed and James shrank back, frightened. The silence that followed made him sick. Tony was staring at him like he had never seen him before.
Tony moved forward as if to comfort him, his eyes full of concern but Ian couldn't take them. He took a deep gulping breath but it just burned in his throat and didn't stop the sensation of boiling water under his skin.
“You don't ever think about anyone else! You're so selfish!” he hollered and to Ian’s dismay, hot stinging tears were pooling in his eyes. He wiped the away furiously frustration with himself, stringing his insides taught.
Men don’t cry! Stop crying! He screamed at himself.
But father had given him Calico Bush. Mama had read it to him every night even when he’d been sick, and when Mama had gotten sick he’d read it to her. She’d liked when he read to her. It had helped Da sleep. It helped Ian sleep when he missed them. It was all he had left of either of them and James had just thrown it like it was garbage!
“Ian?”
He jumped, flinching away at the hand Tony had tentatively rested on his shoulder. Tony pulled back, giving him space as if Ian were a spooked animal and swallowed the scream for them all to go away that was building behind his teeth. Darting forward he swept up the pieces of his book and its crumpled pages into his arms. Shoving James out of his way Ian ran out of the room, ignoring Tony's shout after him.
~*~
Ian lay where he'd collapsed, the fabric of the music rooms sofa biting into his face as he pressed it into the cousin.
He wanted Peter to stay.
With Peter gone Ian would have to be the leader. He’d promised Da, but….
Ian shoved the pillow tighter over his head. Embarrassment sat heavy in his stomach.
He was such a baby to be scared like this. But he’d always had Peter before. When Baka died, and then Mama… when Da became a stranger and looked at them like he hardly recognized them, Peter was still there. Coming up with schemes to torture their governesses and get their father’s attention and bossing them around but never leaving them alone.
But now he was. Just like everybody else.
Ian bit his lip, trying to stave off the sting of returning tears. A soldier wouldn’t cry.
His legs dangled over the sofas end and he pulled them in to his chest and finally peeked out from under the pillow. The piano stared back at him. He imagined if it could talk it would say something like, “if you’re trying to hide, you might try finding a place you can fit in”.
Its voice would sound like Tony.
Tony was probably somewhere getting the others ready while he waited for Ian to come out of hiding. He’d have a gentle smile waiting even though Ian had screamed at his brother and cried like a baby. He might even squeeze Ian’s shoulder and wink at him like he always did when Ian felt this way - like his lungs were trying to take flight and his head was wrapped in a wet blanket. Tony would squeeze his shoulder and wink, like it was their secret (like it was okay, and he’d never tell Da how scared he’d been) and all of that heaviness would all just sort of ease out of Ian. He was tired of feeling heavy.
Ian sighed. He tucked Calico close, caressing a bent page with his fingers.
He wasn't a little boy anymore and he had to be ready. For what he wasn't sure. Things weren't easy like in his books, where he could easily tell who was a villain and who was not.
He could recite it from heart, knew the story better than his drills and his ditties. His fingers trailed over the damaged pages and he sighed again, his heart sitting heavy in his chest. He couldn't help it, the stupid tears just leaked out of him no matter what he did. He didn’t want to be around the others he decided.
He didn’t want them to know. Sometimes he didn’t even want to know what he was thinking. It got very bad inside his head.
Tony had made them translate this poem once, a new verse every three days. It was very long but Ian didn’t mind because he had trouble with English and needed the practice.
It was about a sailor with a dead bird tied around his neck as punishment. No matter what he did he couldn’t get away from the bird. And it was a big, big bird. Tony said it was a metaphor.
Ian buried himself further into the sofa and growled. He didn’t like the poem. The image of the dead bird weighing down the sailor, imagining the constant overpowering stench.
He sometimes looked at his da and thought there might be something like that hanging round his neck. The thing that turned him into the Captain and not ‘da’. It felt like his da had always had it, whatever it was, and if that where the case then maybe…maybe Ian had it too.
There were days it felt like it. And now, now it felt like those days would never end.
The arm he was using to block the light with the pillow was wet again. He rubbed at his eyes till they stung. Men. Don’t. Cry. He thought viscously, hating that it did nothing to stop the urge.
The door to the music room creaked and Ian jerked, startled, sitting up to crane his neck and watch as the door creaked open.
Peter stuck his head inside a moment later, peering almost owlishly inside as he looked for Ian and finally spotting him curled on the sofa.
Ian shrank, feeling ashamed of being found like this but Peter didn’t comment on it or make fun of him. He shut the door gently behind himself and loped over on his long skinny legs. He barely waiting for Ian to move his legs before he plopped himself down.
He had a small jar in his hands which released a pungent chemical odor when he jerked the top off. Ian wrinkled his nose.
“Tony made a glue.” Peter explained as if he’d read his mind. “It smells rotten but I don’t think you’ll care if it works.”
Peter reached over and wordlessly plucked Calico from Ian’s arms, careful of the loose pages he’d stuck between the two more solid sections.
“Do you know what order these go in?” Peter asked, brown eyebrows arching as he considered the pages and Ian nodded slowly. He knew where every word went.
“Good.” Peter nodded absently, already focused on lining up the edges of books spine.
Ian watched him work, eyes stinging for a completely different reason now, but it was easier this time to take a deep breath and just keep breathing.
“I can go to the parade with you. If you want.” Peter looked up from his work, brown eyes soft with sorrow and heavy with guilt. He was talking about more than the parade.
“What about school? Don’t you still have to pack?”
Peter shrugged, continuing his work as if his departure in the morning didn’t loom over them and it was inconsequential whether he was ready or not.
They all had things to do, ready or not.
“You should pack.” Ian stated decisively, his voice gaining strength. He’d still miss him but Peter should pack.
It would be fine. Everything was going to be okay. Da would come home and Peter would too.
Ian wouldn’t have to do anything with Gisela Keats, besides race her to the sweets trolley after training and it would all just be fine.
He let his eyes fall shut, listening to the sound of rustling pages and letting the acrid smell of the glue fill his nostrils.
Maybe, when he got home Da would even teach him how to play his mandolin.
~*~
11:00 AM
The crowd was deafening. Ian stood rigidly straight as Herr Gobbels looked proudly out over the audience from his place high above Ian’s head on the second podium. The minister of propaganda stepped back, raising his arm in a salute and the noise just got louder. Ian let out a small breath of relief. The speech was done. It had felt like Gobbels would never stop talking and Ian had never stood so long or straight in his life. More than once his vision had tunneled.
It was a parade like none he’d ever seen. So many important people had come down to see the men off - the minister of propaganda himself, accompanied by the newly appointed Admirals and the Commander of the Wehrmacht.
Ian was at the front, carrying the Wehrmacht's standard. It rested now against a shoulder, heavier then he thought it would be. The black and white Iron Cross emblem nearly dwarfed him as he shifted the heavy pole.
James, for once, was completely still at Ian’s shoulder, waiting for Ian to be given the command. Even Artur was standing perfectly at attention.
One, two, just one foot in front of the other. He could do it. He was brave. Ian clenched his jaw and marched onward. Over the sound of the crowd and the under-hum of music Ian thought he could hear the click of his younger brothers boots behind him. Three four five, perfectly measured thirty inch steps. Now pivot. He clicked his heels together and let the standard slide through his fingers until the stub thumped the ground and stared straight ahead, at his father who was standing upon the short stage.
Well, really Ian looked at his chest because his father looked impossible tall up there, but now that they were closer Ian could see that even though Da was standing at attention, his eyes were dead set on them, looking right at Ian.
Ian was given the last command and he lifted his arm straight out, fingers uncurling to present the General with his father’s new insignia.
General Striker plucked it out of his hand and turned to father, a small smile playing over his lips. It didn’t match the cold gleam in his eyes Ian thought, frowning a little. His eyes jerked back to his father to find that Da’s eyes were on Striker now. They were ice cold.
Striker pinned the insignia upon his father’s chest, pushing the pin until it was stationary. If Ian hadn’t been so close or paying such close attention he would have missed the way his father flinched. It was just a slight ticking in his eyebrows, a tensing in his shoulders, but it was enough to tell Ian that the General had punctured through to his skin. He knew his da well enough to know he was dangerously close to losing his temper.
Ian wanted to back up, but there was nowhere to go. And he wouldn’t, even if he could. He tried to keep himself perfectly straight as General Striker turned toward the audience, clasped his hands behind his back and declared that Germany’s future was secure with soldiers such as these to live and die for the good of the present and future of the German empire.
Out of the corner of his eye Artur shifted, his head turning slightly as wide blue eyes stared at him. Even he understood what General Striker meant.
Ian glanced back at Da who was as still as a statue, but this time his gaze was on them again, on Ian. This time, for the first time, Ian could read the strange expression on his face and he felt the floor drop out from underneath him.
Whatever was going to happen, it was nothing good for them. Ian was sure of it down to his bone. Because the impossible had already happened.
His da was afraid.
~~*~~
September 2nd 7:30 am, Salzburg
Peter was very quiet on the way to the station the morning he was to depart for Switzerland. The quiet was an unwelcome contrast to the chaos of that morning full of its goodbyes and last-minute tantrums on behalf of James – it was like James thought that Peter would hear his bad-tempered screaming and just up and decide not to go.
Maybe James wasn’t as silly as they all made him out to be, Peter thought glumly as he watched the streets of the city crawl past his window. Not long till they reached the station now. He still had time to tell Hogan to turn the car around.
Of course he wanted to go to school to learn chemistry and engineering, but Tony could teach him those things (Peter knew he could no matter what Tony said) and it would probably be better than what any stuffy Swiss professor could teach him.
But it wasn’t right leaving Natacha alone to take care of the others. She’d told him it was a good thing he was going, but she was just being brave about it. He could tell she didn’t really want him to.
He should stay, he thought with a sick feeling twisting in his gut.
Who was going to look out for Ian and keep him from murdering James? Who was going to make sure that Artur didn’t try to go searching in the lake for alligators again? And what were Anamarie and the other X-Men going to do without him?
“They’ll all get by without you, you know. You can always write letters when you miss us, and you’ll be home before you know it for fall break.” Tony murmured from the seat beside him, maybe reading Peter’s mind, or perhaps just familiar enough with the way he thought to guess.
“We’ve even talked about having a party for your birthday. A chance for you to see all your friends again.”
Peter looked up at Tony from where he had his hands clenched in his lap. They were clammy he noticed belatedly and grimaced, wiping them on the leg of his pants.
“I should be here. I know I should be,” he mumbled in reply, not acknowledging Tony’s see through attempts at cheerful distraction. Did Peter’s father really think the thought of a birthday party was going to make him forget those things that he’d said; what Wanda had said about what was happening to gypsies like them?
Peter couldn’t just go and leave everybody. Could he?
“Father said to just concentrate on being a kid for a change. But that’s selfish. Isn’t it? I know he’s the reason that I get to do this. I’m smart, but starting term late like this, finding me a dorm on such short notice, that’s because of his money. He pays them so I get to go, but Natacha and the others, and all our friends, they’re all stuck with whatever happens.”
Peter dug his fingers into his arm and twisted the sleeve of his shirt as he forced the words out, a tired admittance. It would be amazing to go to that school. He had wanted to. But that was selfish. He knew it was.
“Peter. Let your father and I worry about your siblings.” Tony gently squeezed his arm, drawing Peter out of his thoughts. His smile was small but encouraging as he continued softly in the quiet of the car, “You’re not wrong. You are blessed in a way that many others aren’t. But that’s a privilege Peter and not a character flaw. It’s enough that you know and don’t take it for granted.”
Peter frowned.
“So, I’m just supposed to go… and what, watch the news and feel lucky it’s not happening to me?”
Peter thought he saw something shadowed pass over Tony’s expression at the question. His tutor nodded in reply and said with a sobering amount of gravity.
“Yes. I don’t know what it is about you and your father that you think you have to throw yourself in front of the guns because you’ve been given a few blessings here or there, but you’re fourteen. You’ve your whole life ahead to worry and sacrifice.”
“I’ll be fifteen next month,” Peter reminded him. “And I’m already older than dad when-”
“When circumstances forced him to make a choice between donning a uniform and his family’s starvation.” Tony interjected with a grimace. “He’s aware, and he’s worked very hard so that you’ll be lucky enough never to have to even get near such a choice. It’s okay to be lucky, Peter. There’s nothing cowardly in the good fortune of a parent who spares you unnecessary pain.”
“Are you saying that because it’s true or because you want me safe and out of the way?” he asked, searching Tony’s face for his real thoughts. It wasn’t that Tony made a habit of lying to them. On the contrary, Tony was too honest with them, and one of the only adults who Peter trusted to be honest when things were bad- but even so, like most adults he liked to make things sound better and more hopeful than they actually were.
“Both.” Tony admitted with a pained smile. “If it makes you feel any better, I need it to be true as much as you do. My parents sent me away too when a war broke out.”
The car slowed as Hogan pulled up to the curb outside the ticketing booth. It was not very crowded this time in the morning in the middle of the week, so it was easy to spot Henry Osborn and Robert Drake in their HJ uniforms, their bicycles parked nearby where they leaned against the wall just beside the door of the booth. At first, surprised delight shot through Peter at the fact that his friends were there when he’d not expected to have a chance to say a proper goodbye. But then it was followed by the horror of actually having to do it.
Could he really say goodbye to two of his oldest friends, knowing he was leaving them to face whatever was ahead alone? Bobby and Johann were going to the officer school. Harry’s mother was still refusing to allow him to go but who knew how long she’d hold out to the pressure from Harry and the rest?
Bobby was the first one to spot the Rogers car and he nudged Harry. The two boys stood up straighter and waved at him. Peter gulped, his hand shaking as he reached for the door handle. He paused without turning it, breathing shallowly.
“Tony? When you went to the abbey… were you scared?” he finally asked in a small low voice, looking back toward his tutor. Tony got that look on his face like he wanted to pull him into a hug but Peter was glad he didn’t with Bobby and Harry watching.
“I was terrified,” Tony answered easily, simply, as if that was okay. Peter’s shoulders let go some of their tension.
Right.
He nodded once more, taking a deep breath before he pushed open the car door.
~*~*~*~*0*~*~*~*~
Stefen,
I asked you not to force me to see Peter off without you, with only fear of the unknown at his front and fear for his father at his back. You promised to be there, and yet as you were on your way to Germany I found myself alone with Peter trying to convince him of the rightness of leaving his home and his siblings behind him for his own sake. I feared he would not go, and seeing in that moment how much at war he was, I knew he would not and I cursed you. I cursed you for teaching him it is his responsibility to take care of his siblings, when that responsibility is yours. I cursed you for teaching him that it is his responsibility to stand up and fight even when the enemy is so much bigger than he is, and I cursed you for somehow, even after mucking it all up, managing to raise such a brave and kindhearted boy. Harry and Robert came to see him off. Harry was very sore and tried to convince him to stay. I believe it was whatever tender goodbyes he shared with Robert that finally tipped the scales. I have never breathed such a sigh of relief nor felt such grief as I felt watching your son board a train.
You can breathe easy now that Peter is safe and away, but what of the others? It is all very well and good for you to see to your duty to the good of strangers, but you must not delude yourself into thinking that it is any comfort to either your children or the friend’s you have left behind. While The Lion of Austria is off playing hero, you have left Pepper and I to mend the holes you have left in your wake. Perhaps you are comfortable with that, but I won’t let you be ignorant of the fact that we could make every effort in the world and it would all be futile. Neither she nor I can mend what you have broken, any more than a touch of glue and a needle to the spine of a book can make Ian forget that a fragile possession is all he has of his father. You need to ask yourself Stefen Rogers, who it is you are. The Lion Of Austria can only belong to Austria, and I have no trouble admitting how much I despise that man for his lies and his insufferable righteousness, but Stefen Rogers is another story entirely. Stefen Rogers belongs to himself and the family he has created. When these men are at odds, how do you choose who it is you have to be? Who are you, under it all? There are times even I don’t know. But I tell you this, a man is only a man, and can’t live forever under the shadow of an ideal. Nor can his children or anyone else who loves him.
-Tony
~*~
Garmisch Germany.
“Ah hell,” Second Lieutenant Frank Becker cursed inwardly. They were four miles into their hike and the good Major had sped up the pace. Again. At this rate they were making double time look like a leisurely stroll.
Frank had known the minute he'd seen his command that this would not be an easy tour and only half of it had been because they were teetering on the brink of war. The other half was the man currently sprinting to catch up with the first line. There was no prize for the fastest time a unit made it through the forests grounds they used for field training, so why Major Rogers felt the need to run them as if the Czech army was hot on their tails was beyond him.
It could be worse he consoled himself. They could have taken the whole damn platoon.
Major Rogers flew by, barking how appalled he was at the men's formation. Becker huffed loudly, pulling his pack closer to his body and looking over his shoulder at the red-faced line of boys shuffling along behind him.
A minute or so later his Major jogged up next to him, looking energized and fresh for all the world as if he’d only been having a brisk walk as his eyes continued peeling over their soldiers. Frank snorted, it was fucking unfair was what that was.
“Sir?”
Major Rogers glanced at him before falling back a little yelling for the tail end to be held up.
Becker watched, perplexed. He was used to the way Rogers hounded and demanded the best at all times from the men, but whatever hell fire had been lit under Major Rogers ass had to be burning strong because the fever fervor the man had subjugated them too this last week was inconvenient to say the least.
They were meant to be preparing for General Schmidt and Colonel Marquering to come through for inspection, but Rogers had insisted they spend the morning huffing it around the training ground under the guise of strengthening the men's lungs.
To be fair, Becker had no desire to be in the vicinity when General Schmidt came onto the barracks either. But it was their sergeants' jobs to take the platoons out for hikes and training excursions. The non-commissioned officer's jobs to get down in the grime and muck.
Becker swiped sweat from his forehead, wishing he could reach the droplets that crawled down his spine.
“What is it lieutenant?”
Rogers was next to him again and Becker jumped. How was it possible someone so big could sneak up so silently?
There was no denying Rogers had a certain...presence. His command while uncommon for someone so, well, common, was the best Frank had ever been under but he was not the typical sort of commander by any stretch of the imagination. Rogers slept in the sparse company barracks with the non-commissioned officers and left piles of paperwork to be done (God knows when he found time to do it) on his desk. And because he was always with the men, it meant Becker was always with them as well.
One shouldn’t be out done after all but it wasn't the order of things. Officers were meant to be separate for a reason. Outside of uniform was one thing but despite Major Rogers thoughts on the matter, the soldiers respected them because they were worlds apart. Like gods really, all knowing and ever present. They weren't meant to be shacking up with the troops over cards for God’s sake.
“Sir, I maintain that we should be ready and waiting for -”
“We’re ready. You read Ssgt. Zimmerman’s reports. We’re as ready as we’re ever going to be. They’re not estimated to be arriving until late evening. Yah wanna just sit around and pick your ass’s until then?”
Becker barked out a laugh and quickly tried to stifle it. Seeing him all polished up on the television, he’d almost forgotten how crass Rogers could be. When you actually met the man it was painfully clear he’d come from non-commissioned ranks.
“Sir, I cannot help but wonder-”
“There’ll be plenty of time to wait later, Lieutenant. I promise.”
Becker felt his smile slide off his face. Yes, there would be time later, now that he’d finally given Rogers an answer to his question. One hell of a big question.
Becker was not a fool. His ideas were unwelcome in the best of situations in the new Reichland. If they went searching-
No, when they went searching they would find his name on a Marxist list somewhere. Perhaps even that workers union meeting he'd attended in 35'. Point was, he’d seen what they did to people whose opinions didn’t match their own. It wouldn’t be long before they were storming his own house and frightening his new bride. Sometimes, measures just had to be taken.
A private who was dog faced and huffing forward with a determined look on his face, passed him and Becker jerked out of his thoughts, lengthening his stride.
They carried on for a while longer before Becker tried one last time. Worry eating at him. Schmidt was not one to play games with and for some reason the General had taken a special interest in their battalion.
“Sir, and if we should receive orders to march and the troops are too exhausted?”
A somewhat humorless smirk crossed Rogers face.
“Then they learn sleep is for the dead, Lieutenant. Simple as that.” Eyeing Becker up and down, her added, “You're not tired, are you? They could always use a demonstration of a rescue carry.”
Bastard.
Becker snorted but his retort was drowned out by the roar of an approaching motorbike engine. He slowed, watching Corporal Nagal navigate the bike past the soldiers.
Major Rogers called for a halt, not taking his eyes off the Corporal, his body still and ready. Becker looked between them. What was this?
The Corporal slowed and saluted, then called out over the noise, “Major. General Schmidt requests your presence, Sir."
Damn, Becker grit his teeth together. So much for being ready for the General’s arrival.
~*~
Schmidt was playing a new game with new rules it seemed.
There were only three things on Steve's mind (circled around as if it was tied to a merry-go-round) and in no particular order.
Prepare for war. Keep his family safe. Complete the mission.
The motorbike zigged along, bumping over the terrain and jostling Steve back and forth. He didn't mind. His body ached in a distant sort of way. The bumping of the side car rattled his bones, and though he’d always prefer to be driving, it was still easy to let the discomfort and tension ease out of him as they sped along. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the air rush over his face and sting his eyelids. When he opened them again he felt that much sharper.
“Corporal. Stop by the barracks. I need a change of uniform,” He commanded, leaning forward to ease the pressure on his legs. Riding in side car was like trying to cram himself in a suitcase.
“Sir, I have express orders to take you straight to the general, Sir.” The corporal answered nervously.
It shouldn’t have caught Steve by surprise but it did a little. Schmidt was nothing if not an excellent chess player.
As they rounded the corner Steve caught sight of the issued Mercedes Benz, gleaming black and imposing outside the officer’s office. He hissed out a breath. He’d never backed down to Schmidt before and he wasn’t going to start.
~*~
The senior SS officer turned as Steve entered. Someone had set out refreshments for their illustrious guest: stout, Tilsit cheese, black bread and the good coffee. Or so he was told, Steve never touched it, preferring to partake in whatever the NCO’s drank. Schmidt had a glass of stout next to him on the desk half full of the amber liquid, though to Steve’s eyes it was clear Schmidt hadn't touched it.
Steve stood at attention just inside the door and gave a short general salute. Schmidt’s exactly lips turned up in a parody of a smile, like a dog’s did right before it bit.
“General Schmidt. We weren't expecting you so soon.” Steve said stiffly. “I hope your-”
“My dear Captain,” Schmidt interrupted with a tut as if he were speaking to a child and Steve bristled at the insult to his rank. Carefully keeping his face neutral as he corrected him.
“It’s Major now.”
The office was only so big but even from his place by the door Steve felt he couldn't be far enough away from the man. Schmidt lifted a shoulder in a mock shrug, the smile still a rictus on his face.
“Oh no, no, no. I didn't travel all this way for small talk.”
Schmidt’s smile curled into a devil's grin as he made his way around the desk and slowly began to fill his plate with the delicacies that had been laid out. Steve waited, coiled tight and prepared for anything. Schmidt took his time, the delicate china tinkling like bells and light bouncing off the silverware. All the while Steve waited at attention.
Finally, Schmidt looked up, the same deplorable smile twisting his face.
“I can be a gracious man, fair, as I see it.” he rested one hip against the desk and picked up the glass of stout, sipping it gently.
From this angle his rank insignia and skull pin gleamed brilliantly. Every last inch of his uniform was pressed and in its place. Sharp silver and black.
In contrast Steve was crusted in sweat and grime. A clump of dirt dropped from his boot to the polished wood floor. Schmidt was a shrewd man. He’d meant for them to be off balance like this, for Steve to be on his back foot. Steve held his stare and straightened his spine.
Schmidt lifted the glass, eyes sharp and calculating.
“Come now let's not play these games.”
“And what games would those be?”
“Do not test my patience.” Schmidt snapped abruptly, his eyes flinty hard. He sat the glass done with a clink. “You may have heard. General striker has been moved from his impressive work with the HJ to a much more president position. We need men with General Strikers sort of passion.”
Steve hadn't known. There’d been very little talk. It must have been a hasty move indeed. He couldn't help but wonder what happened to the man who had held the position before.
“Forgive me, General Schmidt, but I thought we were going to skip the small talk.” Steve replied, surprised at the neutral quality his tone kept.
Schmidt carried on as if Steve hadn’t spoken.
“He’ll do well for the Sicherheltsdienst. They’re expanding you see. Anyway,” he fluttered a hand at Steve as if he were discussing the weather, “before he left he expressed concern over your son. Why he wasn’t taking his rightful place at the officer school.”
Steve had anticipated this sort of response just not so quickly. He forced himself to unclench his jaw.
“I believe James and Artur are far too young for officers' school.” Steve deadpanned.
“Do not play games.” Schmidt said slowly. Enunciating every syllable as if it were a knife slicing flesh.
“Then perhaps you should be clearer.” Steve snapped his nerves razor sharp.
Schmidt barked out a laugh.
“You were always the one to bite the hand that fed you. Like a little rat.” The general crossed his legs, one booted heel over the other with a sharp clink.
“Surly you didn't come five hours early to discuss my son, Herr General? I'd hate to disappoint you.” Steve bandied back.
The General’s toothy smile was back again, only now it was far more a snarl than anything else.
“Captain-’
“Major.” Steve cut in angrily. “That is my rank, kindly use it. I don’t see how It’s any of the Reichjugendfuhrer’s business what I decide is best for my son. Or any of my children.”
Schmidt’s eyes flashed but he remained motionless, breathing heavily through his nostrils.
All Steve wanted to do was tell Schmidt to stay the fuck away from his children if he knew what was good for him. But Schmidt still held most of the cards, as he like to remind Steve at every opportunity.
Against gritted teeth he added, trying to smooth his voice, “Peter still has trouble with his heart. It’s easily overlooked when he’s so energetic but it’s a fact that I cannot forget easily, seeing as I’m his father and all. The school in Geneva is better suited to Peter. It'll help him become everything he needs to be to better himself, better his people. It’s a better match than officers school. I weighed the options carefully General. Don't think I didn't. Or that I'll be swayed.”
Steve had seen livelier eyes on corpses. The blue of Schmidt’s eyes was like ice, void and frozen. When he did move there was not an ounce of gentlemanly pretense to his posture.
“My sister has two children.” The General informed him almost wistfully and Steve blinked, surprised by the sharp turn in the conversation. It had the effect of being doused with water, leaving you shaking and unsteady.
“A boy and a girl. Twins. My nephew, has a mouse and his sister has the family cat. He likes to play a game with the mouse- little Hans he calls it. He’ll set the family cat out and let little Hans try to out run him.”
Schmidt reached for his plate again and took a bite. Again came the soft wet sounds of mastication, teeth ripping thin layers of bread, pummeling them, then the obscene sound of Schmidt swallowing almost thunderous in the silence.
“You should see it,” the General chuckled. “Little Hans squeaking, trying to find any way to outwit the cat, the cat playing with him until he leaps for the finale pounce.”
Schmidt took another bite, swallowed, grinned and continued, his face taking on terrible stillness.
“At the last moment my nephew snatches little Hans up to safety.” Schmidt picked another piece of cheese off the platter turning it over, inspecting it as he murmured almost distractedly. “A little worse for wear but safe from certain death. But to think, little Hans tries so hard. Every time. It’s funny how the minds of rodents' work. Such hope, little Hans has of escaping the claws of fate even as they rake down his back.”
Steve’s body had grown cold.
“Is that a threat,” he asked, iron already solidifying in his gut. If Schmidt even so much as twitched in the direction of his family-
Schmidt looked up, locking eyes with him.
Dead. Dead eyes.
“I don't make threats I can't keep, Captain. I am a man of my word.”
Schmidt sat his plate down and brushed his hands on the waiting napkin.
“Think of it as a little advice. False hope kills quicker than anything else Captain. Though it is fascinating to watch it's killing strike, don't you think?” The General straightened to his full height, the lively gracefulness returning to his movements. He clapped his hands together cheerfully and it was only years of training that kept Steve from lashing out in surprise, he was wound so tight.
“Now. Shall I tell you why I'm really here and why I've called a meeting with you? Yes, I think I shall. I'm here because I simply had to be the one to deliver the news. You and your family are to go on a tour.”
Steve’s mouth dropped a little in surprise and he lurched forward a little, blindsided by the news.
“Excuse me?” he managed to sound more stilted than shocked. “What do you mean?”
Schmidt’s grin grew wider. All his teeth showing.
“Ah, yes, I thought that might surprise you. Yes, you’re to leave in forty-six hours precisely and report to Brigade Leader Kessmeyer -”
“My place is with my men.” Steve broke in, his anger just beginning to gain traction from his shock.
He took a step forward but froze when Schmidt snapped, “Your place is where I tell you it is. Captain.” The General’s voice seemed to echo in the quiet little office.
Steve drew a measured breath and tried to unclench his jaw, frustration, fear, and anger warring within him.
There might be an infinite number of reasons Schmidt could wish to move him. The two most important were, one: either Schmidt had caught some whiff of their plans and was looking to deter them because he had no real proof. Or two: it was just another power play, fielded by Schmidt's disgust of him to remind him who had the control here.
Or, Steve highly suspected, it could be a healthy mix of both. Either way something would have to be done. Steve couldn’t lead the coup if the Germans had him on another propaganda tour.
“For how long?” he asked, doing his best to sound resigned.
Schmidt clucked disapprovingly.
“How long? You're not happy you're serving the Reichland? When so many would love to hold the privileges that you do.”
Steve forced his jaw to unclench.
“My only wish is to continue the command I've been appointed. My battalion needs me. I won’t leave an entire battalion on Major Dvořák’s shoulder.
“He’ll be fine. Come now. It's not every day one is placed so close to fame and glory. Enjoy it. While you can.” Schmidt said as he crossed the room to stand in front of Steve. They were nearly the same height. Steve had the strangest impression that in that moment, no matter reality, Schmidt was taller.
He was imagining things he berated himself. It was the fear talking. Schmidt couldn't know fully what Steve had planned. Perhaps he thought Steve meant to defect and this would keep the eagle eye on him.
“You'll receive your official orders when Colonel Marquering arrives. A company leader will collect you later, I know how busy you are. Until then, you're dismissed.” Schmidt snapped his arm in the air in a salute. “Heil Hitler!”
Steve held his gaze silent and still, then turned and stepped out through the door without a backward glance.
~*~*~
Major Heinrich Dvořák desk was littered with letters. Each one more vital than the last. It was all creating a tremendous pressure behind his eyes. Shit he was tired.
He snatched up one of three reports he still had to go over. Major Rogers’ careful type glared back at him. The black inked letters mocking him as his vision swam. Dvořák blinked and threw the report back down, rubbing his eyes harshly.
Fuck Rogers. He was always so fucking detailed. Every report he’d ever handed Dvořák had seemed to weigh at least three kilos. Did nothing happen on the base without the man’s notice? He wouldn’t be surprised if Rogers included the weight of each of his men’s shits.
There was a knock at the door and a moment later it opened, the platoons only decent lieutenant stepping inside. Second Lieutenant Becker saluted limply, barley in the door and already trailing dirt behind him. Rogers had been working the men on the training field again, poor bastard.
"Do you know what we used to call him?" Major Dvořák asked his comrade, tilting his head as he eyed Rogers training report. His lips twisted in a sneer. He spared their 2nd Lieutenant a glance as the man limped into the office, caring a change of uniform on one arm. He'd told him to take better care of his feet but you couldn’t tell junior officers anything these days.
"In officers' training, did I ever tell you what we called him?" Dvořák repeated.
Lt. Becker shot him a look as he plopped down to remove his boots, wincing as he undid the laces. Underneath his trousers the skin was red and puffy, rubbed raw by friction.
"A pain in the ass, sir?" Lt. Becker suggested good naturally. Dvořák laughed. That was right. Becker enjoyed the good Captain. Thought of him fondly like, some irritating sibling.
That’s what Rogers had looked like too, back when they’d first met, like someone’s misplaced child brother. Barley twenty, if that, and already a Staff Sergeant fresh from the mountain groups shock men. Standing next to his peers who would all out rank him in about ten weeks, Rogers had not understood the way of things.
Dvořák had heard that the assault men in the Gebirgsjäger treated rank differently. So far in the mountains away from any sort of high command, their leaders often had to make their own decisions independent of higher superiors. Back then, Rogers had been used to doing simply whatever he thought was right and had only limited respect for rank structure.
If anyone had expected formal officer training to change anything the joke was on them.
Fifteen years later and Rogers would be sitting across from Dvořák suggesting they murder their Supreme Leader; and through his shock all Dvořák could think was, of course it would be you.
And of course Rogers would still be right about it. Damn him.
"He was as skinny as a pole, nothing like now. He had this terrible accent. We all called him our Goulash Rat."
Lt. Becker frowned down at his boots.
"Major Rogers doesn’t have an accent, sir."
Dvořák didn’t miss the way Lt. Becker stressed Rogers rank, a subtle reminder that Rogers was still Lt. Becker’s superior, and a Major by his own right. Dvořák ignored him, he wasn’t saying anything their own Commanding Officer didn’t say and certainly none of it was new to Rogers. Dvořák didn’t care what fancy new rank they’d shoved on him.
"Not anymore he doesn’t. He could barely write two words together on paper, had to ask for help to transcribe almost all of the work. It was embarrassing to watch.” Dvořák laughed.
“Then as we’re about to graduate, he goes and gets himself engaged to the Von Trap girl, and all of a sudden the rumor circulating is that he’s a polish born Austrian.” Dvořák sucked in his breath, flicking his tongue against his teeth. “It helps to remember that, when you're hoofing across a mountain with him. He was born for hard labor, likes it, that’s just the way his kind are, he can't help it."
And Dvořák felt sorry for him, he really did. He couldn’t imagine living his life like a baser animal, with only sub desires to guide you through a world meant for intellectuals like him.
"I had heard he graduated with honors. Was that part true, sir?" Becker asked.
Dvořák frowned.
"Sometimes men are favored when they shouldn't be,” he snapped back.
"And sometimes intelligent men don’t get the education they deserve." Lt. Becker replied shortly.
“What was that?!” Dvořák barked with a satisfied smirked as Becker jumped to alertness.
“Sir.” The lieutenant amended.
Dvořák leaned back in his chair again and raised an eyebrow. The talk back was unusual. Becker usually kept his ideas to himself, aware of their unpopularity within the Reich. This was not the time to be getting sloppy.
“I’d say the men likely to receive an education are the ones most deserving. At least in a just system.” He sat forwards and scooped up Rogers report. “At least once we’re done clearing out the dead weight.”
He opened the file and began to read. Still, he thought, some trash still slipped through the cracks.
~*~
Three hours later Major Rogers stomped through the door. He went straight away to his desk, barley stopping to acknowledge Dvořák all together. Christ. Rogers was in a foul mood. Dvořák was tempted to call attention to his rude behavior. Perhaps he thought that meant he no longer had to pay the proper respect, they may both be the same rank now but Dvořák still had seniority.
He dropped his hands onto the desk eyes fixated on Dvořák.
“Yes?”
“Did you know?” Rogers bit out.
Dvořák sighed.
“Know what?”
Why couldn’t Rogers be in one of his silent moods.
“They’re pulling me. Putting me on public relations duty.”
What? He shot up in his chair, instantly regretting the sharp movement. What the hell?
Rogers sighed and looked down, his brow furrowed deeply in thought muttering a quiet, “Damn.”
“Yes, Damn! We’re meant to fade in two more platoons by the end of…” Dvořák sputtered, overwhelmed by the unexpected turn of events.
They were supposed to have 52,000 men ready for a campaign in Czechoslovakia and, though it hadn’t been specifically ordered yet, Poland. 13,000 of those men were under his and Rogers command.
Dvořák couldn’t possibly be expected to manage it all on his own… and if the coup failed? Well, if the coup failed leading more men than he’d agreed to was hardly going to be the number one thing on his list of hardships.
He rubbed his face, pulling on the small hairs by hiss temple. The pain throbbed on.
“Is that all Schmidt wanted?” It seemed highly unlikely but after a moment Rogers straightened and nodded. “I swear to you Rogers if he-”
“Yeah, you’ll leave me to my fate. Believe me, I didn’t forget.”
“My family is at stake!” Dvořák thundered and the cool air of calm around Rogers broke, as the man slammed a hand down hard on Dvořák’s desk.
“You’re not the only one who has people they care about!”
“No, but they are the only people I care about!” Dvořák said with all the certainty in his body. Rogers knew, Dvořák had made no secret of it. He was here because if he wasn’t, he couldn’t guarantee their safety. If it came down to a choice between his girls and Rogers’ or the rest of their squad or the whole damn world. Dvořák knew what side he was on.
“Is that all he wanted?” Dvořák asked again, watching the way tiny flecks of emotion slivered across Rogers face.
He was hiding something. Dvořák wasn’t sure if it was important enough for him to care. If it was personal then that was what it was, it had nothing to do with him.
“That was why he came early, yes.”
Good. Jesus Christ if they’d been found out…
Dvořák eye’d Rogers but the man acted as if they were finished talking. No information on how long he’d be gone or what he planned to do about their orders from Oster, just a grunt and back to work as usual.
With the room returning back to some normality Dvořák sat down, intending to tackle his reports.
He jumped when Rogers thumped a stack of carbon paper onto his desk and glared at the disruption. The last time they had served together Rogers had made a point of writing personal letters as little as possible, though now he seemed to write a letter a day as evidence by the load he was shoving under his arm. The last time they had served together Rogers had made a point of writing personal letters as little as possible, though now he seemed to write a letter a day as evidence by the load he was shoving under his arm.
Dvořák’s lip curled as a swell of dislike shot through him. The goulash rat’s literacy was still positively insulting as far as he was concerned. Golden example of Aryan supremacy indeed. Oh, he could lead a platoon or two, could charge his pretty ass into battle with the boldness of a lion. And perhaps that was the most duplicitous thing about Rogers. Because Dvořák was certain he was a lesser breed entirely.
Rogers tucked the letters into a satchel and swept it under the desk with his heel before shoving aside the chair to sit in, and beginning to scribble, his brow furrowed, the graphite making large dark strokes on the paper. Dvořák surveyed him over the tip of his own document.
Perhaps he had Jewish heritage. Wouldn't that be something? Jews were just sliding in everywhere weren’t they? It was rumored that even Himmler’s heritage was being examined. Rogers certainly displayed Semitic tendencies.
Over at his desk Rogers savagely ripped the paper away balled it up and then tossed it aside, before starting again with a fresh sheet and an intense focus.
Dvořák snorted, but he was curious despite himself. Who could Rogers be writing to that would take the time to read a penned letter from him? No one had time to decipher cave drawings.
What a waste it all was. Rogers had gorgeous women all but biting each other to get at him, seven children, fame and glory on and off the battle field. He could have been a General by now if he'd not taken time off, slowed down his career to have a family. As much as it pained Dvořák to admit it now, but Rogers could have been in Hitler's right pocket.
All Dvořák’s own years of hard work had amounted to shit, when in the blink of an eye they’d just handed Rogers the title with barely any effort attached. But of course Dvořák wasn’t Austria's favored son, or Himmler's little pet, so of course he had to work for his gains.
One could wonder given his low opinion of the man, why he agreed to work with him at all and why Rogers had trusted him enough to include him in his plans.
It was true, he and Rogers shared little in common, however they both had an eye for people. Rogers had known, god damn it, because he was the sort who listened and looked. He knew Dvořák's views on they way things were being handled. And Rogers had met his wife. He'd met Helena on several though brief occasions and had still managed to take away the truth of her parentage, or rather lack of one.
Her dark coils and deep brown eyes could have been from her French mother's side, her step father obviously having no hand in her looks. Dvořák had never needed to wonder at some first father the family neither knew or spoke of. They were good Catholics and loyal Germans, but these days the uncertainty was as much damning as any evidence. All over the country people were discovering grandparents and spouses who had converted from Judaism, whom under the Führer’s new laws still counted as Jews.
Who knew what was lurking in her past, and despite the fact that she was innocent of all wrong doing, if things were allowed to continue on, his Helena might be deported. He had no love for the Jews, they had a way of dirtying up any place they resided in for long, but Helena, she was the world.
She and his little René.
Rogers had shown up at his doorstep feigning camaraderie out of uniform neither of them had ever felt for the other, and armed with that damnable earnest voice of reason. If they did not act, things would get worse. People would suffer.
What was he to do? Logic was the answer. He was German after all and an officer at that, logic was the only way to operate. If he followed the logic of the Führer it would surely mean the end of his family. Hitler wasn’t good for Germany, therefore he must be stopped.
Rogers had calmly told him of the border conditions, the starvation and humiliation those who had immigrated suffered.
He’d been startled to hear that Oster was spearheading the coup. Their mission however perilous was not without fire power. He had the General and Major Groscurth to thank for his shared position with Rogers. They’d had a hand in putting together their command so that now they were all in one place nearly ready to strike when the timing was right.
So here they were, together, Dvořák following him into the breach. And not just Dvořák either, there were others of course, all throughout the Wehrmacht and the Abwehr, civilians and enlisted men alike. There would have to be, one didn't assassinate an emperor without help.
Dvořák turned as the door creaked open again and one of their new Staff Sergeants entered, clutching two trays. His stomach instantly rumbled at the smell of nickel bread and fish. Ah, it was far past time for a meal.
Ssgt. Zimmerman was a compact little man with a boy’s face that did not match its serious expression. His round glasses glinted, giving him the appearance of having solar caps for eyes.
“Gentleman,” he saluted smartly.
Rogers continued to write.
Who the hell was he scribbling to like his house was on fire?”
Dvořák sighed and stood, saluting Ssgt. Zimmerman as he did so and holding out his hand for one of the trays.
“Rogers, food.” he called, quickly taking apart the meal. He knew the goulash rat ate, but it was a bit like catching sight of a shooting star.
Rogers looked up and blinked at Ssgt. Zimmerman owlishly, as if just realizing he was there.
“Staff Sergeant?”
Ssgt. Zimmerman nudged the tray forward. “Food, sir. And there is someone here to see you.”
Rogers was already back to writing, grunting out, “Who?"
"Company Leader Hoffman, sir." Zimmerman faltered over the sentence as Rogers stilled, anger written in every line of his stiff back. “About a new propaganda tour, sir?”
Rogers took a breath and the let it out, his anger changing into something sharper, under his control. “I'll be with them in a moment."
He rubbed his face in frustration and then looked up a slightly harrowed look in his eyes. "I need to speak with you later, Staff Sergeant.”
“Yes, Sir.” SSgt. Zimmerman nodded curtly, watching the tray of food like a hawk. They stood in silence.
“Rogers, I’d take a bite before our Staff Sergeant takes personal offense.” Dvořák chuckled, taking a bite of his own bread and jam.
“Have you eaten yet?” Rogers asked the man instead. Typical.
Zimmerman's eyebrows twitched in what Dvořák could only assume was bafflement, it was so hard to tell with him.
“No, sir.”
Without looking up Rogers pushed the tray toward the Staff Sergeant.
It would be unprofessional to roll his eyes but it was a near thing. Always so self-righteous in his martyrdom.
“Go on.” Dvořák nodded at the tray. “There is no point in arguing with him.”
~*~*~
To Herr General Oster,
Abwehr central intelligence
1938
I regret to inform the general that I was visited by the SS officer General Schmidt. While it is always a privilege to be in the presence of such greatness, our conversation was very disturbing. The General seemed displeased with me in some way because I could only take away from or discussion threats to myself and my family. My family is everything to me. I worry that whatever has upset the General will lead to undue consequences, that could possibly be smoothed over and ask you to step in on my behalf. I am greatly in your debt. Also I have been informed that shortly I am to be taken on tour to drum up public support for the mobilization effort. My only regret there is that I will have to leave the men in the middle of their training. As an officer I feel my place and best use is here with them. Awaiting your advice.
-Major Stefen G. Rogers, Wehrmacht, GerbirgsJäger 1st division.
Dear Tony,
This letter may come as a surprise, given my silence after your last, but it was your advice to write whenever I wasn’t feeling well. I hope that offer is still open.
After your last letter I was angry. My men don’t thank you, as drills have been my only outlet for that anger since you are not here. But I was angrier with myself and the truth in your words than I was with you, and I knew that.
Over here, it all seems clearer than it has ever been. For so long I ran away from it, but now I’d give everything to know that in the morning I was going home. I want to see my children. I want to sit down to dinner with you and share in your company. Not to be surrounded by dozens of men whose lives I am responsible for, but can’t get close to.
I work the men hard. Maybe too hard, when my efforts only go toward making better soldiers for the Reich. I don’t like that thought much, but I can’t escape how young many of them are. Some of them are fresh from school. I look at them and I think about their mothers and their fathers. I think about what a pity it all is. I think about them dying somewhere far away from everyone they love. I demand perfection from my battalion because if they are perfect here, they’ll be perfect out there, and maybe one day they’ll go home. Maybe they’ll get a chance to be better men. Maybe we all will.
Looking at them makes me realize what an old man I’ve become. You’re going to tease me about that. I look forward to that more than I ever thought I would. You told me a lot about the children in your last letter but almost nothing of how you are. How are you, Tony?
Your contentment means a great deal to me. I think on that often. I want you to be happy in my employ for many more years to come. I look forward to our meeting in Berlin and the chance to show you the city. So much so, that sometimes it feels like I’m living for it. I’m impatient for it. You should know that, just in case you feared some lingering anger on my end. I’ve arranged for some gifts to be sent along for the household, to keep you all in comfort. Please give the children my love.
-Stefen
~*~
Salzburg, September 15th 1938
Every morning since the army had mobilized and the captain had been called away, the house staff would gather in the kitchen before the children’s breakfast to break bread and listen to the morning news report. Pepper and Harold had their little cabin on the grounds but with the Captain gone, Pepper had taken up permanent residence at the house. The morning meal was a chance for them to reacquaint and share a few precious moments together now that Harold was forced to spend his days playing groundskeeper since Sam and all the day workers Sefen had once employed were gone.
The kitchen maid Hortense was always the first up, in order to prepare the kitchen for Willamina’s arrival. After the nights where she went home to her grandfather she and Cameron often walked in from the village of Hof-Bei together, getting up at four each morning to make the hour trip. By the time Willamina got dropped off by her husband the old stove would be heated up, pans pulled from the icebox and the flour and the potatoes already begun their peeling.
The laundry maids usually didn’t get up till later in the morning but Hammer and Julia came along around six thirty or so to start the day bright and early.
“Prime Minister of Britain, Nevil Chamberlin, touched ground today to meet with His Supreme Excellency. Germany has made herself strong once more, despite the unlawful rules and edicts forced upon her after the great war. The British no doubt wish to flex their muscle and strike fear into our hearts, but the Führer is resolute and will not be pressured by foreign powers to abandon the three million Sudeten Germans who wait anxiously for their return to the Reich.”
Willamina scoffed as the radio host paused for breath, and then launched into a report on the mobilization effort of the army and the reputably countless demonstrations of support popping up all over the country as they prepared themselves for the inevitable pushback of Hitler’s plans to invade the borderlands.
The normally cheerful cook’s face had taken on a thinness over the weeks and Tony had grown used to the way the maids skittered about like frightened mice, whispering in corners. In truth, it seemed that a fearful tension had settled over the entire country as it held its breath.
“It’s foolishness I tell you.” Willamina grumbled.
“You disapprove?” Hammer asked with a scandalized air from his seat at the table, looking up from his bite of cheese.
“You think the Führer should just allow us to be bullied?”
“What I think is, I saw one war and I’m not keen on seeing another.” Willamina shot back, rising from her seat on a tired sigh and ambling towards the coffee on the counter near the stove.
Cameron, who was sitting opposite of young Hortense cleared his throat nervously.
“My father says we can’t win a war against the Czechs if France and Britain back them. The Führer would be mad to try it.”
“I would hardly expect an ignorant Pole like your father to be an expert on the subject,” Hammer sneered in reply with a disdainful sniff and Cameron grit his teeth but ducked his dark head and stuffed his mouth full of bread rather than risk saying something he’d regret. Smart boy, Tony thought.
“What do we need to bother with a bunch of Czech’s for anyway? They’re fine where they are.” Williminia sighed from over by the stove and thankfully Hammer’s attention moved away from his lowly charge and back to the cook.
“But that’s just the point Willamina, they’re not Czechs, they are ethnically German same as you and I! Could you imagine languishing in some Czechoslovakian slum?” Hammer implored the woman’s back as she banged about making herself a cup.
“Could you imagine not being a sanctimonious prick?” Tony grumbled without the energy for heat and Pepper glared at him in warning as Julia broke out in a suspicious cough. But Hammer seemed content this morning pretending to ignore him.
“I’ve heard they’re being terribly mistreated.” The toady butler went on with vigor around a mouthful of cheese, making the words sound muffled and wet. Tony made a face, disgusted.
“They’ve written letters calling out for aide.”
“My brother says, that over there the Slavs force the men into hard labor and the women into prostitution if you’re German.” Julia shared on a whisper, and Hortense paled as if she feared there were a band of hulking Slavs right outside the kitchen window.
“Nonsense,” Pepper scoffed, though Tony thought she didn’t look entirely certain. “I’m sure he was just trying to scare you.”
“Scare her? She’s not some poor woman with a Slavic brute breathing down her neck, what’s she got to be scared of?” Hammer laughed, wiping the residue of his breakfast away in a ridiculously fastidious way considering his earlier chewing like cattle.
“It’s shameful how many people seem content to just leave the poor wretches to their lot. We’re damned lucky there is finally someone in power with the backbone to stick up for decent hard working Germans. It’s a new world out there, let France and Britain blow their horns all they want. The Führer’s armies will make them regret it. You’ll see” the man crowed. Tony wanted to smack him.
“Are you so eager for a return to war that you’ve forgotten what the last one was like?” He snapped, drawing the wary eyes of the women. “Or that the Captain is one of those men whose lives you’re so willing to throw at all your imagined enemies?”
If they made war with the Czechs there would be fighting in the mountains and Stefen’s men would be some of the first called out.
“The Captain Rogers I knew was always proud to serve his country.” Hammer snapped back, a disquieting sort of disgust bubbling along with anger beneath his tone. “I don’t expect a nanny to understand that.”
Tony pushed away from the door he’d been leaning against while they listened to the broadcast, having heard quite enough for one morning. His sudden departure took the others by surprise, Pepper calling his name softly as he made to leave the kitchen with quick strides.
“Tony, where are you going?”
“To plan my lesson for the day. I think the children could use a brush up on the history of Bohemia and Moravia” he tossed irritably over his shoulder as he exited the cramped feeling kitchen.
He could hear Hammer sneering at his back.
“I must have disturbed his delicate sensibilities. Some men just have no stomach.”
Tony whirled around, carried by a sudden surge of impotent rage. He had no idea what he would have done or said, what he could possibly have said, that wouldn’t have ended with them coming to blows or pushed Hammer into some bitter form of retaliation that could involve police. Tony didn’t need proof to know it was him who’d reported on the twins, and he had no idea why Hammer hadn’t attempted to get Tony arrested since – but Pepper’s fierce warning glare wasn’t at all misplaced.
Thankfully, Tony was saved by the sudden sound of a thud overhead followed by James’ all too familiar voice raised in a shout as he screamed abuse at someone.
“Would you listen to that?” Hammer scoffed, eyes on the ceiling. “The Captain never would have stood for that before.”
He didn’t have to say it but everyone knew what he meant. Before Tony, the Rogers children had rarely dared to step a foot out of line or so much as speak above a whisper in their own home for fear of inciting one of the captain’s black moods.
There was a loud crash above and the distinctive tinkling of shattered glass and Tony smiled viciously at the butler, replying smoothly in a studious fashion.
“Haven’t you heard? Liberty is the sound of broken glass.”
Actually, Tony wasn’t sure at all that he would call the unholy shrieking that met him as he approached the boys room anything so sweet to the ear as liberty, but he’d still made his point. He’d take ill behavior from the children any day before he settled for dutiful obedience born of fear and neglect. Though if James Rogers didn’t find a better way to express himself besides playing the part of berserk banshee Tony couldn’t promise Stefen would still have seven children when he came home.
If Stefen ever made it home, that is. The idiot, the great big noble idiot. Did he really think Austria was going to thank him for giving his life in her defense? He should have taken Tony’s advice and run with the children when he’d had the chance but since when did Captain Rogers think he needed Tony’s advice?
Alright yes, Tony recognized that he was being uncharitable, and he was even willing to acknowledge that most of his bitterness truly stemmed from the pit of worry that had taken region in his stomach – but he was reserving the right to be as mad and as bitter as he pleased for as long as he needed to be. Stefen hadn’t answered his letter, and had left him to deal with anxious and downright crabby children who didn’t know how to deal with the stress of their ever changing world.
For James that meant screams.
“I can’t! I can’t, I can’t! Why doesn’t anybody ever believe me?!” The boy was hollering at the top of his lungs at Natacha who was standing in the doorway of the boy’s room, her mouth pursed tightly in disapproval. Tony could see why as he came up behind her and was able to see James sprawled pathetically on the floor, red faced and in nothing but his shirt and underwear.
Artur was sitting on his bed with Mon Amie’s cage, hair still sticking up on one side as he ogled his older brother like he was a fascinating species of fish that had flopped its way out of the lake.
“Oh for heavens sake, James are you honestly refusing to put on pants?” Tony sighed, already knowing the answer and sure enough James’ tear stained face scrunched up and he took a great gIant breath before wailing loud enough to be heard in China.
“I caaaan’t. I need help!”
“James, you’re being stupid! You dress yourself every day.” Natacha was scoffing as Tony stepped past her into the room, carefully stepping over the shards of a shattered vase and tiredly reaching for the pair of shorts James had thrown across the room.
“Maybe he hit his head?” Artur suggested helpfully. “Remember, we learned about head injuries.”
Tony severely doubted that, unless somebody had dropped the poor child on his head as an infant, which he wasn’t about to rule out.
“Here, James let’s get you dressed.” Tony offered gently, despite agreeing with Natacha that this little production of his was beyond ridiculous. It was not a battle he wished to have this morning, so if James needed to pretend like he didn’t know how to put his pants on then Tony was willing to indulge him. But James was having none of it.
“I don’t want you! Why can’t Ian help?” he bemoaned, rolling away from Tony’s hands and moaning like someone deeply aggrieved, gulping deeply through snotty tears.
“Because you can’t stand Ian and he hates you.” Natacha scoffed in reply, and Tony winced as the boy’s face went an even darker red to match his hair and his face crumpled again with tears.
So that’s what this was about.
“Thank you, Natacha, but that was not helpful,” Tony groused and Natacha glared at him.
“It wasn’t meant to be. I’m tired of listening to him scream every morning,” she returned before turning sharply on her heel and all but stomping away. It was quiet then, but for the sounds of the choked sobs coming from the eight-year-old curled into a ball on the floor.
Glancing at Artur Tony caught the boys eye and nodded towards the door, a silent instruction for him to follow after his sister and Artur nodded, carefully putting Mon Amie’s cage back on his dresser before stepping over James and darting out the door.
When the door had clicked shut behind him Tony sighed and sank down onto the floor beside James, sure that it was going to be a minute or two before he was ready to get up. For a time the two just sat in silence, Tony stroking the boy’s damp hair back from his eyes as James’ sobs quieted to wet sniffles. Tony wasn’t sure how much time had passed when James rolled closer to Tony’s side so that his head was resting against the older man’s thigh and finally looked up at him with watery blue eyes. He didn’t say anything, but Tony could see the misery writ there and hear his unspoken question.
“Natacha was wrong. You know that, right bambino? Ian loves you.” Tony murmured tiredly, resuming his stroking of James’ head. “He’s not showing it well now, but you hurt him.”
“It was an accident!” James sniffled mournfully and Tony hummed disapprovingly.
“Really Tony, I didn’t mean to break his stupid book.”
“Just as I’m sure you didn’t mean to break the stupid vase this morning, or topple the stupid chair in the schoolroom yesterday?” Tony replied coolly and James shrank. Seeing that he was in fact listening, Tony gentled his tone.
“The book is not stupid to Ian, and if destruction was not your intent what is it you expected to happen when you threw it?”
James swallowed thickly and lowered his eyes, mulishly silent but Tony didn’t really need an answer. He already knew. All too well.
“Let me let you in on a secret bambino, all the screaming and fussing in the world won’t make them see you any better. They’ll just write you off all the quicker.”
James blue eyes widened slightly in surprise at Tony’s words.
“If you want Ian to pay more attention to you then you had best start by swallowing that pride and apologizing to him like you mean it.” Tony chucked him gently beneath the chin and smiled down at him to signal that the lecture was over and as far as he was concerned, all was forgiven. “But before that, I’d devote some time to figuring out how to put your pants on.”
*~*~*
It had only been just under an hour by the time Tony made his way downstairs with James to join the others for breakfast, but to him it felt that hours had passed and he was flirting with the idea of canceling the children’s lessons entirely for the day and seeing if his body wouldn’t be more agreeable to a mid-morning nap than it had been to a nights sleep.
But instead of finding breakfast under way he and James found the others crowded in the smaller sitting room, bright bubbling voices carrying out into the hall helping the two confused stragglers locate them when they found breakfast abandoned at the table.
For half a second Tony’s heart sprang up hopefully into his throat, thinking that the captain must have returned; but no, he discounted the errant hope almost as quickly as it had arrived. Hogan would have rung the bell to signal Hammer and Pepper if that were the case.
“What on earth is going on here?” Tony asked, walking into the room to find nearly the entire household gathered around an alarming number of packages of various shapes and sizes.
There was even a good-sized crate plopped into the middle of the room that Hammer and Hogan were attempting to pry open with a crow bar.
“Vati sent us presents!” Artur hollered excitedly in explanation. Tony saw that he was sat atop a gleaming three wheeled bike with a bright bow attached. “And look Tony! Now I don’t have to ride with James!”
James ran into the room, all lingering traces of gloom instantly forgotten in the face of so many presents. Tony gaped at the disarray of discarded wrappings and boxes filling the room as gift after gift was passed around excited hands and caught Pepper’s eye in disbelief.
“Captain Rogers, sent all this? The same man who accuses me of spoiling his children every chance he gets?”
“It’s not just the children either,” Pepper replied with a small smile stepping over Maria who was helping Natacha sort through what looked like a mountain of delicate bright satin sashes. “He’s sent something for all of us.”
“Including you Tony,” Ian spoke up, nodding to an untouched pile near where he sat on the couch, a book on mandolins of all things open in his lap. At that same moment Hammer and Hogan managed to get the mysterious crate open with a great creak, and a cheer went up as the top popped open. It was a moment before the two men could sort through the packing straw and wrestle out the crates contents. The machine’s body was long and tube like with a rounded head, and had at least two spouts that Tony could see. It looked like it could be as tall as Sara standing up, and almost proud of that fact as it glinted a fine polished silver, the name Le Pavoni etched in elegant gold script on a royal blue plaque.
Tony stared at the thing in shock.
“Especially you I think.” He heard Pepper murmur under her breath, just for his ears, and then jumped in surprise when she jabbed him in the chest with a pair of envelopes. “These came with the postman.”
Letters, Tony noted absently, one with Stefen’s return address and the other more curiously bearing the seal of the German Navy.
Tony slapped a hand to his chest in order to keep them from falling as the smiling housekeeper moved away – toward Sara who was crushing a doll with golden curls in a white dress to her chest – but Tony’s eyes stayed locked on the gleaming machine Hammer and Hogan were struggling to carry toward the kitchen, much to Willamina’s loud protests that her kitchen wasn’t a coffee bar.
An espresso machine? Tony gaped after them, well and utterly speechless for once. It must be some sort of mistake. Stefen would not have spent so much money on something so nonsensical as an espresso machine, from Italy, no matter how often Tony complained about the superiority or his longing for proper cappuccino. Maybe he had meant to order Tony some expensive beans and the shop had gotten it wrong? Tony mused as he tore open Stefen’s letter.
They hadn’t spoken since Tony had sent that scathing letter, blaming him for once again abandoning the children when they needed him most. Met with Stefen’s silence in reply, he regretted parts of it now, or at least, regretted perhaps not moderating his tone so that the words did not read so harshly. He’d expected the Captain’s reply to be clipped and harsh in its own way when it finally arrived; but what he held in his hands was the exact opposite of either.
All of these excessive gifts were apology Tony realized, his chest clenching as he read Stefen’s words. Buying forgiveness had once been Tony’s style and he was very familiar with what it looked like. It wasn’t like Stefen, but then again his options were few all the way in Germany and he was a man of action. This had probably seemed like the best one available.
Stupid man. Stupid wonderful man, Tony thought with an unbidden smile tugging at his mouth. He tucked the letter back in its envelope and frowned at the second letter, noting again the Naval seal and trying to ignore the apprehension prickling his skin as he tore it open and read.
This letter, intended for Antony Eduard Stark, invites his presence at the office of the Kriegsmarine. Please arrive promptly at the scheduled time listed below. Any attempt to resist this summons may be considered unwillingness to cooperate with the authority given to us by His Excellency, Mein Führer und Reichskanzler, Adolf Hitler. We look forward to making your acquaintance.
Sincerely,
Admiral Erhard Kopf der Marinewaffenamt.
~*~
Stefen,
The children thank you for your gifts and wish you to know that you are missed. It would be wrong for me not to express my personal thanks for the delivery of the espresso machine, though you should know Willamina is not at all a fan of this large new contraption that dominates her kitchen and distracts the maids. That said, I hope you did not purchase the machine with the thought of buying my favor?
Contentment is an elusive thing for any of us to grasp. I am happy in your employ and hope for many happy years to come, but I don’t think any one man can be entirely content even within a single day, let alone in the entirety of a lifetime. Life is too complex for that. There is always more to be done or some new agony to be felt. That is why we depend so heavily on distraction, is it not? And no matter how lovely a distraction morning espresso has proved to be, lovelier still would be news of your return and an end to Germany's campaign for the Rhineland.
Stefen you should know that I do not hold your leaving against you. You know my feelings when it comes to it, and I’m sorry if my parting words were harsh. However, I meant them and will not apologize for offering a friend the truth as I see it. But the thing is done. A soldier goes where he is called. But that does not prevent his friends from worry or longing.
I am proud to call you friend Stefen, regardless of our arguments. You know that, don't you? I certainly hope you know. And I certainly will know no contentment until you are at home safe with your children, growing fat and old in your retirement, and there is nothing more to be done about it. Those are the terms of my contentment.
Now I must mention, that on the very day that your curiously extravagant gifts arrived I also received a summons from the naval office. I am to appear at Starkhafen in Hamburg in two days’ time. I know you, so let us just deal with your response now: I don’t know why I have been summoned, but I have a fair guess. Yes, I will be careful and no, it was not phrased as a request that I can refuse.
Please don’t worry. To me it seems only logical that with the army mobilizing, so too must the navy. Much as it pains me to remember at times, I am the last of the Starks. They no doubt have hopes that I can be the same sort of asset to them that my father was and wish to speak to me as a matter of course. I do so hate to disappoint them, but alas, I’m afraid I am nothing like my father. By the time you read this letter I’ll have been and gone and home again, so there is no point in fretting.
Soon we shall see one another again. I am as eager as you to see Berlin and to show you the streets I knew as a young man, as well as to discover what new delights can be found there. As honored as I am to be meeting your esteemed colleagues and some of Germany’s brightest minds, you must know my hunger to see the city only grows by the hour and I am afraid I shall not be content until I have experienced everything it has to offer.
My only worry is that such an old man will not be able to keep up.
Your friend,
Tony.
~*~*~*~
Saying goodbye to the children and leaving them behind in Salzburg was harder than Tony had anticipated it would be. While he trusted Pepper to keep the house running and see that the children made it to their youth programs for two days, Tony loathed to leave her in the middle of Ian and James continued row, and just when Sara was going through an independent phase and was prone to throwing fits if one didn’t allow her to dress herself or suggested that she wear a nappy while she napped in case of accidents.
“You’ll at least let her try won’t you? She fusses so much less if you just let her make a mess of it and then offer a few helpful suggestions, like stockings going on before shoes.” He’d prattled at Pepper before the housekeeper had finally threatened to have Hogan hogtie him and throw him in the trunk, and Tony had felt like an utter goose. Just listen to him, carrying on like a fretful housewife. Was that just what happened when children wriggled their way into your affections? And if so, it was a wonder Stefen wasn’t going mad now that he was forced to be away from them.
Well, he kept telling himself throughout the long train ride. It was good practice for them all because he’d only have to do it again in a few weeks time when he met the captain in Berlin. A far happier reason to be making the trek into Germany.
As it was, Tony was anxious to be back in the home of his father’s empire. The prodigal son returning after all these years. There were too many sour memories in Hamburg for him not to feel a certain sense of trepidation as the cab wound through old but familiar streets, taking him away from the heart of the city and toward the mouth of the river Elbe where Starkhafen sprawled like the robe of some great emperor around the Port of Hamburg.
Some would call the islands with their bustling industry packed to the brim with their warehouses and their shipyards a blemish on the land, but there was something wonderful about the smoke and the rust set against the blue of sky and water, that set his heart to thumping as the cab traveled down a busy dock toward a square building that sat squat like a frog at the edge of a pond.
Tony turned in his seat to follow the motion of a large crane as it carried a load from the dockside and lowered them onto a ship that was locked in harbor for repairs. They were using a model several years out of date he observed, indeed much of the machinery looked as if it hadn’t been updated since before the Great War. Hughard would never have stood for it.
The motor on that thing sounded terrible. There had to be a better model out there, or better yet, better to design their own. Tony could get it running smoother. Strengthen the hoist and maybe -
Tony, realizing the vein his thoughts had taken, Tony tightened his hands into fists and turned resolutely away from the window as the cab pulled up outside the naval office. What did it matter to him how the Stark Yards had fallen behind? There was not a thing he could do about it.
Those were Nazi flags hanging boldly outside the doors of the naval office he reminded himself, staring at them as they fluttered in the wind off the water.
There were two armed guard loitering near the front step. They came to attention as the driver opened his door and came around to open Tony’s, their stoic expressions telling a tale of boredom. But one of the men did a double take as Tony stepped out, his eyes narrowing in consideration before the light of recognition sparked in them.
That answered one of Tony’s questions at least. His visit there today wasn’t a secret. At least not a big enough one that it hadn’t made the rounds of soldier’s gossip. Practically snapping his heels, the more senior of the two approached Tony with a brisk step.
“Herr Stark?”
“I’m afraid so.” Tony replied with a wan smile but the soldier did not return it. If anything, the confirmation just made his back go all the straighter and his tone all the more militant as he gave Tony the customary salute.
“Heil Hitler!”
Tony returned the salute with the ease of practice.
“They’ve been expecting you in Admiral Erhard’s office. Sub-Lieutenant Amsel will show you the way.” The officer nodded crisply to his comrade who gave Tony a nod of acknowledgment before clicking his heels and setting off, clearly expecting Tony to follow.
Sub-Lieutenant Amsel led Tony briskly through busy corridors with polished floors, past open office doors and groups of uniformed men and others in sharp business suits. Preparing for war on sight seemed to be a booming enterprise. Tony got the feeling as they walked that eyes were following them and whispers just a step behind. If he strained his ears Tony had no doubt he’d hear them.
Is that him? Stark’s son? I didn’t know he had a son. Oh yes, I heard he’s mad and that old Hughard sent him to an institution. If he can build like his father he can be as mad as he likes.
“In here Herr Stark.” Sub-Lieutant Amsel’s voice jerked Tony out of his reverie and he realized with embarrassment that the man had stopped a few paces behind him at a closed door. Cheeks heating with embarrassment Tony cleared his throat and followed Amsel as the man knocked briskly on the closed door and opened it once a gravelly voice on the other side bid them enter.
Admiral Erhard’s office was much like any other. A large square room with windows facing the dockside, dressed with solid masculine furnishings. Figuring out which one was Erhard was as simple as looking for the one sitting in the big chair behind the large oak desk, but Tony hardly spared a thought for the décor or the admiral once he’d caught sight of his guests, or rather one guest in particular.
“Antony Stark” Obadiah breathed his name with wonder, as if Tony’s appearance there was somehow miraculous, the tall man rising from his chair in one slow graceful movement despite the slender walking stick Tony spotted resting against his chair. Shock held Tony in place as Stanislov’s mouth split into a wide happy grin and his godfather extended one broad palm to shake. Tony’s brain was struggling under the weight of shock and when it did kick start enough for him to numbly reach for Obi’s hand his thoughts only got muddier under a storm of impulses as the man gripped it firmly and pulled him in for a full-bodied hug.
Cigar smoke and expensive cologne filled Tony’s nose and for a moment, he was transported years in the past. He was small again, looking up at this man with so much trust and admiration, so much gratefulness when he would drop down to Tony’s eye level to impart an encouragement or a soothing word after one of Hughard’s tirades. From that vantage point it was nearly impossible to believe that Farkas was right in his suspicions. His uncle Obi, his very own godfather, organizing the murder of his parents? Tony’s murder if Hughard hadn’t been one step ahead.
He hadn’t realized until that very moment how much he didn’t want to believe it. He knew it was the child in him, but that didn’t make the yearning any easier to bank.
“I haven’t seen you since you were in shorts. You’re a man now.” Stanislov exclaimed as he pulled back, watchful eyes traveling up and down Tony’s form, taking him all in. “You look like Hugh. My god, it’s like looking back twenty years ago.”
There was something in Stanislov’s tone, some nuance that Tony couldn’t put his finger on that sent tension winding up his spine. He was reminded that as well as a good showman Stanislov had always been sharp, always good at ferreting out weakness and ways to get over on the opposition. Stanislov already knew Tony’s biggest weakness. Whatever game they were playing now, he had the advantage and they both knew it. Tony would have to step very carefully, at least until he figured out the rules.
“Twenty years changes a man,” Tony replied. He couldn’t help but dig, at least a little, but he softened the words with a smile for the admiral and his other guest, a fellow with greying hair in a sharp business suit and hat.
“I’ll say.” Stanislov laughed agreeably as the admiral cleared his throat and leaned over his desk to offer Tony his hand, which he took without hesitance.
“Herr Stark, a pleasure. I’m Admiral Erhard, I head the Naval Weapons Department. This is Herr Hoch, from the Ministry of Armaments and War Production.” Erhard gestured to the man in the suit with the greying hair and Hoch extended his hand to shake Tony’s.
“I knew your father.” The older man stated with an air of sobriety. “His loss was a terrible blow for us all.”
Tony didn’t try to come up with a reply for that. The conversation swept briskly along regardless, thanks to Stanislov’s smooth handling. Tony took a seat at the admiral’s urging and the others followed suit, reclaiming their own. Stanislov on his left, Hoch to his right and the admiral straight ahead. With Sub-Lieutenant Amsel guarding the door it struck Tony’s notice that he was effectively caged.
“I’m sure you’re eager to know why we’ve pulled you out of your retreat at the monastery.” Stanislov turned to him with a cheeky sort of smirk, implying some shared joke. “Is it true you took up teaching? I could hardly believe it when they told me. Hugh and I couldn’t keep you in the schoolroom. I always thought that’s why you preferred the cushy life of a monk.”
Tony smiled thinly.
“On the contrary. All those cushions and nothing to do but pray all day has taught me to love learning.”
Stanislov chuckled at his little joke, and maybe it was just Tony’s suspicions at work, but to him it seemed like there was no real humor behind it. It was all show.
“There’s that wit. Well you’ve always been clever Tony, that’s for sure.” the older man drawled reaching inside his jacket for one of his trademark cigars and all Tony could hear was his Nona, crying into the phone about how that wicked man had threatened them and refused to let them burry their daughter. Stanislov hadn’t even let her throw flowers on his mother’s grave.
“What is this about, gentleman?” Tony asked slowly, watching Obi as carefully as the man was no doubt watching him.
“We’ll get to the point Herr Stark, but first I must remind you that everything said in this room today is considered strictly confidential.” The admiral waited for Tony’s nod of confirmation before continuing.
“It is no secret that the Führer has promised a return of German peoples to German lands. This started with what was formerly Austria and will continue with others. The Führer expects opposition on the Baltic sea from the French, but the greater threat is Great Britain.”
“Strongest naval force in the world,” Tony mused aloud, just for the pleasure of watching the admiral’s mouth curl in distaste.
“Yes. But there was a time when we were stronger and the Führer demands that we be so again. General Schmidt informed us that you might be of some help.”
Erhard slid a leather-bound folder across the desk toward Tony and Tony stared at it for a moment, trepidation filling him like the thing might be a snake coiled in the grass. But they were all waiting, all watching, so he had no choice but to open it and examine the documents inside.
There were pages and pages of plans. Endless orders for ships and weapons to arm them and detailed designs to fill those orders. Everything was here. Plans for new battleships, submarines, aircraft carriers and at least seven new types of torpedoes that Tony could spot. He could also spot the mistakes, with barely more than a glance.
Fat bulbous torpedoes that might be intimidating to gawk at but were disproportionate in weight and burdened by bulky battery packs. Everywhere he looked he saw the marks of lazy uninspired engineering and it made his fingers curl, resisting the urge to start pulling out his hair.
Yes, if Stark Industries could actually produce even half of Hitler’s desires, the German Navy would have no trouble at all battering its way all the way to Britain’s shores and beyond, but one look was all Tony needed to know they’d never get there.
Whoever was in charge of engineering after his father’s death just didn’t have the right tools or the right know how. Hitler didn’t need someone who could build war ships just as good as anybody else. They needed somebody who could break the mold.
“Stark Industries has been contracted to come up with a comprehensive plan of production that meets the Führer’s needs. What you hold in your hands is Plan Z.” Hoch informed him, though Tony had already put as much together. He knew Stark ships when he saw them, though it burned to see how little progress they’d made in over two decades.
“It’s very ambitious.” Tony commented carefully and beside him Obadiah chuckled darkly.
“It’s crazy. We know it. I’ve told them we need to scale back but it’s what the Führer wants.” The man shrugged helplessly as if to say, ‘what can you do’, and Hoch cleared his throat.
“The Führer is adamant that we meet his expectations or find someone who can. He wants production completed in four years. He’s firm on this.”
Four years! Tony gaped. For all of this? The man was insane.
“Well… you gentlemen certainly have your work cut out for you. But I don’t understand how you expect me to help.”
An obvious lie. Tony knew exactly what they wanted, but they weren’t going to get it.
“Herr Stanislov informed us that you were never much involved with the business,” Hoch began and Tony barely resisted the urge to look at Stanislov. It wasn’t exactly a lie but it wasn’t the truth either and Stanislov damn well knew it. Hughard hadn’t liked Tony interfering with the work down in the yards, but he’d been training Tony to take over since before he could walk and Tony had usually found a way to stick his nose in anyway.
If Stanislov was implying something different it could mean that he didn’t actually want Tony’s involvement, or maybe he was just seeking ways to control the situation to his liking. Because the other’s might not know how much Stanislov needed him, but Tony could see it written clear as day.
“But it’s our understanding you attended the Academy of Sciences in Berlin?” Hoch questioned hopefully.
“Yes, at quite a young age too.” Obadiah confirmed before Tony could come up with any sort of reply of his own. “Fifteen wasn’t it Tony?”
“Yes.” Tony answered in monotone and Stanislov nodded slowly, musing aloud.
“He was a bright little thing. Hugh had high hopes he’d grow into the business but we had a lot of trouble with discipline, didn’t we?”
Stanislov was caging him, Tony realized. He was making it impossible for Tony to deny his brilliance at the same time he was making himself irreplaceable.
“Herr Stanislov is correct.” Tony said with a regretful sigh that he drugged up from somewhere. It was a pity he’d never taken to the stage. “I was expelled from the university when I was seventeen. I never properly finished my schooling.”
He’d been expelled for misconduct but at that point they had just been looking for reasons to be rid of him. As usual, Tony had been leagues ahead of peers and teachers alike and met with near instant dislike for that very fact. Forced with prejudice at times to go at the snail’s pace of his peers he’d been a very bored and often times belligerent student.
But they didn’t need to know the hairy details. Let them think he’d failed due to lack of aptitude.
He closed the folder in his lap and effectively the door on all that hope burgeoning in their eyes, and slid it back toward the admiral.
“Perhaps it’s for the best then Herr Stark. We spoke to the administration at the university.” The admiral stated simply. “The Headmaster did remember you as a bright pupil, but he expressed some concern over your reliability.”
Ah, so the admiral wasn’t all in favor of this push to bring Tony on board the project. Good. He could use that.
“But we had to ask,” Hoch quickly interceded. “Young men make mistakes and the Führer is nothing if not forgiving. If you felt up to the opportunity, Obadiah assures us he’d be willing to work with you. Help refine what gaps in knowledge you might be missing. You do understand what’s at stake here don’t you Herr Stark? If you two were to succeed, you’d be awarded the highest honors.”
Medals and riches and lots more besides, Tony thought. And if they failed, the Führer’s temper would see them as good as dead. Obadiah had to know that too. Tony understood exactly what was at stake here.
He finally turned his head and looked at his godfather once more. Looked at him in his pressed slacks and matching jacket, the salt and pepper beard he always sported trimmed neatly upon his face, his blue eyes staring back at Tony hiding so much scrutiny.
Tony let his shoulders sag and his head droop.
“I wish I could be more of a help to you.” He murmured helplessly. “But the last thing I want to do is promise something I can’t deliver. I’m not my father… Uncle Obie will tell you. I was always disappointing him. I wouldn’t want to disappoint the Führer that way.”
And neither would they, Tony knew, as the silence stretched awkwardly in the face of his show of meekness.
A heavy hand landed on Tony’s shoulder and gave it pat.
“You tried hard, Tony.” Stanislov murmured consolingly and Tony grit his teeth. “If you ever feel up to trying again you know where to find me.”
The meeting was clearly over as Herr Hoch wilted and Admiral Erhard stood with a resigned grimace. He thanked Tony for making the trip out (as if he’d had a choice in the matter) and Tony assured him that he’d keep them and their efforts in his prayers.
The look on Erhard’s face, like Tony had shit himself and not bothered to wash before going out in public, almost made Tony certain that they’d never be back to darken his door again. He knew better though.
~*~*~*~*~
Tony,
I’m sending your ticket for the Sunday morning train aboard the Richlen Express. Arrive promptly, as they won’t wait.
Also, I’ve sent along clothes for you. You’ve only got the one suit and I thought you’d like some new things to wear to dinner and perhaps something for if we are to see the opera again. I hope you like them better than the expresso machine. Even if you don’t, wear them or I’ll think the money wasted. We can be rid of the machine if you like.
While I understand your eagerness to explore this great city, I’m not sure you understand just how great it truly is. I don’t think even a man of your energy can cover its entirety in just a few days. Sorry to disappoint you.
-Stefen
Stefen,
Whoever said I didn’t like the expresso machine? I simply said it was a paltry replacement for the company of a good friend. The expresso machine goes nowhere. But on the matter of appropriate evening attire, I can only vow to do as my employer commands. I wouldn’t want to shame you in front of your esteemed peers. Though I must admit I was surprised by some of the selections. They’re all very fashionable, but not at all the kind of conservative garb in your usual taste. It perfectly suits mine so I won’t let you take it back, but I felt it only fair to warn you that whatever tailor you trusted to the task took you and likely your purse for a merry ride.
On the matter of Berlin, I believe you severely underestimate my energies.
-Tony
~*~*~
The one good thing about Captain Rogers living in the countryside was that the train wasn’t very crowded when Tony boarded that Sunday. There were just a few other people sitting down for coffee when Tony made his way to the dining cart. A pair of men in business suits at one table and an old woman with a small dog in her lap at another. She was speaking animatedly to the young fellow sitting opposite her, who might have been her grandson if one judge by the similar shape of their faces, but either way the poor boy didn’t appear to be very invested in the conversation.
He was paying much more attention to the pastry on his plate than his grandmother but he looked up when Tony entered, wide eyes taking in Tony’s scuffed-up trunk so at odds with the expensive suit he wore with curiosity.
Tony had worn the fine white jacket and matching slacks that had come in one of the many boxes Stefen had delivered, along with a fine eye popping red vest he’d fallen in love with the moment he’d laid eyes on it.
The conductor had offered to take his things when he boarded but Tony had waived him off. He just had the one trunk and saw no need to store it in the luggage van when the journey would be no more than a few hours.
It was not his first time on a train but such was the life of a monk that it had been some time since Tony had traveled first class on one. He was gratified that Stefen’s unnecessary efforts to woo him had continued in this area. He’d never been so thankful to see plush cushions on the seats and a pastry trolley making the rounds. It was not such a long journey between Austria and Germany but several hours in a thunderbox could be a test on the nerves when one was packed in like a sardine on a hard seat.
Tony took a seat at an empty table, near the boy and his grandmother and signaled for the host when he’d settled to order a coffee. He was content at first to open one of the books he’d brought for just this sort of lull in activity, but he found it difficult to keep his attention on the pages. His thoughts strayed often back to the Villa, wondering on the children and how Pepper was faring with them. Wondering on Peter and how the first few weeks of term were going, and of course, there was the counting down of minutes he couldn’t seem to deter. His agile mind keeping track of the passing of minutes like the most steadfast of clocks, all of it winding down to when the train would reach the station in Berlin and he would find Stefen waiting for him there.
Would he be pleased that Tony had worn some of the clothing he’d had tailored for him? Surely he couldn’t know how Tony had wondered about that, wondered if Stefen had left it to the salesman, or if he’d gone through the selections himself, thinking on how the fine fabrics would feel against the skin and what cuts and lines would make Tony’s legs look longer, shoulders broader.
More than once Tony had to snicker at himself and resolutely push such ridiculous thoughts out of his head. Captain Rogers cared as much about current fashion as Tony cared for morning vigil (which was not at all) and while he was surely as passionate a fellow as any under all that military regimen, he was hardly what Tony would call knowledgeable in the games that lovers played.
No, the kind of salacious frivolity that fed the underbelly of society and had once thrived so brightly in the kabarett halls that Hitler had scourged when he came to power, had surely never touched Stefen and Margrit Rogers and their cozy little home in the country.
Tony sighed, turning the page of his book even though he barely recalled what he’d read. It was just a damn shame, that Stefen had never experienced the full flush that the twenties had offered. Back when the music and culture that Tony had discovered in the red-light districts as a young man had burst into the public eye in full color. The strange and the unusual holding their heads up proudly and strutting across the world stage in defIance while the world looked on in awe.
It had given him hope once. A reason to long for the future, when he could be free of the abbey for good. The world had seemed better then, ready and waiting with arms open.
And so it went, Tony sat alone at his table while the train lurched along, passing through fields and hills and skirting the edges of towns that from the outside, almost looked as if they hadn’t been touched at all by Hitler’s rise, and he tried to distract himself with his book but largely failed.
He was finally given some respite when the train reached the bustling station in Nuremburg and a flush of new passengers trickled into the dining car. Among them was a young woman, traveling alone and very obviously nervous about it. She kept casting her eyes about uncertainly as she glanced at her ticket, as if she was not sure she was in the right place or which seat to take. Her hair was a pretty shade of red and Tony found himself smiling indulgently at her when she caught his eye. A curious pang of longing filled him, and he wondered suddenly what Natacha was doing. Good god, he'd only been away for a few hours, he berated himself. Surely, he was stronger than this?
Still he smiled to the young woman, lifting a hand to catch her attention and gesturing to the empty seat across from him. She smiled gratefully and made her way toward his table, apologizing to the boy and his grandmother when she accidently brushed the old woman with her bag as she passed.
Tony got up from his seat to pull out a chair for her and she thanked him, sitting down with an exhausted air and a slightly overwhelmed expression.
"First time on the train?" he asked, not without sympathy and she grimaced.
"Is it that obvious?"
She had a faint accent Tony noticed, a lovely lilt that was very pleasant to the ear.
"I remember my first train ride. I was beside myself. This one is faster, class one engine. You can tell by the sound."
"That great rattling din you mean?"
Tony laughed.
"They don't call it a thunderwagon for nothing."
"I think I much prefer the automobile,” the young woman despaired, giving the compartment around them a disgruntled look and Tony bit back a smile.
"Well, at the very least you'll see some beautiful countryside. While enjoying the best coffee," he gestured toward the window with one hand as he signaled for the host with the other. "Would you like something to eat Frauline...?" he led and the young woman quickly offered an introduction.
"McCabe, and no I really couldn't eat a thing, I'm so nervous it's liable to come back up."
"Are you really that nervous? Tony asked with surprise. "Trains are very safe you know."
"Oh, it's not that, though it does rattle to convince one otherwise. It's just that I'm meeting my fIancé in Berlin."
"Ah, so it's a different kind of nerves. Well then we'll take two warm chocolates," Tony instructed the host who nodded quickly and began fixing the drinks. When frauline McCabe opened her mouth to protest he cut her off with a wink and an assurance, "there's nothing like warm coco for calming your nerves."
"Thank you. That's very kind mister…?"
"Stark, but I insist you call me Tony, everybody does."
"Well, only if you will call me Bethany. And allow me to pay you for the coco."
Tony waved a hand dismissively when she reached for her purse.
"I wouldn't hear of it. The money is not even mine in any case.” When he saw her curiosity Tony grinned, explaining. “My journey is being financed by my employer and I’ve been ordered to have whatever I like, damn the expense."
“Goodness.” Bethany chuckled lowly, her blue eyes dancing with amusement. “Your employer is incredibly generous. What is it you do?”
“Well officially I’m a monk. Though currently I’m on assignment as a tutor.”
"A monk, but you’re so…” Bethany gaped, her eyes roving over him appreciatively before she realized what she was about, and a faint blush colored he cheeks.
“Handsome? Debonair?” Tony teased, because there was no better way to pass the time than in the company of a pretty woman who thought you attractive, especially when said woman could as easily throw you back as reel you in.
Which evidently Bethany McCabe had no problem doing as she gave him a very stern, frankly Pepperish look and drawled, “Certainly not humble.”
Tony laughed, and raised his cup to her.
“You must hear this a lot, but you remind me of Captain Adventure.” Bethany’s cheeks pinked with slight embarrassment as Tony inclined his head curiously. “My father is a subscriber. Are you familiar with the magazine?”
“No, I can’t say I am. I’ve never heard of it.”
“Bah, well truthfully I’m too old for adventure stories but the artwork is so lovely I find I can hardly resist them. And everyone wants to be an adventurer in their heart of hearts I think.” She shrugged bashfully with a little smile and Tony smiled back.
“If I remember to I’ll order a subscription” he said and her grin widened.
“Are you going to Berlin as well?" she asked conversationally after they’d both sipped their drinks for a moment.
"Yes, as a matter of fact."
"Though not to meet a fIancé I imagine, with the way you came to my rescue." she murmured into her cup and Tony's lips twisted in a wry smile.
"Not as such. But even if I was, I assure you I’d behave the same way. I’m an incurable flirt."
“What an interesting monk you must have made.”
“I think so. When in is your big day?”
"Oh, not until spring.” Bethany heaved a sigh, as if the long months between her and spring were the most insurmountable thing she could imagine.
“Why wait?” He questioned.
"My father is insisting."
"I suppose he wants a big splash?"
"The opposite I think. He’d like me to change my mind."
Oh, Tony thought, startled. Though he was happy to see he’d been right about his estimation of the young woman’s spunk. He admired her straight back and the gleam of determination in her eye that told him she wouldn’t be changing her mind, unhappy father or no.
"He wants me to be happy,” she amended gently a moment later. “But he's worried about me being so far from London and he’s not overly fond of the Germans. My father works in parliament you see and Alex is only a minor diplomat, but he’s so passionate about his work. He and daddy argue every time they are in the same room. You know how men can be when it comes to their politics.”
Tony’s smile dimmed, sadness creeping in around the edges.
“I do.” he murmured in answer. In truth, he quite agreed with poor Mr. McCabe, but he would not say so in the face of Bethany’s youthful passions and bright optimism. The heart led and sometimes there were few options but to follow and one could not simply judge every German simply for being German, but Tony couldn’t say he’d have jumped for joy if his daughter came home starry eyed over some public official in present times.
“They say we’ll be at war before the month is out but there is a chance still, that all the fuss is for nothing. Don’t you think?” Bethany asked, with an air of hopefulness. “Mr. Chamberlin is a very sensible man, and something good will come of these peace talks. I’m sure of it.”
Tony smiled wanly. He wasn’t so sure.
“Well, in any case, I hope you and your Alex have many happy years to come.” He said, decisively raising his cup to her and she smiled gratefully in acknowledgment, biting the corner of her lip to suppress a giddy grin.
She was in love, and Tony wished her the best of luck with it, but war changed everything and touched everyone. Didn’t he know it.
Time would certainly tell them all if they were strong enough to weather it.
~*~
When the train pulled into station in Berlin Tony’s heart had taken up a distracting pace within his chest, each beat overly strong in his opinion, as if it were attempting to be heard over the many voices and the roar and squeal as the train came to a stop.
His eyes raked the crowd outside the window but he didn’t immediately spot the captain within the dozens of faces crowding the platform, some waiting on loved ones and many more waiting with their luggage in hand to board.
He collected his things and assisted Frauline McCabe with gathering hers. Though he doubted his cheeks echoed the flush of excitement coloring the girl’s face as they departed the train, Tony’s eyes searched the crowd just as eagerly.
“Oh there he is. Alex!” Bethany called out suddenly, lifting her arm to wave and catch the attention of a fair-haired man somewhere in his late twenties in polished shoes and a grey summer coat. The young man’s face split into a delighted grin and he began to fight the crowd in order to make his way towards her.
“Good luck.” Tony offered in parting, chuckling under his breath when Bethany, who had already stepped toward her fiancé, jerked to a stop and turned on her heel to offer her own belated goodbye.
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Tony. I do hope you’ll write. You can leave an address for me at the Adlon until the end of the week.”
“Likewise, I’ll be staying at the Kaiserhof for the next few days if you need anything.” Tony replied taking the young woman’s hand and shaking it gently. He released her, and with a fond smile Bethany McCabe turned away and then she was off, rushing to meet the waiting arms of her young man. Tony watched the reunion for a moment with gladness, but the intimacy in their embrace and the sight of their happiness reminded him of his own longing, deepening it until it ached tenderly like a bruise within his chest.
“Tony.” He heard called from somewhere close behind him, the captain’s smooth voice unmistakable even though it was low and the room full of noise and Tony felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He turned, finding Stefen not two strides away, in a pair of unassuming slacks held up by suspenders and a plain white shirt. He didn’t look at all like an important military man now, little besides his height separating him from any other working man on the street. Not that Tony was complaining. No far from it.
The simple attire suited him just as much as the uniform. Maybe more. His rolled-up sleeves certainly played well to the definition of his arms Tony noted, heart thumping wildly in his chest as he drank in the sight of Stefen standing there looking delectable, hands shoved casually within his pockets and late summer sun beaming down on his golden head.
Tony’s lips spread slowly into a smile that to him felt a touch feverish.
“You’re looking very relaxed Major Rogers. I feel over-dressed.”
“When you’re stuck in uniform every day you take advantage of leave when you have it,” Stefen replied evenly, stepping toward Tony and reaching for the bag at his side without taking his eyes from him. When he was unbearably close Stefen lowered them slowly to take him in fully and when they raised again to meet Tony’s, there was an unbanked hunger in his eyes that sent arousal twisting deep within Tony’s gut.
“I’m glad to see they fit well.”
Stefen’s fingers brushed Tony’s in a gesture that might have been accidental as he took his trunks from him and Tony’s breath hitched. The spell was broken as Stefen moved away with the trunk and cool air rushed between them, but Tony’s heart didn’t seem to know it. It leaped somewhere up into his throat and made itself very difficult to swallow around.
It hammered as they walked through the station and out to the car that waited for them on the corner, and it seemed overly loud within the confines of the quiet car as they rolled through the paved streets and Berlin unfurled around them. Tony barely noticed anything of their surroundings, too preoccupied with the burning heat at his shoulder every time Stefen brushed against him and trying not to sound like a babbling idiot answering the drivers occasional polite question.
No, it was not his first time in Berlin but it had been a few years since his last visit. Oh yes, he’d be sure and see the sights, however he was feeling worn from the journey. It might be best to take a nap before dinner tonight, what a sensible suggestion Stefen. Couldn’t be seen wilting in front of Germany’s finest.
The pulled up outside the Kaiserhof and were met by a busboy who helped them unload Tony’s luggage onto a trolley and wheel it through the busy lobby, and onto the impressive new electric powered elevator. Tony barely paid any attention to it or what direction they took to their suite.
It seemed to him one moment they were down in the lobby waiting for the arrival of the elevator and the next they were walking through the doors of the elegant double suite that was to be theirs for the duration of their stay.
The hotel had obviously given the captain one of their best options. There were fresh flowers in every vase within the sitting room and there was bright sunshine beaming in through the balcony.
Stefen directed the busboy to deposit Tony’s things in the second bedroom and then fished in his pocket for a tip before guiding the young man toward the door, thanking him for his service.
The door closed behind the busboy and Tony heard the lock slide with a click that rang in his ears with finality. He stood frozen, staring blankly at the lavish sitting room without really seeing it as the sound of footsteps retreated outside the door.
Tony felt rather than heard Stefen move, the skin on the back of his neck prickling with heat a moment before the captain breathed his name lowly in the quiet room.
“Tony?”
Tony turned to face him, nearly turning right into his arms the man was hovering so close, and his pulse quickened as one of Stefen’s hands came to settle on his hip. No pressure, just a light steadying touch, but Tony felt the heat of his hand like it was burning through his slacks.
“Here I am, Captain.” Tony said with a small smile, drinking in the way Stefen’s eyes roved over his face, as if looking to memorize it. Tony’s voice was far steadier than he felt and he wondered that Stefen could stay so unaffected when he felt that at any moment he might humiliate himself and start begging for the man to touch him.
“So you are.” Stefen answered and the rough rasp sent a shiver up Tony’s spine but he couldn’t formulate any sort of reply, not drowning as he was in the hunger burning in the bright blue of Stefen’s eyes like flame, and then without any sort of provocation Stefen surged forward, pulling Tony to him by that firm hand on his waist and crushed their mouths together.
Tony pressed back, hands sinking desperately into the soft strands of Stefen’s hair, unable to help the low helpless moan that shuddered from him, as the unbearable coil of anticipation that had only been coiling tighter and tighter with the wait finally snapped.
The pressure against his lips was hot, the demanding push of Stefen’s tongue against them even hotter. Stefen’s hand had dragged up the side of his hip and slipped under his vest to yank impatiently at his shirt and Tony had the frantic thought that they should maneuver closer to the couch when Stefen’s slick tongue thrust boldly inside his mouth and scattered his thoughts.
Bed. They needed a bed. But Stefen tasted faintly of mint and something deeper, something so Stefen, and Tony groaned, sliding his tongue against Stefen’s and chasing after his taste. He wanted more of it desperately but sharper was the ache for touch, and Tony’s shaking hands stroked franticly over the long column of Stefen’s throat, down the back of his neck and over the breadth of his shoulders to catch on the straps of his suspenders.
Tony shoved at them and he wasn’t alone in his urgency to be rid of the barrier between himself and the heated flesh burning against his. Stefen bowed him backward, mouth unyielding, forcing Tony to stumble blindly backward as the captain’s hands yanked his shirt out of his slacks.
Stefen was jerking at the button on his slacks as the back of Tony’s knees hit something solid and Tony gasped, startled. The couch he realized in a daze as Stefen pushed. He let himself drop obediently against the cushions.
Distantly he thought his lungs must be grateful for the respite, but all he could see was the bruised red of Stefen’s lips and the desire in his eyes as the captain loomed over him, one hand braced against the couch arm for support as his hungry gaze tracked the heave of Tony’s chest as he struggled for breath.
God the way Stefen was looking at him, like he was some wondrous creature he’d stumbled upon in some dangerous wild.
“Am I the first man you’ve ever had like this?” Tony asked through a dry throat, because it was important, but his throat felt dryer than a desert in the absence of Stefen’s warm and wet mouth. He ran his tongue over his lip, swallowing thickly when Stefen’s gaze zeroed on the movement. A devilish grin widened Tony’s mouth, wonder trickling through him at the realization.
“I think I am, aren’t I?”
Instead of an answer Stefen’s mouth descended over his again, capturing his lips in a punishing kiss that stole Tony’s breath. Still, his poor lungs tried, sucking in a sharp breath when Stefen’s hand brushed against his cock still trapped in his open slacks. The heat of Stefen’s palm seeped through Tony’s cotton briefs as he stroked and squeezed in a fumbling fashion that betrayed his inexperience but Tony couldn’t care for all the world.
He panted for breath, trying to work open the button on Stefen’s slacks without the vantage of sight, but Stefen was making it difficult with the way he was kissing him and pressing his palm against Tony’s cock.
Captain Rogers did not kiss like a gentleman. He devoured Tony’s mouth with an edge of starvation that only increased the feeling of urgency building between them. When Stefen bit at his bottom lip and sent pain stinging through Tony’s mouth to twist along with the pleasure he gasped, hips bucking upward without thought.
His cock straining in his briefs brushed against the bulge straining in Stefen’s open slacks and the captain moaned, pleasure shuddering through him as he fell forward, one arm shoving under the arch of Tony’s back to grab roughly at the swell of his ass and lift, hips thrusting downward to chase after that wonderful friction and the sparks of pleasure it ignited.
“Oh sweet Jesus,” Tony cursed, and he thought he heard a huff of laughter punch out of Stefen’s chest but the sound was lost amidst their desperate pants for breath as they thrust against each other, movements frantic and without rhythm. Stefen gave him no choice, caging Tony’s body with his, pulling him into each powerful thrust in a mad rush to completion. It was the euphoria of children consuming a sweet delight in a single swallow and all Tony could do was hold on, arm thrown over Stefen’s neck and hand fisted tightly in his shirt as the pleasure built and built.
“Stefen… oh Stefen… oh Christ.”
The orgasm hit him suddenly, the pleasure an exquisite agony that crashed through his entire body and left him boneless. He spilled all over himself, a hot stickiness flooding his briefs. Stefen continued to thrust against him, turning the pleasure sharp with overstimulation but Tony did not resist it. He watched Stefen chase his pleasure, watched as he stared down at Tony through the fall of his sweat slick hair, fevered gaze almost vacant as he panted for breath; and thought that he was more beautiful in this one moment than he’d ever seen him.
He was close. Tony could tell by the sound of each ragged breath. He could feel Stefen shaking against him, and at first he thought it was from how very close he was to completion, but when Tony looked into his eyes again they’d changed.
They were bright and glistening with moisture, wide with the kind of fear a man might feel on top of a wildly bucking horse or in a car that has spun out of control.
Stefen’s thrusts began to stagger and an overwhelming tenderness filled Tony’s chest with an unbearable ache. He let go of his grip on Stefen’s shirt and slid his now free arm around his neck until they were locked in embrace. Stefen’s brow dropped against his. The captain choked out a sob and Tony held him tight, shushing him as if he were a babe.
“Shh. Finish for me love. Go on. It’s alright. I’ve got you.”
Stefen’s hips juddered against him and he came suddenly with a strangled gasp, and then unable to keep holding himself up he slumped down, body laying heavily over Tony’s.
“Oof,” Tony grunted in surprise as the breath drove out of him, and Stefen jerked, clearly wanting to spring off of him but lacking the strength just yet. Tony shushed him again, hands stroking over his back soothingly as he attempted to shift them so Stefen’s weight was more evenly distributed.
“That was beautiful. Wasn’t it, love?” he crooned into Stefen’s ear, pressing tender kisses against the soft skin at his neck. Stefen’s body violently shivered and a tear hot and wet slipped from his eye before he buried his face against Tony’s neck, shuddering as if it were sub temperatures within the room.
“You’re cold.” Tony murmured, feeling the goosebumps that had pebbled the captain’s skin. “And no wonder. We made quite the mess of ourselves.”
In certainly more ways than one. The wetness in Tony’s briefs had turned cold and uncomfortable, and though he doubted Stefen was fairing much better, he knew it was the drop from the overwhelming emotional stimulation responsible for Stefen’s state.
A fine partner Tony was. He was supposed to be the experienced one, and here he’d completely lost his head and let Stefen rush them headlong into a sexual affair he was clearly not prepared for. It was the thought of Stefen hurt in some way that the eyes could not see that kept Tony calm, kept his heart beating steadily even when Stefen did not respond to his pulling away. Tony made his way over to the bathing room and grabbed one of the fine towels stacked on the shelf above the sink. He wet it and quickly went about the business of cleaning himself up, and once finished returned quickly to the living room to find the captain had slumped down into the couch cushions like a boneless ragdoll.
Stefen barely responded as Tony knelt beside the couch and began to remove his shoes, talking him through it the way he talked little Sara through getting dressed in the mornings. When Tony had removed Stefen’s slacks and began to lower his briefs Stefen winced as the cool air met the mess of semen smeared all over his skin.
“You’re alright, love.” He murmured, it and a thousand other gentle encouragements as he gently washed away the mess. When Stefen was clean Tony abandoned the soiled towel atop the pile of clothes on the floor, uncaring of what Stefen would think when he was back to rights, just so long as he got there.
Tony climbed back aboard the couch, laying his smaller frame across Stefen’s back and wrapping his arms around him tightly.
Stefen was still shaking.
“I’m here.” Tony murmured into his ear, holding tighter. “You were wonderful.”
Stefen didn’t speak, but with time his trembles quieted and his breathing evened.
They lay there what could have been hours, letting the world come back to rights, Tony waiting for Stefen to come back to himself. He did not mind. He’d have laid there three times longer if need be.
At some point Stefen shifted underneath him and Tony immediately sat up, lessening the weight on his back, but Stefen only turned so that his back lay against the couch and reached for Tony’s hand to tug him back down. He went all too willingly and Stefen wrapped his arms around Tony, cradling the smaller man to his chest like an overgrown child with a stuffed bear.
Tony felt his lips stretching in a smile he feared was somewhere on the besotted end. His head was full of Stefen, his nose full of the scent of him – of sex and sweat to be sure, but of Stefen – and of the flowers in their vases, and his heart had never felt so heavy or so light all at once. Tony’s eyes slipped closed, an old song humming gently through his mind and a smile curved his lips.
Quando sei lontana. Sogno all'orizzonte E mancan le parole.
“The Mariner.”
Stefen’s breath tickled over Tony’s skin, his voice little louder than a murmur. Tony cracked open one eye, to find soft blue ones staring steadily down at him.
“That song you’re humming, it’s from the opera, isn’t it?”
Tony nodded, sighing contentedly as the music in his head finished it’s swell.
“I’m surprised you know ‘Il Mariner’. I didn’t think you were so fond of Italian opera.”
“When the show came to Salzburg I took Peggy. It was before we were married. I guess I was trying to impress her.”
Tony cocked an eyebrow at him questioningly.
“It must have left an impression on you if you still remember the music after all these years.”
“I bought a record.” Stefen admitted gruffly, eyes lowering to examine some dusty memory. “The sailor had to go to war and leave behind the people he loved… I don’t need to be as fluent in Italian as you to understand that.”
“No. I suppose not.” Tony agreed quietly, caressing the curve of Stefen’s bicep gently with his thumb. “Are you feeling better now?”
Stefen nodded silently, but he was refusing now to meet Tony’s eye and that just wouldn’t do. Gently, Tony pressed his teeth against a patch of skin on Stefen’s broad chest, urging lowly as the muscles beneath him clenched and Stefen’s breathing hitched.
“Look at me Stefen.”
When Stefen’s eyes met his once more they were guarded but held a familiar gleam of challenge and Tony chuckled.
“There is nothing to be ashamed of. In any of it. You know that don’t you?”
They’d not talked about it before and they should have. One did not simply just decide one day that they were going to take a lover of their own sex the same way they decided today they might wear a red vest.
“I wouldn’t change it.” Stefen growled defensively, arms tightening around Tony as if Tony had suggested they take it back.
“That’s not the same as feeling no shame.” Tony pointed out. Stefen merely shrugged, clearly deciding that no more thought on the matter was needed because he buried his face against Tony’s neck with intent, kissing at the tender skin.
“Am I the first lover you’ve taken?” Tony repeated the question of earlier, determined to at least broach the conversation before they were otherwise distracted. Stefen chuckled darkly against his neck.
“I was married Tony.”
“That’s not what I mean and you know it.” Tony rejoined, pulling away from Stefen’s busy (wonderful) mouth and glaring at the man without much heat. This time Stefen was the one to sigh.
“Alright, yes. But it’s all the same. You won’t have any complaints in my bed.”
The snap of command was back in Stefen’s tone and Tony couldn’t help the stir of arousal deep in his belly but he did his best to quell the feeling, because honestly. As if Tony was ever going to be displeased to find himself in bed with Captain Rogers.
“Don’t be dull. It’s not about your prowess.”
“Then what is it about?” Stefen snapped with agitation, confusion furrowing his brow.
“It’s about the fact that from the time we were small we were told this was something we should not want. You will have emotions about that, whether you’ve taken the time to consider them or not.” Tony insisted, knocking Stefen pointedly with his knee in place of knocking him over the head.
Stefen’s eyes glittered with amusement, mouth turning toward a smirk but he must have seen that Tony was determined because when he did finally speak, it was at least somewhere in the general vein of what they needed to discuss.
“Among the Rom we call this unclean.”
“Ah, see there!” Tony latched on to the opening. “And when did you first know you were unclean?”
“Young.” Stefen shrugged but when Tony prodded him with his knee once more he added, “I think I was close to Ian’s age.”
“So near the age of eleven. You must have felt very alone.”
When Stefen did not answer Tony wasn’t discouraged. Captain Rogers was not a verbose sort and Tony could do enough talking for six people.
“I was only a little younger myself when I realized. I had something of a crush on a boy who worked for us. His name was Rhodey.” Tony chuckled sadly. “I was so afraid my father would find out. It used to keep me up at night, imagining what he would have done to Rhodey if he knew.”
Stefen’s eyebrows inched upwards as he observed the shudder Tony couldn’t quite suppress.
“Surely nothing horrible? “he asked hesitantly. “The men in the caravan, they would have beat me and left me for dead. I always knew that. But I always thought it was different for your sort.”
“You mean the rich and ridiculous?” Tony drawled, shifting once more so that he could brace his elbows against the couch and look down at Stefen who was chuckling at him.
“When you’re a millionaire you can afford to be eccentric that’s true, but not with the wrong sort. You can’t love a negro.” Tony mused darkly, old bitter memories rising to the surface.
“At least not openly. Not back then. They’d have killed him without a second thought. I made sure no one knew how I felt, least of all poor Rhodey. I flirted with every woman who would so much as look at me and made an ass of myself trying to down out any other feelings. The first time I ever had a woman it was one of the kitchen girls. She was older, got engaged to a miller that fall… I guess she liked the thrill of making a man out of the Stark heir. But it really didn’t. I was a lonely boy and that just made it worse.”
“I’m sorry Tony.” Stefen said after a long moment of silence where the air felt heavy around them and Tony’s heart heavy with it. But his spirits lightened at the soft sound of Stefen’s voice and the even softer way he brushed his lips against Tony’s temple, lips brushing at the sweat slick hair that curled there.
“It wasn’t all bad. I knew there were others out there who would embrace who I was and I sought them out. I had my day in the sun believe me.”
Tony waggled his eyebrows suggestively and Stefen smiled, though it still seemed sad around the edges. His thoughts were still clearly on the lonely boy Tony had been, and maybe in a similar fashion, the lonely Romani boy that still lived somewhere inside of him.
“It was the one thing I could never tell Bucky.” Stefen admitted gruffly, seemingly apropos of nothing, after another long moment had passed with neither of them speaking and Tony nodded slowly in understanding.
“My father had dragged me out of every nightclub and gin-joint in three different ports by the time I was seventeen. The war was on. I can believe that my mother agreed to sending me to the monastery because she wanted to save my life, but I think my father just wanted me out of the picture. My reputation was bad for business.” Tony admitted with a rueful shrug.
“I wouldn’t change it Stefen, but there was much I did in my search to find acceptance, far before I was truly ready for it. I’m not without bruises. I would have that different for you. Very different.”
Tony would have Stefen hurt by nothing, ever again, if he could help it. It was an unbearably vulnerable way to feel but Tony was far past being able to help it. Lucky for him, Stefen didn’t seem to want him to. The captain’s mouth had curled in a slow almost sleepy smile that Tony wanted to kiss but the intensity of his gaze held him in place as Stefen cupped his face between his big hands and slowly stroked the side of his jaw with his thumbs.
“Sing for me.”
Tony smiled, understanding immediately even though the segue might have thrown anyone else.
“When I am alone, I sit and dream on the horizon but all the words are missing.” Tony began to recite from memory. “Yes, I know that even in a room full of sunlight, there can be no light if you are not with me. Open the windows, show everyone my heart. Close inside of me, the light that you brought from the street.”
Stefen watched Tony’s mouth move as he quietly sang the words to the old love song, a lover’s promise to another that they would go together into any brave new world, across any vast ocean, and that even separated, even then, they’d still be together. The light guiding each other home.
“When you’re far away, dreaming on the horizon and the words are missing. Know you’re here with me, building bridges over land and sea. You’re with me, my moon, my sun. You’re with me.”
Stefen’s gaze lifted up from his lips, burning with a naked longing that made the words stick in Tony’s suddenly dry mouth. It was such romantic drivel. But the words had touched Tony all those years ago and there was something so wonderful about learning they had touched Stefen too.
It was quite a beautiful thing to suppose, that when Tony had heard these words sung in a darkened theater, with his heart lonely and aching, that Stefen had perhaps been there somewhere in the crowd with his Margrit, falling in love for the first time and wholly unaware of how one day – after losing himself in darkness – their lives would touch.
“Finish.” Stefen urged with a low rasp and Tony swallowed to moisten his mouth and did just that.
“I'll leave with you. Countries that I’ve never seen or shared, with you now I’ll go. On ships over seas, that I’ll now know. But they don’t exist anymore, and would I have to brave them alone? Without true light of my own. I’ll leave with you, my love, I’ll leave with you...”
The last words had barely escaped Tony’s mouth before Stefen’s hands tightened their hold and drew him into a kiss, his mouth claiming Tony’s with an unbearable sweetness that made the monk shudder from head to toe, a lump of tangled emotions burning behind his rib cage as he brought his hands up to clutch desperately at Stefen.
“Come to Switzerland.” Stefen murmured into the stillness and this time when he asked, there was no mistaking for either of them what he was asking for.
The promise of Ruth. Everything Tony had ever wanted… a promise far too good to be true.
"I've thought on it, Stefen. Truly I have."
Stefen, never a fool, heard the no coming in his voice.
"But you still doubt that I would take care of you," he stated as a matter of fact and Tony huffed a self-depreciating little laugh.
"No. I'm certain of it in fact. That is the problem. I'm certain that I’d love to stay with you and finish the children’s schooling. I’m certain that I would enjoy many happy years in your house and in your bed."
"Then we’re in agreement. There’s nothing more to discuss."
Normally that ‘hear no argument’ tone would have begun to grate on Tony’s nerves but he couldn’t bring himself there quite yet. He was too fond of the man, and currently pressed too close not to observe all the telltale signs of vulnerability Stefen probably didn’t even know he possessed.
"There is always the subject of cages, and the pretty birds we like to put in them." Tony muttered in reply and Stefen frowned darkly.
"There you go.” The captain’s chest rose and fell in a sigh of frustration. “I don't understand you Tony. If you want this as much as I do, why talk about cages?"
Why indeed. Tony kicked himself. Why was he resisting this so hard when it was what he knew he wanted?
“I know it would be sensible to go with the children and accept the life of ease you’re so eager to offer me. It wouldn’t be any more difficult than devoting my life to God was.” He admitted in a thin, tired voice.
A small smirk tilted the corner of his mouth upward as he added, “Far less, I imagine, since I expect I’ll enjoy getting on my knees more now than I ever did before. There are certain holies I could see my way towards becoming devout for… but even so, it would be just another box for me to hide away in and that is where the line between living with yourself and living with your sensibilities ends.”
“What is it you want then?” Stefen asked, brow burrowing heavily in confusion, a bite of aggravation in his tone as he snipped. “Name it, Tony and you’ll have it. I don’t understand why you’re talking about boxes and cages when you could have the damn world for all I cared.”
“That’s a beautiful sentiment Captain, but it’s worthless when the world isn’t something you can buy me or have delivered to my doorstep. The world is achieved. It’s something we have to take for ourselves and you can’t give me back twenty years of life anymore than you can guarantee me twenty more,” Tony replied with slow precision.
“I must take it for myself. But the trouble is fear. I’m afraid to go and afraid to stay and afraid either way that I’m too addled to know which way is up. I don’t know whether I want a quiet life with a family I’m proud to call mine, or if I want simply to be left alone to create something that will stop an army. Something that would make even ‘His Excellency’ tremble at the idea of considering any alternative but peace, or risk the war that ends all wars. Sometimes I even think I could really do it, if given half an opportunity. It’s a hunger inside of me I can’t stifle and I can’t sleep for the fear that eats at me, telling me to get up and do something for all our sakes.”
It was very quiet following his little speech and Tony could feel Stefen’s eyes boring into him, could imagine them well enough staring at him with glittering intelligence, catching more than Tony was comfortable revealing.
“This is about your company," the captain stated after a long moment. Damn his eyes. Tony tried not to clench up, refuting.
“It’s about standing up on my own."
Stefen gave him a look of complete disbelief.
"You're considering their offer."
"I'm considering that I can do a damn lot more good from Starkhafen than Switzerland.”
“Forget it Tony. I’ve already taken care of it so that they won’t bother you again. I really do not understand you at all Stark. You’re the one always urging us to go!” Stefen sat up suddenly with a growl and Tony quickly slid off him to avoid being toppled to the floor.
“I’ve bought a house for us and the children in Switzerland and now you want to say never mind?”
“It’s not for us when you still intend to fight.” Tony found himself near shouting in response to the accusation. Wincing, he forcibly lowered his voice.
“Stefen, I’d leave with you in an instant but that’s not what you want. You want me in another country to wait while you fight, all the while wondering if you’ll ever come back. There is a damned big difference.”
“I don’t feel like discussing this again. You know why I have to fight and you know as well as I that the children need you.” Stefen groused, prowling back and forth like an animal in a cage. Stefen had closed off, Tony could see it in every line of his posture and hear it in his tone. The captain was in no mood to hear any more and so he wouldn’t no matter how much breath Tony wasted.
Tony’s smile was tight as he sighed, firing off one last parting shot of his own.
“And I suppose Captain Rogers always has his way?”
“Not as often as I’d like since a certain monk came into my life.” Stefen sighed, but his shoulders had relaxed. He had obviously realized that Tony had decided to let the matter rest for the time being and was grateful. Even if he wasn’t foolish enough to consider it settled completely because Tony would never have fallen in love with a stupid man.
Stefen pressed his lips to Tony’s once more in a hard kiss that felt one shade claim and the other plea, before he pulled away to look down at him. His fingers threaded through the hair curling at Tony’s nape, and Tony leaned into him.
“I’ll have my way in this.” Stefen murmured almost gently, before pressing a kiss to Tony’s brow. “Now no more. We’ve got to get clean and dressed or we’ll be late for dinner.”
Yes, Tony thought with an inward sigh. They wouldn’t want to be late to that damnable dinner.
|
The last thing Aether expected to see while exploring north of Jueyun Karst was a pair of legs and an oddly plump ass sticking out of a wide stone wall. He had seen many odd things in his travels, such as a small girl in red who seemed to be bombing down a hilichurl village on her own, but he thinks that this one takes the cake in possibly the weirdest (and debatably the sexiest), thing he’s ever come across. He adds this to his mental list of funny things to tell Lumine when they reunite.
“What is that.” Paimon who quickly floated behind the blonde and questioned. They both stared at the odd site for a good few seconds, before hearing grunting and the seeing the squirming of the legs in what seems to be an attempt to squeeze through the wall.
Aether manifested his sword into his hand, just in case this was a huge trap, and slowly approached the wall. “A.. are you sure about this? Paimon doesn’t have a good feeling about who would possibly be behind that wall.” Aether doesn’t listen and continues slowly approaching anyway. “Who- who’s there?” a hoarse voice which seemed to belong to the person who’s stuck suddenly said. Paimon squealed upon hearing “Nope! Screw that, you’re on your own, Aether. Paimon’s getting out of here.” and she disappeared into a cloud of stars.
Aether again didn’t listen and continued approaching, it was probably safer without Paimon around because if it were a trap, then he’d rather only one person get hurt. And knowing Paimon’s frail little body, she probably wouldn’t even be able to stand one blow from a hilichurl. He continued walking towards the wall until he managed to get a good look and stopped. Were those purple pants… Xiao’s?
“Xiao?”
“Aether?”
The traveller froze, what the hell was Xiao doing stuck in a wall in the middle of nowhere?
“What are you do-“
“Please help me.”
The blonde had never heard Xiao speak with such a vulnerability in his voice before, as the adeptus always spoke harshly towards others.
Being the titled hero of both Liyue and Mondstadt, he supposed he had no choice but to fix every problem that was thrown his way. Even if it’s something as unusual as getting a two thousand year old angsty adeptus out of a wall. Maybe it’ll increase his reputation level and get him closer to receiving those sweet limited edition Liyuen wings.
“What did you even do to get stuck?” the blonde hesitantly asked, as Xiao usually wasn’t one to get into a sticky situation. “It’s none of your- b- hyaa!”
Aether had placed his palm on the middle of Xiao’s plump ass, where his hole ought to be, and pushed, causing a jolt of electricity to run through the adepti’s spine.
“What are you doing?!” Xiao had questioned Aether, and the latter noticed his legs tense up when he asked. “I’m trying to get you out?” “By pushing on my ass- nyah!“ The blonde has once again pushed on the same spot, causing the same jolts of electricity to run through Xiao’s legs once again. “You’re really stuck in there, aren’t you?” Aether had lifted the cloth wrapped around the adeptus’ hips for better access to his behind, and pushed in again.
Xiao didn’t have the mental capacity to let out another complaint, and used his few functioning brain cells to cover his mouth with his palm and suppress another grunt. He felt heat rise to his face as the hero kept on pushing on his behind, sometimes too firmly, causing a wave of pleasure he hasn’t felt in millenia to wash over his lower half.
Aether had to pretend to not notice the erection in Xiao’s pants that grew bigger with each thrust he made. It kept growing, to the point where it was rubbing itself against the wall. The blonde had to ignore his own erection as well, which was continually constricting itself against his pants.
A few more thrusts and a few more painful seconds of heat piling up in Xiao’s face and unsatisfied hard-ons, the adeptus finally spoke up. “I don’t think this is working.” Aether had stopped pushing, mostly surprised at the fact that Xiao seemed passive. More so the fact that he sounded almost horny, but who was he to be delusional that he thinks an actual adeptus would lust over him.
But he did have an idea.
“Then, do you want me to do something about your increasing hard-on?”
“My what?” the question had taken Xiao by surprise, causing him to go back to his angry demeanour. Though, he couldn’t say he wasn’t considering the traveller’s offer.
“I mean this.” Aether kneeled down and pressed his palm into the clothed erection’s soft yet firm tip. Xiao couldn’t deny the fact that that touch felt heavenly, and brought him the feeling of lust he hasn’t felt for so long.
The adeptus didn’t give an answer, which made Aether stop the rubbing. Xiao suddenly perked up, dreaded by the loss of feeling on his dick. “W-why’d you stop?” Xiao embarrassedly asked
“I wanted to know if you were ok with this…” The blonde wanted his consent first before doing anything. After all, he was selfless and didn’t want to do something against someone’s will just to pleasure himself.
It was silent between them for a few seconds, and Aether couldn’t help but feel nervous because if Xiao did refuse, then it would ruin the bond he’d been trying to form with the adeptus.
“I… I suppose you may continue.” and the blonde wasted no time. He went and pulled Xiao’s pants down, freeing the erection which had been constricted for so long. Aether aligned his face with Xiao’s hole, which was a nice plump shade of pink. “Just… tell me if you want to stop, okay?” and the air from the hero’s voice made Xiao’s asshole pulse.
“Archons above, just fuck me already!”
That sudden demand surprised Aether, but complied nonetheless. He brought his tongue to Xiao’s hole and spread its length across the surface. He kept going in upwards and downwards motions, teasing the inside. He could see Xiao’s feet cross and his toes clench with each lick he did, which told him he was doing a good job. He placed each of his hands on Xiao’s ass cheeks, slowly groping and kneading them as he worked the hole with his tongue.
On the other side of the wall, the adeptus covered his mouth to prevent any noise from spilling out. His eyes were rolling to the back of his head as a wide blush spread across his face. The combination of his hot sweat trickling down his whole body, as well as Aether’s wet saliva stimulating his hole made him feel so good.
The blonde had continued licking, before pushing his tongue inside of Xiao. The yaksha’s legs crossed, fiddling and stretching to try and control the sudden waves of pleasure his body was releasing. Aether let his tongue take its time, tasting every inch of Xiao’s anus with each swipe of his tongue. He pushed his tongue deeper in, coating the yaksha’s insides with his slippery saliva. Xiao’s feet dug into the ground, causing the grass to break under the soles of his boots.
Aether pushed his face onto Xiao’s ass, causing his nose to make contact with the low of the adeptus’ back, while his hands still made quick work of the plump cheeks, turning them into a nice shade of blush red. The tip of his tongue felt a small bulge, which he assumed was Xiao’s prostate, and kept pulling it back and forth to hit the surface multiple times, causing immense stimulation and pleasure to race throughout Xiao’s body.
The adeptus didn’t care anymore, he removed his hand from his mouth and held them against the wall in an attempt to support himself because his body might just give out from the pleasure the blonde’s giving him. With each touch of Aether’s tongue to his prostate, he let out a short, quick moan, which let the other know he was doing a good job.
The pleasure started to build up and caused a knot to start forming in Xiao’s abdomen, pooling down to his unattended dick which was leaking with precum. “Oh-oh gods, Aether- I’m gonna cum, please” the blonde took that as a signal, and took one of his hands off Xiao’s ass cheeks and started to jerk the adeptus off, each stroke synchronised with each thrust his tongue made.
“Ah- Aether- fuck- I’m gonna cum!” Aether picked up the pace, increasing the stimulation Xiao felt. Xiao let out a long, loud moan when he was brought to his climax, spilling his semen all over the grass beneath them. His eyes were closed as they rolled to the back of his head, his tongue lolling out to try and handle the immense pleasure he felt. He hadn’t felt this amount of happiness and pleasure since he was released by Zhongli.
Xiao was fatigued, and was trying to regain energy after his high as Aether pulled his tongue out and stood up. The blonde placed his hand on the wall, and used his geo powers to shatter it, causing the adeptus to fall on his knees.
“W-what the hell?! You could’ve broken it this entire time?!” Xiao yelled, embarrassed that he was just pleasured by a human. “I’m sorry- it only occured to me when I was in the middle of eating you out, but you were already feeling too good that I didn’t bother stopping to tell you.”
Eating you out. Already feeling too good. Xiao had never felt more embarrassed in his two thousand years of living. He had never shown that much vulnerability towards anyone before, not even when Zhongli saved him. But this traveller was different. Xiao got extremely turned on by the thought of rather than the one pleasuring, he was the one being pleasured in sex, and by someone as attractive as Aether too.
He looked at the blonde, who was looking away somewhere, seemingly embarrassed. Xiao looked at the traveller’s pants and noticed the seemingly painful and large erection.
“I suppose we’re already too far in to not go any further.” Those words made the blonde suddenly look to Xiao kneeling on the ground. Aether’s blood raced to his head. “What do you mean?” he asked, and the adeptus lied on his back and lifted his knees to his chest, exposing his loose saliva filled hole. “Finish what you started.”
Aether’s mind was clouded with thoughts, mostly ones that are telling him to just go bury Xiao into the ground with his dick, but still thoughts nonetheless. And who was he to back away from a good time?
The blonde slowly lined his erection to the yaksha’s entrance and pulled down his pants, his erection springing free from being constricted. He pulled Xiao’s legs over his shoulders and kissed his thigh, which caused the bottom to cover his face with his hands.
“I’m gonna go in now, ok?”
“Just get it over with.”
Aether entered Xiao with ease, his dick fitting comfortably into the already loose hole. Xiao’s expression didn’t change, already used to the feeling of having something inside of him. Aether pulled the shaft of his dick out, keeping the tip in, and slammed it right back in.
This caused Xiao to perk up and support himself with his shoulders, as Aether continually thrusted in and out. The blonde’s dick was certainly longer than his tongue, and reached places the adepti’s never been touched before. The pleasure he felt from earlier was now the same and doubled, and he let out a messy moan with each thrust.
The blonde looked at him as he let out sounds of pleasure too, the wet interior of Xiao’s anus stimulating his dick in ways not even masturbation could provide.
They were both a moaning mess, each of their grunts and sounds synchronised with the sound of clapping skin. Aether went in a steady pace, his brows furrowed and his eyes were lidded, an extremely attractive sight Xiao didn’t know he needed to see. The yaksha himself was attractive too, brows downturned with his mouth open, drooling down his chin as his saliva pooled on his chest, and the sight of Xiao so vulnerable, so attractive, the amount of visual stimulation just added to Aether’s pleasure.
“Ah- ah- Aeth- ther- kiss me” The blonde took no hesitation and leaned in and took Xiao’s mouth on his as kept thrusting. The adeptus’ mouth was wide open, leaving room for both of their tongues to swirl and mix each other’s saliva.
Aether took his hand and wrapped it around Xiao’s hardened dick, the stimulation of kissing, anal fucking, and getting jerked off made Xiao cum without warning, spilling his warm semen all over his chest in big drops as he let out a long continous moan. His eyes were crossed but he swore he could see Aether with hearts in his pupils. Their mouths didn’t break contact, and Aether’s pace sped up as he further reached his climax. It didn’t take long for the blonde to wrap his arms around Xiao and pump his cum inside the yaksha, filling him up with his warm semen. Aether let out a lengthy moan into Xiao’s mouth. “Ahh-hah- Oh god, oh fuck- Xiao, I love you!“ he moaned in the middle of his climax.
Xiao was too worn out to mind what the blonde said, still recovering from his high. They both breathed heavily, trying to give their lungs a break after the intense session. Xiao let himself rest on the ground, trying to regain his composure. Aether laid on top of him, and the warmth the blonde provided felt nice after sex.
“Xiao.. we should do this again sometime!” the blonde beamed, and the yaksha was caught off guard. “Never will I engage in your affairs again. This is the last we’ll see of each other.” Xiao tried to push Aether away with his arms, which only caused the blonde to laugh. “Why are you laughing?” and Aether wiped his laughing tears away.
“You’re just so cute, Xiao. I can tell that that’s not what you really want just from your expression.” and the yaksha perked. A sweet blush spread across his face, signalling that Aether was right. “Fine. But only if you’re the one who’s on top every time.” Aether smiled, he didn’t expect Xiao to want to bottom so much. If anything, he thought he’d be bottoming.
The traveller placed a chaste kiss on the adeptus’s forehead, just below where the purple diamond was. “Sure thing, Xiao. Now let’s clean ourselves up.”
-
The next day, Verr Goldet wondered why Xiao was walking weird when he returned from his expedition to Jueyun Karst. Perhaps an injury in battle?
|
There was a voice. A voice calling his name.
Deku.
Deku was worried.
He was crying.
Shit.
“Don’t.” He coughed. His throat felt raw.
The sludge.
Katsuki felt like throwing up again.
He tried to sit up, but arms were quickly around him, stopping him. He struggled. The tightness. He couldn’t be trapped again! He had to move!
“Kacchan! Kacchan, stop! You’re hurt!”
Deku.
These were Deku’s arms.
He relaxed.
“You scared us for a second there, young man. How are you feeling?”
That voice.
He knew that voice.
But who…?
He opened his eyes, blinking at the sudden brightness.
Deku was on top of him, strong arms holding him down.
Katsuki had never been so glad to see his soulmate’s face. To see his relieved smile.
“Deku.”
“Kacchan, I’m so glad you woke up.” The shitty nerd leaned back and sat next to Katsuki’s side. “We were worried.” One warm, reassuring hand remained on Katsuki’s left arm.
The dumbass better not move it.
Then Katsuki froze, eyes wide as he noticed the figure behind Deku. “All—” he started coughing, his body jerking as he tried yet again to cough up nonexistent sludge. He cleared his throat carefully, then spoke again, “All Might?!”
The hero’s loud boisterous laugh rang across the park. “I am here!”
The park.
“The fires..!”
Katsuki tried to sit up again, but Deku’s hand shifted, pushing him back down. “All Might put them out, Kacchan. And he captured the villain. Everything’s ok now.”
“That’s good,” Katsuki glared at his soulmate. “But why won’t you fucking let me sit up and see it for myself?”
“My boy, that would be my fault. I’m worried that you’ve broken some bones. Can you tell me what hurts?”
What hurts?
Katsuki winced.
Suddenly he was aware of the pain. Intense, throbbing pain. “Wrist. Finger. Throat.” He paused, then added, “Shoulder.” It wasn’t as bad, but the recoil had done something. Everything else felt…sore, but not bad. Not broken.
“Not your ribs?”
He shook his head. The hero smiled, “Wonderful! It’s probably safe for you to sit up, then, but go slow.”
Katsuki nodded. Deku’s hand was warm against his uninjured shoulder, supporting him as he sat up.
Now upright and feeling a bit better, Katsuki stared at the hero.
All Might was here.
It felt weird to be in his presence. Like it wasn’t real.
He couldn’t believe he was finally meeting All Might, but it was happening while he was fucking injured and weak. “Tch.”
“You did well, young boys! You worked together to defeat the villain under pressure and it was quite admirable, I must admit! I’m sure you’d both make wonderful heroes one day!”
All Might was praising him.
They’d…done well? But Katsuki had been practically helpless the whole time! But with Deku… with his soulmate, they’d managed to beat the villain.
And they hadn’t even gone to UA, yet! A grin slowly formed across his face.
Katsuki was fucking awesome. His explosion had beaten the villain.
And Deku was fucking awesome. “His eye was the obvious weak point.” Katsuki smirked, “Deku could figure that much out from just a few minutes watching him.”
“I should’ve figured it out faster. Sorry, Kacchan.”
“You did fine, my boy!” All Might was patting Deku’s shoulder, now.
“You did good, you shitty nerd. You don’t need to fucking apologize.” All Might himself was praising them and patting Deku’s shoulder. What the fuck? Did Katsuki wake up in some damn alternate dimension?
All Might frowned at his language, but Deku spoke up before the hero could say anything to Katsuki.
“Ummm… All Might sir?” Deku’s voice was quiet, timid. Like he was scared. Katsuki frowned. Why was he scared? This was fucking All Might! Maybe the nerd was fanboying or something? “Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course, my boy! I really must be going soon, though. A concerned citizen posted a video online to attract heroes, but that also means the media will be here soon. And I have to get this villain to the police. Not to mention that your friend should really go to a doctor and get his arm checked.”
“Right.” Deku’s hand tightened around Katsuki’s good shoulder. “But….ummm….You said I’d be a good hero. Is that… Is that still true even if I don’t have a quirk?”
All Might froze where he was doing squats, preparing for a jump.
Katsuki’s eyes widened.
Shit.
Depending on the answer, this could go really well or really poorly. Fucking hero better answer the shitty question correctly.
“I’m sorry, my boy”--Fuck that pitying tone. Katsuki’d kill him, All Might or not--“but hero work is really quite dangerous. We’re always risking our lives, even with the advantage our quirks give us. Without one…. It would simply be too dangerous.” All Might sighed. “I’m sorry.”
“But…” Shit, Deku’s voice was doing the damn warble. The nerd was going to cry. Who did this fucking guy think he was, telling Deku that?! “But I’ve worked really hard. And I’m good at analysis! You said I did a good job! And I want to save people!”
“I’m sorry, my boy. You are good at analysis, so maybe you could do police work if you want to save people. They do good work, even if they have a bad reputation.”
What the fuck?! A fucking police officer?! “Listen here, you bastard--”
“Stand back now, I’m going to jump!”
“What do you fucking mean, ‘be a police officer!’ Just a minute ago you said he would make a good hero! How does that change just because you learned he doesn’t have a fucking quirk!” Katsuki surged to his feet, stomping toward the hero and ignoring the pain. Ignoring Deku who was kneeling on the ground in shock.
All Might glanced back at them. “I’m sorry, my boys, but I really don’t have the time. Send me a note on my webpage.”
All Might jumped.
“Shit.” Katsuki snarled, looking around them. A couple of people were standing at the edge of the park, phones out. They’d obviously been the ones recording the fight from afar. Fuck. He grabbed Deku’s hand with his good hand, then trudged toward the edge of the park. “Come on, we’re following him.”
“What?!” Deku stumbled after him. “Kacchan, I don’t—”
“Shut up, nerd. He’s going to the police station, so we can easily find him.” Katsuki rounded the corner, then immediately knelt down, turning his back to his soulmate and holding his arms wide. “Get on.”
“What?! But Kacchan, you’re hurt!” Deku wasn’t moving. Fuck, they needed to be fast about this! Didn’t the dumbass understand that?!
“Who the fuck cares. You’re a hero! You’re the most selfless person I know, you dumbass, and if that doesn’t make you a fucking hero, then no one is! You need a better answer than that, so we’re going to get one. We’ll wait for him at the station door and you can ask him again when he’s fucking done.”
“But your injuries!”
“You think I can’t handle a simple broken bone? Huh?!”
Deku shook his head frantically, and the next thing Kacchan felt were Deku’s hands on his shoulders. A bit further up on one side than the other, avoiding the tender muscles. Shitty nerd must’ve figured out where the recoil usually hurt him.
Legs wrapped around his torso and Katsuki stood up.
He winced at the feeling of the explosion, but ignored the pain. The police station wasn’t too far, but they wouldn’t get there fast enough if they walked.
He forced them up, into the air.
One explosion.
Another.
And another.
He just focused on one at a time, ignoring the pain. Ignoring the distance left until they were close to the station.
“I can’t just fly us all the way there. Illegal quirk usage and all those shitty rules.” Katsuki collapsed in relief in the alley a street down from the station. Deku jumped off immediately.
“Kacchan, are you…?”
“Just run to the damn station, Deku. I won’t forgive you if you fucking miss him.”
“Right! Of course!” Deku ran off.
Kacchan slowly pulled himself up. He glanced down at his wrist and winced. Shit--that was definitely broken. And it looked worse than it had before. The Old Hag was going to kill him.
Katsuki staggered out of the alley and slowly made his way to the station, ignoring the curious looks he received. Dumbasses. Why the fuck do they care what he looked like. It was none of their damn business.
When he reached the station, he saw Deku pestering All Might again, arms waving frantically.
Katsuki frowned. Was the fucking hero still not answering the damn question the right way?
His eyes narrowed as All Might dodged around Deku to go into an alley by the station. Deku was scrambling after him, and Katsuki ran to meet him.
All Might wasn’t there.
Katsuki frowned. No exits. But there was always up.
“Get the fuck on my back, Deku.”
The nerd moved immediately, and then Katsuki was airborn. They landed on the roof, and, sure enough, there was All Might.
The man turned around, eyes wide in surprise. “Young boys—” he broke off, coughing blood. A cloud of steam suddenly surrounded him.
“EH?!?!” Deku was screaming.
“What the fuck?” Katsuki stared at the thin man that was left when the cloud cleared. The man still coughing blood.
His eyebrow twitched.
“Are you ok?!” Deku was waving his arms frantically, muttering about ambulances and illusion quirks and imposters and who knows what else.
“Why are you fucking like this, you shitty excuse for a hero? How can you keep being a hero and saving people when you’re a fucking piece of tinsel!” Katsuki glared at the man. How dare he lecture Deku on the impossibility of being a quirkless hero when he looked like shit!
All Might looked between the two of them, his eyes suddenly widening as if there was something he just now understood.
Katsuki glared at the man. He hoped whatever the fuck All Might had realized had something to do with how he was a damn hypocrite.
When All Might started to speak, Katsuki didn’t know what he expected to hear, but it wasn’t about some fight five years ago. And it wasn’t about All Might having a timer on his quirk now.
And…
His brain still couldn’t process the last part.
Deku was frozen beside him.
“You what?!”
“You boys… you really are amazing.” Fucking duh. Katsuki knew that. “Heroes need to want to save people. They need to be determined to risk their own lives to do so, and all the best heroes do so instinctually.” He paused, rubbing at the back of his head. “You two…when I told you my weakness, your reaction was immediately concern. Young Midoriya, your concern wasn’t for the top hero, but for me as a person. That much was obvious. You immediately started thinking through whether or not you could help.”
Katsuki frowned, ticked off. Of course the idiot was concerned about the stupid man! “And you, young Bakugou, your concern was for the country, correct? And for my position as its top hero? You immediately asked about how I could keep saving people.”
“Tch.” It was a fucking valid concern. The world needed All Might. He’d have to be stupid not to see that.
What he didn’t understand was the last bit All Might had said. The bit about making Deku his successor. Deku, but not him. What the fuck did that even mean? They were soulmates! They did everything together! How could only one of them be the successor? Why was it Deku and not him?
He grit his teeth in frustration. Couldn’t All Might see that he couldn’t make one of them his successor and not the other?
“And you are both very driven and good at tactics, especially for your age.”
Fuck yeah they were! But then both of them should be All Might’s successor!
All Might shifted to look directly at Deku. “My boy, my quirk is unique. There has been much speculation about it. The truth is, it’s a stockpile enhancer quirk that can be passed down.”
What. The. Fuck. “Those don’t fucking exist.”
“A stockpile AND an enhancer?? How does that even work?” Of course his trusting dumbass of a soulmate just assumed the hero spoke the truth
“It is one of a kind, as far as I know, young Bakugou. I am the eighth holder.” He turned to Deku, “And, to answer your question, my boy, the quirk enhances the user’s original strengths and becomes stronger with each user.”
“If this is true, and I do mean if,” he glared at the man. “Why the hell are you telling us all of this shit?”
All Might sighed and reached toward his injury once more. “With this injury, I cannot keep going much longer. You are right, Young Bakugou. I cannot save people like I used to. I am currently looking for a successor for my quirk and…” he was watching Deku closely, “Young Midoriya, I think I just found one. Would you accept my power and use it to become a hero?”
Fuck.
“Ehhhh?!?!” All Might broke Deku.
Katsuki couldn’t believe this. But the hero really didn’t look like this was a lie.
But if All Might was telling the truth…
Deku… could get All Might’s quirk? If that’s what All Might meant by successor…. Katsuki’s quirk was fucking awesome. He didn’t need another one. But Deku… Deku had always wanted a quirk, but he’d also fought hard to be a hero without one…
Katsuki evaluated his soulmate, who looked like he was still in shock. Deku was staring at the #1 hero, eyes wide and uncomprehending. “B-But I—I was going to be the first quirkless hero.”
“And you could still try to do that, my boy. I think if anyone could, it would be you. But…” All Might scratched at his chin. “In my state, I am perhaps more aware than I used to be about the dangers of being a hero. Even with a quirk, I almost lost my life in that battle. Without one, I would have died. And while a hero should always run headfirst to save people, they must also be strong, or they won’t be able to save anyone.”
Katsuki watched as his soulmate’s muttering began. Going from the truth behind what All Might said, to inspiring people as a quirkless hero, to the fact that fewer were being born quirkless, that they could still stand up against bullies just as well with quirks, to the fact that he wanted to help others like him, but how he really wanted to help everyone—
All Might suddenly laughed. Katsuki blinked. That was a new reaction to the muttering. “You certainly like to theorize, my boy! You can think about it as much as you want, but in the end, it sounds like it comes down to this: Do you want to try to become a representative and beacon of hope for quirkless people, or do you want to save as many people as you can, even though you might not be able to help quirkless people in the same way as before? The decision is completely up to you.”
Katsuki frowned. They’d always thought that since Deku was Katsuki’s equal, but also quirkless, that must mean Deku must become a quirkless hero. But what if… what if he was Katsuki’s equal because of something else? What if it didn’t have to do with him being quirkless? What if Deku wasn’t meant to be the first quirkless hero… but to get fucking All Might’s quirk?!
No. They couldn’t think like that. Auntie always said they couldn’t tell where this bond would take them… That they should just be themselves and not worry about it.
“Deku.”
Deku turned to him immediately, “Kacchan, Kacchan what should I do?” Fuck. He hated it when the shitty nerd was all lameass and indecisive. “Do whatever you want, Nerd. You’ll be my partner either way.” He paused, then added, “And we’ll also stand up for quirkless losers either way.” After all, Katsuki had been kicking ass without using his quirk for years now, and that seemed to knock sense into dumbasses’ skulls. They could figure something out.
Deku burst into tears and suddenly Katsuki found his soulmate’s arms wrapped around him. “Deku, what the fuck?! Not this again!” He tried to wriggle free, but with his injured arm, it was impossible. He growled, “Let me go, you shitty nerd, and answer All Might.”
“If you need to think longer—”
“I’ll do it!” Deku finally released Katsuki, turning to face All Might. His eyes were determined once more. Katsuki grinned. “I accept, All Might! I want to save everyone! And I can save more people with a quirk!” |
Khal’s Consort Chapter 4Because of the use of translation charms- English will be bolded from now on.
The group of wizards flew in the direction their cub was in, as they have been for almost a full week now. All of them were definitely getting a bit board of sitting on a broom. Thank Merlin for cushioning charms otherwise they may never be able to walk straight. The fear of being caught by Dumbledore and the Ministry of Magic had worn off a day or two Into their trip, and instead the anxiousness of finding Hadrian had been building. They couldn’t wait to be a family, like they never could have in their original world because of Dumbledore and Voldemort.
Severus was the only one in the group that was also filled with a huge amount of nervous thoughts filling his mind. He wondered if Hadrian had gotten the note he placed in the teens pocket. And if he had found the note, what kind of reaction would be waiting for him when they arrived at the Dothraki camp. Would he be greeted as Tobias or as Snape. The suspense was starting to pull at him.
They were getting close, they could tell by how the point-me spell was making the wand insistently jab at the air in front of them. It was at most an hour or two before sunset, and they wanted to get there today if they could.
Surprisingly they actually made it there within the hour.
Remus, Sirius, Fenrir, Charlie were staring gobsmacked at the site that a full Dothraki camp. Tents, fire, and people taking up the huge plane of flatland. The wizards were currently perched at the top of a mountain near the camp. Severus was the only one who knew what to expect when they reached their destination, and even he was still in awe of the image the Dothraki people made.
They decided that the best action they could take to reveal themselves to the group would be to put weapons away and the make their way slowly. More importantly making their arrival obvious, so they were less likely to get themselves killed accidentally if they were seen from a distance making their way to the camp.
Before they even made it all the way down the mountain they were grabbed by the guards at the edge of the camp.
“We are here to see the Hadrian, your Khaleesi, could you take us to him?” Severus was the one to greet the guards.
“Fine” One of the guards grunted, before prodding them to move to the camp obviously not happy with having to bring outsiders into their camp, but they did anyway because it was for their Khaleesi. The wizards all chose to keep an eye on the blades that were still pointed in their direction, and let the guards lead them.
_______________________
Hadrian was enjoying the meat that was being passed about by the larger fire at the center of the camp. Drogo and Hadrian were seated on a fur pelt that was placed on the ground for them. The little wizard sitting on his husband’s lap, allowing the Khal to pick the tender meat off the bone and hand feed the pieces to him. None of the other Dothraki were even glancing at what was now a common action between their Khal and Khaleesi. Everything was calm and relaxed, Hadrian was near falling asleep with how comfortable they all were.
Hadrian woke up when he heard a commotion getting closer to them by the second, and he felt Drogo stiffen under him.
“Pup!” Hadrian looked where the yell had come from and froze momentarily when he caught a glimpse of the man who yelled. He jumped out of his husband’s lap and ran and the wizards, as the Dothraki sat stunned at the display he was putting on.
“Papa!” He yelled when if finally caught up to him that they were really there. He ran at them nearly knocking them over as he crashed into Sirius and Fenrir. Hadrian nearly felt happy tears filling his eyes as they embraced. Remus pulled Hadrian away from the two to hug him as well.
“Hadrian, we missed you so much Cub.” He sounded so relieved, before kissing the top of his head and holding him at arms length to look over his cub. Hadrian looked happier than any of the wizards had ever seen him. His skin was tanner than before, and the only thing he was wearing were tan pants, a rather see-through green sleeveless top, and leather Sandals. I was easy to see why he was wearing those, because each of the five wizards were relying on cooling spells due to the harsh heat. More importantly he looked healthy and happier than any of them ever seen him before.
“Mate?” The deep voice of Khal Drogo pulled their attention back to their surroundings, the Khal and a large crowd had gathered to see what the commotion was about.
“Drogo, these are my three fathers, Sirius, Fenrir, and Remus. They were more of a family to me than the ones who birthed me.” He informed his husband, pointing to each of the three. He pointed to Severus hesitantly. “This is… Tobias, he was always there for me growing up, he trained and taught me, next to him is Charlie, his mate.”
Drogo’s eyed Severus who was looking at Hadrian with hope plastered onto his tired face, “he was the one who brought you unwillingly into our bonding.” He stated flatly.
“He was forced to by the old man who wanted your army, he was trying to protect me.” Hadrian told him. Drogo was silent for a moment, before nodding, showing his understanding of the situation.
A few moments later the visitors and Hadrian were sitting in a small group each with a plate food and a cup of milk, which was easier to get than water.
“Hadrian… I am so sorry about everything,” Severus tried to apologize to the teen. Who looked at him sternly for a moment before smiling and lightly shaking his head.
“You will always be Tobias to me, you saved me as a child and helped me grow into the person I am today, you have nothing to apologize for.”
Severus still looked torn about the situation, “I was the one who took you through the Veil. If I had taken you away then you would never have been in this situa-.”
“No! I am finally free from that place, I am happy now.” Hadrian was giving all of them stern looks as he spoke. “I have a mate whom I think I love and a home that that is far better than I had ever thought I could have. So please, do not say anything about changing the past, because it led me here.” The group was silent, for the last two and a half months they were thinking the worst case scenario. That Hadrian was being raped and beaten by a tribe of savages. They never once imagined the opposite, that Hadrian was treated like a queen and happier than ever while living with the Dothraki and the massive Khal.
“Pup, I have a question,” Sirius had a bit of a smirk growing on his face. “Did you happen to know that the wards around the Potter manor were going to fall?”
Hadrian gave a not so graceful snort, “Of course I did Padfoot. I still can’t believe that they thought that it was Lucas keeping the wards up and running. The looks on their face must have been priceless.” Hadrian grinned when he saw the others nodding and breathing out small Laughs, all of them happy to leave the serious conversations for later.
“What about you guys, and Charlie I bet you miss Romania, huh?” Charlie looked thankful to be included in their conversation. “A bit, dragons were my passion, but I would rather be here with Sev- Sorry I meant Tobias.” He turned to Tobias, “I think that name fits you better than Severus. Tobias is the real you, not the Severus persona you use with Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix.” Severus gave the largest smile that everyone except for Charlie had ever seen on the man’s face.
They talked about random nonsense filled with laughs and smiles well into the night.
“Mate” Hadrian smiled up at his massive mate, he loved when Drogo called his that.
“Yes, my one?”
“Jorah with show them to their tents.” Hadrian nodded and faced the five men, “good night guys, I’ll see you all in the morning.” He gave them each another hug and wished them a good night again. As soon as they were done, Hadrian was slung over his husband’s shoulder and they were headed towards their tent. Hadrian was laughing and waving at the group behind them. The smile on his face was practically radiant, calming all of the men who were startled at their pup being abruptly stolen from them.
They were being escorted to their tents that were further towards the edge of the camp. “I have heard a lot about all of you from the Khaleesi, he had missed you all greatly.” Jorah spoke to them.
“We have missed him as well, if only we could have gotten here sooner…” Fenrir trailed off.
Jorah gave them all a sympathetic look, “Understandable, but I think Hadrian's time here was good for him. The Khal and him have bonded further than either of them had thought they would. Now they are nearly inseparable and very affectionate with each other. I’ve been with Hadrian since he joined the Dothraki, and have been with Khal Drogo for years. They have both changed so much in the time I have know both of them.” He told them while they walked, until they reached the basic tents.
“These are temporary tents until better dwelling are fashioned. In the morning you may want to stay by these tents, one of us will come find you when the morning meal is ready, have a good night.”
Charlie smiled at the man, “Thank you, and have a good night as well.” They entered the tents and all that was in them was a frame piled with pelts. It was not much, especially with what some of the other tents looked like when they were walking past, but at the moment they were all so tired that they fell onto the furs and were asleep within moments. Severus with Charlie in the smaller of the two tents and the group of three mates in the others. They slept well, having a bed and knowing that Hadrian was safe and with them again. _______________
Hadrian was dropped on their furs with his husband hovering over him on the bed. “Thank you for letting them stay, I’ve missed them.” His voice was quiet but filled with happiness.
“You are mine. If something as simple as this will make you smile, it will be done.” The considerate words moved Hadrian. Who had never believed that he could have someone like the Khal, who is feared by many people around this world, but was still the kind, attentive mate Hadrian had gotten to know.
In that instant Hadrian knew.
Warning - SEX SCENE M/M - Please Skip to next chapter if you need to
He reached forwards and dragged his dominant down on top of him to give him a delicious heated kiss. Tongues dipping in and tasting as Drogo rutted against him lightly.
“Dominant, I want you. Please…” Hadrian broke away from the kiss panting to catch his breath. He felt Drogo pause in his movements, and looked up to see why he stopped. The Khal was looking at him, eyes never wavering from his.
“Are you sure my mate? I will not force myself on you.” He spoke even as his moved his hand to brush Hadrian's hair away from his face, he moved into the action, smiling up at his sweet dominant.
“I am ready Drogo, please take care of me.” The innocence of the words broke through the Khal’s barriers, and he practically tore the shirt off of his Submissive. Before latching his mouth onto the pale neck, sucking and biting lightly at the skin. While his hands started wandering, from his nipples to his stomach and sides, barely grazing the soft skin. He let go of Hadrian’s neck only to pull off his submissives pants. Before shucking his own clothing, revealing the hard massive cock and sculpted body, the sight making Hadrian’s smaller cock twitch in arousal.
Before Drogo had a chance to move back to the bed, Hadrian slid off and walked to his trunk. Quickly pulling out a small bottle of oil before and lying back on the bed of soft furs. Drogo watched, lust darkening his eyes as his mate coated his own fingers and reached down preparing himself for his dominant.
Letting moans and light groans at the feeling of grazing his own prostate left his mouth. The act seemed hotter when Hadrian looked up and saw the larger man stroking his manhood firmly as his eyes never strayed from where his fingers were thrusting into his own hole. After the inserting the fourth finger Hadrian deemed himself properly stretched.
“My mate come here.” Hadrian beckoned Drogo to their bed and let his mate settle between his spread legs, gasping when their cocks brushed up against each other. Hands running over each other’s bodies as their mouths met again and again.
Hadrian reached down with his still slick hand and coated his husband’s manhood, stroking it a few more times than really needed.
“I am ready, please make me yours” Hadrian whispered.
Drogo lined up his manhood before shifting his hips slightly to push in before pulling back out. Each thrust pushing slightly further in, until Hadrian was squirming and panting mess completely overwhelmed by pleasure each time his mate’s cock dragged out and plunged back in hitting that one spot inside him that had him going boneless in bliss.
Drogo gripped his hips in his strong hands as he started going faster, harder until he was practically slamming into his small, pliant, beautiful husband.
The pleasure was overtaking Hadrian and he could feel himself nearing his peak, a few more thrusts from his powerful, deadly mate pushed him over the edge. Hadrian screamed as he came all over their bodies, his mate still plunging his cock into the clenching channel, dragging out his pleasure. After a few more hard, fast thrusts Drogo bowed over Hadrian, biting firmly into his neck and releasing his seed into his mate with a loud growl of completion. The hot feeling filling Hadrian had his eyes closing as he threw his head back onto the furs.
Milking his release for a moment more before stilling and letting them both catch their much needed breath. Drogo pulled out slowly, making sure he was not hurting his mate who gasped at the over stimulation. It was apparent that Hadrian was far to boneless to move, so Drogo moved them both so his mate was one his side head cushioned on Drogo’s arm and the other wrapped securely around Hadrian's trim waist.
They both basked in the feeling of each other and the bond forming between them, they easily slid into content sleep still curled together.__________________________________
Sorry about it being a small chapter, it just seemed like the right place to cut it off.
I do have a poll up so you can let me know which you would like updated first. Thank you and sorry for the HUGE time gap! |
I Still Have to Ask
Jimin and Jungkook spent the rest of that day together. They had stayed with Namjoon and Jin for as long as they could, but Namjoon was exhausted. He only lasted another half an hour before he was practically melting into Jin’s side, his eyes drooping.
Jungkook was surprised to see how comfortable Jin had become with Namjoon within the last week. He remembered that at the feast, Jin was hesitant to let anyone touch him but Jimin, but Jin didn’t seem to have any problem with Namjoon, and the omega had even hugged Jungkook goodbye. It gave Jungkook an exceedingly warm feeling in his chest to see his big brother so happy, even if he was laid up in bed, bandages and salves covering every inch of him.
That wasn’t the only thing that shocked Jungkook. Jimin seemed to be smitten with Namjoon, and he was confused as to how they seemed to know everything about each other, when, to Jungkook’s knowledge, Jimin hadn’t spoken to Namjoon past that terrible sports festival day. Sure, he was aware that Namjoon had practically saved the little omega’s life, but Jimin was giving Namjoon almost the same amount of skinship and smiles as he was giving Jungkook. The alpha was ashamed to say that he almost growled out loud a few times, but Jimin always came back to him after he held Namjoon’s hand or kissed his cheek. Jungkook would have to ask Jimin about it.
Once Jin had finally shooed them from the room, promising the couple that they could see Namjoon after dinner, they made their way to Jimin’s home. They kept their fingers interlocked, and their arms smooshed together, and they both wore goofy grins on their faces. Jungkook found himself leaning down constantly to press his lips to Jimin’s head, or to breathe in his pretty scent.
Jungkook couldn’t get enough of Jimin’s sweet smell. He didn’t dare go as far as to scent the omega, but he allowed himself a little bit of leeway, and he rubbed his face against any other part of Jimin that was available. His arm, wrist, and sometimes, just behind his ear. Jimin didn’t seem to really mind much. Every time Jungkook brought Jimin’s wrist to his face, his lips leaving soft kisses, he could practically feel Jimin purring and he could taste the puffs of air on his tongue that the omega let out. Yes, it made walking to the Main House take longer, and they stumbled every other step, but to the two of them, it was worth it.
They had been starved of each other without even being properly fed in the first place.
When Jungkook finally let Jimin walk, Jimin sighed. He swung their arms in tandem, and smiled up at Jungkook. “All I’ve done this whole week is sleep and… y’know,” he started with a glowing blush on his round cheeks. Jungkook only smiled down at Jimin, his eyes soft. “And right now, all I want to do is crawl into my nest and sleep the rest of the day away.” Jimin yawned, as if he had to prove his point. Jungkook hummed and leaned down to press his lips to Jimin’s soft hair, just because he could.
“I’m sure some of it is from how hard you worked on the festival. I saw you and Taehyung get up early the day of.”
Jimin’s face got more red. “What? When?” Jungkook blinked at the omega. The smaller man seemed to be frantic and embarrassed.
“Um, I was just getting back from the bathroom, and you two passed the window in the front of the cabin on your way to the field.”
Jimin sighed in relief. “Thank the gods. I thought you saw what I had to wake up to do.” Jungkook stopped in his tracks, pulling at Jimin’s arm when the older kept walking. Jimin looked at him, his dark eyebrow raised. “What?”
Jungkook’s teeth showed when he cracked a mischievous smile, crinkles rippling in the skin next to his doe eyes. “What did you have to do, Jiminie?”
It was interesting to see Jimin’s face go from cherry red to ghost white in a matter of seconds. Jimin tried to shake his head like it didn’t matter, and he pulled at Jungkook’s arm to move him from his spot, but it was like the alpha had grown roots deep into the ground. “C’mon sweet one, you gotta tell me now,” Jungkook cooed, his shoulders jerking with how hard Jimin was pulling. “It’s rude to keep secrets.”
Jimin rolled his eyes and huffed at the pet name, though it made his heart flutter. He would never admit that though. “Nothing, Jungkookie, the betas just put the previous prizes out too early, and it snowed, so the scent markers were gone, so I had to see to that,” Jimin whined. Jungkook only chuckled, his smile getting wider. Jimin thought that he really did look like a bunny. A really evil bunny.
“And how did you make new scent markers so fast, hm?”
Jimin scoffed and dropped Jungkook’s hand, and turned around and crossed his arms. “It’s none of your business what a Head Omega does in times of need.” He tossed his chin up in the air and flipped his hair over his shoulder. Jungkook came up behind him and put his thick arms around Jimin, making Jimin feel incredibly warm and safe, even though there was no danger present. Jimin tried to suppress a shudder when Jungkook leaned down to his ear, his breath ghosting over Jimin’s cheek.
“Was that why the forest smelled so damn enticing? Why the pretty smell of vanilla and caramel seemed to be everywhere?”
Jimin felt his insides melting, and his legs suddenly felt wobbly. Jungkook’s heavy scent of leather soaked into Jimin’s skin, and he wanted to be wrapped up in it forever. Jungkook brought his hands up to Jimin’s shoulders and began to rub the pads of his thumbs into the stiff muscles. Jimin leaned back into the alpha and sighed, his eyes slipping shut. Jungkook kept his mouth near Jimin’s ear, a pleased rumble working its way through his chest. “Ah, but little Jiminie, I don’t want any other alpha to have your scent with them, even if it fades,” he mumbled, nosing at Jimin’s hair just above his ear. “Promise me, little omega, that your scent it going to be all mine. I want you to be just mine.”
In a show of extreme trust and submission, Jimin lifted his head, exposing his neck. He leaned his head on Jungkook’s shoulder, his eyes still closed tightly. “Wh- What else of mine do you want?” Jimin whispered, his voice scratchy and used. Jungkook smiled against Jimin’s ear and Jimin might have imagined it, but he thought he felt Jungkook rock softly against him. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking. Jungkook hummed, and Jimin felt goosebumps rise on his skin from his thighs to his shoulders. Jungkook dug his fingers into the back of Jimin’s neck muscles, making the omega make the smallest sound of pleasure.
“I want all of you, little omega,” Jungkook mumbled into Jimin’s hot ear. “I want your scent, your laugh, your smile. I want your tears, your sadness, your body. I want everything, and anything you have. You are mine, and mine alone from now on, love. Do you understand, Omega?”
Jimin definitely wasn’t imagining Jungkook rocking against him. He could feel every part of Jungkook against his back. His chest, his thighs, his hips. He felt like he could drown in what Jungkook was. Alpha. He couldn’t even smell himself past Jungkook. A part of Jimin knew what Jungkook was doing, and he knew that if he broke away, Jungkook wouldn’t think that Jimin needed him, and that would break the alpha.
Jungkook was staking his claim as Jimin’s alpha to Jimin’s omega. This process wasn’t usually necessary, as courting pairs were never really torn apart, nor had the couples imprinted on each other like Jimin and Jungkook had. But, they had imprinted on each other, and they had been torn apart. Jungkook’s alpha wanted Jimin’s omega to know that he was there, and that no one else was going to take them apart again. When they had been pushed apart, Jungkook’s pride as an alpha had been damaged, and he had to show his omega that he was good enough to hold them together. And Jimin couldn’t break away from that, couldn’t allow Jungkook to feel like that, so he allowed Jungkook to do what he needed to feel confident in himself again.
Jimin rolled his hips ever so slightly to meet Jungkook’s. “I understand, Alpha,” Jimin breathed against Jungkook’s cheek. “I want to be yours, and for you to be only mine.”
After Jimin had said his piece, he could practically feel all the tension in Jungkook’s body release. Jungkook seemed to blink and come back into full awareness and control of his body. He sighed in what Jimin assumed was relief, and turned to kiss Jimin’s cheek, making Jimin giggle. “Good.” Jungkook took a step away from Jimin, and Jimin fought off the urge to whine. He liked to have Jungkook close. The alpha grabbed Jimin’s small hand and tugged him gently towards Jimin’s home. “But there is still someone that I have to ask.”
Jimin’s eyebrow shot up. “If you’re talking about Taehyung, he already consented to us seeing each other.”
Jungkook only smiled down at Jimin, the softness coming back into his eyes. “Yes, but I still have to ask. Beta partners work a little differently in my pack, so I don’t want there to be any hard feelings between your partner and I.”
Jimin looked down and smiled. “I think Taehyung will appreciate that. Thank you.”
…
Jimin’s house was eerily quiet. It had been for the past few months. His father didn’t come out of his private room very often anymore, and his mother hadn’t spoken with Jimin one on one in almost a month. Jin’s terrible tragedy had broken his parents, their bond and their home. But because of Jimin and Taehyung and Jin, they kept the fires lit and the house clean from cobwebs. They kept the life in the house that had been snuffed out by some awful stranger, even if their parents were so heartbroken and shattered to be able to do so. Jimin wished so desperately that he could see his father smile and laugh again like he used to, but at the moment he didn’t see if it was possible, and the mans once warm brown eyes had turned hollow, and sad.
Once Jungkook had entered the warm cabin, he leaned down to take his shoes off, just as Jimin did. When he stood back up, he realized how hard his heart was pounding from nervousness. He bit his lip and looked to Jimin, who just smiled and took Jungkook’s hand once again. “It’s going to be okay, Kookie, Taehyung is actually really nice once you get to know him.”
Jungkook’s voice seemed to have dried up along with his throat, so only nodded. Jimin giggled and pulled Jungkook down the hallway. “He’s probably in his room. He knew that I was going to be busy today, so he usually just stays home.” Jungkook sniffed around, trying to see if he could catch the beta’s scent.
“Are you sure he’s here? I can’t really smell him.”
Jimin chuckled and nodded. “I can smell him, he’s here.”
The couple stopped in front of a brown door, and Jimin squeezed Jungkook’s hand before the latter swallowed once again and nodded. Jimin smiled and tapped his fist on the door three times. There was a beat of silence before a deep voice quietly asked them to come in. Jungkook was just surprised to hear the other speak, much less be allowed entry into the beta’s territory, though he supposed that that would be what Taehyung would want. Jungkook was on Taehyung’s turf, and the beta would have the upper hand.
Jimin released Jungkook’s hand and went to put his arms around Taehyung. Taehyung smiled softly at the omega, and his small coo of “TaeTae” as he hugged the omega back. Once again, Jungkook fought off the urge to growl. Jungkook wasn’t aware that he had zoned out until Jimin coughed into his hand, trying to get the alpha’s attention. Jungkook felt his ears go red in embarrassment. When he tried to start, his mouth opening and a big breath being taken in, he found that he couldn’t speak. He snapped his mouth back shut and shuffled his feet.
Taehyung didn’t look very impressed. He had his arms crossed over his chest, and one of his eyebrows had disappeared into his hairline. Jimin smiled a sweet small smile.
“TaeTae, Jungkookie would like to ask you something.” Jimin went to Jungkook and pushed the alpha forward until he and Taehyung were standing only a foot apart. He cursed in his head when he noticed that the beta was inches taller than him. Jungkook steeled his nerves and looked the beta in the eye and took another breath.
“I wanted to ask you in person for permission to court Head Omega Jimin. I know that we didn’t get off on the right foot, and for that I apologize. I hope that we can work past that and become friends, because you are important to Jimin, and Jimin is very important to me,” Jungkook managed to say in one breath. Taehyung blinked and smiled sweetly down at Jungkook.
“No.”
The breath felt like it had been knocked out of Jungkook, and his blood boiled in anger before Jimin laughed and punched Taehyung in the arm. “Don’t be mean, Tae. Stop teasing.”
Jungkook felt himself deflate as Taehyung just laughed. “Don’t worry baby alpha, I already gave my permission. Though, I thank you for asking.” Taehyung stuck his hand out. Jungkook had half a mind to ignore it and storm out, but he knew that that would just lead to more trouble, so he took it in his own. Taehyung gripped it with an iron grip, and Jungkook didn’t back down either. They kept up their mini war, neither of them backing down until Jimin groaned and jumped onto Jungkook’s shoulders, making the alpha stumble, breaking their hands apart.
“Men,” Jimin grumbled.
…
I Want What’s Best
Ever since Namjoon was hospitalized, Jin had been spending less and less time at the Main House. Even on the rare occasion that he wasn’t right at Namjoon’s side, he spent his time exploring his village. He thought of it as a re-education. He felt that he spent so long in the cabin after the incident, that he had to teach himself how to be human again, how to trust. He was still hesitant to go up and talk to his fellow pack mates, even if they had been friends or acquaintances before everything had happened, but he was trying.
Jin had gone out with Jimin on a few of his daily runs at the beginning, teaching the next Head about the ins and outs of the pack dynamics, how to treat certain people, and a few tricks to getting things done faster, and they both had enjoyed it, but Jin could always tell that Jimin wanted to be with Jungkook instead. It wasn’t that the alpha wasn’t invited on these little excursions, but Jungkook didn’t seem to want to encroach on “omega time” as he had so eloquently called it.
Jimin was gracious to Jin and Jin loved to teach the omega, but he noticed how antsy Jimin got after about an hour, and how he would try to sniff at the cloak he always wore without being too obvious. So, Jin told him that he would make omega time only twice a week, instead of the four that it had been, and that Jimin could walk around with Jungkook instead. When Jimin tried to protest, albeit a little weakly and unenthusiastically, Jin just explained that if Jimin and Jungkook were to mate, and everyone knew that they were, Jungkook would retake his position as Head Alpha once again, and that he needed to learn the ways of the Kim Pack even more so than Jimin. He convinced him that it was for the best.
…
When Jin wasn’t walking around camp alone, he was, of course, at Namjoon’s side. While Namjoon slept, Jin liked to read or knit. He could read pretty well, though his knitting needed a little work. Namjoon slept most of the time, but he didn’t mind. The alpha needed it.
But, Jin loved when Namjoon was awake. Namjoon liked to talk about everything and nothing. Namjoon had a soft and awkward way about him, and most of the time it had Jin besides himself with laughter. He brought Namjoon books, and they would sometimes read together, though Namjoon read much faster than Jin could ever hope to, but Namjoon was content to lean over Jin’s shoulder as they snuggled together, and read at Jin’s pace.
Namjoon taught him many wondrous things; the names of flowers, of diseases, of wars fought so far back in history it made Jin’s head spin.
The only infuriating part was that Namjoon kept trying to get out of bed. Almost three times a day, Jin would have to coax, read: push, the alpha back into his cot to keep him from moving too much. Namjoon explained that he just wanted to see if he could walk, but Jin wasn’t having any of it. Again, Jin had to explain that if he moved on it too early, he risked the chance of injuring himself more, and then perhaps he wouldn’t ever walk again. When Namjoon pouted, he only said that it was for the best.
…
It was at the end of the evening. It was when the sun touched the earth, and the snow covered land was painted in red and pink. Jin would be back at the cabin by then, usually. Sometimes he wasn’t, but more often than not, he was.
He did it for his father mostly.
He wanted to give his father a little bit of peace of mind. He knew his father wasn’t the same after what had happened to him, even when his father told him time and time again that he was fine. Jin would whisper to his father that he didn’t blame him, not at all. It wasn’t his father’s responsibility to watch over Jin every heat, and he couldn’t have known, how could anyone have known.
Jin had told the Head Alpha once that as the Head Alpha he had much more important things to look after than Jin twenty four seven. He had bigger responsibilities, and more to do.
That was the first time Jin had seen his father cry.
His father had shaken his head and grabbed Jin’s shoulders, though not painfully hard. He had jostled Jin around gently and almost begged him to never say such things again. Jin cried right along with his father when Head Alpha Kim had said that, no, he didn’t have any greater responsibility than that of his family’s wellfare. Jin was his son, his son , and he hadn’t been there to protect the only thing worth protecting, and for that he could never be the same.
Jin spent most nights with his father, trying to get him to laugh. He never really talked about his precious pup growing inside of him, and he never mentioned that day again. Slowly, so painfully slow that Jin was sure the ice would melt off the top of the mountains before it would happen, his father’s eyes began to sparkle like they once did. His mouth would upturn in a small smile, and then bigger and brighter ones as time went on. His small chuckles changed into something loud and earth shaking again, and Jin was forever grateful.
His father began to go out again, to lead. His curly hair was streaked with gray now, and he was more strict about the omega curfew and heat protection, but he was The Head Alpha once more, and Jin was so, so proud. It definitely took the amounting pressure off of Jimin. Jin was giddy with excitement at seeing the two interact like they used to again, though he felt bad for Jungkook, who was almost literally pushed to the side whenever Jimin got the opportunity to walk the camp with their father.
He had asked the alpha how he felt about Jungkook one night, and his father just smirked and shook his head. Jin couldn’t help but laugh when his father’s response was “maybe if the baby alpha would stick around longer than thirty seconds without pissing his pants in fear, then I would know about him”.
Though he did say on another night that he would never think anyone would be good enough for his children, and that he wished that he could have kept them innocent and pups forever. Then he had done something he had never done or seemed to want to do before. He lifted his large, warm hand, and gently placed it on Jin’s slowly growing stomach. Tears sprung the Jin’s eyes the second it happened, and his father had only kept his hand there for a second more before he sighed and pat down Jin’s unruly hair. Jin had hugged his father after that, and when he pulled away, he smiled, saying that perhaps growing up was hard, and it must have been so difficult for them to watch their children grow up, but maybe everything that had happened had happened just the way it was supposed to, and it was for the best that it had.
His father gave him a short nod, and said “I hope so.”
…
It was in the darkest part of the night when Jin got to talk to his most favorite person. He would curl up into the tightest ball he could manage without squishing his little bump, and he would wrap his thin fingers over his tummy, and he would just whisper sweet little words and coos to his little one. He would tell his pup what his day was like, what he was missing out on from in there. He would giggle and hum, and he would sometimes cry. His heart swelled when he thought about holding his little pup, and his chest grew warm.
Sometimes he would just breathe. In and out, in and out.
Jin only wanted what was best for everyone, even if made himself get dragged through the mud. He would walk on hot coals, or shards of glass for the people he loved and cherished. He put himself last so that everyone else would be first, because that’s what they deserved. It wasn’t that he thought he didn’t deserve it, he just thought… that was for the best.
…
Catch Me if You Can
Jungkook had a bit of an issue.
When he had asked Taehyung all those weeks ago if he could court Jimin, he expected to be able to prove and show his love through soft touches and barely there caresses. What he got instead was strictly chaperoned dates, and camp walking with the Head Alpha every other day, though he tried to avoid the camp walks, because even if he wasn’t coherent during his forced rut, he still remembers the Head Alpha’s wolf, and it scared him shitless. He had never seen one that big.
When he saw how ecstatic that Jimin was with his father, he decided that that wasn’t his biggest concern, and he was happy that Jimin was happy, even if he didn’t quite understand why. Jungkook’s biggest problem was with his closely monitored dates.
There would always be someone watching them, which was all fine and good, because Jimin was the next Head Omega, but he wasn’t allowed to do anything .
Sure, it was nice to get to know Jimin on a very intellectual and innocent level at first . He had learned that Jimin wasn’t a big fan of boar meat, and that his favorite color was red, and that he came from a nomadic tribe. He did notice Jimin’s hesitance to talk about his tribe, so he didn’t push it, but he saved that and a million other things for future conversations when they really got to know each other, and trust was built, but come on. He just wanted to be let a little loose.
One time, he had tried to put his arm around Jimin, like his shoulders, and Taehyung had pinched him. Hard. Another time, he had leant down to kiss the top of Jimin’s head, and he thought that Yoongi was going to blast a hole into him with how hard he had punched his stomach. The only one he got away with anything around was Hoseok, and that was only because Hoseok got distracted by anything shiny, even though he was under strict orders not to leave their side. They hadn’t even gotten to kiss yet.
This was how Jungkook enacted his “Get a Little Bit of Action” plan. He waited, patiently and innocently, for the fateful day when Hoseok would be their chaperone. They were far and few between, but finally, on their one month anniversary, it happened.
Hoseok had gone over to a fruit farmer who was selling his wares, and he wasn’t paying attention to Jimin or Jungkook. Jungkook snatched Jimin’s arm and whispered in his ear to run. Jimin giggled quietly, and ran next to Jungkook, who had a stupid grin on his face. They ran straight into the forest and stopped near a small river, collapsing next to each other, their breaths creating small clouds in the air.
Jungkook caught his breath faster and rolled over onto a very surprised, but very willing Jimin. Jungkook planted his elbows next to Jimin’s head to hold most of his weight off of the omega, and Jimin moved his legs so that the alpha was snuggled neatly between them. Jimin laced his arms around Jungkook’s neck, and Jungkook was once again smacked in the face with how pretty Jimin was.
His silver hair caught what little light was peeking through the trees, and it fanned out on the ground around his head. His chubby cheeks were rouged from running and the cold, and his plump lips were curved up in a gorgeous smile. His evergreen eyes sparkled as they stared up into Jungkook’s own doe brown. Jungkook could feel Jimin’s breath on his mouth, and he could taste that sweet scent. Jungkook smiled down at the omega, a gentle smile that no one else ever saw, and he leaned down and brushed their noses together.
Jimin squirmed and giggled, his tiny nose scrunching in delight. He massaged the back of Jungkook’s head, and Jungkook groaned at the feeling.
“You’re really pretty, did you know that?” Jungkook asked, his voice hushed and gentle. A different kind of blush rose on Jimin’s cheeks.
“I do actually know that, but you aren’t too bad looking yourself,” Jimin answered back, his voice just as soft. “Did you know that?”
Jungkook snickered and nodded his head, and Jimin laughed with him. His eyes travelled across Jimin’s face again as if he was trying to drink in every detail of Jimin’s face. Jimin closed his eyes, his dark eyelashes brushing the tops of his cheeks, creating a stark contrast to the paleness of his skin. The alpha continued to stare until his eyes trailed down to Jimin’s pink lips, and Jimin opened his eyes, and Jungkook felt his heart stutter at the look in them.
He had never thought that anyone would look at him in that way. He had seen his father look at his mother in such a way, and he had caught glimpses of it with Namjoon and Jin, but he never thought he would get that for himself. He felt his eyes get wet, though he was nowhere close to tears. He used the pads of his thumbs to stroke at Jimin’s soft skin as he leaned down to barely brush their lips together.
Lightning.
All he could feel was the tingling sensation in his lips and the thrumming of his heart. He couldn’t even move as Jimin pulled Jungkook down to him, this kiss lasting longer than the first one. It was still a closed mouth affair, but Jungkook thought it was perfect. They pulled away after a few seconds, and after a few more seconds of staring at each other, their hearts beating in tandem, they closed the space between them again and again. It was Jimin who furthered along the kisses, and he swiped his tongue along Jungkook’s bottom lip.
Jungkook gasped and shot up the few inches that he could, and he looked at Jimin for only a moment, his eyes on fire, and his chest filling with tingling lightning storms, before he crashed down onto Jimin, his warm tongue parting Jimin’s lips and carefully exploring the drug that was his omega.
Jimin tasted so good. His mouth was flavored like the finest caramel one could buy, and it was soft and welcoming.
Jungkook slowly stroked the top of Jimin’s mouth with his tongue, and Jimin shifted and moaned softly. His small fingers tightened in Jungkook’s hair, and Jungkook found that he liked the small amount of pain. Their tongues played a game of cat and mouse, but Jungkook won this game. He pushed his hips further down onto Jimin, his lips moving against Jimin’s in perfect sync. Jimin groaned again, and his own hips rolled ever so lightly against the ground and Jungkook. The alpha growled in approval, and he found one of his hands tracing down Jimin’s arm, and to the bottom of Jimin’s tunic.
Just as he was about the slip his frozen fingers underneath the thin fabric, leaves and branches crunched near them, and he tore himself away from a very confused and whiny Jimin. Suddenly, Hoseok breached their hiding spot, his face flushed and his eyebrows drawn together. In short, he didn’t look too happy.
“You guys are in so much trouble!” he shouted, and Jungkook rolled his eyes, taking Jimin’s hand to help him up. “Wait until I tell Yoongi and Taehyung,” Hoseok continued, wagging his finger at the two of them. He leaned on his knees to catch his breath, and that's when Jungkook knew he could make his escape once again. Jungkook gripped Jimin’s hand tighter.
“Yeah, that’s if you can catch us!”
Jimin laughed wildly when Jungkook began to pull him along, and he found himself cackling in pure delight. Heavy talks about heavy things could wait for heavy times. Jungkook just wanted to spend every waking moment in the moment with Jimin, and Jimin didn’t seem to want to have it any other way.
|
"Oh, my God. I'm against Todoroki." Izuku gulped as he stared at the board. He started to shake and mutter, unable to comprehend why he was going against Todoroki.
Shouto, meanwhile, was ecstasic. He would go against Midoriya in the next battle and he would totally destroy him. He would show that crybaby that he was stronger than him.
Meanwhile in another part of the stadium
"Dad?"
Enji froze on the spot upon hearing that voice. Clenching his fists in his pockets, he slowly turned around and looked at Fuyumi, who was dressed in a light casual clothing, holding a purse. It looked like she came straight from work.
"Fuyumi....?" Saying her name felt so foreign on his tongue, realizing how much he missed saying her name, how he missed her. "Fuyumi." He spoke more softly, handling her name with care.
"Dad." Fuyumi's voice cracked and she ran towards him, throwing herself into his arms, sobbing into his shoulder. "Dad....dad...." She clung onto his shirt, staining it with her tears.
"Shh, shh. It's alright, Fuyumi. Everything's alright." He was close to tears himself but he needed to comfort his daughter. Rei be damned, Fuyumi needed him.
"You sure about this, Fuyumi?" Enji fidled with the keys from his car, Fuyumi walking beside him. "Yes, I'm sure. I want to spend some time with my dad, is that bad?" She smiled up at him, squeezing his hand until they arrived next to his car.
"You got a new car, dad?" Fuyumi slid into the passenger's seat, sliding her fingertips on the black leather of the seat, looking at the black interior of the car. Enji slid into the driver's seat, closing the door and starting the car. "Yeah. Sometimes even I want to indulge myself." It drew a giggle from Fuyumi, making Enji smile a little.
"You drink coffee?" Enji asked as he drove, looking straight ahead. "I know a really great Café here in the city." "Of course I do, dad. As a teacher I wouldn't survive without a good cup of coffee." Fuyumi answered, looking out the window as the city passed by.
It was a short, five minutes drive and they arrived at a cozy looking Café. "And we're here." Fuyumi noticed that Enji's tone of voice is much more softer and lighter.
They got out of the car and entered the Café. Sitting at the far back as to not draw attention but at the same time they had a nice view on the TV that was there. Both ordering a cup of coffee, their orders quickly came and they engaged in a conversation.
"So...how's work?" Fuyumi asked and sipped at her coffee. "Good, good. Villains don't show their faces in the city when I'm patrolling and my sidekicks also report calm afternoon and nights." Enji sipped at his own coffee, Fuyumi noticed that he relaxed but it was invisible to people that didn't know him.
"Are you getting enough sleep?" This was a dreaded question by both parties, Fuyumi worrying that her dad was overworking herself and Enji lying to his daughter.
"Of course I do." Enji lied and Fuyumi looked like she believed him. "Alright." She nodded and she turned her head to look at the TV. "It's Shouto..." She said and Enji looked and indeed there was Shouto against....Izuku?
"Oh no." Enji didn't know if she was more worried about Shouto or Izuku. He didn't know much about Izuku but he knew that Shouto could harm if he wanted to.
He experienced it first hand.
A shudder ran down his spine as he recalled the moment for a brief moment before looking back at the TV.
Both of the boys walked into the ring, determination written all over their face. "FROM THE HERO COURSE, IT'S MIDORYIA IZUKU AGAINST ALSO FROM THE HERO COURSE, TODOROKI SHOUTO!" Present Mic shouted and the crowd cheered, Cementoss sitting nearby in case he needed to stop the fight.
"Ready?! Fight!" Midnight whipped her whip and the fight began. "I'm going to kill you!" Shouto waves his arm, using his right side- mother's side- to freeze Izuku instantly but Izuku flicked his finger and destroyed the ice with the wind. "I'm going to prove that I'm stronger than you!" Shouto send another wall of ice at him, Izuku destroying it again.
"Prove what?! Prove it to who?! You're already stronger than me! Your father! Is a proud father!" Proud of you!" Izuku charged forward. "Shut up! You know nothing!" Shouto kept sending walls of ice at Izuku.
"I know more than you do."
"Izuku?"
"Y-Yes, Mr. Todoroki?" Izuku piped and looked at Enji. "How's Shouto? Is he good at school? Is he making any sort of troubles?" He asked, looking into the cup of coffee.
"Uhh....Me and Todoroki-kun don't talk much but he's one of the best in class and he doesn't stir any sort of trouble in there....if he does it's usually someone's else fault." Izuku's mind supplied the word 'Kachan' but he didn't say it.
"So he's good." Enji mumbled. "Yeah, yeah he is. One of the best." Izuku confirmed.
"I'm so proud of him...so proud..." Enji didn't realize that he was talking to himself a lonely tear sliding down his cheek.
Izuku and Inko looked at one another.
"I KNOW MORE THAN YOU DO!"
Everything became a blurr.
A horrid pain in his arm brought him back to reality and he hissed in pain, blinking a few times and looking around the quiet stadium.
Todoroki was nowhere to be seen and everyone was shocked into silence. Izuku looked down if he didn't cross the line. Thankfully, he didn't.
Present Mic was the first to recover. "MIDORYIA IZUKU IS THE WINNER!" Midnight rises her arm, signaling victory and the crowd cheered.
Izuku was rushed into the Nurse's office but was unable to continue, when Recovery girl refused to heal his injuries.
Shouto was also rushed into the nurse's office, unconscious with broken nose, jaw and arm, blood dripping down his chin from his broken nose. He didn't wake up for the rest of the day.
Both Enji and Fuyumi were stunned into silence. The whole Café was chatting about the recent fight but not Fuyumi and Enji.
Fuyumi slowly turned to look at her dad who was still looking at the TV. "Dad?" She spoke softly, drawing Enji's attention. "I know Shouto lost-" Enjoy shook his head. "I'm still proud Shouto got this far. Izuku is the one who surprised me."
He took another sip lf his coffee. "We're supposed to hand our internships after The Sports Festival. As much as I want to have Shouto as my intern, he wouldn't want and if Rei found out about it she would take me to court." Looking at Fuyumi, he smiled weakly. "I'm going to have Izuku as my intern."
Fuyumi looked surprised and then she smiled brightly. Seeing her dad smile and talk about an internship with such a joy- and you can't convince her otherwise- after everything what happened was such a nice change.
She just hoped that things would get better.
Rei was driving home with Natsuo on the passenger's seat. "Still a good thing little bro got some far." Natsuo was looking out the window at the passing scenery. Rei hummes in agreement.
They visited Shouto as soon as possible and Recovery girl told him that he had broken nose, jaw and arm. Shouto would be unable to continue but both he and Izuku shared a second place. Didn't matter. Her baby boy still won.
But what made her curious was that Fuyumi didn't show up. They were texting during the games and Fuyumi promised that she would come, almost finished with her work.
Rei tapped her nail on the wheel, frowning slightly. There was something weird about it. Oh, well. She would ask Fuyumi when she came home.
|
“Say, who wants to go see an art exhibition? I managed to get us tickets from one of my clients,” Eunae brandishes the tickets, fanning herself with them.
It's been a week since Jimin had tried to get in contact with his father. Perhaps this is what he needed, to sit at a bar with his friends.
“Is it going to be fancy?” Jungkook asks.
“Super fancy! Black tie and gowns event. Where they hand out cheese and food we haven't heard of on platters.
“I'm down!” Jin exclaims, “I want free food.”
“You are a literal chef, you can make the food they serve,” Yoongi huffs embarrassed at his friends enthusiasm.
“Yeah but I have to pay for the ingredients and then make it, this way I just get to eat it.”
Yoongi rolls his eyes.
“I wanna go! Yoongi won't it be great to see all the pieces of art?” Hana asks wrapping one arm around Yoongis, latching onto his side.
He tries to extract his arm from her grip but she holds firm, he can't simply shake her off while sitting because it would seem rude.
Everyone at the table a grinning like cats that got the canary, Jimin leaning into Jin's shoulder to hide his chuckle. Yoongi glares at him from across the table but doesn't say anything.
Jimin knows he should probably say something at this point but watching Yoongi squirm a little makes him feel good. It's petty and he knows it but he can't help it at this point.
“I'll be going, Wonho, Hobi and I play a game of 'this piece here…’ where we make up weird stories about the art, or what we see.” Jimin lifts his head out of Jins shoulder enough to reply.
“Yeah and then Namjoon ruins it with his philosophy and art appreciation,” Hoseok adds.
“Excuse you, I educate you heathens about art. You've said you're inspiration came from when you've vomited into a toilet and missed only to get some on the floor, while playing that game.”
But Joonie, it did look like sick on the floor.” Wonho whines.
“Yes but the artist that was standing a foot away didn't need to hear that his art looks like sick.”
“Ok that's fair, but if you're going to paint sick, then expect people to acknowledge that it's sick.”
“At least it wasn't as bad as the pooh art incident.” Jimin laughs, “Wonho made someone cry cos he said it looks like shit. But he meant it literally looked like a pooh.”
“It did! It looked like pooh with arms and legs.”
The table is laughing, Jimin with tears pouring down his face, Jins window wiper laugh in full swing, Eunae slapping Baram in her mirth, Hoseok and namjoon are curled into one another laughing, Jungkook banging the table, Hana is hiding her laughter in Yoongis arm, while he tries to pull away from her grip while she's distracted. It's doesn't work.
“What- oh god. What was it meant to be?” Jin asks. Wiping Jimins tears for him.
“Seaweed. He'd made a seaweed figurine.”
“How does seaweed look like pooh?”
“It was dried bull kelp all put together to make a body. With metal arms, and he'd used hormosira to decorate. It looked like pooh,” Jimin giggles, “and Wonho just walks up to it and says it looks like shit to the person standing by it.. And it was the artist! he started to cry!”
“I didn't know he was the artist when I said it! I didn't mean to make him cry! And I apologized to him and bought the piece. So now I have a giant pooh person in my home.”
“It lives in his bathroom! He uses it to keep the spare toilet paper on the arms after he broke the hands off when he got it.” Jimin howls.
The group erupt at that.
“I didn't know that was how you got that! I thought it was there for support,” Eunae laughs.
“I'll go, if Wonho goes, he's a walking disaster and I need to see it,” Jungkook butts in.
“Me too!”
“Yeah I need to see.”
“I'm in!”
The others agree to attend.
“Great, because it's next Friday at eight, I expect you all to be dressed in your finest suits and gowns. Jewelry is a must as well as make up. Omegas we can all meet at mine to get ready. Alphas you have to sort yourselves out.”
“Can I invite someone?” Wonho asks.
“You may, but I'll need a name, how you met, phone number, or social media account, and a lock of hair.”
“It's Ping, I met him at my cooking classes with Jin, and no.”
“Great, tell him he can get ready with us if he wants.”
“I'll pick him up and meet you there if that's ok.”
“Romantic, will you get a limo there?”
“No! Why would I do that?!”
“Because it's sweet! At least get a nice car to take you, you can't take a date to a fancy art thing in a taxi!”
The omegas nod along with Eunae.
“What's wrong with a taxi, he doesn't like fuss and bother.”
“Lee Wonho, so help me god I will call your mother and tell her what you said right now, if you don't agree to pick up your date in a nice car.”
“Please you don't even know my mother. A taxi will be fine.”
Eunae pulls out her phone fiddling around with it and pressing buttons angrily. Pulling it up to her ear.
“Hello, Mrs Lee? It's me Eunae I'm friends with Wonho. Your son just told us that he is going to be picking up his omegan date for a fancy art gallery in a taxi.”
Eunae is nodding, “yes it's black tie. Very formal. Yes he said a taxi, with its ugly colours and sign. Ok thank you.”
Eunae hands the phone over, “your mother's would like to talk to you.”
Wonho gulps as he takes the phone bringing it up to his ear, “hello.”
He pulls the phone away as yelling can be heard from the phone. Wonho has gone pale, a sweat broken out on his brow from the scolding his mother is giving him.
“But-”
“He-”
“It’s-”
“Ok, I'll get a nice car-”
“A limo, and roses, and chocolates, and wine.”
“Ok love you too.”
He breathes a sigh of relief as he hangs up, “thank you for that Eunae, now my mother wants to meet him and it's going to be our first official date at the art show.”
“It's your own fault, who picks a date up in a taxi?”
“Someone who is having a first date with a very shy person. My mum's are going to be expecting pups in six months after next week from the way you went on.”
“If your date goes well, you might be able to fulfill that.” Jin winks.
Wonho groans, “I need fresh air.”
After he has left the table Yoongi manages to get his arm free from Hana's grip with an excuse of needing the bathroom.
Jimin scoots around to sit next to Hana, their friends breaking into conversation between themselves. However he knows it's a ruse, and that they are listening in.
“A month in how are you feeling? Nauseous?”
“Nope, it's been quite nice actually, I've been starting to feel the fatigue and hunger though!” Hana starts, “and look, lil baby bump!”
It's true that there is a little bump under her shirt but it could also easily be food at this point. Jimin hated himself for his pessimistic view but sadly it's the truth, rather than the delusion she is trying to spin.
“Look Hana,” Jimin lowers his voice so only they can hear, “I know Yoongi was with me the last moon. So maybe it's best you stop with all this. I know you aren't dating. And I know you aren't mated either.”
“What are you talking about? Yoongi was with me for my heat! And we have been together for four months! When it's right it's right Jimin. It's sad that you're jealous of our relationship but if you pulled your head out of your arse maybe you'd find someone too,” Hana hisses at Jimin.
“Hana, Yoongi and I mated when I was seventeen. We are soulmates, there is no way that he mated you. Soulmates mate for life. So stop your bullshit and get over yourself. Yoongi is mine, you're delusional to think the way you do. Your building your life in lies and it's only going to get worse the longer you leave it.” Jimin announciates each syllable loudly and clearly, inner omega howling at his claim.
Hana scoffs, “yeah, where's your mating mark then? See this is why no alpha wants you, your headstrong and preach about how you're so much better than everyone else.”
“I'll show you mine if you show me yours,” Jimin says smugly.
Hana had taken to wearing high collared shirts or scarves. Hiding her scent, in perfumes and layers. Never showing off her mark to anyone.
Hana pushes past him to get out of the booth, “I don't need this! You shouldn't be treating me like this! I'm pregnant, think of what this stress is doing to my pup!”
“What's going on here?” Yoongi rejoins the group.
“Yoongi, we're together right? You're my mate.”
“Yoongi, this idiot is saying we aren't mated with a pup on the way, tell him we're together!”
Yoongi looks stunned at what's just been shouted at him.
Yoongi sits down pulling Jimin into his chest, “I'm with Jimin, he's my soulmate. I don't know what your issue is but we aren't dating, I didn't mate you, and I certainly did not breed you. It's physically impossible for me to have done the last two. Soulmates are made for each other, I can't mate or breed anyone else but my omega and that's Jimin.”
Hana storms off, and Jimin finally notices that it's gone quiet. Looking around he sees a few sympathetic glances his way and a few glares thrown at Hana's retreating form.
He's quietly preening about Yoongi choosing him over Hana but nuzzles into Yoongis neck to keep himself from prideful boasting.
Yoongi is rubbing his back gently, hand sliding up and down his back stopping to massage his neck.
“So, that just happened.” Jin takes a sip of his drink.
“Let's not talk about it ok,” Yoongi states hand continues to rub soothingly at Jimins back.
“yeah, I wanna hear about NamSeoks date over the weekend,” Baram
“NamSeok went on a date and you didn't tell me?” Eunae screeches.
“They came into work on my shift. And I saw them when they entered the rock exhibition.”
“Yeah we went on a date, were trying something out. Since we both like Jin we thought we'd date and see if it could work if it were a three-way couple.” Hoseok says.
“You went on a date and I wasn't invited, I'm hurt.” Jin pouts.
“Does it?” Jimin asks.
“I don't know yet, it's still early.” Namjoon answers,“Can we go back to the NamSeok thing? What the hell is that?”
“It's your ship name, we all have one,” Eunae chirps, “we have Yoonmin over there, Barae is ours, Nam2Seok is all three of your together, but if you break them up it can be; NamJin, NamSeok, or 2Seok. I suppose if Wonhos date goes well it would be WonPing?”
“I like Pingho, sounds like a children's character.” Jungkook says.
“HoPing? That's cute!” Jimin squirms on Yoongis laps in excitement at his genius.
“I like HoPing the best, but I swear if you guys mention this to him, I will murder you all.”
“But how was it? You said you were trying something?” Baram asks again.
“We both like Jin, and we know that he likes us.” Namjoon starts, “but it's not really fair to anyone if he has to choose.”
“And since Joonie and I are good friends we thought maybe we could date and see if that would work out.” Hoseok continues.
“Then if we found we were compatible we could simply all be together. Since we already know we get along well with Jin.”
“Yet you didn't think to run this passed me?”
“We thought we see if it would work first, if it didn't then it could cause some issues.” Namjoon explains.
“Fine, but I still would have liked to have been informed.”
“So how was it? Feel anything?” Eunae asks.
“I mean, honestly, it felt like we were just hanging out.”
Namjoon nods, “yeah, it was as if Hoseok had invited me to see a new exhibit at the museum.”
“You didn't hold hands? Or do any of the other sappy date shit,” Jungkook asks.
“It felt weird. I wanted to but should I be the one to initiate? Or would that come off as me trying to dominate him, which I don't want.”
“Hold hands now then. Until the end of the night. Then you'll know at least of you can handle that much.” Yoongi suggests.
They shuffle the table around so that Namjoon and Hoseok are sitting together. They place their hands together interlocking their fingers and placing their conjoined hand on the table.
“So how does that feel?” Jin asks.
The entire table are staring at them waiting for an answer.
“It's not bad?”
“Yeah it's like it feels nice because I'm holding someone's hand, and that's always nice. But at the same time I know it should be more and I want it to be more so that it's easier on everyone but it's just holding someone's hand.” Namjoon tries to explain.
“So that's why we were going to take it slow and see how things go before telling you lot.”
_______________
Jimin catches a taxi over to Eunaes home after work on Friday. A bag at his feet and his suit laid across his lap in its bag. It was something that he had purchased in the week when he had discovered he didn't have a fancy suit that would meet Eunaes standards.
He has a feeling that most of their friend group went out this week.
It doesn't matter now, he's going to look handsome for the art show with his new suit, and his finest jewelry.
Pulling up to her apartment he rings the intercom to be let in.
Stepping into the elevator with an alpha standing holding the door for him. Nodding to the alpha in thanks he presses the button for the ninth floor.
Exiting the elevator and heading Eunaes door, he knocks politely but firmly and waits for the door to open.
Eunae opens the door and steps out closing it behind her.
“Hana is here. I told her this and I'm going to tell you this, I don't want any catty remarks, or snippy comments ok?”
Jimin nods, “I'll be a perfect gentleman. But you may also need to have this talk with Jin when he gets here.”
Eunae nodes before opening her door to let him in.
“Will you need to shower?”
“No I should be fine.”
“Let me rephrase that, you can shower after Hana.”
“Oh ok then, thank you.”
Jimin places his suit bag on Eunaes bed, making sure not to cover or ruin the two other outfits on there. Jimin unzips his bag carefully pulling the suit out along with his shirt he was to wear with it.
It had caught his attention when he had been shopping, it's black colour with silver damask pattern adorning the blazer catching his eye from across the street. Getting closer he had been drawn in by the frill around the neckline and tight slacks, he had purchased it quickly and sent to the tailors to have it altered.
It's as beautiful as he remembers it in the shop window. Stroking the soft fabric he smiles to himself, he's going to look hot tonight.
He hears footsteps behind him glancing over his shoulder he watches as Jin and Eunae enter the room.
“Oh that's beautiful chim, you'll look handsome in that.” Jin says coming to place his own garment on the bed.
“We will all look hot tonight. Now help me pick out my dress!”
Eunae walks to her closet and opens it up to reveal several dresses hanging up, she's not usually one for gowns, preferring comfortable clothes or sports wear. But the gowns are stunning, long and flowy, in deep reds and purples.
“Ok so I have this one,” Eunae pulls out a gorgeous red dress, shoelace straps and flowy silk material, holding it against herself, “or this one” the other is a purple tunic style dress, stopping under the knee, just tight enough to show curves but not so tight to cause discomfort.
“You'll have to try them on for us to make an informed decision,” Jin is unpacking his outfit.
It's white and shiny, almost like an Elvis suit but stylish. White pants with a floral design are laid out on the bed, Jimin notices that there is a slight flare to the ends. A matching white dress shirt is pulled out next, with the same floral pattern on the collar. There is a white, silver studded blazer to go over his shirt as well as a cummerbund with gold buttons to decorate.
The suit is very Jin, loud but classy. And it makes Jimin smile at it.
“What do you think?” Eunae asks, she had undressed and slipped the purple tunic on while Jimin was taking in Jins outfit for tonight.
“Do you have a gold belt to cinch your waist? And you could wear your gold necklace that bantam got you if you go for that one,” Jimin asks after looking her over.
“Try on the other so we can compare,” Jin nods in agreement to Jimins comments.
She pulls the dress over her head while Jimin goes to help her find a belt for it incase it is the dress chosen for tonight.
“Please tell me you have better underwear than that?” Jin snorts, sounding snotty.
Jimin looks over his shoulder, Eunae is in beige nylon underwear that sit over her bellybutton with matching beige sports bra.
It's exactly what his grandmother would wear.
“No of course not, I have my lingerie planned out, this is just my work underwear. I have to be comfortable while I yell at people.”
She unzips her red dress before shimmying into it, pulling the straps onto her shoulders and zips it up in two motions.
She turns so that Jin and Jimin can see all angles, allowing the material to spread out around her ankles.
“I like this one best, and you can still wear a gold necklace and some nice earrings with it,” Jin states. Smoothing out his own suit of nonexistent wrinkles.
“I agree, and you have some nice hoop earrings that pair well with your necklace.”
“It's settled then,” Hana unzips her dress and steps out of it hanging it back onto the hanger.
Hana steps into the room, towel wrapped around her body with her long hair in a messy bun a top her head.
Jimin takes that moment to look at her neck, he sees an outline of a mating mark there. His heart falls a little.
“Jeez you took forever in there, did make the soap you washed with?” Eunae teases.
“No I just had to be careful not to slip, you don't have a bath mat.”
“There's a bathmat, it's hung up underneath all the towels I set out so it's nice and worm for your feet.”
Jimin gathers his bag of toiletries from the floor before heading out the door. Turning into the bathroom he spies the bathmat and places it on the floor. Pulling out his phone he texts Yoongi.
-she has a mating mark.
The reply is instant.
-guess you'll have to get your authentic one out and one display then.
Jimin snorts at that. It had bugged Yoongi that he still covered his mating mark up, his clothes all having high collars that cover it. Yoongi had taken to biting him and making sure it looked fresh, just incase.
-tough luck, my suit covers it up.
He receives several sad face emojis in reply.
Stepping into the shower, Jimin quickly wets himself to wash his body. He's quick and makes sure to wash everything thoroughly.
Stepping out ten minutes later he dries himself quickly with one of the warmed towels waiting. Pulling on his underwear for the evening he pulls out his razor and shaving supplies. Lathering his face he hears the door rattle and open, Jin poking his head through.
“Oh good you're done,” stepping in and closing the door behind him, he turns the shower back on and steps in.
“I don't think you have anything to worry about.” Jin speaks up over the water.
Jimin also cuts himself in shock. Placing the razor down onto the sink and checking.
“Her mark, I saw you looking at it. So I got a little closer and had a good look, and it doesn't look like Yoongis.”
“You know what Yoongis dental imprint looks like?”
“He was a biter as a child, before you started school. If I got too close to him he'd bite me.”
Jimin snickers at that, he could easily see Jin trying to hug Yoongi and being bitten for it.
“I'd go home with little teeth marks all over my arms, so I'm well aware for what Yoongis bite looks like. And the bite on your neck is definitely an imprint from him. Hers not so much. If I'm honest it looks drawn on.”
Jimin giggles at that.
Resuming shaving, “thank you Jin, I needed that.”
“It's ok, it's what I'm here for.”
Once finished he rinses his face of any excess foam before aftershave and moisturizer. Cleaning the sink out he turns and leaves the bathroom to get dressed.
In the bedroom he finds Hana zipping up her own dress, it's a form fitting blue dress that sits above her knees. It's thick material looks like chiffon but he's not quite sure.
It looks good on her, Jimin can see the outline of her belly, slight curve present. He can tell she has chosen this dress to show off both her supposed pup and mark, since it is now on display.
She smells of spiced fruit, which covers her natural lavender scent so much that she smells like an apple dipped in cinnamon and basted with cloves.
He lets his towel falls as he tugs on his own pants, leaving them undone so that he can tuck his shirt in.
The black shirt is soft against his skin, doing the buttons all the way up before tucking himself in. He will leave the blazer off until they are ready to leave.
He looks over to Hana, she's starting on her makeup now, foundation out in front of her.
“Need a hand?” He offers.
“No.” Her reply clipped and short.
Jin enters, towel around his shoulders as he still dries himself, “hey chim, can I borrow your shaving cream and stuff, just rubbed my face and it's feeling a little prickly.”
“Sure, and Eunae has disposable razors under the sink, I'm sure she won't mind.”
“They aren't that good, but if you're really in a pickle then feel free,” Eunae passes a wine glass to Jimin full of red wine, before heading towards Hana to hand off another glass, “sparkling grape juice for m’lady and her pup!”
“Thank you.”
“Come on Jin, I'll show you where they are.”
It's just Hana and Jimin again. Jimin gets to work on his hair and ignores Hana completely, he can't cause a scene if he's doing his own thing right.
“I see you decided against showing your neck.”
It's an obvious jab.
“Yes, when I saw this suit I just had to have it, even if the collar is high. I'm sure to look very sexy in it, maybe if I have a smokey eye it'll look even better.”
“Well,” she extends her own neck showing off the mark on it, “I'm sure it's for the best. Yoongi won't be able to take his eyes off me and our pup.”
Jimin wants to slap her, but holds himself back. He promised not to make a scene.
“We will see I guess.”
He can't believe Hana is acting this way, Yoongi made it clear last week that he and Jimin were together yet here she was.
“All right! Time to get dressed, chim do you want me to do your face? Actually can you do mine?”
“Yes and yes. I was thinking a smokey eye and maybe some colour on my lip?”
“Yip can do, I just need a subtle enhancer for this face. I'm handsome enough as is.”
Jimin gets to work, pulling out his makeup bag and small compact mirror. Sitting down in front he waits for Jin to finish dressing.
Eunae joins them as Jin has finished with Jimins foundation and is moving onto a contour. She is dressed quickly and tying her hair up into a whale spout before putting a bandana on to keep stray hair at bay.
She's quick to catch up with her own makeup, working efficiently with practiced skill.
It's silent as they concentrate on their faces, making sure to highlight their best features for tonight.
It's seven o'clock when there is a knock on the door. Jimin is finishing up Jins makeup, brushing stray powder off the paper bib he had made to protect his clothing.
He looks up when Eunae reenters, “all right let's go!”
“Hold up, I'm almost done.”
“Come on Hana let's go see if the boys scrub up well.”
They exit the room as Jimins phone goes off.
“Can you get that?”
Jin picks up the phone, holding the back up to Jimin for his fingerprint.
“Ok it's from Yoongi, and it says 'on a scale of one to ten, how much am I going to cry tonight.”
Jimin snorts.
He watches as Jin types in twenty before sending it.
“I don't the no he'll cry tonight, but his restraint most certainly will be tested with you looking like that Chim. He might even bite you!”
Jimin snorted at that, “he has promised not to do that until after he finishes courting me,” Jimin finishes sweeping away stray powder, letting Jin remove the bib, “Besides, have you seen my neck recently?”
“Yes and I must say it looks just like any other soulmate mark that I have seen.”
“It's because he keeps sucking on it every chance he gets.”
Jin Snickers at that, “well at least he's showing his interest, I bet if he did that in Front of Hana that would shut her up.”
“He could breed me in front of her and she would still think they are together. I'm starting to believe her story myself.”
“Ok then, well let's get out there, and make our alphas wait on us hand and foot because we are so pretty.”
Jimin laughs as Jin straightens his shirt and puts his blazer on, helping Jimin with his. They step into the living room together, looking up to see all eyes on them.
Jungkook is looking dapper in a simple tweed with a black bow tie and white dress shirt. He's busy playing on his phone and doesn't even look up.
Namjoon and Hoseok are matching in black suits, with vests and ties. Namjoon has a hat and his glasses on making him look like a handsome librarian. Hoseok's shoes have been shined to perfection as he slings his blazer over one arm.
Barams suit looks the most simple, with a pink shirt and black slacks, no tie or cravat present, a black blazer is slung on the chair by the door.
Yoongi looks stunning, his suit simple yet stylish with a white shirt and bow tie, but his blazer is well fitted to his shoulders. He can make out a floral pattern on the velvet material.
Jimin swears he stops breathing when he catches sight of Yoongis form. He looks every part the regal alpha from love novels he had read as a teen.
Jin those him on the back before pushing passed him, causing him to draw in a breath. He stables towards the others on unsteady feet, his knees a little weak from the sight of his alpha looking so dapper.
“Like what you see?” Yoongi growls into his ear when he finally reached him.
Jimins answer is a whimper, tilting his head to submit.
Yoongi growls, deep and wanting.
“Oi! None of that your two! I expect everyone to be dressed and on their best behaviour ALL night tonight.” Eunae yells, pushing Jimin away from Yoongi, who had started to run his nose along Jimins offered neck.
She takes a breath, and in a calmer tone, “now, Baram has been kind enough to order us a limo for the night and it is waiting downstairs for us, let's go.”
They make their way outside to the limo that is parked outside, Baram opening the door let's Eunae get in first before following behind. Hana is helped in by Jungkook after claiming it's too low for her pregnant self to manage.
Jin rolls his eyes before sliding in after Jungkook followed by Namjoon and Hoseok.
“You look handsome tonight baby, will you let me stay the night?”
Jimin nods before Yoongi smiles and helps him into the car closing the door behind them.
It's a short trip to the gallery but Jimin watches as Eunae squeals in excitement, Baram smiling fondly at her side.
__________
Stepping out there are many nice cars around dropping couples and groups off before driving away. Everyone present is dressed in their finest gowns and suits, covered in jewelry and sporting fancy watches.
Although their group looks fancy Jimin starts to worry as to whether they are dressed up enough. He feels a hand on his back, “you look perfect, we will be ok.”
Yoongi releases soothing pheromones to calm Jimin while rubbing his hip encouragingly. Jimin leans into Yoongi for a second before stepping away with the group towards the entrance to the hall.
They wait for Wonho to arrive, waiting only a few minutes before a sleek black car pulls up to the curb, Wonho getting out first before offering his hand for Ping to take. He's dressed in a nice black dress shirt, a red vest covering his torso with a matching cravat on his neck. Ping steps out with help from Wonho. His white dress shirt and black tie complimenting the red blazer he was wearing, it was a little wide on his shoulders and waist. Jimin coos as it is obviously Wonhos coat that is around his form.
“Hey, everyone. This is Ping, for those of you that haven't him.”
Ping ducks behind Wonho slightly, tucking himself into Wonhos jacket.
“Hi, Ping was it? It's very nice to meet you, I'm Eunae and this is my alpha Baram,” Eunae holds out her hand for him to take.
He doesn't, so she drops it to her side opting to bow instead.
“Yes nice to meet you,” Baram adds waving slightly.
“I'm Hana, it's a pleasure to meet you.”
Ping goes a little red and hides behind Wonho a little more.
“Ping! It's good of you to join us, I'm sure you know the rest of these losers hmmm?” Jin nudges him, from his spot standing next to him.
“All right shall we get going then? I'm interested to see what it's like in there,” Wonho deflects the the attention from Ping.
It's a grand, stone building, with marble floors and pillars inside. There is a second floor balcony surrounding the outskirts of the room with a crystal chandelier of many colours, throwing the room into a rainbow of colours.
Jimin looks around in awe, it's so small inside yet the outside looks so big and imposing. He can see several rooms that lead off from the main entrance hall. There are paintings hung on the wall with little plaques placed next to them with a blurb about the piece. Sculptures are set around the centre of the hall, one large one of a dragon made of jade, taking centre.
Jimin follows along after Eunae, arm hooked around Yoongis as he walks trying to take in as much as he can as he goes.
“We can stay for as long as you like to look at everything, but please look where you're going I don't want you to trip and break something here,” Yoongis breath is hot in his ear.
Jimin pouts and slaps Yoongis arm gently in reprimand before turning his gaze ahead of him.
Eunae passes the slips of paper over and points out her group to the man standing behind a podium just passed the entrance.
They seem to split off into groups to go look at different pieces. Namjoon and Hoseok each taking on of Jins arms to lead him into one of the side rooms full of sculptures.
Wonho, offering his arm for Ping to take, makes his way upstairs. Smile wide on his face as Ping leans into him slightly.
Hana walks away to a different side room, frown on her face. Jimin is simply happy that she didn't try anything here, in public. It's one thing to get snippy in the privacy of Eunaes bedroom but it would have taken a whole other level of courage to start something in public.
Eunae and Baram move to look at the jade dragon sculpture, it's the centre price of the exhibition and rightfully so. It's large green body coiled tightly, ready to attack its prey.
Jungkook wanders off in search for food, stating he hadn't been able to eat beforehand and would keep over a decade die if he didn't eat soon.
“I'll stand next to your body and pretend your apart of the exhibit.” Jimin chirps.
Jungkook laughs as he walks away, flipping Jimin off from behind his back.
“So where does my baby want to go first?” Yoongi nuzzles into Jimins temple.
“Maybe that way, then we can make our way around the room and see everything.”
Yoongi hums and offers his arm out again, Jimin quickly wrapping his own around and leading them to the farthest room on the left side of the lower landing.
There are paintings placed on all the walls, equal distance apart from one another. All of farms or countryside, it's soothing to see so much green on the walls, with little animals dotted in the background.
He takes his time to read each plaque and study each painting before moving onto the next.
Jimin stops at a painting of some ducks in and around a pond, swimming and standing around.
“Look Yoonie! This one has ducks,” Jimin coos at the painting leaning closer to look at all the ducks in the picture.
“You still like ducks?” Yoongi asks incredulously.
“Well yeah, I like you don't I?”
“What do I have in common with ducks?” Yoongis voice is pitched up in disbelief.
“You waddle, like a duck. It's cute, you're meant to be this big bad alpha yet you waddle.”
“I waddle! You waddle more than I do. You look like a little baby chick when you walk.”
“I do not! I gracefully glide like all omega do.”
“I wouldn't call what you do graceful, you end up on the ground more often than not from tripping over your chicken feet.”
Jimin snorts, huffing like he's offended, “I do not have chicken feet, if anyone has bird legs it's you duck boy.”
“Fine I have duck legs,” Yoongi smiles gums showing, “but that just mean that I can swim away or float unbothered if a tsunami hits. What are you going to do baby chick? Chirp at it?”
“Please, if there was a tsunami then I would be one of the first omegas at the checkpoint, covered in blankets and tea in my hand. I know how to tell if a tsunami is coming, do you?”
“No but I have a phone and the radio to tell me if there's going to be a tsunami, that's all I need.”
“You'd also have me telling you, if you haven't pissed me off.”
“Would you really let me die in a tsunami because i had annoyed you?”
“I would,” A deep voice interrupts, “but then I wouldn't save you if you floated passed me screaming for help.”
There's a tall man dressed in a fine pink suit. White dress shirt underneath drawing attention to the rose at the man's neck.
He's glaring daggers at Yoongi. Lips pulled back over his teeth pulled back as if to hiss at him.
“Tae?”
The man's eyes flick over to Jimin, recognition flitting across his features before he does actually hiss.
“I knew he had you brainwashed. How long was it after you left that you were back in his arms. Or were you already in his arms while he used you?”
“Tae! That's not what happened and you know it.”
“Do I? Because I remember Yoongi running out on you after he mated you. He left you and you just forgave him? Said it wasn't his fault? It was his fault.”
“It was. I left and I shouldn't have. But that's no way to speak to Jimin. I didn't brainwash him, I love him. It was shitty circumstances, but it was my fault.” Yoongi steps in front of Jimin.
“Right, because here you two are, all coupled up, there's no way you didn't brainwash him into going back to you.” Tae spits.
“Yoongi can you please go get me some food? And perhaps a drink?”
“I'm not leaving you-”
“It's ok, I want to talk to Tae alone.”
Yoongi hesitates looking between Jimin and Tae as if judging that they will be ok while he is gone. He grumbles before heading out the door.
“Tae. Yoongi didn't brainwash me. I have told you this before. He's my soulmate, I want to be with him. When we mated it was a mutual mistake. Do you understand. Mutual. As in he made a mistake and so did I. You can't just blame him for it entirely.”
“Bullshit, you waited up for him to call or write and when he didn't you became so depressed. But when anyone said anything about it you would defend him. That's brainwashing Chim.”
“I waited for calls and letters because he's my soulmate Tae, he's the one who gets me the best. When they didn't come of course I got depressed. And I always said it was both our fault. Everyone was so quick to blame Yoongi and make him out to be this horrible person. When he's not. He's not Tae, and you know that. We made a mistake. It takes two to mate yet people seem to forget that.”
“yeah, but your together now. If you weren't brainwashed you wouldn't be with him.”
“It's a very recent change. He is a friend of a friend, he came out to drink with a group and make new friends when we met again. It's all a bit messy but it's working out. Hes courting me again.”
Tae huffs, “fine, I don't forgive him, but I won't murder him.”
Jimin giggles, “will you save him if he's floating by screaming for help during a tsunami?”
“If I have a stick with me I might, so I don't have to touch him. But if he hurts you again I will not hesitate to prod him further out.”
“Deal,” Jimin holds out his hand.
Tae shakes his hand.
“So what are you doing here Tae? At this big wig fancy art exhibition.”
“It's my job!” Tae chirps, “I buy fancy art for rich clients to keep in their homes.”
“That's amazing! How did you even get into that?”
“Oh, well I went to university for art appreciation and photography, and one of my teachers was friends with a big rich guy. We had to go out and write a paper on several different pieces, and somehow the rich guy found mine and I was hired.”
“Cool, so now your living the dream of visiting all the big art museums?”
“Yip, and I get flown to Paris, Milan, Tokyo, all the big cities!”
Jimin is smiling wide, when he feels an arm come around him with a fluke of champagne and another with a plate of finger food.
Jimin leans back onto Yoongis chest taking the fluke from him and picking at the food with the other.
“So am I going to be killed?” Yoongi asks.
“No, not yet, but I'm sure you're aware of what will happen if I don't see Chim five hundred percent happy at all times.”
“The castration still stands then.”
“Yes, as well as your death in the event of a tsunami.”
“Well I best pray we don't have a natural disaster occurring then. My duck legs won't save me if the two of you gang up on me.”
“The three of us, I have no doubt Jin will be the one to find a stick for Tae.” Jimin earns himself a growl, for that one.
“Jins here?”
“Yip, he'll be with his two alphas. You can spot Jin from a mile away in his outfit. Hoseok and Namjoon look nice though.”
“I'm not surprised he has two alphas, I feel like one wouldn't be enough for his...extra.”
“It's a good thing they are smitten for him. But what about you, do you have an alpha?”
“Me? Not yet, but I'm not looking, more focused on me career in art than love at the moment.”
“And it shows, you have down well. Why don't we go see Jin? I'm sure he will want to see you again. And you can talk with Namjoon and appreciate art with him.”
“Let's go!”
They head out looking around for their friends, Yoongi cradling the plate of food, keeping it safe for Jimin to eat from.
They see Hana first, standing near the dragon hand cradling her stomach as she talks to someone standing beside her.
She turns towards them smile on her face and she gestures at them, the other person's gaze following.
“That's Hana, she's the one who reintroduced us.”
They stop in front of her, smiling wide, “hello, I'm Jimin, and you are?”
“Stephane, a pleasure.”
“Taehyung, it's a pleasure to meet you both.”
“Yoongi.”
“Hana. It's nice to meet you Taehyung.”
“So your the alpha, you must be excited for pups. Seven weeks in, you must be over the moon.”
Taehyung looks confused, then his eyes flicker down to Hana's belly, he glares at Yoongi, putting two and two together. He pulls Jimin against him and out of Yoongis reach.
“I'm not the alpha. You are mistaken.”
Stephane looks shocked, “but, she said-”
“She was mistaken. My mate-” Yoongi pulls Jimin flush against his side, moving the plate of food away to safety, “-and I are quite happy together. We are not yet blessed with pup's, as we are not trying, but hopefully we will be settled enough soon.”
Taehyung looks in between Hana and Jimin, not sure what is happening in front of him. Stephane looks equally confused.
Jimin has gone red under the attention they have drawn to themselves from the stranger, he's not one to like attention on them, Hana knows this and perhaps was hoping to play onto it.
“Yoongi, honestly, it's not funny anymore. Remember we met at that party in high school, well I already knew who you were, but it was the first time that we spoke.”
“What party? You've told me this before and yet I still don't know who you are, I'm convinced we only really met at work.”
“The last party of the year, the one before we left.”
Yoongi looks like he's trying to recall what party she's talking about.
“I think she's talking about the night we mated.”
Yoongi still looks perplexed, trying to recall that night, “I don't really remember much of that night, except for flashes of you, Jimin. And our mating of course, I would never forget that.”
“We talked for an hour, on the couch!”
There is realisation across Yoongis face. He remembers now.
“So you're telling me, you have orchestrated all of this because you talked at me while I started at Jimin for an hour? I don't even remember what you said, or even you being there.”
Stephane chuckles nervously, “there's obviously something going on here so I'm-” he steps away quickly, almost running to get away.
“Yoongi, you don't mean that, I'm carrying your pup's,” she's crying and making a scene, many of the patrons looking at them, “we're mated.”
Jimin wants to hide, he's curling himself into Yoongi burying his nose in Yoongis neck trying to calm down.
“We aren't mated, and if you carry on like this, you'll only have yourself to blame when you have no friends. Jimin is my omega. He is my soulmate. I will keep saying this until you get it. I chose Jimin when I was four years old, there is no one else in the world that will change that.”
There are tears pouring down Hana's face as she pushes past him, storming off outside.
“Well. That just happened. Are you ok Chim?” Taehyung tries to look at Jimins face, still buried in Yoongis neck, makeup a little smudged but nothing too bad.
Yoongi heards both omega to the bathroom nearby, handing off his plate of food to Jungkook as he passes them.
He wipes Jimins face with a handkerchief from his pocket, being careful not to smudge his makeup further. Tae dabbing his face with wet tissue to clean it up a little.
He lets Tae fix his face before heading back out.
Eunae hits both Yoongi and Jimin, crowd now dispersed, when they step out of the bathroom.
“I said no drama,” she hisses, “and yet here I am walking out into the main hall to find you lot screaming at one another.”
“She started it!” Tae whines.
“And who are you? I will punch you too if you had a hand to play in ruining my night.”
“I am Kim Taehyung,” he pulls a peace sign over his eye, boxy grin in place, “Chims platonic soulmate, art consultant to the rich, and debonair omega to the rest.”
Jin wraps his arms around Tae pulling him into a hug, “we know each other from school and grew up together.”
“So what was that about then?”
“Aren't you going to introduce yourselves?” Tae asks.
“Fine, I'm Eunae, the person whos night has been ruined. This is my alpha Baram. That's Namjoon, Hoseok, Jungkook, Wonho, and Ping. Now what was that about?”
“Hana was introducing Yoongi as her alpha, that she was having pups with to a stranger,” Tae said hands up in surrender.
“I simply explained to her and the stranger that she was mistaken. Jimin is my omega. It's not my fault she started to yell and draw a crowd.”
“It is your fault because I told you not to make a scene!”
“Eunae. It was going to happen. Relax a little ok, it wasn't that bad, and the night is still young. We can still enjoy the rest of the night,” Barams windy scent coming out thickly to soothe Eunae.
“Besides, rich people have the attention span of gnats, they have likely to have forgotten already.” Tae persuades.
“Yeah, they aren't even interested in us anymore. Besides, we're just lucky Namjoon hasn't broken anything yet, that would be worse.” Jungkook adds.
“He's not allowed to touch or breath on anything. Jins rules.” Hoseok laughs.
“And we are grateful to Jin for that,” Jungkook smirks eyebrow raised.
“So why don't we play a quick game of ‘this piece here’ look around all the art, eat, drink, and make merry hmmm?” Namjoon asks.
The rest of the night goes smoother with Eunae starting to smile again two hours after the altercation. Taehyung is clung to Jin and Jimins side, laughing as they make up silly stories about the art. Namjoon trailing behind, fingers interlaced with Hoseok's as he explains the art to him.
Yoongi has taken his plate back from Jungkook and stays within arm's reach off Jimin, offering encouraging smiles and food, keeping his fluke topped up with champagne.
Wonho and Ping seem to drift off again, finding a quiet place to talk amongst themselves.
Jungkook has his own plate of food that he shovels into his face at a great pace, occasionally sharing bits with Taehyung.
It turns out to be a wonderful evening, despite what had happened, Jimin is exhausted as he is bundled into a taxi by Yoongi. Promising to fetch his things from her place soon as she waits patiently for the limo they arrived in the pick them up.
He curls up in Yoongis lap as he hears him give his address to the driver. Eyes closing in satisfaction of the nights events.
The fight with Hana has been embarrassing a little humiliating but also very cathartic. He knew where Yoongis loyalties lay, he had been claimed by his alpha to a room full of strangers.
“I love you, you know?” Jimin mumbles into Yoongis chest.
“I know. I love you too.”
A pleased purr erupts from Jimins chest for a minute before he gets it under control. Purring is something that is done in private, between lovers, but he is finding that Yoongi is making that very hard.
His eyes open again when something cold and wet touches his face. Looking around he finds himself sat on the toilet seat of his bathroom, body supported by Yoongi as he wipes his makeup off.
“Sorry didn't mean to wake you, but I thought you might not like washing makeup off your bedding.”
He takes the wipe from Yoongi and starts to remove his makeup, there's quite a bit as Jin was in charge of it, but it comes off soon enough.
He presents his face to Yoongi and hands him a tissue incase he missed anything, but it seems he hasn't.
Yoongi lifts him and carries him back to his bedroom, helping each other out of their suits, Jimin hangs them up on spare hangers to be taken to a dry cleaners.
He feels hands rest on his hips, mouth nipping at his neck. Smiling he turns in Yoongis arms placing placing a kiss on his lips. Yoongi peppers kisses all over Jimins face, kissing his lips in between words,
“My omega,” kiss.
“So pretty for me,” kiss.
“Dressed up like a prince,” kiss.
“Wearing sexy underwear,” kiss.
“That only I get to see,” kiss.
“And touch,” kiss.
“My pretty omega,” kiss.
“How did I get so lucky,” kiss.
“I'm the lucky on Yoonie. Trust me. I'm the lucky one.”
Kissing him again Jimin groans, pulling away.
“But I was promised my virtue would stay intact, and right now it's best we get to sleep.”
Pulling the covers back and climbing in with Yoongi behind him he settles on his side, back to Yoongis chest.
“Thank you for tonight hyung.”
“Why are you thanking me?”
“You picked me.”
“I picked you when you were two, what are you talking about.”
“This thing with Hana. I know it's all lies, but there's a part of me that had doubts. I don't anymore because you picked me.”
Yoongi snorts, “go to sleep baby, you're tired and talking nonsense,”
Jimin turns facing him, “thank you” it's sincere.
“You are welcome.”
They curl into each other as Yoongi reached to turn off the light. |
Dazai had always thought a lot about death.
Ever since he was thrown into the world of mafiosos, his insistent thinking of death always kept his mind sharp and active. He was still bored, but less so when he was thinking about his ultimate demise. At least that was a tangible goal that he could keep replaying in his mind in order to feel less numb.
In all the ways Dazai thought that he would die, however, this was not one of them.
Logically, Dazai knew that this was the only way to save Yokohama; to keep Odasaku’s wish alive. Maybe a small part of him also wanted to keep Yokohama standing too. After all, life was slowly starting to become more and more beautiful. Therefore, he knew what he had to do.
That didn’t mean that it didn’t still hurt.
Even up to the point where Dazai felt the blade slash through his layered clothes, and pierce through his skin, there was a small chance that perhaps he was off in his calculations.
Because if Dazai was off in his calculations that meant that he wouldn’t have to rely on Chuuya.
It felt so backwards: Dazai putting all his trust in Chuuya. Dazai hoping and praying that Chuuya would come to his side. Dazai who needed Chuuya before he took his last breath for good. Dazai who might actually die and leave Chuuya alone.
Is this how Chuuya felt? Every time he used Corruption? Every time he blindly trusted Dazai?
Dazai supposed he owed Chuuya an apology. An honest one at that.
It was never supposed to end this way.
And yet, as Dazai took his last labored breaths, all he could think about was Chuuya. Dazai could barely register what was going on around him, whatever Fyodor and Shibusawa were saying above him sounded like it was coming through muddled water, and the blood pooling around him felt warm and inviting.
As his eyes drooped shut the last thing Dazai saw were Chuuya’s bright blue eyes, shining brightly up at his.
Chuuya beamed up at Dazai excitedly, gesturing excitedly to what Dazai would later find out was Chuuya’s first purchase with a Port Mafia paycheck. Dazai stared at that thing next to Chuuya. Clearly, it was a motorcycle. But it was lavish and sleek, bright pink and obnoxious, terrifying and yet beautiful. It fit Chuuya so well.
Just a few hours ago Chuuya had texted Dazai to come meet him at a somewhat empty street because he needed Dazai immediately. Usually Dazai wouldn’t answer to Chuuya’s every beck and call, he was no dog after all. Lucky for Chuuya, Dazai was bored and had not yet finished the report Chuuya asked him to do weeks ago.
So, Dazai waited for Chuuya on the side of a road he was vaguely familiar with since it was outside Port Mafia territory.
And then Dazai heard a whirling motor. Which was all the warning he received before a flash of pink and black nearly sideswiped him, killing him for good.
Thankfully, Dazai was used to having to adjust quickly to Chuuya’s attacks. Albeit this attack was way more intense and sudden, Dazai still managed to get away unharmed.
The vehicle came to a stop and the motor quickly died down after that. A small figure, which Dazai could recognize from anywhere, hopped off the bike and made his way over to Dazai.
Dazai glanced between the motorbike and Chuuya. He didn’t quite understand what had possessed his partner to buy such an extravagant thing.
That was until he saw Chuuya’s smile. Dazai had only known Chuuya for a relatively short time, and since their first meeting he had never seen Chuuya shine brighter than the sun itself.
“So, what do ya’ thing?” Chuuya asked, eyebrow quirked.
Dazai couldn’t drag his eyes away from Chuuya. Small strands of his red hair were caught between his lips, the orange of his hair making the pink of his lips stand out even more. Chuuya’s cheeks were flushed a light pink from what Dazai assumed was the result of the wind whipping against Chuuya’s skin. Even his body language was more relaxed, more freed, as if riding with the wind calmed Chuuya.
But what caught Dazai’s attention the most were Chuuya’s eyes. Dazai had always registered that Chuuya had blue eyes. It was, after all, just another meaningless fact about his partner that Dazai stored away for potential pieces of information that could help him later.
And yet, knowing that, Dazai felt like he was truly seeing Chuuya for the first time. Chuuya’s pupils were blown wide, dilated with how excited he was from his first trip. The blue of his irises were thin but crystal clear, like the color of a limitless sky that Dazai wanted to fall headfirst into, and hope Chuuya would help him navigate through all the endless freeing possibilities.
Dazai had wanted to say, ‘beautiful’ but then he remembered that Chuuya had asked about the bike.
Instead Dazai said, “Well, it’s dangerous and tacky. And Chibi doesn’t seem to know how to drive it. I think you’ll die the first mission you use it, either by the enemy spotting you from five miles away or because you can’t drive it. So, I think it’s pretty good.”
Chuuya’s eyebrows knit, any sense of pride he had now deflated. “Hah?! What did you just say, bastard?!”
“Is all this air and wind clogging up your brain? I said you’re going to die on that thing.”
“I’ll show you death,” Chuuya grumbled before lunging at Dazai.
The last thing Dazai heard was ringing in his ears. Oddly enough it reminded him scarily of Chuuya’s nagging and screams.
Chuuya always had a higher voice, which Dazai would let himself admit in the safety of his own home he quite enjoyed hearing. The ringing reminded him of when he would poke and proud too far to the point where Chuuya’s temper would snap and he would yell insults at Dazai. If Dazai was being honest, which he supposed he could be since he was dying after all, he wished the ringing was slightly more melodious. He would have much rather been reminded of Chuuya’s singing.
One of Dazai’s secret favorite pastimes was watching Chuuya practice sparring in the Port Mafia’s gym reserved for sub-executives and higher. Dazai never used the gym personally. In fact, he’s pretty sure he’s only ever seen Chuuya enter the facilities.
At first Dazai spied on Chuuya because it was another way to procrastinate work while also learning his partner’s moves. A win-win. But after the third or fourth time, Dazai slowly found himself entranced with watching Chuuya.
What captivated Dazai the most wasn’t that Chuuya was powerful, or that he was graceful, or how the two forms of movement complemented each other in only a way Chuuya could achieve. No, what really caught Dazai’s attention was that when Chuuya was practicing alone, he would always sing while working out.
Chuuya would almost always sing rock songs. He seemed to alternate between playlists, depending on what type of workout he was performing. But since Dazai knew next to nothing about rock music every song sounded the same to him.
Slowly Dazai started to feel enthralled with the way Chuuya would jump from low notes to high notes. He would feel his skin flush and his blood drain whenever Chuuya sang lyrics that were somewhat suggestive, since Dazai believed only he was intended to hear it. Dazai began to look forward to when Chuuya would vibrato certain notes that the original singer did not intend.
Dazai gained an appreciation of rock music through Chuuya. Even though Dazai would often admit that Chuuya was far more talented than anything he heard from the speakers.
The last think Dazai tasted was blood. The tangy metallic taste that stuck on his lips like glue and began to coat his throat.
It reminded him of Chuuya. Dazai had always found Chuuya the most attractive when Chuuya was covered in some varying degree of blood. Especially when it came from Corruption. Dazai couldn’t help but find that much power contained in such a tiny body unbelievably arousing.
It took Dazai a couple of missions to truly appreciate the beauty of Corruption. It was during an undercover in Barcelona that Dazai acknowledged his adoration for Corruption and did something about it.
One of the Port Mafia’s allies in Spain were supposedly taking advantage of their weapons shipments, trying to tamper with the equipment, and then sell them to other underground organizations with the intentions of tainting the Port Mafia’s name.
It was up to Dazai and Chuuya to make whoever was in charge of this tactic pay. Originally, it was supposed to be Dazai that completely and utterly wrecked the poor son of a bitch who thought they could double-cross the Port Mafia, both mentally and physically. Corruption was never part of the plan. This was mainly to see how well Dazai and Chuuya could work abroad.
However, about halfway through their mission, intel was leaked, and their covers were blown. Overwhelmed by the amount of firearms used against the two teenagers, they had no choice but to activate Corruption.
Dazai couldn’t help but be mesmerized as Chuuya’s corrupted form annihilated the base within a matter of seconds. Chuuya was gorgeous. Laugh powerful and cocky, ringing high like a church bell signaling the end of someone’s life. His skin was tainted with red, a mixture of both the sigils that came with Arahabki and Chuuya’s blood. Dazai nearly forgot that it was time to uphold his end of the bargain and reach out for Chuuya in order to bring him back.
But he did.
He always did.
In all the years of fighting alongside each other, he would always wrap his fingers around any skin of Chuuya’s that he could touch in order to bring Chuuya back down to him.
Overcome with exhaustion, Chuuya leaned towards the side until his left cheek hit the solidness of Dazai’s chest. Dazai could feel the blood drip from his partner’s chin down onto Dazai’s shoes, but he couldn’t care less right now.
Chuuya’s head was tiled upwards, lips parted trying to breathe in as much oxygen as he could. His eyes were glazed over due to the rush of power he just obtained. His skin was still stained with red blood and would remain that way until Dazai cleaned it off. Chuuya was barely awake, clearly slipping in and out of consciousness.
Staring down at his partner, Dazai felt a rush of a post-victory high. Chuuya looked unbelievably small in Dazai’s arms. And yet, he had just decimated at least 200 men within the blink of an eye. He was the living definition of an oxymoron. To prove Dazai’s point even further, Chuuya should not have looked that gorgeous covered in blood.
But he did.
He always did.
Dazai surged forward and captured Chuuya’s lips between his own. He could tell Chuuya’s mind was still fuzzy because it took Chuuya a delayed amount of time to kiss Dazai back.
But he did.
He always did.
Chuuya tasted amazing. Like the lingering taste of wine, he tried for the first time in the business meeting held earlier this morning. Like blood, like saliva. Like life, like death. Like only how Chuuya could taste because it was him. Dazai felt intoxicated.
The kiss didn’t last very long. Two minutes at most before Chuuya’s lips no longer enthusiastically kissed Dazai back and instead began to grow soft against Dazai’s.
Dazai pulled away and once again stared down at his partner. Chuuya reached out, wrapping his arms around Dazai’s neck so he was grounded in one spot.
“Do that,” Chuuya mumbled, breath very labored as he fought against unconsciousness, “again.”
Dazai could only watch as Chuuya’s eyes fluttered shut and his jaw went slack. He chuckled, pressing his nose against Chuuya’s lips and then nuzzling.
“Sure thing, partner,” Dazai whispered to his whole world.
Every single time they kissed, or made out, or inevitably fucked when they got older, they would both blame it on the adrenaline and the post-victory high. But now, Dazai regretted leaving all those mixed feelings up in the air.
He wanted to be able to hold Chuuya, to breathe him in one more time, to press his lips against Chuuya’s with the intention of pure infatuation and not lust.
What scared Dazai the most about dying was that he never thought he would want to live. That he would regret the cold feeling of death spreading throughout his veins like a calming virus about to take him home.
Dazai felt his lips part open and begin to form the first syllable of the letter C, but before he could make a sound he forgot what he was doing. His once sharp mind felt dull. What started with a C? Was it Chuuya? Who was Chuuya? What was Chuuya?
All Dazai could hear, and think, and feel, and see anymore was cotton. He couldn’t remember what he wanted to call out for, who he was desperately trying to remember, and why he was trying to hold on. Was it Chuuya? Or was this feeling of comfort lulling him to sleep Chuuya?
If the latter was the case, then all Dazai knew he wanted to do was embrace the soft and inviting hands of death. Dazai gave in. His last breath soft and peaceful, finally letting every ounce of tension slip away as he drifted off into nothingness. Maybe he would finally visit this ‘Chuuya’ he couldn’t stop thinking about...
As if it were that simple.
The first sensation Dazai felt was a sharp smack to the side of his face. How he hated pain. And then everything clicked.
All his memories came flooding back. Everything from seconds before his death to the repressed memories he kept locked away and hadn’t thought about in years. It was all here. For once, Dazai was actually happy to feel a dull ache on his jaw.
Then Dazai opened his eyes and saw the most beautiful sight in the world. Chuuya.
Chuuya, who didn’t need to know a word of Dazai’s schemes to know that Dazai ultimately needed to be rescued.
Chuuya, who willingly threw himself into the jaws of Corruption, on the off chance that he would live from expending his power far greater than any time before.
Chuuya, whose face and arms were covered in a light smattering of blood from his body giving out due to all the power he was using.
Chuuya, who Dazai could never say for certain reciprocated his feelings until right now. The fact that Chuuya would willingly die if Corruption wasn’t nullified, just on the off chance he and Dazai could live together once again proved it.
This time Dazai didn’t censor himself when he said, “How beautiful.”
After a few quips on both of their parts, Chuuya promptly slipped into unconsciousness. It wasn’t until a couple hours later that Dazai actually got to speak to Chuuya for real.
Dazai felt Chuuya stir as he was combing his hand through Chuuya’s hair. Dazai had been silent for the time being, so hearing even the faintest rustle had Dazai on high alert. Usually he would up and leave Chuuya, since they were on opposite sides after all, but this time felt different. Dazai didn’t want to abandon Chuuya again.
Chuuya grumbled and then tried to sit himself up. Dazai quickly took the cue and repositioned his tiny partner against a nearby half knocked down wall so Chuuya had something to support himself. Dazai sat down next to him. They were sitting side by side, shoulders leaning against one another.
“Hi,” Dazai whispered.
“Hey,” Chuuya replied.
“Thank you,” Dazai said, voice incredibly small.
Chuuya turned his face so he was staring at Dazai. His eyes were blown wide like he was looking at something with two heads, and not his partner who shared a simple gratitude.
“What the fuck?”
Dazai chuckled. “Thank you for saving me, my petite prince. I never once doubted that you would wake me up.”
“Uh huh,” Chuuya said, skeptical. “Are you sure you’re all the way back? The shitty Dazai I know would never thank me for anything, besides if I kneeled over and died.”
“Chuuya,” Dazai gasped, “I am a changed man! I never knew what kinds of turmoil you must have gone through whenever you used Corruption! I can’t believe how much you trust me.”
“I trust your plans,” Chuuya quickly corrected.
“A bit defensive aren’t we~”
“Shut the fuck up or I’ll kill you for real, and this time I’ll make sure it’s permanent!”
Dazai laughed at the sudden joke and then the two fell into a comfortable silence.
After a few minutes, Chuuya scooted closer to Dazai and rested his head on Dazai’s shoulder. If Dazai were a stupider man he would’ve called out Chuuya for his passive aggressive cuddling, but he didn’t want to lose this.
Dazai smiled softly. “Neh, Chuuya?”
“What?”
“Do you remember when we used Corruption in Spain?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Do you remember what you said right before you passed out?”
Dazai couldn’t really see Chuuya over the top of his head, but he could faintly make out that the top of Chuuya’s cheeks turned red and felt a new heat against his collarbone.
“I don’t,” a nervous cough, “I don’t remember.”
“Hm,” Dazai pondered. “Could I refresh your memory then?”
Chuuya stiffened slightly before he nodded. Dazai tilted his face downwards until he was eye level with Chuuya and then gently pressed his lips to Chuuya’s. Chuuya responded almost immediately.
The kiss slowly turned from hesitant, experimenting after four years of being apart, to completely captivated with one another. Dazai learned that Chuuya was still needy, as Chuuya sucked on Dazai’s bottom lip and grabbed at the collar of Dazai’s suit.
Dazai wasn’t much more contained compared to Chuuya. He couldn’t hold himself back from claiming Chuuya’s mouth as his. Licking every inch of Chuuya’s mouth he had access to. Dazai faintly registered that Chuuya tasted a bit like dried blood, but that made him all the more delicious. Just like old times, but with a new hope that wasn’t there before.
Dazai was sure they could have (and should have) continued for hours but the first break of dawn hitting Dazai’s closed eyelids brought him back down to earth.
With a lot of restraint, Dazai pulled his mouth away from Chuuya’s. Chuuya whined in retaliation.
“I’m sorry,” Dazai said as he detangled himself from his partner’s grip. Since when did they get so close that Dazai’s white suit was stained with Chuuya’s blood? Was he sure glad to have a spare set of clothes lying around somewhere. “But if my calculations are correct, Atsushi-kun, Akutagawa-kun, and Kyouka-kun should have killed Shibusawa by now.”
“You’re leaving me again?” Chuuya asked, sounding absolutely heartbroken.
“Just for now,” Dazai reassured. He’s also almost positive Chuuya’s true emotions would not being showing this prominently if it weren’t for Corruption. Hopefully he would get cocky by the time Akutagawa found him.
“I don’t want Akutagawa-kun to stumble upon the traitor’s tongue down his beloved mentor’s throat.”
Chuuya’s cheeks drained of all color. “O-oi,” he tried to scream.
Dazai laughed, light and airily. “I’ll be back I promise. When have I ever truly left you?”
Chuuya muttered.
Dazai turned on his heel and began to walk in the direction where his mentees should be. He couldn’t help the dumb smile plastered on his face. Maybe he should get into danger more often.
Dazai really enjoyed finally getting his happily ever after. |
Happiness. Wants. Love. Selfishness. Life.
Noctis’ head is swimming in thoughts. Things he had only considered in the deepest darkest part of his heart. Those dark whispers he never voiced, always choking on the words, locked into his throat.
A choice.
What did he want?
“Whoa, you okay, Your Highness?”
Noctis blinked, recognizing the worried expression of Nyx Ulric, the best of his father’s Kingsglaive. “Hey Nyx,” he said, wearily. “I’m fine.”
Nyx frowned, placing a hand on Noctis’ shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze. “Try again or I’m going to haul you off to infirmary.”
“I’m fine,” Noctis said. “Just a lot on my plate.”
“Anything I can help with?” Nyx offered.
Noctis hesitated. He shouldn’t. Such knowledge about the prophecy shouldn’t be so easily spread around but… but Nyx was one of his father’s best and Noctis liked Nyx. The man was his warping teacher and a frequent guard that Noctis more than tolerated. Plus Noctis knew that there was no way Nyx knew about the prophecy. Maybe an unbiased opinion wouldn’t hurt.
“Got asked a philosophical question,” Noctis said, proud that his voice didn’t waver. “Three choice, the first is happiness but possibly ignorance, the second is selfishness and consequences but let’s me be just me, and the third is pain but living.”
Nyx nodded. “Not used to be asking philosophical questions?” he joked. “Don’t worry, I’m pretty bad with them too.”
“No… not used to having to factor in my wants over what’s good for the kingdom,” Noctis quietly confided.
Nyx flinched and gave Noctis another squeeze. “Libs just needs to spend like five minutes with you and he’ll finally get why I’m so damn protective of you,” Nyx said.
Noctis flushed, eyes ducking to the ground.
“Want my opinion?” Nyx asked.
Noctis nodded.
“The third,” Nyx said. “Happiness is great, but ignorance not so much. You can be you without being selfish. Pain is inevitable, but it’s proof that you’re still alive. And if you’re alive, you can keep walking towards the future, to another day of being happy, to another day of being you.”
Leave it to Nyx to break it down so simply.
“I had that choice before,” Nyx said with a twisted broken smile.
Noctis gave him a questioning look.
“I could have died that day back in Galahad,” Nyx said. “I was happy up until that day, living in ignorance over the fact that Empire was knocking on the door. I could have been selfish, could have not joined Kingsglaive, found a spot somewhere in Crown City and just be me. But I picked Kingsglaive, because I believe I’m fighting for a good cause. Maybe that’s a little foolish, I could die any day on the frontlines. And it hurt to get to this point, I struggled to master the magic your father shared with us, I’ve bled, I’ve broken bones, I’ve got more scars than I could think of, but I am still alive.
“And that means tomorrow I can save someone, and that their future can continue on forward.”
Noctis took in a deep breath. Oh.
Oh.
In that context… He could continue to remain ignorant about the prophecy. Maybe the prophecy said he was supposed to die, maybe not. He didn’t know for sure, but ignoring it wouldn’t make it go away. It was going to come down eventually, and Noctis would have no choice to but face it.
He could reject the prophecy and let it fall to another Chosen King. But could he live with himself, with whatever the future held? Given the dramatics of the prophecy there was no way the death toll wouldn’t be so ridiculously high.
He could accept the prophecy and then try to work it to his advantage. It was a prophecy, was it set in stone? Even if it was, maybe just knowing would be enough. Maybe he was supposed to die young, maybe he was supposed to die old. He could leave no regrets behind, know how much time was left and every scrap and bit he could spend with his friends and father.
“Thanks Nyx,” Noctis said. “I think I know what my answer is.”
“Anytime kid.”
-.-.-
“The third.”
Ayame looked up from book she was flipping through. “I gave you until tomorrow,” she said.
Noctis smiled. “It wouldn’t change it. The third road, Ayame. I rather know what to expect and then… use that time as wisely as I can to live my life to the fullest.”
He felt confident in that choice. It would be painful to hear the prophecy, but what was happiness with eventual regrets, even if he wanted to be ‘just Noctis’, he was still a Crown Prince and he had a duty to his people.
“Wise words,” Ayame said. “And honestly, the choice I wanted you to make.”
“Then why ask?” Noctis questioned.
“That’s how I can tell you’re a Prince,” Ayame grumbled. “It should be your choice. Screw whatever the Gods say. If you want to martyr yourself, fine I won’t stop you. If you want to reject the prophecy, I’ll help you. All I want is you to choose without any regrets what you want to do with your life.”
Noctis felt his heart warm at that statement. “Thanks Ayame.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Ayame said dryly. “I promised you it would be painful.”
Noctis took a deep breath. “Right, so, tell me. What does the prophecy say?”
Ayame gave him a sharp look. “You must be the one to kill ‘The Accursed One’.”
Noctis waited. When she said nothing else, he asked, “That’s it?”
Ayame snorted. “There’s other nonsense about you dying to save the world, but we’re throwing that window.”
Noctis gave her a skeptical look. “You can do that?”
“First lesson, 90% of the time prophecies are self-fulling. The more you try to prevent the prophecy, the more likely they’re to come true,” Ayame said, scoffing. “So knowing the prophecy doesn’t help you. Second lesson, Gods are fucking assholes and at the end of the day, they don’t fucking care how it’s gets done, just that it does.
“The main part of the prophecy is that only by your hand can this world be rid of the Accursed One. The dying part comes into play because it is the price for the power to get rid of the Accursed One. So if you can get rid of the Accursed One without using the power described in the prophecy-”
“I don’t have to die?” Noctis said. He felt hope blossom in his chest. Was it really that simple?
“That’s the basic theory for it, yes,” Ayame said. “Language. The Gods are often literal, but we humans can find different nuances in the words used.”
“So who is the Accursed One?” Noctis asked.
“No clue,” Ayame said, her words turning sickeningly sweet as her smile turned increasingly sharp, teeth bared. “Bahamut won’t tell me a single thing and I’ve been pouring over your history for a month now, because usually anything warranting a prophecy is mentioned somewhere in history.”
“So back to yelling at Bahamut?” Noctis asked with a touch of amusement.
“I spent every day yelling at him,” Ayame said dryly. “I’m thinking it’ll be easier to go wake the other Gods up and shake them down for answers.”
Noctis briefly wondered if Luna would know. Or Gentiana at least should right? He made a note to ask the next time Umbra showed up.
“And this power I’ll need?” Noctis asked.
“Something stronger than the Six,” Ayame said.
Noctis blanched, hope crumbling away. “Is that even possible?”
“You’ll be surprised,” Ayame said. “But like I said, don’t thank me yet.” She closed her book and gave Noctis a look. “We should probably get started now. You’re graduating soon from high school and that means exams, so time is short.”
A wave of dread fell over Noctis. “I’m not going to like this, am I?” he asked warily.
Ayame snorted. “You’re only figuring that out now?”
Fuck.
-.-.-
Double fuck.
Noctis gasped, struggling to breathe as he turned over to his side. His world spun, dark spots dancing in his vision. Ayame was relentless. He didn’t think it was possible, but she was worse than Cor, Gladio and Nyx all rolled together.
“An hour. That’s not terrible,” Ayame said. “But not surprising since you did have some formalized training all your life.”
Noctis felt like his chest was burning as he strained to breathe. His magic was sluggish and drained, to the point that he was in stasis. Everything hurt, pain throbbing from everywhere.
“You’re a tyrant,” Noctis wheezed out.
“I warned you,” Ayame said flippedly. “Come on. Shower, food and rest. You still have school tomorrow.”
She held out her hand to help him up. Noctis feebly grasped it and felt a rush of power. It wasn’t unlike an ether but it was strictly different.
“What is that?” Noctis asked wearily.
“My version of healing,” Ayame said. “I’ll need more tests to figure out how compatible your magic is to mine and what I can and cannot teach you, so we’ll focus on your physical abilities for now.”
“You’ve got magic?” Noctis asked. He hadn’t notice.
Ayame waved her free hand dismissively. “It’s not called magic in my world, but for simplicity’s sake, it’s easier to call that for your understanding.”
Noctis blinked. She had magic and hadn’t shown any signs of it. “Just how strong are you?” Noctis asked.
Ayame gave him amused look. “One of my titles back home is Godslayer.”
Oh.
|
Sunlight played across the counter of Frank’s diner, illuminating breadcrumbs and splatters of grease, but for once Eddie paid them no mind.
Instead he sat with his chin rested on his hand, stirring his coffee, thinking deeply about nothing in particular. Just a gently interwoven strings of images of him and Perl.
At least he did until Frank snapped his fingers in front of Eddie’s face.
“Wow, far away, aren’t you?”
“Huh? Oh. Sorry.” Eddie shook his head. “I just-”
“Oh yeah, I know what you were thinking about,” Frank leered. “You always look kinda scary when you’re imagining what to do to Perl.”
“You have an uncanny ability to make the purest of thoughts into something vile,” Eddie said dryly and took a sip of coffee. It had gone tepid in the time it had taken him to daydream, and he grimaced.
“Nothing wholesome about what you were just thinking about, my friend.” Frank poured him a fresh cup of coffee, which took some of the sting out of the words.
“Actually, it was.” Eddie took another sip, almost burning his tongue in the process. “There’s something about her, something I-” Eddie shook his head with a smile. “Listen to me. I’m a sentimental old fool.”
When he looked up at Frank, he was staring at him with a crease between his eyebrows. He almost looked uncertain, and that was something new. Frank rarely thought too hard about anything, just jumped right into any situation and hoped for the best.
“She really means a lot to you, huh?” he asked, and that uncertainty carried over to his tone of voice.
“She does.” Eddie stared down at his cup. “If you’d have told me a month ago that I’d fall for someone I haven’t even met I would have laughed at you, but…”
“But here you are.” Frank finished for him.
“Here I am.” Eddie gave a wistful sigh and warmed the tips of his fingers to the point of near-pain on the porcelain cup.
Frank gave a sigh as well, rubbing his hands up and down on his apron. “Listen,” he said, and his voice had taken on a somber tone. “I’d hate to see you get hurt, and-” Another sigh. “Just be careful, alright?”
“This is very uncharacteristic.” Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Any reason for this?”
“No!” Frank said, a little too loud and a little too quickly for it to sound convincing. “No,” he repeated, softer this time. “Just a good advice in general.”
“I suppose,” Eddie said, not wholly convinced.
Luckily for Frank, Chris entered the diner just then. He gave them a nod before walking over, and, as usual, most people moved away from him or scooted their chairs closer to the table. With his impressive height and girth most people seemed to want to give him room, his size only punctuated by his stern expression.
“Hey Chris!” Frank called out, and if Eddie didn’t know better he’d say he was relieved.
“Hey,” Chris grumbled, and took a seat next to Eddie. “For the love of God, give me some coffee.”
“Rough night?” Frank wasted little time in giving the man a fresh cup. Nobody wanted to be on Chris’ bad side after a bad day at work.
“That’s just the half of it. Some vermin broke into the facility, and broke through one of the weak spots on the second floor when I tried to apprehend them." Chris dragged his hand over his face with a grimace. "I need a raise.”
“Why you have to patrol a dusty, abandoned mental asylum is beyond me anyway.”
“That’s exactly why, though.” Chris had a deep gulp of coffee. “’S creepy and abandoned. Damn kids most of the time. Did you know they bring cameras? Put them on one of those online places. I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m in half of them.”
“Look on the bright side!” Frank leaned over the counter to slap his shoulder. “You’re famous!”
“Yeah, well,” Chris grumbled and focused on his cup of coffee. “What are you guys up to?”
“We’ve been talking about Eddie’s girlfriend, actually.”
“Yeah?” Chris sounded bored. “What about?”
“Excuse me?” Eddie gave an indignant huff. “I’m sitting right here.”
“Just told him to be careful.” Frank eyed Eddie, his eyebrows pulled together again.
“Good advice,” Chris agreed. “I mean, you’ve seen some of them catfishing shows, haven’t you?”
“Catfishing?” Eddie frowned. “What’s that?”
“Oh my God.” Chris shook his head. “Have you been locked in a cell these past twenty years? Catfishing is when someone pretends to be someone else online.”
“But…” Eddie looked from Chris and over to Frank. “Why?”
“For a relationship?” Frank suggested. “For fun?"
“Wouldn’t it just be painfully obvious when they do meet?”
Chris snorted into his cup of coffee.
“That’s why they rarely meet,” Frank explained patiently. “So keep that in mind with Perl.”
“I will.” Eddie tried not to get angry, he knew Frank was just looking out for him after all. “Anyway, I should head back. Get lunch before the brides come.”
“You make it sound so foreboding,” Frank laughed. “It’s not like you love all the women with their soft curves and soft fabrics.”
“Sounds good on paper,” Eddie agreed. “Until you see them. Stressed out, too busy on whatever diet they think will make them look better, except it just makes them cranky and-” Eddie groaned. “Should have stuck with men’s fashion.”
“Uh-huh.” Frank was leering again. “Anyway, you know you can just eat lunch here, right?”
Eddie tried to hide the way he looked around the kitchen behind Frank, taking in the dirty pots stacked in the dripping sink, and the questionable meat currently thawing on the counter.
“It’s a mystery. Anyway, you two have a good day,” Eddie said, cutting off whatever Frank undoubtedly was going to say. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“Any time, friend.” Frank went back to wiping down the counter with a rag that would surely only make the counter dirtier. “Lemme know how things go with Perl.”
“See ya later, Eddie,” Chris said.
Eddie merely waved his hand in a way that could be both affirmative or dismissively, and left the diner, wondering again why he kept going there every single lunch break, despite never actually eating anything. He looked back at his friends on his way out, who now had their heads close together. They looked like a pair of gossiping old women. Eddie smiled.
On his way back to his apartment, he stopped by the nearest grocery store for something quick and easy for supper, imagining all the ways he’d prepare food if Perl was there waiting for him. As it was, he simply bought some canned soup and pre-made sandwiches, knowing his mother would roll over in her grave if she knew.
Truth was that he wanted to talk to Perl more than he wanted to prepare a decent meal.
He shook his head at himself as he unlocked the door, feeling more than ever like a hormonal teenager.
The store was always a little eerie without customers, not that Eddie cared much about it, but he always took care crossing the floor, and going up the staircase to his apartment above the store as quickly as he could. Once safely within the confines of his apartment, he took off his coat and scarf, and got ready for what he hoped could be a quiet moment with Perl.
Thinking about how they had left off, and how they had agreed to continue another day made Eddie rush through the tasks of washing his hands and preparing his meager meal, before going into the study. Perhaps their moment wouldn't be so quiet at all.
When he opened up the chatting program, a pop-up immediately shot up on his screen, and he was surprised and happy, until he realized Perl was offline.
[Perl2536]: Hey, Eddie. Sending you this early in the morning. I have to help a friend with something, but I should be on sporadically. (Sending this so you don’t think I’ve ditched you or something :P)
[Perl2536]: Maybe cheesy, but I’ll miss you until I see you again.
With a smile that skirted the edge between melancholic and happy, Eddie wrote out a response.
[EdGluskin67]: I can’t wait to see you, darling.
With a sigh he leaned back in his chair, wishing they'd see each other in real life soon, and not just on the screen of a computer. |
Mycroft follows Gregory into the changing room, feeling in a lot of ways like a man walking death row. As his companion closes the door after him, Mycroft considers his options: he’s not above begging at this point, truth to be told, but maybe he should wait to hear what Gregory has to say, before resorting to such dramatic measures.
He sits down on one of the chairs, careful to look calm and collected, hands linked over his lap in an effort to not start fidgeting. Gregory paces the room, talking to himself in hushed tones and Mycroft takes another deep breath, before clearing his throat once.
He does not wish to talk, naturally, but he figures that at this point that barely matters. And the sooner they talk, the sooner he’ll know where they stand and whether or not he needs to panic.
Gregory turns to him then, expression a tad guilty. “That was probably an unadvisable move, wasn’t it? God! I should have waited… oh god, I’m sorry Mycroft, I didn’t--”
“It’s fine,” Mycroft interrupts because while the timing could have been better, all he really cares about is the end result. “What’s bothering you?”
Gregory chews his lip and Mycroft tells himself not to get distracted by the memories of what biting those lips felt like. Last night is still a bit blurry inside his head, but he does remember there was a lot of kissing involved, some kisses more tender than others.
“So, about last night--” Gregory begins and Mycroft holds back a groan. “Do you... umm… do you remember what I said?”
Mycroft frowns. “Are you looking for a particular answer?” he questions, leaning back on his seat. He does remember there wasn’t much talking involved, except--
I love you.
But no. That didn’t happen, certainly not outside Mycroft’s treacherous fantasies, did it?
“You do remember,” Gregory sentences and Mycroft wonders when did he get so good at reading his expressions. He’s always prided himself on his perfect blank mask and yet it seems Gregory can read him like an open book.
“I do not believe I do,” Mycroft replies after a beat. “I… I remember something, but I’m also fairly certain that never happened.” He scrunches his nose in displeasure, shaking his head. “It simply can not be.”
“And why’s that?”
Mycroft glares at nothing in particular, quickly growing annoyed. “The terms of our arrangement--”
“Mycroft--”
“I need you to marry me,” Mycroft interrupts sharply, clenching his jaw as soon as the words are out. “Nothing more and nothing less. When I asked you… you agreed to… We had an agreement!”
A tense silence follows his words and Mycroft doesn’t dare to look at his companion. The words came out harsher than he intended and while that’s the truth, it also feels…
wrong
. These last few months have been so good; he’s never been happier and to reduce them to a simple arrangement… a deal of sorts…
“We did,” Gregory agrees quietly and his voice sounds weird, perhaps a tad watery and Mycroft has to look up, frowning after seeing Gregory’s expression. “And I will complete my side of the bargain. I just… I thought…” he sighs, shaking his head. “Nevermind. Feelings were never part of the equation, were they?”
Mycroft sighs, looking away. “They weren’t. And you need not to worry, I don’t… my feelings are my problem, not yours,” he murmurs softly, sadly.
“Your… wait a minute,” Gregory says, coming to stand right in front of him, scrunching down so they’re eye to eye. “You remember what I said last night, right? Because if you do… what you’ve just said makes zero sense.”
Mycroft frowns, puzzled. “What do you think I remember?”
“Oh, good god, Mycroft, you know what I mean! Are you really going to make me say it again? Particularly considering… well, since you obviously don’t feel the same way, what’s the use…”
Oh. Oh? “Do you… did you really tell me that you loved me?”
Gregory groans, standing up abruptly and covering his face with his hands. “Yeah. Yeah, I did. Which is why… I mean, I understand if you don’t feel the same way, that was never part of our deal but I thought… I hoped…”
Mycroft stands up, even though he feels like he’s being crushed by the weight of the revelation. Is it true, can it be true? Is this really happening? “You love me?” he repeats, breathless and full of wonder and Gregory groans once more.
“Yes, yes, I do. Must you--” but Gregory doesn’t get to finish the phrase, since Mycroft steps into his personal space, cradling his face with all the tenderness in the world, still in awe at the revelation. “Mycroft?”
“I love you too,” he whispers, leaning down to place the lightest of kisses on his partner’s lips. Gregory makes a soft humming noise, half confusion and half approval and Mycroft chuckles, overwhelmed with emotion. “It’s been so difficult,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to his companion cheek. “To live with you, to sleep with you… having you so close and yet not close enough. I thought… I didn’t dare to believe…”
“Oh god,” Gregory says, a soft chuckle escaping him too. “Are you telling me… all this time...?”
“Yes, yes,” Mycroft agrees, still kissing him, thinking he’ll now never be able to stop. “I needed your help me desperately but I wanted… I hoped… and yet I didn’t dare to imagine…”
“Me neither,” Gregory whispers back, his arms now around Mycroft’s neck, pulling him closer. “I thought… remember I told you I was rubbish at flirting with men? I’ve been wanting to ask you out for ages and then you went ahead and proposed…”
“I’ve been so foolish… so blind…”
It’s hard to talk and kiss, Mycroft soon finds, so he abandons all attempts of the former in favour of the later, figuring there’ll be time to talk later. There’s still quite a lot to figure out but for the moment... for now they have each other and that’s all that really matters, isn’t it?
They should have done this ages ago.
The talking, Greg means, not the kissing although if they had done the talking, there certainly would have been a lot more of kissing involved and a lot less of pining and hurt and mixed messages.
All that time wasted, really!
Not that it matters, not right now. It’s hard to think anything matters in this moment, really, not with Mycroft kissing him back so enthusiastically. While the start had been tentative, slow and tender, it soon turned heated and there’s a voice in the back of Greg’s head warning him against the potential dangers of rushing things, but it’s hard to focus when everything he wanted is finally within reach.
The knock on the door then comes on a most appropriate moment really, since it stops him from tearing his partner’s clothes off him, leaving them in quite a precarious situation considering there’s still a rehearsal to attend, with their friends and family as witnesses.
“Yes?” Greg asks, breathless and Mycroft arches an eyebrow, amused. Greg glares, pecking Mycroft’s lips, earning himself a lazy grin and another kiss.
“Is everything quite alright?” Sally’s voice comes from the other side of the door and she shortly tries the door handle, which of course prompts a panicked response from the couple, who spring away from each other right away.
“Yes!” they both cry out at the same time. “We’re perfectly fine! We’ll be out in the a bit, do not come in!” Greg adds, rushing for the door and just when did they become such a tangle of limbs? He nearly falls headfirst into the ground in his attempt to rush for the door which just prompts a soft chuckle from his companion.
He looks down at himself, noticing the state of his clothes and he blushes furiously, hurrying to rearrange his shirt tails and wondering where the hell did his suit jacket go. Mycroft just watches him, evidently amused, too self satisfied to care about what people might say, apparently.
They hear Sally huff on the other side of the door and Sherlock’s disgusted
ugh!
as he stomps down the hall. After a beat, there’s the sound of Sally’s heels walking away too and they turn to look at each other once more before breaking down into giggles.
“This is most inappropriate,” Greg informs his companion, finally finding his suit jacket and putting it on once more. “People will talk.”
Mycroft hums and how does he manage to look that regal with his shirt unbuttoned and untucked? “Well, you did interrupt our wedding vows just so you could have your way with me, darling. How can you expect people not to?”
“I did not-- that was not-- Mycroft!”
His companion laughs, evidently high on oxytocin, looking quite pleased with himself. “It’s not my fault you find me so irresistible, my dear,” he argues good naturedly, standing up on unsteady legs. He chuckles as Greg glares and then proceeds to press a quick kiss against his lips. “Come on, let’s get back to the rehearsal. We can resume this…
conversation
later.”
Greg arches an eyebrow, amused. “Are you really going to walk out looking like that?” he asks. “Haven’t you had enough of people teasing you about that hickey?”
“Fair point,” Mycroft agrees, coming to stand in front of the mirror and making a face at his ruffled appearance. “You’re a total savage, Gregory Lestrade. This is italian silk, you know?”
Greg laughs, coming to stand behind his fiancé and wrapping his arms around his middle, resting his chin on his partner’s shoulder. “Didn’t you know what you were getting into when you asked me to marry you?” he replies easily, grinning from ear to ear.
“I did not, actually,” Mycroft murmurs, gazing at him fondly. “But I’m glad I asked.”
Greg grins some more, kissing his cheek softly.
Neither knew what they were getting into, truth to be told.
But neither is complaining about the outcome, for sure.
The rest of the rehearsal passes in a bit of a blur, Mycroft trying his best to focus on what’s going on and not on what has just happened. Their short conversation still feels surreal: he’s half convinced that he’ll wake up any minute now, that he’ll find out this is nothing but an elaborate dream, a cruel trick of his overactive imagination.
He finds himself staring at Gregory every now and then, which isn’t something terribly uncommon; he always found a little hard to believe that such a perfect man could actually exist and now, to think that he actually wants to be with him…
Well. Mycroft is still processing it.
Gregory beams at him for the rest of the rehearsal, earning them both several talk downs from Ms. Donovan, who’s quickly losing her patience at their absentmindedness. Neither is paying attention really, both keep messing up their lines and missing their cues, giggling like a couple of teens and so by the time the sun sinks, Ms. Donovan abandons all attempts to get them to actually rehearse and sends everyone home.
It’s for the best really.
“I was thinking we could do dinner?” Mycroft suggests, sliding closer to his fiancé, who smiles brightly at him.
“I am a little hungry,” Gregory agrees, eyes dropping to Mycroft’s lips and Mycroft bites his lip, ignoring the warmth spreading across his body. “Is Sherlock staying with us tonight?”
“I could ask Mrs. Hudson to babysit,” Mycroft replies, although in fact he does not know if she’d agree. If not, he assumess he could always beg Mrs. Watson, but--
“Oh, no, none of that!” Hugh exclaims, appearing out of thin air and throwing an arm around Greg’s shoulder. “Bad luck to see the groom before the wedding!”
“Indeed!” Olivia says, showing up out nowhere, backing her husband up. “Terrible luck! And this wedding has gone through enough setbacks, don’t you agree?” she adds, sending a pointed look in Gregory’s direction which makes him blush. “Better not to risk it.”
“But--” Mycroft starts protesting, just to be interrupted by Theodore.
“None of that! You obviously can’t be trusted to be left on your own, so if we want the wedding to happen as planned, you obviously need to spend the night apart or you might not show up on time!”
“You better show up on time!” Ms. Donovan exclaims, hands on her hips, a most put off expression on her face. “I did not spend so much time planning the wedding for you to ruin it because you can’t keep your hands to yourselves!”
“Well said!” Nellie agrees, grinning. “Worry not Mycroft, we’ll bring him back in one piece and right on time.” She winks and Mycroft sighs,sharing a despairing look with his fiancé.
“It seems we’ve been outnumbered, my dear,” he says with a soft smile and Gregory throws him an apologetic look. Mycroft shakes his head: it might be better this way. If nothing else, it’ll buy him some time to sort through his feelings before they take any further steps.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Gregory says, leaning forward for a quick kiss. “And we’ll continue our conversation,” he adds, squeezing Mycroft’s arm meaningfully and he nods slowly. Hugh makes a comment too low for Mycroft to hear but judging by the colour Gregory’s cheeks adquire, he imagines it well enough.
He waves his fiancé goodbye, watching him go with his family, before turning to Sherlock, who’s waiting for him with a mighty frown on his face.
“I’m going to need new headphones,” Sherlock tells him, tone deadly serious, arms crossed over his chest. “I somehow doubt my current ones will work now that you and your fiancé are officially together.”
Mycroft laughs good naturedly, ruffling his brother’s hair affectionately, earning himself a scandalized
not you too!
and he laughs some more.
Today took a most unexpected turn.
But it wasn’t an unwelcome one.
“What were you thinking Greggie?! Interrupting the rehearsal like that! Nearly gave mom a heart attack, you did.”
Greg rolls his eyes,
if only they knew--
“I’m sorry mom,” he says, keeping his head down and his mother pats his cheek affectionately, shaking her head.
“Oh, I wasn’t worried,” she says with a small smile. “I raised no fool. I knew you wouldn’t run from the love of your life.” Greg smiles, thinking of how blind he was-- how is that everyone could see how madly in love he and Mycroft were, but them?
It’s like something out of those ridiculous rom coms.
“Oh, I don’t know, mom,” Theodore says, ruffling Greg’s hair. “This one is pretty thickheaded. I wouldn’t have been surprised. Horrified, yes, but not surprised.”
Greg rolls his eyes dramatically and his mother just smiles indulgently, just patting his cheek once more before announcing is time for bed. Considering everyone's a little hangover, no one protests too much and Greg follows his family to the big suite they’re renting. “Did Sally choose this too?”
“Fancy, huh?” Hugh tells him, grinning. “Your fiancé definitely has big pockets and your friend spare no expense.” Once more, Greg rolls his eyes, thinking he’ll need to have a conversation with Mycroft about all this. It’s nice, of course, but he’s not exactly comfortable and while he’s aware Mycroft can afford it all without a care in the world, he’s still not happy about it.
“Son,” his father says, startling him out of his thoughts and Greg realizes his siblings have already retreated to their respective rooms, although he can still hear them joking and generally being rambocus.
“Sorry dad,” he murmurs, rubbing the back of his head. “I… I guess I’m a little distracted.”
His father smiles, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. “It’ll be fine, you’ll see. Some nerves are perfectly normal. But you’re sure of your decision, aren’t you?”
Greg can’t help the smile that comes unbidden to his lips. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life, dad.”
His father smiles once more, nodding. “Don’t let go, son. One never lets go on real love.”
No, Greg supposes you don’t.
This is it. The big day.
Mycroft stares at his reflection for the longest time, trying to make sense of what he’s feeling. He’s feeling a lot of things, actually, so it’s hard for him to make sense of it: is he excited? Yes, he thinks so. Is he also terrified? Why, indeed! Is there a part of him that wants to run for the hills and never come back? Of course!
But there’s also the part of him that can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with the man he’s madly in love with, especially now that he knows that, wonder of wonders,
the feeling is mutual
and their marriage doesn’t have an expiration date.
It doesn’t, does it? They certainly didn’t discuss it and a mutual interest doesn’t necessarily translates onto the decision of staying together forever more, but Mycroft is hopeful. Which is funny, because just a day ago he wouldn’t even have believed Gregory actually felt
something
for him and now--
He can’t help the little giggle that escapes him. He feels young and childish, but he can’t help his excitement. He’s happy, more than happy and why shouldn’t he get to scream it to the world? Why should he have to hide it?
He remembers all too well what his mother used to tell him, the importance of not showing what he felt, of always keeping his cards close to this heart. Or even better, not to feel anything at all, not risk caring because
caring is not an advantage.
Caring is something that can (and will) be used against you.
Oh, Mummy would be so disappointed.
And yet she was the one who pushed him into this situation, wasn’t she? If she hadn’t added that ridiculous clause on the will (and that was Mummy, no doubt about it-- controlling as father was, that idea has Mummy written all over it). What she exactly expected to accomplish is hard to say-- make his life miserable, no doubt, not imagining Mycroft might find someone he’d actually want to spend his life with, someone who’d make him happy. Mummy would have never predicted Mycroft would find someone to love him and truth to be told, Mycroft himself hadn’t thought that was a real possibility and yet--
I love you.
“Are you quite done with… whatever you’re doing?” Sherlock asks, standing by the door, arms crossed over his chest and Mycroft wonders how long he’s been standing there. “Do you really want to be late to your own wedding? After yesterday’s stunt do you think that’s a good idea?”
Mycroft offers his brother the smallest of smiles. “Alright. Let’s go then.”
Sherlock rolls his eyes dramatically, but his smile is fond, betraying the fact that he’s happy, even if he’d never admit it out loud.
That’s fine by Mycroft, of course.
He can look happy for the both of them.
“And do you, Gregory Lestrade, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
Greg blinks. They’re there already? He must have got distracted, although it’s not his fault really. He already thinks Mycroft looks stupidly handsome in his fancy suits and now he’s wearing a tux and really, how is he expected to focus on anything that’s not how handsome his soon-to-be husband looks?
“Gregory?” Mycroft frowns, squeezing his hands just the slightest bit and so bringing him back to reality in a rush.
“Yes!” he exclaims, perhaps a tad too eagerly, earning himself some chuckles from his brothers. “Yes, of course I do.”
Mycroft smiles, bright at the sun and Greg’s insides melt. God, what did he do to deserve this man?
And to think he almost ruined it all with his foolishness and his incapability to actually hold a conversation like an adult! God, to think that today could be just another chapter in a farce instead of a real wedding…! He’s not sure how he’d have endured it.
Mycroft clears his throat, gazing at him expectantly and Greg frowns, confused. His companion chuckles good naturedly, leaning down for a kiss and it occurs Greg he’s somehow missed another part of the ceremony-- a very important part, in fact.
He stands on his tiptoes, throwing his arms around his husband’s--
husband!
-- neck, pulling him close. Mycroft makes a soft approving sound, but pulls away when Greg tries to deepen the kiss, throwing him an amused look when Greg pouts. It’s probably inappropriate, he knows, but what does it matter right now?
“Later,” Mycroft promises, leaning down for another quick peck on the lips, before turning to their guests, all smiles, happiness radiating from him.
Later,
Greg thinks.
He can work with that.
“I told you this was a great idea,” Gregory murmurs, lips pressed against the shell of Mycroft’s ear. “Dancing at our wedding. So romantic.”
Mycroft hums, pulling him closer, ignoring the voice in his head that’s telling him that’s not the correct way to waltz. “You were right, of course. But you must know my reluctance came from the fact that I didn’t think I could bear to be this close to you and not do something foolish.”
“Oh? Like what?”
“Like this,” Mycroft says, leaning down for a kiss that Gregory hurries to return. They’ve completely missed their steps now, but that doesn’t seem terribly important.
“Oh yes, terribly foolish,” Gregory agrees, grinning at him. “How awful of you, to kiss your husband in the middle of the dancefloor like that.”
“I now know my husband is most amenable to me kissing him,” Mycroft argues good naturedly. “But I didn’t know that until yesterday, did I? I… I wouldn’t have wanted to take advantage of the situation.”
“Always so proper,” Gregory teases, still smiling. “A perfect gentleman, this husband of mine.” He caresses Mycroft’s cheek gently and he hums, pleased. “We haven’t really discussed where we go from here, you know?”
“Is this really the time to be discussing that, though? Wouldn’t it be better to discuss it when we’re alone?” Mycroft asks, kissing his companion’s palm, nuzzling it just the slightest bit.
“There are other things I’d rather be doing when we’re alone, truth to be told,” Gregory argues teasingly. “Although maybe… maybe we should take it slow? Not jump into bed just yet?”
Mycroft pouts and Gregory laughs. “I was rather looking forward to jumping into bed with you,” he murmurs, still pouting and his partner smiles softly at him. “But maybe you’re right. I wouldn’t want you think I’m that easy.”
Gregory laughs some more, shaking his head. “You’re anything but easy, Mycroft Holmes,” he tells him, squeezing his hand. “But I suppose I should seduce you properly first. Take you out, get you flowers… all that jazz.”
Mycroft shrugs non committedly. “I hardly think that’s necessary seeing you’re already wearing my ring… but if it pleases you, I’m amendable,” he says with a smile. “I… You remember I don’t… you know I haven’t…?” he’s blushing and he hates his light skin right now, but really, could they be discussing a most uncomfortable subject?
“I do remember,” Gregory agrees, nodding. “Which just supports my idea that we should go slow. Plenty of things we can do before… going all the way.” He runs his fingers through Mycroft’s hair, smiling. “I’m very fond of kissing you, you know?”
“So I’ve gathered,” Mycroft says. “I trust you, Gregory. I know you’ll take good care of me.”
He’s said that before, hasn’t he? “Always,” Gregory replies earnestly, smile soft and full of affection and Mycroft smiles back.
All as well then.
“Wow. It looks like Sally truly didn’t spare any expense, did she?” Greg says, looking around the room, taking everything in. “This is ridiculous.”
“I’m given to understand it’s pretty standard, when it comes to nuptial suites,” Mycroft replies airily, dropping their bags at the entrance. “I originally protested against the idea of a nuptial suite, seeing ours was a marriage in name only… I’m just glad Ms. Donovan didn’t listen to me.”
Well, Sally always seemed to know something they didn’t. “I’m glad too. Luxurious as it is… it’s very nice. And now of course I’m beginning to regret I didn’t ask for more days off.”
Mycroft chuckles. “I’m afraid my schedule wouldn’t allow for longer vacations now,” he shrugs, sitting on the entirely too big bed. “Maybe in June.”
Greg hums, approaching him. “A proper honeymoon. Now that’s an idea,” he leans down to kiss his husband, who hums appreciatively. “I love you, have I told you already?”
“Just when you were very drunk,” Mycroft replies, smiling and Greg rolls his eyes. “It’s nice to hear it when you’re sober.”
“I’ll make sure to tell you often, then,” Greg murmurs, pressing his husband onto the bed. “Although I wouldn’t say I’m exactly sober right now. I happen to be drunk in love.”
It’s Mycroft’s turn to roll his eyes. “You’re so terribly sappy,” he says, kissing him back, slow and tender. “I… about what you said earlier… should we discuss where we go from now on?”
Greg sighs, rolling off his partner and coming to sit on the bed too. “I suppose that’d be a good idea. Avoid any further misunderstandings and whatnot.”
Mycroft smiles, sitting up too. “I want us to work, Gregory. I want to have a real relationship with you. And maybe marriage… maybe that wouldn’t have been the most advisable step just yet, but given the circumstances… we can make it work, right?”
Greg smiles, running a finger down Mycroft’s jaw, enjoying the way the other man shivers at his touch. “Of course, love. I-- It might not be the done thing, but I do believe we can make it work. We… we’ve got along pretty well, haven’t we? We’ve been happy?” Mycroft nods eagerly and Greg smiles, leaning for another kiss. “Nothing needs to change, really. I mean-- we need to communicate better, certainly but other than that-- we did behave quite couple-y already, don’t you think? Granted, it was mostly for Sherlock’s sake, but--”
“What?” Mycroft interrupts, looking puzzled. “Gregory, Sherlock knew our engagement was fake.”
“No he did not,” Gregory protests, earning himself an amused look from his husband. “Did he?” Oh, that little devil! He’s so lucky Greg has a soft spot for him! “He lied to me!”
Mycroft laughs, shaking his head. “I think my brother might have had watched too many rom coms,” he says. “But I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore, does it?”
Greg huffs, only the slightest bit annoyed at having been fooled by a fifteen-year-old. “I suppose it doesn’t,” he agrees reluctantly. “I really can’t believe it took us so long to figure it out.”
Mycroft shrugs non committedly. “It usually does, in every other rom com with the exact same plot.”
Greg laughs, throwing his head back. “Well, at least we got our happy ending, did we not?”
Mycroft smiles, climbing into his lap in one smooth movement, kissing him deeply. “No, my dear,” he whispers, when they pull away for air, rubbing their noses together affectionately. “It’s a happy beginning.”
Well, he can’t argue with that logic.
|
The sudden sound of the canon in the distance broke them apart. Nicole and Waverly both fumbled in the darkness, Nicole picking up her machete and Waverly grabbing her knife. They both stood tensed, listening, but they only heard silence.
“Is your camp close by?” Nicole asked, her body alert and swiveling in a ready position.
“Yes,” Waverly confirmed. “We could get there in –"
“I can’t go with you,” Nicole interrupted.
Waverly looked at Nicole, her eyes questioning her in the moonlight. “But –"
“What kind of ally would I be if I didn’t spy on the Career pack for you?”
Waverly could see Nicole grin and relax her stance, breaking the tension. She let out a breath of relief and smiled back.
“I’ve got to go back. They’re probably wondering where I am,” Nicole said quietly. “You alright by yourself?”
Waverly nodded, and she was glad to see Nicole take her at her word. Everyone in her life had always been so protective of her, but the truth was that Waverly could care of herself and she wished more people could see that.
“Meet back here tomorrow night?” Waverly asked.
She sounded hopeful, but Nicole wasn’t sure if that was her own wishful thinking.
“Tomorrow night,” Nicole agreed, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. Before she could leave, Waverly reached up to hold Nicole’s face in her hands and kissed her again.
“Come back,” Waverly whispered.
Nicole nodded, feeling the beginning wisps of the all-encompassing draw toward Waverly again. “Always.”
Nicole picked up her a pace to a jog, keeping her footsteps light and quiet on the way back. Another canon shot made her break into a run.
When she reached the Cornucopia clearing, she saw Bobo stand and throw away a large bloodied rock. Hetty lay eerily still below him, and Jim was dragging Red’s body away from the center of camp.
Nicole’s running entrance had been noisy, and Bobo looked up at her.
“Finally back, Haught?” His eyes had a harsher glint in the firelight, and Nicole tightened her grip on the machete by her side.
“They betrayed us already?” Nicole asked coolly, stepping closer. Jim was dragging Red’s body toward her and dropped him heavily when he reached the edge of the woods. The sound of a distant hovercraft to pick up the dead tribute bodies could be heard in the night air.
“Nah, just wanted to get rid of dead weight,” Bobo smiled.
Amidst the steady crackle of the campfire and the dull hum of the approaching hovercraft, Nicole heard the distinct stretch of a bow string.
She leaped forward to clutch Jim to her chest and ducked behind him, using his body as a shield. The thunk! of an arrow sunk deep into Jim’s chest.
Two other arrows quickly landed into Jim’s body, one through his ribcage and another piercing his forehead.
As Jim’s body leaned lifelessly against Nicole, she turned sideways and used her right shoulder to shove him forward, ramming into Bobo and knocking both of them over.
The canon boomed to signal Jim’s death. Nicole scrambled to her feet, watching Bobo struggle with Jim’s dead body on top of him. She gripped her machete to finish him off when another arrow sailed through the air, just grazing Nicole’s left ear.
Feeling the warm wetness of blood dripping down her neck, Nicole darted her eyes ahead and saw a small bright light at top of the Cornucopia a few feet away; the bright light that came with all the P-I98s following the tributes.
Constance.
There wouldn’t be enough time. Nicole spun around and dashed toward the woods, sprinting in an erratic pattern to avoid Constance’s arrows.
Nicole heard the swish! of arrows flying around her body, but she kept pushing forward toward the trees. Once she had cover, she could find somewhere to hide and pick them off whenever they separated. Then she could meet back up with Waverly and…
A sharp pain shot up through her right thigh, and Nicole was falling. She landed on her forearms and shoved herself back up, noticing the tail end of an arrow sticking out of her upper leg. Her leg burned, but she forced herself to keep moving, hobbling, finally reaching the woods and disappearing into the darkness.
Waverly made it back to the Blacksmith and Champ without incident, though her pulse raced when she heard two more canon shots along the way. She was relieved to see the Blacksmith and Champ sitting quietly at their camp fire, organizing the four silver parachute canisters they had received earlier.
The sponsor gifts hadn’t been anything too extravagant – a couple bottles of water, jerky, and bread. Enough for Doc to tell Waverly that she had acted correctly, but there was still work to be done if the gun theory was correct.
She wondered what she’d have to do with Champ to get that.
Champ smiled and reached out a hand as Waverly approached them, the bright light from a camera floating over her shoulder giving her presence away. “Hey, how’d it go?”
His softness surprised her, and she tried to smile warmly as she took his hand and sat down next to him. The two cameras trailing them eagerly spun around each other, trying to get the best angles. “She said she’d help us.”
“I knew you could it! You’re so smart, Waves!” Champ kissed her cheek enthusiastically, then her forehead, then the side of her face again…
“Ahem.”
Waverly internally thanked the Blacksmith for interrupting Champ’s embarrassing show of affection. The Blacksmith’s face was everything that Waverly’s face couldn’t be – disgusted, annoyed, and tired of the whole charade.
“Since you lovebirds are reunited, I’m going to sleep. Remember you have to actually keep watch and not be all kissy-kissy.” The Blacksmith smirked, then swiftly climbed up a tree, disappearing from sight.
Champ watched the Blacksmith’s expert ascent into the trees with amazement, slipping his arms around Waverly’s waist. “Huh, she’s really good at that!”
“Yeah,” Waverly replied quietly. She tried to relax and not stiffen at the unwelcome, but necessary, physical contact from Champ. Her encounter with Nicole had been exhilarating but effortless, and now Waverly had to become that girl again.
She leaned over into his chest, feeling Champ’s heart beat against her back. It was steady and soothing, helping her ease back into the version of Waverly Earp the Capitol citizens wanted to see. She sighed, shedding the last bit of herself, and placed her hands over Champ’s on her waist.
After a moment, Champ reached over to one of the silver sponsor canisters and pulled out the loaf of bread. Waverly watched as he began to eat it, thinking he would only take a few bites, but soon it became apparent that the eating habits he picked up at the Capitol were still with him.
"Hey," she started, glancing quickly at the cameras floating around them and choosing her words carefully. "Slow down. We should save that."
"Why?" Champ asked. "They'll just send more, Waves."
Champ crammed the last bit of bread into his mouth, and Waverly saw half their food rations disappear down his throat.
"We don't know that! God, don't be such an idiot, Champ."
Waverly immediately bit her bottom lip, regretting her harsh outburst, and she thought she saw Champ's body stiffen in response. She opened her mouth to apologize, but Champ abruptly let out a laugh and flung his arm casually around her shoulders. "You're cute when you're mad."
She gave a half-hearted smile and let his arm linger, glad that everything seemed to go over Champ's head as usual. They both sat quietly in front of the fire, watching the flames crackle and shift.
A sudden rustle from the trees interrupted them.
Champ separated himself from Waverly and picked up his lance, while Waverly picked up her pack and hunting knife. It could have been the Blacksmith or…
“Stupid, stupid, stupid…”
“Who’s that?” Champ called out, holding his weapon in a ready stance. “Who’s there?”
“Nothing but an airhead! Stupid idiot!”
Champ tilted his head. “…Dad?”
Waverly stood up, listening to the deep voice coming from the trees. Growing up in the Seam, she rarely wandered into the more prosperous areas of District 12, but she could vaguely recognize the voice as Champ’s father who ran the bakery in the merchant section. She had never heard him speak so harshly, and it was jarring.
“How can you be so stupid?! Don’t you have any sense, boy?”
Waverly looked over at Champ’s face, which was becoming increasingly pale and agitated. His jaw was tensed and the knuckles gripping his lance were white. Though Waverly hadn’t ever really known Champ that well, she had never seen him anything like this. Even when he was drunk and reckless on the train, he had always seemed steady and predictable. This made her nervous.
Waverly’s mind raced, trying to piece together what was happening. A recording of some sort? How could the Gamemakers have smuggled that audio from Champ’s own home?
“Stupid pretty boy! You’re just a stupid pretty boy!”
“SHUT UP!”
Waverly’s attention snapped back at Champ, who had thrown his lance into the tree, then bolted into a panicked run. The night sky erupted with shadows and the flapping of wings.
Jabberjays. Muttations created by the Capital to memorize and repeat human words, even entire conversations.
And now they had honed in on Champ and ran him off.
Fuck.
“Champ! Come back!”
Waverly sprinted after Champ, following the clumsy crashing sounds moving through the forest. Overhead the jabberjays followed relentlessly, circling over them and combining their voices to create a terrorizing cacophony of noise.
“STUPID STUPID STUPID!”
Waverly almost tripped over Champ in the darkness. He was cowering on the ground and covering his ears, trying to block out the sounds of the jabberjays’ taunts.
Waverly kneeled down to his trembling body, delicately putting her hands on Champ’s wrists to pull his hands away from his ears. “Champ! Hey, I’m here! Don’t listen to them!”
Champ’s breaths were short and quick, hyperventilating, and in that moment Waverly saw him for what he was – someone who was doing his best to survive in a world that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't fully grasp. Someone who had been celebrated on physical prowess but discounted on everything else. But he did pay attention, he did notice and observe what people thought of him. And now, he was just a scared kid who was facing the insecurities that had always bubbled beneath the surface.
“I’m here,” she said again, projecting her voice. “Be here with me.”
Champ nodded slowly, trying to focus on Waverly’s face. Her hand stroked his cheek softly, lulling him back to the present.
“Lies, lies, lies…”
The jabberjays’ voices became quieter but more intense. Waverly’s eyes darted over to them, wondering how they could be controlled so precisely. She felt Champ begin shaking again, and she knew what she had to do.
Waverly leaned over to hold Champ’s face in her hands and pressed her forehead against his, looking deep into his anxious eyes. “Don’t listen to them,” she said softly. “Stay here with me. They’re lying.”
Champ swallowed. “Not real?”
Waverly shook her head. “Not real. This is real.”
She kissed him then and his lips met hers with desperation. Waverly kissed him slowly, drawing him out of the jeers and mocks of the jabberjays, and she kissed him until the world had gone silent.
Nicole felt like she could barely breathe. Every step was the hardest step of her life, but she kept moving forward, shoving herself from tree to tree so she could stay upright and reach the dead zone. She wasn’t sure if Bobo or Constance were following her, but with the way her right leg was dragging behind her and leaving a trail of blood, she wouldn’t be hard to track.
Still, she had to keep going.
The quick sounds of underbrush crunching under another set of steps jerked her attention behind her. Echoes of howls and growls could be heard through the night air and were steadily becoming louder.
Muttations.
Nicole had to run. Now.
Nicole gritted her teeth as she forced her body to break into a dead run, dashing toward the spot where she had met Waverly only a couple hours ago. Her head spun around at the tree tops, looking for the camera Waverly had pointed out to mark one corner of the triangle.
The frantic pace of the muttation pack began thundering through the woods, and she heard excited barks behind her as they caught sight of her and the scent of the fresh blood Nicole was leaving behind.
Nicole’s good leg pushed her forward, while her bleeding right leg barely kept her from falling. She was too slow – she wouldn’t make it in time. She’d have to make do here.
She jumped off her good leg, grabbing a lower branch of a tree about eight feet off the ground, and pulled herself up. Just as she made it, the muttation pack caught up with her, standing on their hind legs and snapping their jaws.
There were five wolf muttations in the pack, and when they stood on their hind legs, they just reached the lower branch, tearing at it with their sharp teeth. Nicole kept climbing up until the leaves obscured her from being seen from the ground. She sat heavily on an upper branch, leaning against the trunk and trying to catch her breath.
Nicole closed her eyes, breathing through the sharp pain shooting up her right leg. It burned and throbbed, and the tail end of the arrow still stuck out of her thigh. Even sitting down and putting no weight on it, every tiny quiver sent new waves of pain radiating through her leg. She'd have to get the arrow out.
Field first aid was one of the first subjects the children in District 2 learned, and Nicole dug through her pack to get out the roll of bandages she’d stashed. This wound would also need stitches, and if she could get back to Waverly, maybe she could help her again.
The first rays of daylight began peeking through the horizon as Nicole took out a length of rope from her pack, looping it around the tree trunk and tying it around herself. She then reached up to break a small piece of a branch off and put it between her teeth.
This was gonna hurt.
Quickly, before she could lose her nerve, she moved her hand to the end of the arrow and pushed it so that the arrow head pierced through to the other side of her thigh.
Nicole screamed then, a muffled scream through the stick between her teeth. It didn’t matter how many scenarios and training fights she had gone through in school – searing pain burst through all her nerves, and it was impossible to stay quiet.
Nicole took in a few shuddering breaths, then broke off the tail end of the arrow and carefully pulled the barbed arrow head out of her leg. She gulped heavily, glad it was done, and threw the two pieces of arrow into the distance.
Down below, she heard a muttation bound after it, following the scent of her blood. The rest, however, remained below, staying with the blood trail slowly dripping down the tree.
Using the bandages, she tightly wrapped her wound. Blood quickly seeped through and Nicole tried not to think about what artery might have been nicked in the hit. A clammy sweat now soaked through her clothes and her leg dangled uselessly, but she still had to figure out how to get rid of the muttations below.
Nicole closed her eyes again and tried to steady her breathing, getting used to the raw pain in her leg. She wouldn’t be able to make it to the dead zone with a muttation pack following her. Waverly wouldn’t be safe if she walked into a pack.
Waverly…
Nicole’s head was spinning as her leg continued to bleed, and she felt her head drop down as she lost consciousness.
The bright light of the sunrise made Waverly open her eyes and break the kiss with Champ. The jabberjays had moved on, and ever aware of the two cameras hovering around them, she gently kissed Champ’s forehead.
“You okay?” she asked quietly. Champ was looking at her the way Nicole did – enraptured by her presence – and it made her feel uneasy, almost guilty.
“Yeah,” he breathed out, an involuntary smile perking up the corner of his mouth.
Waverly gave a tight smile back, then quickly turned away. This had always been a strategy for her, a means to an end, but now it seemed like she had played her part too well, and Champ was starting to believe it.
She began to let out a sigh, but a shine on the ground caught her eye.
A silver parachute.
Waverly dove forward to open the canister, eager to uncover its contents. A piece of paper was folded neatly at the top. She picked it up and unfolded it.
“Make them eat shit. – W”
Underneath the paper, a pistol was placed barrel down in the canister, and Waverly reached in to pull it out.
She smiled, feeling the empowering weight of the pistol finally in her hands.
Now the Games could really begin. |
"Buffy, honey!" Joyce called from the hallway at nine the next morning. "Whose car is that in the garage?" Without waiting for an answer, she popped into the room, carrying a large, plastic laundry basket full of clean clothes. She buzzed around the room for a minute or two, putting the laundry into the closet and the dresser drawers before she turned to look at the occupants of the bed. "Some of this doesn’t look like yours," she said, holding up Spike’s jeans and t-shirt. "Whose is..." She stopped talking when she met his eyes.
"‘Lo, Joyce."
"Oh...Spike. Hello. Are these yours?" Joyce seemed confused but not angry. She didn’t have an ax handy, either, which was another big plus.
"Yes, Mum. Buffy said I had to let her wash ‘em. There was a, uh, fight. They were covered in...fluids." That was the least offensive word he could think of. He’d done many strange things in his life, but none quite so strange as making small talk with the Slayer’s mother while lying in the Slayer’s bed.
Joyce held up a hand. "No details, please. I can only take so much. Are you both alright?"
"Oh, yeah. Yeah. We’re fine. No worries. We were just really..."
"Tired?" She reached out to stroke her only child’s hair. "I haven’t seen her drop off like this since she was little." Buffy stretched diagonally across the lower half of the bed, her head hanging down over the bottom left corner, long hair brushing the floor. She’d wrapped a throw around her torso, but her legs were uncovered, pajama pants scrunched up to her knees. "Must’ve been a rough day."
"She was gonna sleep in your room; let me stay here. Guess she didn’t make it. Last thing I remember, we were waitin’ for the dryer."
"Hey...you guys are noisy." Buffy muttered into the comforter. "Morning, mom!" she said, aiming for chipper and missing. "How was your trip?"
"It was wonderful, Buffy. I found some real treasures. Why don’t you two get dressed and come downstairs. I’ll make you some breakfast and tell you about it."
While Joyce made omelets and talked about her trip to Thailand, Buffy filled a large coffee mug with blood. He drank it gratefully, hoping Buffy’s mother would choose not to think about where it had come from. He managed to stay in human face, this time, but he felt his eyes turn gold.
He let the ladies chat, and stayed quiet, keeping his eyes down. It was never a good idea to remind people of what he was, particularly when they were being kind. Besides, he was still thinking about the conversation he’d had with Buffy the night before.
"We were talkin’ about deaths..." he prompted, as she sat on the end of the bed towel-drying her hair.
"Yeah, okay.” It was disconcerting, the way she did that. She talked about dying like she was relaying the highlights of a football game. She was interested, but uninvolved. "Let’s do that. Recap: Your first, London, eighteen-eighty; My first, the Master, nineteen-ninety-seven; My second, mystic glowy portal thingy, two thousand one; My third, Warren and his big-ass gun, two thousand two. With me so far?" She was counting them off on her fingers, his on one hand, hers on the other. He nodded.
"Alright. So...next, it’s your turn."
She relayed the story of the First Evil and the magic amulet Angel brought to her, how Angel said it was meant for a Champion, and how he—Spike himself—had worn it into the Hellmouth during the final battle, which he fought alongside all the newly activated Slayers. He didn’t flinch until she said, "And then your soul powered the amulet and it made this humongous sunlight explosion thing and the army of uber-vamps just turned to dust."
"My what?"
"Your soul."
He swallowed hard. "Was I...I wasn’t cursed, right? Not like Angel..."
"No. Oh, god, no, Spike. You’d never let that happen. No curse; no perfect happiness escape clause. You got your soul the same way you do...everything else you do. You decided you wanted it, so you went looking for it. Went to Africa. There were trials, tests, mortal peril stuff. Torture, maybe, too. I never could get you to give me the details. But you did it. You were gone for six months and you came back...damaged...but you came back with your soul."
He stared at her for a long time. "You’re serious," he said, finally.
"As death." She grinned. "You know, usually. Hey...were you reading my Kirsten?"
He was still pondering the implications of seeking out his own soul when he became aware that both women were calling his name. "Spike?" Buffy said. "You ready to ask Mom about that thing? That thing we were talking about?"
"Wha...oh, sure. Sure, Slayer. Now’s as good a time as any."
"Mom," Buffy said, "we have a proposition for you."
Between the two of them, they were mostly able to describe the tremendous quantity, age, and value of the treasure Spike had unearthed from a forgotten tomb beneath Sunnydale, although it was clear that Joyce thought they were exaggerating. Still, she was game.
"I’d be delighted to help you sell whatever it is you’ve found, Spike. I will need to take my standard twenty percent commission...."
"Of course, Joyce. More than fair. Glad Buffy pointed out you could help. Had no clue what I was gonna do with it all." That was actually the biggest reason he hadn’t worried about going back to get it right away. He didn’t have a way to sell it, and neither did the rest of the Sunnydale Underworld. The sole worth of that hoard to the denizens of the dark lay in the unremarkable green-stoned ring he now wore on his left hand.
Joyce flashed a brilliant smile at her daughter. "I’m pleased you thought of me, honey. I wasn’t sure you knew what I did for a living."
"Mom..." Buffy rolled her eyes, utterly adolescent. The Slayer had left the building. "Give me some credit. I’m a college girl, now."
"So, Spike, do you do a lot of treasure hunting?"
"Not as of late, Mum. Used to be easier to trade in gold. ‘S harder, now."
"Oh," she breathed. "I suppose it is. You know, Spike, sometimes I forget about all the changes you must have seen. You look so young." She patted his hair, which sprang back into artfully arranged curls. Buffy had turned him around at the top of the stairs and rubbed some kind of cream into it before pulling individual bits into place. It dried almost instantly, but stayed soft. "I love your hair this way, sweetie."
He ducked his head. He felt like he was being domesticated one affectionate gesture at a time, and he knew he should protest, should fight back, but there was something about Joyce Summers that made him feel safe and loved and compliant.... Bloody buggering hell. He reappraised Buffy. That was it. The changes in her speech patterns, the subtle differences in her mannerisms. She sounded just like Joyce. Slayer was turning into her mother.
"So," Joyce said, "when can I see what you found?"
Buffy and Spike spent the next half hour moving boxes from the garage to the basement so they could open the doors of the car to get the treasure out. They distributed the hoard across the living and dining rooms to allow Joyce to look closely. When they had about a third of it out, she dropped to the couch with her hands over her mouth.
"We are," she said, "going to need to have a lot of this appraised."
"So you think you can sell it?" Spike wasn’t exactly sure what to make of her reaction. He couldn’t tell if it was promising or not.
"Oh...oh, yes, I do." He could hear her heart tap-dancing in her chest. "If all of this is what it looks like..."
"Prob’ly is, Mum. It’s been down there for a bit."
"Do you have any idea how long ‘a bit’ is?" Joyce had a hysterical edge to her voice and her breathing was shallow and erratic.
"Ah...well, the first references to it..." He looked back and forth between The Slayer and her mother. Would Joyce faint?
"Mom, why don’t I get you a drink, and we’ll tell you more about it in a few minutes, okay?"
Joyce knocked the first drink straight back and was working on the second before she said, "Alright. My nerves are settling. Tell me about this treasure."
Spike told her as much as he knew. Joyce nodded and took it all in. "So it’s been hidden here in California since the tenth century, at the latest. Everything is at least that old and some of the pieces are much older than that...but that doesn’t make any sense. None of this looks Mesoamerican."
"Doubt any of it is. Not sure why it should be. Some of it isn’t even human."
"Hu...hu..." Joyce downed the rest of her second drink and handed her glass to Buffy, who refilled it.
"How can it not be human?" Joyce pleaded.
He turned a glower on Buffy. "Don’t you tell your mum anything, Slayer?"
Buffy held up her hands. "Hey. Don’t look at me. Those are the details she always says she doesn’t want. You want to tell her about all things dire and demony, you go right ahead." |
'Sir?'
Tony doesn't look up. He's elbow-deep in a holographic representation of Loki's nervous system—he didn't find anything abnormal in the brain, although he'll be the first to admit it's not his primary area of expertise—and he's pretty sure he'll forget where he is in it if he glances away even for a second. "What's up?"
'Miss Potts is trying to call. Shall I put her through?'
Tony hesitates. He wants to say yes, but he is still trying to convince the world that he's a big, bad supervillain, and he warned Pepper they'd have to maintain radio silence for a while. On the other hand, he could use a sounding board, and the bots only go so far. Plus, it's Pepper. She may not always agree with him, but at least Tony knows she trusts him, and that counts for a lot right now. He somewhat reluctantly withdraws from the hologram and settles back.
"Sure, go ahead." He waits a beat until he's sure FRIDAY has patched Pepper in, and then he says, "Hey, Pep. How's things?"
"I can't believe you're going through with this."
"Do you miss me already? Don't worry. This'll be over before you know it."
Pepper sighs on the other end of the phone. "Are you okay, at least?"
"Of course I'm okay. I'm fine. I'm great. Better than ever." He takes a seat on the floor, right in the middle of Loki's nervous system. "How are you?"
"Stressed," she answers. "And it's your fault."
It usually is. He should probably feel worse about that than he does, but hey, Pepper knew what she was signing up for. "My fault?"
"First the attack on Baltimore, then the one in New York, and now you're challenging the Avengers on national television? Tony, do you have any idea how this is affecting your company?"
"Your company," Tony corrects. "Also, it was international television."
He thinks he hears Pepper breathe "Oh god," but it might just be his imagination. He hears her sigh loud and clear, however. "I know you're doing this for a good reason, so I'm not going to ask you to stop. But can you please be a little more self-aware? The board is talking about seizing your shares, Tony."
"The board?" It takes a moment for that to click. "The Stark Industries' board? They're trying to kick me off the board of my own company?"
"I thought it was my company."
"My company, your company, doesn't matter. They can't kick me off the board. I own, what, sixty-five percent of the shares?"
"Seventy even" Pepper says. "And yes, they can."
Tony drags his fingers through his hair. Great. Just great. This is not the pick-me-up he was hoping for. "Why? Because of this fake villain thing? That doesn't seem fair. They didn't so much as blink when I was making weapons and killing hundreds of people every day, but one little staged scuffle and they've decided they're done with me?"
"Tony, they don't know it was staged." Pepper sounds tired. "It's not just the board. They've decided you're a liability. They're talking about distancing the entire company from you."
"Well, tell them good luck with that. My name is plastered over everything, so..."
Pepper doesn't answer right away. "They're discussing taking your name off the brand entirely."
Ouch. That stung. "That's pretty harsh. You're fighting it, though, right?"
The silence on the other end of the phone is telling. Tony shuts his eyes.
"Pep?"
"I'm doing what I can," she answers. "But Tony... I hate to say this, but they might be right this time. Who knows how long this mission of yours is going to take? I'm CEO. I have to think about what's best for the company."
"But it's my company." And, he doesn't say, she's his girlfriend—or whatever the word they're not using is. Shouldn't she be on his side first, before the company's? He's calling foul. "Fight harder. This won't last too much longer. Things'll be back to normal before you know it."
"I hope so. I don't know how much more bad press the board is willing to put up with."
Tony shakes his head. "You keep Stark Industries afloat and don't let them sell out to anybody. I'll get things wrapped up here soon enough." He surveys his holographic replica of Loki's nervous system. 'Soon' might be a little optimistic, but... "Hey, while I've got you here, I have a question."
"It's not 'what are you wearing,' is it?"
"Of course not. You know the rules: no dirty talk where the bots might hear it." He sits back. "Let's say you're trying to control somebody. You know, get in their head. How do you do it?"
Pepper pauses. "Are you sure you want me to answer that?"
He wishes he could see her expression right about now. Was that a wary question or a teasing question? He can't tell over the phone. "Absolutely. Lay it on me."
"Don't take this the wrong way," she says, "but I would start with their heart."
Tony blinks. "That's incredibly unsettling, Pepper."
"You asked." She's quiet for a moment. "Does that help at all?"
"Creep factor aside?" He shrugs. "Maybe."
"Well, I guess that's the best I could hope for. Is that everything?"
"Just about." He smiles. "Well, one last thing. What are you wearing?"
Pepper laughs. "Good luck with your project, Tony. Get it finished soon. And be careful."
"I always am," he answers, but he's pretty sure FRIDAY cuts the call off before he says it. He sighs and presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. "My own board is turning against me," he laments to no one in particular. "What a mess."
Tony climbs to his feet so that he's standing in Loki's nervous system. As predicted, he's totally lost his place. Oh well. He wasn't finding anything anyway. Not that he necessarily knows what to look for in the first place, but...
Really, Tony isn't even sure this mental link Loki feels he has with the Titan guy will show up on a physical scan, so this could all just be a waste of time. He has no idea. But he did promise Loki he would try, and this is him trying. And he's got to start somewhere, right?
"I guess I should just count myself lucky his anatomy is more or less the same as ours," Tony mutters to himself. "FRIDAY, do you have the heart all sewn up? Let's see if Pepper is on to something with her creepy theory."
The nervous system disappears and a holographic heart appears in its place, hovering an arm's length away from Tony's face. He reaches out and turns it to get a 360 view.
When he doesn't see anything on the outside, he shakes his head. "Open it up."
FRIDAY gives him a cross section and helpfully puts up a hologram of a regular human heart next to it so Tony can compare. He nods his approval.
"I really should have found an anatomist or a doctor or somebody who knows what they're doing to look at all this," he complains. "It all looks the same to me. FRIDAY, are you catching any anomalies on the scan?"
'No sir.'
"Yeah. Waste of time. Let's go back to the..." He stops and tilts his head. "Hold on. Is that something?" He reaches over with both hands to make the hologram larger. "FRIDAY?"
'It appears to be a small mass of scar tissue, sir.'
"You didn't think that was weird?" Tony's not sure he even knew hearts could develop scar tissue. Is that really a thing?
'Scar tissue typically forms on the heart or an artery following some myocardial trauma, such as a heart attack or myocarditis. As Asgardians live a great deal longer and heal from injuries beyond what a human being might survive, this might merely be a species-derived anomaly.'
"It could be, but we don't know that for sure." He shakes his head. "He heals fast, like you said, so we'll keep that in mind, but... Keep this up and put the image of his brain alongside it, will you?" He waits, then turns the image of the brain once it pops up. "Here. See? Another cluster of whatever that is. Scar tissue, I guess. It kind of looks the same, anyway." He didn't flag it earlier because it seemed so small, but coupled with the tissue on his heart... "Go through everything we've got on him, top to bottom. How many of these clusters are there?"
FRIDAY takes a little while to process before answering. 'Forty-six, sir.'
"Forty-six?" He whistles under his breath. It's probably not what he's looking for, but it's interesting anyway. How did Loki wind up with so much internal damage? "What's it mean?"
'I would imagine it means Loki has suffered—and recovered from—extensive internal injuries, sir.'
Tony shakes his head. "Not good enough. Are you keeping tabs on Loki? Get him down here."
It takes a while—almost half an hour, by Tony's watch—before Loki deigns to join him in the workspace, and he lingers by the door once he's there, as if he can't wait to get away. "Yes?"
"You've got forty-some scars in really weird places. Like, inside of you weird places. Want to tell me what that means?"
Loki raises his eyebrows. "It likely means I left an impressive dent in your floor during our encounter in New York," he says. "Surely you didn't think I came away from the battle completely unscathed."
"That's it?"
"Most likely." Loki considers him, head tilted to one side. "Since that seems to be your only concern, I take it the scan did not discover anything of note?"
Tony shakes his head. "I told you, it's next to impossible to figure out what's going on without having a control. That's just basic science."
"And I told you, that simply is not possible."
"Yeah, you've said that, but you haven't told me why." It doesn't look like Loki has any intention of answering, but Tony waves his hand to cut short any potential reply anyway. "It doesn't matter. Your anatomy isn't all that different from mine, and nothing interesting popped up except for all the leftovers from your near-death experience with the Hulk, so it's clearly nothing my scanner is going to pick up."
Loki's expression looks almost disappointed for a fraction of a second, but that might just be Tony's imagination. "I see. Then there is no hope of breaking the connection."
"Unless I can figure out exactly what he did to you, I don't know if there is. Maybe if I got you in the scanner during one of your little episodes I could trace some neural pattern or..." He stops. "Oh. Was it really that obvious? Fuck I'm brilliant. I'm so brilliant I don't even know when I'm being brilliant until after I've finished brilliant-ing."
Loki frowns. "Do feel free to enlighten me at any time."
He points at Loki. "You. You're your own control. Of course I'm not going to pick anything up when I scan you right now, because nothing is happening right now. You're totally normal. I mean, normal for you. Whatever that entails. The change happens when the bad guy tries to get in your head, and whatever he's using to do that isn't going to show up in a scan until he actually tries to access it."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning I need to get you in the scanner while he's trying to break in." He offers up a grin. "Easy. Shouldn't be that hard. I'll just need you to stick around the lab so I start scanning you the second you start to go all crazy-eyed."
"That won't be possible."
"Oh, come on!" Tony throws up his hands. "Are you serious right now? Is this a trust thing again? I am getting really sick of everybody's trust issues. My board's, Pepper's, yours... I'm not going to sic my bots on you or anything. Fuck, give me ten minutes and I'll probably forget you're even here. That's sort of my thing. I'm forgetful and I get caught up in my work. You're perfectly safe down here, all right? Just get that through your head for a second."
Loki frowns at him. "It's not that, Stark."
"Then what is it?"
"I've work of my own to do."
"Like what? Unless it's talking to your alien buddies, I don't see why you can't do whatever it is you have to do down here just as easy as you could upstairs."
Loki shakes his head and starts to turn away, back toward the stairs. "No, Stark."
"Do you want this fixed or not?"
"Of course I do."
"Then stick around and let me try fixing it." He waits for Loki to answer and, when he doesn't, he snaps his fingers to get the god's attention. "Give me your coat."
Loki looks back at him. "What?"
"Your coat. Give it to me. I want to try it on."
Loki stares at him for a few seconds before he very pointedly looks Tony up and down. "I don't think it will fit you."
"Yeah, yeah, I get it. I'm short. You're very funny." He makes grabby hands in Loki's direction. "Let me try on your magic coat."
"Why?"
"I've got reasons." They're stupid reasons, and he'll be the first to admit to that, but they're still reasons. "Coat. Gimme."
Loki shakes his head, but he backtracks across the room and undoes and removes the gauntlets at his forearms so that he can take off his shoulder guard and shrug off his duster. "You are very strange."
"Yeah, you've said that before." He holds his arms behind his back so that Loki can put the coat on him, and Loki does, although he doesn't even try to hide his eye roll. Once it's on, Loki steps back and Tony rolls his shoulders.
The coat is definitely way too big on Tony. The shoulders are too wide, the sleeves are too long, and the coat itself sweeps the floor around his feet. Also, it's heavier than Tony expected, and he has to brace himself just to stand up straight in it. Regardless, he pushes the sleeves up as best he can and nods.
"All right, great. Now, I'm going to go back to work, and since you don't feel comfortable without your magic coat, you can't leave until I decide I'm done wearing it." He waves Loki toward a stool. "You can just sit there for a while. I'll let you know when I'm done."
Loki seems to get over his surprise relatively quickly, and Tony thinks he sees him bite back the start of a smile. "Ah," he says. "You think you've tricked me."
"I've totally tricked you. Now go sit down."
Loki shakes his head as he goes over to the stool Tony indicated. "You are impeding my work."
"Same to you." The sleeves of Loki's coat fall down and Tony pushes them back up. "Don't worry. All you need to do is hang out until I can get a good scan of you while you're having one of your moments. You're averaging, what, one or two a day? We shouldn't have to wait long."
"We'll see." Loki drags down a holoscreen—one with notes and stuff already scribbled on it, all written in a language Tony doesn't recognize—and stretches out his legs, getting comfortable. After a moment, he notices Tony watching him and he arches an eyebrow. "What now?"
"I'm waiting for you to have one of your episodes."
Loki rolls his eyes. "Find something else to do. You are disturbing me."
"As in I'm keeping you from working or as in I'm just generally putting you off?"
"Both."
"Deal with it." He—after a few tries because Loki's coat is really goddamn heavy—hops up to sit on the worktable. "It's not like I can put a bell on you and know when something is triggering that connection or like you can let me know in advance, so I've got to pay attention."
"You do have your FRIDAY," Loki points out.
Tony glances toward the closets of FRIDAY's sensors. "Yeah, and no offense to her, but she's missed a few crucial things over the past few days. We're planning a debugging session once everything settles down. Just to be safe." Plus, he doesn't know if Vision is planning to hack into FRIDAY's interface again, and he doesn't want Vision to accidentally stumble across that alert setting. Loki wants him to keep the Avengers in the dark, so he's going to keep to his word as best he can, and that means limiting Vision's access—and therefore FRIDAY's involvement—in all of this.
"So you intend to stare at me instead?" Loki shakes his head. "Surely that isn't necessary."
"Well, unless you've got a better idea, it kind of is." Tony kicks his heels against the side of the table. "Want to tell me what you're working on, or should I just..."
He trails off as he sees Loki go very still and quiet, and then he all but leaps off the table in Loki's direction.
"You've got to be shitting me. Already? That was fast." He tries to pull Loki to his feet, but the guy is heavier than he looks and doesn't budge. He gestures to his bots. "Guys, come on, give me a hand."
The bots whirr and beep their concern, but they don't make a move to come any closer.
Tony swears. "Come on, don't tell me you're scared of him." He slides his arms under Loki's and tries to bodily haul him off the stool, but all that does is make the stool tilt precariously to one side. Tony immediately puts Loki back where he was before he knocks the god to the floor. Loki probably wouldn't appreciate the bruises, however temporary they might be, and Tony isn't sure how aware Loki is while he's in this trance thing. Would the fall break his concentration? If so, would the Titan could break into Loki's head while Loki was distracted?
There are way more variables here than Tony prepared for, and he definitely didn't count on Loki being so incredibly heavy. Maybe this is a less brilliant idea than he thought.
"Shit." He tugs at Loki's clothes as though that will accomplish anything. "Come on, I need to get you in the scanner before this wears off. Get up."
Loki doesn't react at all, and finally, Tony gives up and crouches down in front of Loki to wait for his episode to be over.
It takes almost a whole five minutes before Loki shakes himself back to awareness. When he does, he looks down at where Tony is sitting on the floor and arches his eyebrows.
Tony shakes his head. "I couldn't get you to the scanner."
Loki exhales. It's not quite a sigh, but it's close. "I see. Then this was for naught."
"You could just sit in the scanner until the next one hits," Tony suggests. "That way I won't have to try and move you."
"That would also require me to not wear my armor, I expect."
"I forgot about that." Tony drags his fingers through his hair. "Yes. It probably would. And you're not comfortable with that. Got it. Bad idea. I just don't know what else to do right now."
Loki considers him, quiet, and then he shakes his head. "Perhaps it will come to you if you stop thinking about it for a time," he suggests. "I will allow you to help with my plans instead."
Tony doesn't move from his spot on the floor. "What are your plans?"
"Another attack. What city would make for an ideal target, do you think? Some place that is well defended but requires additional reinforcement would be best."
"I don't know. I mean, I guess maybe some place in the Middle East, if we're going for something international, but..." He trails off. "Wait, another attack? On Earth?"
Loki has pulled up a map of the Middle East and is considering it with some skepticism. "Yes, of course. Where else?"
"You can't attack Earth."
He glances at him. "I already have, Stark. Twice. I assure you I can, and I will. Or have you forgotten what it is I've set out to do here?"
Tony shakes his head. "I haven't forgotten. But come on, they just had to deal with you, what, this morning?"
"Yesterday," Loki corrects. "You have been working down here for some time."
"Still, it's been a day. Give them a chance to recover."
"The Titan will not allow them that reprieve when he comes. Why should I?"
"Uh, because you're not him?" Tony climbs to his feet, leaving Loki's duster behind on the floor. "Come on. I know you're trying to do a good thing here, but he's not coming that fast, is he? Give everyone here a break. A couple days, at least."
Loki shakes his head. "No, Stark. To take on the Titan, they will need to muster all their endurance as well as their strength, or they will fall within days."
"I don't like it."
"I do not require your approval." Loki dismisses the holoscreens. "If you are so opposed, you need not stand with me. Return to your team. There is nothing here compelling you to help further my cause."
"This is my house," he reminds Loki. "And no way. We made a deal. I help you, you help me. Remember?"
"And that is your decision?"
"I guess it is."
"Then name the city, Stark." Loki stands, picks up his duster from the floor, and drapes it over the seat of his stool before he sits back down. "I care not where it is, only that it is moderately defensible."
"Stuttgart. You've been there before, so they won't be totally shocked to see you there again. And it's sort of the heart of Europe—that's what they're telling people, anyway—so it'd make sense for you to go after it."
Loki furrows his brow. "I don't recall any real defenses there."
"Yeah, can't speak to that. I know there's a military presence, though. Our guys, at least. And it's been around for ages, lasted through a few wars... That means it's got to be pretty sturdy, since most of the buildings there have been around since forever. Hey, what if I made the scanner portable? That might work."
"The armor will still pose a problem."
Tony waves a hand dismissively. "I'll figure out a way around it. First things first. Portable scanner. This is going to be a thing. Stuttgart is good for your thing?"
"It will do."
"Okay. Good. I'm going to make a portable version of the scanner, then."
Loki offers him a faint smile. "You do that. Should I let you know when I leave for Stuttgart?"
"Well, yeah, of course. I mean, you've got to take me with you, so..."
"You wish to join in the fight? Against your friends?"
"Yeah."
"Why?"
Tony is only half paying attention as he pulls down holoscreens and notes to start simplifying and compacting his scanner into something a little more mobile. "Well, see, it occurred to me that this guy was able to control you to a point, and you were able to kind of control Clint and some other people, and sure, he doesn't have the Mind Stone anymore, but that's not to say the people down here won't have to be prepared to fight people they care about, right? Because anything could happen."
Loki blinks at him. "I had not considered that," he admits, and then he nods. "Very well. I will take you with me to Stuttgart."
"With my suit."
"Of course."
Tony nods. "Well, you just let me know when. I'll be here, miniaturizing super high-tech, advanced, delicate machinery so that I can use it on you and save the world. You know. Same old, same old."
Loki pulls down a new holoscreen. "Naturally. Don't let me stop you."
He pauses. "You're going to do your thing down here, too?"
"Unless I will be in your way...?"
He won't be, but Tony isn't exactly used to working with an audience. He hasn't done it in a long time. Then again, maybe that extra bit of pressure will be good for him. He works well under pressure, usually. Why should this be any different?
"No, you're fine," he decides, and drags some notes from one holoscreen to another. "But you'll have to put up with my soundtrack."
Loki makes an amused noise. "I'm sure I'll make do."
"Good." Tony nods his head. "FRIDAY, hit it." |
At his usual table in the cantina that served as his office and headquarters, Greef Karga waved away a guild member who’d begun to ask him a question. No, he had to deal with his Mandalorian problem first. Sure enough, the helmet-wearing bounty hunter walked in a few minutes later with the now-familiar baby carrier following close behind. When he sat down opposite the guild leader, the Mandalorian sat his rifle on his lap and tossed a no longer active tracking fob on the table. It shouldn’t have been a difficult bounty. He’d been sent after some drunken Rodian who’d run off with a bag of his former employers’ credits.
“So,” Karga began, but he looked up, the Mando had turned away from him and was facing the creature’s carrier, peering at it. The child was upright and leaning over the edge, apparently having dropped something over the side. Its eyes were wide and expressive and Karga was sure he’d never seen anything quite like the mysterious being. The Mandalorian bent down and picked up what appeared to be a soft toy shaped like a vulptex. The big-eared youngling took it eagerly and made a series of happy sounds. Karga cleared his throat and tried again. “So. All of them?”
“Yes.”
The Mandalorian might be a pain in the butt, but at least he never tried to obfuscate. Karga waited to see if there would be a more detailed explanation, but he wasn't surprised when none came. He sighed. “I shouldn’t need to be telling you this at this stage of your career, but catching the target is only the first part of the job,” Karga said, pointing to the tracking fob. “The second part is actually delivering them either here or to the folks paying the bounty.”
“I did that.”
“Yeah, you did that, and then you killed the clients and all their guards! Luckily, they paid ahead of time, but I’m sure you can appreciate that it’s not great for the Guild’s reputation.”
The helmeted man tilted his head slightly. “I can explain.”
“Please do. Look, I know you have a temper. I mean, you all do. But come on, you’re not new. You know the job takes priority. What the hell did they do? Mess with your armor? Insult Mandalore?”
“They wanted to take the kid.”
Karga rested his head in one hand. Of course that would be the reason. It had only been a month and a half since the Mando’s disaster of a job for their shadowy unnamed client, but despite the man’s statements to the contrary, it was becoming clear that the bounty hunter was planning on keeping the child around. “We’re talking about a gang. It’s not exactly surprising that they engage in trafficking. You could have just said no.”
“I did. I just don’t think most of them had the ability to hear me by that point.”
"Mando-”
“I got carried away. It won't happen again.”
Karga sighed. He knew by now that arguing with this particular Mandalorian was pointless, and the man was his most effective bounty hunter. He couldn’t afford any kind of rift that might jeopardize their working relationship. “See that it doesn’t.” The other man began to get up. “Wait,” he added, with a raised hand. “I can’t believe this is something I’m about to say out loud, but you can’t let caring for a baby get in the way of your job.”
“I’m aware.” As they spoke, the child climbed out of its bassinet and Karga watched as Djarin grabbed it and placed it on the table. The creature smiled and then repeatedly slammed its toy down on the tabletop. The bounty hunter made a muffled sound that Karga thought might be laughter.
“Well, have you thought about not bringing it on your jobs? That would probably be safest.” For everyone, he didn’t say aloud.
“I can’t leave them on the ship.”
He has a point, Karga thought, considering how quickly the child had managed to get out of its carrier. Still, it was so young. “Surely there must be some way to keep it safely contained?”
The other man was silent for a long moment. “No, there really isn’t.”
That didn’t sound quite right to Karga, but what did he know about… whatever kind of thing this child was? Pretty much nothing.
The bounty hunter reached out and took the toy from the baby who was offering it with one outstretched hand. He then kept it just out of the child's reach which caused it to giggle madly as it tried to reclaim the vulptex.
“What about a droid? You could probably pick up a cheap one at the market here if you’re willing to do some minor repairs.”
The Mandalorian tightened his grip on the toy. “No.”
“Hey, I’m not talking about a battle droid! Just a nice, normal nanny droi-”
“No. Droids.”
Pointless, the guild leader reminded himself. “Fine, but you have got to find a solution.”
“I will,” the Mando said. Then he stood up, attached his rifle to his back and returned the child and its toy to the bassinet. The creature was making contented-sounding noises and clung to its caregiver's arms as it was carried.
“Does it speak?” Karga asked, suddenly curious.
Djarin paused. “Not yet.”
“You’ll need to start teaching it then.”
“I don't-”
Karga frowned. “And by that, I mean Galactic Basic.”
“Well, obviously.”
He could tell the man wore an irritated expression behind his helmet. It was funny how he’d learnt to pick up on things like that after working with him for the last few years. “Because it’s fine to be attached to your culture, and you can do whatever you want when it’s just you, but if you’re really going to keep this kid with you, you’ve got to teach it how to survive in this galaxy and not just how to talk in Mando’a and to recite that Resol'nare garbage.”
“It is not gar-” The bounty hunter began, and then stopped. “I’m leaving now.”
The guild leader pulled an active tracking fob from his coat pocket. Its red light blinked rhythmically. “Sure, but you might want this. Bail jumper, 4000 credits. And don’t even think of complaining about the bounty. You owe me after today's little incident.”
The Mando nodded and took the fob.
“Djarin, wait. You’re good at your job, and I’m glad to have you, but promise me you won’t murder any more of our already shrinking client pool just because they happen to look the wrong way at that child.”
The bounty hunter turned away from him. “See you later, Karga.” Then he walked to the exit, the baby hovering along beside him. |
It was supposed to be simple. Take a portkey, go to the blasted mountains, study the area, take a portkey back. Simple.
They had gone around the bloody world, looking at caves and the fungi that could be found there. It was part of the ministry's research for new potion ingredients, new concoctions to help with various new wizarding maladies that had developed post-war, due to wounds and spells suffered that the more perverted Death Eaters had designed. To this day there were still effects to be seen, passed down to offspring even. The most crippling and revolting though had already been treated with success.
He was head of the research, head of the department actually, and in his examination of potions brought in from around the world, potions that had never been seen, used or studied before in Wizarding Britain, he had singled out an ingredient that could be the key to another project. So, he was there, looking for the source of the blasted fungi. The magical authorities in the little shithole country it came from were no help, mostly because they weren’t yet very organized. Magic was still very taboo, and the people with the gift were scared to come forward in any way, even to others like them.
He knew few things about the ingredient. It was definitely found in cold weather, and high altitude, in dark spaces. The first order of business was to look in the country where the potion originated, but without the help of some form of authority, it was harder. They found nothing.
He also knew he had to be there for when it was found, finally. The transportation had to be done just right, the conditions in which it was found should be properly recorded so they could be recreated, and he could trust no one else to do that satisfactorily. She… she was there mostly because she was nosy.
She was brilliant, it was true. And if he needed help – which he did despite not feeling too comfortable admitting to it – there could be no one more competent… but it bothered him to travel around the world with this witch.
They had already been to four probable locations so far with no results. Nothing like they needed was ever found. Samples were collected and taken back to the lab to be examined, but never turned out to be what they had been looking for exactly - though some had use.
Now they were to explore a mountain in North America. They would have a couple of days to do it, but the goal was to finish in one and head back already. Magic worked wonders for their exploring, helping with the cold, the deep snow and even with uncovering nooks and caves that muggles never had known existed.
But one day was not enough. Despite the spells, the cold and tiredness were beginning to get to them. So they would head down the mountain, find their contact with the local magical authority, and follow the person from there to a place to rest. They would pick up where they had left off the following morning.
Except they were rounded up by authorities, muggle authorities, as they headed down the mountain. It was too cold to apparate, and the way down could prove helpful in finding something. They were rounded up along with some tourists that were skiing on the mountain, mistaken for one of the lot. They were taken to the nearest ski lodge in order to stay put. Apparently, some sort of deadly virus from hell had broken loose and the world was shutting down to avoid the spread. So they were trapped there. The nearest town was in lockdown and would not accept them. It was small anyway. They had no hopes of getting to their contact, because the muggles would not let them leave and because they did not know if the contact and the magical community as a whole was freaking out about this as well. There was no way of knowing if they would allow them to take a portkey. Muggle transportation was out of the question as well. They were trapped there. And the icing on the cake was they were forced to stay in the same room. There was only one left in the wing of the hotel they were keeping open for those who didn’t manage to get out. The rest of the hotel would be shut off as to avoid running up the bills for no damn reason. Apparently there was no problem in them sharing the room to the muggles – despite their preaching of staying away from everyone else and touching nothing at all – since they were “together” all along anyway.
Severus paced the room, very irritable. “I have to pay to be locked up! This is fucking rich.”
Hermione was curled up in a leather armchair, her chin rested on her knees as she watched the news on TV. She was trying to keep herself calm, though admittedly watching the telly right now was not the way to do it. “Would you rather be outside in the cold?”
“I would rather be heading home!” He snarled. “I should have obliviated the fucking authorities, the tourists, the whole lot,” he added a bit under his breath.
“Well that is not exactly feasible right now, apparently. The airports are closed, here and back home.”
“We are not muggles, Hermione! There has to be a way.”
“There is no way! Unless you want to obliviate everyone in the hotel to make a run for it! Either way, we have missed the scheduled portkey for today, and we are not sure if there will be another one tomorrow or if the magical community has adered to this lockdown… we have no way to contact them, no owl, the fireplace is not connected to the floo… my cell phone was lost on the fucking mountain with the all the rushing and they won’t have a phone anyway... I'm not sure where to send a Patronus, since the contact won’t probably be at the agreed spot anymore... It's helpless. We shouldn’t have arrived and gone straight to the mountain. I think it's best to just stay put now. At least we have food and shelter guaranteed.”
Severus huffed.
“It's only for 2 weeks, maybe less, they're saying. To stop the spread.”
“Oh, only for 2 weeks. Marvelous. That makes me feel so much better,” he let out sardonically.
As the day went by though, it was Hermione who started to get irritable. She huffed and growled to herself as she stared out the window.
It was a rather nice room. It had a very large window, floor-to-ceiling – and it was a high ceiling. The bed faced the window. Between the window and the bed was a little sitting area by the fire, with an armchair – which Severus now occupied – a small sofa, a window seat along the window. The fireplace was on a wall adjacent to the window. The room was mostly done in wood and leather, and the curtains and covers and whatnot were plaid. The chandelier was made of antlers – or mock antlers, Hermione hoped.
Severus looked up from the book he had found to occupy himself with. She was tapping her foot annoyingly on the floor as her head was rested on the window while sitting on the window seat.
“Maybe we can use this time to develop something to stop the spread and end this sooner,” she said, scowling
“Splendid idea. Now we just need to entrap the virus somehow to examine it, have access to lab materials and ingredients, and we’re all set,” he let out in a sarcastic drawl.
“Well at least I came up with something, Severus!” She attacked.
“What has gotten in your knickers, witch?!”
Nothing. For a very long time now. “I'm worried about my kids. I can't reach them.” Though it was a sensitive topic, she did not state it in a vulnerable way.
“They are locked in a boarding school. I'm sure they are fine. And we don't even know if this affected our world.” Though he did not intend it to be that way, it came out in a dismissively. “You need not be so concerned.”
She narrowed her eyes and furrowed her brow further, scrunching her nose. “Well you don’t have kids, do you? You wouldn’t bloody know,” she spat.
His face morphed into a grave, stoic mask. “Yes. Quite right,” he said as he stood and let the book that had been on his lap plop onto the armchair. “Forgive my rude intrusion.” He was walking away from her, towards the loo.
Hermione felt the change immediately. Was he… hurt? She had been so very brusque. She sensed though it was not just that. Could he resent the fact he didn’t have kids? He didn't have a family. It was well documented in the rags that passed as newspapers these days that he was fond of going out, enjoying life with a bimbo or another on his arm, but it had never been anything serious.
“Severus, I didn’t mean to…”
But he slammed the door and was inside the bathroom before she could finish her sentence.
She sighed and sat back, arms folded on her stomach. She should really stop being so aggressive. She didn't use to be. Personality traits you inherited in divorce, I guess. Ron was so… dominant, not in the good way. He always had to be right. He always talked over her, and had to have the last word. He was the holder of all truth. So she learned to give it before she took it, as a reflex, with everyone. Severus did not deserve that. He was not the perkiest of people, but he was a good man. He was a good boss. Brilliant man. Age had mellowed him a smidge. He gave her a job when he really didn’t have to.
He took a while in there and came out looking very fresh, though he was wearing the same woolen trousers and turtleneck, black of course. His hair was damp. It was even kind of sexy – sexier – when damp. The fact it was now cut short and had gray streaks on the sides, next to his temples and a thick, gorgeous streak on top really helped with that. The clothes she knew would have to be repeated and worn to the maximum, since they each had only taken a small bag for three days tops. That is why he wore the same thing after showering.
“Severus, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be so rude.”
“It's fine,” he said curtly.
“I'm just really freaking out.”
“I understand.”
She bit her lip in frustration at his curt words. But it was best to leave him to be when he was like this, she knew.
Night had begun to fall and Severus hit the lights to continue to read in silence. But soon there was a knock on the door. Hermione and Severus looked at each other.
“Must be the food,” he said matter-of-factly. They had ordered something on the phone from reception.
“Finally! I was starved. Fucking sucks that there is a limited time to order, and a limited number of meals a day.
She rushed to the door and opened it. No one was outside, but the trays were on the floor for them. She took them inside, one by one, as she spoke.
“It must be to ensure there is food for everyone for as long as we are stuck here. I don't know if suppliers are delivering,” Severus added.
Hermione closed the door and took his tray from the sideboard by the door. She served him to make up for her rudeness. He thanked her and placed his food on the coffee table for support. They ate around it, sat on the floor, sharing friendly conversation.
When she exited the bathroom after her shower, he had changed into grey pajamas, sweatpants and a Henley shirt, long sleeves. He was pulling the covers from one side of the bed, fluffing the pillows.
“How… how will the sleeping arrangements be? Shall we discuss it?” She uttered timidly after clearing her throat.
“There is nothing to discuss, Hermione. You’re no blushing virgin, as the kids you have and I don’t are a testament to. The bed is big, a king size. I am 60 years old and that sofa is but half my length. I will not sleep on it and throw out my back for the sake of some outdated notion you might have. And I think you have known me long enough – and in enough detail, to some extent – to not doubt the fact that I will not abuse your honor in any way. I will respect your space.”
She looked at him as he stood across from her, the bed between them, and held the duvet. He looked at her, waiting for permission it seemed. She knew him. He was sincere. And he hadn't been rude like he could have been, saying he would never desire her anyway. She knew. She had seen the floozies he had a preference for. That wasn't her, in any capacity at all.
She nodded once at him and he slipped into bed. Both lay on the very edge of the bed. The space between them could fit someone else. Well, at least a child comfortably. Both lay still, looking at the high ceiling full of wooden beams and at the antler chandelier hanging over them. There was a switch to the lights beside the bed and Hermione hit it.
The dark made the room more silent for some reason. It was funny how no one fought over sides of the bed - the positions they were used to sleeping in complemented the other.
“Well, good night,” she bid and he felt the mattress move under her weight as he still looked fixedly at the darkened ceiling.
“Yes, good night.”
He breathed a bit easier after that, and turned to his preferred side to sleep on, which happened to be facing the side she slept on. But in turning, he was faced with her long, curled mane. And she had tucked the cover slightly, perhaps a measure of protection from him, so he could see the curve of her bum. He turned to the other side, to see the door to the loo and his bedside table with a large lamp and a glass of water on it. Yes, that was best.
When Hermione woke up on the next day, Severus was already sat on the window seat. He had pulled most of the blinds closed as to not disturb her sleep, despite the fact it wasn't a very bright day and the sun would not shine directly in the room anyway. So he enjoyed the little corner of light he had left to read his book. She looked at the sideboard and saw there was a plate there, covered by a fancy dome.
“I took the liberty of ordering you some breakfast,” he said without looking up from his book. “I thought you might miss the window for ordering and remain hungry until lunch.”
“Uhm. Okay. Thank you,” she said in a voice still husky from sleep. She had taken long to fall asleep properly, worried about her kids and when sleep had hit her, it hit her hard. “Good morning.”
“Morning,” he said.
She stood to retrieve her breakfast and took it to the coffee table. While she sat to eat, Severus charmed the blinds open and let the daylight completely in. There was nothing outside except for snow, mountains and empty hotel decks and hot tubs.
There wasn't much to do, obviously. They sat reading one of the few books available in the room. They talked about this or that, in search of distraction from current events. It always came very naturally for them, conversation, and had always been enjoyable for the past 6 or 7 years they had worked together.
At one point, Hermione thought to log on to her streaming service on the telly and they had something to watch other than the news and the pessimism echoing in all of them.
A little after lunch, Severus handed her his cell phone. She held it in her hands and looked at him, puzzled. She had been envious of him, who had texted away during that day. He had someone else to talk to in order to not get bored with her. Luckily for her, she didn't get bored with him. Ever. Her phone was lost, but she didn’t have anyone to text anyway. Her kids at Hogwarts wouldn’t have their phones on, and Ron... he wouldn't give her any information on the kids out of spite.
“What is this for?” She asked him.
“It’s a muggle artifact, you see, usually for contacting other people.”
“Oh really? Woooow,” she remarked with mock astonishment.
“Just hold the blasted phone,” Hermione.
She was about to protest when it rang. Minerva's name was on the screen.
Hermione looked at Severus wide-eyed, her first thought being that something happened to her kids and the headmistress had managed to track her down to tell her. Who even knew Minerva would have a mobile?
She answered the video call without thought, only to see her daughter on the screen.
“Hi Mum.”
“Oh! Darling, hello! Are you okay? Is your brother okay?”
“Yes Mum,” Hugo squeezed in beside his sister. “We're fine.”
“The headmistress said you wanted to talk to us?”
Severus smiled as he watched Hermione smiling, talking to her kids through the screen of his phone. She was happy to hear from them, and Severus was happy he was the one to indirectly make her smile.
This witch had come to him 7 years ago now asking – almost begging – for a job. Her divorce was very public, splattered all over the news. Morbid curiosity made him keep up with it. And then she showed up at his department, at his office door, a very timid and subdued look on her face, almost devoid of hope. She was quite honest, saying no one would give her a job. Though she had excellent NEWT scores and a couple of references and specialization courses, a few years of work experience, she had quit everything to have her kids and take care of her family. To stupidly follow in Molly's footsteps as Ron had wanted her to. And now that over a decade had gone by and she left her husband, no one saw her fit to work, be it for the lack of experience and the time she sat around the house collecting dust, be it due to Ronald's influence here or there, spitefully making things harder for her. Severus was her last try before venturing into the muggle job market. She would take anything he was willing to give. She was a fast learner and a hard worker, eager to excel, she had said.
Others may have forgotten, but Severus remembered quite well that she was the brains to the golden trio. He did not doubt she would learn fast and push to excel, that was in her nature. No one else was working out as his assistant. Ever. Maybe she was just the thing. The only thing that possibly would annoy him was her eidetic memory and the need to do everything as per instructions.
But years handling kids – most unpredictable little rascals, he well knew as – seemed to give her the ability to go with the flow and wing it. That was very needed in potions and experimentation. They worked together marvelously well. He exponentially relied on her. She had moved from assistant to second in command - informally. He was just waiting for the potions degree to make it official. She was halfway through, juggling it with work.
She was a remarkable woman. Strong, determined and fierce. He felt at ease with her. She got him. They sometimes communicated with no words exchanged. It soothed his heart, her presence, her, even with her moods – and his moods – and her feistiness. Still, it worked.
He loved her. He had for many years now. But that was something to keep to himself. It had worked so well the last time - the only time - he had been in love. He did not want to jeopardize what he had with her. He did not want to lose her. He wouldn't bear it at this age, being completely alone again. She wouldn't want him anyway, she did not need him. So it was best to keep the good work relationship and the friendship.
For the most part he kept those feelings well locked, deep inside him. Occlumency and years of being resigned to his lonely fate made him do it masterfully and function well. It was what it was.
But there were times, like right now, when he made her smile, when he did good and knew it, that the feelings came up and the hope of maybe you can do this properly, maybe you can give yourself the chance arose and he felt… desperate. But he always managed to push it down and lock it up again properly.
Minerva reassured Hermione of the situation at the castle, the safety precautions and then Hermione bid her kids goodbye, asking them to come and talk to her every time Minerva call them to.
“Mummy is stuck in America but will come home as soon as possible okay? We're okay here.”
“Okay Mum. Bye.”
“Minerva please give word whenever you can?”
“Absolutely, Hermione. Have a nice day… as nice as it can be in these circumstances.”
Hermione hung up and looked at Severus. “You've been hiding this from me? That Minerva has a phone?” It wasn't an accusation, but rather just… desperate.
Severus sighed. “I hid nothing, ungrateful witch,” he smirked playfully. “Minerva only has that phone due to an insistence of mine. And though her office is the only place at Hogwarts where it works, she is rather slow on the uptake and forgets to check it and what not. I was merely waiting for her to reply and arrange something as to not increase your anxiety.”
Hermione stood and walked to him. He reached out his hand to get his phone back but she walked right past it and into his arms.
“Thank you,” she said as she clashed into his chest and wrapped her arms around him. He was a bit surprised but quickly closed his arms around her as well. She smelled… so good.
“It's nothing.”
She maybe lingered more than she should. He felt so good. He had certainly put on weight in all the years since Hogwarts, but in a good way. He felt good to hold, healthy, firm. It felt right to hold him. And he had helped, he had cared, yet again. It seems he was the only man to show her that these days. Before she had started working for him, she hadn't felt cared for, understood or safeguarded by a man in years. She had to do it all herself, and it did become taxing, very tiring at times. Even if she felt she was a strong, independent woman and was all for girl power.
Hermione pulled back before she felt too funny with her boss.
They watched a movie. It was still early, but night was already falling, it seemed. It darkened fast, not because it was time to, and it began to snow lightly. Severus decided to take his shower before dinner, and came out smelling of soap, smelling so clean. The damp hair again, sexy as can be, and the Henley shirt of his pajamas that clung to his very well-defined upper body.
Hermione snapped out of it as the knock on the door came, leaving sandwiches for them to dine on. As they ate, the snow became thicker outside, huge snowflakes falling to the already white ground as a wind started to blow.
“What the fuck kind of hellish month is this? A blizzard now? It’s March for fucks’ sake!” Severus let out as he looked out the window from his place on the floor around the coffee table. Hermione just snickered at his comments.
As soon as she was done eating, she stood and rushed with her things to the bathroom, to take her shower. Severus stood by the large window, looking to the pitch dark exterior, lit dimly by the lamps on the outside of the hotel and the lights that shone out from the few other windows that were lit. As he watched, the wind started to blow stronger and stronger, until it became impossible to see anything but snow blowing this way and that, in a rushed swirl of white.
And then the power went out.
“Oh fuck, this is just perfect.”
Severus was feeding the fire in the darkened room, listening to the wind whistling outside. They would need the warmth and the extra light in the room. Merlin knew how long the power would be out. He had already cast some flames and imprisoned them in the few available glasses and decorative vases in the room, creating a rather cozy atmosphere with the dimmed lighting.
As he poked the logs in the hearth, trying to make the fire grow, he leaned his forearm on the mantelpiece, and his head on his arm. It wasn’t long before he heard his roommate scream shortly in the bathroom, which was followed by a loud thud.
He took his wand from the mantlepiece and rushed to the bathroom, pushing the door open without thought. It was unlocked.
“Hermione?” He asked without much looking into the room – despite it being pitch dark – afraid of what he might see.
“Oooowww,” she moaned softly.
“Lumos” he uttered and the tip of his wand lit so he could see her laying on the floor, a towel draped from her chest to mid-thigh. She clutched it in place as she winced and groaned in pain while touching her forehead. When she took her hand away from her head, he saw blood.
“What the bloody hell happened?” He asked as he marched into the loo and knelt beside her.
“I slipped getting out of the shower. Hit my head on the sink on my way down.”
“Let me see,” he said, brows furrowed in worry as he touched her forehead, brushing her own hand away. She winced. “Where’s your wand?” He asked.
“On the sink.”
He reached for it and handed it to her. “Can you hold it up and make me some light?”
She nodded slowly, then held the wand close to her wound and said “lumos.”
He then used his wand to clean the blood off her forehead and have a better look. “It’s not too deep,” he said, leaning in to look closely. He also grazed his thumb over her cut. It made her smile softly. After years of caring for herself – even when she had a husband who was supposed to be her partner and care for her – and caring for others, namely her children, it felt nice to be at the receiving end.
He cast a spell to close the wound, and another to numb the pain.
“Are you okay?” He asked while looking into her eyes. His hand still gently and absently caressed her forehead.
She nodded slowly. His eyes were so mesmerizing, piercing her soul.
“Don't scare me like that again, witch.” A smile, a rather nice one, opened up on his features.
There was a moment. Some jolt of some kind ran through them both. And then they became slightly awkward.
“Well, I'll leave you to it then,” he said as he pushed himself off the floor and exited, closing the door behind him.
When she came into the room just a minute or two later, she was fully clothed in her pajamas, albeit shivering a bit. She held a glass in which she had conjured a blue flame and he saw it shaking as he she placed the glass on the bedside table.
He had been sitting on the furry rug by the fire staring into it, trying to burn the image of her sexy and damp bare legs away from his brain, how so very narrowly her towel had covered her sex. Despite the urgency in the situation, he had not failed to notice those things.
“Cold already?” The room was losing warmth, but it wasn't so cold yet.
“I… took too long... and caught a bit of cold water in the shower.” The water heater was electric, apparently. She was holding herself and clinking her teeth lightly as she spoke.
“Then come sit by the fire a bit.” He stood and offered a hand to her as the other pulled a plaid throw off the foot of the bed. When she took his hand, he pulled her into his personal space, so very close, and hung the throw over her shoulders. He then pressed her against his chest and rubbed her arms, in an attempt to warm her. Hermione became a bit lost in his arms, with the feel of him against her. He too was enjoying her scent and her body against his far too much. So he pulled away, and they made their way to the fire and sat by it.
He sat her right next to the fire and set himself in front of her. Their toes were almost touching as he held his knees in the circle of his arms. He stared into the fire absently, still trying to distract himself from how absolutely shapely and gorgeous her damp legs were. She in turn watched him as she held herself and the throw around her shoulders. She noticed how his arms and chest were muscular, strong. He must have taken to working out after the war. He still looked very good for his age, even if his belly was not the defined six-pack everyone seemed to deem necessary these days. She wondered how it would feel to be sat in between his legs, in the circle of his arms. She certainly would be… warmer. He's your boss.
“How is it snowing this much in March?!” She tried to initiate conversation.
He looked at her and made whatever little tingle she was feeling with her stupid fantasies pull harder inside. “I don't know. But I'm sure that if our astrology studies were in order, we would have found some ominous foreboding of a weird and shitty month.”
She laughed softly. Still, though, she felt that strange thug. Every once in a while, she felt it. He was kind and witty and rather charming really. And she was lonely and needy. But she did a good job of pushing those thoughts away. It was just harder now because they were stuck together in close quarters. Perhaps it was best to get in bed and go to sleep already. Tomorrow the power would be on, there would be no weirdness and no sexy ambience, she wouldn’t feel this way.
“It doesn't look like the power will come on too soon. Perhaps it would be wiser to get in bed already and try to keep warm in the covers?” There were many covers.
“Perhaps, yes,” he said absently looking away from the fire again, almost longingly.
They got into bed quickly, tucking themselves in. And then there was quiet as they once again stared at the ceiling. It was quiet... except for Hermione huffing and shivering, still trying to get warm.
“Witch, really…”
“I'm still cold!”
“That much is obvious. Do you want more layers? A jumper, socks, I can fetch something for you.”
“I didn’t bring much... We were supposed to stay two days and not actually on the mountain or in the middle of a blizzard and a power outage.”
“Hmmm,” he said simply.
Then there was more silence.
“I think the most effective way would be too… share warmth.” She really was cold. She had no choice but to suggest it.
Neither even thought about warming charms. Those were most effective when the wizard or witch was active. Since the goal now was going to sleep at some point, their bodies would be dormant, as well as their magic, and the spell would not be as effective, serving only to deplete energy but still keeping them not as warm as they would like.
“That would be most effective, yes,” was all he said quietly.
She looked at him but he still stared at the ceiling. Would he rather be cold than come closer to her? Or would he rather let her die of cold? Was she so repulsive? Ron certainly seemed to think so there near the end.
“Aren't... you cold?” She tried timidly.
“A bit. But I have endured worse hardships...” He turned his gaze to her. She was still looking at him expectantly. “Would you like me to…” he raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
“I mean, if you’re not cold, there’s no need, I…” the witch sighed. “It was just an idea” she finished as she turned her back to him, trying to get into a comfy position to try to sleep. Hermione still huffed softly, pulling the covers almost over her head and curling up around herself. She then suddenly felt his arm around her, and his body against her back.
“Oh...uhm, thank you.” She slowly started to feel more comfortable, warmer.
Severus was a bit tense. His head on her pillow meant he could smell her perfume faintly. It was sweet, delicious. Her hair was in his nose, adding to the scent that intoxicated him. Her back on his chest, the fact she... needed him somehow, that he was protecting her, that she… trusted him. It all made his heart swell and excitement fill him. He was fearful such excitement would show, hence the tension. He had to control himself. But there was the image of her half naked damp body, her legs… and her bum against his crotch right now, fitting perfectly. The things he could do to her if she let him… He started to swell and get stiff in places he shouldn’t.
He gently pulled away from her bum, far away, as his cock hardened despite his mind's commands. He would stay still, as she was. She probably was falling asleep already. When deep sleep filled her, he would put a pillow between them, will it away. Or sneak into the bathroom and give yourself what you want.
But she suddenly stirred, and ended up pushing her bum back into him before he could stop it or shield himself.
“Oh my God! Severus!”
“Fuck,” he grunted and quickly grabbed a pillow to stuff between her bum and his crotch.
“Why are you… what is that?!” She squeaked a bit.
Surely you still remember what this is, he thought with some malice. No, that would sound disgusting.
“I am but a man, and not that old for wizarding life expectancy. What did you expect would happen when in bed with a beautiful witch? I do not mean any… disrespect, Trust me.” His arm was now off her of course, and he lay perfectly still at a distance, still very tense.
She was a bit awestruck and didn't know what to say. He thought she was beautiful?
He was afraid to put his arm around her again. So, he laid there and waited with bated breath while she said nothing.
The wind howled suddenly, making the large window shake quite a bit in its frame, frightening Hermione slightly. It seemed like the window might break, and Hermione turned to face him in a swift roll.
Their noses were inches away from one another. He just lay still as she looked from his eyes down to his body and back up again.
“Are you still…?” She pointed downward.
“Have you seen me... take any measures to reverse the situation?” He asked a bit sardonically. He was embarrassed and was feeling the need to lash out. “I take it you are no longer in need of sharing warmth,” he said coldly and she just looked at him with a dumb look on her face. He turned his back to her, taking his shield with him. To conceal his shame. He did it before he saw anger or disgust in her stare and became hurt and ashamed beyond measure.
The witch inched closer to his back though, and a chill ran down his spine as he felt her breasts graze him.
“Do you… do you really think I’m beautiful?” She asked in a whisper close to his ear as she pressed herself close to him.
“Of course I do. I do have eyes, witch.”
He did not see it, but she smiled. She hadn't been called beautiful in so long. There had been dates here or there, but no one of notice. They either were starstruck by the fact she was the Golden Trio and knew Harry Potter or threatened by her smarts. Severus seemed sincere.
Hermione’s hand traced his side tentatively. It then dipped forward over his stomach. There was no protest, he did not pull away.
“How would you…” Hermione breathed, her hand dipping into his bottoms, “like your cock stroked…” she wrapped her hand around his cock and slid up… and down slowly, “by a beautiful woman then?”
He exhaled in relief at her touch. “Don't toy with me, Hermione.” His tone was of sincere request, almost pleading.
“I’m not... It is a rather effective way of keeping warm, is it not?” She spoke almost moaning against his cheek as her hand slid along his length. He was big, thick, delicious. So hard... and for her. She wanted to feel more of him. She wanted to feel a charming, brilliant and heroic man desire her.
“Fuck, witch,” he breathed heavily, and her breathing was becoming labored along with his.
She let her thumb roll over his tip and made him groan. She was almost sitting up in bed, trying to look over him, see his face, see if he liked what she was doing, see his cock and if it looked as delicious as he felt.
Severus turned halfway around, only enough to cup her cheek with a hand, fingers sinking into her hair, and pull her lips to his. He suckled on them hungrily, and it made her stop the pleasuring of him to take support on the bed, since she was awkwardly tipping over him. When his immediate and desperate hunger of her lips was satiated, he pulled back and looked into her eyes, caressed her cheek. The amber flecks in her whisky eyes burned with desire. He had been waiting to do this for so long, to taste her lips, and it had been so very worth the wait.
Severus pulled her down to his lips again, suckling on them more tenderly this time, savoring her properly. He pulled her whole body over his, so she could fall on her back to his side as his body leaned half over hers, his lips still tasting hers. He deepened the kiss, increasing the hunger with which he drew her lower lip in between his. Then, the wizard was overjoyed with the fact it was her tongue that teased his lips and begged for admittance. He opened, but he took back control, having his tongue chase hers and lead their sweet entanglement.
Hermione hummed softly against his lips as her hands sunk into his short hair, fingertips caressing his scalp gently. His hand in turn went up her shirt, to cup a breast, softly roll his fingers over her nipple. The touch of his warm palm felt so good she shivered, not do the weather at all.
He was smirking when he pulled back from her lips to watched her react to his massage in the dim lights the fire and the flames in glasses provided. He nuzzled her neck, peppered it with light yet wet kisses, his hand gliding over her shirt again, unbuttoning it slowly to expose her breasts. Once they were out in the open, he rested his head on her shoulder, his forehead touched to her neck as he watched his hand teasing her perfect pink nipple, pinching it, circling it. It all made her moan, arching her back in lust.
Hermione wanted to see more of him as well, so she managed to push him back and take control for a moment to slip her hand under his tight fitted Henley shirt and push it up as her hands explored his body. His skin was warm, burning with desire for her. It was soft, his skin, while the muscles beneath them felt firm, delicious. She reached his chest, caressed it, grazed her nails on it gently as she pulled air through gritted teeth in an attempt to control her arousal. This was a fine, fine body. She continued caressing his pale skin, the scant black hair covering it, the firm muscles underneath. He let out a half naughty smile at the want she displayed, and his cock got harder, straining against his bottoms in a way that it almost hurt.
She became enraptured for a moment by the small scars that still marred his skin, traced them as they seem to mark a dance on his chest. His desperate need to satiate his throbbing cock made him pull his shirt the rest of the way off as he watched her sparkling eyes fixed on him. He then placed his hands on her shoulders to push her shirt off. She allowed it, and he took the opportunity to flip her back into submission, immediately sinking his hand into her pajama trousers to tease her slit.
“Oh, Severus...” She breathed as he traced a finger up on one side and down the other of her sex, feeling it was so smooth... and already so wet it spilled out of her and moistened her labia.
Four flat fingers rubbed her mound in small slow circles, and he could feel her swollen clit underneath. Her breathing grew more labored as she reached for his lips, yearning to taste them again. He let her, never stopping his manual work.
Then, two cheeky fingers slipped into her slit and teased her clit directly. She spread her legs wider to allow him full access. He could feel now completely how incredibly wet she was.
“Are you still cold, Hermione?” He asked, smirking. “Because your pussy is burning hot,” he rumbled.
“Oh yes, yes, it is,” she let in labored breath. His voice was so fucking sexy it made her feel the urge to respond, something she never quite felt before. She kissed his lips to try and stop herself while she gently rolled her hips against his hand, but when they pulled apart, she found herself speaking anyway. “Rub me harder to make the heat spread,” she let out in a moaned whisper against his lips.
Severus let a growl get caught at the back of his throat. He rubbed his fingers harder on her swollen clit, from side to side as much as the restraint of her trousers allowed. Her eyes rolled back into her head as she bit hard down on her lips and groaned. The heat did seem to spread, all over her body, starting from a soft snap on her sex and reaching out its tentacles all over her. It had been so long since she felt quite this good. And they hadn't even properly begun yet. At least she hoped not.
The heat, the need for more friction, was overwhelming. Hermione pushed one side of the waistband of her trousers down, and he almost immediately pulled the covers back and pulled her trousers off. He would have vanished them but he knew he she might need it later. They hadn't brought many clothes. Or maybe, if prayers are heard, she won’t need clothes at all for the next two weeks.
As the last of the fabric slipped off her toes, she quickly pulled her legs back from it and spread them wide. His hand returned to teasing her with complete access now, and he couldn't help but watch his hand working, her hips rolling to his rapid side to side movements while his nose rubbed on her cheek, his lips either peppering kisses on her skin or drawing her earlobe in between them.
“Fuck, that feels good, Severus,” she breathed.
He slowed down, claimed a kiss with smirking lips as his fingers gently flicked her knot of nerves. Then he pushed himself up, so his eyes turned to her sex again with a better view.
He explored every nook and crevice of her, studied her reactions while also engraving every aspect of her pinkness in his brain. He slipped two fingers into her swollen and very inviting folds, and groaned at the feel of her warm tightness and her pooling arousal.
“Gorgeous little pussy” he rumbled against her cheek, then nipped her ear lightly. “I could play with it forever,” he whispered, and his hot breath in her ear made her quiver.
She moaned wantonly at his words and reached for his cock. She cupped it over his dark-gray sweats first, then dipped her hand inside to stroke him directly. He felt even harder than before.
His fingers thrust gently in her, and even over the howling wind, they could hear the wet slurping echoing in the room. She pulled his waistband down and his cock sprang out.
It was a beautiful cock, long, thick, so hard for her. Its beautiful pink tip glistened with arousal that oozed from him. Ridges bulged out and made it look so strong and powerful, like he could pound her the whole night through until he split her in half. She wanted that, she wanted that very much.
“Severus...” She moaned. Meanwhile, he pulled his fingers out of her. They were sticky and slick and he took them to his mouth and sucked them clean with the most indecent look on his face. That alone made her core clench as he looked straight at her and licked his fingers slowly.
“You taste magnificent, Hermione” he rumbled in her ear as his wet fingers went to her nipples and teased.
“Severus... Though my pussy has thoroughly enjoyed your fingers…” she said stroking his cock slowly, “it craves a playdate with your delicious cock.”
“You haven't tasted my cock. How can you make such affirmations?” He asked with a smirk.
“Well, it is the most beautiful cock I have ever seen…” she uttered cheekily, rolling over to be on top of him, to take control. “And the night is young.”
She rolled her slick sex on his cock, coating it with more arousal. Once… twice, and when she threatened to slip him inside her, he quickly and firmly twirled her until she was on her back.
Hermione was not accustomed to this take-charge attitude. It was fucking hot. So, as he swiftly placed himself in between her legs and plunged inside her without guidance, so fucking hard he was, she let an long moan echo into the room, exteriorizing how aroused she felt, how much she wanted him inside her.
His cock stretched her out deliciously. It burned but it felt so fucking good. He filled her up completely, made her whole. How she could be 40 years old and never have felt this… complete and utterly desperate to be with someone, she did not know.
And when he started to thrust... magnificent, hitting every single spot she didn’t even know she had, making her mind numb to the worries and the world outside, making her feel light and relieved to be there. Nothing else mattered. There was only the two of them, his cock filling her rhythmically, stretching her out in a way that made her want to beg for more. Her whole body pulsated with need and pleasure. His face above hers, eyes glistening in desire, burning, the petroleum in its deep pools swirling with each thrust. She felt wanted, sexy, like she could make him beg for her pussy just like she would certainly beg for his cock if he were to stop.
He felt much of the same. She wanted him. How she bit her lower lip and rolled her head back with each thrust showed him that. The mere fact she trusted him enough to welcome him inside her was exhilarating. And she was so warm, so tight, sheathed his cock perfectly. It was happening, the fantasies of his wildest and most well-kept dreams. And it felt stupendous. There was no room for worrying what this meant, what she felt deep down. The important thing right then and there was that he made her feel intense pleasure, so that it could lead to her welcoming him into her over and over again.
She pulled on one nipple and he immediately covered the other with his palm as he supported himself on the opposite forearm, and kneaded. He leaned down to suckle on the other breast, suckling on her fingers as well before she pulled them away to sink into his hair, to encourage his attentions.
“Oh… Severus...” she breathed, “kiss me.”
The dark wizard heeded her request immediately, covering her lips with his, letting his tongue plunder her mouth with the same intensity and depth that his cock invaded her core. When they parted, he nipped her lower lip, then her chin, and she kissed his nose. His heart swelled with love for her.
But soon only the heat of desire spread in him, and she uttered words he longed to hear every single night from her.
“Your cock feels so good, Severus.”
He couldn’t maintain the relatively slow pace in which their hips met time and time again. He missed a beat and started to move a fraction faster. He growled in her ear and nipped it as he took better support beside her head. Her fingers sunk into his trimmed hair and held him there, his panting so hot in her ear.
“Does my pussy feel good, Severus?” She whispered.
“Fuck, it feels divine. So fucking warm and wet… and tight.”
She purposely squeezed his cock in her core and he groaned before he increased his pace yet again. “This delicious little snatch,” he grunted.
“Tell me how much you like it, Severus,” she said amid heavy breaths, rolling her hips faster against him, meeting him at the delicious pace he set. She had never been this talkative, but she felt she could be so free with him. And his voice… she wanted to hear it. It worked wonders.
“I fucking adore it. I want to bury my cock in your creamy snatch every single night,” he said, watching her face for reactions. She smiled and took purchase on the headboard behind her to roll faster against him.
He pushed himself up, knelt in between her legs, stopping only for a fraction of a second to position himself before thrusting again at an accelerated pace.
Severus admired her sex, their repeated joining to one another. He traced light fingers on it as his pubic bone touched her mound over and over. He flicked her engorged clit with his thumb. “This pussy is gorgeous,” he panted, holding one of her legs as leverage to push into her. He then took his fingers to her lips and gently pushed them inside for her to suck on.
That she did, drooled on them, and then he took them back to her mound and rubbed. Her clit was protuberant, begging for more constantly friction than that of his hips bucking into hers. “I want to make you cream for me,” he said, increasing the pace of his rubbing hand. She moaned louder and rolled her hips more frantically, and he rubbed his flat fingers on her faster.
“Oh fuck yes, Severus, please” she mewled as her legs started to tremble.
His hand then came down her mound, slapping her clit and she screamed “Oh yes, ffffuck!”
“Do you like that, you dirty little witch?” He asked, smirking as he rubbed her hard and fast again.
“Yes. Yes,” she panted.
She was so close to coming very hard. She wanted more, she wanted it all, she wanted his cock hammering into her harder and deeper. But she couldn’t use her words any longer. Her legs trembled, her toes curled, her eyes were rolling back into her brain. She managed to grab his buttocks and pull, sinking her short nails into his skin as her hips moved frantically.
“Fuck, witch,” he grunted as he let himself fall over her, his own arousal at the brink of explosion
He frenetically pounded her, unable to control himself at all, and it was mere seconds before she wailed, sinking her heels in his buttocks and trembling all over. As she trapped him in her clenching and soaking wet snatch, he shot his load hard inside her, not another care in the world after he ensured she came. There was no other care to be had. He knew she was on the potion. His heart ached every time she got it from his stores, thinking about all the men she would be frolicking with that wouldn’t be him. Little did he know she mostly took it to avoid the hassle of having a period.
“Are you warm now?” He asked as he rolled off of her.
She simply nodded while smiling with her eyes closed.
“We should… take the opportunity to sleep a bit,” She said, a bit slurry. “Pretty soon we’ll get cold again and we’ll have to have another go.” She turned to face him, smiling as she tucked her hands under her cheek.
He snorted, holding back some laughter, simply ecstatic at the prospect. She hooked her leg over his hips before falling asleep, and he slipped his thigh in between hers, daring to pull himself closer and hold her.
Severus woke up in the middle of the night. The power had not yet returned, and though the snowfall was softer, the moon lit the room lightly. He felt slightly chilly. Hermione was still close to him, lying on his arm, fast asleep, and that made him smile. He could hardly believe this had happened. He had never dared allowed himself to hope… but he did not know what it meant. It had been delicious, raw, so very sexy and just… fuck, a tremendously magnificent lay. But at the same time, he felt something, a connection a closeness… it wasn’t just sex. But that could have been just him. She might be using him for warmth… and pleasure. To kill some time. But fuck it, he would take what he could get and cherish it forever.
Since she was still asleep, he dared kissed her forehead, her cheek, watch her for a moment before gently pulling away. He tucked the covers more tightly around her and got out of bed. Once his pajamas were found and pulled on, and a warming charm cast over him and over her, to lessen the discomfort a bit, he moved to sit by the fire. It crackled low, and he fed it to make it burn brighter. He then summoned his bag and went through it to find a kettle and tea bags he carried in its magically enlarged interior. Hiking up cold mountains and into dark caves, it could prove handy. It would be extremely handy now.
He hurried to the loo, annoyed to get away from the warmth of the fire, and filled the kettle, trotting back to his warm, cozy spot with it and two glasses. A simple spell balanced the kettle above the flames, and he sat with the plaid throw from the sofa around his shoulders as he watched the fire and waited for the water to boil. While he did so, he let his mind wander to places where it imagined nights like these - minus the cold and lack of heating - where there was a warm body in his bed, of the woman he loved, a nice little tingle in his satisfied yet expectant cock, and peace in his heart and mind that she wanted him, would always be there if he played his cards right, and would make him so very content, at ease.
Except he was not so very at ease. There was no certainty she would always be there. Could that ever happen for him? If he did everything right during the next few hours, days, could he make her his? He could not fuck this up. Just relax and enjoy what the universe saw fit to offer you, you foolish old man.
“Severus?” She sat up in bed, looking rather sleepy still. He looked back at her and could not help but smile. What would happen now, though?
“What are you doing over there? I’m getting cold again,” she smiled devilishly with innuendo dripping heavily from her eyes.
So… we are playing that game. Very well. He smirked.
“Tea?” He offered. He noticed in the back of his mind that she hadn't even cared to check or ask if the power was back.
“Tea?!” She asked, “how do you have tea?”
“It’s called being… mildly prepared,” he said cheekily.
She found her pajamas and donned them, then got out of bed with one of the covers around her.
“Mildly prepared? Is that the wizard boy scout?” She laughed softly as she sat beside him on the furry rug.
“No. That is the old and tired Severus Snape in a world without war.” He smiled softly.
“Old and tired? That amazing shag was done while old and tired? It makes me long for a time turner so I can get a taste of the young and vigorous Severus Snape,” she smiled cheekily.
He looked at her with a cocked head and a matching smile for a while. It made her a bit self-conscious. Was she being too sex oriented? Unclassy? It was the best shag she ever had, and she so wanted another, and another ad infinitum. But she did like him. She had tried to ignore it and pass it off as being needy and alone for so long, and projecting it on the closest man that treated her properly. But she did like him for him. And she was terrified that it was just that one shag, and it would all go away now, along with her job.
But he pulled her to him, and she found herself sat in between his legs, her back to his chest. “I assure you that was the young and vigorous Severus, more so than years ago,” he rumbled in her ear. “You’re deliciously hot little pussy brought the best out in me,” he completed in a lower tone still.
Hermione shivered, in sheer desire this time. His arms around her, holding her pressed to him, and the thick duvet and plaid throw around them both were enough to keep her shielded from the cold, so it was definitely not due to that.
The kettle whistled and Severus waved a hand to make it float out of the fireplace and pour the boiling water in the glasses that waited with tea bags, neatly placed on the extended stone ledge that rose the fireplace from the floor.
They drew apart, just a tad, so they could drink their tea. Both sipped silently at first, until Hermione finally gathered the courage to speak.
“Will my... boldness this evening cost me my job, Severus?” She asked levelly.
“No,” Severus answered simply.
Hermione looked back at him, and he could see all the doubts and questions floating in her mind. It was so very like her to become anxious, want to know every detail, what that would entail, what it meant. But he didn’t feel like discussing it right now. It would mean having to expose his feelings, confess to loving her secretly for a long time now, and needing her in his life however she wanted to be in it. He needed the friendship and work dynamics they had to not be altered. He did not want to be vulnerable like that, confess it all to her. He did not want to risk hearing the truth of her feelings and have his heart shattered. He wanted to enjoy this newfound intimacy and completely forget the world outside.
So, to keep her questions and the discussions that would entail at bay, he spoke again swiftly. “This can be our Vegas, if you wish. What happens here, stays here.”
That gave her pause. She then smiled. That was a good deal, as good as it got really. She should stop trying to be such a control freak and just enjoy life. She had not done enough of that so far, in her 40 years of existence.
She drank the tea relatively fast and it got her warm even faster. She pulled away from him because of that, turning to face him.
“It got very warm now, did it not?” Her voice and features were cheeky, insinuating something indecent.
“The tea worked its purpose then,” he rumbled, his eyes fixed on her smiling lips as she pulled the covers from his shoulders and tossed them behind her. He was leaned on a leather armchair that sat behind him.
“That means we have to… lose a few layers, no?” She bit her lips while smiling and caressing his chest, lowering her hand over his Henley shirt to then slip under it, pushing it up.
“I vote we lose all layers,” he answered in a low tone, and with the swift and apparently simple pull of his hand, all her buttons popped open. Her surprise made him smirk. It caused her to stop being coy and quickly lift his shirt over his head.
“Insatiable little minx,” he uttered as she disrobed his upper body.
She was then, in the blink of an eye, pulling her shirt off and casting it aside. She loved how his eyes glistened while looking at her breasts. It was good to feel sexy and desired when disrobing, to have the man so bluntly make you feel that, without a shadow of a doubt, with no room for insecurity or second guessing yourself.
“How can I ever get enough of the most magnificent cock I have ever had?” She countered as she laid back on the ruffled covers and lifted her hips to pull off her pajama bottoms. When they uncovered her sex, she lifted her legs, toes pointed to the ceiling to pull off the rest while providing him with a tantalizing view.
With the bottoms off, she spread her legs and splayed herself to him. He was licking his lips as his eyes practically burned a hole through her.
“Do you like what you see, Severus?” Hermione's fingers started to tease her labia, spread it more open for his eyes, to tease her clit and her folds.
“I love it. Show me how you play with that delicious little pussy when you're alone, Hermione.”
She smiled at his request and took her fingers to her lips, thoroughly sucking on them before returning them to her sex. It all became slicker and felt so good as she gently circled her swelling clit. So, she let out a moan, so sweet and long. He grunted in return, watching as her hips started to roll in synchrony with her fingers.
It didn't take long at all for her hand to start rubbing fast and hard, four flat fingers from side to side, making her legs - knees bent to her chest - tremble lightly. Her breathing was heavy, she whimpered in pleasure, but she stopped herself, ending her self-pleasure with a slap to her sex that made her shriek and her body twitch once, as if she had been shocked. Panting, she looked at him, showing her sticky fingers.
Severus had been slowly stroking his hard cock and reached out his free hand, leaning forward to pull her by the wrist to sit up, to take her hand to his lips. He sucked all of her essence from her fingers, looking straight into her eyes.
“Oh... fffuck,” she breathed as her core clenched. That was so hot. “Don't touch that cock. That cock is mine.”
He smiled. He very much wanted to be hers. All hers. He let go of his cock, to give her the control she had sought from their first go, hours ago, and still obviously sought.
Hermione pulled on his bottoms. “Take these off this time. I want to see every square inch of your body.”
With a smirk on his lips, he lifted his hips to pull the bottoms off. She pulled it the rest of the way from his knees, and then hurried to mount his lap. Hermione claimed his lips, her sex hot and sticky along his shaft. Their lips parted, and Hermione started to tantalize him, rubbing her sex on his length and getting her own jolts of pleasure from it. When she pulled away, his cock twitched to follow her moist warmth, begging for it. It amused her and made her hornier to think he wanted her that much. That and the fact his cock was absolutely rock hard for her.
He tired of her teasing though, and fisted his hand in her hair, pulling her lips to his. They were promptly devoured as his other hand guided his cock to impale her sweet, sweet center.
A moan escaped into his mouth. Their lips parted and she breathed heavily against him as she slowly lowered herself completely onto him. He encouraged, by holding her hips on both sides as he planted small wet pecks on her lips, her chin, her cheek. That made her heart burn with affection for him.
Her fingernails grazed the short hairs on the back of his head as their noses touched, and she began to find her rhythm, roll her hips on top of him. She moved slowly and just as languidly suckled on his lips.
“Do you like tasting your pussy on my lips?” He asked in an absolutely titillating tone.
She nodded with a cheeky smile. “Do you like how my pussy tastes, Severus?” She panted.
“So much” he rumbled.
“You should taste it straight from the source” she replied, still moving atop him.
“That is the first thing on my to-do list” he smirked.
They continued to slowly enjoy how they were joined. Severus’ fingers grazed the trail of her spine and she arched her back, let her head fall back while she held his neck. When her head rolled back into an upright position, she noticed his eyes were not on her, but on a spot somewhere behind her. Her head turned slightly and she was able to noticed the mirror behind the door to the room. He could see them reflected on it.
“You like watching, do you?” She uttered mischievously.
“The sight of your ass lowering on my cock is magnificent.”
Hermione then began to make more of an effort to raise herself and lower onto his cock rather than rolling on him. She put on a little show for his eyes. He grunted at the sight of her core swallowing his cock whole, and at the feeling of her tightness sheathing him slowly, over and over again.
She was mesmerized by his glistening eyes as he watched, and then suddenly, on the downstroke, one of his hands lifted from her ass cheek and lowered onto it firmly, making her bum jiggle lightly as she yelped. Her core also clenched around his girth in arousal.
“Fuck yes, Hermione” he grunted.
“Do it again, Severus,” she breathed.
“Why?” He smirked. “Have you been naughty?”
She nodded. “So naughty.”
“Tell me how,” he whispered against her cheek, almost next to her ear.
“I have my boss's massive, delicious cock inside my throbbing little pussy,” she said, picking her pace up slightly.
He growled at her words, squeezing her bum as he bit her lips. He then smacked her bum again, making her squeal in surprise and pleasure.
“And do you like it?”
“I fucking love it,” she breathed. “It fills every inch of me, stretches me out so deliciously,” she finished in a whimper.
He slapped her again.
“Yes, Severus!”
“Why are you fucking me slowly?” He asked against her lips. “I know your little pussy likes it hard and fast.”
She nodded as she whimpered, rolling a bit faster on him. He pushed the armchair he was leaning against aside and laid his back completely on the rug. He then started to pull her hips, encouraging her to roll faster.
“Fuck me like the naughty little minx you are.” He smacked her ass again and she rocked harder on him, taking support on his chest. “Bounce hard on my cock. Don't you want it to turn that sweet little pussy inside out?” His tone… his tone alone made her more excited and eager to come hard, make him come hard.
“Yes,” she whimpered, breathing heavily, rocking fast on his cock. He smacked her ass again. Her core clenched around him, ripping a hiss from him as he rolled his head back.
She then switched her movements to bouncing as she leaned forward over him, taking support beside his head. Severus gripped her bum, spread her cheeks as her movements increased in pace and vigor. His lips latched onto her bouncing breasts, suckled and pinched her nipples in between his teeth, one, then the other, providing equal attention to both.
“Yes... Severus... ffffuck,” she hissed. She was salivating with the prospect of the orgasm that creeped up on her. He slapped her ass cheeks, one after the other in rapid secession and ripped loud moan from her. It also prompted her to pause her bouncing.
But he immediately took over, thrusting up into her hard and fast. She nipped his lower lip as he did it, suckled on it.
“Severus, fuck my naughty little pussy hard, yes,” she panted. Hermione then pushed herself to sit up and once again rolled on him, faster and faster. With a hand supported on her lower belly, he rubbed his thumb on her clit. Hard. He did so while she held her breasts, pulled on her nipples. He then sat up to hold her close to him, and the increased pressure on her clit was the final trigger needed for her pleasure to explode inside her.
Her center clenched around his cock as she wailed, and it did so incessantly, bringing forth his own orgasm.
While they caught their breaths, he nuzzled her neck and planted soft kisses on it.
“Severus? You didn't come?” She asked still, breathless.
“Yes, I did.”
“You're still hard!”
“Yes, I am.” He smirked at her surprised face. “It is truly a magical snatch you have,” he rumbled before laying her back on the covers that were rumpled on the floor behind her. “Why so surprised?” He asked, still smirking. He then lowered himself onto her. His lips touched her neck softly, his nose tickled it delightfully. Meanwhile his erection remained impressive, and it rubbed gently along her slit, awakening her arousal again. “I'm not that old.”
“I know you aren’t, Severus” she smiled. “I never said you were.”
“And you…” a kiss on her lips, “you are magnificently beautiful.” A nip on her ear, “and sexy,” he sucked on it to numb the sting, “and delicious,” he licked her neck.
She laughed softly, abashed as her hands trailed gentle paths down his bare back. She then squeezed his buttocks, pulling him closer to her, since the sensitivity of her orgasm had given way to slowly mounting arousal again. She was silently begging for more friction.
“I just have never… you are breaking records,” she smiled.
He kissed her lips. “How many times have you come in a night?”
“Uhm…Once?” If any times at all.
“Once?! You obviously have not been treated as you should.”
She again laughed softly.
“Have how about by your own hand?”
She blushed. “Once.”
“Well then…” he guided his cock into her. “Let's go for three, shall we?” he whispered.
Severus pulled back to hold her knees to her chest as he thrusted into her at a nice and constant pace. His pubic bone hit her clit slow and steady, over and over, and she whimpered with every single nudge. She began to knead her breasts, pinch her nipples as she looked him in the eyes and smiled mischievously. He smirked in turn, and stretched out his hand so his fingers could caress her lips, asking for admittance. She gladly took his digits into her mouth and sucked on them. It made his cock throb inside her and his hips miss a beat, only to rapidly regain his thrusting at a faster tempo.
He took his moist fingers to her bundle of nerves, very protuberant between her labia, calling out to him, arousing him. He teased her at his leisure, flicking her clit gently up… and down, from one side… to the other. He put pressure on it, rubbed it in circles, and the marvelous sensations made her arch her back, bite her lips, moan his name tenderly.
Severus pulled her feet to rest on his shoulders while pressing her legs together. The pressure on her clit was good, so it made her smile at him. But it was made even better as he grazed his teeth on one of her calves, licked it. He then took her big toe to his lips and sucked on it.
“Oh fuck, Severus… I want to come again,” she mewled.
He switched both her legs over to one side of his hips and pressed them together against the floor while still thrusting into her.
“Yes, just like that,” she panted. The pressure was sublime. He liked it too, as it made her even tighter.
He soon supported her feet on his shoulders again and leaned forward, opening her up completely to him. His thrusts were faster and harder and she was so wet the sound echoed in the cool silent air.
“Yes Severus, fuck my wet pussy hard!”
“Are you going to come hard for me, Hermione?”
“So hard, so hard,” she panted, her eyes already rolling back into her head as her toes started to curl and almost cramp.
His thumb found its way in between them and rubbed her clit hard. At the same time, he stopped thrusting and rolled his hips.
That did it. She wailed her intense pleasure as she gripped his waist. Her wet core clenching around him made him come with one, two more thrusts. He froze atop her, bucked further into her, and when that moment of sheer clarity overcame him, he almost spoke those three feared words that could fuck this all up. Instead, he spread her legs around him and lay on top of her completely. He looked into her eyes, brushed knuckles on her cheek and claimed her lips with slow passion. She gave into it completely, an intense warmth surrounding her heart at that moment.
“Warm?” He asked with a smirk as the fire crackle beside them.
She snickered softly. “I'm sweating.”
“Good.” He pulled the covers from under them to rest over them. He then rolled her to her side, and pulled her to him to lay her head on his shoulder.
“You're an extremely impressive shag, Severus. You'll make my pussy addicted to you,” she uttered a bit timidly, afraid she was being too clingy.
“I have absolutely no problem with that. I will aim to break your orgasm records day after day.” Perhaps carnal pleasure would be a good way to her heart. No, don't hope. Enjoy what you are given.
“You'll have me enslaved to you by the end of two weeks, out of my own free will” she said jokingly, her voice already sluggish as she was falling asleep.
“That is the goal,” he answered in a half joking tone.
When Severus woke up the next morning, it was too warm room. Though it was only lit by the dim daylight from the still gray skies that shone in through the windows, he knew the power was back. He hoped that did not entail the end of his… fun.
She was not beside him in bed as she had been before, once they had found the strength to move into it from the floor. He looked around and saw breakfast on the sideboard next to the door. He then sat up. She was standing by the window, looking outside.
“Hermione?” He dared utter.
She was slightly startled by the break in the silence but turned back with a smile. “Good morning. Power’s back.” She then turned to the window once more.
“And… are you okay? Did you sleep well?” The question had insecurities in it he tried to hide. He stood and walked over to her. One look over her shoulder showed there was nothing outside other than deep snow. He wanted to know what she was thinking about… he wanted to know about them. Could she be having doubts and second thoughts? Regrets? Why was she staring outside?
“After coming hard three times, I slept very well, better than ever” she said smirking. That was a good sign.
“Any chance we can break that record today?” He rumbled as he touched his chest to her back, his groin to her bum.
“Absolutely. If you are… up for it.” She answered cheekily as she snuggled back into him. He nuzzled her cheek then kissed it.
“Oh, I'm very up for it” he grunted, his hands pulling her completely against him by the waist. This witch was absolutely sensational, he could not get enough of her. He didn't know his cock could still get hard so frequently, but thank Merlin it could.
“We should have a hearty breakfast before exerting ourselves… no?” Her tone was half moaned as her hands hooked behind his head and sunk into his hair.
“As the good witch you are, you cast a stasis charm so it won't get cold, yes?” His hands were all over, her caressing her stomach, trailing a way up to her breasts and forcing the silk robe she wore open.
“Yes,” she breathed.
“We'll get to it later then.” He nipped her ear as his hands found her naked breast, cupped it, squeezed it, pulled on her nipples.
“Severus…” she breathed as he kneaded her breasts. “We are by the window… someone might see.” Her robe was completely open now and she wore nothing underneath. They weren’t on the ground floor, but on the second. Still, they were very visible from the outside, especially since the snow on the ground was rather high.
“Well if they do, they're in the wrong, aren't they?” He teased. “No one is supposed to be outside.” His comment came in a lustful rumble which made Hermione quiver. One of his hands traveled down her stomach to her mound. His fingers lightly teased her sensitive skin, making her yearn for much more contact. But then his hand left her sex, trailing a light path to her shoulders. One hand on each shoulder, he unburdened her of the silk robe. She simply let him, more interested in rubbing her bum on his hardening cock.
“People from the other rooms can see, from their windows,” she breathed while his hands now glided over her naked body. He lightly flicked one nipple, making both so very prickled and unquestionably hard. Hermione hissed, leaning back further into him.
“Good. They must be bored. We'll give them a fantastic show.” He nipped her earlobe then licked the shell of her ear. His hand was flat on her mound, putting pressure on it in sweet slow circles, teasing her clit underneath.
“That's easy for you to say when you're fully clothed” she remarked in a mewl, all the while gently rolling her hips along with the rhythm his hand set. One of her hands held his hips close against hers. The other was behind his head, in his hair, holding his lips to her neck where he peppered soft kisses mixed with love bites and hungry licks.
He pulled away from her and she felt the loss, whimpered in complaint. He swiftly, with almost magic-fueled speed, pulled his shirt and sweatpants off. He then pressed his nude body to hers, returning his lips and hands to their tasks.
“Was that the problem? Problem solved” he growled the last part and bit her earlobe pulling it gently in between his teeth. “Now be a good girl and spread your sexy legs so I can play with your juicy clit like I know you want me to,” he whispered.
Hermione hummed at his naughty ordering tone. It made an electrical current travel through her body. She lifted a foot to rest on the window seat, providing better access for his clever, clever hands.
His fingers sank into her slit to rub her clit directly and she moaned loudly at the contact. “Oh, fuck Severus” she breathed. She rubbed her ass on his hard cock, which was nicely fit in her crack. He grunted and put more pressure on her clit, consequently pressing her bum tighter against him.
The witch turned her head as she held his and reached for his lips. It hungrily covered hers, silencing her heavy breathing for a few seconds.
“Can you feel how hard and swollen my little clit is?” She asked, panting, when they parted. “It wants more, Severus. Give me more. Please.”
Severus granted as he masterfully turned her to face him and then away from the window with quick and precise movements. He pressed her bum to the back of the sofa that had been behind them. The dark-haired wizard held her chin firmly with one hand to ravish her lips with his. He suckled on them with raw passion and she followed his lead, tasting his lips just as hungrily. The kiss then deepened, his tongue enticing hers to entangle with his. Severus’ large strong hand was wedged in between her thighs, teasing her sex further as their tongues tangoed.
Hermione hoisted herself gently to sit on the back of the sofa and spread her legs wider to welcome his touch. She didn't remember feeling so horny all her life.
When they pulled apart, Severus, with a firm and swift movement, flipped her back. Her buttocks was suddenly in the air, resting on the back of the leather-clad sofa, as her head rested on the seat. Another firm arousal inducing movement had her legs completely spread in the air, toes as if they were to touch the leather see of the sofa over her head, and her sex completely open to him.
Severus licked his upper lip… then bit his lower one. He looked at her core intently. Dexterous fingers slid up her open slit with absolutely no rush, pinching her clit in between them when they finally reached it. His thumb caressed her puckered hole as he murmured a clean cleansing spell. She was unbearably aroused, so she reached up to rub her clit, her fingertips meeting his.
He took his hand away and left the teasing to her. One hand holding her in place, the other came down on her, on what was exposed of her ass cheeks, the fleshy bit where it joined her legs. He smacked her softly repeatedly, two quick times, and she moaned, indicating she approved. Once again he let his hand slap down on her bum. On the third passionate smack, the pads on his fingertips dug into her flesh as he hissed, watching her increase the pace of her rubbing hand. He harshly pushed her hand away from her clit and slapped her sex as well, making her shriek in pleasure.
Severus then leaned down to plant soft wet kisses on her thighs, lick her skin, then bite what he could reach of her bum cheeks one side, then the other. The wet trail he left was long, slow, tantalizing, on both thighs until his lips finally reached her throbbing swollen pinkness.
Hermione let out a long moan of pleasure and relief as his lips encompassed all of her, suckling on her mound and clit. His tongue dipped into her slit with thirst of a desperate man and rolled up… and down in hungry movements, massaging her bundle of nerves deliciously.
“Yes… Severus...” She managed to hold his head to her despite being upside down. The position was not uncomfortable, though. It rather seemed to make every sensation increase.
The dark charming wizard looked into her eyes the whole time his lips were busy at work. It only made her feel hornier and more… connected to him. And then his longue marvelous tongue slid down to enter her folds. His nose rubbed her clit as he tasted her entrance, and her whimpers grew into loud moans of encouragement. Severus took the liberty of teasing her puckered whole as well in the mix, and it sparked sensations in her she had never felt. No one had ever done that to her. No one had ever eaten her out this majestically well before.
He returned his attention to her clit, licking it, slobbering on it, making it slick and slippery in the most delicious way, sucking it with no relent. He slipped to hooked fingers into her folds as he did it, and his other hand, hooked around her waist, held her, a flat palm putting pressure on her lower belly. His fingers then more easily scratched a spot inside her that made her vision blur.
“Yesss. Severussss. Eat that little pussy out. Fuck, I’m going to come so haaaard” she cried. “Don’t ssstooop.” Her voice was shaky as her legs trembled involuntarily up in the air. His relentless sucking finally made her reach her climax, her toes curling to the point of cramping, her center squirting her essence on his lips and tongue that still gently lapped at her hypersensitive clit, prolonging the waves of pleasure that hit her as well as her accompanying wails. She came so hard she thought she might pass out as she screamed and whimpered incoherently.
Severus pulled her limp body to sit on the back of the sofa again. His mouth then covered hers immediately, giving her a taste of her tart essence, whatever bit of it was left after he licked his lips thoroughly before her watching eye.
“I'm not done with you yet,” he rumbled against her lips as they parted.
“Fuck.. Severus...” she started, still slightly limp. “After that, you can do absolutely whatever you want to me.” She smiled cheekily. Her hand stroked his raging erection gently in between them.
Severus growled low in his throat and pulled her off the back of the sofa to turn her around and bend her over it. He then guided his cock into the warmth of her channel.
He gripped her hips and rocked into her steadily. She was humming softly, expressing the soft grow in her arousal. Severus squeezed her ass cheeks, spread them as he watched his cock slowly filling her, repeatedly. His right hand then came down with a smack on her opposite ass cheek. It made a squeal escape her lips as her arousal clearly grew, increase which was shown in the fact her core squeezed his girth once.
The large hand came down on her flesh again, firmly, but on the cheek that had been neglected before, from the bottom up.
She yelped his name and was getting so horny again that when he halted his thrusting for a moment, she couldn't take it and started to throw her ass back to engulf him. He smirked and slapped her ass again.
“Hungry little snatch,” he grunted and moved to meet her halfway.
As their fleshes met, he traced a light finger down her naked spine. She hissed and arched her back as her whole body quickened, her core clamping his cock involuntarily again.
“Delicious” he rumbled in between gritted teeth. His fingers retraced the path that made her react so fantastically, and again she arched her back and quivered. Only this time, he leaned down so his chest could touch her back as he continued to fuck her. She was so wet both could hear the thrusting in the morning air.
He bit her neck, grazed his teeth on her shoulder blade, licked her spine making her arch and quiver again. He then embedded his fingers in her unruly curls and pulled her to lay her back on his chest as they both stood. The pulling of the hair again spiked her pleasure, and she trapped his cock inside her momentarily.
“Fuck, Severus,” she panted, “you're a master not only in potions.”
His arms were now wrapped around her waist holding her close as he plundered her channel, made tighter by the standing position.
“My pussy has never been so well treated,” she continued breathing heavily.
“This pussy is spectacular. It should be worshiped every day.” His breathing was becoming heavier against the back of her ear. “Let me worship it every day, Hermione. I will treat it so right.” It wasn't all just dirty talk. His feelings were slipping through however they could, it seemed. His heart was tight, almost tighter in his chest than his cock in her core.
She felt him holding her close, so very close, tight, almost desperately. He panted against her ear, grazed his teeth on the shell of it as his cock plundered her fast. She felt arousal spread stronger in her as well as warmth in her chest, around her heart.
Hermione hoisted her right knee to rest sideways on the back of the sofa in front of them. It opened her up to him and he started to piston with more rhythm, a touch more need and desperation. Hermione turned her head and he kissed her cheek, breathed hot on it, rubbed his nose on it. One hand slipped from her stomach up to a breast, palmed it, kneaded it. The other remained pressed to her stomach, pressing her close to him.
She felt… something. The passion, the need and desperation he felt. She felt them too. It was not just carnal, it was... deeper. It came through in the way he held her to him, and tight, like he never wanted to let her go. The urge was hot in her chest. It made her utter “yes Severus,” panting, “I want you every day. Make me yours every day.” She was holding his head with a hand hooked around the back of it.
Severus touched his cheek to hers. Their breaths, labored, were synchronized, the panting echoing loud into the room. He slipped the hand that was on her stomach to her mons and put pressure on her clit as his hips bucked faster and harder into her. Her own hands shadowed his, covered his over her body, her fingers resting in the space in between his digits.
They came absolutely at the same time, bodies spasming in the same rhythm, curling and arching in the same movements.
Hermione turned swiftly as he slipped out of her. She still panted and was limp, but devoured his lips. She absolutely needed to taste him, to alleviate the pressure in her chest. It did dwindle when she felt he responded with the same thirst.
When they parted, both were smiling, still out of breath. He touched his forehead to hers.
“This calls for a warm shower, don't you think?” She asked teasingly.
“And wash your delicious scent off of me?” He replied in a low and titillating tone.
She laughed softly. “I can always... rub it back on later.” She nipped his lower lip. “Plus, I intended on joining you in the shower, if you'll have me.”
“Of course I will, daft witch.”
Come lunchtime there was that knock on the door that announced their meals were waiting. Severus was the one to go fetch them while he left Hermione on the bed watching a bit of telly. He pulled the trays inside, placing one by one on the sideboard next to the door. A folded card with the hotel’s logo branded on the cover was on one of the trays. Severus found that curious, so he cocked his head as he placed that tray on the sideboard and closed the door. He then picked the card up and wedged his index finger in between the slightly parted halves. A deep slow chuckle reverberated from his throat.
“What is it, Severus?” Hermione asked from the bed. He turned the card to her as if she could read the words in its interior from where she sat and continued to chuckle.
“What?” She asked again with a bit of a drag to her voice.
“We've been asked to shut the blinds.” His chuckle grew to laughter.
“What!? Oh my God, you’re joking right?”
“No. Apparently some other prisoner here called the prison guards, I mean, the front desk. They wrote this note because no one has the balls to call.” He was still smiling and trying to control his laughter.
Hermione was mortified. There was a small part of that working wing that was perpendicular to the building in which they were. It was the only place where they could be seen from other than from outside or from one of the other parts of the hotel which were too far away, and closed down no doubt. She thought – or hoped, in her lust induced frenzy – that closer adjacent column of windows were empty as well.
A desperate wave of her hand had the blinds rolling down quickly and the plaid curtains shutting over them. Severus laughed harder.
“It's not funny, Severus!”
“Why are you worried, witch? They are the creeps looking into other people's rooms. They probably enjoyed the show,” he smirked. “Plus, you are gorgeous. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”
Hermione blushed.
“They probably mostly saw my bony ass, hence the request.”
“Your ass is not bony. It's a fine ass. You either have been working out hard in the last 20 years or that frockcoat hid a lot.”
It was Severus’ turn to blush slightly and be left speechless. So he just took the card and folded it again, walking over to his bag and finding an outer pocket to neatly stow it in.
“What are you doing?” She asked, a mix of curiosity and alarm in her voice.
“I'm keeping this. It will be framed and hung somewhere of note, possibly in the lab.”
Hermione grabbed a pillow and threw it at him. “Shut up!” She called out with a playful smile. He started chuckling again.
Lunch gave way to a nice afternoon nap. Severus could want nothing more - a full stomach a satisfied cock and a gorgeous witch, the most gorgeous witch, object of his heart's desire, on his arm. There was nothing to worry about. He was relaxed. The only thing that gnawed gently at the back of his mind was the need to have this every day. And the uncertainty that it would happen like that.
Sleep was heavy, sound, and brought a delicious dream. Hermione was fondling him as she whispered that she wanted him, needed him, loved him. He was so fucking aroused he could feel it though his eyes refused to open. His breathing became heavy and he wanted to wake up. He wanted to touch, hold and pleasure the real woman. He wanted to feel her, feel that warmth around his heart again, kid himself that she could want more. And it was amazing his cock was willing to work so much. He didn't want to waste these opportunities. Never had he had such a fantastic shag-a-thon.
A foreign inexplicable vibrating sensation on his balls finally pulled him out of his state. It was to see the very witch he dreamed of caressing his chest with one hand as her lips teased a nipple. She looked up at him cheekily as she did it. What also looked up at him was his hard cock. She had pulled his bottoms off while he slept.
Her hand slid down his chest to wrap around his member, her eyes still fixed on his as her tongue swirled around his hard nipple.
“You know…” she said in a husky voice “… you’re so fucking sexy.” Both hands were now caressing his chest as she sat up astride one of his thighs. “And these arms…” she moaned, gently squeezing his biceps “…holding me strongly against your writhing body... It makes me so fucking horny.”
Severus did not know what to say. He just smiled at her, almost like a fool, admiring the black lace bodysuit she wore and had certainly transfigured from one of her pieces of clothing. Never had he been praised like this.
“And these thighs…” she rolled her sex covered by black lace on his thigh and hissed in the most arousing way.
“Bloody hell, Hermione… that outfit… fuck me!” He said in a grunt, only as an expletive.
“I wholly intend on doing that,” she smiled.
Her light fingers teased his stomach, her hot core still on his thigh. Then her index fingers traced his pubic lines, one hand on each side as she looked hungrily at his cock. Her fingers reached the base of it and circled the groomed the landscape around it. He twitched, asking for more.
“This cock...” she said in a sexy whisper. She then hummed as if she were tasting a perfectly cooked meal. “It's absolute perfection.” Her hand wrapped around it and slid up tantalizingly slow. “I bet it will feel delicious deep in my mouth.”
His dick again twitched in her hand and she smirked. She dismounted his thigh to kneel at his side. She then leaned down, looking at him with a smoldering glisten in her eyes that made butterflies flutter in his stomach. Instead of touching her lips to his cock like he so wanted her to do, she kissed his hip bone. She licked and grazed it with her teeth, then licked her way down to his thigh. There she planted soft kisses as her fingernails raked his inner thigh up from his knee, slowly, only increasing his expectation. And then she finally cupped his balls and gently massage.
“Hmmm.... Hermione.” He took his hands to her hair and gently brushed it back. She smiled and took his hand with her lips, drew a finger in between them and suckled, her eyes locked on his as her lips gave him a taste of what was to come. She let the one finger go and moved on to the next one, licking its length before her lips sucked it whole into her mouth. He hissed as he watched intently.
Hermione let his finger go with a gentle pop of her wet lips. Her hand once again wrapped around his hard cock and stroked. After wetting her lips in the most enticing way, she touched it to his pink swollen tip. She pressed soft slow kisses to it while her hand still stroked his shaft.
Suddenly her tongue escaped her lips to roll over the head of his cock. He groaned at the warmth and wetness of her saliva, and his cock oozed clear sticky substance that indicated he was horny, and that she was doing a good job. She smirked, her fingers gently spreading his arousal around his apex so her palms could slowly slide it down his length.
Her tongue rolled all around his engorged glans, then her mouth took it slowly into its warmth depths. It caused another groan to escape his lips.
While Hermione sucked and drooled just on his tip, her hands giving the rest of his cock attention, he started to graze his knuckles on her covered nipple. He then dipped his index finger into the lace and teased her nipple directly, feeling it prickle under his touch.
“Let those beautiful tits out of that outfit. I want to see them.”
Hermione pulled away from his cock, smiling, and unclasped the upper part of her bodysuit in a titillating way. She then pushed it down to the middle of her stomach.
Severus smiled. “All I have to do is ask?” His hand was palming one of her breasts, squeezing it.
She nodded as she bit her lips. “You are the boss.” She answered as her hand returned to stroking his manhood. Then, she leaned back down to take him in her mouth again. This time though, she was not satisfied with just his summit. Her tongue traced the way up from his base, exploring every ridge and vein until she reached his tip again to then engulf his whole cock with her mouth.
“Oh fuck, Hermione,” he groaned.
At the same time she slid her lips deliciously up and down his cock, making him throb in between her lips and start breathing more heavily, he felt that vibration on his balls that had woken him up.
“Oh fffuck,” he hissed in pleasure. “What is that?”
“Do you like it?” She asked, a mischievous smile on her lips as she still rubbed his tip on her wet plump lips.
“Yeeeesss,” he answered as she did whatever she was doing again.
Hermione’s smile grew wider as she raised the hand that had played with his balls and showed a tiny vibrator nestled in her palm, one that could easily be mistaken for a weird keychain. It even had the small beaded string on one end to attach it to something.
“You naughty little…”
He was unable to finish the sentence as she touched the little gadget to his tip and made a grunt catch in his throat. It was small, but it did vibrate well.
Her swollen lips continued to focus on his glans, rolling her tongue over it then sucking it at a deliciously steady pace while her hand touched the round tip of the vibrator to his shaft and teased him.
Severus in turn enjoyed the show, but his hand didn’t much enjoy being idle. So it caressed her body, starting again at the tits that deliberately grazed his thigh while she sucked him, and sliding his digits slowly up to her sides, her back, until her his hand was cupping her bum and fingers gently sinking into her flesh to squeeze.
When her head started bobbing faster on his cock, all the way down his shaft and up again, and she pressed the vibrator to his balls with no relent instead of just gently teasing, his arousal spiked and he wanted so much more. So then he ripped her bodysuit open with a firm tug at the patch that rode up her ass cheeks and slipped his finger in her slit. It made her hum just as his tip was deep down her throat, and he rolled his eyes back along with his head due to the vibration.
“You're so wet, Hermione,” he panted when his senses returned to him and he explored her core with very curious probing fingers. “Is this all just because you're blowing me?”
“Unhuuum” she hummed once more on his cock and he growled as he squeezed her ass again.
She pulled away from his member, leaving a nice trail of saliva and his own arousal. She licked her lips clean before saying “it is so delicious… how can I not get wet?”
Severus just looked at her with glistening eyes as she placed herself in between his legs. He reached out a hand and cupped her cheek after pushing her hair back.
“Fuck, you're so beautiful” he uttered.
She smiled, eyes on him as her lips lowered to his dick once more. A gentle kiss was planted on his pink head before her lips lowered further, to his balls. She kissed, then licked… then she sucked one into her mouth and he groaned desperately. She licked his underside, from the base up, zigzagging slowly over the ridges. Just before she reached his glans, she flicked her tongue on the skin there, and again he groaned, rolling his head back.
“Ooooooh... Fffffucck, witch, I…” he bit his tongue before he continued “…adore you.”
She returned to sucking and his tip was so hard, his balls tight against his base, she knew she was doing a good job. But he was close, too close, so she decided to pull away and prolong it.
Hermione let him take a breath or two before straddling him and swiping his cock along her slit slowly.
“Bloody hell, you're going to kill me,” he panted.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” She asked cheekily, still rolling her hips on him.
He simply growled and gripped her haunches.
But she pulled back so her hips could give him attention again. Before she did though, she touched the vibrator to his frenulum and he arched his back and gripped the sheets.
Hermione quite enjoyed having this effect on him. She smirked and flicked her tongue on the sensitive skin again. He let out a long groan as she took him deep in her mouth. She sucked hard and fast, her fingers massaging his balls with the vibrator nestled in her palm.
Severus fisted her hair to encourage her movements. He couldn't help but thrust up into her mouth as well. She hummed and moaned, increasing his sensations.
“Fuck… I’m going to come so hard” he grunted, still holding her head, her lips lowering onto him, he pushing into her, it was hard to know. The only certainty was that it was fast and it was delicious.
“Are you going to swallow me, Hermione?” He asked as much out of curiosity as also a warning. “Please swallow me” he hissed, pleading. That would be so hot and make him feel so close to her, so accepted by her.
She felt his balls tighten, his glans hard. He was gripping the sheets, trying to control his squirming and maintain some dignity, but it was useless. She knew he was close. She pushed him far into her throat, gripping his hips, and she hummed. He came hard down her throat with a loud and undignified moan escaping his lips.
Hermione rose, licking her lips cheekily. Severus was still catching his breath but he reached for her, cupped her cheeks, and pulled her lips to his. He devoured and plundered it just as she had enthusiastically savored his cock. When they parted, he took the small vibrator that was still nudged in her hand.
“Horny little witch… do you always bring a vibrator when we travel?”
She blushed, wearing a coy smile. “Yes,” she said in a small voice.
“Why so small? It apparently gets the job well done, but still… there are better things out there.”
“It’s discreet. If there is… rummaging through bags and what not, it’s just a keychain, it’s less to explain. Plus,” she whispered “it's quiet.”
He smirked. “Why? So you can play with your delicious pussy in the room next to mine and I can be none the wiser?”
She sniggered.
“Tell me,” he rumbled indecently, “how many times have you made that pussy pop in the room next to mine? Are you so incredibly insatiable that you can't go one night without coming hard?”
“I actually… attempted more than got anything done. I wanted to unwind a bit but it’s not very easy to do… alone, for me. Plus, I was trying to see if I could squirt.” She whispered that last part as if someone else could hear her.
“You did, all over my mouth this morning,” he growled.
“Yes. It was the first time.”
“Oh? So am I the trigger to that pussy?”
Again she sniggered. “Apparently so. Don't get full of yourself.”
“Witch, please. I have never been this masterfully sucked off before, nor have I come so magnificently hard and indignantly. So you can be full of yourself as well, gorgeous witch.”
Hermione smiled and leaned into suckle on his lips tenderly. He cupped her cheek and took control of the kiss, deepening it, ravishing her mouth. They started a snogging session and once their breathing was heavy with arousal, they parted.
“Sit on my face,” he rumbled.
“What?” she panted.
“I…” he kissed her lips, “want,” he rubbed his nose on her cheek, “to make that pussy,” he nipped her ear, “squirt again,” he sucked on her earlobe.
Hermione smiled coyly and started to pull off whatever was left of the bodysuit that was bunched up on her midsection. Severus’ hands eagerly joined hers to help them pull it off. He laid back down completely and she sat astride his chest, a soft and shy look on her face as she looked down to him. He gripped her ass and with a firm pull, hoisted her up his chest to sit on his mouth, hunger in his eyes. Hermione squealed and took purchase on the headboard.
His tongue lazily rolled into her slit, his eyes fixed on hers. She gasped and clenched a bit as an initial reaction, afraid to completely let her weight down on him. But as his tongue explored more of her, entered her, flicked her clit, her reservations diminished.
Her fingers embedded in his hair as she rocked her hips gently on his face. His nose swiped her slit as his tongue rolled along her, and the feeling of cartilage on her clit was superb. She started rocking faster, unable to control her utter need, and Severus responded with relentless sucking. It made her arousal mount fast, and unleashed unabashed moans to escape from her lips.
Her arousal was not the only one mounting. Amazing as it seemed, after she exquisitely sucked him dry, he was getting hard again. As he savored her wet and sweet sex, he stroked his own stiffness until it became almost unbearably hard, craving her snatch.
So when her hands tightened in his hair and the pressure she put on his face was almost as avid as her panted moaning and encouragements, he gripped her haunches and sat up, flipping her on the bed, her head to the foot of it. Before she could even catch her breath, he was sinking his cock into her.
He pistoned fast and hard into her as her legs were still up in the air. She quickly locked them behind him and matched his pace, her flesh desperately slapping against his. He took the vibrator he had held on to and touched it to her lips with a suggestive smile. She sucked on it wantonly and he pressed it on her clit, making her wail and arch her back as she missed a beat of the pace they had been keeping. Severus, however, missed no beats. He plundered her hard and fast and did not pull the vibrator away from her clit at any moment.
“I love fucking you, Hermione” he panted as he supported himself over her with one hand. “This sweet delicious pussy drives me insane.”
Hermione could not answer. She just moaned and squeaked in a shaky voice, panted hard as his pubic bone hit her over and over in rapid succession.
“Is that pussy going to squirt for me? Make that pussy squirt for me, come all over my cock, Hermione,” he breathed. “I want it soaking wet with your pussy juice.”
Hermione wailed and spasmed under him, hanging on to his neck as his wish came true. Her essence flowed out of her abundantly on to him. He continued to hold the vibrator to her nub, causing more waves of pleasure to wash over her while she jerked. He pistoned, once, twice, three times more into her and felt that tingle at the base of his spine that shot out of him and into her, bringing him such relief.
He collapsed beside her, catching his breath, and raised the little vibrator. “That’s a check off your list then. The little gadget fulfilled its purpose.”
She could not see it, him, anything, for white bright lights still exploded behind her eyes. “A lifetime achievement,” she panted. “I thought I couldn’t do it. I was at the point of giving up.”
“Stick with me and I will make sure you do it frequently.” Severus pulled her to him and held her on his chest as he fell asleep with a smile on his face.
Evening was already upon them, the skies dark when Hermione went to the bathroom to shower for at least the third time that day. But this one was motivated by nothing other than the urge of putting on her pajamas and snuggling up to the wonderful man in the room with her. She had to make the most of her time. It was limited after all. She wondered if he would have wanted her at all, were they not trapped in there with each other.
When she exited the bathroom, it was to a dark room, to see Severus sat on the window seat, curtains and blinds completely open.
“Did the power go out again?” She asked.
He smiled as he looked back from the window to her. “No. I turned it off just to see the moon and stars better.”
The night was clear and the sky a midnight blue that was beautifully lit by tiny stars and a silver, big and shiny full moon that reflected off the white untouched snow. Severus admired it, admired the calmness. He took to doing that every once in a while since the war. Peace was something to be enjoyed.
“Come sit with me,” he beckoned.
“Oh no, no. I'm not going anywhere near that window.”
He chuckled. “Stop your foolishness, witch.”
His smile was so warm and open almost… loving, and he was calling her so sweetly. She couldn’t say no. She wanted to be beside him. So, she walked towards him and took his hand to sit with him, her back to the windows that could have peepers as she faced him. He smiled, looking her in the eyes, then cupped her cheek, caressed it.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” He asked while he looked up to the bright moon, out to the white snow and mountains beyond.
“Yes, very,” she smiled looking out as well, reluctant to pull her cheek away from his warm and strong hand. “It makes me feel rather cold though...” like snuggling. She slid closer to him and tentatively caressed his chest. He pulled her to him completely, into the circle of his embrace.
They snuggled and gazed up at the stars for quite a while, but it wasn't too long before Severus hooked his index finger under her chin and tilted her head so her lips could meet his. He tasted her thoroughly, his tongue caressing hers and exploring her mouth until that threshold of sweet show of affection and pure lust and need was crossed.
“Severus…” she breathed when they parted. “I know what you’re doing…”
“What am I doing?” He rumbled cheekily.
She narrowed her eyes while still showing her teeth, her lips curled up. “Not by the window.” She then pulled away, but not harshly at all.
Again he cupped her cheek and just admired her with light in his eyes as he caressed her skin. “Did you know that you are even more beautiful by moonlight?” He asked, tucking her hair behind her ear.
Hermione smiled timidly and leaned forward to cover his lips with hers. “You’re too sweet, Severus Snape,” she uttered when they parted. “Who knew?” She smiled more widely.
“I am not sweet. I merely speak the truth. I think you are gorgeous. And have now for a long time.” He said it while caressing her face and looking at her with soft eyes, soft features unlike she had ever seen on him before. It filled her heart with warmth. Once more she touched her lips to his, because she was not sure what to reply. Only this time, he took control of the kiss, embedding his fingers in her hair and tilting her face up to his as he devoured her mouth in a hungry yet lazily gentle way. His mouth encompassed all of hers and she could feel her lips being completely tasted, swelling as his tongue chased hers in the space it shared with hers.
It turned her on, made her core clench in search of the same kind of attention, and despite the fact she intended on only snuggling to him that night, perhaps talking a bit for a change, she saw her hands tenderly caressing his sides as they pushed his shirt up. With their lips still locked, she moved to straddle his lap, taking over the kiss and making him tilt his head up to hers. Her hands pushed the shirt up to its limit and he parted from her lips with a smile on his, to pull the shirt all the way off. She quickly cupped his cheek and returned to suckling on his lips, and he held on to her haunches to pull her closer to his body.
A hand sneaked up her shirt to caress her back and feel her warm skin. The light fingers that traced gentle patterns on her made goose prickles raise in their wake and Hermione quiver, arching her back and parting from his lips as she threw her head back. She hissed, then mewled at the feeling he provided. She also felt her nipples pebble.
Hermione lifted her arms for him to take her shirt off completely, even though it was a button-up. He quickly understood his cue and pulled it off, throwing it to the floor.
“We're by the window,” he smirked as he warned, his hands gliding up her bare back so his short nails could gently graze down, making her contort softly in his lap.
“I don't care,” she breathed then suckled on his lower lip as she looked deep into his eyes. “I was told I am prettier by moonlight” she whispered with a cheeky yet timid smile, with her lips still touched to the corner of his.
He licked her jawline slowly up to her ear and whispered: “you are absolutely gorgeous anywhere.” His lips then dipped down to her collarbone, peppered kisses down to her breast. His tongue gently rolled over her nipple before sucking on it tenderly.
Hermione arched her back to allow him more freedom to tease her and ended up laying herself down on the window seat. The smile on her face was tender, beckoning him to follow her, and that he did.
Severus laid atop her to claim her lips yet again, his hands in her hair as a thigh wedged in between hers. As they tasted each other passionately, Hermione rocked her hips gently against his leg. The soft friction it provided and the gentle roll of his tongue over hers, the feel of his strong hands on her cheeks, in her hair, gliding down her side, cupping the side of her breast, caressing her warm prickled skin, it all contributed to the mounting pleasure.
He sat back to pull her bottoms off and she lifted her bum to let him. He quickly laid back on her with a smile, not bothering to take his own bottoms off. His lips hungrily took claim to hers again, and as his hands sunk in her hair, hers slid down his bare side gently, then trailing a way in between her legs where he was nestled to free his imprisoned erection. When it sprang out and gently grazed her warm sex as if seeking the familiar spot that sheltered it so well, she stroked him softly. All the while their lips were locked in passion.
Severus parted from her, his breath heavy against her lips. He looked down in between their bodies to grip his member and their foreheads touched. As she held on to his neck with one hand, he guided himself into her and both exhaled with desire.
When he was completely sheathed by her channel, Hermione touched her lips to his again, nipped his chin, then licked his lips, begging passage as he moved into her to then pull out slowly. Severus in turn suckled on her lips, nipped her lower one, and when she once again parted them to give him admittance, their tongues met hurriedly, so thirsty for one another they were. Their lips followed shortly to conceal the unabashed entanglement.
Severus’ hips moved at a smoldering pace, gently, lovingly. Their pleasures grew and their breathing did as well, to the point they could no longer remain joined at the lips. So, they parted and could barely hear each other’s labored breaths and moans and grunts over the sound of their own panting in their ears.
Again their foreheads touched, and Severus held her knee that was not leaned on the glass to his waist as he looked down at their joining sexes. As he plunged slowly but deeply into her, he rolled his hips, hitting all the right spots, and making her roll her hips to meet his.
“Severus… yes...right there, right there,” she whimpered breathlessly and he continued doing exactly what he was doing. He enjoyed it just as much. Her wet channel slid over him deliciously, his tip hit her just right inside when he rolled his hips, and his pubic bone pressed her clitoris, then rubbed it as he pushed deeper before pulling away slightly. It was a marvelous cycle, repeated with now rush.
And then, it suddenly washed over. A soothing wave that was no less strong or satisfying than the previous ones he had provided her. When she arched her back while riding it out mewling softly and touching her nipples to his chest, he felt that tingle on the base of his spine be released in a snap and shoot into her.
Severus’ lips met hers again, tasted them languidly while they, still joined, caught their breaths.
“You like it slow as well,” he rumbled as he nuzzled her cheek, then nipped her earlobe.
“I think I like it any which way with you, Severus,” she panted, prompting his heart to fill with warmth.
They cuddled for a good while, until it became a bit awkward for both, awkward for a couple who are supposed to only be having naughty, dirty fun. So now both were fully dressed, the room dimly lit, Severus sat on the floor by the coffee table playing Solitaire with a deck of cards provided by the front desk along with dinner. Hermione had hoped immensely that they had offered one to every room, and not just theirs due to the... complaints.
Hermione sat at the window seat and looked out at the mountains and snow and starry night longingly. It worried Severus. She was acting a bit like she was like that morning, and he did not know what to think. Earlier that day he had been worried she had lost interest, had regretted what she had done, giving herself to him. But just now… they had shared something, he was certain. So that regret couldn’t be it. Could it?
“Still worried about your kids? I’m sure they will call tomorrow, but if you want I can ask Minerva…”
“No, no, I’m not worried,” she smiled at him. She was ashamed to admit she hadn't even been thinking of them.
“Then what is it? Something is… troubling you.”
She looked at him, embarrassed, unsure. But they had shared so much in just a few hours, a little over a day, she couldn’t… deny him an answer.
“Do you promise to not ridicule me?”
“Have I ever?”
Hermione just lifted both eyebrows and smirked as if saying “really?”
“Post... Hogwarts,” he drawled.
She smiled. “You’re right, you haven’t.”
“So...”
She exhaled. “I... sort of don't want this lockdown to last only two weeks.”
It was his turn to raise a brow inquisitively, worried she might be going slightly insane.
“It's peaceful here... Don’t look at me like that! There are no worries or obligations, there’s no one annoying to endure... We are taken care of...” She inhaled sharply and with it she took in courage. “... And I am having... fun, with you. I.... wanted it to last a bit longer.” She finished in a small voice.
He looked at her blankly, incredulously blinking his eyes for a few seconds. He then promptly blurted out, before she became redder than a pepper: “it doesn't have to end.”
“What?”
“It does not have to end with the lockdown. This. Us.”
She didn't quite understand. “You said this was our Vegas...”
“Fuck Vegas. It doesn’t have to be Vegas.”
She cocked her head, still not quite following.
“Let's… do this... after lockdown, post virus, in London, in our normal lives… just… for life.”
She smiled shyly. “Life... has a good way to go still. It can be pretty long.”
“It has been too long so far, since I've had to go through it without you.”
“Wha...?”
“Hermione... I want you. For more than just two weeks. For more than just sex. I have wanted you for... a while now.”
“Really?” She laughed softly, giddily… nervous.
He huffed and scratched his forehead. “Who’s being ridiculed now?” he whispered.
“No, no!” She stood to stride to him hurriedly. But she hit her little toe on the leg of the table and stumbled onto his lap in pain.
“Ooooowwww!” She moaned as he held her back against his chest and she held her foot. He reached out to rub her toes as well.
When the pain subsided a bit, she then turned to him, laughing softly again. “So you are willing to put up with this sort of clumsy stupidity from me? For life?”
“Yes,” he uttered shyly.
She kissed his lips. “Yes.”
“Yes?” He asked, his brow raised as a crease formed between his eyes.
“Yes. Severus. I want you. For more than just the amazing sex.” She kissed his lips again. “As more than my brilliant boss. For as long as you'll have me,” she whispered against his skin.
“I’ll have you forever, daft witch,” he rumbled. He was still shy to say the actual words, that he loved her. He would though. Soon. He had to admit it. The trouble was he wanted to hear it back now and he could not control that need any longer, push it down as he had for years. And he wasn't sure she was on that same page yet. If she would ever be, really. This, right now, was all he could want already. Don't scare her away.
“Good. Daft wizard,” she smiled and again suckled on his lips.
After a few more pecks and suckle and gentle displays of affection, she turned to sit in between his legs, facing his cards. “This one goes here” she pointed at a car on a pile and then to another pile.
“I also look forward to enduring that bossy disposition of yours, little Miss know-it-all,” he rumbled lovingly in her ear as he moved the card she had pointed out. She sniggered as she snuggled back into him.
|
It felt extremely sudden.
And Aqua knew that she should have expected that. The Master once joked about how much Ven controlled the atmosphere around him without even knowing it. When Ven was his usual cheerful self, the world brightened without any sort of explanation. It just did. Everyone in the room with him would feel happy and content. When Ven got oddly quiet, the world dimmed for a bit. And when Ven got upset, the world will get cold.
Thus, she should have known.
But she didn’t, because Ven almost never changed his mood in a sudden downturn. From warm and content, to confusion, and finally leaving the room in a quiet sort of anger. Aqua found herself dumbfounded as she stared at the door Ven had left open in a storm.
“Ah, I almost forgot how that felt,” Terra sighed as he took Aqua’s tea from the table. “Being so utterly swept in Ven’s pace that it felt like my feet got knocked off the ground. It’s… nostalgic.” He had a smile on his face and Aqua had to narrow her eyes at that. Here she was, being conflicted over something extremely Ven-esque. She had to get a grip and not get swallowed in the wave. She was a Master now, she should be better.
“But really, what does he mean by Ventus Halzen though? Is that a name?”
“Am I hearing an emphasis on the he?” Aqua bantered good-naturedly. Calmer. Better. Terra shrugged.
“Well, isn’t it obvious that it’s Vanitas storming out? No matter how upset Ven gets, he won’t just leave the room like that?”
But… is it really so nice and neat like that?
“Yeah, but…” Did that mean that whatever Ven did that was laced with negative emotions should be attributed to Vanitas? Aqua knew Ven, though he was an overall bright and cheery individual, it didn’t mean that he never had any sort of negativity whatsoever. Ven got mad, got angry, and got upset just like any other people even when it wasn’t frequent.
Aqua shook her head. She has to stop overthinking things like this.
Aqua took a deep breath. No use pondering over things she and Terra didn’t know. They’ll have to ask Ven himself later.
(Because there must always be a later. Aqua fought tooth and nail to make sure that there will be thousands of laters in their lives)
Back in the matter at hand, though…
“Hmmm Ven did mention something about having a full name, so I guess Ventus Halzen is his full name?” Terra lightly scratched his chin, a telltale sign that he was thinking. That was probably it, right?
“Probably,” Terra chimed, confirming her previous ponderings. “It’s kinda new to see him like that since he never really cared about his origins. Maybe Vanitas know things Ven doesn’t when it comes to their past…” It was said more for himself than for Aqua, but it was certainly a food for thought. Ven came to them a literal blank sheet who knew nothing but his own name, and he seemed to never have a problem with that. Unlike Aqua who decided to not bother about her origins unless needed or Terra who wanted to leave it all behind, Ven never knew anything. So… it kind of made sense that he’d want to know when the opportunity arises.
Silence befell Aqua and Terra as they pondered over Ven’s situation and Aqua didn’t find it loud at all. She and Terra shared more silences after the entire thing happened, but at least they shared it. Back in the realm of darkness, Aqua shared silence with herself and it was a miserable thing. So sharing silence with someone, even when that someone was Terra, was definitely a big improvement.
But that silence was broken by loud metal music coming from the cracks of the sofa.
The two childhood friends shared a look with each other before bursting into a gaggle of laughter.
And it was both warm and amazing because Ven, with all his cheeriness and bravado, did not seem like a person who’d listen to metal music. If anything, she expected Terra to listen to metal music, but she was wrong. Terra listened to Pop music, loud and cheery songs he got from Sora’s recommendations. Aqua listened to classical music she got from Riku’s recommendations. And Ven… well, they didn’t know about what Ven listened to and was both surprised and happy to find out.
(She supposed that hanging out with Lea, Isa, Roxas, and Xion must have brought that in Ven. The four of them share an odd sense of love for edgy metal music, after all)
Aqua wiped a tear from the corner of her eye before moving to slip her hand on the crack of the sofa. Though when she found Ven’s phone, she was surprised to see Roxas’ name.
Ven and Roxas shared a complicated yet overall good relationship. She knew that Roxas had been hurt at first when he saw Ven because he thought that nothing about him was ever him. But then Ven and Xion had smiled and told him that Roxas was Roxas before Ven dubbed them all siblings. Aqua honestly shared the sentiment; Roxas was Roxas, because she could easily tell them even from a glance.
So Aqua held up Ven’s phone to show Terra, who then cocked his head to persuade her to answer.
Aqua took a deep breath and answered.
“Hello?”
“Hi, is this Aqua? Yeah it’s Roxas,” He sounded in a hurry to confirm himself. Did something happen?
“Yes, I do know that you are Roxas…” Aqua laughed, trying to diffuse Roxas’ nervousness. But Roxas didn’t waste any second.
“Why do you have Ventus’, I mean, Ven’s phone?”
“Ven left his phone and I assume that you’re calling him because you need him to answer. I’ll relay it to him, what’s wrong?”
“Oh, okay. Listen, I have a former vessel of Xehanort here in Twilight Town and… he seems to be mistaking me for Ven. So… yeah…” Aqua nearly dropped the phone.
Terra tilted his head to the side, mouthing what’s wrong as his eyes narrow. She must have paled considerably for Terra to pick it up. She took a deep breath before answering.
“I… I’ll check it out, Roxas. Can you keep him there with you? I’ll be along in a bit.”
“Okay, we’ll wait. Thanks.” Aqua could hear his relief before he hung up the phone.
Aqua took a deep breath and exhaled, trying to calm herself. It’s alright. Everything’s fine. Roxas would have been more panicked if it was really, truly, Xehanort. It wasn’t a ghost of Xehanort trying to haunt Ven. No one will take Ven from them—from her. She will make sure of that.
“What’s wrong? You’re going to bruise your lip you know?”
Terra’s voice brought her out of her own fears and she found herself taking a deep breath. Terra scooted closer to her, his hand grounding hers and Aqua was wordlessly grateful of him, of his presence. “You okay?” Aqua had to smile at that. Dependable as ever…
“Roxas… he said that they found a former vessel of Xehanort in Twilight Town…” Terra’s face hardened, his hand too. But he kept his silence. “…and he’s looking for Ven.”
And that brought Terra’s frown.
“No,” he started. “No. Just… no.”
Aqua didn’t need words to understand Terra’s dread. But from the way Terra’s body trembled even as he held her hand, Aqua knew that there was more to what she felt. So she stared at him, trying to coax an answer out of him. Terra didn’t seem to think much about what her gaze meant as he kept murmuring to himself.
“Terra, we share our minds, remember?”
Terra’s eyes found hers in a moment that was terribly fragile. Doubt, guilt, self-flagellation, determination; many emotions flickered in Terra’s eyes and it hurt. It was her turn to tighten her hand around Terra’s, grounding him from his own darkness. Silence followed, another terrible moment for Aqua, but then Terra exhaled a long breath and let go of her hand.
Aqua waited.
Terra didn’t leave, and it was a battle she was willing to fight.
“I… well, Xemnas wanted to find Ven as well…”
And that was the only explanation Aqua needed to understand Terra’s uneasiness.
Was this… was this former vessel of Xehanort acting upon Xemnas’ will to find Ven? What if they were? What if they were going to take Ven away? What if—?
“I’ll go to Twilight Town,”
Aqua narrowed her eyes, immediate rejection already on the tip of her tongue but she managed to hold it in. Despite everything, despite her worries, she knew that she shouldn’t ever push her friend away again. Yet she had to tell Terra of her worries, of her unwillingness, so she settled for a: “why?”
“I just… Aqua, these people used to move by Xemnas’ will…” isn’t it up to me to take care of the mess left behind? had went unheard, but Aqua caught it just fine. “And I won’t let anyone take Ven away from us.” Aqua frowned.
“But… I think I should…”
“Aqua, you’re the current residing Master of Land of Departure,” Terra’s eyes were warm, welcoming, and kind though chiding and stern as well. It felt like Master, somehow. “You shouldn’t leave the Land unguarded.”
“But we all went to the Destiny Island together and it was all fine!”
“We locked the world before we go and this is different.”
“What difference is there, Terra?”
“Ven.”
Aqua clenched her fists, but she averted her gaze away from Terra.
She knew. She knew that Terra knew as well. Ven was not himself these days because things were changing so fast with Vanitas, Chirithy, and his own memories coming back to him. In this kind of situation, Aqua was better equipped to handle Ven. Terra was the direct and straightforward one, the anchor of their friendship that was steady and unmovable. But this situation required tact and delicacy, Ven needed to be understood instead of grounded…
Besides, Aqua understood the implication as well. Terra believed that she was stronger than him, so he trusted her to protect Ven instead of himself.
Aqua exhaled, but her hand found Terra’s shoulder and her eyes were on him. Close, tight, and even possessive, but Terra put his hand on top of hers in the most reassuring way possible and she welcomed them with a solemn, defeated, smile.
“I don’t want you to go.” I’m scared that you won’t return.
“I know. But, I have to.” For Ven, for us.
“I’ll go now; you go find Ven. I won’t be long. I promise.” I won’t ever leave you two alone.
“Come back soon.” I trust you.
“Of course.” Thank you.
Aqua watched as Terra left the lounge and her heart swelled. It felt… bittersweet. She wanted to hug him and never let him go. She wanted Terra to stay, but she clenched her fists and watched the flame flicker.
Calm down. I trust him.
Aqua sighed.
She needed to find Ven.
--
Twilight Town was a beautiful place.
It was quaint and quiet, bathed in the sunset that made it such a wonderful city. Terra had always been content with the Land of Departure’s isolation. For the longest of time it was just him and Master, then it was just him and Master and Aqua, and finally, it was just him and Master and Aqua and Ven. Terra liked the fact that he knew everyone intimately, but it didn’t mean that he didn’t find the bustling Twilight Town beautiful.
“Are you enjoying Twilight Town?” The soft voice brought Terra out of his reverie and he instantly smiled to the person speaking. He couldn’t help it, Xion just brought that sort of reaction from him. It pained him to see her so… nervous around him, most probably because Xemnas had terrified her. So Terra smiled as warmly as he could, trying his best to make her feel comfortable.
“Yes, I am. It’s very different from the Land of Departure, but it’s nice.”
“I see,” Xion replied almost distractedly. “The Land of Departure used to be Castle Oblivion, isn’t it?”
“More like Castle Oblivion used to be the Land of Departure, but yeah, that’s the gist of it,” Terra chuckled. “You should come sometime, I’m sure Ven will be happy to see you guys.” Because there was just no way that Xion would come without at least Roxas. Terra knew that Xion and Roxas both feel weirded out by Ven, despite the latter’s openness towards the two former Nobodies. If anything, Terra thought that it was exactly because Ven was so open that they felt weirded out.
But when all is said and done, Terra was convinced that the three of them were good friends.
Xion nodded with a small smile on her face and that was all Terra needed.
The two of them were walking across town from where Terra had appeared, the train station, and all the way to a mansion just outside of the town. And their walk had been a pleasant one. It’s been quite some time since he spent time with people other than Aqua and Ven and it was always a pleasant experience. Sora was always a joy to be with and with him, Riku and Kairi followed. Namine, too, always had a kind smile and insightful things to say. Lea and Isa were practically old married couple. Everyone was fun.
(Though he hurt most of them, all of them forgave him without as much as a blink and it was… baffling. Yet he was eternally grateful for it even when he thought that he didn’t deserve it)
“So, can you tell me about this… former vessel of Xehanort? What did you say his name was?”
“We know him as Luxord, he’s Number X. He’s... I don’t really know the circumstances of his membership,” Terra nodded, silently urging her to continue. “He’s nice. Nicer than some of the members.” Xion smiled a little to herself and it warmed Terra’s heart. She reminded him of Ven and Aqua, somehow.
They were already out of town and into the forest. It was a bit dark, but there was still a sufficient amount of light to guide their way. It was when they got into a clearing that he could make out Lea—Axel’s spiky red hair and Isa’s blue ones as they sat on the ground with their backs facing them.
“Arrrrgh you’re good at this!” Axel groaned loudly, earning a laugh from others in the circle.
“Well, he owned the card. Makes sense if he’s the one good at it.”
“You’re good at it though Pence,”
“Welcome to the circle of losers Lea,”
“Yeaaaah,”
Terra had to laugh at the scene laid out before him because it was just so fun to see. There were three tall men playing cards with four teenagers and it looked like more of the men were losing and it made for a good laugh.
“Hey guys! Terra’s here!”
Roxas was the first to perk up from the game, most probably because he was already on the ‘circle of losers’ (as dubbed by Isa). He immediately waved back to Xion. “Welcome back Xion! And hi Terra,” Roxas smiled.
And that seemed to break the circle as everyone turned to greet him. Terra smiled in return, greeting them all back. “It’s really good to see you guys. Ven and Aqua send their regards,” Terra assumed that they would definitely send the Twilight Townies their regards if things had been in a better situation when he left. Hell, Terra knew that Ven would be here with him right now if things had been better.
But then his eyes immediately went to the blond man who wore the black coat only to find the other already staring at him with narrowed eyes.
“Terra, this is Luxord, a former Organization member,” Xion started as she stepped between Terra and the stranger. But the stranger’s eyes were still locked on him and he didn’t seem like he wanted to say anything.
“Uh, hi?”
Everyone was silent as the stranger approached him without any regards to his personal space. He stood really close to Terra, eyes narrowed and head tilted slightly.
“Is there something on my face?” Terra couldn’t help but ask, his hand ready to reach his keyblade if needed.
But then the stranger turned his face to the mansion, then back to him, and back to the mansion again.
“Okay you’re weirding us out here Luxord,” Axel said with a sigh, earning a small giggle from Olette. “Mind telling us what’s up with Terra?”
Luxord finally settled on Terra’s face, looking as if he was in the middle of remembering something very important. But then Hayner nudged him on the hips and he immediately cleared his throat.
“Sorry, where are my manners?” He said good-naturedly. “You… remind me of someone I’ve met before. My name is Lourd Gyllen, please call me Lou.” There was an offered hand and Terra took it with a tentative expression.
“I’m Terra,” he replied, not quite sure of what to say.
“This someone… is it the Superior?” Xion asked, her voice uncharacteristically small. The blond man eyed him from head to toe before shaking his head.
“No. I mean, I met him in a house that looked really similar to the one behind me. Tell me, do you really not feel familiar with the look of the mansion? Seriously?”
Terra took a few seconds to regard the house just behind the iron gate. It was quaint but old. There wasn’t anything special about the house, really. Just an abandoned mansion in the middle of the forest just outside of town.
“No, not at all.”
The blond—Lou—frowned.
“That’s odd. You remind me so much of him, though you have different-colored hair…” then he continued with an intelligible murmur that seemed to mean nothing for everyone but himself.
Roxas then cleared his throat, possibly to prevent the awkwardness into escalating even further.
“Uh, so Lou, this is Terra. He’s Ven’s friend who lives with him in the Land of Departure,”
Terra clenched his fists by his side as the blond’s eyes tripled in size, clearly surprised. “So… you are saying that Ven Halzen is alive and well? And he had friends…?”
“That’s what we keep telling you, Lou. Ven lives with his best friends in another World.” Pence sighed.
If Terra hadn’t been prepared for the way his voice shook, he certainly wasn’t prepared for the hug and tears.
“W-wha?”
“Thank you for making friends with him, he’s always needed one…” Lou whispered, his voice shaky. “And if anyone deserves to have the best of friends, it’s Ven Halzen. Thank you, stranger, thank you.” The blond man was shivering and it was horribly awkward. But Terra could really feel the weight of the others’ emotion through the tears wetting his shoulder.
Everyone didn’t know what else to do but eye the two grown men hugging, and Terra froze in his place. Not sure of what to do. So he just let the other man be as he hugged him. But then as Terra watched the blond trying his best not to sob, he just had to know.
“Uhhh Lou,” he called, earning a quiet sigh as the other man let go of him. Bright blue eyes stared at his own in an utterly calm and tranquil moment. “Do you know Ven? How…?” because you seem to love him so much and yet I know nothing about you was what he didn’t say. But Lou took a deep breath and smiled and Terra didn’t understand why it reminded him of how Chirithy smiled whenever it saw Ven.
“Of course I would know him,” Lou chuckled. “I have been looking for him for years now. He’s one of my only three friends in the new world.”
And as Lourd Gyllen laughed to himself, Terra began to question everything he thought he knew about his youngest friend. |
“Both dead and alive?” Natasha looked up from her book, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise and an intrigued look in her eyes.
“Essentially, yes, that’s how quantum superposition works,” Bruce replied, smiling, as he carefully poured the hot chocolate into both cups. “The cat being both dead and alive* is a metaphor for an electron, whose spin state remains both up and down at the same time until measured.”
Bruce knew that Nat had next to no real interest in quantum mechanics, but both of them had developed a habit of listening intently to each other's passionate ramblings quite often, with Bruce sometimes telling her about subject ranging from physics to biochemistry to medicine, while Natasha would go on about psychology or literature or sometimes simply the most efficient ways to kill someone.
With a pang of nostalgia, Bruce remembered the days when the Avengers often stayed together in the Tower, when Tony and Bruce would spend hours together in his labs, designing and blowing stuff up. While Natasha would usually stay with Clint or Steve, she occasionally ‘wandered into’ the labs while they were working, simply content to sit and observe their antics.
“It’s what ?” She shot him a puzzled look. “But didn’t tell me spin states were like, what direction electrons are rotating in? You can’t have something rotate up and down at the same time .”
At first, Nat would regard both of them with what felt like an almost calculating stare, like a panther intently watching its prey, waiting for the perfect moment to strike; however, as she’d gradually grown comfortable enough around them, the calculating look had melted into an almost childlike curiosity.
“You can, in quantum mechanics,” Bruce replied, topping his cup with whipped cream, reminded of the days he’d gaped at his textbooks sputtering the same questions Nat was just asking. “And electrons don’t actually rotate; it’s more of a metaphor used in introductory level explanations."
She’d then occasionally come closer, asking them offhanded questions here and there, like what the function of a certain device was, or what they were trying to build/discover, and sometimes bringing them both coffee and snacks. While she’d never become a part of the Science Bros (she barely knew college-level physics), her ‘wandering into’ the lab while they were working had gradually become less and less of an uncommon phenomenon.
"I dunno,” she shrugged, “try a less metaphorical explanation?"
“It doesn’t get less confusing even then, even for actual quantum physicists. Marshmallows?” he asked, putting some in his hot chocolate.
“Yes, please,” Nat replied. “And try it, it’s not like I understand most of what you tell me anyway.”
Soon, Bruce had decided to reciprocate by ‘wandering into’ the sparring grounds while she and Clint trained, sitting in the corner and observing them practice knife throwing, shooting (all sorts of guns in Nat’s case, along with bows and arrows in Clint’s) and hand to hand, just as she’d once done in the labs.
While it had taken a fair amount of time — and several minor fractures thanks to Clint’s insistence that he learn some hand to hand combat too — he’d gradually began frequenting the training areas, often listening to their discussions on weaponry and strategy during their breaks, bringing them protein shakes, occasionally asking a few questions too. Nat used to particularly enjoy teaming up with Bruce to list together all the reasons guns were intrinsically better than arrows, no matter how advanced, to a very annoyed Clint.
He missed all of that.
"Well, the spin state of an electron is an intrinsic form of angular momentum," he gently inserted a few of the pink marshmallows on top of the cream in her cup, “Which is to say, it does have several qualities of a rotating sphere, but to say that it is really rotating would be incorrect.”
“That makes no sense, though.”
After that, they’d begun to spend more time in each other’s company. She’d ask him several sciencey questions during Movie Night — God, he missed those — when Tony inevitably put on Star Wars (never the prequels, though, Tony hated the prequels with the passion of a thousand supernovae) or another sci-fi, as he likewise did when spy movies came up.
“I know. It’s not supposed to. If you think you understand quantum mechanics, you don’t understand quantum mechanics,” he replied, quoting Feynman.
“My God, electrons are wild,” she commented. “'I’m going to ignore every single conceivable rule of mechanics and probability until and unless observed, in which case I’m gonna do exactly what you’d expect me to .’ Disgusting. Please behave like people.”
Bruce chuckled, placing the two cups on the tray and heading back to the couch. “Not following any rule until observed by an authority figure is exactly how people behave, I think.”
Just as he’d sometimes ramble to her about de Chatelier’s laws and atomic spectra, she’d soon taken to telling him all about the various things she was an expert in: emotive psychology, the different types of guns and daggers, martial art styles from the world over, the best spots to aim for when trying to incapacitate; or sometimes, simply what book she was reading these days — and she was the last person you’d expect to be into cheesy young adult romance novels, but here we are.
“You’re 100% right, actually,” she agreed. “Speaking of authority figures,” she kept her book down and looked up, her eyes glittering with interest. “I was reading up on some more social psychology recently and, you know about the Milgram experiment?” She questioned, seizing an opportunity to go off about something that she’d found interesting.
“Haven’t heard of it. What’s it about?” he replied, letting her divert the conversation — he’d spoken about Schrodinger’s cat enough today — setting the tray on the table in front of the couch, then plopping on it beside where Tasha currently sat.
“It’s basically this experiment illustrating how people would obey an authority figure, even when orders conflicted with their own conscience.” she elaborated, picking a cup up with both hands. “This is hot.”
“I just made it, Nat,” he chuckled, picking up his own, then about the experiment, he commented, “That’s interesting.”
“The interesting part is, you don’t even have to threaten any of them or anything,” she elaborated, blowing on the (marshmallow covered) cup. “Just the fact that the orders come from authority figures is enough for many to set their conscience aside.”
“Huh.” He tilted his head, gesturing for her to continue.
“Basically, the experimental setup has this person, who’s been told that they need to administer electrical shocks to another person they can’t see, but can hear, for a different experiment; all the way up to 450 volts,” she elaborated with a smile on her face, leaning forward. “The person they’re supposed to be administering the shocks to is an actor pretending to be in pain. And they can hear the actor’s ‘cries and pleas of mercy’ all the while during the experiment.”
“Let me guess, most people went through with the experimenters’ orders regardless?”
“Absolutely.” She affirmed, nodding. “Most of them were clearly stressed and hated it all, but like a whopping 65% of them went all the way up to the max voltage.” Then, pausing to take a sip, she said, “This is delicious, Bruce.”
“Thanks. I’ve been making this since forever.” It had been his mom’s favourite thing to make, and one of the few things that had made his childhood bearable.*
“You totally missed your calling there,” she complimented, taking another sip.
“I’m a scientist, Tasha. We don’t do life skills,” he replied, flattered despite himself, then took another sip from his own. It was good. “That’s the only thing I can make.” Not strictly true: he could make himself a coffee. And instant ramen. Ah yes, the staple of every (ex-) college student ever.
“You think I don’t know that? I still stand by what I said. You totally could’ve made a killing by just selling hot chocolates and marshmallows, no need for your seven PhDs.” She took another sip, then asked, “Why did you even get seven PhDs anyway?”
“Because,” he replied. That was the reason. Because. He’d had no reason to get another: one PhD was enough to qualify him for independent research; he’d gone ahead and gotten the rest just because he could.
“Understandable.”
They sat in companionable silence for some time, each of them savouring the taste of the hot beverage in their hands. It was a nice moment in his very chaotic life, Bruce had to admit. Tranquil, almost, unlike everything else.
That moment did not last for long:
A sharp knock on the room’s door.
“Bruce!” It was Tony’s excited voice, the one that signalled that it was time to science. “You there?”
“Coming!” he answered equally loudly, suddenly remembering that he’d planned to spend the day with him and Shuri working on… something. And then he’d totally forgotten about that, hadn’t he? Then, turning to Natasha, he said, quietly, “I’ll have to go, Nat.”
“All right, then. See you later,” she replied nonchalantly, just as Bruce got up from the couch to head towards the door.
Then: “Wait.”
He stilled. Turned around. The atmosphere around the room shifted, going from one of comfort and contentment to one of stress and somberness within a matter of seconds.
“Have you… talked?”
“...Not yet,” he replied, sighing. Truth be told, he’d really never gotten the chance to do so since the attack on the Palace.
“You know, if… if you wanna stay in Wakanda or retire, I’m pretty sure Stark has enough political clout to arrange something,” she said, blinking rapidly.
“What do you mean?” He questioned.
“I guess what I’m saying is that…” she looked away, biting her lip. It was unusual for her to put on any display of emotion, even among friends.
He was suddenly overcome with the urge to just hug her.
“...He had been my family too, you know,” she tried again, her voice spilling with regret, as Bruce was hit with a pang of sympathy in his chest. “And I ruined it all. I don’t want to be the reason you ruin it too.”
Family, Bruce noted. Natasha had always wanted family, in whatever form it came. She’d wanted a place in the world where she could truly belong.
The Avengers had been her family.
It hadn’t been her fault, Bruce knew. Sure, she’d let Steve and Barnes escape, but she couldn’t let T’Challa murder someone she knew was innocent, and then shit went off the rail before she could’ve done anything. It hadn’t been her fault.
“You won’t,” he replied firmly, reassuringly, as Nat simply nodded, putting on what was clearly a fake smile. Everything would be all right, he wanted to tell her. Give her all the comfort, all the reassurance.
Even though he wasn’t so sure himself.
“Bruce! You sure you’re there?” Tony called again. “Everything all right or do I gotta break-in?”
“Gotta go,” he turned around, trying to banish all the emotion on his face as quickly as he could as he swiftly walked towards the door and opened it.
“Hey, Tony,” he greeted the man. Then, noticing the android beside him, “Vision.” The android simply nodded back in reply.
“Brucie Bear!” Tony greeted back enthusiastically. Then, looking over Bruce’s shoulder, in a significantly less enthusiastic tone, “Romanoff.”
The tension in the atmosphere doubled within a second.
“So, I take it, it's science time?” he questioned, bringing Tony’s attention back to him. “Let’s get going, shall we?”
“Yup!” he replied, stepping aside to let Bruce out into the corridor as Bruce shut the door gently. This was likely gonna take the rest of the day; Natasha would probably leave as soon as she was sure Tony was gone.
“Who else is gonna be there?” he questioned as he started walking with the other two towards the elevator. Shuri’s labs, most of them situated within the Main Palace, were a short, ten-minute walk from where they were staying in the gigantic guest facilities on the Palace grounds.
“Oh, you know, just me, you, Vision over here —” he gestured towards the Android — “and Curie, of course,” Tony elaborated. “Shuri’s got an idea for some new schtick in machine learning and neural networking, kinda similar in principle to what I’ve been doing with FRI, except like a hundred times better because this is Wakanda, and while we obviously don’t have the clearance to work on the project directly, obviously, we can test out a few baby ideas together with her, and...” he rambled on.
He could see where this was going: it was Tony’s primary deflection tactic (aside from the narcissistic billionaire facade, of course). Tony would engross himself and everyone around him in something else (science, in Bruce’s case), all the while filling their brains with his incessant rambling, both of which would synergize to get the person either too distracted or two irritated to focus on what they were gonna say.
“You know, the things they do with vibranium are still mind-blowing, but in terms of information technology, Stark Industries really isn’t all that behind, the basic principles and designs are all the same, it's just the difference of hardware, of what the interface is incorporated in: we’ve got integrated circuits and they’ve got vibranium nanotech — well, I’ve got Vibranium nanotech too, now, thanks to our partnership.”
“You’re partnering up with them?” Bruce questioned.
“Yup,” came the reply, the ‘p’ popped. “Did I tell you that the Wakandan International Outreach Centre’s first partnership was with Stark Industries?” he said, sounding proud. “Not gonna lie, I think I could’ve caught up on my own given... fifteen, twenty years? Depending on whether I had access to all that vibranium, of course. That metal’s a wonder. Nothing comes close.”
He really needed to get the conversation going while he had the chance.
The doors of the elevator abruptly opened as they hopped in, pressing the down button as they soon closed shut and the elevator began its descent.
“Honestly, though, T’Challa does have good — great — intentions, but the speed at which they’re sharing their toys with the rest of the world is kinda staggering, and bound to cause problems — has caused problems, already.”
“I would agree,” Vision conceded. “People, as a general rule, prefer stability, something which hasn’t been seen in the geopolitical scenario for a long time.”
Come on, Banner.
“Exactly,” Tony pointed out. “You know, and then a lot of inflated white egos have burst ever since they’ve come out of isolation. It’s chaotic, all of it.”
“You know, I kinda wanna know what sort of cyberinfrastructure they have in space too — if they have cyberinfrastructure in space — but we kinda really need Vision in this so I can’t call Loki because the Mind Stone makes him uncomfortable, and speaking of which, we’ve been working on this thing with the Stone, and —”
All of this was very interesting, truly. But he really needed to talk about that.
Do it.
“Uh, Tony, that’s great,” he interrupted, “but can we, uh — I really need to talk about something.”
“Sure, Brucie Bear, what about?” Tony asked innocuously. “Please don’t tell me you want to be doing some other stuff like chemistry right now — or Newton forbid, biology —”
“Hey,” he chided, just as the elevator opened again with a soft, universal ‘ting’. What was up with the high and mighty attitude of almost every physicist/engineer he knew? “You wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for that subject.”
“Still doesn’t make it real, hard science, sweetie,” Tony replied, stepping out into the lobby.
“Seriously ?” he deadpanned.
“Of course not.” He flashed a toothy grin. “I’m just messing with you. Anyway, what did you wanna talk about?”
Right.
“Uh, it’s about the Accords, actually,” he stated as matter-of-factly as he could.
Tony sighed. “Ah, damn, even a discussion of Ornithology would’ve been better. What’s the difference between crows and ravens anyway?” he replied after a short pause, grimacing.
“— The difference is that ravens are larger, shinier, live much longer, and are found in wilder areas, whereas crows populate urban settings,” Vision supplied helpfully, just as the automatic doors of the west exit of the building slid open smoothly and they stepped outside, greeted by the warm afternoon wind (Bruce would've said burning, had he not spent a year in India) and the chirping of the birds.
“Cool, I suppose, but irrelevant, Vis. I was being figurative,” Tony replied, now turning to Bruce. “All right, Big Green. The Accords. Made your choice?”
Had he?
On one hand, he did want to stay away from the Accords, away from Ross — and with Natasha. But he did not want to lose his friends here. He didn’t want to lose Thor, or the Valkyrie, or Shuri, or Tony.
He sighed. “I... have, actually, but — you know what? I’m not sure yet. I’d like your opinion on certain things before I make any decisions.”
“All right,” he acknowledged, his face completely neutral and business-like. “Shoot.”
“Are... they working? The Accords?” he questioned, starting with a less emotionally taxing facet of it all. Sure, he agreed with the principles, but what about in practice? “Is the loss of autonomy, being made to function under the authority of politicians, worth it?”
“Okay, first up,” Tony corrected, “it’s not about authority. It’s about accountability. And you know we need that, Bruce.”
He did.
“Moreover,” Vision stated, “average civilian casualties on missions are three times lower than pre-Accords; the existing casualties get compensated quite thoroughly, and I don’t believe public opinion has ever been better,” he counted.
“And that ain’t it,” Tony continued. “War Machine and Iron Man are no longer affiliated with the US military — remember the time they tried to send Rhodey into Syria? Yeah, no more of that BS — so yeah, I’d say they are.”
It took Bruce a moment to process that.
Average civilian casualties three times lower than pre Accords —
— A young girl of not more than ten cowering beneath her parent’s shaky grasp, face pale and eyes full of fear, and yet the rage and fire and the sheer, uncontrollable urge to just SMASH —
Public opinion never been better —
‘Uncontrollable monster and nothing else,’ those had been the words of one man. ‘ You don’t avenge, you destroy’ —
No longer affiliated with the military.
“That’s… great,” he said — an understatement.
As if he read his thoughts — expression, probably; Bruce wasn’t particularly hard to read — Tony continued, “Don’t get me wrong, it’s still quite thoroughly messed up.” He sighed “International politics always is, and hell, the first version of the Accords had some straight-up human rights violations in them that T'Challa and I managed to get amended last year. But.”
“But?”
“But unlike the situation before, it isn’t arbitrary. A hundred and fifty-something nations receive all the details of our mission, they vote on how to dispose of dangerous artefacts, diplomats elected by the people supervise us, the actions we take are legitimate,” Tony stated. “It’s messy, overcomplicated, often not just, and a decent portion of the members of the council are corrupt asses, yeah, but it’s still more democratic and transparent than the alternative.”
“I… I see,” he replied, as they all took a right turn — the direction the Palace, and consequently the labs, were in.
“Yeah, fancy Captain America not getting that.” Tony rolled his eyes. “A true representative of the States indeed, down to the very core, no? ” He quipped, before adding, "In hindsight, though, he did have a point — don't tell him I said that — some threats really are too threatening to sit and deliberate over. Trust me, Brucie, the earlier attempts at their implementation were disastrous. But it's working. It's broken, but it's working."
“So…” Bruce paused. Considered. Signing really sounded like the right thing to do, especially considering what the Hulk was capable of “I should sign, that’s what you’re saying.”
“That’s not what I’m saying, Bruce,” he replied immediately, firmly. “Ross/the US Govt. is the problem, isn’t it? Which was also why you let me view your Pentagon files.”
Bruce nodded gravely. That was exactly why he’d said yes when FRIDAY had popped up from his phone — for all that Tony might research cybersecurity, he and his bots gave no shits about respecting anyone else’s; freaking technocracy — and asked him whether Tony could view the files they’d stumbled upon while hacking the Pentagon.
HULK HATE BAD ARMY MAN, the Other Guy told him from within. HULK STAY AWAY OR HULK SMASH.
Quite the excellent range of choices, wasn’t it?
“Yeah, you’re telling me you think I’d let you anywhere near the guy who used illegal human experimentation in his project, didn’t even tell you what you were supposed to be experimenting on, was directly responsible in creating the Hulk and then the Abomination through not even remotely ethical scientific practices, then hunted you down like a rat, all the while considering you the property of the Army ?”
“The Secretary of State did that?” Vision questioned, frowning in shock and revulsion.
“Yeah,” Bruce affirmed to him. “All of it, and more.”
“Bruce, what I’m saying is —” Tony shook his head — “The US still runs like, twenty-three per cent of the show, Ross represents the States — and trust me, if it was feasible, Ross would be dead three times over by now, let alone be the fucking Secretary of State — so yeah. It’s logical to want yourself to be hidden from him and the rest of the world, after everything that’s happened.”
That was good to hear.
But that wasn’t all.
“Uh, Tony. You know what that means, don’t you?” Bruce interrupted, hesitant. “I mean, I could be safe in Wakanda, but then, so was Barnes supposed to be. Safe, I mean. So yeah, I don’t really think it’s a good idea to be here, which leaves me one option: I’ll... be with Steve and Natasha.”
In reply, Tony just rolled his eyes.
“Lookie here,” Tony started finally. “I’ve been keeping tabs on them for the last year and a half, Big Green, even discreetly fixed up their mess that one time they fucked up real bad last October. If I wanted to, they’d all be in jail, maybe even dead by now. Thing is, as much as I hate Rogers, I don’t want ‘em dead. At all." He sighed, then admitted, "I fucked up big time on my part too, you know.”
“Wait, so — ”
“Yeah, I mean, you on the run could be a risky idea. Additional surveillance on their activities; got it. Better ways to monitor and deflect interested parties; working on it,” he announced. “What else, you want me to get Wakanda to work on a Hulk suppressant or something? It could work.”
“You… approve?” he asked, taken aback by surprise. He’d expected Tony to agree to the Ross part easily, of course, but he’d been worried for more derision in the Rogue Avengers department.
“Approve? The ‘Yeah, Ross Is A Fucking Horrible Person And You Don’t Deserve To Be Within A Five-Thousand Mile Radius Of Him’ Aspect? Fuck yes. Is that even a question?” He answered, wrinkling his nose almost indignantly. “The Rogue-Avengers part? Honestly? Maybe not. But after the whole ‘Civil War’ fiasco, as the media has graciously dubbed it, forgive me if I don’t exactly trust any of them." He shook his head. "Well, they don't have any reason to trust me either, and I've done enough to warrant that too... It's complicated.”
Bruce’s expression faltered. That meant that while Tony would certainly ensure Bruce could stay hidden from the world, their friendship would suffer. And if he stayed, he'd lose Nat, and Steve, and Sam. And Bruce didn’t want that. Either of those.
“Your work on antielectron collisions is unparalleled,” he remembered Tony’s first words to him. Tony’d been one of Bruce’s first friends among the Avengers; the first one to truly not care about the monster that lurked within. The first one to see him as Robert Bruce Banner first and the Hulk second. “And I’m a huge fan of the way you lose control and turn into an enormous green rage monster.”
And the only one, perhaps, to treat the Other Guy like it was nothing more than an embarrassing childhood memory to tease him about, he thought fondly.
“Funny things are.”
He didn’t want to lose his best friend.
“So you still don’t...”
“Uh uh, lemme finish,” Tony interrupted. “(A), my experience with them is not a part of this equation. At all. And it's not something I wanna discuss either unless you want to hear a shit load of saltiness and self-loathing alternately. Anyway. I'm rambling. What I am worried about is your safety on the run, And (B), this isn’t about my approval, Brucie Bear. It’s about you. Your safety. The only thing that should influence your decision is what you think about it. It’s your call to make, buddy, and I do trust your judgement.”
“And…”
“And yeah, you ever wanna science together or get high on caffeine — or anything else for that matter, I could arrange stuff — you’re welcome at the Compound anytime. In fact, I better get visits at least once a month, Greenie,” Tony added, smirking, as Bruce’s spirits lit up. Then, “You, not the whole crew. I dunno if we can handle that yet.”
Yeah, speaking of the crew...
“That’s... not all, though. You know me and…” he sighed, then said nothing for a long moment.
Should he say it? Certainly, even if Tony had no problem with Bruce being on the run with the Rogue Avengers — he could understand that it was practically a necessity for him — but the fact that he was still in love with Natasha? That made everything a whole lot more complicated.
Don’t, a voice in his head suggested.
No. No more secrets, he told the voice. There should be no more secrets. Not from Tony.
Do it, Banner.
“You know... me and Natasha have a thing going on,” he stated finally, awkwardly, noticing Vision look away sharply almost immediately out of the corner of his eye. (What had that been?)
For a brief moment, it was as if Tony hadn’t heard Bruce. Then, Tony stopped walking, a frown on his face.
“Tony?” Bruce paused in his tracks and asked awkwardly, voice little more than a whisper.
Yeah, he supposed, how would you feel on finding out that one of your closest friends is in love with someone who you think — 'you think' being the operative words here — betrayed you?
“You and Romanoff have a ‘thing’ going on, yeah,” Tony, turning to face him, finally repeated nonchalantly, using air quotations for ‘thing’. “Yeah, and?”
“What? ” Bruce, questioned, his brow creased with confusion and astonishment. His reaction was ‘Yeah, and?’ as if he’d told him something like the fact that gravity existed?
(And he wasn’t the only one who was shocked with his: out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Vision, his face pale and eyes wide, shooting Tony an astonished stare — he was up to something too, it seemed to Bruce.)
“You and Romanoff are together, all right,” he repeated. “I don’t see how that’s relevant. And why have all of us stopped walking? Okay, I stopped, doesn’t matter. We don’t wanna make Curie wait.” He added, despite his feet still being glued in place.
“You don’t —”
“Nah ah, Bruce, answer this truthfully — and oh God I’m going to sound so cheesy saying it aren't I — but here goes anyway: do you love her?” Tony questioned, not letting him speak, his tone neutral but his expression sincere. “Do you think she loves you back?”
“I… do,” he answered thoughtfully but didn’t make eye-contact —he couldn’t — instead choosing to look beyond his shoulder. “Yes. For both questions. Yes.”
“Good,” Tony replied, as Bruce noticed Vision’s confused frown deepen in the background. “Do you want to be with her?”
Staying with her meant more time spent in engaging ramblings on different subjects over hot chocolate. More time with her own brand of snarky remarks and her enlightening perspicacity. More time with her often adorable behavior and her childlike curiosity. More time with everything he’d grown to love about her since their less than friendly first meeting back in 2012.
More time with someone who knew what it was to be turned into nothing but a killing machine: his a raging, green berserker, hers a fluid, graceful assassin; but a killing machine nonetheless.
HULK LIKE STRONG GIRL, his alter ego bellowed from within, HULK STAY WITH STRONG GIRL.
Bruce nodded.
“Do you think it can work?”
And wasn’t that the question?
An internationally wanted assassin who assassinated assassins with a missing-in-action guy who periodically turned into a big green rage monster, in love and on the run together? Put it like that, and honestly, it almost sounded comical.
Could it?
“I’m not sure, actually,” he replied, looking down.
“That’s all right too,” he replied, shrugging. “Do you want to give it a chance?”
“Yes,” he answered without skipping a beat.
He did want to try.
“That’s it then. That’s the end of the story. If you’re willing to give it a try, go for it. My experience with her does not, should not supersede your feelings.” Tony said firmly. "And honestly? It probably wasn't her fault," he admitted, shrugging. "Hell, it was probably more my fault than hers. Calling me an egomaniac was still pretty rude though."
It was as if all the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders.
“Oh, and Vis?” Tony abruptly turned to Vision, giving him a knowing look, changing the focus of the conversation with a speed only Tony could manage. “You wanna tell me about something?”
Bruce turned his head to find the android in question standing there frozen, his face pale but his cheeks red, looking very much like a cornered animal, except with more blushing and awkwardness involved.
“Uh, I...” Vision hesitated. “You…”
“Yeah, I noticed; I’m not blind, you know,” Tony replied casually. “It’s very obvious. Were you even trying to keep it a secret?”
He only blushed harder. “I — ”
“That’s okay, you don’t have to say anything yet, take your time,” he shrugged. “Just know that I don’t mind, all right? Love isn’t wrong, no matter who, Vis — wow, that sounds like I’m trying to reassure a kid who just came out of the closet, don’t I?” he asked, turning to Bruce, sniggering.
Vision just blinked.
“I’ve no idea what’s going on here with Vis,” Bruce gave a nervous laugh, solely to defuse the tension, “but you do, actually.”
“God, both of you are idiots, acting like my approval on any of this matters in the least. I guess maybe Vision here has a better reason to act that way — I mean — ” he turned towards the Android, who was smiling hesitantly now — “I’m practically you dad, you know — But Bruce, you too ?” He turned back towards him, giving him the ‘What the hell, man?’ expression.” I honestly don’t know if I should be flattered or angry.”
“You’re one of my closest friends, Tony,” Bruce replied. “I didn't want to lose you just because of the Accords. I didn’t want to betray you.”
HULK LIKE TIN MAN TOO, the Hulk announced, as Bruce resisted the urge to chuckle at the nickname. TIN MAN HULK’S FRIEND.
“Huh. Thanks,” Tony replied, taken aback (not many people said that to Tony, he knew. Tony really did deserve better) Anyway, the bottom line’s this, for both of you: do I approve? I dunno. Probably. Complicated, like everything else involving me. Do I support it? Absolutely.”
“Thanks, Tony,” he said, after a moment. Vision, it seemed, had lost the ability to speak, and only stood there smiling nervously, as if he couldn’t process what had just happened. “It means a lot.” To both of us.
“Thank you, Tony,” Vision whispered finally.
“No problemo, Brucie Bear, Vis.” Tony smiled. “And I am happy for you.”
|
Chan and the pack really need the rest. They tend to overwork themselves alot, especially Chan. At least that’s what the rest of the pack states.
He’s at the studio working on songs for their production company almost every day and most nights too. Changbin isn’t much better and since none of them have found a mate yet, they work instead.
Minho scolds them and even Jisung, though he’s the one working on songs with the two, is tired of them overworking. They are mated and bonded already, spending as much time together as they can.
Hyunjin and Seungmin are also mated and recently bonded, being the newest couple of the pack, Hyunjin being an alpha and Seungmin a beta.
They all work at their company, which even if it started out small now has grown and become quite successful.
This is why they are able to go on vacation to the Jeju island for a few weeks to relax and especially Jisung looks forward to it. There’ so many things he wants to explore there, as the volcano caves and the jungle, but more importantly, spend free time with MInho. The two clicked at first sight and has been almost inseparable since then, Minho being a sassy alpha and Jisung an even sassier omega.
”You know, hyung, we must check out the beaches there. I know you love beaches, being an aussie at heart”, Jisung says.
Chan nods and smiles at the omega.
”I’m sure we’ll love the beaches and all, Sung, but I’m really looking forward to go on some of the walking trails there.”
”Sounds like a hassle”, Minho snorts. ”Why would we want to excert ourselves when we can just lazy around at the beach?”
Chan flicks his nose playfully.
”You’re the worst, Minho! Of course I want to explore while I’m there. I get crazy restless just lying around, you know that.”
Minho punches Chan’s arm back with a sly smile.
”Well, while you and Binnie trample around the jungles, me and Sungie will enjoy just laying around.” He winks at his mate. ”I’m going to make sure my mate won’t be able to leave bed.”
Jisung has the decency to blush at least.
”Hyung, stop!” The omega laughs and clings to his mate’s arm. ”I want to see some things too.”
Minho grabs Jisung closer and buries his nose in the omegas neck, scenting him quite aggressively.
Chan scoffs and turns away, not interested in watching the two get carried away, again.
***********************************************************
When they arrive to the location, they are way too tired to do anything, so they check into the hotel and rest. Chan and Changbin shares a room. Might as well, since they don’t like being alone. This way they can lay around and talk, preferably not about their work. They go way back and have been close since childhood.
Changbin is an alpha, just as Chan and they have always depended on each other for advice and help, whatever the reason. Chan is the leader of the pack and Changbin is considered his second in command, unofficially.
They even tried dating for a while, but it didn’t work out. Sure, they love each other, but maybe not in that particular way. Changbin prefers alphas, always have. It’s not that he considers betas and omegas inferior in any way, no. He just gets along best with other alphas. He likes their strength and fierceness.
”Hyung, it’s really pretty here”, Changbin says, still a bit sleepy. ”Should we start exploring tomorrow?”
”Absolutely, Bin. I can’t wait to see the caves and the mountains. They are highly popular amongst tourists, I’ve heard.”
They enjoy a nice dinner close to the hotel the same evening.
”I’ve read that the women here dives for clams and seaweed and that they can dive as deep as ten to twenty meters without any breathing equipment”, Seungmin says. He likes to come prepared and has studied alot about the place. ”Some of them are still diving in their 80’s.”
”That’s amazing, Minnie”, Hyunjin says with stars in his eyes. He’s so in love with his mate and eagerly takes in everything he says. ”I had no idea.”
”That is interesting indeed”, Chan says. ”I’m sure there’s alot you can teach us about this place, Minnie.”
Seungmin smiles, proud of his knowledge and that the leader seems interested. He’s the newest addition to the pack and feels that he still needs to prove himself, even though Hyunjin has assured him a hundred times that it’s not the case.
The others are alphas, strong and fierce, except for Jisung, who is everyones favourite cuddle buddie, so Seungmin uses his brain to prove his worth instead. Everyone knows that a pack is better off with at least one beta in it, to balance it all out. Seungmin knows how important he is, since they tell him all the time, but he likes to prove it too.
Their first night passes peacefully and they meet up for breakfast. The sun is shining and Jisung is almost bouncing in eagerness to get out there.
”The beach, hyungs!”, he says with excitement. ”I want to go to the beach.”
”Me and Binnie are going hiking today”, Chan says, smiling fondly at their only omega.
Jisung sighs. ”Well, me and hyung will go to the beach alone then.” He turns to look at Hyunjin. ”Or do you guys wanna join?”
”Love to”, Hyunjin replies. ”But we have to be careful. Minnies skin is easily burned.”
Seungmin looks at his mate fondly. He’s always so caring of him.
He leans over to give the alpha a soft kiss, causing the others to complain.
”Ugh, not here! We’re eating here!”
Chan and Changbin have prepared their hike by checking out what trails to follow and such, not wanting to get lost. They are dressed in comfy clothes and good hiking boots, really looking forward to it.
They say goodbye to their friends and start heading off. The greenery of this place is just captivating, Chan thinks to himself.
Changbin is also admiring the nature surrounding them, the flowers and trees looking almost out of this world. He’s glad they came. God knows they need the break and to clear their heads a bit.
Work has been so intense lately with their recent success and even though he’s thrilled about it, it has been exhausting.
Following the trail they meet a few other tourists and they acknowledge each other with a smile and a slight bow. Changbin can see the joy in the other’s eyes too. The place is captivating, for sure.
They reach the top of a the mountain eventually and the view from there is spectacular, even though it’s not a very high mountain. Chan decides that they should have something to eat and they pull out their brought lunch.
”This is exactly what we needed, hyung”, Changbin says while enjoying his food.
”Mmmm”, Chan hums, mouth filled with sandwich.
He looks at his old friend and feels a rush of fondness coming over him. He really loves Changbin. Too bad that they weren’t meant as mates. The other alpha is just perfect in his eyes. Kind and caring, but also fierce and protective if needs to.
Changbin feels Chan’s eyes on him and turns to him with a smirk.
”Something on my face, hyung?”
”Just handsomeness, Bin. Nothing to worry about”, Chan replies jokingly.
Changbin blushes slightly. Will they ever meet their destined mates or will they have to make do with each other? Would it be that bad? None of them have experienced anything like what Minho and Hyunjin have told them about, so they have no references.
Chan is hot, with a muscular body, dimples on his cheeks when he laughs. He’s also really good in bed so there’s that. A man could do much worse, Changbin says to himself.
Chan winks at him and starts getting up.
”We should get going, Bin.”
Walking back isn’t as exhausting as the way there, but the’re still panting going into the deepest parts of the jungle, being particular about following the trail.
Suddenly they hear a gruesome scream that sends shills through their bodies.
”W-What the fuck?”, Changbin exclaims. ”What was that?”
”I don’t know, Bin. It sounds like someone’s in trouble though. We should go look.”
”Is that wise, hyung? We shouldn’t leave the trail.”
When another scream pierces through the air, Chan reacts instinctively. He throws himself into the thick jungle without a thought. That’s just how he is, always willing to help.
Changbin hesitates for just a second or two, before going after him. He makes sure to leave traces for them to find their way back though.
Running like a madman, Chan tries to follow the sounds he’s hearing, now not as loud, but still calls for help. What he finds is shocking.
A man, an alpha, is lying on the ground with several visible scratchmarks on his body. His clothes are torn and he’s bleeding quite a lot. Chan hurries to his side and uses his own headband to stop the bleeding of what seems to be the deepest wound.
”It’s ok, I’ve got you”, he says. ”Don’t worry, we’ll help you out of here.”
The man whimpers uncharastically for an alpha and looks at Chan.
”T-Thank you. I thought I was a goner.”
Changbin reaches them and stares in shock.
”What happened to you?”, he asks.
The man just shakes his head.
”I was attacked”, he finally says, grimacing from the pain.
”An animal?”, Chan asks. Are there wild animals here? And why was this man off the trail?
He sniffs the air and smells a strange sweet scent. What animal smells like that?
”I… Yeah, some kind of animal”, the man replies. ”A big one at that, otherwise I would have easily fought it off.”
”Let us help you”, Chan offers and pulls the man up on his feet. Changbin lets him lean over his shoulder and they start going back. Changbin is glad he marked the way, because the jungle is really thick and it would’ve been difficult to find their way back.
”Good thinking, Bin”, Chan praises. ”I wouldn’t have thought of that.”
”Are you out here alone?”, Chan asks the man, curious as to why he was found out here alone and wounded.
”Yeah, just me”, the man replies. ”I’m Min-woo.”
”I’m Chan and this is Changbin. We’ll help you back even though it will take us a while”, Chan says.
”That’s really kind of you”, Min-woo says.
”So why did you leave the trail?”, Changbin asks. He can’t help it.
”I thought I heard something, so I just went to check”, Min-woo says.
Changbin is wondering, still, why the man would just leave the trail, but they did too, after all.
It takes them almost an hour to get the man back and they hand him off to the medics, assured that he’ll be ok.
”There’s something weird about him and his story, hyung”, Changbin says.
”Yes, I thought so too, Binnie. He acted strangely and I’m not enirely sure he told us the truth.”
”What kind of animal would cause that kind of damage, hyung?”
”We should ask Seungmin what kind of animals can be found here”, Chan suggests. ”He would know.”
They head over to their hotel again, only to find exactly who they were looking for. Seungmin was on his way back to his room, with a book in his hand.
”Minnie”, Chan calls out, almost startling the beta.
”Wow, hyung. I didn’t know you two were back”, the beta replies. ”How was it?”
”It was….. interesting, to say the least. We have a question for you”, Chan says.
”Shoot”, Seungmin says, curious as to what they want to know.
”Are there any wild animals in this place? In the jungle perhaps?”
Seungmin raises his eyebrow, not having expected that question.
”Yes, there are some species, hyung. Why?”
”We’ll tell you later, Minne. Please enlighten us.”
Seungmin is curious, but he’s even more proud of being able to help them.
”Well, they have a native horse breed here, for example, called the Jeju horse and it……”
Chan interrupts him. ”Not a horse, Minnie. Anything else?”
Seungmin is a bit annoyed at being cut off so rudely, but continues on.
”I think they also have a leopard cat, let me check.” He starts eyeing his book. ”Yes, Prionailurus bengalensis.”
Chan looks at Changbin. A leopard cat? That might be it.
”What is this all about really?” Seungmin insists seeing the looks the two alphas give each other.
”Let’s all meet up for dinner and we’ll tell you all about it, hm?”
**********************************************************
”So let me get this right”, Minho says. ”You heard someone scream like a damsel in distress and you just left the trail and ran after the source?”
”Yes, something like that, Min”, Chan admits, a bit ashamed. It was indeed stupid of him to leave the trail like that.
”And the guy was probably attacked by a leopard cat?”, Seungmin asks. ”What did the wounds look like?”
”We wouldn’t really know, Seungminnie”, Changbin says. ”But his clothes were torn and he was scratched.”
”Tell me you won’t go out there again, hyung?”, Jisung says anxiously. ”What if you were attacked?”
Chan shoots Changbin a look. They both want to go out again. This was just too exciting to pass.
The very next day Chan and Changbin are ready for a hike again, much to the other’s displeasure. Jisung complains about them being no fun at all and Hyunjin wants them to accompany him and Seungmin to a museum.
They just cannot get this out of their heads, that something mysterious happened yesterday.
Before they go they want to visit the man and talk to him some more, but he’s gone with no traces, even though he told them where he lived yesterday. Apparently he checked out and left in a hurry, which only fuels their suspicions.
Changbin brings coloured strips of ribbons for them to use in order not to get lost in the jungle.They intend to purposely stray from the trail today. Otherwise they will likely not have a chance of finding out what happened to the man.
Chan is quite certain of the location where they ran into the jungle the previous day, so he takes the lead, while Changbin places ribbons on the trees. They also brought a knife in case they are attacked.
Walking into the thick jungle they don’t hear that many sounds, only a few insects buzzing and birds shirping.
Chan turns around to make sure Changbin is still with him and continues ahead. Thanks to the markings Changbin placed out yesterday they are able to reach the exact spot where they found the injured alpha. The smell of him still lingers faintly along with the sweet scent he couldn’t identify.
”Did you notice that smell yesterday, Bin?”
”I did, hyung. Sweet with a fair amount of bitterness. What do you think it was?”
”I don’t know. Do leopards smell like that I wonder?”, Chan says. ”If I didn’t know any better I would say omega, but that’s not very likely.”
Changbin looks at him, puzzled.”Omega? You’re right! That’s what the smell was.”
”It can’t be, Bin. Why would an omega be out here alone, for one, and how would they be able to attack an alpha like that?”
Changbin thinks about it and nods in agreement.”You’re right, hyung. That would be very weird.”
They look around to see if they can find any traces of what went down and Changbin calls Chan over after a few minutes.
”Hyung, look!” He points at something that looks like a necklace of some sort. It’s very primitive looking though, almost like a child made it. It concists of wooden pieces in different shapes and colours.
”I don’t think it belongs to the alpha we rescued, Bin.”
”Then who?”, Changbin asks, even though he knows the leader has no answers.
”Should we try and track it?”
Changbin hesitates a bit before replying.”As long as we keep marking our path we should be ok, hyung.”
Chan agrees and they start making their way, trying to follow the distant scents left on the trees and bushes. Doing so they notice two different scents, both sweet but with a bit bitterness to it.
”This is clearly the scent of two omegas, hyung”, Changbin says. ”How strange it may seem, I’m not mistaken.”
”But what on earth are they doing out here?”, Chan asks. He knows Changbin is right. The scents are distinctly omegas, even though it’s very strange. Are they hurt? Did the leopard attack them too?
This spurs him even more now to find and save the omegas. They must be scared to death if they are even still alive out here all alone.They continue in silence, pressing further through the thick vegetation, still following the scents even though it’s getting harder to catch it.
They eventually end up in a small clearing and realise they have reached some volcanic caves, which are quite common on this peninsula.
The scents are much stronger suddenly, indicating the omegas must be close. Changbin takes a few steps towards the closest cave, sensing the strongest smells coming from there.
Suddenly a shadow closes in from above and Changbin catches something jumping at them from the trees. He instinctively grabs Chan and pushes him to the side. The attacker misses them and bounces on the ground with an acrobatics ease.
They stay close to each other in a defensive manner, staring at the figure in front of them.
It’s a boy with blonde hair and piercing green eyes and he’s sitting crouched on the ground and hisses at them. Changbin can hardly believe it.It’s an omega and he recognizes the scent from where the alpha was attacked. Is it possible…? No, it can’t be.
The boy is a bit dirty, wearing just some cloths to cover his most private parts, but Changbin also acknowledges his beauty. He’s just stunning, despite the dirt and his threatening stance.
Chan raises his hands in the air to show his good intentions.”Hello. We’re not here to hurt you, boy.”
The boy stares at Chan with a furious look on his face and hisses even louder. He looks feral and somehow it both frightens and arouses Changbin. What’s wrong with him?
”He doesn’t seem to understand you, hyung”, Changbin says quietly. Immediately the omega’s eyes are on him, observing him with a frown.
”I’m Changbin”, he says and points on himself. ”This is Chan.”
The boy doesn’t say anything, but he motions with his hands for them to leave. Chan looks at Changbin, undecisive. Should they just go and leave the omega out here?
”Listen, we only want to help you”, Changbin tries, but the omega almost growls back and looks like he’s about to attack.
Despite the bitter scent seeping out from the omega, his smell entices Changbin immensely. It’s like nothing he felt before. He doesn’t want to leave.”We should go before he attacks us”, Chan says. ”Look at his hands, Bin.”
Changbin redirects his gaze to the omegas hands, which are quite tiny (cute). He sees the long nails, almost like claws and they look really sharp. Suddenly he realizes what happened to the alpha the previous day. Omg! This omega attacked him! But why?
They hear someone whimpering from within the cave and startle a bit.”Someone is hurt in there”, Changbin says. ”We must help.”
”I don’t think he’ll appreciate that, Bin. Look at him.”
The omega boy moves closer to the cave and places himself in front of it. They hear the sound again, like someone is crying from pain or fear. Chan tries to move closer, still with his hands up, but the boy growls at him.
”We can’t get in without restraining this one”, Chan says. ”And that may be difficult. You saw what he did with the man yesterday.”
”Yeah, I don’t think we should mess with him, hyung”, Changbin replies. He doesn’t want to hurt the omega. Or get hurt himself. It’s not that he’s a coward, but he realizes just how fierce the omega is.
”I think there’s another omega inside”, Chans says. ”I can smell his sweet scent.”
The blonde omega crouches and grimaces, trying to look as threatening as possible. It would be cute, if it wasn’t for the fact that he seems quite dangerous. He’s not very tall or built, but they can clearly see his strength. He will fight for all he’s worth.
Chan suddenly comes to think of the necklace and pulls it out of his pocket. The omega's eyes soften just a bit seeing it and Chan decides to put it on the ground.
The start backing away and the omega follows them, still hissing and growling. It’s not until they are almost out of sight from the caves that the blonde backs off and leaves them be.
”What are we going to do, hyung?”, Changbin asks. He doesn’t want to leave the boy, but they can’t really force him either.
”We should go talk to the locals and hear if they know anything”, Chan suggests. ”We can’t do anything else here at the moment.”
Changbin sighs but realises Chan’s right.
Returning to their friends both Chan and Changbin are uncertain how to tell them what happened. It feels all so unreal now to them, meeting this fierce omega out in the jungle.They almost have to convince each other that it really happened.
Chan and Changbin find Hyunjin and Seungmin at the hotel by the restaurant, having a late lunch and they decide to join them.
”So hyungs”, Seungmin says. ”Did you find any leopards?” He winks at them teasingly.
”No, we didn’t, Minnie”, Changbin says. ”But we found something even more exciting.”
Both Seungmin and Hyunjin look up, now interested.
”Really? What, hyung? Tell us!”
”A wild omega”, Chan replies.
Seungmin just looks at the leader with a raised brow.”An omega? Stop messing with us, hyung! Just admit you found nothing.”
”It’s true, Minnie”, Changbin reassures. ”We really saw an omega and he wasn’t talking to us or anything. He hissed at us. But the beauty…”
”Really?”, Hyunjin says. ”Binnie-hyung is smitten by an omega suddenly?”
Seungmin seems to think about it for a few seconds.”Why would an omega be out alone in the jungle, hyungs?”
”That, dear Seungmin-ah, we don’t know”, Chan says. We were thinking of asking around the village to hear if anyone knows anything.”
The waitress arrives at the table and offers the two newcomers a lunch menu, so Chan takes the opportunity.”Excuse me”, he starts with a polite voice. ”Do you know anything about any omegas living in the jungle?”
The waitress, with a name tag stating her name is Loona looks confused.”No sir, I know nothing about that, but I have only lived here for a few months. You better ask around elsewhere in the village.”
Chan thanks her and places his order.
”Tell us exactly what happened out there, hyungs”, Hyunjin demands and they oblige him.
After hearing everything both Seungmin and Hyunjin are astounded.
”It sounds like he was angry as hell”, Hyunjin says. ”So you really think it was him that attacked the man?”
”He was about to attack us too, but since we retreated he didn’t”, Changbin says. ”He was protecting whoever or whatever was in that cave.”
”Another omega by the smell of it”, Chan says. He can’t forget the sweet scent coming from the cave, even though it was filled with bitterness from distress.
The following day Chan and Changbin explore the village, trying to find some information about the omegas. They quickly learn that people are unwilling to speak and only a few actually tell them anything.
Apparently there are stories going around about them, alphas regularly trying to find the omegas and claim them. Each time they come back badly injured or not at all. Most of them think it will be easy taking on a couple of omegas but soon find out how wrong they are.
With time, fewer alphas are trying, even though some still do, like the man Chan and Changbin found that day. They are discouraged by the fiercness of the wild omegas and put off by the stories of defeat.
They also find out that the stories about the omegas has been told for at least a few years and it’s said that they are children of some tourists who got attacked and killed several years ago. The two boys were never found and were presumed dead at first.
That’s all they’ve found out for now, since the people seem very reluctant to speak of it. Surely the locals don’t like the inflow of alphas trying to force themselves on the omegas and they look at Chan and Changbin with suspicious eyes.
Chan’s pack are getting sick of the two of them spending all their time searching for information about the subject, not really understanding why they’re so adamant.”Why are you so fixated on this, hyung?”, Jisung asks Changbin. ”You’re not the type to chase down omegas and force yourself on them.”
Changbin gives him a glare.”I don’t intend on forcing myself on any omega, Ji. You shoulf know that.”
”I know, hyung. I just don’t get it. What’s so special about these ones?”
”I don’t know, Ji. As soon as I smelled his scent I felt strange and when I saw him……” Changbin pauses, thinking about how to phrase it. ”There’s something special about him.”
He can’t explain it to himself either. The boy was dangerous and wild, but captivating. He hasn’t been able to think about anything else since the day.
”I think you’re just horny, hyung”, Jisung teases. ”I would help you, but you know just how possessive Minho-hyung is.”
They instantly hear a growl coming from Jisungs mate. ”Don’t even think about it!”
Changbin scoffs. He can always go to Chan if he really needs it, but that’s not what this is about. The pull towards the omega is strong. The boy’s face is inprinted in his mind, the green eyes, the freckles, the lips….
The same evening they are sitting in the lounge of the hotel, just enjoying a few drinks together the whole pack when they hear some alphas talking from a nearby table.
”So we head off tomorrow then”, one of them says. ”I’m looking forward to getting some sweet omega ass.”
Chan looks at them with a frown. There are four of them, in their thirties by the looks of it.
”Yeah, they say they’re wild and dangerous but that’s just weak alpha talk”, the other man says. ”I mean, they’re omegas, you’all. Omegas aren’t strong.”
”I caught their scent today”, a third man speaks. ”So sweet, I could hardly believe it. One of them is in pre-heat, just imagine.”
”This is going to be fun”, the fourth alpha agrees with a smirk. ”I enjoy to hunt sweet prey.”
Chan gives Changbin a look. Those alphas are aiming to hunt for the omegas, like so many have tried before apparently. But how are the omegas going to handle four at the same time and with one of them in pre-heat?
”That doesn’t sound so good”, Minho says, also having heard the alphas talking. ”What are we going to do about it?” He makes sure to talk softly to not let the four alphas overhear him.
”We’re going to help them”, Changbin replies sternly. There’s no way he’s going to let those assholes hunt the omegas down and abuse them.
Chan nods. ”We sure will. I can’t stand alphas like that.”
”It’s illegal, hyung”, Jisung says. ”What they’re about to do, I mean. Can’t we just call the local police?”
”From what we’ve gathered talking to locals, the police is not fond of what the alphas are doing chasing them, but there’s not much they can do about it. The don’t even know for sure if the omegas exist”, Chan says with a frown.
”But you saw one of them, hyung”, Jisung says. ”You can tell the police that the omegas exist and need help.”
Chan thinks about it for a while. ”I can contact them, for sure”, he replies. ”But if they don’t intend to do anything, we’ll have to intervein.”
He’s worried thinking about the young omega they saw. No wonder he was so aggressive, having been chased by alphas all the time, trying to abuse them. For how long have they been living like animals alone in the jungle, with no pack to protect them? Being omegas, unclaimed at that, must be really hard in that enviroment.
The next morning Chan brings Changbin with him to the local police station to warn them about the alphas. As he expected the police claim they can’t really do anything, especially since no crime has been reported. Chan sighs, frustrated, and leaves.
So it’s up to them. He gathers his pack, wanting all of them to attend. They are facing four strong alphas after all, older than them and more experienced for sure.
”I need all hands on deck”, he starts. ”This is going to be difficult, but I know we can handle it.”
No one questions their leader now, knowing it’s the right thing to do. Alphas trying to attack innocent omegas are filth and deserve to be taken down.
They make sure to follow the alphas, having found out what rooms they occupy at the hotel. Chan and Changbin bought a few baseball bats on the way back from the police station and hand them out to the boys.
”Only if we have to”, he warns. ”I’m hoping they simply don’t find the omegas and give up eventually.”
”I highly doubt those assholes will give up just like that, hyung”, Hyunjin says. ”But sure, we’ll refrain from beating their asses if they leave the omegas alone.”
They almost loose the alphas for a short while, since they can’t make it too obvious that they’re following them. Luckily their scents are strong and quite easy to find.
Chan is hoping that the alphas won’t have any bearings on where to find the omegas, but it seems they aren’t that lucky. The alphas are pushing closer to the caves and the omegas. That is if they’re still there. Maybe they realized it was too dangerous to stay put, since Chan and Changbin found them there?
Changbin is really hoping they left and relocated so that these alphas won’t be able to find them. The boy he saw (and almost immediately fell in love with) looked strong and fierce, but how is he supposed to manage four alphas?
They make sure to keep their distance still, not wanting to alert the four alphas. Suddenly they hear screams and alot of commotion from the direction of the caves. Shit! They found them!
The whole pack starts running fast, preparing to fight. The adrenaline is rushing through their veins and pumping them up.
Arriving at the clearing they see the omega pouncing on one of the alphas, scratching and clawing him furiously while another alpha i on the ground, heavily wounded.
The remaining two are too shocked to move at first, but are starting to come to their senses and moving closer to the omega. Chan orders his pack to take them out.
Minho and Hyunjin are on them first, not even using their bats. They put them in chokeholds and refuse to let go.
The alpha attacked by the omega is still fighting, despite his wounds. He has pinned the omega to the ground and growls victoriously, aiming to bite the blonde boy.
Changbin is on him instantly and pulls him off forcefully. The alpha stares at him in surprise.”What? Who the fu….?” Changbin punches him in the face and effectively knocks him out.
Chan walks up to the alphas still consious, Hyunjin and Minho holding them by their necks.”You’re scum, you know that?”, he growls. ”Trying to force yourselves on omegas?”
”Like you’re not thinking the same thing?”, one of them replies with a scoff. ”You’re just getting rid of the competition. There’s one in the cave and he’s in pre-heat.”
Chan takes a wiff in the air and instantly knows it’s true. The sweet smell is intoxicating.”We would never do that”, he simply replies. ”No real alpha would. You’re just trash.”
He nods at his pack members and they knock them out, letting them fall to the ground.
Changbin stares at the blonde omega now. The boy has retreated back to the opening of the cave, still in a crouching position, hissing and snarling. He’s still barely covered and dirty, but incredibly beautiful in Changbins eyes.
They haven’t really thought that much of their next steps. Should they try to help the omega in the cave? Is that even wise getting close to him in his present state?
”Hyung!”, Changbin calls to his leader. ”What are we going to do?”
Chan moves closer, causing the young omega to react immediately. He’s almost growling now, in a very protective stance in front of the cave.Chan is pulled towards the cave by the smell coming from within, but he tells himself to resist. This is not the time to give in to his primal instincts.
”We must leave”, he says. ”And take those bastards with us. The omegas need to be alone now.”
The pack nods in agreement and start dragging the four alphas with them. It will be exhausting to carry them, but necessary. They can’t just leave them there.
The omega stares at them in confusion as they leave.
The pack is having a hard time dragging the alphas back, but finally deliver them to the police, explaining their actions. The policeman is listening to their story closely.
”So they attacked an omega? In the jungle? Where is that omega now? We need his testimony too if we’re going to press charges.”
”I’m telling you, sir”, Chan tries. ”The omega is still out there, we couldn’t force him here.”
”If what you’re telling me is true, we must retrieve them from there, both of them. Since you seem to know their location, you can show us the way”, the man says.
Chan looks at him suspiciously.”And what are you intending on doing with them once you have retrieved them?”
”That isn’t for me to decide”, The policeman replies smugly. ”But I reckon they will be detained and put in the system.”
”What system? And why detained?”, Chan demands. That doesn’t sound right to him.
”We can’t just have wild omegas running around and wounding people”, the man says. ”They are suspected to have severly wounded several alphas in the past and will be held accountable for that.”
”Even if the alphas attacked them and tried to abuse them?”, Chan asks with his teeth gritted.
”That will be hard to prove”, the man says. Chan has already decided that he won’t help the police to obtain the omegas. They deserve so much better.
”We just happened to stumble across this mess and have no idea where they are now”, he says. ”Sorry, we can’t be of any help in the matter. We’re just here to enjoy our vacation.”
The policeman tries to convince them further for a few minutes, but gives up eventually.The pack leaves the station, furious at the man.
”We know now where they stand”, Changbin says angrily. ”They won’t be of any help to the omegas.”
”How old do you think that omega is?”, Seungmin asks. ”He looked young, but it’s hard to say with all that dirt.”
”Maybe your age, Minnie”, Changbin says.
”I think he’s younger”, Minho says. ”He looks like a teenager to me, but I’m not sure.”
”Newly presented?”, Chan says. ”The people in town talked about the omegas having been around for at least a year.”
That would mean they are past their twenties at least, which is possible. Omegas are often of smaller statue and the boy’s face looked so young, but he may be older than they think.
He still thinks about the scent coming from the cave, alluring and mysterious, trying to pull him in. He is fully aware of the effect an unmated omega’s smell has on alphas in general, but this was so incredibly strong. His inner alpha wants to go back and claim the omega instantly, but he surpresses that instinct. Best to leave them alone, for now at least.
Apart from checking the trail for any signs of other alphas trying to get to the omegas, the pack is trying to relax and enjoy the beach.
Changbin is just as restless as Chan though, not being able to forget about the omega. He never expected to meet an omega like that, wild and untamed and it entices him immensely.
His face is in his head twenty four seven, haunting him. He can’t imagine leaving this place and go back home without the omega. It’s stupid, of course. The boy is feral and will probably never accept him. He will cut him to shreds with those long nails if he comes close.
A week passes, them just hanging on the beach and eating and drinking. It’s nice, even though Chan and Changbin still have a hard time relaxing fully.
Minho and Jisung are always together, of course, spending alot of time in their hotel room. The others just leave them alone, not wanting to know what they’re doing.
Seungmin and Hyunjin are more approachable, of course still having time on their own, but enjoying the bonding time with the pack too. Chan is so happy to have Seungmin in the pack, seeing how happy he’s making Hyunjin. He’s a valuable member, balancing them all perfectly with his intelligence and manners.
How would the pack dynamics change if Changbin and him find mates and incorporate them to the pack? Of course things will be different, that’s for sure, but he’s hoping in a positive way.
Their time on Jeju island is starting to run out and Chan and Changbin are anxious. They don’t want to leave yet, wanting to see the omegas again. Changbin is hoping that they’ve proven their friendly intentions to the boy by their actions. Maybe he will understand that they won’t hurt them?
”Hyung, we should go there again and bring Jisung”, he says to the leader. ”They won’t see him as a threat being an omega.”
”You don’t know that, Binnie”, Chan replies. ”I can’t ask that from Jisung, if he’s reluctant. Minho won’t like it either.”
And Minho isn’t keen on the idea at all, as they expected.
”No! That omega was dangerous, that much I could see”, he snarls. ”My Ji could be hurt.”
”Hyung, I want to try”, Jisung pleads. ”No one has ever stood up for the poor omegas. I want to help them if I can.”
Minho looks at his kindhearted mate with fond eyes.
”I know you mean well, love, but he can tear you to shreds, just like he did with those alphas.”
”He was afraid and defending himself and his friend, hyung”, Jisung says. ”I won’t take any unnecessary risks, I promise.”
Minho sighs, knowing how stubborn his mate can be.
”I will be close, in case anything happens”, he says.
They decide to look for the omegas again, but bringing only Chan, Changbin, Jisung and Minho, not to stress the others too much, or overwhelm them.
The heat should be over by now and there’s a strong possibility they’ve left the caves, deeming them unsafe.
Strangely enough they are still there apparently, their scents still very strong.
Chan goes first, with Changbin just behind him, them being the most familiar to the wild omega.
Arriving at the clearing they see no one though, despite the strong smells present. They can’t be far away.
”Where are they?”, Minho asks, coming closer. ”I smell them all over the place.”
”Let’s check the caves”, Jisung suggests, already heading to the first cave. Minho is quickly next to him, holding his hand.
Chan and Changbin follow them into the dark opening very much on guard. Where could they be? Surely the blonde would guard the cave if his friend was inside?
Inside the cave they find some items on the ground, most certainly belonging to the omegas. There are also some kind of beds, made by leaves and Chan can hardly comprehend just how primitive the boys live. How are they even alive at this point? No one to help them or care for them. His heart bleeds for the omegas.
There’s no one in the caves though. Did they sense them coming and left?
Outside again, Changbin looks around. He spots something moving up in the trees. Maybe just birds?
No, there’s something else.
”Look”, he says raising his hand, pointing at the trees.”They’re up there.”
For sure, two omegas are watching their every move from quite high up. One is blonde and the other has black hair. Of course they recognize the blonde one. He’s the wild omega with the sharp claws. In conclusion the other boy must be the one previously in heat.
Changbin makes sure the omegas are watching him as he opens his bag and pulls out some items. They brough alot of really tasty food for the omegas.
He places a cloth on the ground and puts all the food on top, fried chicken, bread, meat, fruits and pastries. After having placed also some bottles with sodas, he steps back. The others follow him, retreating back closer to the caves.
The air is filled with the smell of all the food and it even makes Changbin hungry. He’s hoping the omegas won’t take too long to come down and taste the food. If they ever will.
Of course they would be wary, so many alphas having tried to hurt them in the past.
They sit down on the ground to show they pose no threat.
It’s like time stands still and the omegas seem frozen up in the trees, not making any movements.
This goes on for half an hour, until the blonde on slowly starts climbing down. The dark haired boy isn’t moving still. He just stares at them.
Changbin looks at the blonde boy intently, taking in his appearance again. He’s just as astonishingly beautiful, looking a little bit more relaxed this time.
His feet touch the ground, barefoot and Changbin coos at the small size of them. Just how adorable is he?
The boy comes closer to the food, while eyeing them warily. He touches one of the food containers with his dirty foot, watching it wobble slightly.
He crouches down eventually and takes a piece of bread in his hands. He stares at it like he remembers something, but can’t just find out what.
He’s way too skinny, in Changbin’s opinion, but he’s strong with defined muscles.
The whole thing is taking a long time, Jisung of course growing restless. He understand that the boy is hesitating to eat, suspecting the food to be poisoned.
He gets up on his feet slowly, gesturing to Minho to stay put, and walks closer to the food. The blonde watches him closely, but stays like that, crouched down on the cloth.
He hisses warningly though. Jisung smiles reassuringly at him and makes sure to release his omega pheromones while sitting down next to the food. He grabs a big piece of chicken and puts it in his mouth, munching happliy. Next, some bread. It makes his cheeks look really puffy, because he has always had a tendancy to store the food in his mouth while eating.
The blonde omega observes him and Jisung almost sees a hint of amusement in the other’s eyes, but only for a split second. He keeps eating, enjoying the tasty food to the fullest.
In between bites he manages to squeeze out a few words to the other omega.
”Hi, I’m Jisung by the way. Those alphas over there are part of my pack.”
The blonde stares at him intensely, seemingly taking in every word. He grabs a piece of chicken, coming dangerously close to Jisungs hands doing so, but Jisung only smiles.
Bringing the chicken to his mouth, the omega sniffs it first. Jisung is wondering if he dares to taste it or if he will discard it.
Before he’s even able to reflect on anything else though, the other bites the chicken aggressively, making some primal sounds doing so. He grabs another piece and stuffs it in whole, while staring at Jisung. He reaches for some other meat, having made sure that Jisung has tested it in beforehand.
Apparantly he finds it tasty because he grabs a few more pieces and stuffs it in his mouth.
No table manners, Jisung thinks to himself with amusement. Of course not, they’re out here living in the wild.
Jisung opens one of the bottles with soda and takes a few sips and then offering it to the blonde.
He eyes him suspiciously again, not accepting the bottle from his hands. Jisung puts it on the ground, closer to the omega just in case. That was apparently the right thing to do, the other grabbing the bottle immediately. He takes a few cautious sips before drinking all of it, humming contently while chugging it down.
”That was good, right?”, Jisung tries. ”I love that brand myself.”
”Goooood”, the blonde says, sounding a bit weird. Jisung is happy that he’s trying at least. And his voice sound so deep. How is that even possible?
”Yeah, good”, Jisung replies with a smile. ”Is your friend coming down soon? He must be hungry too.”
The blonde looks at the alphas again with dark eyes.
”They don’t intend to harm any of you. I promise. We just want to help you”, Jisung assures.
The blonde’s gaze is upon him again, like he’s trying to decide if he’s telling the truth.
His eyes seem to relax a bit and he turns to the trees.
”Innie!”, he screams out.
The dark haired omega immediately starts climbing down to and they can see that he’s also barely wearing anything else than rags. He walks closer to the blonde, staring at Jisung with frightened eyes. Jisung notices a wound on the boy, not healed yet. It doesn’t look good, possibly infected.
He’s glad they brought some medical supplies with them, just for this purpose. Even antibiotics.
”Is your name Innie?”, Jisung asks the newcomer. The boy startles and retreats a bit, hissing.
Instead the blonde boy answers him.
”Innie” and points at the other boy. ”Felix. He points at himself now.
”So he’s Innie and you’re Felix?”
The blonde nods happily and Jisung thinks he looks like a child now.
”Jiiii-song”, the omega tries and points at Jisung.
”Yes, I’m Jisung. Nice to meet you, Felix. And Innie.”
The dark haired boy isn’t paying him any attention now, too busy stuffing his mouth with food. Jisung is almost worried that the boy will overdo it and get it back up again, but he seems to manage.
Felix seems to be full though and stares happily at Jisung, observing his features thoroughly.
”Smell goood”, he says after a while.
”You think I smell good, Felix?”, Jisung asks, quite amused.
The blonde nods eagerly. ”Smell sweetly.”
Jisung giggles a bit, earning him a startled look from both omegas. They then relax again and Felix chuckles.
”Jii-song funny.”
”I guess I am”, Jisung replies. ”I’m the funniest one of the pack, after all.”
Eventually the dark haired boy is also full and starts taking interest in Jisung too. He moves closer, clearly curious, but Felix growls a bit at him.
”Innie wants to smell the boy”, Innie says. Jisung notices him talking a bit clearer than Felix. Why is that? He’s also even younger looking than the blonde.
”Innie, careful”, Felix warns, obviously being the one in charge.
”I’m careful, Lix”, Innie replies and moves closer to Jisung again. He sniffs at him, taking in his sweet apple scent. ”He smells safe.” He turns his head and looks at the alphas.
”They don’t smell safe”, he says, wrinkling his nose slightly.
”I’m an omega, just like you”, Jisung says. ”That’s why you feel safe with me, I guess. My friends are alphas, but they are nice, I promise. The handsome one is my mate.”
Felix stares at the alphas again.
”All handsome”, he states, making the alphas laugh. Felix growls a bit at them. ”But danger.”
”Not these alphas”, Jisung says. ”They would never hurt any of you.”
”Alphas always hunt us”, Innie says with sad eyes. ”We don’t know why.”
Jisung feels so sorry for them. They must’ve presented as omegas all alone out here and had no one but themselves to rely on. Omegas need alot of attention and guidance when presenting, having a need to feel safe and loved. Do they even know about omega?
Surely they must have some basic understanding since they lived as ordinary children before, if one can believe the rumors going around the island.
”You do know you’re omegas, don’t you?”, he asks.
Felix and Innie frowns a bit, before Innie replies.
”We know. We have heats. Is that why men are hunting us? They didn’t hunt us before.”
”Sadly, that is the case”, Jisung replies. ”There are alphas out there who are not very nice to omegas.”
”We want saafe”, Felix says and Jisung is once again wondering why he’s speaking so different to Innie. It’s like he doesn’t know the words properly.
”I understand that, Felix. Everyone deserves to be safe”, Jisung says. ”Are you brothers?”
If what they heard is true, their family was attacked and killed, but the stories were vague.
”No, not brothers”, Innie says. ”Friends.”
”Ok, friends. I’m going to be honest with you, boys”, Jisung says. He knows it may be too early to talk about this, but they’re leaving soon and they can’t delay their departure.
”We’re going back home soon.”
Innie looks at him. ”Home?”
”Yes, we’re just visiting this place and we have to leave soon.”
Felix’s eyes go sad and it almost breaks Changbins heart, observing them from afar.
”Ji-soong nice. Not leave.”
”We have to, Felix. But we can take you with us if you want.”
Felix hisses a bit hearing that. ”No leave, danger.”
”I promise you, Felix. No danger”, Jisung says. ”Safe, both of you, safe.”¨
Innie looks at his friend pleadingly.
”Lix, I want to leave. Jisung is nice.”
”No Innie! We safe here.”
”We’re not safe here Lix, you know that”, Innie says. ”I want to go. I want to eat good food.”
Felix looks really sad hearing his friends words.
”Felix, you’ve done a fantastic job of taking care of Inne”, Jisung says. ”But alphas are going to come for you again. We can keep you safe.”
Felix stares at the alphas again with suspicious eyes.
”Alphas hurt us?”
”No, our alphas are nice, Felix. They won’t ever hurt you.”
”Alphas want omegas”, Felix objects stubbornly.
”Alphas likes omegas, that’s true, Felix, but most alphas don’t hurt them”, Jisung assures.
”Not hurt Innie?”, Felix asks.
”Never hurt Innie or you”, Jisung says. He feels so sad for Felix, the blonde wanting to protect his friend above all. ”Innie hurt now though, I can help.”
Felix’s eyes go to Innies wound.
”Innie not better.”
”It’s infected, Felix. I can make him better again. May I touch Innie?”
Felix nods eventually and Jisung hurriedly grabs the bag with the antibiotics and the bandaids. He swiftly starts cleaning the wound and put on some bandages. Innie sits completely still during it all, not even flinching when cleaning the wound.
Felix observes him closely to make sure Innie’s safe. When Jisung is done he hands Innie a pill, telling him to swallow it down with some soda.
”It’s medicine”, he informs them both. ” It will make Innie healthy again.”
Felix nods at Innie, encouraging him to do as Jisung says.
”Do you want to meet my mate?”, Jisung asks after they’re done. ”He’s so nice, I promise.”
Despite being scared, the omegas agree. They are so brave.
Jisung gestures for Minho to come closer and the alpha obliges. He moves slowly, making sure not to scare the omegas unnecessarily.
Jisung grabs his hand and smiles at him fondly.
”This is Minho, my mate.”
Minho gives them his best smile, making him look very cute.
”Hi, I’m Minho. Nice to meet you.”
Felix and Innie are observing him closely, a bit wary but surprisingly calm. They sniff him boldly and wrinkle their noses again.
”Alphas smell strong”, Innie says.
”They do”, Jisung agrees. ”But when you’re used to it, you’ll like it. At least the ones in your pack.”
Minho endures their explorations with great patience, not moving at all. They are starting to touch his arms and chest and Jisung would be jealous if it wasn’t for their pure innocense.
They are just curious, not trying to steal his mate.
When they are done Minho gives his mate a slight smirk and leaves again.
”Would you like to meet the others?”
The omegas seem ok with it, so Jisung signals for Changbin to come. He’s feeling nervous to be so close to the blonde omega, the one called Felix. What if he touches him and he pops a boner? That wouldn’t be very appropriate.
Jisung tells him to sit down and the omegas are on him instantly, now feeling much bolder. They squeeze his arms and touch his face, smells him quite aggressively too.
Changbin is a bit ticklish but he’s adamant on trying to be still, not to scare them away. Seeing Felix so close up does something with him, he’s even more gorgeous like this.
When Felix leans closer and starts scenting Changbins neck he nearly looses it, his inner alpha begging to scent the omega back, but he doesn’t. Not now, he tells himself. Just stay cool, Changbin.
He can only imagine the omega cleaned up and in normal clothes, even though this ”outfit” is quite revealing. He smacks himself internally for thinking of the omega that way.Felix does seem quite interested in his scent though, lingering at his neck. Jisung gives Changbin an amused look.
”Do you like Changbins scent, Felix?”, Jisung asks.
Felix stops his scenting and turns to Jisung.”Like it, yes”, he says and turns back to the alpha. He observes him again, Changbin almost shrinking under his gaze. Why is he staring at him like that?
”That’s good, Felix”, Jisung continues. ”It makes it easier for you to trust him if you like his scent.”
Felix nods and growls a bit at Innie, pushing him away from Changbin. He lets his fingers run along the alphas arms and Changbin can’t help but fear his long nails a bit, knowing full well how sharp they can be. He shivers a bit from the sensation.
The omega looks up and catches his eyes. Changbin feels like he’s almost drowning in his green irises, it’s like he’s hypnotized. His heart races and his breath hitches. What is going on?
They stay like that for maybe a whole minute until Innie is restless and pokes his friend.
”Lix”, he says. ”I want to touch too.”
”No, Innie! Don’t touch alpha!” Felix seems a bit agitated and hisses at his friend. ”You touch that alpha”. Felix points at Chan.
Jisung laughs and gestures for Chan to come too. As soon as he’s there Innie starts touching his arms and chest, pulling his sweater to have a clearer view. He’s curious, it seems, to finally be able to touch an alpha without fear.
Chan doesn’t object, even though Jisung tells Innie that removing clothes is only for mates. Innie frowns at that.
”Mates? Like your mate?”
”Yes Innie. Minho is my mate and we undress each other sometimes”, Jisung explains, while Minho looks very amused.
”Is this my mate?”, Inne asks and Chan almost dies then and there. If only. The omega smells wonderful, despite being quite dirty.
Jisung giggles and looks at the leader with a playful smirk.”No, Innie. Not yet anyway, so please don’t undress him.”
Innie seems to think about Jisungs words for a while and leaves Chans clothes on, while continuing his ministrations.
”This is our leader Chan-hyung”, Jisung explains to both of the omegas. Felix hardly registers, being occupied with Changbin still, but Innie looks up.
”Leader?”
”Hello Innie”, Chan finally says. ”I’m the leader of this pack, yes.”
Innie startles a bit, letting go of his arms, but relaxes again. Soon enough he’s touching him again, coming dangerously close to his crotch. Chan panics a bit, looking at Jisung for assistance.
Jisung smirks at him, but realizes that it’s not a good idea at the time to let the omega get too handsy.
”Innie, you’re allowed to touch Chan-hyung to get to know him, but touching someone is……quite intimate.”
”I don’t know that word”, Innie says confused.
”It means that you only touch someone like that if you’re their mate”, Jisung explains. He doesn’t know a better way to say it, hoping the omega will understand.
Innie seems really confused now, furrowing his brows and Chan coos at his cuteness. The boy is adorable and pretty. ”No touching and no taking off clothes?”
”Exactly”, Jisung says relieved. Maybe he got through anyway.
Innie backs away from Chan, to the alphas displeasure. He enjoyed having the omega so close, after all, just not too close to certain areas of his body.”Lix touches alpha”, he says with a pout.
Jisung laughs. ”He does, that’s true, Innie. Just for this time, ok? And it’s ok for you to touch Chan-hyung also, only this time. Just not under his clothes.”
Innie lights up and goes back to Chan, pulling his fingers through his hair. The sensation makes Chan shiver in delight.
Eventually the pack have to return to the hotel again, before it’s getting dark. They promise to return tomorrow again.
”We made definite progress today, hyungs”, Jisung says with a happy grin on his face walking back.
”You did really well, Sung”, Chan admits. ”They trusted you quite easy, I must say.”
Jisung giggles. ”I’m just too charming, no one can resist me.”
Minho grabs his hand. ”That’s true, my love. But don’t let it go to your head.”
Changbin scoffs. ”Too late for that, hyung.”
Hyunjin and Seungmin are eager to hear everything that happened during their time with the omegas and they are soon filled in. Seungmin is actually surprised that they were able to reach the omegas that fast.
”So they actually felt the alphas up?”, he asks, very amused. ”Even Minho-hyung?”
Chan looks a bit embarassed.”They were only curious”, he says. ”That’s natural.”
”You’re lucky I stopped Innie from touching you in forbidden places”, Jisung teases.
Hyunjin gasps. ”Really? I wish I was there. We missed so much, Minnie!”
”We’ll join you tomorrow”, Seungmin says, not taking no for an answer.
The next day, they meet up for breakfast.
”So, we leave this place tomorrow”, Chan says. ”Today is our last day to convince them to join us.”
He’s actually very nervous. What if they refuse to leave?
They make sure to bring alot of food again, knowing it will be appreciated by the omegas.
Changbin is looking forward to meeting Felix again. He’s convinced that they boy is his future mate and that they belong together. There was a connection between them yesterday, for sure.
He can hardly stop thinking of how the boy touched him all over his body, exploring him thoroughly. He would like to reprocriate.
Arriving at the clearing again, Felix and Innie are already there waiting for them. They smile happily, a big contrast from earlier encounters for sure.
”Jisung!”, Innie exclaims and jumps to the other omega. He proceeds to scent the boy until Minho steps forward. The young omega isn’t frightened at all, starting to scent the alpha too.
They both laugh at the eagerness of the boy, cooing internally at his youthful innocence. When he’s satisfied, Innie moves on to Chan and starts scenting him too. The leader is blushing, making Hyunjin and Seungmin chuckle.
Felix is a bit more careful, eyeing the two he hardly met before. Jisung brings Felix to Hyunjin and Seungmin.
”Felix, this is Hyunjin and Seungmin. They are apart of our pack too.”
Felix stares openly at them and makes sure to keep his distance at first. When he’s feeling braver, he moves in closer to them and sniffs the air.”Smell alpha and….” He stops, looking very confused eyeing Seungmin.
”Seungmin is a beta, Felix”, Jisung explains. ”You know what a beta is?”
Felix’s eyes go sad, some tears forming.”Mom and dad betas”, he says and it almost breaks Jisungs heart seeing him so sad.
”Hello Felix, nice to meet you”, Seungmin says to lighten the mood. ”I’m Seungmin and this is my mate, Hyunjin.”
Felix moves in closer and starts touching Hyunjins arm.”Pretty alpha”, he says. Seungmin only smiles, realizing the omega is just stating facts.
Changbin on the other hand feels a sting of jealousy from watching them. He wants Felix to only touch him, only call him pretty. It’s childish, but that’s how he feels.
”Thank you, Felix”, Hyunjin replies with a smile. ”You’re very pretty too.”
Felix looks at him in shock. ”I not pretty. Innie pretty.”
Seungmin understand instantly why Felix would say that. He has no mirrors here, so he has no idea. It’s sad really, being so beautiful and not knowing. Not that appearance matters in the end though. In his and Innies case it hasn’t exactly worked in their favour.
Well, both Felix and Innie will hear them praising their looks enough if they decide to go with them, that’s for sure. And that’s the thing they have to discuss today.Before that though, a tasty meal is being served again, Chan and Minho putting it all in order on the blanket they brought.
Felix and Innies eyes go wide and they start licking their lips in anticipation. The others can’t help but laugh. Jisung is the first to sit and start eating, once again.
The two omegas are upon the food in no time, happily munching away. They don’t even flinch when the others also join them, all seated around the blanket.Changbin makes sure to sneakily be seated close to Felix and the omega actually look up at him for a second. He gives the alpha a tiny smile before returning his attention to the food.
When they are all satisfied and bellys full, Chan speaks up.”Felix, Innie, we are leaving this place tomorrow and would like you to come with us”, he says. ”You are not safe here, more alphas will come and attack you.”
Felix stares at him in confusion.”Too many words”, he says. ”Not understand.”
Innie turns to his friend to explain, apparently having understood.”Lix, they go soon. We go too.”
Jisung can’t contain himself, so he asks what they all want to know.”Felix, why do you speak weird korean?” Minho slaps his elbow softly to scold him for his rudeness.
Felix turns red and avoids their gaze. Innie replies instead.”Lix is not from Korea. He’s from Australia.”
Chan lights up instantly and starts speaking in english.”Really mate? I’m from Australia too, Sydney to be exact.”
Felix’s eyes go big as he stares at the leader.”You-You’re an aussie?”
The others are watching their interaction with awe. So Felix is from Australia? That explains his somewhat halting korean.
”I sure am”, Chan says with a big smile. ”Moved to Korea a few years ago.”
Felix’s expression falters a bit again.”I was on vacation here with my parents, visiting Innie and his family when……”
He stops, seemingly unable to go on.”I understand”, Chan says with a soft voice. ”You don’t have to talk about it. What’s really important now is that we want you to join us. You’re not safe here, Felix.”
Felix furrows his brows and look in the direction of the caves.”I know. Innie needs to be safe and I’ve tried…”
”We don’t really want to pressure you, Felix, but since we’re leaving tomorrow we sort of have to”, Chan says. ”We brought some clothes for you and if you agree we’ll take you back to our hotel.”
”Why are you nice to us?”, Felix asks, staring into Chan’s eyes.
”Because we’re nice people, Felix. At least we try to be”, Chan replies honestly. ”We see two people in need of help and we’re offering, nothing else. You don’t have to join our pack or pay us back in any way, just don’t stay like this, please.”
Felix seems to realize that the alpha is sincere, so he nods slowly.”Innie wants to go with you already, he’s been unhappy out here for a long time”, Felix says. ”We will go with you then, but know that if any of you try to hurt him, I will rip you to pieces.”
Chan chuckles at the threat, even if he knows fully well that Felix means it.”I know you will, Felix. Don’t worry, we will behave.”
Felix is satisfied with that answer and a shy smile is forming on his lips.”Well, what are we waiting for?”
The others are a bit confused, not all of them understanding english. Changbin has been observing the two aussies with wary eyes, annoyed to not understand what they are saying.
Chan switches back to korean again.”Everyone! Felix and Innie are going with us”, he announces proudly.
Changbin exhales deeply, relieved to know Felix and Innie will indeed come with them. He’s still suspicious of the two aussies being all friendly to each other, but he slaps himself internally for being such an idiot.It must be such a relief for Felix to be able to speak him mother tounge and Changbin really enjoys seeing the big smile in the boys face.
The pack has brought wet wipes to clean the omegas up a bit, knowing they will have a nice bath in the hotel room later. It will have to do for now.They can’t just bring two dirty and half naked boys with them without raising suspicion.
Felix grabs the wipes and start cleaning his friend, who instantly complains loudly.”Lix, stop! I can do it myself!”
Felix doesn’t listen, continuing his ministrations. Seungmin knows that Felix needs this now, to take care of Innie one last time before they leave. He won’t be the only one caring for his friend anymore after this and it must feel frightening.
Innie resigns and lets Felix finish up without any more complaints. He must’ve realized the same as Seungmin, that Felix needs this.
Dressed up in ”normal” clothes, the two omegas look even more stunning. Changbin must admit to have liked seeing Felix as a wild omega though. Now, he looks very innocent, just as much as Innie does. They both seem so excited now to finally have someone caring for them.
On the way back, Felix is walking next to Chan, eager to speak english again and it bothers Changbin, even though it shouldn’t. He makes sure to stay close to Innie, not wanting the boy to feel left out in any way.
Chan is so happy now. He’s talking casually with Felix while his leader brain is already planning how to best care for the two omegas. There will be some problems along the way, surely, but they will manage. He would love to have them join the pack, but he knows they will have to tread carefully.
”So, no one will notice if you bring us to the hotel?”, Felix asks him suddenly.
”No, they won’t, Felix. Don’t worry. And tomorrow we’ll take the boat, buying extra tickets for you.”
”I just want Innie to be safe. He’s my only priority”, the omega replies with a serious face. ”If Innie’s happy I’ll be happy.”
”And you? Doesn’t your own happiness count?”, Chan asks.
Felix seems to think about it before replying.”I-I don’t know.”
”You matter too, Felix”, Chan says firmly. ”We will make sure to help you learn the language better and find out what you want to do in the future.”Felix only nods at that and keeps on walking with a determined gait.
”I want Lix to be here!”, Innie screams, causing the others around him to startle. They were just trying to help him take a bath when the omega got anxious.
It doesn’t take long before Felix is in the room, staring them all down with fierce eyes.”Not hurt Innie!”, he shouts. Seungmin and Jisung tries to calm them both down.
”We don’t want to hurt Innie, Felix. We wanted to help him take a bath”, Jisung explains, talking extra slow.
Felix calms down a bit.”I help Innie”, he simply says and turns his back on them. The bathtub is already filled with hot water and it’s big enough for at least two people, so Felix starts undressing.
”Felix”, Jisung protests. ”We should leave.”
Felix only shrugs his shoulders and continues to shed his clothes until he’s completely naked. Obviously the two don’t care about nudity, which isn’t that surprising. Suddenly Changbin and Chan rushes in, alarmed by the elevated voices, but they stop dead in their tracks seeing both omegas nude in front of them.
”Oh, I’m so sorry!”, Chan stutters out, covering his eyes with his hands. Changbin does the same, red as a beat.
Felix and Innie just stare at them, not very bothered at all by the sight of the alphas. ”Are you bathing with us?”, Innie asks, completely oblivious. In his eyes the tub is enough for multiple people, not just them apparently.
Felix is a bit more wary though, not completely at ease with alphas so close to his vulnerable friend.”Me and Innie alone”, he states, causing all the others to promptly leave the room, embarassed and stuttering.
Chan can’t erase the image in his mind. He just saw the omega of his dreams naked and he was beyond beautiful. How can anyone be so innocent and cute?
Changbin is having the same problem after having witnessed, only briefly, the blonde omega in all his glory, so to speak.They don’t even exchange any words to each other stumbling away, too caught up in their own minds.
After the bath, Jisung convinces Felix to cut his long sharp nails, even though the boy is reluctant. Those have saved them many times before, so of course he’s feeling vulnerable cutting them off.
”You won’t need them now, Felix”, Jisung assures. ”You have us now, helping you and protecting you.” Jisung is luckily quite skilled in speaking english, so sometimes he switches language just to get through to Felix better. It seems to work, since Felix agrees.
All cleaned up, nails now short and dressed in clean pyjamas, both boys look heavenly. Since there’s no extra rooms aivailable at the hotel, Jisung decides to have them sleep in his room, effectively kicking Minho out. He’s not that happy, but accepts it and crashes in Chan and Changbin’s bed.
Innie inspects the bed thoroughly before getting into it, sniffing the bedlinen. Once in the bed, he bounces up and down, happy like a child.”Lix, look!”, he says with a wide grin. ”I’m bouncing.”
Felix looks at him fondly. ”I see, Innie.”
Jisung is hoping both of them will accept sleeping with him and slowly crawls into bed, next to them.
They don’t seem to mind, Felix curling up behind Innie and wrapping his arms around the younger. Jisung finds them adorable and he only wishes he could be a part of that cuddle session. Maybe later, in the future, he says to himself. He already starts to doze off, being very tired.
The next morning Chan and the pack leaves their rooms for breakfast, but makes sure to bring food back to the omegas. They can’t risk too many people seeing the boys, just in case.The omegas don’t complain, eagerly eating the sandwiches they were brought.
Chan can’t wait to see Innie again, not having laid eyes on the boy since…. Yeah, since he saw him naked. Jisung has kept them cooped up in his room all to himself and Chan is a tad jealous.
All the bags are packed and they check out of the hotel. All of them squeeze into to taxi’s taking them to the boat. Innies eyes are big, taking in everything in his enviroment eagerly. He looks really excited.
Felix is keeping an eye on Innie and the people around them at all times. His need to protect Innie is a hard habit to break. Even without his nails he can surely do a good job at hurting anyone threatening Innie.
The youngest omega is being very brave, accepting all these unfamiliar things without complaining, but when they reach the boat he refuses to move.”Innie, it’s ok”, Jisung tries with a calm voice. ”It’s just a boat, nothing dangerous.”
Innie is shaking from fear though and Chan hurries to his side. He releases calming pheromones to help ease the omega’s mind a bit. Not too much though, since he doesn’t want to pull him into subspace.
”Innie, you’re safe with us”, the leader tries, looking into the beautiful boy’s eyes.
The omega clings to him suddenly and whimpers.”Alpha, keep me safe?”
Chan’s inner alpha rejoices hearing those words from the boy. He will give or do anything to keep Innie safe.
”I’ll keep you safe, Innie. Come with me.” Chan softly pulls the boy with him, the omega almost like putty in his arms. He looks around and sees Felix observe them. He’s actually smiling at Chan, how surprising.
For the rest of the trip, Innie is practically glued to Chan’s side, not that he’s complaining. He’s really happy about it actually. Changbin is quite content too, because even if Felix isn’t next to him, he’s not with Chan either. He’s ashamed of being jealous of his own leader and pack member, but it is what it is. Now, Changbin can just observe Felix from his seat on the train and admire his stunning face. Omg, he’s such a creep!
Sitting like that, Changbin also notices the looks Felix is getting from other people on the train. They are practically staring at him and it bothers the alpha tremendously.He has to calm himself down and tell himself it’s only natural for them to look at such a beautiful omega. He’s unmarked too, smelling like heaven on earth, to Changbin at least.
Unfortunately for the people staring though, Felix is sitting close to Jisung and Minho doesn’t tolerate eyes in his mate’s direction. The alpha stares them down one by one, much to Changbins delight.At least in that particular matter, his hyung can be to some help, even if he’s a nuisance most of the time.
They are all quite tired when finally arriving at their home. They have a big apartment on the top floor of the building with lots of space.Luckily they have a spare room for the omegas, as a guestroom with a bed already, so they show the two boys in and leave them alone for the night.
Chan finds himself instantly missing having Innie by his side, but he’s dead tired and falls asleep promptly.
It takes them a bit of adjusting, of course, the two boys having lived in the jungle alone for years. There are a few mishaps, like the time Innie wanted to make breakfast and nearly burned the whole place down. Or Felix wanted to claw the eyes out of the janitor when he came to check their pipes.
All in all it’s going fine. Chan is happier than ever, Innie and him getting closer by the day. He’s not working nearly as late, wanting to get home to the sweet omega as soon as possible.
Changbin isn’t having as much progress though. Felix is keeping much to himself or checking on Innie, not interacting with him alot. Sometimes he gives the alpha a heated look or a smile, but after that he turns away again, not even acknowledging Changbin anymore.
It’s not making it easier on Changbin when going into rut, only wanting to claim the boy for himself.He feels the urge to protect him at breakfast one morning and has to use all his willpower to leave the room and call for the leader.
”Ok, Binnie. You’ll have to sleep at the company for a few days”, Chan says. ”We can’t risk anything happening at home.”
Changbin knows Chan’s right, so he sighs and packs his bags.He gives Felix one last look before leaving the apartment. If only….
It doesn’t take long before Chan too has to stay the night at the company, also being triggered into rut. Innie doesn’t like his absence one bit and complains loudly.”Where’s Chan-hyung? Why isn’t he here?”
It doesn’t matter how many times Jisung tries to explain, the boy still asks the same questions.He has no concept of ruts and can’t take in the information given to him. Innie ends up crying after Chan for the entire period he’s away. It doesn’t even help when Felix is trying to comfort him.
”No Lix, I want alpha!”, he sobs, making Felix worried. When Innie cried himself to sleep once again, Felix approaches Jisung.
”Jisung, why is Innie so attached to Chan?” He asks in english to avoid any misunderstandings.
Jisung sighs and rubs his eyes.”I’m not sure, Felix, but I think he likes hyung as a mate.”
”A mate? Innie wants a mate?”, Felix asks, surprised.
”Yes, maybe”, Jisung replies, searching Felix’s face for any negative reactions.He doesn’t find any, only pure confusion.
”Ah, he wants to undress Chan and touch him?”, Felix finally says.
Jisung laughs at that.”Something like that perhaps. Finding a mate is much more than that though, Felix. When you love them and want to be with them all the time, that’s when you know.”
”How do you know you love someone?”, Felix asks.
”You just know, Felix. You love the way they look at you and you go warm just looking at them.”
Felix contemplates it for a while.”I see.”
Jisung watches him leave the room, looking very much in his own thoughts.
Chan and Chanbin return home after their ruts are finally over. They have both missed the omegas alot, thinking of them all of the time.Chan is almost overrun when stepping into the apartment, Innie throwing himself on him.
”Hyung! You’re back!”
Chan laughs and carries the happy omega around. Felix watches them both closely. Then his eyes go to Changbin and the alpha feels it instantly. They lock eyes with each other and just stay like that for a while. Changbin feels a tingling sensation in his body, just by looking at the omega like this.
Felix steps closer, finally standing right in front of him. He raises his (tiny) hand and starts caressing Changbins arm, causing the alpha to shiver. They haven’t been this close since the island and Changbin is overjoyed. He’s a bit confused too though, wondering what Felix is up to.
”Felix, what…”, he starts, but the omega silences him with a finger on his lips.
”I think mate”, Felix says in his broken korean and Changbin’s breath hitches. Did he hear him right?
”Mate?”, Changbin asks, wishing he heard right.
Felix nods and pulls Changbin into the couch in the livingroom. Seungmin and Hyunjin look at them in surprise, wondering what’s happening.Felix starts trying to undress Changbin, pulling his buttons of the shirt. Changbin panics. Why is he doing this here in front of the others? Doesn’t he know?
”Felix, what are you doing?”, he asks with a thick voice. He can’t deny being aroused, who wouldnt be?
”Mate, I undress and touch”, Felix replies, continuing to struggle with the buttons. He’s getting a bit annoyed not being able to get the shirt off.Changbin takes both Felix’s small hands in his to stop him.
”Felix. Not now, not like this.”
Felix’s eyes go darker, Changbin can see the disappointment and the rejection in them. Fuck, he wants this, not like this though. If he only could get Felix to understand. If he only could speak english!
”Felix, I want you too”, he quickly says. Does he understand though?
”You want me? Not now?”
Changbin throws a pleading look at Seungmin, knowing he’s quite good at english.The beta sits up and faces Felix.
”Felix, listen”, he says in english. ”Do you want Changbin as your mate?”
Felix nods, his beautiful eyes a bit shiny.
”Have you asked Changbin-hyung what he wants?”
Felix seem ashamed now, looking down. He shakes his head.
”Tell him I want him too!”, Changbin says quickly. ”Tell him that, Minnie!”
”Felix, it’s ok. Hyung wants you to be his mate too”, Seungmin says with a smile.
”Then why did he stop me?”, Felix asks, looking very fragile.
”I guess he was just a bit overwhelmed”, Seungmin says. ”He’s been in love with you since he first saw you, you know.”
Felix looks at Changbin again with hopeful eyes.”I think…… I love him too.”
”And Felix, undressing and touching is something you do when you’re alone with you mate”, Seungmin says with a wink. ”Like in the bedroom.”
Felix seem to understand now and he directs all his attention towards the alpha again.”Hyung, I like you”, he says in korean, making the alphas heart start beating faster. ”I take you bedroom.”
And there, just like that, Changbin pops a boner instantly. He can hardly believe his ears, but seeing Seungmin wink at him in a teasing manner only encourages him.He sweeps the boy up in his arms and starts carrying him to his bedroom, while keeping eye contact the entire time.
”Mate”, Changbin says, looking at the ethereal boy in his arms.
”Mate”, Felix confirms with a smile.
Later the same evening, Felix and Changbin are in bed, cuddled up together. Felix seems very satisfied with his newfound mate and what they did together earlier.Even if they may have some trouble understanding each other because of some language barriers, they still feel very connected.
Changbin is also very happy. He’s finally with his mate, the most fantastic boy in the whole world. He never before expected an omega to be so…..wild. Felix wasn’t exactly pliant in bed. On the contrary, he was completely feral.
He’s now covered in bitemarks and scratches. Luckily Felix’s nails were cut, so it’s not as bad as it could have been.The omega is calm now though, scenting his alpha lazily and almost purrs from contentment.
”Felix”, Changbin starts. ”I’m very happy to have you as my mate.”
Felix looks up at him with an unreadable expression on his face.
”Felix happy”, he says and continues with the scenting. Changbin knows they will have to learn to communicate better in the future, but for now this will have to do. Felix is safe and with him now and he won’t ever let anyone hurt him.
Chan isn’t stupid. He knows what Felix and Changbin have been up to. Hell, they all heard them!
The leader wasn’t really very surprised when he heard the sounds coming from Changbins bedroom. Felix doesn’t seem like the quiet type, after all. He didn’t expect them to be THAT loud though. At one time he was actually worried that someone were really hurt and he contemplated going in.
When they finally emerge, probably being hungry, Changbin looks like hell. Or at least like he’s been through hell at some point. He’s bruised all over, with scratchmarks covering his arms.
He has the audacity to look overjoyed though, practically beaming, holding Felix’s hand.
”Is there any food left?”, he asks, like nothing happened.
Minho scoffs loudly.”You look like shit, Binnie!”
Changbin glares at him, but doesn’t answer. He stirs the pots on the stove, trying to identify what’s in them.
”You and Felix can take some, we’ve already eaten”, Chan says with a smile. He’s happy for them both, but he’s only hoping they aren’t moving too fast. Felix is still very vulnerable psychologically and not used to their modern life. It will take time for him and Innie to adapt.
Changbin hands a plate to Felix, filled with meat and rice. The boy is still not used to eating using fork and knife, he uses his hands. They’ve tried to talk him into at leat trying, but he’s not having it.Innie is the same, following Felix’s lead of course.
Chan knows he has to have a serious talk with both of the omegas soon. He needs to know where they come from more exactly and for how long they’ve been at the island. It may very well be that they have relatives back home who would be extatic to find out that they’re still alive. It frightens Chan though. What if Felix and Innie decides to leave them?
He knows it the right thing to do though, for both Felix and Innies sake. They have right to choose for themselves and not stay with the pack just because they feel forced or obligated.
With the way Felix and Changbin are staring at each other it’s hard to picture them being apart even for a day and Chan feels the same for Innie. He suspects the omega likes him too, alot actually, but he doesn’t want to assume anything.
He watches them eat, Changbin properly using a fork at least and Felix, stuffing food in his mouth with his tiny fingers. He always eats like it’s his last meal, hurriedly and eyeing his surroundings for possible foodthieves.
Changbin finds it endearing and cute, but everything Felix does falls into that category. He’s just so innocent in some ways, though fierce in others.
Innie is already asleep. He’s been quite hyperactive the whole day according to Seungmin, so Chan isn’t surprised. He’s just happy that the boy seems to adapt well to his new life.After having eaten and cuddled up to Chan for a while, he sleepily walked over to his and Felix’s shared room, throwing himself on the bed.
They still struggle with getting them to use a toothbrush, the omegas being very against it. They’re not at all used to that and tries to evade any attempt of forcing them. The best they’ve achieved is getting them to at least put some toothpaste on their fingers and dragging it over their teeth.
It’s all so very new to them and Chan understands that. They all do. They anticipated that problems would arise, bringing two wild omegas with them back home. Later on, he knows they should bring the boys to see a doctor and get a proper checkup. Just to make sure they’re healthy. He’s just a bit wary, knowing questions of their origin will be asked.
The best thing would be to bond with them, because no one separates bonded mates, it’s just not done. The government isn’t allowed to do so, the mating bond being almost sacred.
Bonding is a very big commitment though and the omegas are far from ready for anything like that. It’s for life and nothing anyone enters lightly.These are the kind of thoughts haunting the leaders mind.
A few weeks pass and everything is going well. The omegas are settling in fine, despite some minor mishaps. Changbin is extatic most of the time, spending all of his nights with the omega. That means that he’s extra tired though and Chan is beginning to get annoyed at his decreasing workrate.
”Binnie, I’ve been very understanding with you, but things can’t go on like this for much longer”, he says. ”You need some real sleep to function properly.”
Changbin glares at his leader.”I sleep, hyung.”
”Obviously not enough”, Chan responds. ”Have you looked yourself in the mirror lately? I can’t let you in on our meetings looking like that.”
”Like what?”, Changbin scoffs.
”You look like a wild cat attacked you, Bin. I get that you’re both happy and enjoying yourselves, but if this continues I will order you apart for a while.”
Changbins eyes widen in shock.”You wouldn’t do that, hyung? You’re just jealous that you and Innie haven’t mated yet.”
”This has nothing to do with me and Innie, Bin”, Chan says sternly. ”It’s about you and your inability to function properly.”
Changbin scoffs even louder. Why is Chan acting like there’s a problem when there isn’t? He’s finally feeling complete, having found his mate. What’s wrong with that? So what if the are a bit on the wild side? There’s nothing wrong about that. They’re in love and even though they can’t speak properly with each other as much as they would like, they understand each other completely.
Chan has noticed that Innie is seeking his company even more often now, probably because of the absence of his close friend Felix, who spends most of his time with Changbin.
The leader almost feels sorry for Innie and he tries to keep him occupied with games and other activities. The problem is that Chan is working alot and he can’t really change that, but as soon as he’s home he devotes alot of his time to the cute omega.
Changbin works alot too, of course, them being together most workdays, but he ususally goes back home earlier, eager to be with Felix.
Both Felix and Innie have started complaining, being utterly bored woth staying cooped up in the apartment. They are used to being free, roaming around the jungle so of course it’s only natural.
The pack is cautious though, afraid to let them out in the public before they’re ready. There’s a big difference being in the city jungle and things can happen.
He tells them both to wait and be patient, that they will take them outside soon, but Felix isn’t happy. He pouts, making Innie follow his lead as usual which ends up with two pouting sulking omegas.
Changbin only laughs, finding his mate irresistable.
Chan is with Changbin at work, both working on their latest track when they recieve a call. It’s the police and Chan instantly freezes. What on earth?
He listens carefully and hangs up aggressively, making Changbin stare at him with a questioning look.
”What is it, hyung?”
”That was the police, Bin. They’ve detained two omegas for aggressive behavour in the park.”
”What does that has to do with us…..?”, Changbin starts before he understands. Fuck no!
They throw their jackets on and hurry to the car, driving as fast as they can to reach the police station.
Inside, the find Felix and Innie sitting in a cell, looking mildly annoyed. The police explains that the blonde one attacked a man violently and tried to rip his head off, so to speak.
When the police had arrived at the scene and detained the omega, he was being even more violent, trying to attack them. The other omega suddenly joined the first one and also started acting aggressively towards the policemen on scene.
They also had a hard time interrogating them, since they were reluctant to speak.
”They sort of hissed at us”, the police officer tells Chan. ”The only thing we could get out of them was your name.”
Chan tries to explain, without saying to much to the officer. He tells them the omegas are from another country, coming from a secluded village where they have very different ways and customs.
He promises that he and his pack will take full responsibility for the two boys from now on and that they won’t cause any more trouble.
The police eventually releases the omegas, making sure Chan lives up to his promises.
Innie throws himself on Chan as soon as they open the cell, but Felix just grumpily passes them.
”Felix”, Changbin says with a frown. ”Stop right there!”
Felix doesn’t listen, he keeps walking with his head high in defiance. Changbin sighs, realising he must be a bit more firm with his mate.
”Felix! Listen to me now!”, he says with his alpha voice. Felix stops immediately and seems surprised by his own action.
Changbin places himself in front of the omega.
”Felix, that was very stupid! What were you even thinking?”
”Sick of place!”, Felix spits out, his eyes burning with fury.
Chan interveins quickly, wanting to get home first before starting anything.
”Let’s go home”, he simply says and pulls them along to the car.
Innie lets himself be led without any trouble, seemingly happy about being with Chan again.
Having secured them in the car, Chan speaks up again.
”I understand that you both want to go out, but this was really stupid.” His voice shows signs of frustration and even anger, causing Innie to whimper.
Chan feels bad, especially since he knows fully well that Innie only followed Felix. It’s not his fault.
He switches to english, wanting to reach Felix first and foremost.
”That was dangerous and risky, Felix! What were you even thinking? Attacking a man?”
Felix sulks and scoffs before replying.
”We’re not animals or pets, hyung”, he says. ”You have no right to keep us locked up. We needed fresh air and to see the skies again properly.”
”I get that, but if you could only wait until one of us would accompany you”, Chan insists. ”And what about that man you attacked?”
”He was a bad alpha”, Felix replies. ”He tried to touch and smell Innie.”
Chan feels his inner alpha boil hearing that. How dare that alpha?
”So you attacked him?”, he asks Felix, suspecting that he was trying to defend his friend.
”We were only walking by the trees to feel the grass under our feet and he just came up to us and started saying things” ,Felix says.
”What kind of things?”, Chan asks, gritting his teeth.
”I’m not really sure, hyung”, Felix says. ”Not nice things, I think. Inne was scared so I attacked him. He deserved it.”
Chan must admit that he’s glad Felix acted like he did towards the man, but that doesn’t excuse them going out in the first place.
Changbin can’t understand what they are talking about and neither can Innie. They stay silent while Chan is talking to Felix.
The alpha can hear that both of them are annoyed though and he doesn’t like it.
When they arrive at the apartment, the rest of the pack is in disarray. They have looked all over for the two omegas, not knowing where they went or what happened.
Chan starts explaining while Felix grabs Innie to drag him to their room.
The leader interrupts himself and places himself in front of the omegas, crossing his arms.
”You two have done something stupid and for that you’ll be confined to your room until I say otherwise.”
Felix’s eyes flashes in anger.
”You have no right! We do as we please!”, he says in english.
Chan knows it may not be the right thing to do, but he’s angry and tired of Felix’s attitude.
”As long as you live here you do as I say, Felix! You are not allowed to be with Changbin either for now.”
Felix looks like he’s about to attack Chan, he’s shaking and staring at the leader with furious eyes.
Innie whimpers and puts a hand on his shoulder, causing Felix to stand down and push himself past Chan to their room. When the door is slammed behind them, Chan exhales. This wasn’t how he would have liked it to be.
Changbin asks Chan what Felix said, not having understood everything. He did see Felix’s anger though.
”He’s mad at me, Bin. He’ll get over it”, Chan replies. ”You are not to see him until I say otherwise. He’s being punished and confined to his room.”
Changbin’s face go red.
”What? Hyung, you cannot be serious? Why am I being punished too?”
”You two both need some time apart from each other anyways”, Chan says. ”Felix needs to understand that in a pack, the leader is in charge.”
Changbin doesn’t like it, but he knows Chan is right. Sometimes a leader has to be firm and even a bit harsh. Felix and Innie are’nt used to this, but they will learn eventually.
They both turn around when they hear noises coming from the omegas room. Apparently Felix is throwing a fit, attacking the furniture by the sound of it. Chan let’s him be for now.
Despite Felix’s anger, both he and Innie stays put in their room for days. Chan almost suspects they do it as a way to punish him now instead. He’s sad especially for Innies sake, knowing how innocent the boy is to all this. The leader misses them both, Innie the most, but this is a punishment after all and he has to follow through with it.
Changbin is short tempered too in the absence of his mate and even though he understands Chan’s point of view he’s sulking. Chan had hoped that keeping them apart would improve the alphas performance at work, but alass, Changbin can’t concentrate enough to get some actual work done.
Minho and Jisung are sick and tired of it all by now. Minho complains about Chan keeping the omegas confined in a stuffy bedroom and Jisung agrees with him of course.”Do you really expect them to improve from that treatment, hyung?”, Minho scoffs. ”I bet they’re even angrier and more frustrated now than before they left the apartment.”
Chan kind of agrees with Minho, but he’s unsure of how to proceed.
”I’m kind of at a loss what to do, Minho”, he admits. ”I only want them to be safe. You know that.”
”You and I know that, hyung, but they don’t. They only see us abusing them at this point.”
Chan hasn’t seen either Innie or Felix for days. Seungmin is the one dealing with them, bringing them food and other essentials. Since they have a private bathroom attached to their room, they haven’t stepped outside the room.
The leader resigns and decides to let them out. He knocks on the door and lets himself inside without waiting for an answer. Innie is on the bed, looking at him with sad, disappointed eyes. It almost breaks Chans heart to see his face like that.
”Innie, where’s Felix”, he asks, wanting to talk to them both at the same time.
”Bathroom”, Inne replies with a thin voice. His sweet scent is laced with bitterness and Chan absolutely dislikes it, he wants Innie to smell of happiness.
”Listen Innie”, Chan starts, trying to explain himself, but the bathroom door opens and Felix comes out. He stares at Chan with disgust.
”What are YOU doing here?”, he spits out. Chan sighs. It seems Felix is still upset.
”I wanted to tell you that you are allowed to join us now”, Chan says, trying to give them a smile. ”I hope you’ve had time to think about what happened by now.”
He looks around and notices the room in disarray still. They haven’t made any effort to clean up.”Oh, so we’re allowed to come out?”, Felix says in english, his voice thick with irony. ”That is very nice of you.”
Chan tries to ignore the tone of his voice, the omega obviously trying to rile him up.”Do you understand why you leaving the apartment was dangerous and stupid?”, Chan asks.
”Oh yes, we understand”, Felix says, still with a snarky voice. ”You can’t just let two defenseless omegas wander around loose, can you?” He sounds furious still.
Innie stands up and approaches Chan.”I want to leave”, he says, causing Chan’s blood to freeze. What does he mean by that? Leave this room surely? That must be it. Of course, he must be sick of staying in here for several days now.
”Yes, Innie. Let’s go to the livingroom and maybe play some games. Would you like that?”, Chan asks, still having a heavy feeling in his stomach.
”Hyung, I want to leave”, Innie says again with a stern voice. ”Can you take us back to the island, please?”
Chan is panicking now. He can’t be serious, can he?”W-Why Innie? Because of this? It was just a couple of days”, Chan says with a pained voice. ”Please don’t make any rash decisions.”
Felix has been surprisingly quiet up til now, letting Innie speak, but now he scoffs again.”Do you really think you can treat us like this and we would just stay complacent? Eating nice food and being warm doesn’t make up for our freedom being taken from us.”
”B-But what about Changbin, Felix? He’s your mate”, Chan tries, reaching for straws. He must convince them to stay, no matter what!
”My mate didn’t stand up for me one bit when I was locked in here”, Felix says, voice laced with bitterness. ”I can survive without an alpha like before and so can Innie.”
Innie places a hand on Chan’s face and stares deeply into his eyes.”I want to leave, hyung.” Chan’s heart really do break hearing Innie say it like that.
”No! You can’t leave, Innie!”, Chan protests, his inner alpha refusing to let the omega leave him. ”You’re my mate.”
”I’m not, hyung”, Innie replies. ”My mate wouldn’t lock me in like this.”
”You don’t understand, Innie. This is how a pack works. If anyone disobey they are punished, but in the end we all love and respect each other. Can you please just come with me and discuss this with the others?”
”It won’t change anything”, Felix says. ”We want to leave!”
Somehow Chan manages to get the two omegas to sit on the couch in the livingroom, where the others are. They all notice that something’s up, especially from the scents.
”What’s wrong?”, Hyunjin asks with a frown on his face.
Changbin’s first instinct is to rush to Felix’s side, but one look from the omega stops him from doing so. Felix looks mad as hell.”Felix? Are you still upset, love?”, he asks worriedly.
”We leaving”, Felix states with a stern voice. ”You take us back!”
Changbins heart sinks immediately. What is he saying? Felix can’t leave, they are mates!”No, Felix! I love you”, Changbin exclaims with a desperate voice. ”You can’t leave!”
Minho and Jisung stare at the omegas in disbelief. They knew that the omegas were pissed, but they never expected them to react like this.”I get that you’re upset”, Minho says. ”I told huyng he shouldn’t have done this, but he only wanted you to be safe.”
”Innie’s safe with Lix”, Innie says. ”Lix doesn’t lock me up.”
Changbin’s eyes are tearing up now and he looks at Felix pleadingly.”Felix, my love, don’t leave me, please.”
Felix doesn’t even spare him a glance, refusing to hear him out.
Seungmin interveins. ”I understand that everyone is feeling upset right now. Can’t we just wait a few days and see how you’re feeling about it then?”
Innie seems reluctant, but after having a silent conversation with Felix, he nods.”We wait three days, but then we go.”
Chan can’t understand how it came to this so quickly. Sure, the omegas are not used to their ways at all and maybe he should’ve gone easier on them, but this is just ridiculous. He only wanted them to be safe! He can’t picture his life without Innie anymore, having the cute and cuddly omega close at all times. He should’ve claimed him earlier.
Would that have helped though? Felix isn’t hesitating to leave Changbin, which is strange. Sure, they’re not bonded yet, but still. They seemed so close.
The best thing to do now must be to let them cool down, even if his entire being screams at him to stop them from ever leaving.
Felix stands up and grabs Innies hand, giving the pack an empty stare. They both leave and return to their room, ironically, the place they claimed to hate being cooped up in.
The pack is in a panicked state to say the least. Especially Chan and Changbin. The latter is devastated with the thought of his mate leaving him.
”You fucked up, hyung”, Minho states dryly, facing Chan. ”I told you this wasn’t the right way to go about it.”
Chan sighs and buries his hands in his head. ”I know. Everything is all messed up now and it’s my fault.”
”I think you should just apologize to the both of them”, Seungmin says. ”They feel betrayed and abused now, something they’ve experienced many times before, I think.”
Jisung lights up. ”And after you’ve begged for their forgiveness we should take them out for some fun!”
”What kind of fun?”, Hyunjin asks. ”You have some crazy ideas of fun sometimes, Sung.”
Jisung gives Hyunjin an offended look.”I’m the best when it comes to fun, Jin.”
”He sure is”, Minho says with a smirk, making the others squeel.
”Yuck, hyung”, Seungmin says with a frown. ”Stop it.”
”Drag you dirty minds out of the gutter, guys”, Jisung scolds. ”I was actually thinking of a picnic in the park with some activities.”
”That sounds all well and fun”, Seungmin says. ”But first Chan and Binnie need to make it right somehow. They seemed very disappointed in them.”
”Why was Felix mad at me?”, Changbin asks dumbfounded. ”What did I do wrong?”
”He thinks you should have stood up for him”, Chan says tiredly.
”But-but you’re the leader and I can’t……”, Changbin stutters.
”Stop being such a wuss, Binnie!”, Minho scolds. ”If someone treats your mate in a way you don’t like you don’t just take it. Do you think I would allow Chan-hyung to lock Jisung up?”
The leader looks up at Minho, who stares back at him defiantly. Chan knows he’s right though. Would he ever consider locking any of his pack members up? In all honesty, no. He did mistreat these boys with the pretense of caring for them and wanting to keep them safe.
”I did this”, he says. ”I must fix it. I’ll talk to them tomorrow.”
The next day Chan knocks on the door, recieving no answer. He carefully opens the door and peeks his head inside. They haven’t seen the omegas since yesterday and Chan is nervous. He really needs to make this right and apologize to them.
Both Innie and Felix are sitting on the bed, giving him glares. This won’t be easy.
”Hi”, Chan starts hesitantly. ”Can I please come in?”
Innie nods while Felix stays motionless. Chan takes it as a yes and enters the room slowly.
”I wanted to say how sorry I am for treating you like that”, he says. ”It was wrong of me, trying to force our rules upon you. It was cruel and stupid and I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Innie listens attentively with his head a bit tilted to the side. Felix seems to have troubles understanding fully, so Chan quickly repeats himself in english too.
”So you admit you were wrong?”, Felix asks in english.
”I do, so very wrong. We’ve gone about this in such a bad way from the start. Instead of helping you adjust and feel safe and secure, we managed to do the opposite”, Chan says. He makes sure to say it in korean too, for Innie to understand.
”Innie is sad”, Felix says. ”He’s the one who wanted to go with you the most and he trusted you all, especially you, hyung.”
Chan saddens hearing Felix’s words and he glances at innie. The boy indeed look very sad, with tears in his eyes. How did he manage to fuck this up so much and hurt these boys?
”I know, Felix”, he says, still in english. ”I care so much about the both of you and would be devastated if you left us. Please give us, me, another chance.”
Felix thinks about it for a while. Innie looks confused, not knowing what the other two just talked about.”Innie is sad because you say he’s your mate but you never claim him”, Felix says eventually. ”You treat him like a little kid, but he’s an adult and wants to be treated as such.”
Chan slaps himself internally. He’s just so stupid! Here he was, wanting to give the young boy time and space, but all the while Innie wanted Chan to claim him. He looks at Innie again, his eyes softening.
”He wants me to claim him?”, he asks Felix, just to be sure.
”He wanted you to, before all this”, Felix replies, still with a bite to his tone. ”Now he’s disappointed in you, hyung.”
Of course he is. Chan hopes it’s not too late to win the boy back. He must fight for his mate.Chan turns to face Innie fully and grabs both his hands.
”Innie, I’m so sorry for the way I treated you. Please forgive me and stay here with us.” Chan pauses and takes a deep breath before continuing. ”I love you, Innie and I want you to be mine, forever.”
Innies eyes goes softer now and Chan thinks he sees some new tears threatening to spill.He’s right because just in that moment Innie starts sobbing, his tears running down his cheeks.
”H-Hyung, I love you too”, the omega replies between sobs. He pulls Chan down on the bed and embraces him like he’s afraid of letting go of him. They stay like that for a few minutes, just holding on to each other. Chan is extatic to finally have Innie in his arms, the boy being so warm and soft.
Chan looks up and notices Felix staring at them. He seems so left out and alone, holding on to himself tightly. The alpha motions for the boy to come and join them, which Felix hesitantly does.
They all end up cuddling on the bed, just enjoying the warmth and closeness and Chan almost wishes they could stay like this forever. Eventually they all fall asleep out of pure exhaustion.
Changbin can’t help but wonder what keeps Chan in the omegas room for so long. He also wants to talk to Felix, to make his love understand what he means to him.
After over an hour has passed, he can’t help himself anymore and knocks softly on the door. No one answers, so he opens the door carefully. Peeking in he finds them all on the bed, cuddled up together. He has mixed feelings, he’s happy that they seem to have made up, but on the other hand it hurts him to see Felix cuddling his leader like that.
Even if Changbin must admit Minho was right, he should’ve fought for Felix, he’s still disappointed in the way Felix reacted. They are mates and Felix was prepared to just leave him over that. Isn’t their bond stronger than that?
Hes just stands there, undecisive for a while, looking at them. They seem so peaceful now and Felix is so beautiful. He wants to rip his mate from the leader, but of course he doesn’t. This is good, he tells himself. It’s progress. Surely the omegas don’t want to leave them now?
He only wishes he was the one convincing Felix to stay, with his love and affection. Maybe Felix doesn’t want him anymore, even if they stay? The look he gave him yesterday was so cold and harsh, almost freezing Changbins blood. Even if they’ve mated several times, he still doesn’t know the omega very well. They’re still strangers to each other in many ways. Felix is hard to understand, having lived like he has, and they have the obvious language struggles.
Changbin turns around and walks out silently.
Later, when Chan wakes up, he’s tangled up with the two omegas in bed. He’s grateful for their willingness to forgive him that easily. The way he messed it up could have made them even angrier, but maybe they’re not out of the waters yet. Sure, Innie declared that he loves him back, which is fantastic. Chan has no idea of how Felix feels about staying though and where he stands regarding to Changbin.
He’s glad that the other alpha didn’t see them like this, he could’ve gotten the wrong idea. Sure, Chan is very fond of Felix too and glad that he wanted to engage in cuddling with them, but he knows fully well that the omega is Changbins mate.
He should tell Changbin to talk to Felix soon. They need to really communicate and get through their insecurities and doubts about each other.Chan decides to let the omegas sleep some more, so he carefully untangles himself from them and leaves the room.
The rest of the pack is sitting in the livingroom still, except for Changbin. They pretend to be busy with reading or watching tv, but Chan can easily see their curiosity. He simply walks up to them and throws himself on the couch next to Hyunjin and Seungmin.
”Well, hyung?”, Seungmin asks with a raised eyebrow. ”How did it go?”
”It was…..good, I think”, the leader replies. ”We fell asleep.”
Hyunjin looks up from his book. ”You fell asleep? All of you? Together?”
Chan nods.”That’s a good sign, I reckon”, Minho says. ”Unless you nagged them to sleep.”
”I did not”, Chan says with a crooked smile. ”We cuddled actually.”
”Did they forgive you?”, Hyunjin asks impatiently.
Chan thinks about it before answering. Did they forgive him entirely? He’s not sure.”I’m not sure. I confessed to Innie, so there’s that. He said he loves me too.”
Minho gives him a slow clap.”Good job, hyung!”
Chan looks around, clearly wondering where Changbin is.”Where’s Binnie?”
”He said he was tired, so he went to his room”, Seungmin replies.
Tired? Chan can’t help but wonder. Changbin was so worried about Felix and now he’s gone to his room? Shouldn’t he be more eager to convince Felix?
Chan gets up from the couch and heads to Changbins room. He gives the door a little knock before entering. Changbin is lying on his bed, eyes closed.As Chan gets closer he can clearly see that the other is awake.
”Binnie, I know you’re awake”, Chan says.
Changbin slowly opens his eyes and Chan can see the tears. Is he that worried about Felix leaving? Of course he is, they’re mates after all.”Bin, I talked to them and apologized”, he starts. ”They may not have forgiven me entirely yet, but we made some progress.”
”Yeah, I could see that, hyung”, Changbin replies coldly. ”You all seemed very friendly.”
”You saw us?”, Chan asks, a bit confused. Was Changbin there?
”I saw you”, the other replies.
”Don’t tell me you’re jealous or something like that, Bin? That would be very silly.”
”Would it? Seeing as my mate rather spend his time cuddling you than his actual mate may make me a bit silly then.”
”You need to talk to him, Binnie”, Chan says firmly. ”I apologised and so should you. He feels betrayed that you didn’t stand up for him, I think.”
”I did nothing wrong, hyung and he just wanted to leave me, just like that!” Changbin almost spits the words out. ”Maybe we’re not destined to be mates, after all?”
Chan wants to shake the other, to put some sense into him.”You know damn well he’s your mate, Bin! Don’t you dare to stop fighting for him!”
Changbin just turns around in bed, ignoring his leader a bit before replying.”What are you going to do, hyung? Order me to apologise to him?”
”If you care about Felix you make him yours again, Bin.” Changbin refuses to answer this time, Chan sighs and leaves the room, very frustrated.
Changbin is wallowing in self pity. Does he even deserve his mate? It’s like Minho said, he didn’t even defend Felix at all. He’s a crappy excuse of an alpha and Felix is much better off without him.
No wonder Felix hates him. He’s a fierce and tough omega and needs a strong alpha, not him.
But he wants nothing more than wrap the beautiful omega up in his arms and hold him forever, to kiss his soft lips and inhale his sweet scents. Why is he torturing himself like this?
Chan is happy to see Innie and Felix coming out from their room later that day, both with wary eyes.He hurries to Innies side and grabs his hand.
”Hi”, he says with a slight smile. ”Are you hungry?”
Innie nods.
”I’ll fix you something”, Chan offers and gives Felix a smile too. The blonde omega returns his smile with a shy one back.
Chan gives Innie a soft kiss on his cheek, making sure the omega is ok with that. He urges them both to take a seat on the sofa while he’s going to the kitchen.Innie reaches for Felix’s hand, looking at the other members cautiously. Seungmin instantly squeezes himself closer to Hyunjin and pats the free space on the sofa.
”Come and sit down here with us”, he says with a sweet smile. ”We missed you so much.”
Innie exhales, having held his breath for a while anxiously. They both sit down and the others start making conversation with them about this and that to lighten the mood.The omegas seem to relax more and more, while Hyunjin and Seungmin speak and joke around with them.
”We’re so glad that Chan apologized to you”, Hyunjin says after a while, making both omegas tense up again. ”It was wrong what he did to you.”
”Yes, wrong”, Felix replies. ”We want free.”
”Of course”, Hyunjin says. ”We only hope that you will consider staying with us?”
Felix and Innie looks at each other before answering.”Maybe stay”, Felix says. ”Innie wants mate.”
”What Felix means is that me and Chan-hyung…….”, Innie says.
Hyunjin claps his hands together with joy.”That’s fantastic, Innie! I’m so happy for you.”
Innie smiles at him fondly.”I love him and he loves me.”
Seungmin notices Felix’s sad face though.”And you, Felix? You want to stay with your mate too?”
Felix doesn’t answer immediately, but when he does his eyes are wet.”My mate…..love me? Don’t know.”
”Of course he loves you, Felix. He looks at you like you’re the most precious thing in the world”, Hyunjin assures the omega. He can’t help but wonder where Changbin is though and why he isn’t here with Felix?
”Mate not here?”, Felix asks, surely wondering the same as Hyunjin.
Seungmin has a feeling that something is off between the two and he’s hoping they are able to overcome it soon. ”Changbin isn’t here, I think he’s in his room”, the beta replies. ”Why don’t you go to him, Felix? I’m sure he’ll be very happy to see you.”
Felix shakes his head.”No, sit here.”
Chan calls for them, saying that lunch is served.
He initially just wanted to feed Innie and Felix, but all the members in the room dash to the kitchen, excitedely expressing their hunger. Chan sighs and places more plates on the table. He knows from experience to make alot of food once cooking so he’s sure there’s enough to go around.
As the two omegas are seated, Felix looks around.
”Changbin? Where?”
Chan’s heart sinks a bit, not knowing what to say. Damn Changbin for acting this way!
”He’s tired, Felix. He’ll be out later, I’m sure.”
Felix and Innie look at each other and Chan can clearly see the blondes sadness. If Changbin keeps this up Felix may actually leave and what will that mean for him and Innie? Also, Chan has grown very fond of Felix and would hate if he left alone too.
They eat in a quite uncomfortable silence. Only Jisung tries to lighten the mood by telling some jokes, but eventually he gives up too. The pack knows that Changbin and Felix are having obvious problems and they don’t know how to help.
”So, I was thinking”, Jisung finally says. ”What about going to the park and play games today?”
Innie and Felix look at him with bright eyes.
”With us?”, Innie asks, still doubting.
”Yes, of course with you”, Jisung replies with a wide grin. ”We can bring some food and eat ice cream afterwards.”
Innie’s eyes suddenly has a dreamy gaze, like he’s remembering something fondly.
”Ice cream, it has been so long.” He turns to Chan with pleading eyes. ”Can we, hyung?”
Chan laughs fondly, observing his pretty mate.
”Anything you want, Innie. It’ll be fun.”
”We like that”, Felix replies. He seems to be a bit more cheerful now, much to the rest of the pack’s delight.
”That’s settled then!”, Minho says. ”Jisung plans for all the games and Chan-hyung and me takes care of the food.”
Everything is packed and ready. The only thing missing is one particular alpha, still sulking in his room. Both Chan and Minho tries to make him come, but he refuses.
They will have a much better time without me, he reasons. He doesn’t want to face Felix right now either, not knowing how to handle his emotions.
”Just go!”, he almost growls and eventually they give up.
It’s wonderful to see how the two omegas bloom playing in the park. Chan decides to sit out on a few games just to be able to watch them. They run around like children, laughing loudly and he admires their agility. It’s crazy how fast they are when running and Chan can only imagine if the games included climbing how superior they would be.
He’s hoping that this will make them want to stay, for good. It’s maybe a bit selfish of him, but he can’t imagine the pack without them now. Despite them being very fierce, especially Felix, they are also very soft and cute, cuddling like pros.
As they sit down on their blankets to eat, Chan can see Felix being a bit sad again. Perhaps he’s missing Changbin? Should he interfere? He’s the one being able to speak clearest with Felix, since both of them are aussies.
Innie leans close to him while eating a sandwich and Chan is happy to see the omega trusting in him like this. He gives the cute boy a smile and inhales his alluring scent. Is Innie waiting for him to take the next step? Maybe tonight? Chan feels butterflies in his chest just thinking about it.
What would it be like to mate with Innie? He actually never mated an omega before and he’s nervous. Especially since he cares so much about Innie and not wanting to hurt him in any way. He already screwed up enough with his previous actions.
When they return to the apartment, very content with their outing, they find Changbin has gone out. Chan almost bursts with anger. He needs to grow up and face the music instead of running away from his problems.
Felix and Innie go back to their room and Chan watches Innie give him one longing look before the door closes. The alpha leader is confused, not knowing what to do. Should he invite Innie to his bed or is it too soon? Also, that would leave Felix alone and maybe that’s not the best time now?
Chan sighs and decides to go to his bedroom alone. But Changbin will get a scolding as soon as he sees him, that’s for sure.
Despite Chan’s efforts to talk to the other alpha, Changbin doesn’t budge. Minho and Hyunjin try too, but he’s adamant on not having anything to do with Felix.
In his eyes they are over and done with and it doesn’t matter what anyone else says.
Days go by and even though Innie and Felix haven’t expressed any new wishes to leave, Chan is still worried. The dynamics in the pack is completely off. Changbin doesn’t join their meals and he avoids the omega like the plague.
Chan knows that he’s suffering. When Felix wanted to leave him behind, the alpha was deeply hurt and now he can’t get over it. Felix, on the other hand, was disappointed with his mate for not sticking up for him and now he’s even more sure.
Felix and Innie are going out alone sometimes and things have gone great so far. Sometimes they eat ice cream and just talk but mostly they just walk around, enjoying the fresh air.
One day after one of their outings, Innie pulls Chan into his own bedroom, saying they should talk.
Chan is confused, but obliges. Of course he does.
”Hyung, I’m worried about Lix”, Innie says. ”He says he’s ok, but I know him. He’s hurting, hyung.”
”I can tell, Innie, but I don’t know what to do about it.”
Innie frowns a bit and continues.
”He misses his mate, but Bin-hyung doesn’t seem to want him anymore. Why?”
”It’s complicated, Innie”, Chan replies with a sigh. ”Binnie was hurt when Felix wanted to leave him behind and now he doesn’t think they belong together anymore. I have tried to talk to him several times, but he won’t listen.”
”You know hyung, Felix never wanted to leave him, not really, but he has always put me and my feelings first. When I was unhappy and wanted to leave he was willing to sacrifice his own happiness for me. You see? That is how caring and loving he is.”
Chan thinks he understands better now. If only Felix could talk to Changbin and tell him this. Of course Felix only wants to keep Innie happy, he has done it alone for years after all. They only had each other and their bond is very strong. It had to be in order to survive.
”And now, Innie? Does he want to leave?” Chan fears the answer.
”He refuses to say, hyung. As long as I’m happy and want to stay, he’ll stay.”
”Even if Changbin and him don’t find their way back to each other?”, Chan asks. Is Felix’s love for Innie that strong that he’s willing to endure living with Changbin even then?
”Even then”, Innie says, his eyes wet with tears. ”But I don’t know what to do, hyung. I can’t stand to see him unhappy.”
Chan hugs Innie and pats his head softly, trying to comfort his loved one. If Innie’s unhappy he’s unhappy too. It affects the whole pack actually.
”I will try and talk to him again, Innie. In the meantime, can you try to reach out to Felix too?”
Innie agrees and they end up on Chan’s bed cuddling. Chan doesn’t want to take it any further when Innie is sad and hurting, so he wraps his arms around the young boy and holds him close. It’s enough for now. Just being close to him will always be enough.
One day Felix returns after having gone out alone, but he’s no longer alone. He has an alpha with him, a good looking young man who’s practically beaming with joy.Chan approaches them both with a raised eyebrow. What on earth?
”Felix? Who is this?”, Chan asks. He takes a closer look at the alpha, who is currently holding Felix’s hand.
”This is Eric”, Felix replies in english. ”I met him in the park and he’s really nice.”
”That’s all well and good, Felix, but why did you bring him here?” Chan doesn’t know if the other alpha understands english but he doesn’t really care.
”Hello, I’m Eric”, the boy says in perfect english. ”Are you the pack leader? Bang Chan?”
”I am. So why are you here, if I may ask?” Chan can’t help being a little rude. He doesn’t like having an unknown alpha in his home, especially not around the omegas.
Eric doesn’t seem bothered. He smiles at Felix before turning to address Chan again.”I found this cutie alone in the park and he invited me here.”
Chan turns to Felix.”Felix, can I talk to Eric alone?”
Felix gives Chan a cold look before refusing.”You can say whatever you want in front of me, hyung.”
Chan sighs but agrees.”Eric, Felix isn’t very used to this town and he’s in a vulnerable state right now. You wouldn’t want to take advantage of that, would you?” He talks to the alpha in korean, hoping Felix doesn’t catch everything.
The other alpha smiles at his words.”Oh, I would never dream of it. As soon as Felix asks me to leave I will.”
Chan realizes it’s hopeless to reason with the other. No wonder, Felix is a very pretty omega and no one in his right mind would let him slip away easily. Except for Changbin, but he’s not in his right mind nowadays.
”Felix, what are you thinking?”, Chan asks the omega instead. ”Why are you bringing an alpha here?”
Felix looks at the leader with a defiant gaze.”I have needs, hyung and I want an alpha.”
Eric beams even more hearing the omegas words. Felix grabs him and drags him to his bedroom, leaving Chan dumbfounded.What the hell? Are they going to mate in his home? What if Changbin finds out?
He dare not to intervein though, Felix will despise him if he forbids him. He is allowed to mate with whoever he wants after all, especially after having been abandoned by his mate. Just as he contemplates what to do next Changbin appears. They stare at each other before Changbin asks why he’s standing there like an idiot. Chan feels his anger grow. It’s his fault, after all. Sure, Chan screwed up, but he has apologised and is trying to make amends.
Changbin though, is still sulking and behaving like a petulant child.
”Do you really want to know, Bin?”, he says with a scoff. ”Do you want to know why Felix just dragged an alpha into his bedroom to mate with?”
Changbins eyes go wide in shock. He never expected Felix to find another alpha, which is stupid really. The boy is exceptionally pretty and can surely secure whoever he wants. It’s just that he never expected him to do it. Is he mating with this alpha right now?
Changbins blood is boiling. How dare they? He wants to beat the bastard up and pull Felix to his bed instead. But will he?Chan observes his friend intently, wondering what he will do. Maybe this is good? Maybe this will trigger Changbin to take action, finally?
For a moment Chan really thinks Changbin is going to do it, claim Felix for himself and beat the other alpha up, but then his eyes go empty again. He simply drags himself back to his own bedroom.
This is so fucked up, Chan thinks to himself.
Another day Felix brings a completely different alpha. He doesn’t even bother to introduce him to the others, simply pulling him towards his room.
Chan doesn’t like it one bit, of course, but since Felix is occupying his and Innies room, the younger omega asks to stay with Chan. This is making Chan a bit giddy, despite everything else going on.Innie is going to stay in his bed the entire night. Does that mean….? Is he ready?
”Hyung, do I take these clothes off?”, Innie asks as they are going to bed. Chan blushes slightly.
”What do you usually sleep in, Innie?”, he asks shyly.
”I sleep without clothes, hyung”, Innie replies without seeming bothered at all. Of course, for him and Felix nudity is very natural, but it still makes Chan a bit embarassed. ”What do you sleep in, hyung?” Innie seems genuinely interested.
”Eh well, I ususally sleep in my underwear”, Chan says, not looking at the omega.
”Good, then it’s easier for us to cuddle up”, Innie replies with a wide grin. Chan can’t help but smile back at the beautiful boy. He’s just so innocent and adorable.
In just a few seconds Innie is completely naked and he jumps happily into bed. Chan just stands there for a few seconds, realising that soon he’s going to be under the covers with a naked Innie.
He’s hoping that his body won’t betray him now and make him more embarassed. He removes all his clothes except for his boxers and hurries to climb into bed, feeling the omegas eyes on his body.
”Hyung, you’re a strong alpha and my mate. I would like for you to mate me”, Innie says, causing Chan’s heart to jump in his chest.
”A-Are you sure, Innie?”, the alpha asks, just to be certain. He can feel his own member grow in anticipation already. Innie smells like pure heaven and he’s right here, in his bed.
”I want to, hyung”, Innie replies. ”Don’t you want me?”
Chan doesn’t answer, instead he presses his body and lips onto the omegas body, kissing Innie quite passionately. He can feel the boy smile into the kiss and his moans encourage Chan to go further.
”I love you, Innie”, Chan says, before kissing him again. Finally!
The following days Chan can hardly work. Even Changbin scolds him for his poor work results, but he can’t help it. His mind is filled with Innie and only Innie. Since they mated for the first time, they spend all their time together, except for when Chan is at work of course.
Chan never knew it could be like this. His world is revolving around his love now and nothing else seem very important. The pack is very understanding, knowing themselves how intense it can be in the beginning.
Everyone is happy for them both and they express it often. All but Changbin. He seems mostly annoyed with Chan’s and Innies realationship.
”What’s your problem, Binnie?”, Chan finally spits when having had enough of his friends behavour. ”Can’t stand me and Innie being happy? You have yourself to blame.”
”I don’t care wheather you’re fucking or not”, Changbin says, clearly annoyed. ”Just try to do your job. You’re the one who scolded me earlier, remember?”
”As if you’re doing such a good job, Binnie! You’ve been acting like a depressed brat quite some time now.”
How did they end up like this? They used to be so close, but now it feels like they hardly know each other anymore.”Just leave me alone!”, Changbin growls.
”Binnie, please”, Chan says, not wanting them to behave like enemies. ”I miss the old Binnie, my friend.”
Changbins features soften a bit while he inhales deeply.”I know, hyung. I miss you too. It’s just…… hard. I don’t know what to do.”
Chan reaches for a hug and the other leans into it. They stay like that for a good few minutes until Jisung knocks on the door.
”Everything ok?”, the omega asks with wary eyes. This affects the whole pack and Jisung is sensitive for these kind of things.
”Everything is fine, Sungie”, Chan reassures the boy before going back to work.
One day, Felix brings an alpha to their livingroom and they both sit down on the couch. The pack doesn’t know his name since it’s yet a new one and he hasn’t been introduced to them.
Minho can’t keep quiet though, being annoyed by all the different alphas being let into their home.”Who is your latest fuck, Felix? Aren’t you going to get started in your room soon?”
Felix doesn’t really understand everything Minho is saying, but he can hear by his tone of voice that it’s not something nice. He decides to ignore the alpha and starts scenting his current partner.
Minho only scoffs, getting no reply from the blonde omega. He glares at the unknown alpha, wanting him to feel unwelcome, but the man doesn’t pay him any attention either. He’s busy kissing Felix’s neck and inhaling his sweet scent.
Jisung is starting to feel uncomfortable seeing them. It’s not that he isn’t used to witnessing others showing affection in a sexual way, but he doesn’t know this man at all. New people makes him feel akward and unsafe somehow. Minho knows that and that’s one big reason for him to dislike what Felix is doing.
”Felix, can’t you please take this to your room?”, the omega asks with a light voice. He repeats it in english too, just in case.
Felix actually listens to the Jisung and nods in agreement. Before he’s even up from the couch he hears a loud growl from the other side of the room. All heads are snapped in that direction, seeing a furious Changbin standing there. His fists are clenched together tightly, almost drawing blood from his own palms. He’s staring at the unknown alpha with black eyes.
”MY MATE!”, he growls and starts moving closer to them. Minho realises quickly what’s happening. Changbin has gone into rut and now he’s very possessive, even though him and Felix haven’t mated for some time. Felix observes Changbin with curious eyes, not having a clue what a rut is and what it entails.
”Bin, you should get out of here”, Minho suggests, knowing there’s no use. The alpha is dead set on challenging the other alpha now.
Changbin’s pheromones are all over the place now, strong and imposing. Felix seems to slip into some sort of headspace and he’s staying still just staring at the alpha.
Minho makes sure to escort Jisung out of the room swiftly, not wanting him to be inwolved in this. He returns with Hyunjin by his side, ready to restrain their friend if it comes to that. The probability is quite high at the moment, seeing how Changbins bloodvessels are popping out from his temples.
”Get away from my mate, NOW!”, Changbin growls at the alpha. Luckily the other man doesn’t want to fight a raged alpha, he only wanted a nice time with the cute omega. He quickly leaves the room and they hear the front door being slammed shut.
Minho exhales, relieved that no fight will erupt. At least between the alphas. They have no idea how Felix will react to Changbins possessiveness. The omega is strong and can easily fight for himself if he deems it necessary.
Changbin has no thoughts of that, it seems, because he’s on Felix in a second scenting him furiously.
Minho wishes Chan was here, but he’s not. Him and Innie are out at the moment, having a date. It’s up to him now, since the second in command is the one in rut.Felix doesn’t seem to have a bad reaction, yet, so the two alphas observing are waiting, not wanting to intervein if it’s not absolutely necessary.
Changbin is still scenting Felix and the omega leans back on the couch to give him better access to his scent glands. ”My alpha”, Felix whines faintly, causing Changbin to growl again, but this time sounding almost content.
”Felix!”, Minho calls out, trying to get through to the boy. ”Felix! Is this what you want?”
It takes a few tries from Minho to get a response from Felix, but eventually he replies.”Want my alpha.”
”Stay away from my mate!”, Changbin growls at Hyunjin and Minho. They don’t take it personally, knowing just how possessive an alpha becomes when in rut.
Changbin scoops the boy up in his arms and carries him to his own bedroom. Minho and Hyunjin just stand there staring at each other, wondering what their leader is going to say about this.
Despite the bedrooms being almost soundproof, they can still hear muffled sounds from Changbins room. It’s going to be a rough couple of days ahead for them all.
Changbin is so consumed by his rut, so not many clear thoughts pass through his head. Just his omega is on his mind. Felix and his sweet scents and delicious body.
They have been at it for two days at an end and in between their mating, they’re dead tired. Felix falls asleep regularly, but wakes up as soon as his alpha needs him again. Even though he has no prior knowledge of ruts, his instincts tell him how to act.
The rest of the pack provides them with food and water regularly.
Innie was a bit worried at first, but Chan explained it to him. The omega initially thought Felix was in danger from the sounds of it, but he was quickly reassured. ”Do they like each other again, hyung?”, he asks suddenly. Chan isn’t sure how to answer him.
”I’m not sure if all their problems are solved by this, baby. They will have to have a serious talk about it.”
Innie doesn’t seem to get it.”But why are they mating, hyung? If they are still mad?”
It takes Chan some time to explain to his mate about ruts and also heats. ”I know heats, hyung”, Innie says confidently. ”Felix and I help each other out.”
That is news to Chan. He didn’t know they actually did that, but he’s not entirely surprised either.
”An alpha in rut is very possessive of his mate and he wants to take care of them. Alot.” Chan hopes that Innie understands what he’s saying. ”There’s alot of pheromones at play, just as in an omegas heat.”
Innie seems to think about it for a while, his eyebrows furrowed. Cute! Chan can’t help but coo at his sweet mate’s facial expression.
As Chanbin’s rut is slowing down, them both starting to go back to normal, Felix is eyeing the alpha suspiciously.”Why mate me?”, he asks.
Changbin is a bit taken aback by his words. What on earth did he do? Did he take Felix by force?”I-I wanted you, you’re my mate, Felix.”
”I am now?” Felix looks genuinely confused. ”I think I am not before.”
”Yes, I-I’m sorry for that. Did I hurt you?”, Changbin asks. He would hate if he did anything to hurt the blonde, more than he already have.
”Me hurt from alone”, Felix replies with his big brown eyes searching Changbins face. ”Me miss mate.”
Changbins eyes are tearing up too, hearing Felix’s words. They have been so stupid, keeping their distance when they both wanted, needed each other.”I love you, Felix”, Changbin forces himself to say. It’s something he’s been aching to tell the boy for so long, but didn’t have the guts to do.
Felix lights up immediately and rewards Changbin with a sweet smile.”Love you too Binnie”, Felix replies. He’s not used to using korean honorifics yet, but Changbin couldn’t care less. He’s just so happy to be with Felix again, to be able to hold him in his arms lovingly.
They exchange a chaste kiss, much shyer and softer than the slobby ones during the rut.
”Dirty now”, Felix says jokingly and Changbin relishes in the feelings of how right it all feels now. He offers the omega his hand and together they head for the shower.
The rest of the pack is very happy to see Felix and Changbin together again, hoping that it will last. They still have some difficulties understanding each other due to the language issue, but most of the time someone help them out if it’s needed.
Both Changbin and Felix were able to explain their feelings and thus give a reasonable explanation to how they acted towards each other. Felix was disappointed with Changbin for not sticking up for him and his feelings of confinement when they were punished for leaving the apartment and Changbin was devastated that Felix was prepared to just leave him behind.
Slowly they grow closer each day and eventually Felix and also Innie open up about their past. They are all seated on the couch in the livingroom when the two omegas start telling the story of how they ended up in the jungle.
”Lix and his family was visiting our family”, Innie explains. ”They were friends since school, at least our fathers were. Lix’s family moved to Australia many years ago, but they never lost track of each other, alway staying in touch.”
The pack listen closely, very intrigued by the story already. Chan is holding his mate’s hand for emotional support. This may be hard for them both to talk about.
”So when they finally came from Australia to visit, my parents thought it was a good idea to go to the island with them for relaxation.” Innie looks at Felix with an unreadable expression.”I hadn’t met Felix since we were quite young, but we hit it off immediately and became the best of friends.” Felix gives him a loving look from his seat next to Changbin.
”Innie best friend”, Felix says and then he urges Innie to continue.
”We were exploring the jungle trail with our parents one day..” Innie stops for a minute, seemingly affected. ”Me and Lix strayed from the trail, playing hide and seek when we heard them scream.”
Chan squeezes Innies hand to try and give him strength, but Innie starts sobbing, unable to continue.Felix immediately rushes to his side and hugs him.
”Innie baby”, he says. ”I tell them.” Innie nods.
”Me speak bad, but will try”, Felix says. ”We run to parents to help, but they gone….. dead.”
Felix seems almost unable to speak also, but he bravely pushes on.”Bad men see us, try take us. We run in jungle, afraid.”
”And you stayed, afraid to return to town?”, Chan asks. Felix and Innie nods in unison. Of course they would be terrified and traumatized, seeing their parents killed before their eyes. Chan is astounded how they were even able to survive.
”You’ve been very brave, both of you”, he says, the rest of the pack agreeing. ”Do you know why they wanted to hurt you and your family?”
”Not know”, Felix replies. ”But bad men want take us alive.”
”They wanted you alive?”, Chan asks a bit surprised. ”How do you know that?”
”They shout to take us alive”, Felix says. ”Not know why.”
Chan gives Changbin a look. They are of course shocked by the story, but why did the men want the boys alive? And why did they kill their parents in the first place? ”Did they try to follow you into the jungle?”, Changbin asks. How badly did the men want them?
”They try but not find us. We run far and hide.” Felix’s face shows alot of despair now, thinking back at the events that altered his and Innies life forever.Changbin notices Felix’s current mood and releases his calming pheromones. The omega boy gives him a thankful look.
Chan thanks them for sharing with them and decides to do his own research on the matter.
With just a quick google search he easily finds some information, but not very much. The case was in the papers, of course. Four people being murdered on the island while on vacation was a big headline, two missing boys also. It all happened three years ago, the boys being 17 at the time, unpresented still. Search parties were conducted, but when they all turned out unsuccessful the general public’s interest declined rapidly and the police simply gave up, thinking the boys were dead.
Felix and Innie must have been way too scared to seek help, believing the men were after them still.
Chan spends the next few days trying to find out more. Maybe find some relatives to the boys, but he only finds an old aunt of Innies in Busan. Felix have some relatives back in Australia, but he doesn’t know any of them according to himself.
Chan calls for Changbin to have a conversation about the boys.”Binnie, I don’t know how to proceed”, he says with a frown. ”Should we contact anyone about them being found?”
”No hyung, I don’t think so”, Changbin replies. ”What if the police wants to detain them or something? What if they send Lix back to Australia?” He’s terrified of that, losing his mate in such a way.
”I understand your fears, Binnie. I do. But what should we do? They have no papers or ID. They kind of don’t exist in the society”, Chan says. ”We can’t keep them hidden.”
”We must, hyung. Felix doesn’t have legal rights to stay in Korea and he will be sent back. We can’t let that happen. Please hyung!” Changbin looks at Chan pleadingly.
Chan sighs, knowing fully well that he won’t do anything to jeopardice Felix’s wellfare. Maybe they could keep this hidden in the meantime, until they are bonded. When bonded, no one can force Felix back. There’s also the possibility that the murderers were still after the omegas somehow. He won’t put Innie and Felix in further danger by outing them. So it’s settled.
”We try to keep quiet then, Binnie, and keep them safe. I know we cannot afford to lose any of them.”
Changbin gives him a thankful look and nods. ”Thank you, huyng.”
Things are looking up for the pack and the two omegas. Even though they haven’t agreed to officially join the pack yet, both Felix and Innie seem happier. Innie and Chan are together as soon as the older returns home from work and they spend every night together.
Felix and Changbin are trying to spend more of their time together with the pack, mostly because of the language barrier. If Chan or Seungmin is around, they can help explaining what the they want to convey to each other better.
Changbin is head over heels in love with his omega and he cannot wait until they bond, although it will take some explaining for Felix to fully understand what it means. Bonding is for life and nothing taken lightly, of course.
Chan is sure of his feelings for Innie to, being absolutely enchanted by the boy already. There’s no rush though. They can afford to let the omegas take their time and grow more comfortable before suggesting any further commitments.
Or so they thought.
One dreadful day, while the pack is waiting for the omegas to return home from their outing in the park, Chan recieves a call. He can see it’s Innie, who he kind of forced to learn to use a phone for his own protection, just in case. Chan is feeling relieved, he was starting to get worried about his mate and Felix, them having stayed out much too long for his liking.
Chan answers immediately, eager to hear Innies voice, but the only thing he can hear is strange sounds and muffled screams.
”Innie!”, Chan screams into his phone, a feeling in his gut telling him that something’s very wrong. No reply. He screams the name of his mate several times, but no one’s answering.
Chan is quick on his feet, calling for the rest of the pack to come.
”What’s going on?”, Hyunjin asks, being the first one to arrive.
”Something’s wrong with Innie and Felix!”, Chan screams, his stomach turning just thinking about his mate being in danger of some sorts.
Changbin is there within seconds, his face terrified.
”What happened, hyung? Tell me!”
”We need to go to the park NOW!”, Chan says, his voice determined and not allowing any objections.
As they leave, Chan tries to explain what he just heard and the others are staring with eyes wide open at him. Does this mean the two omegas are in danger? What happened?
”They might just have troubles using the phone, hyung”, Jisung suggests to ease the leader’s mind a bit. ”You know how hard it is for them to use it properly.”
”That wasn’t it, Sung”, Chan replies, his voice void of any emotion. ”This was something else, I have a very bad feeling about this.”
He tries to call Innie back, several times, but to no avail. Changbin tries to reach Felix’s phone too, but the call doesn’t even go through. Felix promised to always keep it turned on, so his mate could reach him at any time. He’s worried sick now too, realising something bad must’ve happened.
He knows how good Felix is at protecting himself and Innie though and he only hopes they are ok. They must be ok.
Arriving at the park they see no traces of the boys, until Chan finds Innies phone on the ground, totally wrecked. He looks around, but the only people seen are a couple of strangers further away having a picnic at the tables. He approaches them quickly.
”Excuse me, I’m sorry to disturb, but did you happen to see two boys in their twenties right about there?” He points at the location of Innis phone.
A man well in his fourties answers him, while keeping tabs on his youngest son.
”Oh, yes. We saw them, but they seemed unwell. They were aided to a car by four other men, we assumed they were taken to a hospital.”
Chan frowns. ”Did they seem friendly with each other?”
The man looks at him, a bit surprised.
”I don’t really know. I have to constantly check on my children, you know. Why?”
”Did you see the car properly?”, Chan asks, his mouth tensed up. ”Colour? Brand? Licence plate?”
The man shakes his head.
”Oh no, I don’t know. I try to mind my own business as best I can. Did something bad happen to the boys?”
Chan doesn’t bother to reply. He walks back to his pack with a frown, them looking quite torn up now. Jisung has tears in his eyes, Minho holding him in a comforting manner.
”Something bad happened to Lix and Innie, didn’t it?”, Jisung says with a light voice. ”What are we going to do?” He starts sobbing and Minho engulfes him in a tight hug.
”Chan-hyung?”, Changbin says. ”What the hell happened?”
”They were taken”, Chan replies with a cold voice. He can’t belive this happened. His beloved mate is gone, along with their precious Lix. He promised them they were safe in the city, that they would be taken care of, even though Felix especially resented that term.
They were both under the protection of his pack and now they’re gone. He failed.
How can he make up for this? They have no leads, nothing to tell them where to look.
Innie is slowly waking up, his thoughts all drowsy still. He turns around, frantically looking for Felix, only to see his friend still sleeping.
They are currently in a room, both placed on top of a bed. Looking around he feels a faint recognition, something in the back of his mind reminding him to think. Has he been here before? Is that even possible? He can’t get away from the feeling of some familiarity about the room.
Felix is suddenly whining, his eyes opening in fear. It only takes a second for him to be on all fours, hissing and growling.
”Lix”, Innie says. ”No ones here.”
”Where?”, Lix asks, wanting to know where they are.
”I don’t now, Lix. But I somehow recognize this room.”
Felix stares at him. ”Innie knows room?”
”I’m not sure, Lix.” Innie tries to look around closer, wanting his memory to cooperate with him, but nothing comes to mind. He wishes so bad for something to help him remember.
The room is quite uninteresting though, like an ordinary bedroom, but quite fancy with soft linen on the bed and velvet curtains.
He tries to recall what happened to them earlier, in the park. Him and Felix climbing the trees, laughing and enjoying themselves.
When they climbed down, they started eating the food they brought with them, feeling starved from all the activity.
Not long after they started feeling drowsy and Innie couldn’t understand why. Felix hissed when four men approached them with smirks on their faces. He tried to attack them by jumping at them, but his attempt only resulted in him falling to the ground again.
Innie remembers trying to call Chan, but the men took the phone from him and threw it to the ground, stepping on it.
They laughed at them, telling them just how useless they were, before they scooped them up and dragged them to a car nearby. Innie’s mind went black and he obviously fell asleep.
The pack is in a state of panic, not knowing what to do. The can’t really report it to the police, since Felix and Innie isn’t supposed to be there in the first place.
They tried to ask every person at the park that afternoon, but the only thing they found out was that Innie and Felix probably were taken to a black car, which doesn’t help very much.
Chan is convinced that the people that killed Innie and Felix’s parents are responsible, but he has no clue who they are and why they took the boys.
Changbin is barely functional at all, being snappy and angry, which leads to the other avoiding him for the time being. He’s furious and full of regrets. Why didn’t he bond with Felix earlier? If they were bonded he would find him wherever they took him.
He’s starting to loose hope of ever finding his mate again and is digging himself deeper into a depression.
Jisung is crying alot, making Minho miserable too. Hyunjin is also very affected by all this, being quite sensitive and very fond of the two omegas. Of course they all want them back, but Seungmin is trying to keep his cool and think rationally. They need to solve the mystery of Innie’s and Felix’s parents death in order to find the omegas again. It’s all connected, he’s sure of it.
The door to the bedroom the omegas currently occupy is of course locked. Felix tried to open it by force, banging his body towards it to the point Innie had to stop him. He was only hurting himself in the process.
Suddenly they hear the door being unlocked and an older man enters the room accompanied by two big guys, alphas no doubt. Felix instantly throws himself on them, trying to claw them, but they easily catch and restrain him on the floor. Feliz keeps hissing and growling, Innie not daring to move. He recognizes this man, bu the can’t place him at first.
”Hello Jeongin”, the man says with a smirk. ”Don’t you recognize your uncle?”
Innie remembers him suddenly. Uncle Eunsang, married to his aunt Chinsun. She is his fathers sister, someone he hasn’t met for many years and this man always gave him bad vibes, even as a young boy.
”Uncle?”, Innie says with a faint voice. ”W-what? Why?”
He can’t really come up with anything intelligent to say right now, being utterly shocked to see the man. Felix is still on the floor, now being quiet to observe Innie and the older man’s interaction. He’s still held down harshly by the two alphas.
”Oh Jeongin, I’m so glad to see you again”, uncle Eunsang says with a fake smile. ”It has been a long time, hasn’t it?”
”Why did you kidnap us, uncle?”, Innie asks, still not being able to wrap his head around this situation.
”I need you, Innie. As long as the authorities refused to pronounce you dead, I couldn’t get my hands on your fathers company in full.” Uncle Eunsang walks closer to him, but still keeping some distance just in case the boy attacks.
Innies head is chaos hearing his uncle speak. What does he mean? His fathers company?
Eunsang looks at him with an evil grin on his face.
”Don’t you get it, boy? I had your parents killed, along with those tourists they consorted with.” He spits the words out in distaste.
Innie is paralyzed for the moment, not believing what he’s hearing. His uncle did that? Why would he even do that? Why would he hurt his wife’s family like that?
”I need you to rise from the dead, so to speak, for me to be able to be your legal guardian. As such I’ll be able to take full control of the company”, Eunsang says with a proud face.
Innie growls at him, readying himself to attack the man. He hates him so much and wants to mutilate him. Eunsang holds up a hand in front of the omega.
”I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Jeongin. If you want your friend alive and well, you should do as I say.”
Innie looks at Felix with fear gripping his heart. They threaten to hurt Lix if he doesn’t cooperate, of course. He growls at the man again, but holds himself back for Felix’s sake.
How can this man have hurt his family only for money? Sure, he’s only married into the family, but his father treated uncle Eunsang very well and gave him a good position on his very successful company, trusting him entirely. The man is a monster.
”I’m glad you have come to your senses, Jeongin”, his uncle says smugly. ”But just to emphasize what happens if you should act out somehow, I will tell you. Misbehave in any way and Felix here will be beaten, raped and ultimately sold to the highest bidder in the black market. Do you understand?”
Innie’s eyes are tearing up as his gaze goes to Felix, his loyal friend who has protected him for years. He can’t let any more harm come to him. Felix looks back at him with his big doe eyes pleadingly.
He's not sure if his friend understood all that was said, but it doesn’t really matter. He has to keep Felix alive, even if that means succumbing to the man who murdered their parents in cold blood just for money.
Innie collects all his hate and disgust for this man and locks it away in his mind, for now. He nods in agreement. He must do this, at least until he finds a way to keep Felix safe from them.
”I will behave, for Felix”, he says, causing his uncle to chuckle happily.
”Wonderful!”, Eunsang says and claps his hands together. ”I will announce your return to your aunt tonight and you will meet her at dinner. Not one word to her about all this, you hear!”
So his aunt doesn’t know about this? That at least comforts Innie a bit, since he remembers his aunt to be a nice lady. She wasn’t involved in killing her own brother, being just an innocent bystander just like him and Felix. She has no idea what a monster she’s married to apparently.
Innie has to play his part and act like nothing in front of her and it will be hard, so hard. But for Felix, he has to make it for Felix. In his mind he still hopes for Chan to find them somehow and help them.
”Felix will be brought to the basement in the meantime”, his uncle says, like he’s talking about just everyday stuff. ”As long as you stay in lane he’ll get food and water and be fairly comfortable. One slight mistake from you and he will feel it instantly.”
Innie nods again, his head hanging low. He feels so powerless in the face of this man, him having the upper hand entirely. How is he going to live like this, knowing Felix is in the basement like an animal?
”Uncle”, he says, getting Eunsangs attention immediately. ”Can’t Felix stay with me? Please.”
He hates to grovel for this man, but he must try at least.
Eunsang laughs at that, shaking his head.
”No, that’s not possible, Jeongin. He must be contained since he’s too dangerous. I know about his violent tendencies, you know.”
Innie can’t understand how his uncle even found them. It’s been years and him and Felix having lived alone in the jungle, until Chan and the pack found them.
Felix is starting to thrash beneath the two alphas again and Eunsang gestures for them to take him away. Innie starts crying, not wanting them to take his best friend from him. He tries to follow them and to get at least a hug from the boy, but he isn’t able to.
Felix gives him one last look, filled with fear before he’s taken out of sight. This is like his worst nightmare coming true. They should never have left their jungle. His uncle would never get his hands on them if they only stayed put.
But then he thinks about Chan and the pack and how much he loves them. He must put faith in his mate and the pack. Until then he must play the game.
Felix is sobbing, locked in the basement in a small room. It’s moist and moldy here and even though he’s used to living primitive, this is just horrible to him. Not being able to go outside, to see the sun and the skies above him.
He worries about Innie, not quite understanding what happened up there. It seemed Innie knew the man, but they weren’t exactly friendly. He couldn’t catch all that they were talking about, even though his korean has improved somewhat in just a short amount of time.
They were talking way too fast and he had the disadvantage of being held down forcefully by those damn alphas. The look in Innies eyes told him everything he needed to know actually. He was both terrified and furious. And sad. Felix wishes he could protect his friend from all this, but he wasn’t strong enough. Now, he’s stuck down here and Innie is somewhere else.
It’s all his fault. He should never have left the island and their home in the jungle. They were atleast together there and had each other’s backs. It was his job to care for Innie and he failed him.
Felix growls, his fury growing as he’s thinking about what abuse his friend is forced to endure. He can’t give up on Innie. Never!
He must find a way to get to him again, to protect him.
Felix tries not to think too much about his lovely Changbin, who taught him about love between mates and the beauty of being a cuople. If he succumbs too deep in those thoughts he won’t be able to stay sharp.
No matter how long it will take, he must remain strong and save his friend and himself.
One of the men who put him in this place suddenly emerges and he smirks at Felix, his eyes revealing something much darker. He looks hungry and his strong alpha scent is trying to invade Felix’s mind. He resists with all his might, too angry to give in.
”You’re pretty for being such a wild thing”, the man says. ”Too bad I can’t play with you just yet.”
He puts a tray of food on the floor and exits the room again, after giving Felix a wink.
Felix eyes the food, suspicious of it possibly being poisoned. Surely they wouldn’t want to kill him, but they might have put some drugs in it. He decides to eat in anyway, he needs his strength if he’s going to save Innie. No point in starving himself.
Innie is feeling like shit, being forced to greet his aunt happily. She is just overjoyed of him being found and is constantly talking about her fantastic husband and his remarkable abilities to bring Innie back to her. He’s forced to smile and agree, while uncle Eunsang smirks at him. It almost eats him up inside to fake joy and gratitude to the man who killed his parents.
”I was thinking, dear”, Eunsang says to his wife, ”We must take Jeongin under our wings, since he has no one.”
His aunt claps her hands at that. ”Of course, my dear. Jeongin, you simply must stay with us from now on. Your uncle will teach you all about your father’s company, may his soul rest in peace.”
Innie swallows and tries to force a smile. ”I’d love to auntie. Thank you.”
”You should know that your uncle has tried to keep it in a good state since the accident”, aunt Chinsun says. ”He will teach you the ropes in no-time.”
Innie’s fuming inside, hearing his aunt calling his parent’s death ’an accident’. She must know they were murdered, since Chan said it was all over the papers at the time.
Despite being a sweet lady, she seems very naive, believing everything her husband tells her.
The following days uncle Eunsang brings Innie to the company and introduces him properly to all the shareholders and staff. They all seem extatic too meet him, praising his late father and telling him what a fine man he was.
Innie just smile and stay mostly quiet, not being able to say that much to them all. It’s slowly killing him to pretend to be fond of his uncle, but everytime he almost breaks, his mind goes to Felix again.
Thinking of his dear friend locked in the cellar, not knowing how he’s being treated at all, makes Innie feel sick inside. He knows this can’t go on for much longer, or he’s going to break in pieces.
One day he begs his uncle to see Felix, just to make sure the boy’s alright. Eunsang stares at him for a while before replying.
”Sure Jeongin, I guess you’ve earned it, playing your part so well”, he says with an evil smirk.
Innie doesn’t care about his words, he’s thinking of finally being able to see Felix again.
He’s being brought down the stairs, through a door with a code-lock and there, in the dark gloomy room he sees Felix on the floor. They haven’t even gotten him a bed, those bastards.
”Lix!”, he shouts out, causing the other omega to spring to his feet quickly. They meet in a warm embrace, Innie immediately noticing the state of his friend. He smells quite bad and looks gloomy and sad. No wonder, being kept in a place like this.
”Innie, miss you”, Felix says and buries his face in Innies neck, inhaling his scents.
”I’ve missed you too, Lix. So, so much”, Innie sobs, not wanting to let go of his friend. ”We have to get out of here, Lix”, Innie whispers in his friend’s ear, making sure the man present doesn’t hear him.
Felix nods discreetely and clings to Innie harder, whispering back. ”Lix save you, Innie.”
Innie is so endeared by his friend and his courage. Here he is, locked in a gastly basement, but still he wants to save him, Innie, who at least gets to see the sky and sleep in a soft bed at night.
Felix only strengthens his resolve to keep him safe. If and when he’s going to turn on his uncle, he must make sure that Felix is in the clear.
”That’s enough!”, the man calls out, forcing Innie to leave Felix alone in this place. They start crying again when they can’t feel each other’s embrace anymore and Innie tells Felix how much he loves him before being pushed through the door.
Innie has a plan brewing, even if it’s not very solid yet. He must bring something to Felix next time, a weapon of some sort. Anything that will help Felix get out, a knife, scissors, anything that can be used as a weapon. He has to figure out the code to the door too, even if it may seem impossible. It’s for Felix.
Innie is very aware of Felix’s abilities to fight. He’s very strong and capable, even being an omega and several alphas have been forced to find that out the hard way. If he only had his claws. Now, a weapon must subsitute his sharp claws, helping them both be free again.
It’s very dangerous for them both, of course, but what other choice do they have?
”I found something very interesting, hyung”, Seungmin tells Chan and the leader quickly rushes to the beta’s side.
”What Minnie?”, Chan asks, not very patiently. He’s been a mess since the omegas disappearance.
”According to these articles, Innies aunt is married to a man called Jung Eunsang”, Seungmin says.
Chan looks at him expectantly. ”So?”
”He’s the one taking charge of Innie’s father’s company following his death. I’ve looked him up a bit closer and he seems to be a very power hungry man, with bad sense of money.”
Chan frowns, not really understanding, so Seungmin continues.
”Since Innies father was a majority owner of the companie’s shares and Innie wasn’t declared dead, his uncle had no ways to take over the company entirely, though he tried many times.”
Chan lights up slightly. This was interesting, for sure. He urges Seungmin to tell him more.
”If Innie were to turn up again, his uncle may be able to force him into signing over all his shares though and thereby claim the company for himself. It’s worth alot of money and the uncle is in a constant need of money, it seems.”
”And if Innie refuses?”, Chan asks worriedly and Seungmin’s face goes darker.
”If Innie is to be dead for real, his shares are inherited by his aunt, as his only living relative.”
Chan’s stomach is in knots, thinking of someone hurting or even thinking of killing his mate. He growls furiously, causing his other pack members to rush into the room.
”What?”, Changbin demands. ”Any news on Lix and Innie?”
Seungmin decides to reply instead, seeing just how upset the leader is.
”I may have found the killer and thereby the kidnapper, hyung. I’m not certain, but it’s possible that Innie’s uncle is the guilty one.”
Innie is having a very hard time coping with all the acting he has to do, especially for his aunt. If she only knew what a man she’s married to. Her husband killed her brother and his wife, and their friends too. Innie knows uncle Eunsang didn’t do it with his own two hands, but he’s the one who ordered thir death and is thereby responsible.
It doesn’t get easier from the man teasing and mocking him every chance he’s got, as soon as they’re alone. He likes to rub it in the boy’s face, just how smart he is for pulling a thing like that off.
One day, uncle Eunsang approaches Innie with a bunch of papers. He’s trying to sound a bit nicer this time, so obviously he wants something from Innie.
”I have some papers here for you to be signed, Jeongin. They’re not very important, but I still need your signature.”
Innie wants to spit in his face and claw his eyes out, but he doesn’t dare to. He signs the papers without saying a word and Eunsang is very pleased. Before the man leaves the room, Innie hurries to speak.
”Uncle, I want to see Felix”, he says with a firm voice.
Eunsang looks at him and scoffs.
”I don’t care what you want, boy.” He exits the room, leaving a very pissed off Innie.
He won’t sign anything else until he’s allowed to see his friend again, that’s for sure.
Felix is coughing, always feeling cold in the damp room. Sure, he’s used to being cold sometimes, but it’s the moist air that’s getting to him.
Him lying on the floor is even worse, and he’s starting to worry for his own health.
He has to find a way to save himself and Innie before it’s too late and he’s much too weak to fight.
Felix decides to try the next time one of the alphas comes with his food. He’s not chained up or anything, so defeating one man is possible. He must do something!
”Jeongin, are you really sure you want to do this?”, his aunt asks Innie at dinner one night.
Innie looks up, surprised. He has no idea what she’s talking about. Uncle Eunsang stares at him, warning him to speak out of order.
”W-What auntie?”, Innie asks.
”Leaving all your shares in your fathers company over to us?”, his aunt says. ”My husband tells me you don’t want them, but are you really sure? They are worth alot of money.”
Innie stares daggers at his uncle now. So that’s what he’s planning? Stealing his fathers company completely and leave Innie without a penny. Not that he cares about the company or the money, but letting that man get away with such a thing is nearly destroying him.
”Jeongin has no interest in the company, my dear. It’s me who has been in charge for the last three years now and I’m the one with all the connections. Of course a young man like him isn’t into boring things like that”, Eunsang says, giving Innie a harsh look. ”We’ll be caring for him anyway, so he’ll be taken care of just fine.”
Aunt Chinsun smiles at that. ”Of course we will, Jeongin. I just want you to be sure, that’s all.” She gives her husband a loving look. ”I’m so glad you trust us with this, my dear boy.”
Innie gives her a fake smile, but he doubts she realises that. She’s been lied to for so many years, so she won’t suddenly grow suspicious by now.
Damn if he’s going to sign those papers. As soon as his uncle makes him sign them, he has no need for him anymore and that is dangerous. He only wishes he could get Felix out of harm’s way first though. He must see him soon and bring something sharp and dangerous.
When he’s alone with uncle Eunsang again, he demands to see his friend.
”You will see him after you’ve signed those papers, you brat”, his uncle spits out. Innie isn’t having it though.
”I’m seeing Felix tonight or I will never sign anything again”, he says coldly, wishing by god that it works and Felix isn’t harmed by this.
Eunsang curses, but obliges him, strangely enough. The man obviously has no spine, not that it’s very surprising to Innie. He has made sure to smuggle a set of sharp knifes and stuffed them inside a loaf of bread, hoping that the men guarding Felix won’t see through his scheme. The omega also put some fruits and ham inside the cloth, knowing Felix will appreciate them.
”What is that?”, the alpha escorting him down demands to know. Innie is quick to show him the bread and fruit.
”Some food for my friend, sir”, he says politely and the alpha huffs. Luckily he doesn’t examine the food further and starts typing the code for the lock.
Innie already knows the code from having secretly watched the guard bringing food for Felix, so he makes sure to look away demonstratively this time. He has put the code on a small piece of paper in beforehand and stuffed it also inside the bread, hoping that Felix will find it and not consume it instead.
When he finally catches the sight of his friend, he’s suddenly distraught. Felix isn’t well, coughing and sneezing in the damp room. He throws himself onto the boy nevertheless, calling his name.
”Innie!”, Felix says, before another coughing fit.
Innie turns to the alpha guarding them. ”He’s sick. You have to help him.”
The man doesn’t want to listen, he only stares at them with cold eyes.
Innie turns back to Felix and pulls him closer into his arms, whispering into the other omega’s ear.
”Lix, weapons in bread, don’t eat.”
He knows Felix understands that much korean and is now sure he got the message through to him.
”I brought some food to you, Lix”, he says loud enough for the alpha to hear and hands over the cloth covered food. Felix coughs again, his eyes teary.
”Thank you, Innie”, he says finally and they both start crying. Innie never wants to see his friend in this state again, he simply can’t stand it. He wants to wrap him in warm blankets and never let him go.
”Time to go”, the alpha commands and Innie is once again forced to leave his friend in this ratched place. Before they detach from each other, Innie whisper to Felix once again.
”Get away, Lix! Run!”
He releases Felix from his arms and starts turning away, but not before seeing the terrified face of his friend. Innie is hoping that Felix will do what he told him and not try to save him or something foolish, if he gets the chance.
Eunsang tries to get him to sign the papers the very next day, but Innie refuses. It maddens his uncle and he starts threatening Felix again, telling Innie about all the nasty things they will do to him if Innie continues to be a brat. Apparently the papers must be signed in the presence of two legal witnesses, since it’s an important transaction and Eunsang has already brought them to his house. They are waiting for Innie and Eunsang to join them in the livingroom, alongside his aunt.
Innie refusing is causing his uncle to panic and start yelling obscenities in his face, but the omega boy is firm in his denial.
”You little bastard!”, Eunsang screams out. He lowers his tone to make sure he’s not heard downstairs. ”Felix will be beaten up and I will tell both my men to have their way with him if you don’t comply.”
Innie is afraid, of course. He cannot be sure that Felix is strong enough to withstand the attackers if they join forces, but he can’t sign the papers, unless he wants to sign his own death warrant.
”I won’t sign them, you snake”, Innie says with all the hate he can muster. ”You’ll get rid of me if I do.”
Eunsang stares at him with dark eyes and curses some more. He’s beyond furious now.
”I don’t need your petty signature, you little brat”, he wheezes out. ”If you are found dead all your shares go to your dear aunt anyway. Maybe a little accident?”
Innie freezes in an instant. Is that really true? So he will kill him either way? He decides to put an end to the charades once and for all and attacks his uncle. The man is unprepared and falls to the ground with a crazed omega on top, clawing and scratching him, using all his anger and hatred as fuel.
The commotion draws the attention of his aunt and the two legal witnesses and the rush into the room. His aunt is screaming in fear of the scene before here.
”Stop, Jeongin! What are you doing? Dear lord, what is happening?”
One of his alpha guards enter them room and starts pulling Innie off the man by force.
”You sick bastard!”, Innie screams while being held back by the alpha. ”You killed my parents and now you want to kill me!”
”What are you saying, Jeongin?”, his aunt calls out frantically. ”That isn’t true, why are you saying things like that?”
The alpha puts his hand over Innies mouth, preventing him from saying anything else and his uncle gets up, severly scratched but still intact.
”The boy has gone crazy!”, he screams. ”He must be put in an asylum.”
Aunt Chinsun is crying and the two witnesses look terrified.
”W-we must be going”, one of them says, realizing no papers will be signed today. Innie doesn’t want them to leave though. He wants them to stay and witness this, but he’s still being held tightly by the strong alpha and his mouth covered.
Aunt Chinsung runs over to her husband and starts fussing over his wounds, but he brushes her off.
”We must get this maniac locked up”, he says and Innie watches a big smirk forming on his lips. What the hell is he planning now? Why is he smiling?
”B-But dear, what is happening? Why would Jeongin say such things about you all of a sudden?”, she asks. Eunsang glares at her, clearly annoyed.
”He’s gone mad, that is why!”, he snaps. ”Staying in that jungle clearly got him all messed up in the head and it finally shows.”
Innie thrashes in the alpha’s hold, wanting to get loose and tell her the truth, but he can’t. The man is too strong. What will Eunsang do with him now? Is Felix ok? Is he?
By the look of his uncle’s face, he’s scheming something and it can’t be good. They can’t have him locked up in an asylum, can they? He’s got a slight notion of what an asylum is, but he’s not sure.
What will happen to Felix? Did he just sign Felix’s death warrant?
”Bring him to the basement”, Eunsang orders the alpha and he obeys, dragging Innie with him down the stairs. Innie can still hear his aunt’s protests as he’s forced towards the same room his friend is currently occupying.
Is this a good thing? Felix is there, with knifes and they know the code to the door. He’ll be damned if they stayed put down there.
As he’s pushed into the basement room, Innie sees Felix on the floor. Oh no! The blonde boy has his eyes closed and his chest is rising and falling dangerously fast.
Innie had hoped that he would feel better and be able to fight, but seeing his friend in that state makes him dread both thier fates. He rushes over to Felix, screaming his name, but Felix doesn’t answer.
Innie starts crying, terrified of what this can mean. Felix is very ill and if they don’t get help soon, he won’t make it. Looking at the loaf of bread, Innie hurriedly brings the knifes out, but he’s not sure if he’s strong enough to do this. The only thing he can manage right now is to sit by Felix’s side and try to keep him warmer using his own body heat. If anyone tries to hurt his Felix, he will kill them!
Chan wasn’t going to contact the police for this, but Seungmin convinced him otherwise, to make sure it’s all handled correctly. The leader wanted to rush over to that bastard uncle’s house and beat him to a pulp. Changbin too. He thinks the police is useless and Chan is the first to agree, but Seungmin does have a point. They can’t just barge into the man’s house and assault him, unless they want to go to prison.
It takes them some convincing to get the police to even consider suspecting such a powerful man of these crimes, but Seungmin is good at what he does. He manages to find some evidence of the man’s money trouble and his dirty connections and with that the police agrees to make a visit with a warrant.
Chan can only hope it’s enough and that his mate and Felix is ok, still. They are allowed to go with the police, Chan insisting that he won’t take no for an answer. He tells them that this is his mate, and that they were just about to be bonded for life and the police men believe him.
They ring the door bell and are soon greeted by an older man.
So this is Innies uncle? Chan doesn’t like the look of him and stares him down.
”What is the problem here, officer?”, Eunsang asks, looking all innocent. Chan can still sense that the man is a bit on the edge seeing them there.
”We have a warrant to search your house”, the officer in question replies. ”Please step aside, sir.”
Eunsang mutters, but obliges, giving Chan a dark look.
”What are they doing here then?”, Eunsang asks. ”They aren’t police and shouldn’t be allowed into my home.”
”We have reasons to suspect that the mates of two of these alphas are being held captive here”, the officer replies. ”Therefore they are allowed.”
Changbin smirks at the man before entering the house.
The police search the house thoroughly, but can’t find any omegas being held captive anywhere. Chan finds the door with the code lock and demands to be let in. The man stares at him, refusing to answer. Chan has a hard time controlling himself now, wanting nothing more than show the pompous man just what he thinks of him.
Eunsangs wife appears in tears, asking what is happening.
”What on earth is going on?”, she asks. ”Who are these people?”
”We’re the mates of Innie and Felix”, Chan responds, hoping to get something out of the woman.
”Who’s Inn….. oh, you mean Jeongin? But I don’t know any Felix. Is that the boy Jeongin was living with in the jungle for all those years?”
Chan stares at her. ”Yes, Jeongin is my mate. Do you know where he is?”
She’s about to reply when her husband puts his hand up in front of her.
”Don’t talk to these people, dear.”
”Why not?”, she asks, looking very confused. ”I can’t understand what’s happening today. The fighting and all. It’s just too much for my poor heart.”
Chan perks up. ”Fighting? Is Jeongin involved?”
”I’m afraid the boy went a bit crazy”, she says. ”My husband was attacked and …….”
”Shut up!”, Eunsang screams at her and she startles, looking at him with big eyes.
Two officers join them, hearing the man scream like that.
”What is going on here? What is that door? Give us the combination, please.”
Eunsang looks like he wants to refuse and ponder his options. Before he’s able to tell them, the door is pushed open, a pale Innie carrying Felix in his arms. Changbin is rushing to his side in an instant, screaming Felix’s name. He quickly removes the boy from Innies arms, trying to get a response from his mate. Felix is not responding and his breathing is irregular.
”Felix is ill, hyungs! Please save him!”, Innie calls out with panicked eyes.
Chan pulls the omega into his arms, relishing in having him back, finally. Innie stares at his uncle with hateful eyes.
”You monster! You did this to Lix!”
”Who is that boy and why was he in our basement?”, aunt Chinsun asks, still very oblivious. She turns to her husband. ”What did you do, Eunsang? Oh my god!”
The police officers call for an ambulance swiftly and start asking questions to both Innie and Eunsang’s wife. They soon learn that something’s very wrong here and put Eunsang under arrest.
Innie’s crying in Chan’s arms, terrified of what’s going to happen to his lix. Changbin is even more terrified, watching the lifeless boy in his arms. He has never felt so useless as he does right now.
”Lix, please wake up”, he cries, trying to scent his mate. He doesn’t smell like Felix anymore, only sickness. ”Someone help him, please!” Tears are streaming down the alpha’s face.
Chan is crying too, watching the petite blonde hang in Changbins arms. They were too late. They should have just attacked the place and saved them as soon as they figured it out.
Innie is sobbing in his arms, making his shirt all wet with his tears. Why isn’t the ambulance here yet?
Chan wants to kill the uncle now, his rage growing in power as he storms off to the man.
”You fucking bastard!”, he growls and starts attacking Eunsang. The officers have a hard time containing him, but they succeed eventually.
”Try to stay cool”, one of them says to Chan, seemingly understanding of his anger. ”We must do this the right way.” He leads Chan back to Innie, who’s throwing himself into his mates arms again.
The ambulance arrives and the medical staff have to almost pry the omega from Changbin’s arms.He’s devastated, almost having given up already and his face is swollen from all his tears.
Felix is quickly being brought into the ambulance and Changbin is offered to join, after having identfied himself as Felix’s mate.
Innie is beside himself, clinging to Chan desperately. The alpha whispers soft words to his mate, trying to comfort him.
One week later
Changbin has refused to leave Felix’s side all this time, except for short necessary trips to the bathroom and to get some food into him.
Luckily the omega has recovered and is soon to be released from the hospital. The doctor told him Felix was in a very bad shape when they brought him in and he wouldn’t have lasted much longer like that, but now he’s much healthier.
Chan has been submitted to having several talks with the police and considering the circumstances Felix is allowed to return to the pack. For now.
The pack leader had to assure the authorities that Felix will be bonded as soon as his next heat, otherwise he will be forced to return back to Australia. How is he going to tell him?
Innies aunt hasn’t been able to recover from finding out the truth about her husband and the company’s board have asked Innie to take the reins, being the majority share holder. He’s feeling very insecure about the whole thing, having practically no experience, but Chan assures him he can do it.
Eunsang has been charged with murder, attempted murder, kidnapping amongst other crimes. The police have finally been able to get some hard evidence on Felix and Innie’s parents murder, three years ago.
Sometimes Chan and Changbin wish they could go back to the old times, when crimes like these could be settled in blood by a duel. They would love to kill the man with their bare hands. As it is now it must be dealt with in a more civilized manner, much to their dismay.
Changbin is happily holding Felix’s hand, back home in their apartment finally. He has no idea how to bring up the issue hanging over their heads, the fact that they have to get bonded during Felix’s next heat. Otherwise he will loose him. It terrifies the alpha to the core.
Changbin really wants to, feeling totally ready to bond with his love, but he’s afraid that Felix isn’t feeling the same. Why did the authorities have to rush them like this?
Well, they still have some time left and he intends to enjoy it with Felix as much as he can until then. Almost losing Felix made the alpha realise just how much he loves him and how precious the omega is. He simply won’t survive without him.
”I love you, Lix”, Changbin says, gazing deeply into the blonde boy’s eyes. Why is he so beautiful?
”Love Binnie too”, Felix replies.
They kiss, sloppily and messy until Minho chases them out of the room, complaining about how disgusting they are. He’s one to speak!
They quickly enter Changbin’s bedroom and undress each other, eager to be together again for real.
And if they stay in there for the next few days, no one is complaining about it to them, only supplying them with food and water occationally.
Chan is so incredibly proud of Innie, the boy having taken charge of his fathers company already. He works long hours, having to learn all the in’s and out’s of running a big company like that. Chan is helping him to the best of his abilities and Innie’s a quick learner, despite having missed alot staying in the jungle for a few years. He was apparently a good student before his parent’s death and now he has a bit of catching up to do.
Chan is almost afraid of his mate being a bigger workaholic than himself and that’s kind of ironic.
As Felix’s heat is closing in, Changbin is forced to talk to him about the important matter. He regrets his own cowardness and not having brought it up earlier. He just wanted to stay happy with his mate for a little longer, without anything worrying Felix.
”Lix, my love”, he starts. ”There’s something important we need to talk about.” He’s worried that Felix might reject him because he isn’t ready and thereby go back to his home country. It would rip the heart out of his chest, killing all hope.
”Binnie talk”, Felix says, with a wary expression. He knows something’s up.
”The authorities have decided that you have to go back to Australia unless we….bond”, he finally says, his eyes trying to read Felix’s emotions from his reaction.
”Bond?”, Felix says. ”What bond?”
”Mates bond when they love each other and want to be together for the rest of their lives, Lix.”
Felix stares at him, clearly not fully understanding what he just said.
Changbin had hoped to explain it to Felix in private, but he realises they need some help. He calls for Chan and explains what he wants to tell Felix.
Of course Chan already knows, but he listens closely to his friend before turning to Felix.
”Felix, the authorities have given us, you, an ultimatum of some sort”, he says in english. ”You must bond with Changbin or go back to Australia.”
Felix’s face darkens immediately and Changbin tenses up seeing it.
He doesn’t want to, does he? He isn’t ready now or maybe never will. It’s a big commitment, choosing a mate for life. Changbin wants him so bad though, for all eternity.
”Does that mean that me and Binnie will be together for life?”, Felix asks Chan and the leader nods.
”Yes, Felix. You mark each other and that is permanent.”
Felix’s eyes go to Changbin.
”Does Binnie want to do it or is he feeling forced?”
Chan smiles softly. ”He wants to, Felix. More than anything.”
Now Felix is smiling too.
”I want Binnie forever”. He says and repeats himself in korean as he turns to his mate.
Changbin lights up, his eyes sparkling with hope.
”Lix want to?”, he asks, hardly believing it.
Chan is relieved that the matter wasn’t more difficult than that.
”You have to do it during your next heat, but I guess that won’t be a problem then?”, he laughs.
The couple don’t pay anymore attention to him, so he quickly gets up and leaves. In his mind he’s thinking of Innie, wondering if his mate would be ready for such commitment. Is he?
They aren’t in any rush though, like Changbin and Felix and can afford to take their time. Chan knows that Innie is his and he will never need anyone else.
The pack is complete, finally.
|
The wyrm heard this and must have understood because it's reaction was immediate. A low hiss like water hitting hot metal that made Sic's hairs stand on end erupted from it's jaws.
It was pure rage.
"Well I'm not doin' it," Charlie said. Even he seemed a little taken aback by this new plan.
"Obviously not. We're gonna make
do it."
A ringing had started in Sic's ears and she couldn't hear the hiss of the angry wyrm or make out what the mercenaries were saying until the toe of a boot was in her side, nudging her.
"Get up," he was saying.
There was an edge of excitement in his voice that wasn't there before.
Sic wasn't ignorant of some of the shows that happened in the underground for those that could afford it. Pay enough and you could fuck a mutant creature or watch it being fucked whichever got you off. The creatures were slaves like her, forced into prostitution for human entertainment.
When she watched the thick needle sliding into the soft skin of the wyrm's inner hind leg while it was distracted she knew this wasn't the first time they'd used a creature like this.
It was a powerful aphrodisiac and it wasn't cheap or easy to find outside of the underground brothels. The wyrm noticed too late, attempting to whip it's tail around to strike the mercenary who was already out of range.
Already Sic could sense the change in the proud beast, his eyes were a little more hazy and less murder-filled than before as the drugs took hold.
"What are you waiting for Charlie? Hurry the fuck up, we've only got about fifteen minutes 'til this shit wears off," the mercenary at Sic's side yelled in impatience. Meanwhile, Sic was already distancing herself from the situation.
This was just an animal. She could think of it like milking a cow, if cows were nine feet tall and had wings. Maybe they did now. She had never seen one in person and all the healthy ones were kept in facilities with the pures to avoid contamination.
Charlie was back dragging a device with a long glass cylinder open on one end and connected to a collection tube and bag on the other. He approached somewhat awkwardly Sic noticed, not making eye contact with her as her captor yanked it out of his hand, thrusting it at Sic.
Her hands weren't shaking, something to be proud of she wasn't really sure. Sic didn't feel fear as she weighed the glass cylinder in her hands. She didn't feel anything at all as a rough hand was in the middle of her back shoving her within striking distance of the wyrm.
His eyes were on her now, the closest target, but he was relaxed by the aphrodisiac. His posture was no longer rigid and his hands were limp at his sides.
The first step was the hardest, despite her numbed brain her legs refused to move her any closer.
That was when she felt it.
A tiny prick at the base of her spine. She turned and saw the flechette rifle pointed at her, it's bright green laser still painting a dot on her arm. Her captor was grinning his lips pulled back too far showing every tooth.
"Might wanna move a little faster, darlin'. Hands're feelin' a little twitchy right now."
Looking back on it, the right thing to do would have been to choose death instead of this humiliation.
Time lurched and the distance was halved between she and the wyrm, his wary eye following her progress. He watched her sidelong and for the first time she noticed a scar that ran deep over his eye right in line with his pupil.
Sic wondered what was powerful enough to cut his armor that way. Another wyrm she assumed, a territorial dispute or maybe a fight over a potential mate.
The wyrm had his full attention on Sic now and huffed out through his nostrils, the air from it stirring the hairs on top of her head. Sic only had a basic understanding of reptile anatomy as she forced her eyes towards the wyrm's hips looking for the slit that housed it's penis.
She could see something below where the armor plates divided below his stomach that looked a little puffy and moist.
Swallowing hard Sic brought up a hand and rested it on his stomach, testing the waters. His skin was smooth and rough at the same time kind of like latex gloves. The comparison was hardly accurate but it was the closest thing she could think of.
Another huff of breath hit the top of her head as she curiously ran her fingers further down only just brushing the top of his slit. It twitched and seemed to be wetter than before and she dared to steal a look up at the wyrm.
Sic's heart fluttered at the sight of dilating pupils and just a peek of wet tongue from slightly parted jaws. The aphrodisiac was doing it's job well.
The stinging at her back reminded her she didn't have the luxury of taking her time with this bizarre experience. Swallowing thickly she ran her hand over the twitching orifice, still tightly closed but swelling rapidly.
Sic didn't want to do anymore indignity to the creature by causing it pain so she did her best not to hurt him and make it enjoyable as possible. She circled her fingers around the edges of his slit, teasing them inside, stroking in a way that she hoped would give pleasure.
A soft groan made her glance around expecting to see one of the mercenaries jerking off to the show, but they were all just watching with rapt focus.
All except for Charlie who looked ashamed and kept his eyes averted.
Sic pressed deeper inside feeling something that she assumed was it's penis, hot and slick against her fingertips. Another groan, this time Sic ignored it, fully enraptured by her task.
It would be a lie to say that she wasn't fascinated having something so large be so submissive to her for once. Even if it was wrong and both of them were prisoners to what was happening. Sic could have this one moment of control over
The wyrm's penis pressed at her fingers urgently trying to slip out of it's fleshy prison so she let it, encouraging it to happen.
Fully unsheathed it's penis was almost the length of her forearm and a brilliant shade of cerulean with a tapered end. A stark contrast to the oily black of it's skin but matching the color of it's eyes.
He was beautiful, Sic thought.
The most beautiful thing she'd seen in this ugly world in a very long time. The wyrm's twitching length was shiny with fluid, more of it leaking from the slit at the tip. Now Sic's hand shook but not from fear as she took him in her grasp her fingers not going all the way around.
She checked his reaction again and he was watching her still with intense need, his soft pants hitting the top of her head. The sudden urge to put him in her mouth just to see what he would do shocked her.
Sic thought she saw the corner of his mouth pulling back but she must have imagined it, right?
She tore her attention away from his face and gave a single tug on the hot slippery flesh in her hand. It coaxed more fluid from the tip and she spread it around making sure he was fully coated.
He was breathing harder now as she milked him with both hands in a tight grip making a ring around his length. The wyrm's muscular hips gave little thrusts each time she hit a certain spot that seemed to be more sensitive than the rest so she brought more attention to it. Gripping harder and stroking faster underneath the head produced more of the clear fluid that hit the dust and ran down her wrists.
Another quick check told her she was doing a good job, the wyrm's breathing was louder and his tongue was half hanging out of his jaws. Like his eyes and penis the inside of his mouth was a brilliant shade of blue and Sic wondered if he was poisonous like a real snake.
Bright colors used to mean danger in the animal kingdom but now she wasn't sure.
Another louder groan that she couldn't ignore was her only warning for her to attach the collection tube so she did. Milky white fluid squirted inside, running through the thinner tubing at the base and into the collection bag. The wyrm easily produced enough semen to fill it to the top until the nozzle disconnected and some of it landed on Sic's face and chest.
"Goddamn!" the mercenary that had been holding her captive crowed reminding Sic just how fucked she was. "You can't even pay for a show that good."
Sic took one last look at the wyrm and his eyes were closed and head downcast.
Was he ashamed? Angry?
"Bring it here. Hurry it up."
Sic was walking without hearing the sounds of her footsteps until the bag of wyrm semen was snatched from her hand.
The mercenary was eyeing her up in a way she didn't like, running his tongue over chapped lips at the sight of the mess on her face and chest.
"You pretty good with a cock, darlin'," he said lowly, just loud enough for the two of them to hear. "You shoulda got outta the scrappin' business and worked at one of the zoos. I'd pay to see ya."
Zoo was the name used for the brothels that specialized in interspecies sex. Sic said nothing, keeping her eyes down, going numb again.
"Briggs!"
Charlie was shouting and for several uncomfortable seconds the mercenary stayed too close to Sic wheezing inside his rebreather.
"What?" Briggs said clearly annoyed by the interruption.
"We gotta get the fuck outta here, man. Hugo and Simmons think they managed to get a distress signal out before they could disable the comms."
"Well Hugo and Simmons should learn how to do their fuckin' jobs faster shouldn't they? Fine. I'll deal with this one and we can go."
Briggs grabbed Sic by the hair and started dragging her through the dirt, her cries of pain ignored.
"What about the wyrm?"
Briggs rolled his eyes, "I don't give a fuck about the wyrm, Charlie. We got what we need." He shook the collection unit for emphasis."If you want to put it in your bag and bring it along I won't stop you."
Briggs continued to drag Sic until they were some distance away, throwing her into the dirt once he was satisfied.
"Sorry darlin'. You can identify us once they come 'round here asking questions. Can't have that."
He squatted down in front front of her and Sic realized just how alone they were right now. Briggs dragged the barrel of his rifle between her breasts trailing the mess left behind over her skin.
The metal was uncomfortably hot from being in the sun and she flinched at the contact. "Aw, don't be scared. I'll make it quick since you was so good for us. Was that your first time by the way, doin' somethin' like that?"
Sic nodded, her mouth and throat going dry, desperately trying to think of a plan.
"Did you like it?"
Sic shook her head rapidly and Briggs laughed overly loud.
The conversation disgusted her but as long as she kept Briggs talking the longer she would be alive.
"I know you're lyin'. I saw the way you was lookin' at it. Did you want it inside you too? Wanna have a gut full of wyrm juice? It's ok, I was imagining all kinds'a shit too watching y'all."
To Sic's rising alarm Briggs' hand went to his cock and squeezed, "Made me hard. Always love seeing a small girl like you get destroyed by a monster cock." He must have noticed the change in her expression because he said, "Oh don't worry. I ain't gonna rape ya, darlin'. Don't have time for it anyhow. Speakin' of. Guess I need to wrap this up."
Briggs rose to his feet and levelled the fletchette rifle at her face, a flash of green going by under her eye as he aimed for her forehead.
Just as his finger hovered over the trigger all hell broke loose.
|
Izuku mumbled the whole way home, rehearsing the spiel All Might had told them to tell their parents. It wasn’t like they could just hide everything from them. After all, the sludge villain had apparently been on the fucking TV. Katsuki smirked. At least the TV got to see him nail the bastard in the eyes, though the fact that they filmed him collapsing, too, was really shitty.
“Kacchan.” Deku’s voice was all lame and weak. What the heck. He stopped in front of their house, turning to face his soulmate. “We… we can do this, right? Our parents will need to know something, right? I mean, a villain attacked us! Mom’s going to be super protective and they wouldn’t let us out on our own or anything and they’ll want us to be super careful and all that. So we have to tell them something. And what All Might suggested makes sense, but it’s a lie. It’s a big lie. My quirk didn’t manifest in the fight. What if they ask me to use it? I know I’m supposed to say that All Might told me not to. That All Might saw it was an enhancement quirk and was concerned because it’s dangerous and I’m such a late bloomer. And—”
“Breathe, you useless nerd. I know you can’t lie worth shit. I’ll do the talking.”
“Thank you, Kacchan!” Jeez, why was his soulmate’s smile so freaking bright.
“Whatever.” Katsuki turned back toward the door and began walking up the sidewalk, Deku trailing behind him.
Not a second after Katsuki opened the door, he felt arms wrap around him, hugging him.
Shit.
Deep breaths. This was his mom. His mom, not the villain. Her arms were warm. He could breathe.
Izuku squeaked next to him, no doubt having been attacked by Auntie.
He struggled to get free. Well, struggled as much as he could with his arm banged up. “Let go of me, you old hag! Can’t you see my arm’s hurt!”
“Katsuki, don’t call your mother that.”
Shit. Dad was here, too. All the adults meant a family heart-to-heart. Fucking great.
“You brats did great, but please don’t ever scare us like that again.” Seconds later he was free, but his mom’s hands had moved to his shoulder as her eyes frantically looked over his arm. “And what’s this about your arm? The television clip didn’t show that your arm was hurt this badly! What happened to it? Why didn’t you come straight home, you damn idiot? Or answer your phones?”
“My damn arm’ll be fine, alright?! I just did what I needed to do. I don’t need to go to the fucking hospital.”
“Katsuki, your arm is clearly broken.” His Dad was giving him the disappointed look. Fuck this shit.
He was about to protest the hospital and explain more, but Auntie finally spoke up through her tears, “Izuku, you both had us so worried! We will go to the hospital right away. You aren’t hurt, are you?!” She released Deku, looking all over him for injuries. He gasped for air while shaking his head.
“We don’t need the fucking hospital!” Katsuki groaned, but the adults ignored him.
Deku fidgeted nervously under the adults’ eyes. This was not going as planned. “No, no, I’m fine, Mom. I’m not hurt. And I’m so sorry we didn’t call! We just didn’t think with everything that had happened! And… ummm…. We kinda talked with All Might for a while? And his assistant?”
Katsuki snorted. It was a stupid cover for All Might’s wimpy form, but whatever. It’s what the hero told them to use, so he’d fucking use it.
“What?!” All three parents were staring at them in shock. At least the hospital seemed temporarily forgotten.
Dad was the first to recover. “Well that was…nice of him.” He was still blinking in bewilderment. “Was there any reason he wanted to talk to you two?”
“You didn’t do anything bad, did you, brat?” Mom was glaring at him, though she muttered something about knowing that Deku hadn’t done anything.
He glared back. “I didn’t do a fucking thing, alright! The trauma or whatever made Deku manifest his shitty late-ass quirk.” He smirked at his soulmate. “Took him long enough.” Technically he still hadn’t, but now he would manifest one. All Might wouldn’t lie like that. He wouldn’t. He was All Might. Katsuki’s soulmate would have a quirk, and one worthy of the shitty nerd, too.
Deku shrugged sheepishly, but his smile was still ridiculously happy. Dumbass was obviously over the fucking moon with all this All Might nonsense.
“Oh Izuku!”
Auntie was hugging him again. And crying again. Which meant Deku started to cry. Katsuki groaned. Why did both Midoriyas have to be so fucking emotional. He hated their shitty tears. He turned to his parents for help, for anything to get them to stop crying, but froze. His mom was fucking crying, too.
“WHAT THE HECK! STOP CRYING!”
“Shut up, you little dirt bag.” Katsuki’s mom pushed his head down, rubbing his hair forcefully. He grunted and twisted out of the way, glaring at her. “We’re happy for your soulmate. You should be too.”
“I fucking am!” He crossed his arms, glaring at them all. This whole thing was a mess. “Whatever. All Might was all fucking concerned because Deku couldn’t be normal and got his quirk so fucking late. He said it looked like his quirk might be dangerous to him if he doesn’t use the shitty thing right.”
“What?!” Auntie stopped shaking her son to stare at Katsuki in shock. “Izuku, honey, is this true?”
Deku nodded, scratching his cheek sheepishly.
“Oh my Baby.” Auntie was burying her head in Deku’s hair, now. His own mom was kneeling next to him, a hand on Deku’s shoulder. “What is your quirk, Izuku-kun?”
“Strength enhancement.” Deku kicked at the carpet. “Like a really strong version. But All Might told me not to use it until I’d had training.” He shrugged, then mumbled something about having been lucky today.
Katsuki rolled his eyes. “Shitty nerd almost ripped my arm off.” That part was true, even without the quirk. Deku was already plenty strong and he hadn’t held back. Not that Katsuki wished he had. “Broke my fucking finger, as it is.” Now Deku looked miserable. “Damn it, I don’t mind, Deku. I’d rather have a broken finger than be stuck in that thing.” He shuddered.
Katsuki’s mom whacked him upside the head. “Of course you would! You aren’t going to thank him?”
“Calm down, you old hag! We already talked!” He was not going to thank Deku for endangering himself! Stupid soulmate did enough of that without any encouragement!
“Katsuki, don’t yell at your mother.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. “I fucking wasn’t!” He was just… frustrated. Really frustrated. They hadn’t even gotten to the shit about tomorrow, yet.
“Katsuki!” He froze. Auntie was frowning at him, her arms still wrapped around Deku. He never could yell at Auntie like he could his own parents. She was too fucking nice.
He glared at the ground.
Apparently Auntie thought he looked contrite or something, because her voice was soft again when she spoke, “I know it’s been a hard day, Katsuki, but you shouldn’t yell at your parents. Or curse at us.”
“Tch.” He kicked the floor, annoyed. Not like he ever could curse at Auntie. “Whatever.”
Auntie sighed, then turned to her son, smiling softly, “We’ll find some way to get you training, Izuku honey, I promise. You’ll be able to use your quirk soon enough.”
“You won’t fu—” Auntie frowned at him, and Katsuki groaned. Auntie’d always had a limit for his cussing, and apparently he’d fucking exceeded it. Fucking hated it when she got like this. “You won’t need to. All Might’s assistant said he’d be happy to help. He’s coming over tomorrow at 7, so he’ll have breakfast and talk with us before school starts. He also said he’d bring Recovery Girl. For my arm.” Well, really his wrist and finger and shoulder, but who fucking cared about the details. “That’s why I don’t need to go to the hospital. He said I needed to rest and restore some energy before she could heal me, or he’d bring her tonight.” Katsuki didn’t really understand it, but whatever. He could deal with the pain for one night.
“Oh my.” Auntie looked about ready to collapse. “All Might’s assistant. And a hero. Here. For breakfast tomorrow.”
Katsuki knew it was sudden, but Deku needed to start training for his new quirk fast. Didn’t they get that? UA’s exam was less than a year away! And everyone else had had most of their lives to work with their quirks!
“I’ll do the brats’ lunches, Inko. You just focus on the breakfast.”
Dad already had his phone out, typing furiously. “I just let my boss know I’ll be in late tomorrow. With everything the boys went through today, I’m sure she’ll understand. You should do the same, Mitsuki. Inko, you don’t have a shift tomorrow, right?”
Auntie still looked like she was in a daze. “Right. Yes. I have the day off.”
Izuku was watching his mother with concern, “Mom, All Might said Recovery Girl would have to leave quickly to get back to UA, so she probably won’t be able to eat breakfast with us. So it’ll just be one more person than usual.”
“It would be better to give her something she could snack on then…” Auntie began to mumble, lost in thought. “Thank you, Izuku dear. She’s taking time out of her schedule to come help Katsuki, so we really should thank her…oh! But you’ll need something to help with the pain tonight, Katsuki. I’ll just…” Inko slowly separated herself from her son, who didn’t seem to mind that he’d been fucking hugged by his mom for like fifteen minutes or some shit like that. She left the room, now muttering to herself about what dose would be best for him.
Katsuki sighed.
Damn Midoriyas and their muttering.
As Auntie helped him get in bed and checked his injuries that night, though, Katsuki couldn’t help but be thankful for both Midoriyas. Deku was running around grabbing things as his mom asked for them, and the way Auntie set up his arm actually felt kind of comfortable. He’d figured he wouldn’t get any sleep tonight, but… this worked.
Auntie turned off the lights, whispering goodnight to him and Deku. Katsuki snorted. Deku was already asleep and snoring, so it wasn’t like the ‘good night’ message mattered.
Katsuki closed his eyes and let the pain meds take over and send him into a deep sleep, regardless of Deku’s annoying snores. |
Subsets and Splits